#hes excited for my letter hes excited excited for my letter hes excited for the letter the letter that i sent

[aesthetically-dying101]

Letters to the past

A/N: in which they find a love letter that you wrote to them years ago. (im tempted to write a version of this of pure angst, where reader is dead and they find the letter later, but for now im being nice), inspired by real world events!

warnings: light angst (with a happy ending), suggestive, crack, shits n gigs

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

Nanami was quietly tidying up the shared office, something he did on his very rare off days, he was organizing a particular stack of papers on his side of the desk when his hand brushed against something unfamiliar—something soft, wrapped in a ribbon. Curiosity piqued, he pulled it out—an envelope with his name scrawled in your handwriting. The paper was a little yellowed with age, the ink slightly faded, but the love was still so palpable.

He carefully opened it, unsure of what he was about to read. What he found inside was... a letter. A love letter. From you.

He chuckled softly, his heart squeezing in his chest. The date at the top: “One Year Together”.

The paper was dotted with sketches—little doodles of him—and he couldn’t help but smile, his heart swelling in his chest.

A light chuckle escaped his lips.

“I can’t believe this… you drew me like that? I was such a dork…”

Nanami's chest tightened.

Seven years. It had been seven years since you two had been together, and four years of marriage. Time had flown, but reading the words from that first year? From when everything had felt so new and exciting? It was... overwhelming. And there were even little doodles of him scattered throughout the pages, goofy sketches of his serious face, his messy hair, and him in his work clothes.

It was... perfect.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself, eyes scanning over the words. “I can’t believe you wrote this…”

You had always been dramatic when it came to love, but that had been one of the things he adored most about you. Your passion, your sincerity, and how every little detail felt like it had meaning.

Just as he was wiping a happy tear from his eye, he heard the door open.

“Hey, Kento!” you called out, your voice bright and bubbly from a long day of teaching. But when you walked in and saw him standing there, holding the letter, your face immediately fell.

“Wha—” you began to sputter, running over and snatching it out of his hand. “No! Oh my god, why do you have that?!” You were practically in full dramatic panic mode, hands shaking slightly as you tried to hide the letter behind your back.

Nanami couldn’t help but laugh, amused at how flustered you were. “I just found this,” he said, his voice full of affection. “I didn’t realize you were such a poet. And these drawings—” he gestured to the little doodles of him— “they’re... adorable.”

“Oh, please,” you groaned, your face flushing. “Stop it! Don’t even read it out loud. It’s so embarrassing! I was like—what—21? It was a year in! I was still figuring out how to not be awkward!”

Nanami grinned, leaning in slightly, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I think it’s perfect. You were so honest, so sweet. And the drawings—” his voice softened, “they're so cute.”

You crossed your arms, pouting. “Kento, nooooo, don’t you dare! I can’t believe you found that. You’re gonna be all ‘oh, look, look at my cute, romantic wife’ for the next week, huh? God, stop being so dramatic about it.”

“Is that really a problem?” he teased, giving you an amused glance. “I think it’s adorable. And I’m the lucky guy who gets to read it now.”

You dramatically slumped against the desk, covering your face in mock embarrassment. “I can’t with you. You’re making me so red. You can’t show anyone this, Kento. Not a single person.”

“Why?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, amused at your antics. “We’ve been together for seven years, married for four. You really think it’s embarrassing now?”

You peeked over your hands, your voice soft but still teasing. “Yes. Because it’s cheesy and gushy, and I’m just... ugh. So much poetry.”

“I happen to think that poetry is one of your many talents,” he said, voice gentle as he moved closer to you. “And you’ve always been perfectly you. I love you even more for it.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to hide your smile behind your hands. “Stop it, Kento. Stop looking at me like that. You’re gonna make me cry with how sweet you're being.”

Nanami chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m sorry. But seriously. I’m glad I found this. You’ve always been so good to me.”

You melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his words settle into your heart. "You're so ridiculous," you whispered, pressing your face into his chest. "But I love you."

He kissed the top of your head, chuckling softly. “I love you, too. Always.”

And as the two of you stood there in the cozy office, holding each other close, Nanami couldn’t help but feel so incredibly lucky to have found you—his partner, his wife.

Toji was knee-deep in moving boxes, his muscles flexing as he grabbed yet another heavy one- he was glad you weren't home, or else you would've made a comment. The sound of cardboard scraping against the floor filled the room as he shifted it into place. It was one of those days where every corner of their house was chaotic, half-packed, and filled with the usual mess that came with moving.

But then something fell.

A soft sound, followed by paper crinkling, caught his attention. He raised an eyebrow and crouched down, picking up a stray piece of paper from the floor. The corners were worn, the edges curling slightly with age. He blinked when he realized what it was.

A letter.

Her handwriting.

Curiosity piqued, Toji slid off his old man glasses from the top of his head with an exaggerated flair, rolling them into place before he cracked open the letter.

And that’s when he saw it.

A love letter—one from you.

From the early days of your relationship, when things were still fresh and you were... completely infatuated with him (not that he ever let it go to his head or anything). Toji’s lips quirked into a devilish grin as he leaned back against the box, settling in for the show.

He read through the entire thing, each line making him chuckle louder and louder. The dramatic declarations, the overly poetic descriptions of his “dangerous” eyes, the flowery words about how he “was the center of her universe”… Oh, this was gold.

“Well well well,” Toji muttered, barely able to keep himself from busting into laughter. “Look at you, all sentimental, huh? Just how cute…”

He kicked his feet up, reclining on the nearest piece of furniture, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Gotta admit, babe. You were delusional back then."

You had just come home from a walk in the park with Megumi, trying to get some fresh air after the chaos of packing. Megumi was by your side, his small hand holding onto your sleeve, talking about something he saw at the park. You were listening, but the moment you stepped inside, you noticed Toji—sitting with that mischievous grin plastered on his face.

He was holding something in his hand. The letter.

No.

"Toji..." you groaned in embarrassment, already knowing what was coming. "What did you find?"

“Oh, just this little thing…” Toji drawled, waving the letter in the air, his grin practically splitting his face. “Look at this, sweetheart—look what I got.”

Your eyes widened, and you immediately lunged forward, making a grab for it.

“Toji! Give me that!”

But he was already one step ahead, holding it high above his head as he leaned back, savoring your reaction. “What’s the rush? I’m just having a little fun, doll. Let me enjoy it for a second.”

You groaned, your face turning an embarrassing shade of crimson. “No, please! That was years ago! It’s… so embarrassing!” You jumped up, trying to wrestle it out of his hands, but he was too strong.

“‘Toji, I adore you, you are the light of my life, my heart beats only for you…’” He read aloud dramatically, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he quoted your words. “‘Your smile is like the sun, and I am forever basking in your warmth.’ Oh, I’m dying here, baby. This is priceless.”

“I was naive back then!” you shouted, flipping him over your shoulder in a fit of frustration. “I was delusional! It was a different time!!”

“Delusional? Baby, you were love-struck,” Toji teased, completely unfazed by your attempts to wrestle the letter away. "I’m just surprised you actually thought I’d believe that sappy stuff back then.”

You both tumbled onto the couch in a mess of tangled limbs, but you didn’t stop. You were determined to get that letter back, even if it meant flipping Toji over—again. Your fingers scrambled for the piece of paper, but Toji’s laughter made everything feel lighthearted.

“You knew what you were saying,” he laughed, pinning your wrists down, still holding the letter just out of reach. “I didn’t even know I was such a heartthrob back then.”

“I swear to god, Toji…” You wriggled beneath him, doing your best to twist and turn, but it only resulted in you getting a little closer to him than you intended.

Toji’s face softened for a moment as he looked at you, his playful grin slowly fading into something far more intimate.

"You were adorable back then," he whispered, voice low. "I liked it. You’re lucky I never threw that letter away."

“You better not have,” you muttered, eyes meeting his. He was so close now, your breath mixing in the air between you.

His hand shifted from the letter, instead cupping your cheek, his lips pressing against yours in a deep, slow kiss. You melted into him, your hands wandering, sliding beneath his shirt as you tugged him closer.

You were so lost in the kiss, the heat building between you, that you barely noticed Megumi stepping through the door.

“Dad?” Megumi’s voice interrupted from the doorway, his little face peeking around the corner.

You both froze, wide-eyed, your hands still dangerously close to Toji’s waistband. Megumi blinked at you, looking oddly embarrassed for someone his age.

“I forgot my plushy at the park,” he said, face turning pink.

Toji groaned in exasperation, pulling away from you just enough to shoot you a look. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “This isn’t over, Toji.”

“Yeah, yeah. Later,” he smirked, rolling off you and giving Megumi a playful pat on the head. "Let’s get your plushy then."

As you all prepared to head back to the park, you swore—next time, you’d get your revenge.

Gojo Satoru was hunched over your shared office desk, papers scattered in every direction as he sifted through stacks of documents. He was searching for a specific file on a curse, but knowing Gojo, he’d probably get distracted and misplace half of them before finding what he was actually looking for. Not that he’d admit it.

His fingers brushed against something odd tucked between two thick folders—an envelope. His eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued. It was a very familiar envelope, one with your handwriting all over it.

Wait… What the hell?

He blinked, disbelief settling over him. The letter was from you—a love letter. From when you were still dating, after just one year. You two had been together for eight years now, but this letter… it felt like a lifetime ago. He could feel his chest tighten as he carefully opened the envelope, the old, yellowed paper inside immediately making him grin like an idiot.

It was poetic. Deeply poetic. And so you. He could almost hear your voice reading it out loud, the words seeping into his bones. And the drawings—of him.

“Oh my god,” Gojo whispered under his breath, blinking rapidly as he read more. “This... this is way too much. Is this really what I was like back then?”

His hand shook a little, a laugh escaping him as his mind tried to wrap around the overwhelming wave of emotion that suddenly flooded him. He couldn’t help it.

The Strongest Sorcerer was about to cry over a letter.

When you walked into the office, the first thing you noticed was the unnatural stillness of the room. Gojo was sitting there—completely silent, holding the letter. His usual carefree demeanor was absent, replaced by something entirely different, something soft and vulnerable.

You froze in the doorway, your eyes widening in panic.

“Wait... is someone dead?” you asked, voice rising in pitch as you rushed toward him. You immediately looked around for any sign of trouble. “Is it Shoko? Is it Suguru??”

Gojo blinked slowly, slowly looking up at you. His expression was a mixture of awe and—wait, was that a tear?

“No. It’s just... this letter,” he said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft, the letter still clutched in his hand. He looked up at you, his eyes wide. “I had no idea you felt this way back then. You really loved me this much?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you immediately realized what was happening. The letter you’d written to him years ago—the one you’d completely forgotten about—was now in his hands, and he was reading it like a treasure.

You let out an exaggerated, pained groan. “Oh my god, noooooo.”

Gojo laughed softly, clearly taken aback. “What, you’re not proud of what you wrote?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I mean, I was a pretty perfect boyfriend, right?”

“Nooooo, stop,” you whined, dramatically covering your face with your hands. “Why do you always have to find my most embarrassing moments? Why are you like this?”

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, I’m definitely reading you some lines. You need to hear how much you loved me, sweetheart.”

“Noooo,” you protested again, lunging toward him to snatch the letter. “Kento—I swear, if you read a single line out loud, I’ll—“

But he was already reading aloud, his voice dropping into that playful tone he always used when teasing you.

“‘Satoru, my heart beats for you,’” he started, dramatically pausing for effect. “‘You are the sunshine in my life, and I will always cherish the way your smile makes me feel as if the world is whole again.’”

Your eyes went wide, and you leaped forward to grab the letter. “Satoru! STOP!”

“‘I love you more than words can express,’” he read, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “‘And I cannot wait for the day I call you mine forever.’”

“OH. MY. GOD,” you shouted, now fully flustered. Your skin felt on fire as you tried to wrestle the letter from his hands. “Stop, I was so dramatic back then! You have no idea—”

But Gojo just sat back, enjoying the chaos he’d caused. He raised an eyebrow. “Was you? It’s still pretty cute now. Look, this one’s my favorite—‘When I’m with you, time stands still. I am yours, and you are mine—forever.’”

You gasped, flailing helplessly. “I WILL END YOU, GOJO SATORU.”

Gojo just laughed, that deep, comforting sound filling the room as he shook his head. “You’re so cute when you’re all flustered.”

“SHUT UP!” you whined. “This is an absolute nightmare! I will literally kill the strongest sorcerer if I have to.”

“Oh?” Gojo’s grin turned devilish as he leaned forward, the mischievous glint in his eye more intense than ever. “Maybe I should let you make me suffer a little—since I’m so lucky to have you, right?”

You gave him a playful shove, and without thinking, your hand dipped down to his pants, feeling the subtle tension in his body at your touch.

“W-Wait—what are you—?”

“I said shut up,” you whispered, a teasing smirk spreading across your face as you leaned forward to kiss him, your hand sliding dangerously lower. Gojo’s breath hitched, his voice trembling as he muttered,

“UuUuUu... lemme repay you for your words...”

Geto Suguru leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of his desk as his cult member, a young woman, hesitantly approached with a piece of paper.

"Master Geto," she began, her voice laced with uncertainty. "We found something... in the library. Between the books. It seems to be an old letter."

Geto arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "A letter? What kind of letter?"

The woman hesitated, but handed it over to him, and he noticed the familiar handwriting immediately. It was yours.

His heart skipped a beat as he unfolded the letter. The words on the page were undeniably yours, but what struck him was how genuine it felt—this love letter was full of sincerity, overflowing with affection that made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.

He chuckled softly to himself, his fingers gently tracing over the elegant script. The letter was written eight years ago, just after he and you had started dating. He could almost hear your voice, dramatic and poetic, as if he was reading it straight from your lips.

"Well, well, well," he muttered under his breath, a sly smile forming on his face. "Seems like my wife was really into me back then."

His cult member gave him a confused look but said nothing as he smirked and folded the letter neatly, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

When you arrived home, having finished your errands for the day, you immediately noticed Geto lounging on the couch, a strange glint in his eyes. He was holding something behind his back, clearly up to no good.

"What’s that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you dropped your bag onto the nearby chair.

“Oh, nothing,” Geto said, his smile far too innocent. "Just something I found that I thought you might enjoy."

You crossed your arms, eyeing him suspiciously. "Is it a new cult ritual that involves me?"

He leaned forward, looking way too pleased with himself. “Better. It’s a blast from the past.”

Before you could react, he produced the letter from behind his back and waved it in front of your face. "Guess what I found in the library today?"

You froze. The moment you saw the familiar handwriting, your stomach dropped. No.

"Geto... no," you whispered, taking a step back as if the letter itself could bite. "Don't you dare."

“Oh, I dare,” he teased, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “It’s from you.”

You slowly turned your head to the side, trying to make a break for it. “Nope, I’m not doing this today. Not today, not ever.”

“You’re not going to want to miss this,” Geto said, clearly enjoying your discomfort. He unfolded the letter with all the drama of someone preparing to perform Shakespeare.

The words he read aloud were beautiful, so full of love and passion it almost made you cringe. You remembered writing it so vividly, a flood of emotions that you hadn’t even realized you still carried. And now, Geto was reading it out loud for all to hear.

"‘Suguru, my heart longs for you, and my soul finds peace in your presence,’” he began dramatically, putting on a voice as if he were a great actor. “‘Every moment with you is a blessing, every glance is an eternity...’”

“Geto, no!” You turned away, hands over your ears. "Please, don’t—"

He only chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “‘I’m yours, Suguru, and you are my everything…’” He paused, a smug grin spreading across his face. “‘I will love you always, now and forever.’”

You stopped in your tracks, your face burning with embarrassment. “Oh my god. Oh my god. You didn’t just—”

“I did,” he said, savoring every moment. “And to think, you thought I’d forgotten.” He waved the letter in the air like it was some kind of victory flag.

You exhaled dramatically, throwing your hands up in the air as you began to walk away. “I refuse to listen to this. I’m not doing this. This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on,” Geto called after you, trying to suppress his laughter. "You were so in love with me back then, and you still are, huh?”

You spun around, narrowing your eyes at him. “Geto, if you keep teasing me, I’m not making you dinner tonight.”

He tilted his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You wouldn’t deny me that. You love me too much.”

You glared at him dramatically. "You’re lucky I’m even married to you, sir."

“Lucky?” he raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s the other way around.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to look offended. "I don’t know... I might reconsider after this little stunt."

He took a few steps forward, finally dropping the letter back in his pocket. His expression softened. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just... didn’t realize how sweet you were back then. You still are.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but secretly feeling your heart warm. “You know, I still don’t think you’re allowed to read my letters from eight years ago like that.”

“Why not?” he grinned. “It’s proof of how much you love me.”

You huffed, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “Ugh, you really are impossible.”

“Admit it,” he said, stepping closer to you. “You still love me that much.”

“Fine,” you muttered, trying not to smile. “Maybe I do...”

“Maybe?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in close with that familiar cocky grin.

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, you couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “Okay, fine. I definitely do.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” He smirked, closing the distance and pulling you into his arms. “Now, let’s get you out of that mood. Dinner still stands, right?”

You groaned. “I swear, you’re impossible.”

“You love it,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And I love you, too. Even more than this letter says.”

And despite your earlier protests, you couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelled with warmth and affection for the man who never failed to make you laugh, even when he was embarrassing you with old love letters.

Sukuna Ryomen, the fearsome King of Curses, sat in his grand chambers, his body draped across his throne, looking as if he could conquer empires with a single glance. His regal expression was unfazed as Uraume sorted through the countless scrolls piled around them. But then, a soft "Ah!" sounded from Uraume, and Sukuna’s sharp eyes flickered toward them.

“What?” Sukuna asked, his voice a low growl, barely masking his curiosity.

Uraume stood up straight, holding a scroll in their hands with an intrigued expression. “My Lord, I believe I’ve found something... interesting.” They unrolled the scroll, revealing the elegant, flowing handwriting.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Uraume cleared their throat and began reading aloud. “My dearest Sukuna, the one with the four arms, the eyes of a god...”

The words stopped Sukuna dead in his tracks. His eyes narrowed, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “This... is from her, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Uraume said, unable to hide the amusement in their voice. “It seems to be a love letter.”

Sukuna smirked. “Is it? Let me see.”

Uraume handed him the scroll, and Sukuna read on, his usually cold demeanor cracking ever so slightly as he made his way through the poetic declarations. His heart actually skipped a beat when he saw the lines about his "handsome four arms" and "piercing, yet captivating eyes."

"...When I look into your eyes, it's as though I see the entire universe. Your strength is unrivaled, your beauty unmatched."

Sukuna blinked, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. Was he... blushing? What kind of nonsense was this? He shook his head as if to rid himself of the absurdity.

But there was something in those words—something tender—that tugged at him. He looked over the letter again, a rare feeling bubbling in his chest.

"She really... thinks that of me?" Sukuna muttered under his breath.

"Indeed, my Lord," Uraume confirmed, their voice soft with a trace of teasing. "It seems she finds you quite... attractive."

Sukuna snorted, rolling his eyes, but there was a faint, pleased smile curling on his lips. He couldn't help it; there was something about how his sweet little human wife saw him—really saw him—that made his heart do strange things.

With a low, almost possessive cackle, Sukuna pushed himself off his throne. "I need to see her. Now."

You were strolling through the gardens, lost in thought, enjoying the quiet of the day. Your delicate fingers brushed the petals of the flowers as you walked, when suddenly, you felt a presence behind you.

Before you could turn around, the voice you knew so well boomed from behind you. “Well, well, little wife. I've made quite the discovery, haven’t I?”

You stiffened, your heart dropping. Oh no...

“W-What do you mean?” You turned around, trying to play it cool, but your wide eyes betrayed you.

Sukuna smirked as he approached you, holding the scroll in his hands. “A love letter? To me? You must really be under my spell, huh?”

“Nooooooo...” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Why—why are you like this?”

“Oh, but I must know,” Sukuna continued, his voice dripping with amusement. “Do you find my four arms attractive? Or maybe it’s my eyes? Hmm? The ‘piercing, captivating eyes’?”

You were about to burst into flames from embarrassment. “Stop it! I was young! I—I—I was just—just... poetic! And dramatic! And—!”

Sukuna chuckled deeply, that deep, rumbling sound that made your heart flutter despite the embarrassment. “Poetic, huh? Well, little wife, I must admit, your words have an effect on me. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

You could feel your face turning as red as a tomato as you half-heartedly tried to grab the scroll from his hands. “Please, just burn it! I’ll never recover from this. Ever!”

Sukuna took a step back, watching you struggle to keep it together. The sight was too adorable, too human, and for a moment, the terrifying King of Curses just couldn’t help but soften his expression, his gaze lingering on you with something like affection.

You continued your frantic flailing, but your eyes met his and—damn it, your heart was racing again.

“You really think I’m that attractive, huh?” Sukuna said, stepping closer, his voice teasing but somehow gentler than usual. “Tell me, do you still feel the same way, little wife?”

You flailed a little more dramatically. “I...! You’re ruining me!”

“You did write this, didn’t you?” he said, lowering the scroll and staring at you with that all-too-confident glint in his eyes. “So, tell me, do you still think I’m ‘unmatched in beauty’?”

The words you wrote—so carefully chosen, full of love—now seemed to weigh on you like a thousand pounds. You groaned in frustration. “I was being dramatic! A little poetic flair here and there... okay, maybe a lot of flair, but I was... young, okay?!”

Sukuna’s smile softened, and he placed the scroll in your hands. “You’re still the same, aren’t you?”

“Stop,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. You wanted to vanish into the earth. You'd never survive this embarrassment. Never.

But Sukuna, in all his terrifying glory, knelt down to your level and gently cupped your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender.

“Don’t hide from me, little wife. You wrote this out of love. And for that... I’ll never make fun of you for it. Besides...” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “I like how much you love me. Even if it means I get to tease you for it.”

You closed your eyes, melting under his touch, all the while, your heart racing. “You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“I know,” he purred, grinning from ear to ear. “But that’s why you married me.”

You could only groan, giving in to the impossible man who had somehow wrapped you around his finger—and you’d never be happier about it.

Choso was sitting at the kitchen table, a tear-streaked face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking slightly as he stared down at the letter in his lap. His heart ached, not from pain, but from something else. Something softer. Something—embarrassing.

You had just come in from the garden, humming to yourself, when you caught sight of him. And you froze.

"Choso?" you asked cautiously, tilting your head. "What’s going on? Are you—are you okay?"

His voice, thick with emotion, broke through his trembling hands. "I... I found it... I found your letter."

You blinked, brows furrowing. "My letter? Which one?"

“The one you wrote to me… back when we were dating.”

Now that hit you like a ton of bricks. You swallowed hard, trying not to panic. Oh god. You had written a lot of things back then, too many of them cringey and so full of teenage drama. You could already feel the cringe creeping up your spine.

Your lips pulled into a nervous smile. "Choso, sweetheart, you’ve... you’ve gotta be kidding. You’ve been holding onto that thing for years?"

He looked up at you with those wide, pitiful eyes, his lower lip trembling. "It’s so... it’s so beautiful... but also so embarrassing..." He could barely finish his sentence before he put his hands back over his face, shoulders shaking again.

You blinked rapidly. "Wait, wait, hold on. You’re crying over a letter?"

His voice was muffled behind his hands. "It was... everything I needed to hear from you. I didn’t know back then... how much it meant..."

Your heart melted for him, but you had no idea how to react. Choso was dramatic, sure, but this?

“Choso, honey, please. It can’t be that bad.” You walked over, sitting down beside him, reaching out to gently pull his hands away from his face. “Show me. What did I even say? I’m sure it wasn’t that—”

He thrust the letter into your hands like it was a delicate artifact, almost afraid to let it out of his sight.

"Here..." His voice wavered. "Read it... you’ll understand."

You glanced down at the letter and immediately felt your face burn. The handwriting was unmistakably yours—so full of emotions, so full of youth. You skimmed the first few lines, wincing a little.

"Okay, okay... uhh... Choso, I—" You made it a few sentences in before you felt the need to physically cringe. "Oh, no."

You cleared your throat. "Let’s see here... ‘My dearest Choso, your presence fills my heart with a warmth so pure, a fire so gentle. Your love is the light that guides me in the darkest of times. I am forever enchanted by your tenderness...’"

You froze, the back of your neck prickling with embarrassment. “Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself. “What... what was I even saying here?”

Choso, still looking like he was on the verge of another round of tears, nodded seriously. "Yeah, exactly. It’s... it’s beautiful, right? Your words… your love..."

You gave him a wide-eyed look. "Beautiful?! Choso, baby, this is... so cringey! This is—you—this is... I... nooooooo." You threw the letter down onto the table in sheer dramatic agony. “I literally cannot believe I wrote this to you. Why would I—why would I say that?!” You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you dramatically flopped forward. “I’m a monster. I should never be allowed to write anything ever again. That is so... so embarrassing.”

Choso was still staring at you, eyes wide, clearly not understanding your level of discomfort. “But... I loved it. I love it. I loved the way you saw me then... you really felt that way about me?”

You groaned, covering your face in your hands, your voice muffled. “Yes, but god, I was so dramatic! So cheesy! Like, ugh! Look, ‘your presence fills my heart with warmth’?” You could feel yourself melting from the inside out. “Who even talks like that? It’s like I was writing for a novel.”

“But I... I liked it,” Choso said quietly, his voice filled with a sweetness that nearly undid you. “I liked how much you loved me. I didn’t even know it at the time, but... it meant everything to me.”

You blinked, glancing at him through your fingers. He looked so sincere—and that only made the cringe worse.

You sighed dramatically, still half-buried in your hands. “Choso, I swear, I’m literally going to die of secondhand embarrassment.”

He tilted his head, that same soft, patient look in his eyes as he reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think you get it. I’m so happy that you loved me like that. It’s... perfect. It’s you, and it’s real. And even if it’s cheesy... it makes me feel like the luckiest man alive.”

You finally peeked out from your hands, looking at him with a mix of fondness and absolute horror. “You’re too sweet. I’m dying. You’re gonna make me melt into a puddle of shame.”

“I don’t mind if you melt... as long as I get to hold the pieces of you after.” Choso grinned, his soft, sad little smile turning into something mischievous.

“Okay, okay, stop! You can’t just say stuff like that after I’ve shown you my deep, emotional self-doubt!” You sat up, pushing at his chest playfully. “I’ll die if you keep making me feel things after the disaster of a letter I wrote!”

Choso chuckled softly, but you could see the tenderness in his gaze. “I don’t care if it’s dramatic. I love it. I love you, even more than I loved that letter.”

You slumped back in your chair, finally letting out a breath, though your heart was still pounding a little too fast. “You’re going to be the end of me, I swear.”

Choso’s grin softened into something more sincere, and he reached out to gently pull you close, his hands holding you tight, as if to shield you from any more cringe.

“Maybe it’s dramatic, but I’d rather you be dramatic than not love me at all.” His voice was quiet, full of something vulnerable. “And I’d never stop loving you, no matter how cheesy you get.”

You buried your face in his chest, trying not to think about the letter—or your poor, poor, dramatic younger self.

"You're impossible," you muttered, but there was no bite in it. You couldn’t stay mad at him—not when he was holding you like this, his warmth wrapping around you.

Choso just chuckled softly. "I’m not the one who wrote that letter, sweetheart. You were the impossible one."

Shiu Kong was going through some files in the home office, the flicker of a late afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the scattered paperwork.

He was getting a little frustrated, squinting at the documents, trying to locate the one he needed for a client’s case. His fingers flipped through stacks, his mind focused, until—whoops—he accidentally knocked over a pile of papers, and something unexpected fell out from the top.

It was an envelope. A familiar, old envelope with your handwriting on it.

His heart skipped a beat. "Wait... is this—?"

He gently picked it up, almost afraid to open it, yet unable to resist. He recognized the handwriting immediately—it was from a long time ago. Way before the two of you had gotten married. His mind raced as he slowly tore open the seal.

He started reading, and had to stop himself from audibly cackling.

The words were so you—so full of love and warmth, but also... a little bit of that cringey youthful romanticism that made him smile despite himself. You'd written it when you were still dating, back when he was just “Shiu” and not husband. And yet, every line, every word, made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

You had written about him like he was some sort of prince, some otherworldly figure—a knight in shining armor. "The way you make me feel... like no one else could ever compare... your strength and your heart both captivate me in ways I never thought possible..."

The more he read, the more he felt like he was floating. Was this really how you had felt back then? Was this really how you still felt now?

"Oh my god...," he muttered under his breath, practically glowing with pride.

Meanwhile, you were coming back from the kitchen, wiping your hands on a dish towel when you saw Shiu standing in the office doorway, a smirk on his face, that sparkle in his eye that meant trouble.

He looked at you, holding the letter out between his fingers like some kind of treasure.

“Shiu, what are you doing with that?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your face was already red from the pure horror of it all.

He held the letter out toward you. “Well, well, little wife, seems you’ve written me a letter... a very romantic letter, if I may say so.”

Your stomach dropped. No. No no no nooooooo.

“Shiu,” you groaned, dramatically clutching your chest like you were about to faint. “Please... for the love of everything, don’t.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with mock innocence. “What? You don’t want me to read it aloud? Because I was about to tell you how much you loved me in your own words.” He dramatically cleared his throat. “‘The way you make me feel… like no one else could ever compare. Your strength and your heart captivate me in ways I never thought possible.’"

You froze, your face burning. “Shiu, stop it! God, I should never have written that!” You covered your face with both hands. “Now you’re gonna have this massive ego boost, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

His grin was practically glowing. “Oh, I don’t know... I think I could get used to being praised like that.”

“No,” you said with a dramatic sigh, turning away from him, though you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed and amused. “This is terrible. Why would I even say something like that? I was so young and so—ugh—dramatic.”

He stepped closer, putting a hand on your shoulder to turn you around. “Don’t you dare act like you weren’t swooning over me,” he teased, his voice soft and full of affection. “I mean, look at this—‘your strength and your heart.’ You thought I was some kind of god, huh?”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands again. “I didn’t think you were a god! Okay, maybe I did a little, but... please, just let it go!” You shook your head, your voice muffled through your fingers. “I was literally just trying to write something cute for you and... now you’re gonna be insufferable.”

He gave a playful chuckle and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “Insufferable? I think I’m quite tolerable when it comes to my adoring wife.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re so full of it, Shiu.”

His grin softened, and he kissed your forehead. “But you still love me, right? Even though I know just how much you adored me.”

You dramatically sighed again, but there was no real bite behind it. “Fine, fine. But don’t get too cocky, okay?”

Shiu's arms tightened around you, and he laughed softly. “You have no idea how much I love you, sweetheart. This letter just reminded me how lucky I am to have you.”

Your heart swelled, despite the embarrassment still gnawing at you. “I can’t believe you’re making me relive my past awkwardness, though. Honestly, I might just... pass out from secondhand embarrassment. Please, Shiu. Please just... pretend you didn’t read it.”

He leaned back, gazing at you with a teasing smile, clearly enjoying the torment. “Never. Now, every time I look at you, I’ll just think about how much you adored me... and I’ll never let you forget it.”

You buried your face in his chest, half-laughing and half-groaning in pure exasperation. “You’re such a brat, you know that?”

He kissed the top of your head, the fondness in his gaze turning soft. “And you love it, don’t lie.”

You sighed again, but this time, it was full of fond affection. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

And despite your earlier regret, you couldn’t help but feel warm inside. The letter may have been cheesy, and Shiu’s ego may have just gained a massive boost, but in the end, all that really mattered was that you were both here, together, laughing at something so silly.

That was love. And maybe... just maybe... you wouldn't mind writing a few more dramatic letters in the future.

It had been a long day.

Hiromi was hunched over his desk, the soft click of his pen as he filled out legal papers filling the quiet apartment. His mind was far from the case at hand, though- it was lost in thoughts of his beautiful wife, who was cooking dinner in the next room.

His thoughts were interrupted by the rustling of paper. He frowned as his hand brushed against something odd—a few pieces of folded paper that had somehow slipped between the case files. Curious, he unfolded one of the papers, thinking it might be something related to the case. What he found, though, made his breath catch in his throat.

It was a letter.

Not just any letter — a love letter. His wife’s handwriting.

The paper was old, the edges slightly curled from time, but it was unmistakably the words of someone who had poured their heart out. And as his eyes skimmed over the words, his stomach dropped.

The letter was filled with descriptions of him.

“I love how your smile reaches your eyes…” “How are you always so handsome? I could never get over how perfect you look even after a long day…"

The more he read, the tighter his chest felt. He couldn’t help but chuckle at how you had described him — like the knight in shining armor, but in such an innocent, endearing way that it made his heart ache.

And then there was a drawing at the back. Of his profile. A very detailed, very beautiful drawing of his face, his features so carefully captured that it almost felt like a gift all on its own.

“God, you were so sweet back then,” he murmured, running a hand over his face.

He could hear you humming in the kitchen, unaware of the storm you had just caused in his mind. He couldn’t just leave it there. No. He was going to show you how much he loved you. After all, you thought he was handsome even then. Surely, you deserved a reminder that he thought the same about you — and that he had been crazy about you for years.

He stood up, the letter clutched tightly in his hand, and made his way into the kitchen, his heart racing. You looked up, your expression warm and inviting, a little confused when you saw him holding the letter.

“Hiromi?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step toward you, and then another, until he was close enough to feel the warmth of your body. Without saying a word, he kissed you. Slow at first, as though savoring the moment. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved over yours with more urgency.

You blinked, surprised at the intensity of the kiss. Your hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, pressing into the solid muscle beneath his shirt. When he pulled away, his lips were still a breath away from yours, eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hiromi?” you asked again, slightly breathless now. “What’s going on? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he held up the letter. “I found this,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “And I have to say… I’m feeling a little… inspired.”

You froze. Your eyes darted to the paper in his hand, your stomach doing a flip. You recognized the handwriting immediately.

“Oh God,” you muttered, cheeks flushing. “I was so dramatic back then…”

Hiromi smirked.

“I don’t know about ‘dramatic,’ but I’d say ‘adorable’ fits better.” His thumb ran over the edges of the letter, his gaze flickering between your face and the paper. “I think I need to show you how much I love you too. Since, you know, you think I’m handsome.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, his lips were on yours again, this time with an intensity that made your heart beat erratically in your chest. His hands slid down your sides, pulling you closer until there was no space between you two.

“Hiromi,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the collar of his shirt, but he wasn’t hearing you. He was too busy kissing you like it was the only thing that mattered.

“Is that what you thought back then?” His voice was low, almost a growl, as his lips trailed down your neck, making you shiver. “You think I’m handsome, huh?”

Your face was burning, your chest rising and falling in time with the heavy breaths escaping your lips.

“I—I mean, yeah… I did—do.”

He smiled against your skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to pull you even closer, the heat of his body making everything inside you melt.

“Then I guess I’ll have to thank you.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips were on yours again, this time, even more demanding.

You knew what was coming next, and frankly, you were already done resisting. You had already called him handsome so many times in that damn letter—seven years ago—and now he was going to show you exactly what he thought about that.

He pressed you back against the counter, the intensity of his kiss never wavering as his hands moved with practiced ease.

“You never stop flattering me, do you?” he teased, his lips brushing against your ear. “I will take that as a challenge.”

Your breath hitched as his hands worked their magic, making you forget about everything except him. You had written it years ago, but tonight, in this moment, you were about to feel every word you had written — and more.

And as his lips found yours again, the room seemed to shrink.

A/N: idk, i think this was funny, maybe it was a little ooc for some of em... alSO LOOK I WROTE FOR CHOSO!!! anyways... yeah! (also someone sent me a hilarious ask abt how the jjk men would react to reader throwing themselves out of a moving car during an argument and thats fucking hilarious im writing it rn)

Masterlist.

:)

[rie-092]

Hi, i love ypur dinamic.

When I read lycris number 8 I inmediatly tough of Claude de Alber Obelia.

Maybe where the reader is someone whi he grow up and it could be Athanasio or Felix Fiance/wife <3

EVENT'S ENTRY OO1 : POSSESSION

[ yandere! claude de alger obelia ]

note: here's the link about the event! i love this prompt. this would be fun!

okay, let's start with the time before everything became messy.

there is one reason why you became anastacius's wife despite the two of you being way too young to get married. they wanted to tie your family down to the imperial family and anastacius was the one who acted as a shackle to make sure that your family will stay still and be the imperial family's loyal dog.

but honestly, being in the imperial family wasn't that bad. because you have anastacius and his younger brother, claude who was still young that time.

the first time you met claude, there's only one thing that came into your mind. why in the hell did they abuse this cute little creature?

that's the reason how you and anastacius became claude's salvation inside the imperial palace.

you always plays with him, spend time with him, hell, you even go far on firing those maids who put sand on claude's soup (you're the crown princess and you have the every rights to do so, duh.)

but there is still this small doubt inside his mind. that this peace won't stay forever and there is a high chance that you will change once you grew up and realize that he was lacking in many aspects.

and that doubt was only fueled when anastacius slowly changed.

and anastacius started isolating you. and he started prohibiting you as well as claude from visiting each other. and that's how everything became messy.

you see, this is the main reason why claude lost it. the gentle facade that he created for you and anastacius. his confidence, his emotions, his everything as well as his mother.

but don't worry, this wasn't his boiling point. he still had lady margarita (forgot her name, my baddd). while you escape time to time to spend time with him.

he remembered back then, before his big brother's betrayal. when the two of you escaped the palace to play. he remembered it clearly, the time you said that you were on his side. and you will remain as his friend forever.

unknown to you, this only fuels the unhealthy feelings that he suppress for years. because hell, you were his big brother's wife!

and congrats! now you had a possessive and obsessive yandere who sees love as ownership! and damn, he will not let you escape, after all, you were his right?

and fast forward to the time where claude discovered lady margarita and anastacius' betrayal. instead of feeling betrayed, this man was delighted as hell.

he can still clearly remember how he sent you a letter using his brother's name and inviting you to the room where lady margarita and anastacius was doing the deed.

he remembered how excited he was seeing the horror in your eyes.

ahh, don't blame him. you left him no choice after all. because he knew that deep inside, you started on having a feeling towards his older brother.

and it's a big no because you were his.

and now, after all the shits happened. and he became the emperor. you suddenly said that you will now go back to your family?

no, no. how can you say that towards him, (name)? after all he did to keep you by his side? after all the blood that he spilled for you?

don't be surprise if you woke up in your palace, chained in your bed. and even had a collar with his name on it.

you made him do this so basically, this wasn't his fault. you made him insecure, you made him panic. so, technically, you deserve this.

oh, by the way. starving yourself to death won't work against claude because he won't hesitate to force you on eating. or even killing your family in front of you.

just give up, ( name ). because you were his as much as he was yours.

now, be a good girl and help him raise athanasia well, okay? <3

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

“ ahh, dear. stop being annoying or i would be the one to hold you down and put this damn food in your mouth. hmm? you don't like that right? now be a good girl and listen to me, okay? ”

[madwomansapologist]

★彡 synopsis: kento wasn't to blame. it was never his intention to hate you. the blame was completely on you for being the most irritating omega he has ever met. kento's only fault was his inability to ignore your presence. ₊⊹ masterlist

content warnings: no curse au, omegaverse, alpha!kento x omega!reader, co-workers, meet cute, hate at first sight, one sided (delusional) hate, scent blockers.

word count: [1.3K]

First day into elementary school, blonde hair combed to exhaustion and round glasses with thick lenses, Kento wrote down everything that sounded important. Languages are ancient, his meticulous handwriting occupied the very first line of the notebook. Black ink, underlined twice.

Annoyingly meticulous handwriting, since Kento remember being mocked by a taller boy for ripping out one of the pages after a misspell. He also remembers that it was something about words as evidence of how long mankind survived—by the time he didn’t know what mankind meant. His teacher was too old and far too poetic, but learning new words made Kento excited for mondays.

Weeks later, Kento had a secret: he loved studying. He despised school around his friends, but Kento always knew what chapter the teacher finished off last class or what pages to read for the next exam. First week of school meant discovering the semester’s mandatory reading—which Kento would devour in a month.

His family praised him for being smart, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Kento wouldn’t believe them once they started saying words can lose meaning if not used correctly. That’s the opposite of what his literature teacher spent the entire year explaining. Kento has his notebook to prove it.

“If they did”, Kento reasoned with his dad as if he was the adult. “Not a single language would have survived. You yell my name all the time and I still answer. It has the same meaning it ever did.”

“Some words, if used too often, will lose meaning inside of your heart”, his dad sighed. “Hate is one of those words. One you use way too much, puppy.”

That made Kento snarl. “I’m eight and a half!”

“On that we won’t argue”, his father grinned. Messing up the hair Kento combed for ages, he went back to slicing vegetables. Without washing his hand first, Kento quietly judged him. “You’re just like your mom. I bet you’ll be an alpha.”

Kento pretended to agree since he planned on not eating green bell pepper at dinner. His father should be grateful that he isn’t an adult already, because Adult Kento wouldn’t fear disgusting food as punishment for saying the truth. Adult Kento wouldn’t be ashamed for being right.

As if presenting as an omega or beta would stop him from questioning what doesn’t make sense. And that whole story about losing meaning inside his heart? If I forget the meaning of a word, Kento cursed inside his bedroom, I can just read a dictionary.

His father was being unfair and Kento absolutely hates that.

He thought adults didn’t need to agree with illogical arguments, but years later Adult Kento was made aware of his past self’s mistake. The countless times he heard that hate is such a strong word without uttering a word. One that he shouldn’t be so casual about. Otherwise, they always warn, it’ll turn meaningless.

Needless to say, Kento hates illogical arguments. And he hates his neighbor’s predisposition to loud music. Not charging his phone at night, working overtime, stumbling on a stair at night. Green bell pepper, as one does. And you. Recently, Kento hates you the most.

Better wage, same workhours, different boss: it was a good offer. Good enough for Kento to submit his resignation letter and start as an accountant in this firm. Annoying tasks, tense meetings, coffee machine out of order: with that salary, nothing would be a problem for Kento. But you had to ruin it.

After a quick meeting with the manager and being introduced to the financial team, Kento placed his briefcase on the desk designated for him. That is, on what little space was left for him. Kento sighed for the first time that day.

Frames lacking pictures, empty perfume flask, crumpled post its. There was a cup filled with pens and a hairbrush, but most of them were all over the place. Who even needs that many pens nowadays? Who even uses pens nowadays? The pen-hairbrush cup even had lipstick marks on.

Kento sighed for the second time when he looked at the desk besides his.

It’s clear his colleague doesn’t know the basics of a keyboard, considering the bag pressing P onto an open document. Neither do they understand that one shouldn’t pile used plastic cups and folded science magazines on top of a printer. A vase of magnolias was a surprise amidst that mess, forgotten once his right eyelid twitched at the sight of acetone and nail polish.

“Morning.” Trying his best to contain a snarl, a low voice scared Kento off his thoughts. “You’re the new accountant, right?”

He expected you to be embarrassed but turning around all Kento saw was an omega far more interest on her coffee than his face. As if something with that much whipped cream could be considered coffee. Staring at your eyelids, he didn’t notice the third sigh.

What he noticed was your fully exposed throat. No adhesive patch over your glands or collar around your neck. Golden bracelets covered part of your inner wrists but the pendants tinkling only brough more attention to your bare glands.

Thankfully, there was no nauseating scent—a side effect of his suppressants. Your scent wasn’t absent, only hidden by a faint touch of magnolia and acetone on the air. For that he was grateful. It would feel like a bad omen to throw up on his first day at this job.

Kento could never go out like that. His dark blue collar covered the base of his neck, both glands fully concealed as thick bracelets did the same beneath his sleeves. He had spares on his briefcase and a flask of black pepper perfume―the strongest Kento ever found. He would never go out like that.

That doesn’t mean he judges you for not using anything to cover your scent, specially since it’s delicate enough to go unnoticed. Kento uses them because he wants to cover himself, anyone that doesn’t desire the same shouldn’t do the same. Still, he would bet money that you simply forgot to put them. And for that Kento does judge you.

“Yes, I am”, he bent down, trying to remain polite. “Nanami Kento.”

“No need for formalities”, you yawned, gesturing for him to stood up. Posture fixed, Kento watched you unlock the second drawer of your desk. In quick movements, you put all your mess inside the drawer and locked it once more.

Sitting down, you smiled. It reached your eyes, baring your fangs to him. “Welcome.” After telling him your name, you took a sip from the so-called coffee and grabbed your bag. “I’m here if you need any help.”

Kento made a silent promise to never ever come to you if he needed help.

Erasing everything your bag pressed, you searched for something inside it and quickly forgot about Kento’s existence. He grabbed a few ignored crumbled papers and, after finding a trash can, came back to his desk to find you holding a headphone.

Not only you didn’t care about the organization of your workplace, but you were unable of apologizing or even collecting all your things on your own. And as if it wasn’t enough, you offered help just to immediately make sure Kento wouldn’t be able of talking to you.

Adult Kento realized that, to a certain extent, his father was right. Inside his heart, the word hate lost its meaning. You and loud music can’t be described with the same word. Maybe he really shouldn’t have used it so often…

No. Kento realized that wasn’t the problem. This isn’t about a word losing meaning, but simply about it not being the correct choice to describe what Kento feels about you.

Within knowing you for less than two minutes, he knew. Kento loathed you.

What a nice alpha, you put the noise canceling headset so you could finish the presentation for today’s meeting. Making a mental note to search on your folders for the introductory material to send him, you smiled once more. He didn’t even made me feel bad about all this mess. I’ll get him some coffee later.

TAGLIST: @aviesnapkindoodles @starry-eyed--dreamer

want to be tagged? tell me!

all rights reserved to © madwomansapologist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To Those Who Wait 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn’t resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

'Morning, sunshine.' 

The sarcasm burns into every letter. You stick your tongue out and type your reply. You lay in the dim of your drawn curtains, still half-nestled in your bed. 

'Morning, sparky.' 

Curtis' response makes you giggle. 'Sparky?' 

No emojis. He's not the type. You laze despite the minutes ticking by. Your thumbs flick over the digital keys. 

'Give it but can't take it.' 

The next bubble has you breathless; 'oh I'm more than willing to give'. Oh, okay. You don't know how to answer that. You send a wink emoticon then prompty groan at your own cluelessness. 

You lock the screen and sit up. Is this what life is? Torturous obligation and cringey efforts to be normal. You want to send a message telling Curtis it's okay if he just gives up. You're a mess.  

You drag yourself out of your room. As you try to empty the reusable filter for the coffee grounds, you spill it everwhere. You need to start emptying it after use. Another missed checkbox. 

Your phone buzzes again. Great. You're sure it's just him calling you lame. You snatch the cell and go to swipe away the message but it isn't Curtis. 

WhatsApp. 

Hm. Maybe another recruiter cold messaging? 

You tap with your thumb, resolved to finally delete the app and wipe the slate clean. You just need to forget that mistake. If you can. 

The message waiting for you doesn’t bode well. 

‘Feeling thirsty yet?’ 

You stare at it. You can’t be sure it’s Hugh. The number isn’t the same, you would recognise the last few digits at least. The coffee machine spits out the last few droplets. You turn to grab your cup, the phone buzzing in your hand. 

You read with dread, ‘ah come on, just one more go.’ 

It has to be him. Who else could it be? What else could they be referring to? 

A video pops up and plays automatically. You click it to make it bigger as you try to make out what’s going on. Your heart drops and your phone nearly does too. You stare at the recording of yourself on the bed, undressing as you huddle near the top of the hotel bed. 

A cold splash sends a chill through you. You remember him turning on the speaker. He must have connected his phone but then you didn’t see what he did with it after that. You didn’t think to pay attention to that, you were too swept up in your own catastrophe. 

‘Let’s talk.’ 

Those two words spike your panic. What did you do? You’re so stupid and yet how are you surprised? Nothing ever goes right. How dare you even try to believe things could get better? That maybe Curtis could be something more than a disappointment. 

Loser. Loser. Loser! 

You want to bang your head on the counter. You want to scream. You want to crumple into a heap in cry. 

You don’t do anything of that. You simply key into the screen; ‘why?’ 

He sends a laughing emoji. Then a real message. ‘That’s what we’re going to talk about.’ 

Your eyes glaze with tears and you shake your head. He’s taunting you. Toying with you. This is all just an ego stroke for some narcissist that gets off on himself. Why else would he do what he does? Well, who are you to judge? You paid for his services. 

‘That cafe near your office. 12:30.’ 

You toss the phone on the counter like it’s acid. What the hell? How does he know where you work? How does he know there’s a cafe there? No, no, no. How does he know anything about you? Why does he care? 

You pace around hectically. You can’t stay still. You scratch your skin as if you might peel it off. An unbearable itch burns through you. You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a wretch. 

You reel in your doom, just enough to retrieve the cell from the floor. You shakily send a thumbs up. That’s all you can manage. Not a good job, just a confirmation. You’ll be there because you have no other choice. 

⛅

Your morning is frantic. You have a thousand things to do at once. The phone calls are endless and Shania double-booked another reservation. Don’t you always get the happy job of informing the guests they have to rebook. Fun, fun, fun. 

The demanding customers are the least of your problems. Work at the Travel Agency can be downright agony but right now you prefer it to the alternative. It’s the rare instance where you curse the clock for going too fast. 

Usually, a trip down to the cafe is your relief. An indulgence on an especially stressful day. That day is more nerve-wracking than any but you don’t think a dose of caffeine would make it any better. You’re already rattling through to your bones. 

You reluctantly leave your desk. Your phone is firmly in your purse, where it’s been all day. You don’t want to look at it, even if it’s Curtis making it buzz. You just want to shut down. 

You take the stairs. You don’t want to be around other people though you realise the cafe will be busy with the lunchtime rush. You wonder if that’s deliberate. You get to the ground floor and make your way outside. 

You stop before the cafe. You peer along the tinted windows and your eyes stop on the singular familiar figure. There he is. Hugh. Somehow, he looks different than that night. How, you can’t say. He’s wearing a similar swear, a light robin’s egg blue, luxurious even. The sweater can’t be cheap given the small logo embroidered on one side of the chest. 

You enter and skip the line. You go straight to the table and stop behind the chair opposite...him. You cross your arms and glare at him. Hugh casually lifts his chin and smiles up at you. Your forehead wrinkles in disgust. 

“You look wound tight,” he sits up completely, the last consonant sharp. “Need help with that?” 

Your nostrils flare and you drag out the chair. You drop into the seat and push your elbows into the table. You lean across it and snarl, “what do you want?” 

He snorts, “I like that about. Always straight to the point... even when you have no idea what you’re doing.” 

Your cheeks tingle with heat and you look away. You push your shoulders back and shift in discomfort. Even as the bruises fade, if you think hard enough, you can feel that night still. 

“That boyfriend know about me yet?” He sips from the tall porcelain cup in front of him. You shake your head and put your eyes to the table. 

“Aw, well, I can’t blame you,” he clinks the cup down. “He wouldn’t be able to handle the competition. Would he?” 

“I have to get back to work so whatever you want, just say it.” 

He chortles again and hums, “I said I wanna talk. We’re talking. Isn’t it nice?” 

“I don’t have money if that’s what you’re getting at--” 

“Money? Hm, that’s real funny. Oh, you think... you think I’m desperate? I wanted some Balenciaga.” He flicks a finger up and down the mug handle. “Thanks for that, by the way.” 

You huff and shake your head, “and it’s better that you get off on embarrassing me? Well, I hope you’re enjoying it because you’ve done a great job.” 

You peek up at him and his grin slants. He leans an elbow on the table as he sits forward. His eyes crinkle as he considers you. 

“It’s not about money, not even about a joke,” he says. “It’s the way you squeezed me. The way you whined for me,” his voice lowers to a sultry rasp. “The way you drained me fucking dry. You know how many princesses I’ve had on my dick and they just lay there and--” He makes a motion with his hand, “dead fish.” 

You frown, “you’re gross.” 

“I’m secure in myself,” he argues. “Real rich of you to act like you didn’t like it when you came all over my fucking fingers. Didn’t even take much.” 

You rub your neck and stare out the window. Your stomach is boiling. You just want him to get his kicks and go. 

“It’s how I know you didn’t lie. About being a virgin, or whatever,” he says. “You know, you could’ve sold that yourself but I guess you were having some trouble finding a buyer--” 

“My lunch is almost over,” you grit out. “Get to it, Hugh.” 

He laughs louder than before. He scoops up his cup and drains it. “You’re so funny. Really. You make me laugh.” You glower and his smirks widens. “Alright, alright. Pretty simple, you probably already know what I want. Just one more time. I just need to feel it again. That grip--” He makes a fist and you scoff. 

“I told you I’m not interested--” 

“No? Not interested at all in your porn debut,” he taps his phone and you reach across to swat his hand back. 

“Why did you do that?” You hiss. 

“Woah, I gotta be safe. I record in case something goes wrong,” he pushes your hand away. “Lucky me, it went so fucking right. You know how many times I’ve watched it?” 

You groan and rest your head in your hands. You’re fucked. Utterly and totally. Likely literally. 

“Tonight,” he says. “Tell the goth boy you’re doing overtime.” 

You sit back and stare at him. Your chest pits and your eyes glimmer. It shouldn’t hurt so much but it does. You don’t want to lose Curtis, not yet. 

This is exactly why you didn’t want to get attached. 

☕

You don't text Curtis. You can't bring yourself to do it. You just leave him hanging. He'll probably assume your busy. You're sure he has something better to do. 

Just like most things in your life, it's over before it begins. Why did you let yourself believe it could be anything? After tonight, it definitely won't be. 

That time is different. You don't primp yourself or preen over whether you look good. Instead, you toss all those things you bought to do yourself up the first time in the trash. Everything but the condoms. 

You pace restlessly around your apartment. That's another violation. You offered another hotel. 'Your place.' The argument was short. Fuck. 

He can't come here. He can't do this. You can't do this. Not again. 

Your legs wobble and you teeter to the couch. You sit down and fold over your knees. You can feel the dull pain already. Back in that room, bawling as he pumps into you, scraping out your guts. 

You're going to be sick! 

You lurch up and run to the bathroom. You spew into the toilet and pant through the acidic saliva left in your mouth. You shut the lid and flush. 

You should leave the residue in your mouth. It might repulse Hugh enough to get rid of him. Yet if you don't rinse out the acidic flavour, you'll just hurl again. 

You brush your teeth slowly then look at yourself in the mirror. You look scared. You are but you look utterly terrified. Why is this happening to you? 

You're not stupid enough to think you're special. No, you're weak. He's a shark and he smelled blood in the water. He set you up for this. You were too nervous, too desperate, and too stupid to see through his ploy. 

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it, even as it thrums against the table noisily. If it's Curtis, you might just cry. 

The door buzzer chirps. Right. You push away from the sink and shudder.  

Your feet hit the floor clumsily and you walk as if you're wadding through thick mud. You hit the button as your stomach churns again. His voice adds to the broil of sickness. 

"Baby, I'm here." 

You press the button down without as response. You stagger away and linger by the door. You hear him coming down the hall. You open the door at the first knock. 

"Someone's eager," he snickers. 

You don't say a word. You step back. He enters and whistles. 

"Not bad. Cozy," he says. "Bouta get real cozy, huh?" 

You shut the door and lock it. He turns and examines the walls. You stare at him. 

"Jeez, baby, you got a knife or something? Looking like you're about to crack up over there," he taunts. 

That might have been a good idea if you weren't nervous of stabbing yourself in an attempt. Besides, he's a lot stronger. You remember how thick his muscle was, how easily he ignored your pleas. 

"Hospitable too," he sniffs and slips off his velvet loafers. "Whatcha got going on?" He struts further into the apartment. "Wine? Beer?" 

He goes to fridge and pops it open. You loom like a shadow against the wall as you tiptoe after him. He sucks his teeth as he examines the contents on the racks. 

"Ugh, boring," he remarks.  

"Don't drink," you croak. 

"You didn't seem to mind the wine," he shuts the fridge without his bounty. "Fuck, well, it'll be good. You'll like it better sober. Although I do prefer a sloppy fuck." 

You grimace. He makes no pretense as he continues his exploration. He strides past the living room and head through your bedroom door. 

"No cute jammies tonight, huh?" He calls through. 

You waft into the doorway like a ghost. That's what you are. You are hollowed out. You resign yourself, surrender yourself to ruin. It's all over. 

Goodbye, Curtis. 

"Looks like you don't got much in mind but don't worry, baby, I planned ahead," he faces you with a wink. "Wanna try something new?" 

No. You don’t want to do any of this. You glower. 

“Shit, baby, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have to wipe that look off your face... along with something else,” he grabs his crotch and growls. “Hard already, you know? Just thinking about what I’m about to do.” 

Your lip curls as disgust crawls up your back. “Just get it over with,” you murmur. 

“Trying,” his eyes flash dangerously. The retort makes you think of Curtis but he never spoke to you so harshly. 

You step out of the doorway before you can fall apart. Your breath clouds in your chest until it feels like someone’s standing on you. You let it out slowly as plays with the black cat figuring on your bookshelf. He scoffs, unimpressed. 

“So,” he faces you and tugs at the hem of his sweater, inching it up, “why are your clothes still on?” 

You glance away angrily. “Your phone goes in the drawer,” you point to the night stand. 

“Pfft, come on. I already got the good shots. What’s another dirty movie, baby? I gotta say, you look good on film--” 

“Put it in the drawer,” you insist.  

“Damn, don’t gotta be so mean, baby.” He snickers and wiggles his phone at you then puts it in the night stand. 

“I’m not your joke, so stop laughing at me.” 

“Lighten up. I’m not laughing at you, baby. I just...” He pauses as he pulls his sweater over his head. He wears a thin white tank underneath, his reddish chest hair peeking out the top. “How many women do you think hold my attention once I’ve been in ‘em? Let’s just say, we both had our first that night.” 

“Don’t try to flatter me,” you snip. 

“Girl,” he squares his shoulder and the humour flickers from his expression, “get your clothes off.” 

Your mouth twitches. You take a breath and turn away. You look down at the wrinkled blouse you wore to work. You’re sure he’s full of hot air, he’s just mocking you, especially since he’s wearing Calvin Klein and you’re in Walmart clearance. 

You unbutton it as you hear his clothing rustle softly. A shiver speckles across your back as you throw it in your hamper. Your pants go just as easily as you push down the elastic waistband. Another wave of nausea threatens but you keep it down. 

You unhook your bra as your bed squeaks. You keep your eyes down and step out of your panties. You pause as you dangle them over the basket. You blink away the heat in your eyes. Why did you run away from Curtis all those times? Why does it have to be Hugh? 

You spin and march over to him. He sits on the end of the bed, naked, knees wide. You reach for him, intent to be done with him, but he catches your hands and holds them away from him. 

“Uh uh, you really think it’s going to be that easy,” he sneers. “Oh, baby, I didn’t get any of that mouth.” 

Your lip quivers and your nose scrunches, “what?” 

“Don’t worry, it’s fun, baby. I can train you up for the sad boy,” he chuckles. 

“Shut up,” you twist away from him. “Don’t talk about him.” 

“Aw, what’sa matter? He don’t make you wet like I do, huh?” 

You stomp away and snatch the box of condoms from behind your dresser. You take one and bring it to him. He snorts. 

“You like the taste of rubber?” 

“Put it on.” 

“You think I’m dirty? You saw my test results.” 

“I don’t care,” you shove it into his chest. 

“Be a lot nicer if you tasted the real thing,” he huffs. 

You cross your arms and wait. He rolls his eyes and peels the wrapper open. He pinches the thick ring then presses the rubber to his tip. 

“Well, get on your knees. You’re the one so anxious to get this done with. Is the boy toy on his way? Scared he’ll catch—woah!”  

He lets go of himself and the condom rolls up just to his tip. He catches your hand before you can make contact with his cheek. “I told you not to talk about him.” 

“I like this zest,” He stands and raises your arms above you, “but you won’t like mine.” 

He spins you and pushes you onto the bed. You fall heavily and bounce, your teeth snapping down on your tongue. You whimper as he slides his fingers around his dick, pushing the rubber to his base. He climbs up on his knees, straddling you as he advances up your body. 

You push on his thighs as he gets higher. Once more, he has your wrists. He clasps them against the mattress, locking them above your head. You flail your legs and he laughs again. His other hand goes to his length and he strokes himself as he presses the lubed condom to your lips. 

“Open up for daddy,” he jeers and pushes until he meets your teeth. “I feel the hint of a nip and I’ll skip the kitty and go straight for the peach. Understand that, baby girl?” 

Your eyes widen as your bottom puckers. Your fear radiates from your gaze and draws another pleased hum from him. You open your mouth and close your eyes, gagging as the rubber smears lube across your tongue. 

He angles as he dips down, touching your reflex as he invades your throat. You choke and spasm under him as he wiggles his hips, testing your limits. You can’t breathe. 

He rears and you heave in before he blocks your airway again. He groans and tilts again. Thrusting in and out as you writhe. Tears crest along the brims of your eyes and your saliva smears around your mouth. Each time, he pushes a little further. 

“Fuck, baby, how is it just as good as the pussy?” He purrs as he clutches your hair, rocking over you as the smell of the condom adds to your revulsion. 

He pumps into you until you’re raw with agony. He lets go of your hands and you push on his hips, begging for him to stop. He doesn’t care. He just keeps going. He quakes and groan, grasping the blankets around your head as he fucks you your head into the bed. 

“Gahhh,” he pulls out of you so quickly you gag. 

You cover your mouth as he bounces over you. He rolls the condom off and keeps stroking himself. You’re surprised as he spurts his cum onto you, the slimy mess string over your knuckles and onto your nose and cheeks. You put your hand out to shield yourself as he grunts and sits back on his heels. 

“The hell?” You gasp. 

“I couldn’t fucking hold it, woulda split the damn thing in half,” he puffs as he cups his balls. “Speaking of splitting things in half--” 

You lift yourself on your elbows, trying to drag yourself out from under him. He snags you around your ribs and pushes you flat. “Where are you going?” 

“You just--” 

“Finished? No, that’s round one,” he snickers. “You don’t think I got a few tricks? I mean, a blue pill keeps me in business.” 

You curl your lip again and he laughs even louder. You glance up at the night table at the box of condoms. He sighs. 

“Fucking tight ass,” he hisses. “Want me to see if that’s literal?” You look at him and bare your teeth. He waves you off and climbs off you to grab the box. “Whatever. At least you had the good sense to get good ones.” 

You slowly sit up and wipe your face. He leans on one knee and slides on another condom. He quivers and exhales through his nose. He grabs your shoulder and nudges you. 

“Wouldn’t mind it from the back,” he says. 

You resist and he snarls, “relax. If I go through the back door, I might not get it out with you being so uptight.” He pinches your nipple cruelly. “Go on, show Ransom that booty.” You tilt your head curiously. Ransom? His eyes dart away, “you gonna listen to daddy or you want some spankings while I’m back there?” 

You move reluctantly. You roll over and he grabs your hips, guiding your ass higher as he jostles behind you. He drags his hands around your ass and down your thighs, then up again. He smacks you harshly so you feel the jiggle. You yelp and he guffaws. 

“Oh, fuck, should flipped you over the first time.” He gropes your ass and rubs himself against you. 

Your insides curdle. You hide in yourself. You try not to think about reality. Not about the desecration of your home, your safe space, of the place you made all your own. Nor the same being done to your body. To your relationship. 

Whatever, it was never going to last. 

He glides down between your cheeks, lingering as if considering it. You twitch and he snorts. He trails further down and presses against your cunt. He groans as he stretches you slowly. It isn’t easier. Not better. Not like they say. 

No, they say the first time is the worst. No, this is. This is torture. This is hell. 

He leans into you, grunting as you squeeze him, as your body resists his intrusion. He bends over you, his torso flush to your back, and thrusts. He impales you complete and you cry out. You push against him as your body racks in agony. 

He pumps again and you squeal louder. Fuck. Your fingers curl until your knuckles hurt. You hang your head and shudder. He rocks into you, playing with your hair as he nuzzles your nape. He puffs into your skin and it sends a roil of disgust through you. 

You sink down until your face is in the blankets. You crush your arms beneath you and drone into the bed. He hooks his arm under you to keep your ass up, rutting faster and faster. Your flesh claps like thunder, a never-ending cacophony. 

He growls and brings a hand under your chin, then his other. You wriggle as he squeezes your face and hooks his fingers in your mouth, pulling taught your lips. You arch your back and whine as he keeps his callous pace. 

You grab onto his arms as the strain in your lips feels as if it might tear. He lifts your head and you deepen the curve in your back, trying to balance him at both ends. His nose tickles the back of your ear. 

“Yeah, baby, squeeze me just like that. Ugh, that pussy knows what it wants better than you do,” he taunts. “Ugh, you latched on tight.” 

You can’t speak, you can’t shake your head, you can’t deny him in any way. 

“You feel so good,” he snarls. “The way you go me... fuck I feel it in my gut... I’m gonna...”  

He slides his hands from your mouth and wraps his arms around you instead; one at your neck, the other around your middle. He pulls you up with him and pounds relentlessly. The bed rocks furiously beneath you as your addled voice gurgles from your throat. The headboard knocks into the wall in a frenetic tempo. 

“Yeah, so good,” he rasps between deep breaths. “So good. Never... think I’d let you go, huh?” 

You hang from his embrace. Defeated. You did this to yourself. So take it. 

[jhyoos]

Dreams Come True

Chapter 6: Unconditionally

hockeyplayer! vi x idol!reader

summary: fans find out about you and vi’s relationship, but she’s a country away

mentions: angst, panic attacks, fluff, fame au, modern au

notes: I hope y’all are bundled up for the people that are experiencing the cold front rn. And my heart goes out to everyone who lost their home from the fire in California! 🫶🩷

Getting ready for the meet and greet felt strange. From the moment you stepped into the venue, it seemed like everyone was walking on eggshells around you. Mel and the rest of your group members kept checking in, offering reassuring smiles and casual questions like, "You good? Need anything?" Even the makeup and wardrobe staff seemed overly attentive, constantly fussing over small details that normally wouldn’t have mattered. You appreciated their care—it came from a good place—but deep down, you just wanted to feel normal again, not like someone everyone had to keep an eye on.

When the time came to step out on stage, you were blown away by the turnout. The venue was packed to capacity, and even more fans crowded into standing areas, clearly having paid extra to get as close as possible. The energy was electric, and the roar of cheers when your group appeared sent a wave of warmth through you. You couldn’t help but smile as you scanned the crowd, their signs, banners, and glowing lights all meant to show love and appreciation.

The meet and greet itself went off without a hitch. Fans were respectful, kind, and incredibly enthusiastic. Each member of the group got equal attention, with fans taking time to gush over everyone’s talents and personalities. The gifts were overwhelming: stuffed animals, handmade crafts, letters, and even a few bouquets. One fan had made a scrapbook of the group’s achievements over the years, and everyone had to take a moment to admire the thought and care put into it. It was a reminder of how deeply your music touched people.

Still, there was an emptiness lingering in your chest. Vi wasn’t there. She was across the country, competing in a major hockey game. You were proud of her, of course, but you couldn’t help but miss her. It had been days since you’d last seen her, and though she tried to call or text whenever she could, it wasn’t the same.

But there wasn’t much time to dwell on it. Your schedule for the week was packed. There were acapella renditions of your debut album to rehearse and record, talk show appearances to prepare for, and photoshoots for magazines and the company’s promotional campaigns. The constant rush of activity was exhausting, but it kept your mind off things, at least for a while.

On a Saturday, your group had a gig with a popular talk show to perform and chat with the hosts. The experience was exhilarating—the hosts were welcoming, the audience was lively, and it felt amazing to showcase your group's music to such a wide platform. The performance went flawlessly, and the interview segment brought a lot of laughs and heartwarming moments, solidifying the bond your group shared in the public eye.

When the show ended and you were leaving the building, a wave of fans awaited you outside, their excitement palpable as they cheered for your group. You followed your members out, but as you stepped through the door, you couldn’t help but notice the cheers weren’t as loud for you. The realization hit you like a cold gust of wind, making your heart sink. You pushed through the uneasy feeling, plastering a smile on your face as you waved to the crowd and joined your group in the waiting van.

Inside the van, your group members settled into their seats, chattering about the performance and the fans. Steb, your manager, climbed in after you, shutting the door firmly behind him. The lively energy in the van was quickly replaced with a heavy tension when Steb sat directly across from you, his expression serious. He leaned forward, holding out his tablet.

“There’s an article,” he began. “With a lot of evidence about you and some hockey player…dating.”

Your stomach dropped as you hesitantly took the tablet from him. It was a TMZ article, complete with all the hallmarks of a scandalous exposé. The text messages featured in the article were clearly hacked, showing snippets of private conversations between you and Vi. There was also a side-by-side photo comparison of you wearing Vi’s hoodie the night of your attack and Vi wearing the same hoodie during a halftime appearance at one of her games. But the most damning evidence was a photo of you and Vi outside your apartment door, mid-kiss.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, your hands tightening around the tablet. The weight of the situation felt suffocating.

You glanced at Mel, who was sitting beside you, her concerned eyes scanning the article over your shoulder. She noticed your reaction and gave you a reassuring rub on your back. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly, trying to ease your nerves.

Steb took the tablet back, his face unreadable. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

You exhaled sharply, leaning back against your seat. “Set up a press conference for me, Steb. I’ll figure it out there,” you replied, your voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling inside.

Steb nodded, sliding the tablet back into his bag. “I’ll get it arranged.”

Mel turned to you, her brow furrowed with worry. “What are you going to say?” she asked, her voice low to avoid alarming the others.

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just want to make sure it doesn’t affect you guys any more than it already has. I’ll take responsibility…this is on me.”

The group had fallen silent, their attention now focused on you. You looked at Mel again, guilt weighing heavily on your chest. “I’m really sorry, you guys. Especially you, Mel.”

Mel gave you a small smile and shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize. Just focus on being honest. We’ll handle the rest together.”

Her words brought you a small sense of comfort, but the lingering unease about the situation made it hard to fully relax. As the van drove away from the venue, you stared out the window, mentally preparing yourself for the storm ahead.

When you got home to your apartment, the silence felt deafening. The weight of the day clung to you like a heavy cloak, suffocating and inescapable. Dropping your bag by the door, you walked to the couch and sank into it, hoping for a brief escape from the chaos. Grabbing the remote, you turned on the TV, flipping through channels without much thought.

But as soon as the screen settled on a news station, your stomach dropped. The same incriminating photos from the article—Vi’s hoodie, the kiss outside your apartment—were plastered on the screen, accompanied by speculation and commentary. The bright, intrusive graphics felt like a spotlight exposing your vulnerability to the world.

With a frustrated groan, you quickly turned off the TV, tossing the remote onto the couch beside you. You leaned forward, burying your face in your hands as the emotions overwhelmed you. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as the stress of everything finally broke through. The constant pressure of being in the public eye, the fear of how this might impact your group and career, and the vulnerability of having your personal life laid bare—it was too much all at once.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you from your spiral. Sniffling, you pulled it out and saw the name on the screen: “My Violet 🫶.” For a moment, you hesitated. You didn’t want to drag Vi into your breakdown, but the familiar name and the thought of her voice gave you the tiniest glimmer of comfort.

Taking a shaky breath, you answered. “Vi?”

“Yeah, cupcake,” her voice came through, soft and grounding. “I know. I saw the article, and I’m on my way back to the States right now. We’ll figure this out together, okay? I love you so much.”

Her words made your chest ache. “Vi…” you began, your voice trembling. “Wait. I have a press conference tomorrow, and…I’m going to decide what to do. What’s best for both of us.”

There was a pause, the silence on her end filled with her hesitation. You could imagine her trying to find the right words. “Do what you feel is best,” she finally said, her voice steady but carrying a weight of unspoken emotion.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Vi,” you admitted, your voice breaking as fresh tears threatened to spill.

“No matter what you do, I’ll always be here,” she assured you, her tone firm and unwavering. “I love you.”

Before you could respond, the line disconnected. You stared at the phone in your hand, the screen fading to black. Her words echoed in your mind, offering some comfort but also adding to the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

You curled up on the couch, holding your knees to your chest, as exhaustion crept over you. The silence returned, but this time it felt heavier, laced with uncertainty about what the next day would bring.

The next day, the press conference room buzzed with anticipation. As you prepared in the small green room beforehand, the reality of what you were about to do sank in. You stood before the mirror, adjusting your outfit for the hundredth time—a simple but professional ensemble meant to exude confidence you didn’t quite feel.

Your hands trembled as you smoothed the fabric of your blazer, and you met your own eyes in the reflection. "You’ve got this," you whispered to yourself, taking a deep breath. "This is just another performance. Just get through it."

But no matter how many times you tried to steady yourself, the pit in your stomach remained. You ran a hand through your hair, adjusted your earrings, and straightened your posture. After one final glance in the mirror, you walked out to meet your manager, Steb, who was waiting for you by the door.

The press conference room was alive with energy. Bright camera flashes and the low hum of murmurs filled the space as you stepped onto the stage, flanked by your manager. The air was heavy with expectation, every pair of eyes fixed on you as you took your place at the long table.

You sat down, your heart pounding as you adjusted the microphone in front of you. Steb sat beside you, his presence steady and calm, but the tension in the room was suffocating.

"Good afternoon, everyone," you began, your voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. "Thank you for being here today. As many of you know, there have been recent rumors circulating about my personal life. I’m here to address them directly."

The floodgates opened almost immediately, questions firing off from all corners of the room.

"How long have you known Violet?" one reporter asked.

You cleared your throat, forcing a small smile. "We’ve known each other since freshman year of college," you answered.

"And how did you meet?" another voice chimed in.

"We had the same English class," you replied, your voice more confident now. "We supported each other through it—late-night study sessions, group projects, and everything in between."

The questions kept coming, each one more pointed than the last. You handled them with as much composure as you could muster, giving measured and thoughtful answers. But then came the question you had been dreading.

"Let’s get straight to the point," a reporter said, leaning forward eagerly. "What’s the nature of your relationship? Are you dating? Friends? Friends with benefits?"

The room fell silent, the weight of the question pressing down on you like a physical force. Your heart raced, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own breathing.

You looked out at the sea of expectant faces, and then at Steb, whose expression remained neutral but supportive. This was the moment everything could change—your career, your group’s reputation, your carefully crafted image.

But as you thought about the truth and what it meant to you, a calmness settled over you. You’d worked so hard to get where you were, but you also knew that living a lie wasn’t sustainable.

With a deep breath, you leaned forward to the mic. "Yes," you said, your voice firm and clear. "We’re dating."

The room erupted into a flurry of murmurs, cameras clicking wildly as reporters scrambled to capture the moment. You held up a hand to quiet the room, taking another breath before continuing.

"We’ve been dating for a few weeks now. I understand this might come as a surprise to many of you, but I want to be honest—not just for my sake, but for everyone who has supported me along the way."

"Do you worry this will impact her career as much as yours?"

You froze for a split second, the gravity of the question settling over you. Steeling yourself, you met the reporter’s gaze.

"Of course, it’s a concern," you admitted. "We’re both very dedicated to our careers, and we’ve worked hard to get where we are. But we’ve also talked about this. We’re committed to supporting each other, no matter what. That’s what a partnership is—standing by each other through the highs and lows."

The room quieted, all eyes locked on you as you continued.

"Look," you continued, your voice softer, yet firm, "I know that to many of you, we’re just faces on a screen or people you cheer for from afar. Vi is an incredible athlete, and I’m part of a group that’s had the privilege to share our music with the world. But we are so much more than the images you see or the personas we put out there."

You paused, your gaze sweeping the room, making eye contact with some of the reporters as you gathered your thoughts.

"We’re human," you continued, your voice cracking slightly but growing stronger. "We have feelings. We have fears, dreams, and lives that exist outside of the spotlight. Vi is more than just a hockey star—she’s a person with the biggest heart I’ve ever known. She’s been there for me when I felt like I had no one else. We were together before…but fate brought us back together. She’s made me laugh when I couldn’t find a reason to smile. She’s been my rock, my safe space. And I hope I’ve been that for her too."

A few reporters leaned forward, their pens still, as they listened intently.

"I understand that this is shocking for some of you," you went on, swallowing hard. "But for me, love isn’t something I can just put on hold or hide because of what other people might think. It’s real, and it’s messy, and it’s terrifying sometimes. But it’s also the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced."

You paused again, your hands gripping the edge of the table as you steadied your breath.

"Vi and I... we didn’t ask for this attention. We didn’t plan for our relationship to become public this way. In fact, we haven’t even confirmed our relationship to ourselves yet. But now that it’s out there, I want you all to know that we’re not just some headline. We’re two people who care deeply about each other. And we’re asking for the chance to live our lives—our real lives—without judgment or assumptions."

A lump formed in your throat, but you pushed past it, your voice unwavering.

"I also want to say this to my fans or just over all AURORA fans," you added, looking directly into one of the cameras. "I love you all. I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am, and I’m so grateful for your support. But I also hope you’ll remember that I’m a person, just like you. I have a heart that beats for the things I’m passionate about—music, my group, and yes, the person I love. I hope you can continue to stand by us as we navigate this new chapter."

You leaned back, your heart still racing as the reporters clamored for more questions. But you tuned them out, focusing on the sense of relief washing over you. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were being true to yourself.

Steb placed a hand on your shoulder, his silent gesture of support grounding you. As you left the stage, the cameras continued to flash, but you walked away with your head held high. No matter what came next, you knew you had faced the truth—and that was something no one could take away from you.

The moment you stepped off the stage, the tension in your body began to dissolve. The green room was a welcome reprieve from the blinding lights and relentless questions. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, tugging at your tie and tossing it onto the desk.

"Jesus Christ…" you murmured, running a hand through your hair as you tried to compose yourself.

"Jesus Christ indeed, cupcake," came a familiar, teasing voice behind you.

You spun around and saw Vi leaning casually against the doorframe, her sharp features softened by the warm smile on her face. Relief washed over you.

"Thank God," you said, moving toward her without hesitation. Your arms immediately wrapped around her neck, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"I missed you so much," you murmured into her shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of her familiar cologne.

Her strong arms circled your waist as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "You were so brave out there," she whispered, her voice filled with pride and love. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Violet. I love you more than anything," you replied, pulling back slightly to look at her.

Her blue eyes searched yours for a moment before she leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. You melted into her, one hand resting on her cheek while the other clung to her jacket. The kiss deepened, filled with all the emotion and unspoken words that had been building between you. It felt like the world outside didn’t exist, just the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and with your forehead resting against hers, Vi smirked. "You know they’re probably going to write about this too."

You chuckled softly. "Let them. I don’t care anymore."

She kissed you again, softer this time, before grabbing your hand. "Come on, let’s get out of here before someone barges in."

The two of you exited the green room hand in hand, but the moment you stepped outside the building, a swarm of paparazzi descended. Flashing cameras and shouted questions filled the air as photographers jostled for a better shot.

The security guards pushed the crowd back, creating a path for the two of you. Despite the chaos, Vi kept her arm around your waist, holding you close as she guided you toward her car.

"Over here!" one of the guards called, opening the passenger door. Vi helped you inside, her hand lingering on yours for a moment before she closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

Once inside, the noise of the crowd was muffled, and you let out a sigh of relief. Vi glanced over at you, a soft smile playing on her lips as she reached over to squeeze your hand.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice low and comforting.

"Yeah," you replied, looking at her and feeling a sense of calm wash over you. "I’m okay now."

"Good," she said, starting the car. "Because you’re stuck with me for the rest of the day."

"Best news I’ve had all week," you said with a small laugh, leaning back in your seat as she pulled away from the chaos and into the streets.

Your company decided it was best for you to take a brief, secret hiatus to let everything settle down after the press conference. You didn’t protest—this was the perfect opportunity to relax and reconnect with the people you loved. For a few days, you surrounded yourself with your family, Vi, and Vi’s family, cherishing every moment of normalcy and peace.

One highlight of the hiatus was Vi finally meeting your parents properly. Despite your initial nervousness, they welcomed her with open arms, immediately putting her at ease. Vi, usually so confident, seemed genuinely touched by their warmth, and you couldn’t help but smile as your worlds started to blend seamlessly.

On another day, you visited Vi’s family, where you were already a familiar and beloved presence. As soon as you stepped through the door of Vander and Silco’s cozy home, you were met with literal open arms. Vander immediately pulled you into a bear hug, his hearty laughter filling the room.

"Welcome back, superstar," he said, ruffling your hair like he always did.

"Thank you, Vander," you said, laughing as you gently swatted his hand away.

Silco, ever the reserved one, gave you a knowing smirk from the doorway to the kitchen. "That press conference you had—it’s everywhere. Kudos to you for handling it with such poise."

"Thank you, Silco," you said, your cheeks warming slightly.

Before you could say more, you heard a familiar soft giggle from behind you. You turned to see Isha, Vi’s younger sister, running up to you with her arms outstretched.

"Hi, Isha!" you said warmly as you bent down to hug her.

Isha, though mute, was one of the most expressive and intelligent kids you’d ever met. At just her young age, she was already tackling middle school math and doing science projects for fun. Her enthusiasm and brilliance always left you in awe.

As you stood back up, the sound of a door opening caught your attention. Jinx and Ekko emerged from her room, and Jinx’s mischievous grin lit up the hallway.

"Hi!" she said as she bounded over to hug you tightly. "You’ve been MIA."

"Hi, Tinker. I haven’t seen you in a while either. You too, Ekko," you said with a smile as Ekko gave you a casual wave.

"I’m a busy man," Ekko replied with a smirk, leaning against the wall.

"Oh, please," Jinx interjected with a dramatic eye roll. "He has nothing on his plate but his own ego."

You laughed, shaking your head at their usual banter. "Ekko, I owe you my life, seriously. As soon as my long-awaited check comes in, I’m buying you something. Name your price."

"Don’t worry about it," he said, but you could see the playful glint in his eyes. "But if you insist, I’ll start making a list."

The warmth and familiarity of their home wrapped around you like a blanket. Vander soon returned with a tray of drinks, while Silco called everyone into the kitchen for dinner preparations. You felt a profound sense of comfort, knowing that no matter how overwhelming the outside world could get, you had this—these people who cared for you without pretense, who saw you for more than just your fame.

And most importantly, you had Vi, whose hand brushed yours under the table as you shared a quiet smile, both of you basking in the simple joy of being surrounded by family.

taglist : @val-k13 @ren-ren23 @snowbunnyboo @taurtel @justsomegaygirlig @alex-thegiraffeboyy @tobiotruther @krilara @veladeangl @maruiin

[friendlyneighborhoodslut]

The Roommate Agreement | 1-The Line.

‘New Girl’ inspired fic starring Reader, her older brother, Steve and Eddie.

Pairings: Eventual Steve Harrington x Reader, slowburn.

Summary: Your first day at college is a disaster, but luckily your big brother lives right down the road… with some very interesting roommates.

Warnings/Extras: Strong language, mentions of shitty parents, cockroaches/bugs, psycho roommate (we’ve all had one), of-age drinking, Steve and Eddie being slight pervs. Let me know if I missed anything!

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

“Who the hell drinks pumpkin spice in August? It’s 85 degrees outside.” Daizy states her opinion loudly, catching the scowl of a the poor girl minding her business and drinking her latte on a bench. I snort, rearranging my grip on the box labeled Books.

“You’re just a ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?” I tease her as we climb the Dormitory steps.

“I just can’t believe you’re leaving me for some stuffy college in Chicago,” she complains.

“I can’t believe you’re not coming with me,” I retort. We slip past a couple making out in the hallway. Daizy makes a face at them before catching up with me.

“This place is well above my tax bracket,” she tells me. I count down the door numbers until we reach our destination. Room 203B. I kick the slightly ajar door with my foot, the waft of fresh paint and stale air hitting me.

My roommate has beaten me here, marking her territory by setting off an apparent bomb in the room. Foul smelling clothes are strung about, boxes sit in groups everywhere, including both beds. She’s got messy black hair and a general unpleasant disposition to her, staring at me as I walk in.

“Um, hi. I’m your roommate. You must be Hailey?” I readjust the box to shake her hand but she ignores it, returning to a box on her chosen bed. I wade through the landfill that was once our room. I try to set the box down without disturbing any of Hailey’s things, but Daizy makes a show of sweeping all the items off my bed with her arm. A waterfall of junk falls to the ground loudly. Hailey’s head turns to quick I think she’s snapped her neck.

“HEY!”

“Ever heard of manners, Halsey?” Daizy scolds.

“It’s Hailey,”

“Whatever.”

“Dude!” I whisper-yell to my best friend. The last thing I need is to get off on the wrong foot with my roommate and have to endure her wrath the entire semester. Honestly, I can’t help but be disappointed; my faith in the college’s random roommate assignment program completely shattered.

Their silent standoff awkwardly disperses, leaving a thick blanket of tension in its place. I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe and my clothes feel too tight. I squeeze my left hand in my right, tugging on my fingers one-by-one anxiously. Daizy glances down at my hands and sighs, “Alright. Let’s get all your stuff up here and call your brother.”

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

I’m buzzing with a concoction of anticipation and excitement as I sit in the cafe, my oat milk latte long forgotten. Staring out the glass front of the shop, I perk up a little at every man with dark hair that passes by. Daizy occasionally laughs at me, reminding me it’s only been two years since I’ve seen my older brother, not a lifetime.

It feels like a lifetime.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t chose this college because Benjamin had chosen it. Well, he played a great factor in it at least. Whilst I had Daizy and am forever grateful for her, Ben had practically raised me and his absence left a palpable hole in my life. I didn’t blame him for leaving; a prestigious school in Chicago and an excuse to leave our parents in the dust would bend the strongest wills. I was simply collateral damage, and I endured two years of torture at the hand of our parents until I graduated high school.

Besides, getting into The University of Chicago was damn near one of the highest honors someone in our family could receive. With a 7% acceptance rate, I felt like I’d received a letter from Hogwarts when my acceptance came in the mail. It was probably the only time I’d ever seen my parents proud of me, despite my 4.0 GPA and several letters from different sports. “Your brother was Valedictorian with a 5.0 in Honors,” they’d tell me. Yeah, well, fuck Honors.

“I drove 16 hours from Houston to see this asshole, he better show,” Daizy says affirmatively, and I imagine what she’d do to Ben if he ditched. Wring him out like a rag, probably. I cock a brow at her and she rolls her eyes. “And to be with you, of course.”

“Thank you again for driving me,” I smile. Daizy drives like she’s got 10 lives, but given that the alternative was to ask one of my parents to drive, I was more than happy to risk my life on a cross-country journey with her.

She grins, flipping her insanely long black and purple hair over her shoulder before reaching across the table to grab my hand. She squeezes it reassuringly.

The French doors of the Cafe swing open, prompting the dainty ring of a brass bell hung from the ceiling. Both of our heads snap in that direction, my brother standing with his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans.

I stare at him, gobsmacked, until he opens his arms.

“No warm hello for your big brother?” He laughs. I stand abruptly, running across the room to him. I jump into him with a thump, and he lets out an oomph on impact. I hug him tightly, and suddenly I’m that annoying little kid who’d follow him around everywhere again. He squeezes me tightly as we rock side to side a bit.

“Holy shit, you look old! College has aged you,” I tell him when I finally let go.

He shoves my shoulder. “Still a Shithead, I see,”

I pretend like it hurt, but he’s not looking at me anymore. He’s looking over my head, jaw hung slack ever so slightly.

“BEN!” Daizy says, way too enthusiastically, jogging to him. I’m suddenly very awkwardly in the way as they embrace each other and he plants a kiss on her cheek.

Ugh, gross. They’ve been obviously in love with each other since we were kids, but God forbid either of them admit it. The closest they’ve ever gotten was a New Years kiss at a sweaty high school party, but they never mentioned it after that night. I’m not opposed to the idea of them together, only apprehensive; because in the event they’d split, I’d have to chose one over the other. The idea alone makes my stomach churn.

“It’s been so long!” Daizy pulls away form him barely, still gripping onto his shoulders.

“Are you in town a while? You should come by the apartment. We live just down the road,” Benjamin starts.

“We?” I echo.

He shrugs. “My roommates and I,”

“You didn’t tell us you had roommates,” Daizy adds inquisitively.

My brother nods. “Used to be four of us, now there’s three. Some guys I met in school,”

“An apartment filled with college boys, what’s the worst that could happen?” I joke.

“We function quite well. Thank you very much,” my brother dismisses as his phone starts ringing. He digs into his pocket, face falling as he swipes the screen. “Hey, what’s up?” There’s muffled words on the other end. “He did what? Jesus Christ. Yeah. Let me run by the bank, I’ll be there.” He hangs up, rubbing his face.

“What’s wrong?” I query.

“It’s my friend Eddie. Got himself into trouble, again. I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?” He says hurriedly, leaning forward to kiss the side of my head and hug me. Then he’s gone, just as swift as he’d arrived, and for a moment I question if he was ever here at all.

I scrunch my nose up, trying not to feel bitter. My fantasy of catching up with my brother just that, a fantasy, I relent and decide it’s time to face my creepy roommate.

It’s just one year, right?

Grabbing Daizy’s hand, I tug her out the doors and into the busy streets of Chicago.

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

The unfortunate part about August is that, while beautiful, it’s hot as fuck. Not quite as ‘I’m going to melt alive’ hot as July, but enough that the lack of air conditioning in the Dorms has me wanting to peel my skin off for a semblance of relief. I toss and turn in the night, sleep evading me. I’m sticky with sweat and my chest heaves against the stuffy air. Giving in, I lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling.

I sit there, in the darkness, questioning every choice that lead up to this point, when my legs begin to tickle and itch.

Fantastic, I’ve got heat rash. I lean down to scratch at my legs like a wild animal, but stop when my nails brush against something soft and smooth.

Something crawls up my leg.

I squint against the darkness, the faint glow from the streetlight outside reflecting through the blinds. A cylindrical bug, about the size a quarter, scurries against my sheet.

A cockroach. There’s a fucking cockroach in my bed.

I scream, kicking my blankets off and scrambling to turn on my bedside lamp. A face—shrouded by darkness before—meets mine at the edge of the bed, just inches away. Hailey grins down at me. I scream again, petrified, and tumble out of bed.

“JESUS CHRIST! THERE’S BUGS IN THE ROOM!” I cry, running my hands over myself to check for more.

“I know,” Hailey smiles.

I stop dead in my tracks. “Did you… did you put fucking roaches in my bed?!”

She tilts her head to the side.

I think I saw this in a movie once. She’s going to skin me alive and wear me as a hat.

“Psychopath. God!” I exasperate, snatching my phone off the nightstand. “I’ll see you on the 5’o clock news for murder.” I murmur but I don’t think she hears me. She watches me leave, that uncanny grin never leaving her lips. I shiver to shake the sickening feeling she leaves me with.

It doesn’t settle in just how screwed I am until my bare feet hit the pavement. A cascade of rain trickles down my face and soaks my hair. I roll my eyes and groan. Of course. This is just perfect. Murderer roommate, bugs, and now rain.

I clutch my phone tight in my hand. I contemplate calling Daizy, but I feel I’ve asked her for enough favors recently. Defeated, I sigh and click on my brother’s name.

The last thing in our text thread is his address, with the message: sorry to run out like that. Stop by sometime. I click on it, pleasantly surprised by the 8 minute walk icon. Peering up at the black, starless sky, raindrops getting in my eyes, I sigh heavily and begin my barefooted decent to my brother’s apartment.

It’s 1:04 AM when I reach the red brick building. I double check the address and triple check the apartment number before knocking on the bright blue door. Aggressively, unwavering. At some point knocks turn into open-palmed pounds as I’m desperate to awaken my big brother.

The door flies open. Ben stands in the doorway, beer in hand and eyes hooded.

“There’s cockroaches in my dorm, it’s the temperature of Hell and I’m pretty sure my roommate is the Jeffery Dahmer reincarnate,” I blurt out, tears stinging eyes.

He blinks. “Normal people start with ‘hi’.”

I frown and he shrugs, opening the door the rest of the way and gesturing for me to come inside. I oblige, turning back around to face him.

“Bugs, Ben. She put bugs in my bed. You know how I am about things with too many legs—“

“—Nothing should have more than four legs, it’s excessive and creepy,” he mimicks me. “Yes, yes. I know. The legs,” he shakes his hands and raises his voice, pretending to be a girl, which he’s terrible at. I make an annoyed sound.

“She was staring at me, while I was sleeping. Like she wanted to—“

Someone clears their throat.

I spin around, hair whipping me in the face. My heart drops into my ass as I lock eyes with two boys sitting on the weathered leather couch. One with long, unruly black curls; covered in tattoos and plucking at a guitar. And the other, all puppy dog eyes and sandy hair, sipping on a beer.

“Hello there,” the one with dark hair chuckles, grabbing his own beer to slyly take a swig of his PBR can.

“Eddie, don’t start. Your stupid ass is still grounded for getting yourself thrown in jail,” Ben groans, stepping between us.

I’m suddenly feeling very self conscious in my sleep shorts and t shirt, not much left to the imagination. I wrap my arms around myself, a useless gesture.

“That guy was asking for it,” Eddie defends.

The guy next to Eddie on the small couch is silent, arm stretched over the back and staring at me. I sweat, unable to peel my eyes away from his. He’s beautiful, to put it simply. Sun-kissed skin against dark eyes and brown hair that frames his sharp features.

“Hey, man. Didn’t your mom ever teach you that starin’s rude?” Eddie scolds jokingly, covering the other’s eyes. “How come you don’t ever look at me like that, huh Stevie boy?” he cackles, and I realize he may be drunk, as he grips Steve’s face and plants a loud kiss to his cheek.

Steve recoils, pushing his friend away. “Gross, get off me dude,” they take turns shoving each other.

“Alright, you delinquents. That’s enough,” Ben speaks to them like a disappointed parent, ripping the blanket off the back of the couch and handing it to me. I take it graciously, wrapping it around myself. “This is my baby sister Y/N. She’s off limits, that’s a line you don’t cross, ever. She’ll sleep in my room tonight though, since you two can’t be trusted,” he inserts himself into the space between me and the sofa, drawing a metaphorical ‘line in the sand’ mid-air.

“The line,” he appoints theatrically. “Do. Not. Cross it.”

Steve nods. Eddie salutes drunkenly, his eyes nowhere near focused on Ben. I suppress a laugh.

Ben wraps his arm around my shoulders, spinning me around to walk down the hallway. “Now, why don’t you calmly tell me what happened?”

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

I have a very cute shadow the hedgehog x fem&mobian!reader fanfic idea

So basically the reader is a HUGE AND I MEAN HUGE otaku and mostly 🌟magical girl fan🌟, she wears all magical girl outfits loves anime like smile precure, cardcapture sakura, sailor moon etc etc and Shadow takes notice pretty quickly so when he goes to a mall to get gifts for reader for Christmas mas he finds a whole store dedicated to just anime magical girl stuff so he practically buys the whole store just for the reader🥹💗🌟

(also this may or may not be projecting myself to reader..hehe..oopsies..(о´∀`о) )

“Minor Obsession”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

Requested: Yes (by @shadowchan009 ).

Description: When you had gotten into your current obsession, you did not expect Shadow to pick up on it, let alone get anything for you. Boy, were you happy you were wrong.

Notes: I’m happy to do this one for you!! And don’t worry about projecting onto Reader; you ARE Reader, after all! I hope I do your request justice!

(Reader will use They/She pronouns.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

You were pretty sure your boyfriend was just- completely done with you.

All of your streaming services were filled with different anime (Sailor Moon and Cardcapture Sakura being the one he notices the most), you made references that he didn’t understand, and every time you two had a movie night, it was something anime related.

You definitely thought he was done with you.

But you were (luckily) wrong.

Shadow started keeping mental tracks of the different anime you liked, and whichever anime you disliked.

It gave him the perfect amount of time to get you something for Christmas.

Frankly, he didn’t understand any of it, but Gaia forbid he gets you something mediocre for Christmas.

Right now, he was at the mall, searching every store he could find for any of your interests. He grumbled to himself, leaving the twelfth store that day, not having found anything.

Not wanting to give up, he checks the nearby map, and then…he spots it out of the corner of his eye.

A brightly-colored store (far too bright for his liking), showing multiple magical girl anime character cutouts outside it.

Bingo.

Shadow quickly heads over to the store, looking around for a moment before realizing something.

How much of this did you already have?

He thinks to himself, remembering that your collection was rather small due to your parents’ hate of anything related to anime.

Shadow starts grabbing a lot of different items from your favorite anime before going to the counter.

Flash-forward a few days, and it’s now Christmas.

The tree seems to have…far too many gifts under it. Not that you’re complaining.

“…Shadow,” You start.

“Yes?” He questions.

“I love you very much, and thank you for all of this, but where did you find this much stuff?”

“Why don’t you open them and find out?”

You shrug and give Shadow a kiss on the cheek, rummaging through the presents and picking one out at random, also picking out one of your presents for Shadow and handing it to him.

“Open yours first.” You suggest.

He nods, carefully tearing into the paper to reveal a hand-knitted sweater, colored a cherry red, that reads in blue letters, “MY FAVORITE BOO”.

“Did you…knit this yourself?” He asks, caressing the soft material of the sweater with his thumbs.

“I did.” You tell him, a smile on your face.

“It’s lovely,” Shadow says, returning your smile.

“I’m glad you like it,” you tell him.

You go ahead and tear into your gift to reveal a decently-sized, mint-condition Sailor Moon figurine.

You let out an excited squeal, peppering Shadow’s face with kisses.

“ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!” You yell excitedly.

Shadow lets out a chuckle, his face slightly turning green with your affection.

“There’s more where that came from, [Name],” he tells you.

The rest of the day is filled with you opening what was probably way too much anime merchandise, but neither you nor Shadow cared.

You were happy, and so was he. You couldn’t ask for anything else.

[john-laurens]

It is true that a bedding ceremony was a historical practice where wedding guests saw the newly married couple off to bed with the expectation they would consummate their marriage (excerpt from Sex and the Church in the Long Eighteenth Century: Religion, Enlightenment and the Sexual Revolution by William Gibson and Joanne Begiato):

That being said, the practice of such a ceremony does not preclude the possibility of a double entendre in Hamilton's letter to Laurens. In the letter, the phrases "transgress," "final consummation," "a l’americaine," and "a la françoise" are all underlined. Hamilton does not just casually mention a bedding ceremony, he explicitly emphasizes the "final consummation," an inherently sexual act. Hamilton may have used the expectations of the time to hide a more suggestive meaning. "Transgress" could even have a double meaning here. Most obviously, Hamilton uses the word in a way that refers to crossing a boundary, as Laurens would have had to leave Pennsylvania (where he was confined as a POW) to attend the wedding in New York. However, "transgress" can also refer to the violation of a law or standard of moral character. Sodomy and sexual intercourse between multiple people/between unmarried people may have been considered types of sexual transgression. Furthermore, Hamilton clarifies that his soon-to-be wife Elizabeth Schuyler loves Laurens in the American way (i.e., as a friend), not in the French way (i.e., as a lover). If the mention of the "final consummation" was truly innocuous, why did Hamilton feel the need to make this point? While this line acknowledges that sex between the three parties would not realistically happen, it does add a sexual emphasis to the reading of this paragraph. There is no literal mention of a threesome, but there is a plausible interpretation that Hamilton was (facetiously) welcoming Laurens to the wedding night sex, if only Elizabeth loved Laurens in that way.

Sexual innuendo and underlined words with double meanings are used in other letters from Hamilton to Laurens, most notably in the April 1779 letter. In one line, Hamilton wrote, "To excite their emulation, it will be necessary for you to give an account of the lover—his size, make, quality of mind and body, achievements, expectations, fortune, &c." Again, the emphasized words (underlined in the original letter) suggest a sexual meaning. Hamilton isn't simply talking about his general stature - he's likely referring to the size of his penis and his experience in bed.

That being said, do I think this was a genuine invitation for Laurens to have sex with Hamilton and Eliza on their wedding night? Do I think a threesome would have occurred if Laurens had attended the wedding? No. Again, sexual teasing is seen in other Hamilton-Laurens letters. Hamilton was likely "lengthening out the only kind of intercourse now in [his] power with [his] friend", as he wrote in the April 1779 letter. And of course, these are all our interpretations. The only one who could tell us the true meaning of the letter is Hamilton himself.

Additionally, your reading of the word "friendship" to invalidate the love between Hamilton and Laurens is frustrating. The use of the word "friendship" does not mean that love is absent or that Hamilton views Laurens less affectionately because of his upcoming marriage. Hamilton often referred to Laurens as his friend, even in letters that predate Hamilton's betrothal to Eliza. In fact, Hamilton's famous April 1779 letter opens with the line, "Cold in my professions, warm in ⟨my⟩ friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it m⟨ight⟩ be in my power, by action rather than words, ⟨to⟩ convince you that I love you" (emphasis mine). Additionally, it would have been unsafe for queer men in the 18th century to be explicit about the nature of their relationships in written letters. Your interpretation suggests that Hamilton would have used some word other than "friendship" in the September 16, 1780 letter if there was a deeply romantic or sexual nature to his relationship with Laurens. What word would he have used? "Adieu, be happy, and let buggery between us be more than a name"? This is also not an argument about whether Hamilton loved Eliza or Laurens more - his love for one does not negate his love for the other.

Also, a minor correction: while it is true that Laurens was a POW when Hamilton wrote the "final consummation" letter on September 16, 1780, Laurens was released in November 1780. He was not a POW when Hamilton and Eliza married on December 14, 1780. This is not to say that Laurens didn't attend the wedding for any reason related to his relationship with Hamilton - he likely did not attend due to his various duties in the ongoing war.

People who say that Hamilton invited Laurens to have a threesome with him and Eliza on their wedding night MAKE ME SO MAD. Like he DID NOT SAY THAT??? WHERE DID PEOPLE GET THAT BULLSHIT FROM IM CRYING

Hamilton writes:

"I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation. My Mistress is a good girl, and already loves you because I have told her you are a clever fellow and my friend; but mind, she loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise."

And he ends the paragraph with "Adieu, be happy, and let friendship between us be more than a name"

"...to be witness to the final consummation."

This basically means that Hamilton is inviting Laurens to watch as he and Eliza seal their marriage with sexual intercourse. This was very common, especially amongst Christians. NO WHERE does Hamilton tell Laurens to join.

"...she loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise."

Hamilton is telling Laurens that Eliza loves Laurens in the american way, aka as a FRIEND and not lover.

"Adieu, be happy, and let friendship between us be more than a name"

Note the friendship. FRIENDship.

This letter has no mention of a threesome and by definition and literature means that he wants Laurens to witness the seal of the marriage, a normal thing.

Laurens and Hamilton definitely had something beyond a friendship before, but Hamilton's "romantic love" for Laurens visibly dies down once he marries Eliza.

And btw, to the people who go around saying Laurens did not attend the Hamliza wedding because Lams love blablabla, THAT IS BULLSHIT. Laurens was literally a POW (prisoner of war) and he couldn't attend because of that.

[writing-till-i-am-dead]

Stargoth oneshot - Letter

It's not like Buddy liked Chase. He didn't. Honest, he really didn't. And you know he's being honest because he never lies... ok, well, he's lied a couple times.. actually, he's lied a lot. But he's really not lying about this. Because, what is there to like about this idiot? Because that is what he is, an idiot. Plain and simple. With his obviously fake blonde hair and forever-outside voice. The guy should just get the hell out of his way if he knows what's good for him. And that's what he's been telling him.

But he never thought Chase would actually listen.

3 weeks. 3 whole weeks since Chase has been in a book. This was starting to seriously piss him off. Where the hell was he? 

Now, reader, before you start getting ideas that Buddy actually misses Chase, you better think again. Chase has something he wants, the heroine key, and that is it. He just wants the key, so fuck off if you're questioning his honesty in the beginning. 

"Buddy?" calls out a voice, to which Buddy immediately jumped. But don't think he was excited! Or startled. He was merely jumped into action to follow it. However, he quickly realized that wasn't the voice of the blonde, but rather the even more unbearable brunette. 

"What are you doing with the heroine key?" Buddy asks, leaning against the stone archway. He looks around. Another high-fantasy novel with a castle. He's starting to figure out who's the one choosing these books in the first place.

Deacon whips his head around to face Buddy. "Geez. How do you do that?"

"Hm? Do what?"

"Just.. appear out of nowhere? Like you're teleporting or something?"

Buddy scoffed. This idiot really thought he was teleporting? As if someone could top Chase's idiocy. "You still haven't answered my question."

Deacon sighs. "Chase has been.. whining, lately."

Buddy scoffs. "When is he not?"

This got a chuckle from the brunette.

"You guys had some sort of fight in the last book you did together?"

Buddy raised an eyebrow and tried to remember. But, he and Chase would always fight, so he couldn't remember any of the specifics. "Probably."

Deacon rubbed his face, clearly frustrated. Deacon seemed to get peeved with Chase a lot, which gave Buddy a sick satisfaction. Not because he's jealous, of course not. But because if the two don't work well together, it'll be easier to make them crack. Give him information. Stop trying to twist his words.

Deacon groaned. "Well, something you said seriously offended him and he's refusing to use Silver, and has been using Bronze, instead."

Buddy felt his eye twitch, Deacon noticing and taking a step back. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"What did I say that could've offended him that badly?!"

"Hey, you know how fragile his ego is."

Buddy makes a light 'tsk' and puts his hands on his hips. "Well this definitely is.. annoying." Before you think I'm annoyed because now I won't see him, that is not the reason. It's annoying because Chase was a much bigger slip up than his ugly, freckled companion. Buddy can extract more information from him. 

"Tell me about it. We've had lots of trouble collecting narratonin now, since the heroine key.. yknow.. summons you."

Buddy raises an eyebrow. "Well, then. He must not be that determined to collect it, huh?"

"Don't talk like that, Buddy. You don't know. He's been telling me to use the key, as long as I go into different books. But I just haven't wanted to deal with you on my own."

Buddy nods in agreement. "I would rather rip my hair out then be alone with you."

"Look. All I ask is you apologize."

"Look," Buddy says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't even know what it is I said that is worth an apology."

"It was something about his singing, I think? And the narratonin? He gets really heated everytime he talks about it and then shuts down.

Ya, that did sound familiar. Buddy rubbed his temples in an attempt to remember.

"Snap and clap and touch your toes! Raise your hands, now body roll! Dance it out, you're hot to gooooo!!"

"CAN YOU STOP THAT!?" Buddy snaps. "You've been singing that tune all day!"

Chase rolls his eyes. "You are just jealous of my singing."

"Oh trust me, I am anything but. You're singing is like nails on a chalkboard. Grating and makes me wish I didn't have ears! You better hope you collect enough narratonin fast, before too many people are cursed to have listen to your voice and will never give you another chance to sing, even when you use the narratonin to make you bearable to listen to!"

....

Chase left the story after he said that. But Buddy hadn't sweat it too much. Why would he? They always bicker. But based on the look that Deacon was giving him, he could tell that he had screwed up.

"That's.. definitely too far, Buddy."

"I- How was I supposed to know he'd take it to heart?!"

Deacon shakes his head. "Look, whatever. You can't take back what you said and that's fine. But you can at least make up for it. Maybe write him a letter? The bedroom I woke up in the basement had a desk and some paper. Maybe go write something in there?"

Buddy raises a brow before tilting his head back. "Fine! Whatever. Only because of my own reasons, though! Not because I feel bad. Don't go and get the wrong idea!" he calls out as he enters back into the castle, bulldozing through guards.

"Move, move, Evil Queen, make way." He reads down the spiral staircase, twists and turns, twists and turns. By the time his feet hurt in his heeled shoes, he finally reached the basement.

The room felt all too familiar. Small, box shaped with a thick layer of dust on every surface. A creaky bed, about as soft as a rock, and blankets covered in bed bugs. This... was why he didn't really want the heroine key. Of course, he's still going to retrieve it. It's part of his job. But he will never use it. He's already got a crappy life. Why make himself live through another's?

He sits himself in a creaky oak chair, which gave him a few splinters, causing him to flinch. A small pile of thick paper and a quill with mostly dried out ink. But, still good to use. He wish he knew why his words upset Chase so much. Not because he genuinely feels bad, but because it would make this letter less of a hassle to write. He scribbles up in the corner of the parchment to check if the ink works. He then taps a couple of times in an effort to think of what to write. Buddy, despite all of his time dedicated to reading books, has never been good at words. Things never come out right and he always overthinks it, always adding parenthesis and commas to make his point more clear, out of the fear he's not being explicit enough.

"Dear Chase,

I still cannot believe that you let slip what your name was. You truly are 

I apologize that my words had offended you. I may not know what you plan to do with the narratonin, probably something stu. Your singing is really not that bad. It only makes me want to claw my ears off a little. I do think that you can have a big audience if you put your voice out there, with or without the narratonin.

-Sincerely, 'buddy'"

Buddy stared at the letter, questioning everything he wrote, but decided it was... good enough.. ya, it's not like Chase is worth that kind of effort.. 

He folds up the paper and stuck it into his back pocket. He looked up the staircase once more and let's out a long sigh as he made the long trip once more. Twists and turns galore with each step. The guards quickly moved as to not get pushed out of the way again. He found the ugly boy standing outside, waiting for him. He shoved the letter into his chest. "Here."

Deacon let's out a huff and nods. "All right. I'll see you later, Buddy."

Buddy simply just rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

The boy pulls out the Helper Key, wrapped around his neck, and the he's gone. Buddy looks at the spot where he had disappeared before mentally scolding himself for being so hopeful.

~~~~

It's not like Chase liked Buddy. He didn't. Because what is there to like about that jerk? He's an aggressive prick who does nothing but provoke him. With his incredible eyeliner and deep voice... He should just leave Chase alone. And that's what he's been telling him.

So he stopped bothering and has been properly avoiding him. 

Ho could he not? It wasn't the comment about his singing, although that had hurt, but the fact that Buddy thinks he's so shallow that being famous is Chase's biggest concern. And the way Buddy said it didn't ound like just a jab because he was mildly annoyed. It sounded genuine. Like her really thinks so low of Chase. Maybe Chase took it so seriously is because earlier in the day, before he said that, Chase had visited his mom. 

His moping is interrupted by a knocking at his door. He looks up and sees his cousin, Deacon, standing in the doorway.

"Where were you?" Chase asks. Deacon hands him a paper. 

"It's from Buddy."

Chase sucked in a breath. Buddy. Buddy!? Buddy sent him a letter? 

His heart was racing and his hands were clammy. No way. No. Way. Why was he getting so excited. Stop it, heart!! He pats his chest a couple of times to ease his rapid heart rate before he folded the paper open.

He scanned through the words, squinting as he made out some of the scribbled out sentences, and he finishes it off with a deep frown.

"What's with that face?" Deacon asks.

"This is kind of a crappy apology. There are multiple scratched out sentences that was just him being petty."

Deacon takes the paper and reads over it. "Hm. I mean.. ya, it seems kind of backhanded, but at the same time, since when has Buddy gone out of his way to do something like this i the first place?"

"You probably just told him to do it."

"Ya.. but what about the fact that he actually listened?"

Chase froze and looks back at the letter, feeling his face flush slightly. Damnit. He had a good point. He crumbles up the letter and was about to toss it into the trash, but stopped himself and instead tossed it onto his desk.

"Give me my key."

Deacon smirks.

"Don't smile at me like that."

Deacon quickly stifles it and hands Chase the key. Chase gets up ad grabs a totally random book and crams the key into the cover. The last thing he heard was, "Wait, not that book!"

Chase's eyes opened and the first thing he's met with is excruciating pain. He's impaled. He screams at the top of his lungs and standing over him is Buddy, whose eyes are equally as wide as he stares down at Chase. 

"What kind of book did you choose?!" Buddy exclaims, quickly pulling the spear out of Chase's chest, who's left panting and throbbing in pain. Buddy squats down and looks over him. "Deep breaths. The main character of this book has healing powers."

Chase tightly close his eyes and feels the gash slowly close up. He lays down in the ground, panting. "SHIT! I just needed to talk to you. Just my luck."

Buddy chuckles, actually chuckles, which feels like another stab to the heart, but kind of in a good way???

"You got excited to see me?" Buddy asks.

Chase scoffs. "I just came to talk to you about that letter."

Buddy goes quiet. "Hm. You seem upset? Was it not to your liking, your majesty?"

"Eat a sock," Chase grumbles.

Chase sits up, holding himself by his elbows. "What kind of book opens with the heroine getting stabbed?" Chase grumbles.

Buddy shrugs and looks around at the wasteland they were in. "Well.. what did you think of the letter? You still mad at me?"

Chase pauses before huffing. "Nevermind. I just wanted to say it sucked. I would keep avoiding you if it weren't for Silver, like.. begging me to go back to using her."

"Mhm?"

"Mhm!"

Chase stands up. Buddy does too.

It's not like they liked each other. They just had a story to complete. They just happen to.. do it together.

Shut up.

divider by @saradika-graphics

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway. 

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you. 

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it. 

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw. 

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously. 

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge. 

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface. 

 He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you. 

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away. 

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away. 

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows 

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little. 

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever. 

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before. 

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are. 

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out. 

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too. 

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone. 

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you. 

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve. 

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk. 

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances. 

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words. 

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry. 

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face. 

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel. 

 “Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,” 

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to. 

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you. 

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else. 

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind. 

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head. 

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse. 

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you. 

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur. 

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything. 

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home. 

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw. 

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be. 

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin. 

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.” 

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

My arm has been twisted and I now offer the people of tumblr my 1800 word Darry yap:

Thinking about Darry and his parents. More specifically, Darry and his dad. How they must’ve been so close. How Darry loved both of his parents to the moon and back, but he just had a special bond with his dad. He knew he could always rely on him, so since he was three, he’s always wanted his dad. If he woke up from a nightmare, if he was sick, if he fell and scraped his knee, he always wanted his dad. How he felt so guilty about that for a while. It wasn’t until he was eight and realized that Soda was always reaching for their mama that he started to feel a little better. He felt like it was ok that he reached for their dad when his brothers reached for their mom.

How Darry grew up carrying so much pride in the fact that his father gave him his name. He loved that a piece of his dad was always with him. He also knew how proud his dad was of him. How he knew Darry would do some much in his life. He saw the way his father’s face filled with joy when Darry showed him his first football jersey with the name Curtis on the back. He remembers opening up a college acceptance letter and scholarship and immediately running to his dad. How Darry had handed him the letter and his father’s eyes had filled with tears. How that was the first time Darry saw his dad cry. He remembers how his dad had put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him right before the state championship game and told him that no matter what, he was proud of him. He remembers that after his dad had went to go find his mom and brothers, he’d made a silent promise that he’d do everything he could to win. And he did.

He also remembers the night before he was going up to his college dorm. How he’d sat in his room, his backpack open and completely empty. He’d looked around at the room he’d grown up in, and he was scared. He was terrified. How he’d walked over to his dresser and picked up a framed picture of him and his parents and brothers right after the championship game. Darry’s hair was sweaty against his head, but he had the biggest smile on his face. Ponyboy and Soda were hugging him, also with big smiles. His mom looked so proud of her son. But the only face he could focus on was his father’s. How his dad had a smile that rivaled Darry’s. Darry felt his chest swell with emotion looking at the photo. And suddenly, there were drops on the glass that covered the picture. Then, his father was standing in the doorframe. But by the time Darry had blinked, his dad was sitting next to him on his bed. His dad just reached out and let Darry, his first son, the boy who carried his name, the boy who made him a father, cry into his shoulder. Because he shouldn’t be this stressed about leaving. He should be excited, lord knows Darrel Sr would’ve been if he’d gone to college. But here he was, venting out all his fears while his dad just reassured him that he’d be fine. And he had Paul too. Even if he wouldn’t see his family every day, he still had a piece of home with him, after all, Paul was going to be his roommate so he’d probably see him so much they’d be sick of each other.

But then, his dad died. And suddenly, Darry was standing in the living room of the house he grew up, 15 feet from his dad’s chair, being told that his parents were gone. Dead. Suddenly, he was telling the cop that he would become his brothers’ legal guardian. Suddenly, filling out the paper work and writing down his name made nausea swirl in his stomach and made his head hurt. Because that wasn’t his name. That was his dad’s name. But that didn’t matter right now, what mattered was keeping his brothers safe and home. So he just filled it out and gave it to the state. He dropped out of college. He got a full time job at the same place his dad used to work. And he was slowly becoming Darrel.

Darry left the house six times during the week Pony was gone. Five of those times were to go to work because bills didn’t care if your baby brother could be dead somewhere. The other time was to go to the cemetery. Normally he would’ve taken Soda, but he couldn’t this time. Because he wasn’t even out of the car before he broke down sobbing. He cried in his car for a little bit, before deciding he needs to do what he came to do. So he got up, and walked over to the headstone at his mom and dad’s grave. He sat down and just started apologizing. He told them he was so sorry. He was so sorry that he couldn’t protect his brothers. He was so sorry that their baby ran away and it was his fault. He was so sorry for hurting them. He told them he didn’t know how they did it. He told them he wished they would come back. He wished they’d never left in the first place. He wished that Pony would come home. How he knew he didn’t deserve it, but he wished it brother would come home. Maybe not even for him, but for Soda. He told them that he couldn’t stand the fear he’d seen fill Pony’s eyes after he hit him. He looked at the gravestone with his parents names carved in it, and he told them he never meant to fuck up this bad. He told them that maybe it’d be better if Soda and Pony were with someone else. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out to be taking care of them. He told them that he knew Pony hated him, he knew Pony thought Darry hated him. Darry swore he didn’t, he loved his brothers more than anything. He didn’t even remember when he started crying, he just tasted the salt of tears in his mouth. So he shut his eyes tight in an attempt to stop them, because who the hell was he to cry? He did this, why should he get to be upset over it?

And in that moment, with his eyes shut, he could’ve sworn he felt his father’s reassuring hand on his shoulder, or his mother’s warm fingers wipe away the tears running down his cheeks. Maybe it was the wind, but Darry would’ve sworn that he heard their voices reassuring him. Maybe he was crazy, but he stood up and thanked them anyway. He’d told them he loved them and that he was going to do everything he could to bring their baby back home.

Darry mentally kicked himself when he got home and saw the kitchen light on. Because that meant Soda had and he was probably freaking out at waking up to an empty house in the middle of the night. So, Darry braced himself for the worst. But what he didn’t expect, was seeing the kitchen and living room empty. Confused, he’d gone to Soda’s room, it was also empty, but it was clear that Soda had been sleeping there because his half of the bed was all messed up, like someone had been tossing and turning. It wasn’t until he reached his own bedroom door that he heard quiet cries. So he’d pushed open the door and was met with the sight of Soda, curled in on himself, body shaking while he cried. Darry was immediately sent into older brother mode while he walked over to his brother. He’d knelt down in front of him and quietly asked him what was wrong. Soda’s head shot up at his brother’s voice and he just whispered out that he’d thought Darry had left too. And the sight of his little brother looking so scared and small broke Darry’s heart even further, something he didn’t even think was possible. It wasn’t until he’d managed to calm down Soda enough to convince him that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he saw Soda holding something. It was a frame. And in it was the picture of their family from Darry’s senior year. The photo with Darry smiling the biggest he ever had. The photo with Pony and Soda clinging to their big brother because of how amazing they thought he was. And then there was his mom, who looked so proud of him that he almost started crying. Lastly, there was his dad. His dad with the proud smile, equally as big as Darry’s. His dad who had taken off a whole day of work just to drive the whole family out to see him play. His dad who taught Darry how to play football in the first place. And looking at him did make Darry start to cry. So he pulled Soda close, and they just looked down at their family photo. Their family before it was shattered and separated. Their family when it was whole, and complete, and happy.

Soda spent the night in Darry’s room after that. He refused to let Darry out of his sight for fear that he was gone or he was going to leave the minute Soda fell asleep. But when they were both tucked in Darry’s too small bed, Soda finally let himself succumb to sleep. But Darry couldn’t sleep. He was too busy thinking about his dad. How would he feel seeing Darry now? Would he be proud of how his son stepped up? Or would he shake his head in disappointment and say that Darry was hurting his brothers? Then, Darry lets his mind wander to thoughts of how things would be if his parents never died. Would he wake up to his mom laughing at her 20 and 16 year old sons sleeping in a full size bed? Would he walk out to see his dad reading the paper in his chair? Would he kiss his mama’s cheek then ask his dad if they were watching the game on Sunday? Would his dad say that he had work, but somehow still turn up in time to watch at least half of it with him? Would he be working with his dad? No, he’d probably still be at college. Maybe starting his junior year by now. Maybe his dad would joke that his son would be in the draft in a few years. Maybe he’d call his brother’s and give them relationship advice while Paul sat on his bed giggling at him. Maybe in that world, he could look at pictures of his parents without longing for one more conversation. One more rushed goodbye because he was late. One more time that his dad patted him on the back. One more time his dad gave him a proud smile and said he was glad his son wore his name.

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the flight)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the promise

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

Excerpts from Fire and Blood: The Life of Y/N Targaryen

The Courtship of Jason Lannister and Princess Y/N

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"In the weeks following the royal family’s departure from Casterly Rock, the bond between Princess Y/N Targaryen and Lord Jason Lannister did not wane but instead grew stronger, despite the distance that separated them. Jason, ever attentive, continued to send tokens of his affection—thoughtfully chosen gifts that spoke to the Princess’s unique circumstances and tastes.

Among these were vials of rare perfumes from the Reach, their scents carefully described by the accompanying notes, and fine silks that she could feel and appreciate through touch. Most notably, Jason sent fresh bundles of the same flowers he had gifted her during the gardens at The Red Keep, their fragrance a clear reminder of his devotion. The court took notice of these gestures, murmuring among themselves about the persistence of the Lord of Casterly Rock and his unusual attentiveness to the blind princess.

Though Jason’s letters were undoubtedly written with care, he refrained from addressing the Princess directly in writing, knowing she could not read them herself. Instead, he wrote to King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra, formally reiterating his proposal and pledging his loyalty to the Targaryen crown."

Mushroom recounts:

"I swear on my hump, Jason Lannister is a man who knows how to woo a woman! Not with empty words, mind you, but with gifts so thoughtful they’d melt even the coldest of hearts. The perfumes! The silks! The flowers! Oh, how the court buzzed with gossip about each new delivery.

One day, I saw the Princess herself, seated in the gardens with her Septa and her sworn shield, holding a freshly arrived bundle of flowers. She lifted them to her nose, a small smile gracing her lips, and said, ‘He remembers.’ I tell you, her words set the court ablaze! Some said she was smitten; others claimed she was merely being polite. But I knew better. That smile spoke volumes, my friends—more than any letter could.

And when the news broke that the Princess had accepted Jason’s proposal, the realm went wild! It was as if a dragon had taken flight over the Seven Kingdoms. Every lord and lady from Dorne to the Wall had something to say about it, most of it envious whispers or loud complaints about Jason’s audacity to charm not one, but two Targaryen princesses."

The Wedding Announcement

Septa Rhaedis writes:

"After much deliberation and consultation with his council, King Viserys I decreed that the weddings of his daughters—Princess Rhaenyra to Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Y/N to Lord Jason Lannister—would take place on the same day. The decision, though controversial, was made to solidify alliances across the realm and to celebrate the unity of House Targaryen with its strongest vassals.

This announcement, while met with joy in some quarters, sparked widespread debate. The idea of the younger Princess marrying a man of Jason Lannister’s reputation unsettled many, particularly among the court in King’s Landing. Queen Alicent, though ever the picture of decorum, was said to have privately expressed concern about the pairing, particularly given the political implications.

Nevertheless, the King’s will was final, and preparations for the joint wedding began in earnest. The date was pushed back by one moon’s turn to allow for the grandeur such an event demanded. The court buzzed with excitement, and whispers of the festivities reached even the farthest corners of the realm."

Mushroom’s version:

"Now, here’s where it gets interesting, dear readers! Jason Lannister, sitting pretty at his golden Rock, didn’t wait for a raven from King’s Landing to hear the news. Oh no, the whispers of his betrothal to Princess Y/N reached him long before that, carried by merchants, minstrels, and meddling lords who couldn’t keep their tongues still.

I imagine Jason sitting there, smug as a lion with a fresh kill, grinning ear to ear as his bannermen scrambled to offer their congratulations. ‘The Princess is mine,’ he must’ve thought. And who could blame him? The man had secured not only a match with the most unique and beloved of the Targaryen sisters but also the King’s blessing to boot!

Of course, some claim he celebrated the news with a grand feast, while others insist he sent gifts to King Viserys and Princess Y/N immediately, reaffirming his gratitude and devotion. Whatever the truth, one thing was clear: Jason Lannister had won a prize few would ever dare to dream of, and he knew it."

Grand Maester Mellos concludes:

"Thus, the stage was set for a union that would reshape the political landscape of the realm. The joint weddings of Rhaenyra and Y/N promised to be a spectacle unrivaled in the history of Westeros, a moment where love, duty, and ambition converged beneath the dragons’ wings. Whether this union would bring peace or further ignite the simmering tensions within the realm remained to be seen, but one thing was certain: the realm would never forget the day House Targaryen and House Lannister came together in such a grand display of power and unity."

The sun was high over the golden spires of Casterly Rock when the first whispers reached Jason Lannister. A merchant caravan had arrived from King’s Landing, its leader a boisterous man who carried tales of royal decrees and alliances forged. Jason had been in the solar, overseeing the accounts of his mines, when the steward knocked on the door with the news.

“My lord,” the steward began, his voice hesitant, “there are rumors—whispers, really—coming from King’s Landing.”

Jason looked up from the ledger, his green eyes narrowing. “Rumors are worth less than a clipped coin,” he replied sharply. “Speak plainly.”

The steward swallowed hard, stepping closer. “It is said, my lord, that the Princess Y/N has accepted your proposal and that the King has announced your betrothal to the court.”

Jason’s quill froze mid-stroke. He leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a smile he struggled to suppress. “Whispers, you say?” he mused, though the excitement in his voice betrayed him.

“Aye, my lord,” the steward confirmed. “And more. It is said the King plans to hold your wedding alongside that of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor Velaryon. A grand event, they’re calling it.”

Jason stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. He strode to the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the sprawling Westerlands below. “And how credible are these whispers?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative.

“Credible enough that the lords of the West are already talking,” the steward admitted. “I thought it best you know before a raven arrives.”

Jason turned back to the steward, his smile now fully formed. “You’ve done well,” he said, his tone warm. “See to it that the merchants are rewarded for their news. Generously.”

The steward bowed quickly and left, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts. For a moment, he stood there, his gaze distant. Then, with a sharp exhale, he called for his personal attendant.

When the young man appeared, Jason was already pacing. “Prepare the hall for a feast tonight,” he ordered. “No, prepare the entire Rock. Wine, food, music—I want every corner of this castle celebrating before the sun sets.”

The attendant blinked, clearly startled. “A feast, my lord? May I ask what we are celebrating?”

Jason paused, his expression softening. “The future,” he said simply. “Now, go.”

As the day wore on, the whispers spread like wildfire through the castle. By the time the sun set below the horizon, every bannerman and servant within Casterly Rock knew the news: Jason Lannister was to marry Princess Y/N Targaryen. The great hall was alive with activity, its golden banners fluttering in the breeze as servants rushed to prepare the feast.

Jason entered the hall that evening dressed in his finest, his eyes bright with pride. The room erupted in cheers as he strode to the high table, his bannermen rising to toast him.

“Lord Lannister!” one of his knights bellowed, raising a goblet. “Soon to be husband to a dragon! The Seven smile upon you, my lord.”

Jason laughed, lifting his own goblet. “If the Seven have granted me this fortune,” he replied, “then I’ll toast to them every day for the rest of my life.”

As the night wore on, Jason found himself surrounded by well-wishers and sycophants, each eager to share in his triumph. Yet his thoughts kept returning to you, to the serene smile that had haunted his dreams since the moment he left King’s Landing. He could almost hear your voice, soft and steady, as you thanked him for the flowers and silks he had sent.

When the hall grew quieter, Jason leaned back in his chair, tracing the rim of his goblet with his thumb. His gaze drifted to the simple necklace hanging beneath his doublet—a token you had given him before he departed from the Red Keep. He smiled faintly, his mind already racing with plans for the days to come.

“Soon,” he murmured to himself. “Soon, you’ll be here, and this will be your home.”

For the first time in years, Jason felt truly content. The road ahead might be fraught with challenges, but for now, he allowed himself to bask in the victory he had so desperately sought—and the promise of a future that felt as golden as the halls of Casterly Rock.

The sun poured through the windows of the solar in Maegor’s Holdfast, casting light you felt on your skin and onto the embroidery frame set before you. Your fingers worked deftly, guiding the needle and thread with a precision that seemed almost magical to those who watched. The small, delicate shape of a dragonfly was beginning to take form—a gift for your younger half-sister, Helaena, whose fascination with all things that flutter and crawl was well known.

Seated nearby, Aegon and Aemond played with small wooden dragons, their laughter occasionally breaking the serene quiet of the room. Aemond, ever eager to win his brother’s approval, narrated an imaginary battle between their toys, his voice rising and falling with enthusiasm. Aegon, sprawled across a cushioned bench, seemed less interested in the game and more intent on watching you.

“You’re always making something for Helaena,” Aegon observed after a moment, his tone faintly accusatory.

You smiled softly, your fingers never faltering as you guided the needle. “Helaena loves dragonflies,” you said simply. “She’ll be happy when she sees it.”

Aemond looked up from his dragons, his violet eyes wide with curiosity. “Do you think she’ll wear it, Y/N?” he asked, his voice earnest.

“I hope so,” you replied, tilting your head slightly toward him. “But even if she doesn’t, I’ll be glad she has something made just for her.”

Aemond nodded solemnly, returning to his game. Aegon, however, continued to frown, his brow furrowed as he watched you work.

“Why do you care so much about making her happy?” he asked, his tone sharper now. “She doesn’t make things for you.”

You paused, your fingers stilling on the fabric for a brief moment before you turned your face toward him. “Because, Aegon, it’s not about what someone does for you. It’s about what you feel for them. Helaena is my sister, just as you and Aemond are my brothers. That’s reason enough.”

Aegon snorted, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “I still think it’s a waste of time,” he muttered, leaning back on the bench.

You resumed your work, your voice calm but firm as you said, “And I think you might feel differently if someone took the time to make something for you.”

Aegon opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by Aemond, who had grown bored of his dragons and now looked up at you with a bright smile. “Y/N,” he said eagerly, “will you make something for me, too? Maybe a dragon?”

You smiled warmly, nodding. “Of course, Aemond. I’ll make you the finest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

Aemond beamed, clearly delighted, while Aegon rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. After a moment, however, his expression shifted, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied you.

“Do you want to marry him?” Aegon asked suddenly, his tone blunt.

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Marry who, Aegon?” you asked gently, though you already knew the answer.

“Jason Lannister,” he said, his voice tinged with distaste. “Everyone keeps talking about it like it’s already done.”

You set down your needle carefully, turning your full attention to him. “The King has given his blessing,” you said softly. “And I’ve accepted Lord Jason’s proposal. Yes, I will marry him.”

Aegon scowled, crossing his arms. “But why him? He’s—he’s so... proud. And loud. I don’t like him.”

You tilted your head slightly, your expression calm. “Have you talked to him, Aegon? Beyond casual greeting or a banter.” you asked gently.

“No,” he admitted, his scowl deepening. “But I’ve heard things.”

“What kind of things?” Aemond piped up, his eyes wide with curiosity.

“Bad things,” Aegon muttered, refusing to elaborate further.

You sighed softly, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Aegon’s arm. “Aegon,” you said quietly, “I know this is strange for you. It’s strange for me too. But Jason has been kind to me. He’s thoughtful and patient, and I believe he genuinely cares for me.”

Aegon frowned but said nothing, his gaze shifting to the floor. Aemond, however, looked up at you with a small smile. “If you like him, Y/N, then he must be good,” he said earnestly.

You smiled warmly, your fingers brushing lightly against Aemond’s cheek. “Thank you, Aemond,” you said softly. “That means a great deal to me.”

Aegon muttered something under his breath again, but he didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he leaned back on the bench, a sullen expression on his face as he watched you pick up your needle and thread once more.

The room fell quiet again, save for the soft hum of your voice as you began to hum a familiar lullaby. Aemond returned to his wooden dragons, and even Aegon seemed to relax slightly, though his gaze lingered on you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. For now, the matter was settled, but you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would remain so.

The familiar scent of the Dragonpit greeted you as you entered, the acrid tang of sulfur and aged stone mingling in the air. Your steps were light but sure, guided as always by Ser Lorent, who walked just ahead. His armor clinked softly with each movement, a comforting sound that steadied you as the Dragonkeepers approached.

“Princess,” one of them greeted, his voice low and reverent. “Silverwing awaits.”

You inclined your head slightly in acknowledgment. “Thank you. Please guide me to her.”

The Dragonkeeper stepped closer, his hand hovering just above your arm, ready to assist. You felt the faint change in the air as he led you further into the pit, the heat of the dragons’ breath brushing against your skin like a living thing. Silverwing’s presence loomed ahead, her steady breaths filling the vast space.

As you neared, a low, rumbling coo echoed from the great dragon, the sound resonating in your chest. You smiled softly, your voice warm as you called to her. “Silverwing, my dearest friend.”

The dragon’s reply was immediate—a soft growl of recognition that rumbled through the pit. You reached out instinctively, your hand finding the smooth, cool scales of her snout. Her warmth seeped into your skin, grounding you as you traced the familiar ridges with your fingertips.

“She’s always so gentle with you,” Ser Lorent observed, his voice tinged with admiration. “As if she understands.”

“She does,” you said simply, your tone steady. “She’s my eyes in the sky.”

Silverwing shifted slightly, her great body moving with care as the Dragonkeepers guided you to her side. The ladder to the saddle was secured, and one of them murmured, “She’s steady, Your Grace. She’ll wait for you.”

You nodded, your hand trailing along Silverwing’s flank as you found the ladder. “Thank you,” you said quietly, feeling for the first rung.

Ser Lorent stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. “I’ll be here, Princess. Should you need anything.”

You smiled faintly, your confidence unwavering as you began to climb. The leather of the ladder was warm beneath your hands, and you counted each rung as you ascended, your movements practiced and deliberate. Silverwing remained perfectly still, her massive form as unmoving as the stone around you.

When you reached the saddle, you settled yourself with care, your hands instinctively finding the reins. The familiar weight of the straps and buckles reassured you, and you took a deep breath, the scent of dragonhide and ash filling your lungs.

“Ready, Your Grace?” one of the Dragonkeepers called from below.

You nodded, your voice clear. “Ready.”

Silverwing shifted beneath you, her muscles coiling with restrained power. You leaned forward slightly, your hand brushing the smooth scales of her neck. “Take us up, my friend,” you murmured in High Valyrian. “Guide me.”

With a powerful beat of her wings, Silverwing launched herself into the sky, the rush of wind and heat enveloping you as the ground fell away. You held tight to the reins, trusting her completely as she climbed higher and higher, the city below shrinking into a patchwork of rooftops and winding streets.

The wind whipped through your hair, carrying with it the faint cries of gulls and the distant hum of life in King’s Landing. You tilted your head slightly, feeling the cool air shift around you as Silverwing leveled out, her flight smooth and steady. She moved with purpose, her instincts guiding her through the skies as if she knew exactly where you wished to go.

For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the sensation of the flight wash over you. The rhythmic beat of Silverwing’s wings, the steady rise and fall of her body beneath you—it was as if you were one with her, seeing the world through her strength and grace.

“Take me to the cliffs,” you murmured softly, trusting Silverwing to understand.

The dragon responded with a subtle shift, her flight turning toward the coastline where the waves crashed against the rocky shore. You smiled, your heart lifting as you felt the freedom of the skies, a world without walls or limitations. Silverwing was your guide, your eyes, your companion—and with her, you were limitless.

Silverwing descended gracefully, her massive wings stirring the salty sea air as she landed on the wide, flat expanse of the cliff. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks below filled the air, mingling with the soft rumble of the dragon’s breath. As she came to a halt, you felt the shift in her weight beneath you, her body settling with careful precision.

The Dragonkeepers had taught you how to dismount safely even in the wildest of locations, and you did so now with the same practiced ease. Your hand brushed along Silverwing’s flank as you slid to the ground, the cool stone beneath your boots grounding you. You stood for a moment, taking in the sounds around you—the distant cries of gulls, the steady rhythm of the waves, the soft exhale of Silverwing’s breath.

“Thank you, my friend,” you said softly in High Valyrian, your voice carrying a warmth reserved only for her. Silverwing responded with a low rumble, the sound reverberating through your chest.

You walked a few steps away, your hand trailing along the rocky surface of the cliff until you reached the edge. The wind whipped past you, carrying the scent of salt and distant greenery. You tilted your head slightly, your unseeing eyes gazing toward the horizon as your mind drifted.

The events of the past year swirled in your thoughts like leaves caught in a tempest. So much had changed—your sister Rhaenyra’s betrothal, your own engagement to Jason, the endless whispers of court and the weight of your father’s decisions. Jason’s presence lingered most vividly in your mind, his deep voice and steady hand a constant source of intrigue and comfort. He had been patient, thoughtful, and kind, yet his ambition was unmistakable. You wondered if you could ever truly understand him, or if he could understand you.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your thoughts deepened. Am I doing the right thing? The question echoed in your mind, unbidden but insistent. Marriage to Jason felt like stepping into the unknown, a leap of faith without the certainty of sight. Yet there was something about him—his steadiness, his sincerity—that gave you hope.

As the wind swirled around you, a sudden flash of light danced across your thoughts, an image so fleeting it left you questioning if it had been real. You saw—or perhaps felt—a great shadow looming over the land, its wings spreading wide as fire rained down below. A figure stood at its center, but their face was obscured, their form wreathed in flame and smoke.

The vision was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving you breathless. Your hand reached instinctively for the edge of the cliff, grounding yourself as you tried to make sense of what you had experienced. The air seemed heavier now, the cries of the gulls distant and muffled.

Silverwing let out a soft, questioning growl, her keen senses picking up on your unease. You turned back to her, your hand brushing over your temple as if to banish the lingering haze. “It’s nothing,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. “Just… a passing thought.”

You approached her slowly, your fingers finding the familiar ridges of her scales. She shifted slightly, lowering her great head to your level, her presence both grounding and reassuring.

“I should return,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “The skies are calling again.”

Silverwing let out a low rumble of agreement, and you climbed back into the saddle with a practiced grace. The cliffs fell away beneath you as she launched into the air once more, the wind carrying away your thoughts as you soared above the waves. Whatever the vision had been, it could wait—for now, you had the freedom of the skies and the strength of your dragon to guide you.

The courtyard of Casterly Rock was alive with activity as Jason Lannister prepared to depart for King’s Landing. Horses were being saddled, wagons loaded with supplies, and banners bearing the golden lion of House Lannister fluttered in the crisp morning air. The journey ahead was a long one, but Jason’s spirits were high, his mind focused on the days to come.

Jason stood beside his horse, adjusting the straps of his saddle. His eyes scanned the bustling scene before him, every detail meticulously arranged under his direction. The significance of this journey was not lost on anyone—this was no mere visit to the capital; it was the journey toward his wedding, a union that would elevate the name of House Lannister to new heights.

As he placed his hand on the reins, a familiar voice called out from behind him. “Jason, a moment before you ride off to claim your dragon bride.”

Jason turned to see his uncle, Lord Damon Lannister, approaching. Damon was a man well into his fifties, his once-blond hair now streaked with silver, but his eyes were sharp, and his presence commanded respect. He was dressed in riding leathers, his sword strapped to his hip, a reminder of the battles he had once fought in service to his house.

“Uncle,” Jason greeted, inclining his head. “Come to wish me well?”

Damon chuckled, stopping beside Jason’s horse. “Something like that. Though I must say, this whole affair has me… intrigued.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his hand still resting on the saddle. “Intrigued how?”

Damon leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “It’s not every day a Lannister weds a Targaryen. A blind princess, no less. You’ve done what many would consider impossible.”

Jason smirked, his green eyes gleaming. “Impossible is a matter of perspective, Uncle. She is a woman of strength and grace, and I am fortunate to have earned her favor.”

Damon nodded slowly, his gaze assessing. “And yet, the court will scrutinize every move you make. They’ll whisper about your ambitions, your intentions. Are you prepared for that?”

Jason straightened, his expression hardening. “Let them whisper. I have nothing to hide. My intentions toward Y/N are sincere, and I will prove my worth to her and to the crown.”

Damon’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Spoken like a true lion. But remember, Jason, the Red Keep is a den of intrigue. Tread carefully, or you may find yourself ensnared.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jason replied, his tone firm. “And I appreciate your concern, Uncle.”

Damon clapped a hand on Jason’s shoulder, his grip firm. “Then go, nephew. Ride to King’s Landing and show them the strength of House Lannister. And for what it’s worth, I believe you’ve chosen well.”

Jason’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Thank you, Uncle. Your faith means more than you know.”

With that, Damon stepped back, allowing Jason to mount his horse. The lion banners were raised high as the Lannister procession began to move, their departure marked by the steady rhythm of hooves against stone. Jason glanced back once, his gaze lingering on the towering spires of Casterly Rock before turning forward, his thoughts already on the woman who awaited him in King’s Landing.

As they rode, his uncle’s words echoed in his mind. The Red Keep was indeed a den of intrigue, but Jason was ready. He was no mere suitor chasing a dream—he was a lion, and he was riding to claim his destiny.

[wolfstarlibrarian]

9 books to read in 2025 (sweet + spicy)

Thank you SO much to @eyra for tagging me! I love an excuse to talk about books.

I had SO much fun reading these books I'm excited to share them, so pretty please let me know if you read any of them? I might put anon asks back on because I'm so eager to discuss them. Also, all of these books have HEAs.

Also, I'm working on related marauders lists for almost all of these, so stay tuned!

🌶️ = the more peppers the spicier it is

🍭 = the more lollipops the sweeter it is

Captive Prince: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

This series is one that ifykyk. It's a dark, dramatic, sexy mlm series set in a pseudo historic age and WOW. If it was a fic it'd come with tons of warnings and tags, but there's also an underlying softness between the main characters. Lots of angst and drama and characters you can't help root for. DEFINITELY an 18+ rec so please proceed accordingly.

Johann: Vampire Mates: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭🍭🍭

I already rec'd one of the books in this series here, but this one is tied for my favorite. A modern soulmate/vampire au that's got humor, the CUTEST cinnamon roll who's inexperienced (and hundreds of years old), a russian mobster, and just enough angst to make me you ache.

Boystown Heartbreakers: 🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭

If you're a wolfstar fan, then you'll absolutely adore this friends-to-lovers modern story about a hairstylist who is so worried about dating his DROP DEAD GORGEOUS best friend. All the internal turmoil paired with a book boyfriend you'll absolutely love, and lines that actually had me laughing out loud makes this one of my top reads for the year.

The Charm Offensive: 🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭

This one totally surprised me with how well it dealth with mental health issues in the middle of a VERY charming story about falling in love with someone (when it's literally your job to help them fall in love with someone else). A bi-awakening and oblivious pining gem. If you want more fics that feature a reality show check out this rec list.

Myles Below Freezing: 🍭🍭🍭🍭🍭

Okay can someone alert the Hazelnoot server? Because this one feels like a cross between Solntse and Sweater Weather. Myles (a cinnamon roll, nerdy Remus IMO) has to solve a murder mystery at the South Pole while trying not to fall for the sweetheart Russian Alexei. The banter is incredible and honestly my friends and I need a second book about the lesbians in it. Forced proximity, oblivious DATING, anxiety rep, action and chase scenes, cuddling, and locked-in together all in one.

Sapphire Sunset: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭

If you don't know Chris Rice, he's the gay son of Anne Rice (author of Interview With A Vampire) and thank god he's followed in her footsteps because his romance books are SO good and intense and yet fluffy? It's a ton of drama about an ex-marine and a hotel heir and a family scandal for the books. Feels delightfully like an age-gap modern Drarry book.

Lightning Born: 🌶️ 🍭

A friend recommended me this Frankenstein mlm retelling, and I was like "ew, no". However, I was completely surprised by how much heart it had, and how much it reminded me of R/S. Amnesia (due to ya know, dying), forbidden love, some serious angst, and thankfully a HEA that includes lesbians getting to live out in the tropics.

Honey Girl: 🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭

This is the only book on the list with wlw as the main pairing and by god, it's beautiful. The writing style gripped me on the first page and I've been recommending it to everyone since I've read it. Imagine waking up in a hotel room in Vegas, by yourself, with a wedding band on your finger and a note. The whole book feels like an intimate love letter and it should absolutely be on your TBR.

On Writing

No spice or sweetness in this non-fiction book, because it's a book by Stephen King on writing. Whenever I talk to anyone who's struggling with their craft I always recommend this book. It's short, to the point, and will leave you feeling much more confident in your abilities while helping you improve your writing. 10/10.

⭐

Okay well I hope you enjoy these recs! I've turned on anon asks so please share your thoughts or your own recs as I'm always looking for new books and fics to read. (We'll just ignore how long the TBR list is already...)

Tagging: @thedrarrylibrarian @wolfstarwarehouse @wolfstarmicrofic @pancakehouse @imsiriuslyreading @lavenderhaze @rainbowrowell @gayliketheancients @brandileigh2003 @mrtellmeafckingsecret @imjusthereforwolfstar And ANYONE ELSE who also love books

[rizdoodls]

HEY YOU! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH OK???@raytheanarchive @kazuww00🫵🫵🫵💥💥💥

It’s been such a long time that I’ve wanted to draw Yuuza and Yuume!!! Your OCs are so incredible and extraordinary, seeing them always puts a big smile on my face!!!

Every time I see Yuuza and Yuume (or even your other OCs in general BECAUSE THEY’RE AMAZING AAAA!!!🗣️🗣️🗣️💖

VIGIL!!! THAT LITTLE GUY!!!I HE’S MY FAVORITE TWST OC EVER FR!!!🦅💥🦅💥🦅💥🦅

AND KAZ!!! THAT INCREDIBLE AND ADORABLE GIRL RAAAAAH I LOVE HER SM🐙💥🐙💥🐙💥🐙

I SCREAM EVERY TIME I SEE YOUR OCS OK???🫵💕

I’M THEIR NUMBER ONE FAN, ZEHCJZEBCJZBKJZBC!!!💥💥💥💕💕💕)

I literally leap out of my chair, super excited, screaming, "OMG OMG CONTENT FROM THESE TWO AMAZING ARTISTS I LOVE YAYAYAYAY!!!"(/≧▽≦)/ (❤️´艸｀❤️)

Ahem! Pardon me, I got a little carried away.🧃

So… originally, I was planning to write a love letter/j individual message for both of you explaining just how amazing you are, how much I adore interacting with you because I find you fun and incredible, and how I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that, YOU, such wonderful people follow what I do and, on top of that, actually like my work. Every time I see your likes and your kind, sweet comments, it fills my heart with so much joy, and I get so emotional.💌💌💌🌹

But I know that if I did that (writing a whole novel about how much I appreciate you), it would end up being so long that I’d need to start a second blog hehe.

So, I hope these little gifts can show you how much I adore you, and even though we don’t interact very often, you hold a special place in my little heart. ❤️💖💖💖💌💌💌

[yns-world]

How They Are During Sex/Favorite Positions

Pairings: Francis Crozier x Reader, John Franklin x Reader, James Fitzjames x Reader, Henry Goodsir x Reader

Warnings: nsft, silly stuff, mentions of k*nks

a/n: clearly i’m the only person carrying the terror (both the show and the ship) from death. no one writes fanfics for the REAL hoes (us, the readers). but dw. god put me on the terror so the true, grimy mfs can finally be unleashed and be free 🗣️‼️send in any requests you have for the terror while they're still in my grasp 😼

i love gnawing on these men like my own personal chew toys GRRRR BARK BARK 🐕

Francis Crozier: 

Cowgirl. 

Old man doesn’t have much energy in him, we know this.

At first he’ll have his hands on your hips as you ride him, but within a few minutes his head is thrown back, eyes shut as he lets out strings of curses.

If Francis is drunk and had a particularly hard day, he would be inebriated and inclined enough to use you as a urinal--whether that’s in your mouth or on your body, is up to you. He’s probably too drunk to notice, but he’s aware enough to get hard and want to stick it in you. 

Might dabble in the whole Daddy kink, but you’ll be the one bringing it up to him--or rather, it might’ve slipped out when you were drunk on him one night. It invigorates him, makes him feel like he’s finally in charge of something. He won’t pound into you, but his grip on your skin would be tighter, he would probably grunt in your ear and praise you like an actual father would. sobs

Old man knocks out after he comes. After care is him lying heavy on your body as he’s fast asleep. When he wakes up--possibly in horror and excitement--he’ll rush to clean up and prepare a sweet breakfast filled with bashful apologies for his behavior the night before behavior that will repeat.

John Franklin:

Religious man. But what a fucking freak.

I don’t need to tell you that he’s into that Daddy shit. Ofc he is.

Really into roleplay too. Some nights, you’ll pretend to be the demon that corrupts the Virtuous Saint™ that he is, other nights he’ll be your priest “cleansing” you of your sins.

Depending on the roleplay, you might end up on top of him, beneath him, or on your knees.

John usually ends the night in missionary, he wants to watch your eyes overcome with your own lust, how your face screws as you come around his own cock, the way your chest exhales its last breath as you fall completely still. 

A sweet kiss on your forehead--”You’re so good to me.”

James Fitzjames:

A Fucking Freak™.

He’s in his physical prime, of course he’s getting freaky with you.

Angry sex, yearning sex, passionate sex, quickies; whatever he can have he’ll take, and then he’ll beg for some more. 

His best ideas actually come from his time shared with you--unfortunately for you, as his mind snaps from passion and comes to the fruition of something that would save the crew, but you can’t be mad at him for too long.

Every position is his favorite position. In the beginning, he won’t care for the sentimentality of it since you both were chasing after a release, but as the relationship progresses and the meetings become frequent, he might opt for a sweet night instead of the usual 5-minute quickie. 

He likes you, like, like like, but he bites his tongue and bates his breath waiting for the moment to let you know when you both finally make it to the other side of this thing. He doesn’t want to confess and leave you haunted with the love of a dead man. He doesn’t know that you’d rather wrap yourself in the warmth of a past confession than agonize over what could’ve been.

Henry Goodsir:

Sex to him is a very sacred and intimate act--more emotional to him than anyone else. His heart is a melting pot, everything you do makes his head spin. It would be a while before the two of you ever see each other naked. But when you finally reach that point…oh brother, get ready for those love letters 🙄 /lh

You probably are his first. Most likely his last. I don’t think he’ll ever get over you, especially not if you reciprocated the intensity and fullness of his love. He is permanently marked by you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I don’t think any man could ever love you the way Henry loves you. No one will ever love you the way he does--both a comfort, and a tragedy. 

Missionary. Always. He just wants to look in your eyes--both as a reassurance that you want this, but also as a confirmation that you do actually love him, that your connection is real and not some made-up fantasy in his mind used to cope.

You will forever be a work of art to him. He handles you with such care and warmth--he won’t treat you like a fragile piece of glass, but rather an oil painting as he grazes his fingers across your skin, picking up on the traces of paint left on the tips of his fingers.

Flesh pressed against flesh, he wants nothing more than to entangle himself with you-- to merge his body into yours, to be a piece of you forever, but doesn’t want to seem as “too much”, so he keeps these thoughts to himself and in his journal.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3

[lookingfts]

Hello, there. I'm both excited and sad about the upcoming end of Lover. It's such a unique story. I'm so glad you took a chance on regency. You should be very proud. I love the variety that comes with fanfiction but I find canon time/place easiest to visualize, so I love finding good ones. Do you know which multichapter you are going to tackle next?

Aw, thank you. I'm grateful to everyone for supporting my journey into regency even though I'm sure I yada yada'd over a lot of things hahaha. It's been a pleasure to write. I'm so happy that anyone enjoyed it.

I have no idea what I'm tackling next. It seems to change constantly. i've been rethinking Perfect Places again. I think I'll probably take a few weeks after I finish Lover and do some one-shots, and the muse will tell me where to go.

I'm assuming Kate and Anthony won't be able to get married unless they somehow are able to get the queen to assume Fife is dead after x amount of years. If they are never able to wed, would Anthony be able to claim any of his and Kate's other children as legitimate? Or has Ben been brought up to speed that he/his kids will carry on the line?

I will be so glad to get the last chapter done so I can stop worrying about spoiling the ending haha! Kate and Anthony's children will be legitimate, that's all I'll say for now.

Does Fife ever reach out to ask about his family again? Even if it's a subtle letter to Anthony thanking him for taking care of Kate and Arjun?

Hmm, I'm not sure honestly. I think Fife feels the guilt of walking away from his wife and child, even if he knows it was the best choice for them. And the easiest way to cope with that is not to know about anything about Arjun. He can't really get news of them without telling Arabella where he is; their correspondence is one-sided. But he trusts that Kate will take everything he left her and manage it well, and that Anthony and the Bridgertons will take Kate and Arjun and Arabella under their wing, because that's just who they are.