#i must remember to trust the process

[washedupburnedout]

Can you tell I haven't painted in a while?

[i-am-having-a-moment-here]

Can't wait for the announcement of Misha Collins' cameo in season 2 of Good Omens

[luveline]

I absolutely adore your Spencer x Hotch!sister fics! <3 Can we possibly see the dynamics if it were switched? A Hotch x Spencer's Older Sister fic, pretty please? But no worries if not! Thank you, hope you have a good day!

Was Spencer’s sister always this shy? Hotch can’t remember (and he can’t stop himself from flirting, just a little). fem, 1.4k

“Reid?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer grins at his phone. 

“Reid.” Hotch clears his throat. “Spencer.” 

Spencer puts his phone down on the desk, but he doesn’t seem to have heard Hotch either way. When he realises Hotch is standing by his desk, he perks up. “Hotch, can I ask a favour?” 

Hotch had been about to ask Spencer a favour, but it’s fine. “Sure.” 

“Uh, my sister is supposed to meet me for lunch in half an hour, but she doesn’t really like restaurants and I’m– me. Do you think she could come to the office?” he asks. 

“Sure, Reid. That’s fine, she just needs a visitor card.” 

Hotch can’t remember the last time he saw you. Probably when Reid first started tailing Gideon a few years ago, when you’d made the trip from Vegas to Quantico to see how he was settling. It was a brief introduction, and, while you may possess a few more practical graces than your brother, you were far shyer at the time. You didn’t mind shaking Hotch’s hand, but you struggled to maintain eye contact after. 

You don’t look much like your brother for reasons he’s never cared to ask, as Hotch has never placed much value on how family comes about. He doubts Spencer does either. But you stay in Vegas with your mother, and Spencer sees you three times a year. Birthdays and Christmas. And today, apparently. 

“What’s the occasion?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer smiles again. “I think she’s gonna move here, with me.” 

“Yeah?” Hotch isn’t the prying boss, but he’s a nosy friend. “Everything okay?” 

“Things are great, I mean.” Spencer has the expression of someone deciding what they can and can’t say. Eventually his eyes clear, and Hotch feels satisfied at the realisation that trust has settled tightly between them. “When I decided my mom needed help, Y/N, she hated that, and maybe she resented me, but– I used to worry she hated me, but she doesn’t.” 

“I don’t think she could,” Hotch says easily. 

Spencer nods. Whether he agrees is up for debate, though. “If t’s finally hit her that mom’s sick forever, so she’s feeling out her options.” 

“That must be a hard thing to realise.” 

“Yeah. But things really are great, she’s here now, her stuff is coming tomorrow, and– and maybe she’ll stay for a while.” 

Hotch likes excitement on Reid (when it doesn’t impede their most important work, that is). Truthfully, there’s so much to worry about that Hotch can’t admit to worrying about Reid as much in recent years, and yet he’s relieved to hear that there will be more Reid’s in a hundred mile radius. 

“I’m glad,” Hotch says honestly. “She’s more than welcome here. If she can cope with the photographs in the conference room, the round table is all yours.” 

Hotch retreats to his office and forgets about it for a while, submerged in his own lunch and a certain seven year old’s birthday planning. Jack wants a clown, and a cake with Cars, and he really wants a bounce house. Which is great, but Jack decided he wanted the bounce house last night, and his party is at the end of the week. Hotch makes a bunch of phone calls and finally gets to take a victory lap forty five minutes later. 

He steps out of his office, enticed by the sound of laughter. Spencer laughs like he’s surprised ninety percent of the time, and yours is no different. It’s clear to the listening ear who taught Spencer how to laugh. 

“I love it, I don’t ever want to hear a bad word about it,” you say through peels of it, a breathy, smiley warmth to you as a chair creaks from within the conference room, “and I mean that. Please don’t tell me any facts.” 

“I know so many you’d like to hear!” 

“I don’t doubt it, but please, as a favour? You can tell me about everything else.” 

“Processed cheeses–”

Hotch turns the corner as you put down a sandwich. “Okay, fine. I’m done, are you happy?” you ask, your smile fading into a more polite one as you meet Hotch’s eyes. 

“I didn’t get to say anything.” 

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Hotch says. He doesn’t interrupt, only says it into the quiet, and he doesn’t bother with fanfare. It’s just to alert Spencer of his presence. “Y/N,” Hotch adds, “hello. It’s good to see you.” 

He’s alarmed by your reaction —your eyes widen in your seat, hands hidden beneath your thighs, and your lips part ever so slightly. “Agent Hotchner,” you say softly, almost weakly. 

He’s not that intimidating, is he?

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. 

“You’re not interrupting, I was just telling her about the dangers of processed cheese. They’re so irregularly salty that the sodium has to be marked as a cause of heart disease on FDA approved packaging for the service industry,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure some every now and then won’t hurt,” Hotch says, attempting to offer you a friendly smile. “Spencer tells me you’re staying here for a while, that’s great. How are you liking the weather? It must be a change from Nevada?” 

You look peculiarly hot. “It’s different,” you agree.

Voices ring from the bullpen. 

Spencer stands up. You stand with him, but Spencer says, “Sorry, is that Morgan? He said I have to go and get him when you’re here.” 

“Spencer–”

Spencer’s already leaving. “He threatened me, actually,” he’s saying, more to himself than either of you as he departs. 

You wring your hands. 

Hotch worries his brows are giving him away. You’re acting strangely, but maybe he’s too much. He is a special agent, sometimes the other parents at Jack’s school get antsy around him like they’re worried he can tell they haven’t paid their last parking fine. Maybe you’ve a secret crime you’ve committed. 

He watches you more closely, to your flustering. 

No crime, Hotch thinks, but a secret. Even from Spencer. 

“So how’s your day, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly. 

It’s actually quite sweet, the way you say it. Your nerves are cute. 

“Busy.” The expected answer. “I’ve been trying to plan a birthday party between paperwork.” 

“For Jack?” 

He smiles with more gentleness. “Yes, for Jack.” 

“He was, um, a newborn, when we last met. Just a couple of weeks old, I think. How old is he turning now?” 

“Seven.” 

You breathe out. “Wow. Seven years.” 

Seven years, and your crush on him remains. That’s what he’d forgotten —when you visited Spencer at the time, even Gideon had mentioned your frazzled, almost dizzy disposition whenever Hotch was around. And Gideon tended to focus narrowly on work at work, so Hotch had known he wasn’t making it up. 

At the time it had been cute, but awkward too, and infeasible. He’d been dedicatedly married and in love with his Haley. And if he weren’t, your age gap might’ve been a little non-functioning, Hotch well into his thirties, and you a fresh twenty-five. 

Today you’re older, and more beautiful. Something about you has shifted, a blossoming into your features, and Hotch actually has the ability to notice it now. 

Your Spencer’s sister, he remembers suddenly. Probably not a woman he should flirt with, some subtle compliment lost on his tongue. 

“You look the same,” you say. 

He laughs. “That’s kind and untrue. I’m getting old.” 

The look you give him then is a shock and a pit, long the long forgotten twist of butterflies. “No,” you say, looking down at your hands, “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“What would you say?” he asks. 

You’re saved —poor girl, he doesn’t know what he was thinking, you can barely hold your head up— as Morgan bounds up the stairs and into the conference room. He gathers you for a hug as though he knows you better than he does, and Hotch loses sight of your face. 

Unknown to him and unseen, Morgan’s greeting is white noise. Why does he talk like that? you think to yourself desperately. He’s asking you all those questions with this weight to them, and he’s so calm! I’m going back to Vegas. 

“How long are you staying?” Morgan asks. 

You laugh weakly and accidentally catch Hotch’s eye, who smiles at you nicely. 

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.” 

Longer, if you have reason. 

[holysmokesblog]

Could it be real?

Vander x reader

Words: 0.5k

Warnings: -

Summary: You must face a fact that seems impossible, but it’s right there before your eyes—it’s just a matter of believing it.

Note: It's been over two years since the last time I posted something here. I hope you enjoy this piece, and that the translation is correct since I'm not very good at English. <3

He was there, just a few meters away, but he didn’t seem like himself. He didn’t look like him, didn’t sound like him, and didn’t even smell the same. He was simply unrecognizable.

Vi’s heavy hand rested on your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked at her, searching for answers, but she only stared at the massive creature lying on the ground.

“Are you sure it’s…”

“Completely.” Vi didn’t let you finish your question. She released your shoulder and approached the giant, who lay asleep a few meters away. She gently touched its back. The beast stirred uncomfortably, but upon seeing the young woman, it relaxed. “I have no doubt.”

You stepped closer, slowly, afraid your approach might alert the massive being, but it kept its back turned.

“Just look at him, and you’ll understand.”

The creature hunched over, trying to appear smaller (an impossible feat), and took a cautious step forward. You stepped back, which made him freeze in place.

Finally, the immense creature turned, and you saw him. He wasn’t how you remembered. He didn’t look like the man you’d fallen in love with in the Lanes, the one you’d shared most of your life with, built a family with. But without a doubt, it was him.

“Vander?”

Your mind raced, struggling to comprehend everything that was happening—how your husband, the man who had died years ago, was now back in a body that wasn’t his own.

You remained silent, unable to respond. Your brain kept trying to process everything, but no answer came. Vi, still enraged, was about to say something else when a loud snort stopped her.

Seeing that you wouldn’t come closer, Vi stepped in again.

“I know he looks different, but I swear, this is Vander. He remembers us.”

“How is this possible?”

“We’re not sure, but you have to trust me.”

“I searched for his body for months. I didn’t… I didn’t find anything—”

“That doesn’t matter anymore!” Vi snapped, furious. “He’s here now. We can help him; we can bring Vander back! How can you not be happy?”

The massive creature that had once been your husband took another step in your direction, but this time, you didn’t back away, so he kept advancing. Panic gripped your chest with every step he took, the fear that touching him would wake you up in your apartment, drenched in tears.

When he finally reached you, he lifted one of his enormous hands and gently brushed your cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to stream uncontrollably.

“Is this real?” You looked into his eyes. “Please,” you begged. “I don’t want to wake up.”

Vander didn’t dare touch you again, fearing you might run away, but you couldn’t stand it any longer. You buried yourself in his chest. He hesitated for a moment but finally wrapped one massive arm around you, lowering his face to your head and inhaling deeply.

“You’re real,” you murmured through your sobs, unable to believe it.

“I’m here,” he said in a deep voice, squeezing you gently with the arm that held you close.

[riansdiary]

IT'S NOT MANIFESTING, IT'S HAVING AND BEING NOW!

Hello my dearest gentle readers! 💎

Did you miss me? I am back with another epiphany! I had it last few weeks ago and it was when I realized that we f*cking over complicated the law of assumption too much. When I started manifesting with the help of Hyler's videos, there was no stress or worrying or over complication about it at least for me. That is because I knew that all I needed to do was assume that I have it now, there was not too much focus on the 3d because why would we identify with the old story?

Let me give you a simple analogy for this. It's just like changing batteries or having a new phone or erasing the board for a new lesson. When you need to change the batteries of your remote, you just put in the new ones (new story) and that's it. You forget and toss the old ones (old story) in the trash! That's how simple it is. There's no "why is it still not working?" or "what if it doesn't work?" when manifesting because that is being in the middle!

You're hanging in the balance and your subconscious is gonna be confused so go straight to the end. Manifesting is that simple. You either have it or you don't but you're not just pretending you have it either. You know you have it. I don't even like calling it manifesting that much because that implies a process or waiting time. It's just having it or being it now and not looking or identifying with the 3d or the old story.

You just choose a story and stick to it. Heck, I didn't even affirm that much before to manifest things. I wanted to make the two vaccines I'm getting to be completely painless, what did I do? I relaxed and affirmed only a few times and lived in the end. I didn't worry because I knew it was done. I wanted a specific food I'm craving? I affirmed a few times in the state of the wish fulfilled and forgot about it. Later on, I get the very thing I affirmed for. We must remember that the 3d follows us. Okay so what do you think will happen if you're saying stuff like "Where is it? I've been affirming for x amount of time!" or "I've been listening for so long to subliminals but there's no results!"

You are now reacting and you're pulling yourself back to the old story. There's no problem if you rant or cry it all out. We're human and we can do that but we keep staying in the new story. The problem is if we give up. The only thing that is stopping you from having it is exactly those thoughts about the 3d. That is keeping you in the old story. If you're really living in the end then why oh why do you spiral and think thoughts like that? If this ever happened to you, you can just go back to the new story. Reject and cancel your reaction. I reject negative thoughts or anything I don't want. Yes, you can do that. Do not forget that you are the operant power.

Let me tell you how to really do it in the easiest and simplest way possible. This is how I used to manifest effortlessly when I started learning about the law. Now I over consumed and yeah you know, took too much info when I already knew what worked for me even before. Now, I'm not saying that this is the only way or the best way to manifest. I'm just recommending this. What works for me might not work for you but that's okay. We all have our own special way.

Now without further ado, let me tell you how to do it. Try it for two weeks or however long or short you want. Just trust me and try this out.

1. Think of what you want to manifest. Anything you want. Go crazy.

2. Either pick an affirmation or multiple ones to say in your mind when you think of it. That's option A.

Option B: Rampage a.k.a just say whatever you think if you have that already. It's just naturally whatever comes to your mind about it that is in the past, present or future tense. You pick what you want but personally I like the present tense the best. Let me give you an example and yes, this is what I used to affirm for the things I mentioned above. Let me link the video I got this from!

Example 1: For my painless vaccines, these are the thoughts I had. All in the wish fulfilled state.

"Oh goodie the line's moving so fast now! The vaccines I'm getting are gonna be painless. Yup it was painless, it felt like an ant bit me. That was nothing! I literally finished so fast and I'm ready to go home with Mom!"

This is what I thought to make the lines go faster which honestly helped so much because the line was so long but it started moving faster and faster after I affirmed. I also thought in my favor about making the vaccine painless. I made sure to affirm that I won't have the side effects that people are talking about. I did it like that, very naturally but I also repeated each sentence at least just three or five times. It changes a bit as I think but it's just the same sentence simplified or just another form of it. Let me show you what I mean.

"I got the vaccine and it was painless. It didn't even hurt. I got the vaccine so fast and we can go home now. Oh the line's going faster. Why is the line suddenly moving so fast? Oh that was fast!"

Something like that! It's just like my natural way of thinking!

Option C: Just decide you have it and keep deciding whenever you think of it and know that your words are law. That means that when you decide, it is instantly done.

3. Always replace the old story with the new story. Take the old story and chuck it in the trash. It's in the past. You now have whatever it is that you want. That means whether you see it or not, think that it is done and it is here now. Yes, full on delulu mode but not really delulu because it's just being in that mindset of having it. That also means that you don't need to find it in the 3d. Why would you? That's the old story and it's trash. Do not even think about it. Aha, do not even try. You accept that it is here now and it is done. Remember that what you focus on stays in your reality. It is that easy. You don't want to be broke? Okay forget about that. It's in the past and it's not true anymore. Accept that you're rich now whether you see it or not. Have faith in the law of assumption. Acknowledge your desire to be in your reality now. Acknowledge that money you now have in your bank account. I acknowledged that croissant that I wanted. Yup I know the croissant is right in front of me now. Instead of finding your desire in the 3d, SPAWN THAT SH*T! MAGICALLY MANIFEST IT OUT OF THIN AIR. Um, excuse my french 🤭

4. All you need to do now is to know that it's done. RELAX. Why would you worry about it when you have it now? Be in the reality where you have it now. What would you think now that you have it? How would you feel? You'd feel relaxed and you can kick back and watch movies! Know that it is truly done. Would you count how many times you affirmed if you had it already? No. Would you worry about it if it's already here? No. That is still being stuck in the middle and making it a process! What would you do if it's already here? Do that. Do what makes you happy. Watch some Disney or Ghibli movies and just chill because you have it now whatever it is you desire. Let go of the 3d and the old story because it's in the past. Please. Manifesting doesn't really include the 3d. It's just a mere reflection of your thoughts or state. That's all it is. And please do not wait for it. There's no waiting. You just need to know and acknowledge that your desire is here, you have it now and it's done.

Here's a little summary of that:

1. What do you want? Okay you have it now. Congrats! 🎉

2. Affirm in whatever way you want for a few times or whenever you think of it.

3. Live in the end/state of the wish fulfilled. The old story is in the past. Focus on the new story. What you focus on sticks/stays in your reality.

4. Know it's done now. Do what makes you happy. Acknowledge your desire being here now.

Before I end this post, let's do a little fun exercise. Shall we proceed? Just a little extra thing!

Okay this is the situation: You were rich all your life. You've always lived a lavish life and you are spoiled with gifts on the daily. You literally can always afford and get the latest Iphone or whatever else you wanted. You have always gotten whatever the heck you want.

For the first two, it's gonna be an acting exercise. More like try being this character and embodying them.

First is improv acting. Be this character and rampage or naturally say lines that you think they would always be saying. Think Audrey Hope, Blair Waldorf, Nate Archibald or any rich spoiled characters you know!

Fun fact: Audrey is my fave character in the Gossip Girl reboot! She's so cute! My inspo when it comes to being classy and demure! Idk I also really like her personality! That's why I used her gifs!

Something like: "Oh I really want those compact mirror cameras! It's small so it's easy to put in my bag and it looks like makeup! It gives Totally Spies vibes so you know what... I'm gonna place my order now! I always have money anyway and it's so cheap so why not?"

The next thing is a line that you can say. I asked Chatgpt to make me a random rich character monologue. It's like a vaunt basically! Imagine it's Blair Waldorf's opening narration line. Be it, Embody it and say it in your mind like it's just normal for you. You can read it everyday if you want to!

"I always get what I want. That’s just how it works for me. I don’t even have to think about it—if I want something, it’s mine. No questions, no doubts. It’s like the world bends a little to make sure I have exactly what I need, when I need it. And why wouldn’t it? That’s just how my life goes.

I walk into any room, and I know I belong there. I don’t have to prove myself or explain why I deserve it. I just do. Everything I touch turns into something special. When I want something—whether it’s an invitation to the most exclusive event or a last-minute trip halfway around the world—I make a call, and it’s done. Effortless.

People think money changes things, but it’s not really about that. It’s about knowing that everything is always within reach. I don’t chase after things—I attract them. Opportunities, people, experiences—they all come to me naturally. It’s just how my life flows.

And the best part? I don’t even have to try. It’s just who I am. I live on my own terms, and the world just fits itself around that. Everything always works out for me."

Here's the next exercise. This is something more specific. This is inspired by one of Hyler's videos that I will link here.

Think of a thing you're manifesting right now and imagine it right in front of you. For people who can't visualize, find a picture of the thing (if possible) in Pinterest or Google and look at it as if it's in front of you.

If it was right here in front of you, what would you think, how would you feel and how would you act? This has helped me immensely after I watched Hyler's video. I realized that I would feel relaxed now that it's here and my thoughts would align with it being here now. I would take a deep breath and feel relieved.

Now I want you to do this for your desire. I want you to always ask yourself these questions to remind yourself that it's here now and it's done. Whatever is in the 3d is old news. What you focus on sticks so focus on only what you want. The 3d is not included in manifesting. It's just the effect while the 4d a.k.a your mind is the cause. Live in the reality where you have it now, live in the 4d and embody the version of you who already has it. Don't do things to manifest or get things. That will happen naturally but that should not be our focus. The basics are to assume/decide/know you have it now. If you have it now then why would you identify with the old story? Do not identify with the old story. You're not there anymore. It will just stay in your reality if you pay attention to it and give it power.

That's all I have for you in today's post but I know or at least I am now assuming that this will help everyone and make it easier for you! I hope you're having a good day or night!

Yours Truly,

Lady Rian Whistledown 💋

[turquoizxe]

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

Ekko x Fem!Reader

content ― arcane s2 spoilers!!, drabble/hc; fluff, some angst, Ekko is absolutely smitten for the reader, friends to lovers, suggestive *in very few areas

author's note ― there's not enough drabbles/fics for Ekko and its pissing me awf. I must intervene.

wc ― 0.974k

Ekko wasn't sure if he'd find anyone else after Jinx

He had no choice but to live without her, even after experiencing what could have been had things been different.

It ate at him, constantly, knowing what their lives could have been, but he loved his home enough to save it

After the Vigil, Ekko kept to himself for quite sometime

He remained with his Firelights, continuing to redevelop his haven after everything that occurred

Remaining occupied meant he didn't have enough time to sit and think about all that had unraveled the past few months

On the days he was left in solitude, he sketched and tried to remember the best parts, or how to move ahead

He'd reunite with Vi every now and again, but she was busy handling her own business with Caitlyn. The environment had changed, and it was hard to tell if it was for the best or the worst

He would travel to Piltover more frequently, but it was harder due to the memories it held, and he didn't see much of a point in staying outside of grabbing supplies

You met Ekko while on a supply run, stealing the last stock of bolts he needed. He was having an awful day when you ran into him, so his demeanor was one he wasn't sure he had in him

Despite this, you still offered to share your bolts, if he wasn't being an ass, and if he showed you what he was working on for him to be so frustrated with a stranger

He was careful not to yet invite you to the home that he shares with the Firelights

You were understanding of his skepticism and invited him to your workshop instead, just outside of Piltover, but not necessarily in the area of Zaun

The device he showed you felt far more valuable than what you had been working on. Despite its rickety condition, he spoke of it so passionately, and you could tell this craft was something he was passionate about

You invited him back, and you gave him the hours you would usually be here if he was ever comfortable returning

After your first encounter, you weren't sure if he'd be back, but it shockingly didn't take long for him to return

What became maybe once a week, turned to twice, and then frequent visits

You'd both would often go on runs together, and when Ekko wasn't with the Firelights, he found himself spending more time in Piltover, but mainly if you were involved in that exploration

The first night after you met, he didn't get much sleep. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had made him feel that way; It felt so instant, without hesitation or question

He would have called you an idiot for being so trusting to a stranger, but he felt like a fool for the emotions he was already experiencing.

It was hard for him to process how the chemistry you exude when together was automatic.

As time went on, he let his guard down around you, when he was around you, it all felt natural. A year had gone by without either of you noticing

The night, when the anniversary of the Mass Vigil was held, he stayed longer than you both had expected, a lingering tension between the two of you.

Even without talking, the lack of conversation made him feel vulnerable― susceptible to questions he wasn't sure if he was ready to answer yet

The wounds were still so fresh, you had half the mind to not ask if he knew anyone that was lost in the war, but before you could ask, he went off into the night, leaving you to wallow in your own thoughts

Weeks had passed since you had seen him

These days, you don't hear much from Ekko. And even when you mourned his lack of presence, it hadn't taken much time before it started to anger you

Ekko had realized long ago that he had feelings for you. He often fought the urge to be defenseless around those he cared for most. He wasn't sure if that was possible with you until it was

He was so enamored with you and never missed a moment to brag to his colleagues about your brilliance

You reminded him so much of her, and you deserved to be your own person in his eyes. He feared that if this went any further, he'd try to create comparisons that weren't fair to either of you.

The more time you spent apart, he spent more time admiring the distinctions. The emotions you evoked from him felt foreign. He couldn't place a finger on it, but he wanted to explore it further

More weeks had passed before he showed up at your workshop, knocking at your door instead of climbing through the window like he used to. The change in behaviors made you pout a bit more than what was already plastered on your face

Ekko had revealed his creation, the device he had been working on for weeks. The bolts you had landed him were engraved with your initials

You sat him down, spending time to catch up. While you wanted to be mad, you weren't sure if the feelings you were experiencing were even mutual, until he made riddance of your doubts

He didn't make it back to the Firelights that night, spending the night wrapped and reveling in passion that had been festering itself. You had never been this intimate, the night filled with nervous laughs and mistakes, but it made him feel human again

The walls he had worked to build had swiftly crumbled whenever you came into the picture

There wasn't a thing he wouldn't do for you, and he'd fight just as hard to save you

No matter the universe

― turquoizxe

[skyahri]

Unplanned |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Shikamaru Nara, and Kakashi Hatake

Summary: Pregnancy scenarios 'cause I can.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy. Bad words. All fluff.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Sasuke Uchiha

He isn't the kind of guy to outwardly dote on you.

He's never been good with words or physical touch, more so preferring quality time together. You sleep in the same bed, eat meals together when it's convenient, and lounge around together when time allows.

When you come home from a last minute doctor's appointment with some big news, none of that really changes.

He assures you that he's happy, that he loves you, and this is all wonderful, but that's about all you're going to get out the emotionally constipated man.

However, while words may not be his strong suit, actions certainly are.

It's become painfully obvious that you are never allowed to go anywhere alone ever again.

He's like a shadow, following you everywhere and anywhere you decide to go. It doesn't matter that you're just running to the market- he's coming with. Ino invited the girls over for a dinner party? Cool, he'll walk you there, hang around in the shadows outside, then walk you home.

When questioned, Sasuke only says that he doesn't trust other people. Already knowing how he is, you don't push him any further. (Not that he'd entertain you if you did.)

People notice pretty quickly. He's not subtle and it's not exactly common for the Uchiha to be so openly clingy.

You wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret for a little while longer. You knew that his status would make the whole thing bigger than you'd like and it was still so early, only about eight weeks in. But people were becoming more and more insistent with their questions.

"Seriously, did something happen? He's been watching you like a Hawk for the past month."

"It was cute at first, but now it's straight up creepy."

Sakura and Ino dramatically shiver at the notion. You laugh, imagining how unsettling this all must look from the outside.

"It's fine, I promise. He's just been a little overprotective since he found out I was pregnant."

They don't register it at first. They just nod in understanding and move to sip their tea. You can almost see it click in their heads before they slam down their cups and start freaking out.

"Wait, WHAT?"

Naruto Uzumaki

"Congratulations! Based on the ultrasound, I'd say you're about five weeks along. It's still early, but you can see a tiny sac right here-"

Your mind is going a thousand miles a minute, thinking of everything and nothing as the doctor points out the tiny, centimeter-long blob in the picture.

Naruto had been bugging you for the past three weeks about a smell. He swears it's nothing bad, just that Kurama is insisting that your scent has changed and- blah, blah, blah. You never could get any more information out of him, which just left you to eventually cave and visit the doctor. Animals have instincts for a reason and who were you to ignore them?

Turns out, that damn fox was right.

After a half-hour lecture on what you can and can't do anymore, you were handed a goodie bag of essentials and sent on your way.

You barely remember the walk home. Your mind was completely blank as it tried to process the news. It wasn't until Naruto was standing in front of you in the doorway to your home that you finally snapped out of the trance.

You stared up at him. His eyebrows were knit together and he was asking if everything was alright. He pulled everything out of your hands and not-so-gently set them on the floor.

"I'm pregnant."

His eyes blew wide and not even a second later he was smiling, pulling you into him and spinning you around. It's over just as quickly as it started. He's setting you back down on your feet and looking you over, mumbling a few hollow apologies for manhandling you. He takes a deep breath, that lopsided grin on his face never leaving.

"You're pregnant."

Just those two words have all the fog clearing from your head. Reality is forced onto you in an instant. In any other situation, it might have made you dizzy, but right now you couldn't be happier.

"I'm pregnant."

Shikamaru Nara

He really should've seen this coming.

Honestly, with how careless he is with protection, it's a wonder how you hadn't gotten pregnant sooner. A year and some change of not bothering with condoms and lazy, half-assed pullouts had finally come to bite him in the ass.

Although he knows this is all going to be horrifically bothersome, he can't find it in himself to be all that bothered. No, not when you're standing in front of him so nervously, little tears gathering on your waterline as you hold out a slip of paper for him to take.

He pulls you into a hug- a very tight, very intimate hug. One of his hands is on your lower back, pressing you into him, and the other is in your hair to cup the back of your head. He can feel the stress start to melt from your body as you relax into him, your arms moving to loosely hold him back.

"I'm sorry. I know this wasn't exactly planned..."

It definitely wasn't planned. He didn't like to think about things too hard. The only talk about the future he'd engaged in was a brief confirmation that you were both interested in pursuing each other exclusively and that neither were against marriage and kids.

But even though this was sudden and unprompted and definitely not what he was expecting when you asked to talk with him privately, he just couldn't find it in himself to be anything other than pleased. Sure, he would've liked to wait a few years and it preferably be after he'd properly proposed and married you, but none of that is deterring him.

He loved you. He didn't say it as often as he probably should, but that didn't make it any less true. You were easygoing and passive and fit into his life with no resistance. His friends liked you, possibly more than they did him. You liked to cook and he never had to worry about you causing trouble.

This was fine.

Not troublesome in the least.

"No, this is... good."

Kakashi Hatake

He was positive he was sterile. He'd have to be after all the injuries and trauma he's sustained, right? Four years and not a single scare, yet here you were, apparently three months pregnant, handing him a report from the OB's office.

He couldn't even form a sentence. He just sighed and sat back onto the couch with his eyes closed. It's only eight in the morning, it's too early for this, not that there'd ever be a great time.

"I knew you weren't going to be thrilled, but now I'm starting to get nervous. Can you please say something?"

He held his arm up and gestured for you to come towards him. When he could feel you brush against him, he grabbed your wrist and carefully yanked you onto his lap. You let out a relieved, albeit hesitant, chuckle as he slowly wrapped himself around you, his head finding solace in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a little while until he let out the loudest, most dramatic groan you'd ever heard leave his mouth, followed by a mumbled 'are you sure?', to which you rolled your eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure. Here, you can see for yourself."

You unfold the paper and pulled out a few pictures. He shifts you around so you're at a better angle before he takes them into his hands. It's obvious that he has no idea what he's looking at- just that the blob is already baby-shaped and very, very intimidating.

You point out some of the obvious things, the head and feet and such, before moving down to the very last photo at the bottom.

"And that little spot right there means that we're having a boy."

"I thought they couldn't tell the gender until later."

"It is later, Kashi. Fourteen weeks."

He lets you take the pictures from him so he can set his hand on your stomach. You'd mentioned gaining a little weight recently, which he honestly hadn't noticed, but now he's wondering how he could've missed it as he brushes his fingers over the slightest most obvious bump in your usually flat stomach.

He must've been zoned out for too long, because you're calling his name and setting your hand over his. He hums, a slight acknowledgment that he's heard you, but you know he's not actually listening.

He's too busy thinking about diapers and bottles and late nights and early mornings. How his son is going to be in the same class as his student's kids. How Gai is going to be a hundred times more annoying in the coming years.

But then a single thought completely derails his spiraling. He wonders what your baby will look like. If he'll be a morning person like you or like to take naps like him. If they'll accel in genjutsu or not, because while he certainly does, you most certainly don't.

He's spent time with Kurenai and Mirai. While raising a person definitely seemed difficult, he couldn't deny that Kurenai was happy. Actually, despite Asuma's untimely death, she's the happiest he'd ever seen her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just... thinking about how annoying it'll be to tell everyone we're expecting."

"Seemed more like panicking to me."

"... shut up."

[vorestarr]

ascended astarion and vampire spouses

so I've been reading the dnd 2e manual "Van Richten's Guide to Vampires" for fic/game inspiration, and there's this really interesting chapter on vampire brides and grooms. after reading it, it's very clear to me that Astarion didn't turn Tav into a typical spawn, but into a vampire spouse, which are two very different rituals with very different outcomes.

the typical vampire spawn creation process is exactly what Astarion describes happening to him: a painful death, a painful rebirth into undeath, fighting his way out of his own coffin, and Cazador's complete control over him. this is described pretty clearly in the guide to vampires:

According to most related tales, a vampire can create another simply by killing a mortal either with its life-energy draining power (draining all the character's experience leveIs) or by exhausting the mortal of his or her blood supply. If the victim's body is not properly destroyed, it arises as a vampire, under the control of the creature who killed it, on the second night following the burial. [...] Most vampires remember the instant of their death and the nature of their killer, and understand immediately their new nature. Certainly their new hunger gives them a good idea of what they have become. They must immediately free themselves from their grave. either by breaking it open from within or by assuming gaseous form and diffusing out.

so that's definitely what happened to Astarion, but that's not what happens to Tav. after ascended Astarion turns Tav into a vampire, they can ask him what happened, and he describes the following:

Astarion: You are so beautiful... And you will be beautiful forever. Thank you for trusting me. Player: What exactly happened? Astarion: You were drained dry, and at the height of your delirium, I granted you one drop of my own blood. Things will be a touch different for you than they were for me when I was a spawn. I'm imbibed with unfathomable new talents. I am fairly certain I can extend Mephistopheles' blessings unto you. Player: Does that mean I need not fear the sun? Astarion: You need not fear anything. You will be stronger, swifter, sharper, but you won't be different. You were already perfect before. It's hard to improve.

for reference, this is how the guide to vampires describes the ritual for vampire spouses:

To actually create the bride, the vampire bestows what is known as the "Dark Kiss". lt samples the blood of its mortal paramour—once, twice, thrice—draining her almost to the point of death. This process causes the subject no pain; in fact, it has been described as the most euphoric, ecstatic experience, in comparison to which all ether pleasures fade into insignificance. Just as the subject is about to slip into the terminal coma from which there is no awakening, the vampire opens a gash in its own flesh—often in its throat—and holds the subject's mouth to the wound, As the burning draught that is the vampire’s blood gushes into the subject's mouth, the primitive feeding instinct is triggered, and she sucks hungrily at the wound, enraptured. With the first taste of the blood, the subject is possessed of great and frenzied strength (Str 18, if the character’s Str isn't already higher), and will use it to prevent the vampire from separating her from the fountain of wonder that is its bleeding wound. lt is at this point that the creator-vampire's strength is most sorely tested. He is weakened by his own blood loss, and also by his own rapture as the "victim" of a dark kiss. Overcoming the sudden loss of strength and the inclinations of lust, the vampire must pull her away from its own throat, hopefully without harming her, before she has overfed. Should the subject be allowed to feed for too long (more than 2 rounds), she is driven totally and incurably insane, and will die in agony within 24 hours. Once the subject has stopped feeding, she falls into a coma that lasts minutes or hours (2dl2 turns), at the end of which time she dies. Several (1 d3) hours later, she arises as a Fledgling vampire—and her creator's bride.

this to me sounds like what Astarion describes. he drains Tav almost dry, and at the very last moment, gives them a single drop of his blood. (also interesting reading this guide, the single drop avoids the problem of the vampire spouse being driven ravenous with hunger for the vampire creator's blood and attacking them. did Astarion know this and give them one drop on purpose to avoid that and Tav potentially being driven mad by it? or was he being selfish and this is just a nice but unanticipated outcome?)

i kept reading and there's a lot more interesting information about vampire spouses, but the most interesting thing I found related to the game was this:

Although there are some folk tales that describe the bride of a vampire as its slave, in much the same way that offspring are slaves, a bride is free-willed from the moment of her creation. The creator vampire does have great influence over the bride. however although this control is totally nonmagical. When a vampire is created in the traditional manner—that is, when a victim's life energy is completely drained away—the new fledgling instinctively understands much about the vampiric way of unlife, and about its own strengths, weaknesses* and needs. Not so the bride.

so basically, the vampire spouse is not tied to the vampire creator in the same way as a spawn (i.e., not able to be fully controlled) but is still extremely reliant on the vampire creator to teach them how to live as a vampire. the guide goes on to describe that some vampire creators may lie to their vampire spouse about the control or powers they have, in order to exert more control over them.

interestingly, if you ask Astarion if he can compel you the way Cazador compelled him, he doesn't give a straight answer, he just says this:

Player: Cazador could compel you - can you compel me? Astarion: Why would I need to? You're going to be wonderfully obedient.

to me, all of this says that Astarion was telling the truth when he told Tav that they would be different from him as a spawn, and also in emphasizing that they are not a spawn but a consort. he didn't create a spawn, he created a vampire spouse. he married Tav, and because of this Tav also retains their free will.

of course, Astarion doesn't say this. if he knows, he withholds this information in much the way that this guide describes, as a way for the creator to maintain more control over their spouse. but still, extremely interesting implications for the ascended Astarion romance, imo.

other interesting facts about vampire spouses from the guide to vampires:

the married couple has telepathic communication that can span miles -- so Tav and Astarion can potentially have a telepathic bond even after the tadpoles are gone. (another note, this communication has to be consensual both ways for it to work, so you can't just dig around someone's mind if they don't want it.)

the vampire creator is extremely jealous and possessive. (yeah lol)

their life forces are linked, so one suffering a great deal is felt by the other.

the bond can be broken, but the ritual to do so has to be initiated by the creator. to break it, they both spill their blood on the ground and allow it to mix. this dissolves all aspects of the bond (i.e., telepathy and linked life forces), but the spouse stays a vampire.

[auraworkshop]

A Guaranteed Way To

ENTER THE VOID

I believe that THE VOID COMMUNITY is in serious need of an upgrade and that we need to take a more progressive and forward-thinking approach towards it. The void community seriously needs to progress and move forward, and it is important to provide updated and innovative ways of achieving the void state. Having an efficient and effortless way to entering the void would be a monumental advancement for the void community. I fully believe that this can be the start of a new community that embraces and supports effortless manifestation and effortless ways of achieving the void state in a way that is clear, concise, and to the point.

Let's keep shifting the community forward !

So for this, I have created a subliminal which will take you to the void for sure because I've manifested that subliminal in the void to work 100%

I also did a experiment with the sub, in which I took few peoples and made them listen this sub for 3 days to see if there's something I gotta improve in the sub or if there's something I can do in extra to make the sub work no matter what.

Here are the results of the experiment :

After taking notes of everyone's experience, I tried to improve the sub as much as I could !

Here's the subliminal :

Enter void right now | GUARANTEED | ⚠️ Don't overuse ⚠️ | Insanely powerful

So, all you have to do is :

STEP 1 : During the day, listen to the subliminal for once and affirm awareness affirmations along with it so you don't end up not being aware in the void when you enter.

STEP 2 : Now, at night grab your headphones, put the subliminal on loop and sleep.

STEP 3 : Congrats ! You've made it.

I want everyone to try to keep an open mind and not be resistant towards the results. Remember that you must surrender completely and allow the possibility of a void shift to occur without any resistance or doubt. For my manifestation to work for you all, Faith is essential as it directly correlates with your inner state. You must have enough faith and trust in yourself to allow it happen easily and effortlessly. Faith means letting go of any doubt or worry and fully surrendering to the process. So, in conclusion, faith is important for this to work as it allows you to fully immerse yourself in the process and let go of any resistance ! 🤍

One thing to keep in mind that this isn't gonna work for you if you've ever :

• Hated on a blogger for literally no reason, no matter if it was me or any other blogger on Tumblr

• Guilt tripped someone intentionally

• Started a pointless/unnecessary drama

When I'll hit 1k subs on YouTube, 'll be doing something similar as a celebration of it, but this time it will be something different and unique.

ROOTING FOR Y'ALL ! 🤍

[miryum]

A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful

Word Count: 10.3k

I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing

Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious. 

My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter. 

I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends. 

I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly. 

Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree. 

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world. 

You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you. 

Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother. 

Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect. 

For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.

Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.

I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.

We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing. 

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright. 

Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.

Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.

Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.

Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well. 

Best wishes, 

Ginny

P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours  myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable. 

***

Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.

The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated. 

For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.

But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close. 

Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms. 

The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows. 

Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’ 

No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were. 

The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”

Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.” 

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth. 

As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.

***

“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.

“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family. 

“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.

“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”

Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?” 

Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…” 

She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”

You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son. 

While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.

Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.

The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.

“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy. 

Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.

Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?

If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.

Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue. 

Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…” 

He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger. 

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.

***

Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.

In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed. 

Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.

Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates. 

You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.

You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?

While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.

It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.

With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care. 

Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.

Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.

You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.

Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.

“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him. 

You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.

As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.

You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”

He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.

You simply uttered, “okay.” 

Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.

A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.

Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.

“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.

Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour. 

“Goodnight,” you reiterated. 

Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you. 

He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?” 

It was too late now to apologise.

***

Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?” 

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” 

“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.” 

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.” 

You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”

“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”

Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”

After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”

His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”

“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”

Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”

Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.

Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”

For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”

He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”

“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.

Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.

Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him. 

Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence. 

One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.

A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library. 

After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?” 

Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”

Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.

You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.

Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”

You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”

Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.

You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”

Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”

As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.

Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”

Mattheo saw red. 

He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.” 

Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm. 

Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.

Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.

You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”

Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.” 

“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied. 

Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”

“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”

Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.

After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene. 

You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.

You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up. 

After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall. 

Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him. 

You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”

Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.

You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”

Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.

***

Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”

The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read. 

Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.

“Reading,” you said simply. 

Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.

“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.

Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.

One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?” 

You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”

Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered. 

“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.

He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble. 

You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”

Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”

“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly. 

“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”

You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?” 

You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. 

“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer." 

There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?” 

Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.

He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children. 

You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.

Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.

“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.

Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less." 

“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously. 

Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.

You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”

Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."

“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”

"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?" 

“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.

Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you. 

Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”

Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much… 

Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how. 

"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune. 

“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.

"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."

***

The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.

It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted. 

There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.

Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.

“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.

“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.

“How was the dinner?”

Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”

“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.

“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”

“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”

Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”

A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”

Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin. 

“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.” 

Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”

Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss. 

His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his. 

Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”

Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”

“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”

***

The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.

Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”

“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”

“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.

Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!” 

Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”

“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.

“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”

“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid. 

“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.

Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”

“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”

“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck. 

“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes. 

“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?”  Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline. 

You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.

“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.

Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”

“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled. 

“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.

“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”

Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.

“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”

Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”

“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”

“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.

Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”

You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”

“Always.”

[decentwritings]

Chapter 1

Summary: You’re unable to grasp the luck you have. You were raised to run from danger, to go the opposite direction of bad influences. So when you somehow find yourself right in the center of it, you discover that running wasn’t exactly what you were taught. It only took GhostFace and a pretty girl to remember that.

next part

The game you were playing was beginning to bore you. The music wasn't even all that and your butt feels sore after sitting on these steps for the last three hours. A couple of drunk teenagers stumble by you again and you can't help but scoff in annoyance.

The extra battery pack you brought was dead and you had about seventeen percent left on your phone. You knew the idea of bringing a backpack was smart, but what was stupid was not bringing an extra charger.

You're stuck here as designated driver for your roommate and her friends. You got the short end of the stick because Anika claims she wants you to get along with her girlfriend. Something about her girlfriend having trust issues with people she doesn't know.

You can't even recall her name.

Miranda? Martha? Melinda?

It starts with an M.

Also, she kicked your ass in ten games of rock-paper-scissors.

The last hour there have been people coming out, not coming in anymore. The costumes were sad this year, and that's coming from someone who doesn't even celebrate. You think you saw one of Anika's friends as a slutty pirate? Maybe it was just a regular pirate; either way, it was lacking creativity.

She is pretty, though.

“Hey!”

You pick your head up, eyebrows connecting at the random outburst. You look around, suddenly aware no one else is sober enough or free to pay attention. So this woman must be calling you out.

And stupidly, you point at yourself and ask, “Me?”

The woman stalks over, and you stand, ready to fight to defend yourself. You lift your fists up but then they fall to your side at the taser in her hand.

“Where's my sister?” She asks, the taser sparks and you can't seem to find an escape with the house pressing against your back.

“I...I don't know,” you stutter, eyes on the taser and watching it move as she speaks.

“Let me through.”

You jump over the ledge and fall into the bushes, allowing the woman entrance to the home. You fall with a thud and groan, spitting leaves out of your mouth in the process. When you stand, the couple making out by the bushes stare at you with a mix of concern and irritation.

“Joker, Black Widow,” you say, stumbling out of the bush with a grunt. “Nice crossover. As you were,” you brush the remaining leaves off your clothes.

You attempt to enter the home, to warn Anika and her friends of some lunatic with a taser. But that same lunatic comes out with Anika and her friends in tow.

Anika tugs you along with her as they stalk out of the property. You groan at the pull, the grip she has on you is causing a pinching pain.

“My car!” you shout, glancing back at your parked car in the distance.

“We'll get it later,” Anika mutters, releasing you a second later.

The lunatic, who you learned is named Sam, shouts after the sister she was looking for, Tara. You follow behind with your shoulders slumped, solemn at the thought of your car parked in a street you don't know.

You're unaware of the group stopping to watch the sisters argue and you continue sulking past them. Hands tucked in your pockets, you kick a rock gently, turning and stopping in your tracks.

You regret ever allowing Anika to convince you to be designated driver. You're going to ask for a change of roommate when you get back.

But it goes to the back of your mind when you overhear someone behind you say, “is that the murderer?”

You raise a brow and look at the voice, tilting your head when you lock eyes with the stranger. And the stranger is throwing something at Sam before you can even comprehend her words.

“Murderer!”

The liquid hits Sam dead on, angering the older woman and unleashing the built up anger she most likely held back during the argument with her sister. Chad has to grab ahold of Sam then Tara to avoid a bigger fight from occurring.

Something in you shouts to get away from these people. It's a loud voice that you know belongs to your parents, who always told you to stay away from the wrong crowd. And maybe, this is what they meant by wrong crowd.

You stay back as they all walk away, just a few feet away from a sad, soaked and tired Sam. You exhale a breath, waiting for Ethan to walk away from his awkward interaction with the older woman. You take off your backpack and unzip it to grab the towel you packed.

While your parents raised you to run from danger, they also taught you manners. You step up to Sam cautiously, extending the towel towards her slowly.

Sam looks between you and the towel. It takes her a minute to decide if she can trust you, or maybe trust the towel. You aren't sure, but you reassure her. "It's better than whatever was on the napkins Ethan gave you," you shrug.

Sam takes the towel, or rather snatches it. She doesn't say anything, and you take that as her silently telling you to leave her alone. You turn and walk the other direction, away from the group. For once, you're listening to your parents' advice.

You decide it's a good night to be away from your roommate. So you head to your cousin's place, knowing his place was just a few blocks away. That way, you could wake up and pick up your car on your way back to your dorm.

You text your cousin to warn him of your presence at his apartment, to avoid interrupting any activities occurring. He texts back informing you he was on his way there, too, to wait for him by the door.

You hear a chuckle to your left a few minutes after arriving to his apartment building. As he gets closer, he points to the name tag on your shirt.

“Dennis?” He asks, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

You shrug. “The party I was at wouldn't let me stay if I didn't have a costume,” you wait patiently for him to unlock the door.

You follow him in, listening to him as he speaks. “And they allowed the fake name tag as a costume?” He asks, closing the door behind you.

You pause at the entrance, freezing when you see Sam at the bottom of the stairwell. You face your cousin with wide eyes. “I'm being followed,” you whisper, eyes filled with panic.

He looks behind you and locks eyes with Sam. He chuckles and shakes his head. “Head on up, I'll meet you there,” he tells you, handing you his keys.

You pause and stare at him like he's crazy, but don't question it, snatching the keys from his hands. You practically sprint past Sam, but pause at the first step to tell your cousin, “she's got a taser, Danny.” you warn him.

Sam glances back at you with narrowed eyes. You scurry off without another word.

You aren't sure how long you wait for your cousin, hoping he's still alive. All you know is, when he does return, you run up to him and immediately ask questions.

“How do you know taser girl?” You ask first, unaware of his worried state. You follow him into his kitchen, questions still flying out of your mouth. “How long have you known taser girl? Did she always live in this building? Why are people calling her a murderer? Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?” You ask when you finally notice his state.

Danny leans against the counter. “She's leaving,” he mumbles, as if he is just now realizing this.

You raise a brow. “What?”

Danny looks at you, and he thinks about all the possible outcomes of telling you the truth. Sam may have passed over a little of her skepticism to him. He's found himself questioning everyone's intentions at times, even at the smallest things like when his coworker ask him to pass him the salt one day at lunch.

“Sam is the girl I'm seeing,” Danny finally says, a weight falling off his shoulders after the words come out of his mouth. All you do is raise a brow. “We've been keeping it secret from her sister and her friends...”

“And me apparently,” you mutter.

Danny sends you an apologetic look, then he sighs sadly. “She's leaving,” he says again. “There was a murder of some students at Blackmore, your school.”

You frown. “Lucky bastards,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest childishly.

Danny's expression goes blank, a deadpan look crossing his face. He runs a hand down his face and shakes his head.

“It was a joke,” you say, eyes casting down to avoid his look. “What's the big deal of the murder anyway? It's New York. People die. We move on. It's the circle of life.”

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, your parents really did shield you from the world,” he mutters, huffing a breath afterward. “Do you watch the news? Check the internet–do you even know who Sam Carpenter is?” He asks you after a beat.

You shrug. “Relative of Jesus? I don't know, Danny– can't you just tell me instead of having me guess?” You give up, patience gone along with your interest in his love life.

And so Danny begins to explain, about Sam Carpenter's past. He tells you she's not just anyone—and you think he was going drone on about how amazing she is but no, he tells you she's tied to a dark legacy, one that involves a string of murders that happened in Woodsboro. Sam is the daughter of Billy Loomis, one of the original killers from those infamous Ghostface murders.

You don't watch the news, so he has to explain the Woodsboro murders. He tells you there's movies about it and you remind him you don't watch horror movies. It leads to a long argument of what movie genre is the best–man, ADHD is in everyone in the family.

Your head spins as Danny returns to his explanation. And you try to piece it all together, figuring out the whole relative thing, the murders and the murderers. You decide to suck it up and watch the Stab movies when you get the time.

Right now, you have bigger things to think about. “Wait, you're telling me your girlfriend is related to some psychopath who went on a killing spree? And people think she might be involved in this new murder at Blackmore?”

Danny looks exhausted but nods. “That's why they're calling her a murderer. She's been trying to escape all of this, but it's followed her here.”

You scoff. “Man, you know how to pick 'em,” you laugh gently, going back to the living room to sit on the couch.

Danny follows behind you, glaring.

You sink into the couch, hands raised in surrender. “Sorry. Geez,” you mutter. “So you're dating a woman who might be the next Ghostface? Or worse, the target of another psycho?”

Danny shrugs, taking a seat beside you on the couch, shaking his head. “She's not the killer. I know her. She's just... trying to live a normal life. But people won't let her. You saw what happened tonight.”

You groan and lean back. “Great. Now I'm stuck in the middle of some horror movie drama.”

Danny frowns at that, worry lines deepening on his face. “Listen, just stay out of it, okay?”

“Believe me, I'm trying,” you huff.

“Sam's trying to leave all this behind. She's not dangerous. Just... misunderstood,” Danny defends.

You're quiet for a while, processing. “So, what now? She's leaving, but what about you?”

He shrugs, looking defeated. “I don't know. Maybe it's better this way.”

You let out a long sigh, not sure what to think anymore. Everything seems so absurd, like you've just been pulled into some twisted movie plot. “This better not end with me getting stabbed,” you mutter, half-joking but half-serious.

Danny gives you a tired smile. “I'll make sure it doesn't.” But his tone doesn't inspire much confidence, and you're left wondering just how deep this whole thing goes.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you assume it's your mom checking in on you. You had told her of your plans and she was adamant of you not going to the party. You should have listened.

You also shouldn't have picked up the phone.

“Sweet mother,” you answer the phone, grinning at your cousin. He rolls his eyes, but the smile on his lips tells you he found it funny.

You expect an answer but nothing comes. You look at your phone screen and tilt your head at the lack of caller ID on it.

“Hello?” You say, waiting for some kind of response.

“Hello, Dennis,” your eyebrows raise, looking at your cousin. “Welcome to the party. Are you having fun?”

You pause to really think of an honest answer for the question. The voice isn't one you recognize, then again, this person did call you by your fake name; he may not know you either.

“Well, not really,” you reply, shoulders sagging as you continue, “and I'm not Dennis. You either got the wrong number or you assume my name is Dennis 'cause you saw me at the party.”

“Oh but I have the right number,” the voice responds, almost giddily.

“Who is it?” Danny whispers, scooting closer to you.

You wave him off, listening to them continue.

“Your cousin thinks he's so clever, doesn't he?” The voice says, menacingly. “Always two steps ahead. But he'll never see me coming. Neither of you will,” then the line goes dead.

You shake your head when you hear the tone signaling the end of the call. You huff and drop your phone to your lap. Danny waits for you to explain the call.

“Some dude called,” you start, nonchalantly. “Said we're not gonna see him coming.”

Danny's eyes widen, standing to grab his phone in the kitchen. You're lost at his sudden rush and concern, following him slowly. He has his phone pressed to his ear, waiting anxiously for someone to answer.

He slams his phone on the counter a few seconds later. He grabs his keys then turns to you. “Let's go. I need your help.”

He doesn't explain and you stupidly follow him, wondering what exactly he needs help with. When you exit the apartment building, he turns to you, eyes wide, frantic, and filled with worry.

“Can you handle this?”

“Handle what? You haven't explained anything,” you reply, an unsettling feeling growing in your gut. “You're freaking me out, Danny.”

“We have to split up, but don't stop looking over your shoulder,” he grips your shoulders, forcing you to meet his frantic eyes. “These GhostFace fanatics are freaks and you have to watch out for yourself. Can you handle this?”

The look on your cousin's face worries you, but your need to always help him—because he's always helped you, no matter what—makes you decide. You nod, confident and determined. You want your cousin to know he can count on you, just like you can count on him.

Not that you ever expected to chase after a killer to help your girlfriend. You're pretty sure you'd never get in a situation like this. You don't have fight in you; only flight.

But hell, if Danny needs you to search for that inner fight, you'll do it for him.

“You go that way, I'll go this way,” he points to the left then the right. “You knocked me out once when we were younger, think you can do that to a freak in a mask?”

You stare at him blankly. “I was ten and hyped up on sugar,” he sighs, regret crossing his face for bringing you into this. You shake your head, wanting to reassure him. “I got a knife,” you say as you pull out the box cutter your brother gave you for work.

Danny stares at it but doesn't comment. “Be careful,” he says, lifting his phone. “And call when you find them.”

You raise your hand to your forehead, saluting. He sprints off after doing a quick look around your surroundings. You do the same, gripping the box cutter in your hand like a lifeline.

You peek into every alley before passing it, making sure there isn't anyone lurking. You're not exactly sure how far you are from Danny's apartment when you reach the bodega at the corner. You come to a slow stop as several people run screaming out of the store.

“Please be a robbery,” you mutter, summoning the courage to fight instead of run. You bounce on your feet a few times, hyping yourself up before you finally walk up to the bodega's doors.

A bell chimes when you open the door, and the scene before you immediately makes you rethink your bravado.

GhostFace turns with the shotgun pointed at you. You've seen the mask before at stores, and you find it ridiculous that people are using a Halloween costume as a way to kill people.

“Wrong store, I'll come back late—”

You duck just in time to avoid the bullet and crawl toward the closest thing you can find for cover. You've played enough video games to know how to survive someone shooting at you.

You press your back against the shelf, heart pounding as you catch your breath. The bodega aisles stretch out in front of you, offering minimal coverage. You glance at the door–running seems like a bad idea. You could make a run for it, but you know bullets fly faster than you run.

His footsteps echo throughout the bodega, slow and deliberate; like he has all the time in the world. But he can't be stupid, someone must have called 911 by now. Right?

You peek around the shelf, catching a glimpse of the mirror hanging from the ceiling. You watch it to see what direction GhostFace is walking to. You see him step over a body, and you're aware it was cashier who probably tried to play hero.

Then, you see them and you roll your head in annoyance. Danny was not lying. Her past follows her so of course Sam and Tara are here, hiding from the freak in the mask.

“I could be in bed,” you mumble, looking at the shelf you're hiding behind for something to use. “But noooo...the one time you rebel against your parents' wishes, you get stuck in some shitty fanfiction a weirdo is writing,” you grab a can, then a jar of olives.

You glance at the mirror, GhostFace is steps away from discovering Sam and Tara so you don't even acknowledge Sam's attempt to get your attention–you toss the can towards the door. He quickly turns and reacts with shooting a nonexistent figure.

You stand now that his back was turned, lifting your arm to throw the jar at his head. As the jar flies in the air, you whistle to get his attention and timed it well to hit him square in the face. The shotgun falls out of his hands and you shout at the sisters to run.

They don't need to be told twice. Sam grabs Tara's arm, pulling her along as they run out of the store. You can hear sirens in the distance but you keep your eyes on GhostFace, who finally regains his composure. He looks out the bodega's windows and sees the flashing lights, then looks back at you with a look that tells you he is not happy.

He runs away and disappears towards the back, leaving you standing there in disbelief.

Did you just face off with a murderer?

You exit the store with your hands up, not wanting the cops to assume you're a threat. Either way, you're handled roughly by an officer as he grips your hands to cuff.

Sam and Tara appear out of nowhere, pulling you out of the replay of the events that occurred in the store. You blink, feeling the cuffs bite your wrists with a tight pinch.

“Stop, they helped us,” Sam says first, voice firm as she glares at the officer. Tara doesn't wait long to support her statement.

“Helped how?” The officer asks, eyeing you and now them suspiciously. Still, he doesn't even loosen his grip on your wrists.

“New York's finest,” you mumble with a head shake. You grimace when his grips tightens. “Oww,” you drawl out.

“They distracted GhostFace long enough for us to get out,” Tara adds, sending you a warning glare to keep your mouth shut. You duck your head, pursing your lips into a thin line. “If it weren't for them, we wouldn't have gotten out,” she jumps to your defense again.

The officer eyes you all, eyes squinting as he stares. He grunts then, “wait here.”

“Am I under arrest?” You asks as he walks away. You groan at his lack of response.

You tap your foot, aware of the presence of the sisters. You can feel the tension from the Carpenters without even looking at them. The last time you were alone with Sam, you ended up in a bush. Last time you saw Tara, she was wearing a pirate costume and laughing about it. Now, here you are. Life, huh?

“Nice night,” you mumble, because apparently, you never learn when to keep your mouth shut.

Both sisters look at you, deadpan. If looks could slap, you'd be on the ground. You shut up, but only for a second, because now Danny comes running up, and you know this is going to be great.

“Oh god, what did you do?” Danny hisses, eyes darting between you and the sisters.

“Saved your girlfriend,” you snarl, feeling deeply insulted that he automatically assumes you did something stupid. Danny freezes, eyes widening in horror at the worst-kept secret in the room.

You walk up to the officer as makes his way over to you. “Please say I'm under arrest,” you practically plead, wanting to escape from this reality.

The officer shakes his head, signaling for you to turn around. You do as you're told, feeling him unlock the cuffs from around your wrists. The stares from the three of them make you shift uncomfortably, keeping your head down until you're able to feel your wrists, holding them against your chest to soothe the ache.

Tara snaps her neck towards her sister, her gaze sharp. “Girlfriend?” she asks, voice icy.

Sam winces, like she knew this was coming. “Not now, Tara,” she nods in the direction a detective walking over to them.

The man smiles crookedly, stepping up to them almost awkwardly. “Care to explain?” He starts, then looks between you and Danny. “I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I'm detective Bailey.”

“Danny,” your cousin introduces himself, crossing his arms over his chest. There's a tension between them and he feels it thickening with each second passing.

Bailey turns to you. You tap on the fake name tag still on your shirt. “Dennis,” you lie, earning yourself an elbow to your side. You glare at Danny before returning to look at the detective. “Y/N,” you mumble, huffing.

Bailey nods, then sighs as his gaze returns to the Carpenter sisters. “I think you know what I'm going to say,” he says.

Sam nods, arms crossed over her chest defensively. “Let's go then,” she makes her way to the car the detective came in, her sister following.

Danny does the same but you, however, don't move. You didn't sign up for whatever this is. This is your chance to finally step away from this situation. Then, like they all practiced, they turn back to look at you.

“I'm fine here,” you say dismissively. “I appreciate the invite though–”

“Get in the car,” Danny orders with a glare, pointing to the vehicle.

You didn't plan to, you really didn't. But when you look at Tara–when Tara looks back at you, her expression shifting from anger to something softer—vulnerability, maybe. For a second, she's not the girl who just stared down a serial killer; she's just... someone who doesn't want to be alone.

That gets you. You barely know the girl but those eyes draw you in. Screw you and your inability to walk away from a pretty girl. You shuffle toward the car, muttering under your breath several complaints.

You squish in the back seat, Tara seated between you and Sam. The drive to the police station drives by the house the whole night started at. You frown at the sight of your car, lonesome and abandoned.

You sigh dramatically, your mind suddenly reminding you of the one thing that truly matters. “Ahh, fuck,” you groan, earning immediate side-eyes from everyone in the car. “I've got a paper due at midnight.”

Danny turns, his expression a perfect blend of exhaustion and disbelief. “Stop talking.”

And for once, you do.

As you approach the police station, the lights flickering in the night like a beacon of both hope and uncertainty, you realize that whatever happens next, you're not alone. You might be just a regular person caught in a slasher film, but now you're part of something bigger. You were here for Danny, and were further dragged in by Tara's doe eyes, and maybe—just maybe—this wild ride will lead to something unexpected. Hell, this may turn out for a good final senior thesis.

You take a deep breath, feeling that flicker of determination ignite within you. No matter how this night ends, you won't let fear hold you back. After all, survival is a team sport, and you're ready to play.

The car rolls to a stop, and as you all step out into the bright lights of the police station, you can't shake the feeling that this is just the beginning of a very messy adventure. But at least you'll face it with someone.

[mcflymemes]

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

who else knows you're still alive?

don't tell me i'm the only one that knows.

i never should have believed their lies.

how could you keep this from me?

they lied to you. they knew it would break you if i died.

i staged it all.

there's no way this is happening.

i'm never letting you go.

i promised you i'd never leave you.

but i saw you die! this is impossible!

no. no. this isn't happening. this can't be real.

i watched it. i watched you die and now you're standing here.

how is this even possible?

they might have exaggerated just a bit.

we needed to make it look like i was dead.

you just let me spend all this time thinking you were dead?

did you tell anyone else?

this was your master plan? fake your death, see what happens?

i don't know whether to be pissed or be thrilled to see you again.

i've just seen a ghost.

you saw what they wanted you to see.

you're not real. i must be dreaming.

did you look for me?

funny. i don't remember falling asleep.

you just let us all believe you were dead?

it was the only way to do this. i'm sorry.

when were you going to tell me?

i watched the life leave your eyes...

you kept this from me.

oh my god... no. no no no. this can't be happening.

how did you... how did you even do this?

someone pinch me.

you look pretty good for someone that's supposed to be dead.

i watched you die in my arms.

they told me you died.

i promised you i'd come back.

they lied to me? all this time?

trust me, i wanted to tell you. i really did.

i think i need to sit down.

i'm gonna need some time to process this.

are you real? can i touch you?

what was all this about you dying?

you've kept the truth from me all this time.

had you just told me, i could have helped you.

i begged them to let me tell you, but they said it would ruin our plans.

the blood was fake. i'm all right.

yes, i'm alive! would you please come over here and give me a hug?

i didn't think i'd survive it, either.

i knew you'd come back for me.

we had to make it believable from the start.

there was no other way.

i should have told you.

i tried to get a message out to you.

they said you'd moved on, so i figured i should, too.

i wish i had all the answers for you.

i know you expect me to be okay with this, but things have changed since you died.

[name]... i thought you were dead.

will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?

i'll never leave you again.

i swear on my life, this wasn't supposed to happen this way.

i take it you got my message.

everything got out of hand.

they didn't tell you?

glad you could make it.

i'm sorry i didn't reach out to you sooner.

all of a sudden, you come back into my life.

i'm back and better than ever.

i don't want to hear your excuses.

[swordsandholly]

def need more ditzy reader with mechanic 141- the only thing that tops my love for military men is blue collar boys <333

make sure to take care of yourself tho lovie!! don’t burn urself out :))

I for sure want to write more of her. Hopefully after this insane week at work I’ll be able to really sit down and crank out some writing. For now I’m battling my way through Ch 3 of Across the Way

But pls enjoy this little not proofread experimental snippet I wrote for ditzy reader

“Look.” Your landlord sighs loudly. Like you’re the one inconveniencing him. “I’ll send someone out.”

“That’s what you said two days ago! And three days before that!” You stomp your foot at no one just to get some of the anger out.

“I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

“Why can’t you-“ The line cuts before you can finish. The jerk hung up on you! What the hell!

You pout, plopping down into your desk chair and sighing. What are you supposed to do? You’re not allowed to call a handyman according to the lease and you don’t have a boyfriend right now. You can’t keep washing pans in the bathroom. It’s gross.

You huff.

“Alright?” Simon asks and you whirl in your chair. How does he walk so quietly?

“Yeah…” You pout harder under his steady gaze, slipping down further into the chair.

“You’re a terrible liar, luv.” His eyes crinkle in corners with a smile.

“Well…” You shrug, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. “My kitchen sink has been broken for a whole week and the landlord won’t do anything about it! I called and called and he just keeps saying he’ll send someone and then doesn’t!” Your voice pitches at the end, real annoyance bleeding through into the edges of your words. You fist your hands in your skirt.

“That’s all?” He raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just ask one of us?”

You blink twice, staring up at him. Your face heats and you look away bashfully - not wanting to admit you didn’t think to ask for their help. Stupid. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

“I’ll come by after work.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I’ll be there.” He nods before marching back into the garage. You just blink after him as he goes.

True to his word, Simon shows up at your door with a massive tool box in hand. Really, he still can’t believe you live in such a shit complex. Price pays you well enough. The locks might as well be paper-mache. Simon lowers his mask before knocking. He trusts you with his face - hell you probably forget it every time you look away - but he also wants you to trust him too. For whatever reason.

You’re staring when you open the door. Big doe eyes looking up at him and blinking slowly. He wonders what goes on behind those blank eyes of yours - if it’s nothing at all or such a chaotic dialogue that you can’t process it enough to pay attention.

All or nothing.

“Gonna let me in, doll?” He asks. You startle, not realizing how intensely you zoned out.

“Oh! Yes!” You jump out of the way, letting him into your small studio apartment. Every time he thinks your shorts can’t get smaller he’s proven wrong.

Simon takes a look around, huffing at the net full of stuffies hanging on the wall. Everything about your home is soft - soft colors, soft fabrics. It smells like vanilla, just like you always do when you come into the shop. His eyes lock briefly on a well-loved sewing machine covered in stickers with a project still under the needle. You must have been working on it before he got here.

Did you mean to leave your bra hanging on the back of that chair right by the kitchen? Lacy and lilac. He’ll have to remember that for some other time. Maybe your birthday.

“Let’s ‘ave a look.” He sighs, knees popping as he crouches in front of the sink. It’s a fucking mess, that’s for sure. At least you figured out how to turn the water off.

“Pipe’s busted.” He says. “I can seal it but it’ll take a sec.”

“Okay.” You murmur.

Simon sighs as he turns onto his back to get a better look. He doesn’t miss the way you stare blatantly at his midsection as his shirt rides up. He might adjust some to expose just a bit more.

You really are the least subtle thing in the planet, aren’t you?

“Can you come hold the light f’me, luv?” He points to the toolbox.

“This one?” You ask, as if it isn’t the only flashlight in the box.

“Yeah.”

“Like this?”

“Yup.” At first he expects you to sit silently so he can concentrate, but he quickly realizes that was far too presumptuous.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Si?” You ask quietly.

He huffs. “No.”

“Oh.” You chew your lip. “You seem like the kind of guy that would.”

Simon has never heard a bigger misread in his damn life but he’ll take it as a compliment, he supposes. “Why do you ask?”

“Cause this is boyfriend work and you’re good at it.”

Simon tries to see your logic - he really does - but he just has no clue how those things are even remotely related. Sure, guys fix things for their girlfriends but calling it ‘boyfriend work’ when anybody with two cents could do it is a bit silly. More than, if he’s honest. He just grunts in response, at a total loss for how to respond.

Simon looks down at you. The way you kneel as your cleaving spills out of your tiny tank top - one of many you insist on wearing so often. He can give into temptation just a little bit, right? “Gonna need you to get closer, doll.”

“Oh!” You scoot forward until your knees brush his side. So ready to listen. Cute.

“Can you lean in a bit?”

“Like this?” You lean forward, chest pressing against him while your hand splays over his midsection for balance. Fucking hell.

“Perfect. Good girl.”

It’s bold and a bit uncoordinated even for him. Something Johnny would try. The purposeful choice of words seems to go right over your head. Instead you blush and smile, shifting your hips just a bit. Your chest pushes further into him. So soft.

Fuck.

You’ll be the death of him. Thank god you’re too unobservant to notice that he’s rock fucking hard.

He’s already done with the sink by the time of this little exchange, but he pretends to tighten some useless bolts anyway just to keep you against him a little longer before shooing you away. It’s cute, the way you scramble to get out of the way. Simon turns the water back on before standing, and gesturing toward the sink.

“Give it a try, luv.”

A little furrow forms in your brow as you step forward to turn it on, crouching and standing to make sure the leak has stopped. You turn the faucet off and whip your head around with a grin.

He’s pretty sure you burst an eardrum with the pitch of the squeal you let out, bouncing over and tightly wrapping your arms around his waist. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“It’s no pro-“ he cuts off as you push up onto your tip toes and press a kiss to his cheek. He can’t help but bark out a laugh. Little minx.

“Oh, I got some lipstick-“ You reach up to smudge it off but he bats your hand away. He’ll wear it back to the garage and show off the kiss he got. Johnny’s going to absolutely fume.

[bearyzdiary]

Lazy morning

Francis x reader

This diary entry contains…Fluff|established relationship|Baker x milkman is now my favorite thing to write for this man| Mentions of the doppleganger incident going on|Reader and francis are honestly the happiest couple in that damn complex.|

The quiet start to your morning was ruined by Francis's loud alarm clock. You groaned as you turned over and placed a pillow over your ear to block out the sound. The bakery was closed for the day due to some construction that needed to be done. You could hear Francis mumble a small apology to you as he turned off the clock.

The feeling of some weight being lifted off the bed made you take the pillow off your ear and place in back in its proper spot. Unlike you, Francis still needed to do his rounds for the day before he could come back home and spend the rest of it with you." If it makes you feel better, we can start the day together" You yawned out as you sat up. Francis nodded as he lazily looked through the closet for his work uniform.

"I wished I could take the day off but I'm aiming for perfect attendance for this week" he said as he pulled out the familiar set of white clothes. You got out a bed before stretching." I think you're doing a good job so far" you said as you fixed up your spot of the bed and slid your feet into the cupcake slippers Francis had bought you as a gift.

You followed Francis to the bathroom where you flipped the light out and turned to sink on." I hope I don't have to do many deliveries today. Half the people I deliver milk too don't even use it I bet" He mumbled out as he grabbed his toothbrush and wetted it. You grab the toothpaste before applying a good amount onto Francis's before putting some on yours.

"Milk isn't a favorite of lots of people. I don't even know why you bother to still bring it to them" you say before popping the toothbrush into your mouth. Francis shrugged as he brushed his teeth for a good 2 minutes before spitting the toothpaste into the sink.

"People claim to want to start to drink milk more but we know that never works out for long" He says as he grabbed his washcloth and began to start his skincare routine.

You nodded as you fill a cup with water and took a sip before swishing it around your mouth and spitting it back out into the sink, Rinsing the sink out in the process.

Once the two of you were done in the bathroom, you made your way to the kitchen where you didn't feel like cooking, so you decided to make two bowls of cereal." Did you want frosted flakes or are you feeling like cheerios?" You asked as grabbed the spoons and put them into the bowl.

"Cheerios" Francis said as he went to go put his shoes on by the front door. You grabbed the box before pouring some in a milk themed bowl you bought Francis one day when you went to the store.

You picked whatever cereal you liked and poured into a cake themed bowl that you bought yourself. You poured milk into both before setting them onto the table and taking a seat.

Francis joined you as he poked at his cereal a little before taking a couple of bites of it. "I'm a little worried., About the whole doppelganger thing" you say while taking a spoonful of cereal and eating it. Francis looked at you before giving you a weak smile.

"I know, it's pretty scary to think about. But hopefully that new doorman can do their job right and figure out who is actually a real person." Francis said as he finished off his cereal. You took your last bite before handing Francis your bowl as he gladly took it and placed them in the sink.

"I trust them. They seem to be very good at their job so!" you said, trying your best to think positive as you looked over Francis. His facial features were so easy to remember as you had seen it a bunch of times so you would know right away if it was a doppelganger.

"Now, I sadly must leave you here all alone so I can go give people their milk" he said as he began to walk to the front door. You followed after him like a lost puppy as you gave him a smile.

"Don't take too long! and take breaks also please dear" you say as Francis nods as he put on his hat before grabbing his keys as he turns to look at you. "I promise I'll take breaks" he says as you squint your eyes before holding out your pinky to him.

"Are you really about to make me pinky promise on this?" He chuckles before interlocking his pinky with you. "Yes, and you better not break it" you say before placing a small kiss onto his cheek.

"I think I deserve one on my lips" he said as he grabbed your waist and placed a quick kiss on your lips. You giggled as you tipped his hat a little." Be safe please, I wouldn't be able to handle the thought of one of those monsters getting you" you say as you fixed his hat back as he removed his hands from your waist.

"I can just throw a bottle of milk at them if they even thought about bothering me" he said as he unlocked the door and opened it. "I'll be back soon" he said as he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

You locked the door back up before sighing as you shuffled back to the living room and plopped onto the couch as turned the TV, At least you could watch your favorite show without Francis commenting on it every five seconds.

[sushiyuzu]

Hiii, I was wondering if you could make smth with a fem-reader who gets super angry, like destructive when mad bcus she lacks self-control rlly bad (for me I'm mentally ill lol) so when she gets mad her s/o usually walks in to her room destroyed with a crying reader in the corner, especially when she hasn't been taking her meds it ends up like that, and can you do this with Megumi, Yuta, and Sukuna

a safe comfort 🤍

a/n: thank you so much for trusting me with this request! it was my second time receiving and writing a fanfic request, and i truly appreciate the support! please remember to take care of yourself, especially if you're struggling with mental health—your well-being is so important! <3

warning: this story includes themes of mental illness, destructive behavior, and emotional distress. please proceed with caution.

megumi fushiguro

it starts as a small thing, the kind of annoyance you’d usually brush off. but today, something feels different. it’s as if the tension has been building for days, winding tighter and tighter until finally—something snaps. and when it does, you can’t stop yourself.

your hands are trembling as you shove the lamp off your nightstand, the crash of broken glass loud in your ears. the sound echoes in your head, but it doesn’t register—not really. you’re already grabbing at the books on your desk, hurling them across the room as frustration wells up inside you, fierce and unrelenting.

the anger takes over everything. it’s all-consuming, suffocating, like a weight on your chest you can’t escape. and when it’s over, when the room lies in ruins around you, you’re left standing in the middle of it all, gasping for air, your hands still shaking as the reality of what you’ve done hits you.

you drop to the floor, curling into yourself, the tears coming fast and hard. shame burns deep in your chest, the guilt crushing you as you try to breathe through it. you don’t want to be like this—you don’t want to be the person who destroys everything.

you don’t even notice when megumi walks in. he’s always quiet like that, slipping into your space without making a sound. but you know he’s there when you hear his voice—soft, steady, calm.

“hey,” he murmurs, and the sound is so gentle it makes your chest ache. “it’s okay.”

you can’t bring yourself to look up at him, too ashamed of what he must be seeing. you’re a mess. the room’s a mess. but megumi doesn’t seem to care. he steps carefully around the broken glass, the scattered papers, and kneels down beside you without a word.

for a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with you, his presence grounding you in a way that nothing else can. his hand hovers near your shoulder, not quite touching, as if he’s waiting for permission to get closer.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he says softly, his voice filled with quiet reassurance.

you finally lift your head, and the moment your eyes meet his, the tears come faster, harder. you choke on a sob, unable to hold it back any longer, but megumi’s arms are around you before you can even process it. he pulls you into his chest, holding you close, and for a second, you forget about the wreckage around you.

his grip is firm but gentle, his hand running through your hair in soothing strokes. he’s not one to overwhelm you with words—megumi knows that sometimes silence speaks louder. instead, he just holds you, letting you cry against him, offering a quiet strength you can lean on without fear.

“we’ll figure it out,” he says after a while, his voice steady, like a promise. “whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

you know he means it. with megumi, there are no empty promises. just the quiet certainty that no matter how bad things get, he’s going to stay by your side. and somehow, that makes it a little easier to breathe.

the minutes stretch into what feels like hours as you sink into his embrace. with every ragged breath, you can feel the tension start to dissolve. megumi’s warmth envelops you, a safe haven amidst the storm of emotions raging inside.

as the tears slow, you begin to notice the little things—how his heartbeat thrums steadily against your ear, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air, the gentle way he holds you as if you’re something precious. it’s a comfort that seeps into your bones, reminding you that you’re not alone in this chaos.

“i know it feels overwhelming right now,” he says, his voice low and soothing, “but it doesn’t define you. you’re stronger than this moment.”

you nod against him, trying to internalize his words, but the guilt still lingers like a shadow. “i don’t want to be like this,” you whisper, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“i know,” he replies, pulling back slightly to look you in the eye. there’s a determination in his gaze, a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart swell. “and you’re not. we’ll find a way to help you. just take it one step at a time.”

he wipes away the tears on your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his touch featherlight yet grounding. in his gaze, you see understanding—an unspoken agreement that you don’t have to carry this burden alone. with megumi beside you, it’s easier to believe that healing is possible, that you can face whatever darkness lies ahead.

as you sit there, the room still in disarray, you realize it’s okay to be broken. it’s okay to ask for help. because with megumi by your side, you know you have a safe space to fall apart and rebuild. you’re not just a collection of shattered pieces; you’re a person, and that person deserves love and understanding—even in the midst of chaos.

“thank you,” you murmur, feeling a glimmer of hope rise within you.

“always,” he replies, a soft smile breaking through the worry etched on his face. “now, let’s clean this up together, okay?”

you nod, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can find your way back to yourself.

yuta okkotsu

the anger hits you like a tidal wave, sudden and overwhelming, and before you know it, everything around you is falling apart. you’ve tried to hold it back—tried so hard—but the frustration is too much. your hands move on their own, knocking over anything within reach, the sounds of things crashing to the floor blending together in a chaotic blur.

you don’t realize how far you’ve gone until the room is a disaster—books torn from the shelves, clothes scattered across the floor, furniture tipped over in your frenzy. it’s only when the last bit of anger burns out that you see the mess you’ve made, and with it comes the crushing guilt. the shame.

you collapse to the floor, pressing your palms to your face, hiding from the destruction you’ve caused. your heart races in your chest, your breathing uneven as the tears come, slow at first, then uncontrollable.

you don’t hear the door open, don’t realize yuta’s standing there until you feel a presence near you. when he speaks, his voice is so soft, so filled with concern, it breaks your heart.

“hey,” he calls your name gently, kneeling in front of you. “what happened?”

you can’t answer him, can’t even look at him. the shame is too much. you’ve done this again—let yourself lose control, let everything spiral. yuta doesn’t push you for answers, though. he just watches you for a moment, waiting for the right time to step in.

“it’s okay,” he whispers after a while, reaching out carefully, his hand brushing against your arm in a tentative gesture. “i’m not mad. i’m just... worried.”

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect, and before you know it, you’re falling into him. yuta catches you easily, pulling you close to his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively. he’s warm, gentle, his hands soothing as he rubs slow circles against your back.

“we’ll get through this,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice steady. “whatever’s going on... we’ll handle it together.”

his embrace is firm, but never overwhelming. he holds you just tightly enough to make you feel safe, his chin resting on the top of your head as he lets you cry into his shoulder. yuta’s always been like this—soft, gentle, never pushing too hard but always there when you need him most.

“you don’t have to be afraid of this,” he adds, his voice low. “we’ll take it one step at a time, okay?”

you nod against him, even though you still feel the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. but with yuta’s arms around you, the world feels just a little bit less overwhelming.

as you pull away slightly, just enough to see his face, you can’t help but notice the concern etched in his features. his eyes search yours, looking for any sign of reassurance. “you didn’t have to hide this from me,” he says softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek, wiping away a tear that has slipped free. “i’m here for you, no matter what.”

the sincerity in his voice ignites something inside you—a flicker of hope amidst the storm of despair. “i just... don’t want to be like this,” you admit, your voice trembling. “i don’t want to keep losing control.”

“it’s okay to feel angry sometimes,” he reassures, his expression unwavering. “but you’re not alone in this. you don’t have to handle everything on your own.”

you take a deep breath, allowing his words to wash over you. it’s a reminder that while this moment feels insurmountable, it doesn’t define you. yuta doesn’t judge you for the chaos you’ve created; instead, he’s offering a lifeline, a way to navigate through the darkness together.

“let’s clean this up,” he suggests, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “but first, can we take a minute? just to breathe?”

you nod again, grateful for his understanding. yuta guides you back to the corner of the room where it feels a bit safer, sitting beside you on the floor amidst the wreckage. he takes a moment to simply breathe with you, matching his inhale and exhale to yours. in those shared breaths, you can feel the tension begin to ease, even if just a little.

“you’re strong, you know,” he says softly, looking at you with such intensity that it warms your heart. “even when it feels like everything’s falling apart, you’re still standing here. that means something.”

his words wrap around you like a warm blanket, grounding you further. you manage a small smile, a flicker of gratitude in your chest. “thank you for being here.”

“always,” he replies, the sincerity in his voice bringing a sense of comfort. “let’s start with one thing at a time. how about we pick up the books first?”

you both begin to clear the room together, moving through the remnants of your outburst. with each item you return to its place, you feel a little more in control, a little less lost. yuta’s presence is steady by your side, and as he laughs softly at the absurdity of some of the mess, you can’t help but join him.

“what a tornado you’ve created,” he teases gently, picking up a shirt and throwing it playfully at you. “it looks like a fashion disaster.”

“hey! don’t make fun of my style,” you retort, a laugh bubbling up despite the heaviness of earlier. the sound feels good, like a small victory over the lingering despair.

“i’d never!” he exclaims, mock-indignant. “your style is unique, and it needs to be respected.”

as you work together, the atmosphere shifts. the heaviness that had settled in your chest begins to lift, and with yuta’s playful banter, you start to find a lightness you thought was lost. you realize that even in moments of chaos, you can create something beautiful—like the bond you share with him.

once the room is tidied up, yuta turns to you, his expression serious again. “remember, it’s okay to ask for help. i’m just a call away, and you don’t have to face anything alone.”

you look at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “i really appreciate you, yuta. for everything.”

“anytime,” he replies, reaching for your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “let’s take care of each other, okay?”

as you sit together in the aftermath of the storm, you know that with yuta by your side, you’ll find a way through whatever challenges lie ahead. the world feels just a little bit less daunting, and that’s more than enough for now.

ryomen sukuna

it happens fast—too fast for you to stop it. one moment, you’re pacing around the room, frustration boiling inside you like a pressure cooker, and the next, your hands are smashing into everything within reach. you’ve never been able to control it, this anger that builds and builds until it spills over, consuming everything in its path.

furniture crashes to the floor, papers scatter across the room, and the sound of breaking glass rings in your ears. you’ve wrecked the place, torn it apart with your bare hands, and now, standing in the aftermath, all you can feel is the hollow emptiness left behind.

your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, tears blurring your vision as the weight of what you’ve done settles in. you sink down to the floor, curling in on yourself, the world around you too much to handle. the anger is gone now, but the shame remains, thick and suffocating.

then you hear him—sukuna. his voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and unmistakable.

“well, well,” he drawls, his tone laced with amusement. “look at the mess you’ve made.”

you flinch, expecting the worst, but when sukuna steps into the room, there’s no mockery in his eyes. he surveys the damage with a raised brow, but instead of berating you, he simply smirks, as if he finds the whole thing more fascinating than anything else.

“you always did have a flair for destruction,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “but this... this is something else.”

you don’t respond. you can’t. the shame is too heavy, too overwhelming, and the last thing you want is for him to see you like this. but sukuna doesn’t leave. instead, he walks over to you, his boots crunching against the broken glass, and crouches down in front of you.

he tilts his head, his red eyes gleaming with something almost like curiosity. “are you done?”

you nod, though it’s barely a movement. your throat is tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, and sukuna just watches you for a moment longer before sighing. without another word, he reaches out and pulls you into his arms, not caring about the mess around him.

you’re too tired to resist, too worn out to push him away, and sukuna just holds you there, his grip firm but not painful. there’s a warmth to him, a strange sort of comfort in the way he wraps his arms around you, despite his usual roughness.

“you’re a disaster,” he mutters, his tone teasing but not unkind. “but i suppose you’re my disaster.”

you don’t know why, but his words make the tears come harder, and before you know it, you’re sobbing against his chest, your body trembling with the force of it. sukuna doesn’t shush you or tell you to stop. he just lets you cry, his hand resting on the back of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your hair.

“let it out,” he says, his voice soft now, quieter than you’ve ever heard it before. “you’ll feel better after.”

and somehow, with him holding you, the world feels just a little bit less chaotic. sukuna may not be gentle, but in this moment, he’s exactly what you need. the weight of his arms around you, solid and unyielding, keeps you anchored, keeps you from spiraling any further.

he’s not one for soft reassurances or whispered comforts, but his presence alone is enough to ground you. he lets you break down in his arms, lets you be vulnerable without judgment or impatience. there’s something oddly calming about it—being in the presence of someone so powerful, so utterly in control, when you feel like your world is falling apart.

after a long while, when your sobs finally subside, sukuna pulls back slightly. he tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. his red eyes bore into yours, sharp and unwavering.

“feel better?” he asks, his voice low, his expression unreadable.

you nod, not trusting your voice to speak. he studies you for a moment longer before he lets go of your chin, standing up and brushing some debris off his clothes as if none of this bothered him in the slightest.

“next time,” he says, his tone casual, as if offering advice on something trivial, “try not to destroy everything. or at least wait until i’m around to enjoy the show.”

there’s a teasing lilt to his words, and despite yourself, despite everything, a small, tired smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“come on,” sukuna says, offering you his hand to help you up. “let’s get out of here. you need to clear your head.”

you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand, and he pulls you up effortlessly. as he leads you out of the wreckage of your room, there’s a strange comfort in knowing that, for all his arrogance and rough edges, sukuna’s still here—still willing to stay by your side, no matter how many times you break.

and somehow, with him, that’s enough.

[sissy-cheri-949-usa]

FEMINIZATION STEP #1 - PANTY HIM

One of the best ways to feminize a man, is to make him wear “girl clothes”. Putting your sissy (CD/TV) in panties is a great way to begin the process of his transformation.

Start off easy with panties. I’m thinking a soft color like pink, white, lavender or yellow. You're initial timing is crucial! Start with a Friday/Saturday night at home, watching movies, etc.. Then as things move to the bedroom, give him a night to remember, while he is pantied. Then don't say anything for a few days. Let his psyche absorb it. Next weekend, repeat; etc.. Keep This up for several weeks/months. What you are doing is IMPRINTING his psyche. He will associate the panties, to the great nights with you.

As for style of panties, anything works, but I would recommend something really sissy like full cut. You want as mush silk/satin touching his skin as possible. When we get to man-scaping, this will become apparent what we are trying to do. Make sure to try different styles initially, so he can experience things, full-cut, etc. Keep him guessing, and anticipating.

Later, we will get to his second pair of panties. Sissy's should always wear 2 pair of panties (to be explained later). But a nice thong or G-string feel perfect when he is plugged. A first pair can be used to "contain" (granny panties), with a second ultra-frilly pair on top. Also, first pair can have "rear-access" hole, for Mistress, while second pair are at sissy's ankles, etc.. Lots of scenarios.

After he has become used to being pantied on the weekends, we move to weekdays, under his male clothes. Start slow, maybe 1 day per week. Start with Fridays, as to build anticipation for the weekend. Then the weekend can include ultra-feminine panties like super, frilly, little girl panties. It's hard to be "manly" when wearing Princess panties !!!

When you have him wearing panties like a good boy, s/he’ll be so much more submissive and willing to please! When alone at home, make sure they are super frilly !!!

Wearing panties daily is a must for a sissy so s/he better get used to the feel and look of them!

P.S. one great idea is to have him match the color of his chastity cage with his panties. For example, if he is wearing a pink cage, have him wear pink panties as well!

For work, it doesn't matter if he still wears boxers over his panties. You just want him pantied, and not to be exposed. This is YOUR SECRET. This builds intimacy and trust in your relationship.

If you found this article helpful please reblog. There are many Cross-Dressers & their Wives who need to know. Comments are welcome; please be nice, so I can learn to improve.

All Feminization Steps Here