#i want to be polite and not rain on parades

[penny-for-your-past]

I'm about to say something controversial I think, but I'm not really into the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. For me, the very premise of the show is a non starter, because I cannot BELIEVE that ANY version of Elizabeth Bennet would record people without their knowledge or consent and post those clips online to a large viewing audience. I'm not being a protagonist moral purist; if Lydia was our main character I'd totally roll with it. But it is, objectively, reprehensible behavior that would FIRMLY put Lizzie in a category with "the lack of propriety" shown by her parents and younger sisters. This is a woman who, in the original story, didn't even tell her sisters that Wickham was bad news to protect Georgiana, and you think she'd post Jane's private moments online??? No. Elizabeth has character flaws but invasion of privacy and airing other people's business are never part of them.

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

born to "i will feel nothing fucking close to joy regarding news about this man until that news proclaims that he either absolutely cannot run for office or that he has left this earth in the most grotesque agonized way" forced to "omg yaaay trump is guilty!!"

[raekensluver]

second to none

can be read as a stand alone but in case you want more- read part two here!

description: breaking up with your boyfriend spencer reid was difficult but not as difficult as realizing you were always going to be his second choice.

pairing: boyfriend!spencer reid x fem!reader

contains: angst, breakup, fighting, happens after jj’s confession to spencer in 12x15, toxic!spencer??, spencer not being a good boyfriend.

song rec: bored by billie eilish- "giving you all you want and more, giving you every piece of me."

w.c: 1.5k

an: i had to. the plot popped into my head and i couldn't not write it.

"spencer, i can't believe you." you muttered to yourself, glancing at your watch for the umpteenth time. the elegant restaurant buzzed with the muted chatter of couples enjoying their meals, the clinking of silverware against fine china, and the faint scent of gourmet dishes wafting from the kitchen. you had been waiting at the table for an hour, fidgeting with the delicate napkin in your lap, the anticipation of a special dinner slowly morphing into a sour knot in your stomach.

eventually, a staff member, impeccably dressed in a black suit, approached you with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "miss," he began, "i'm terribly sorry, but we have a rather large queue of guests waiting for a table tonight. would you mind taking a seat in the lobby for a few minutes? you can notify us as soon as your party arrives."

you looked up at him, feeling the weight of the situation finally crash down on you. the rain outside had picked up, beating against the restaurant's windows like a symphony of impatience. your heart sank as you realized that spencer wasn't coming. not tonight, not ever, maybe. with a deep breath, you forced a smile and nodded. "of course," you said, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. "i'll just go."

as you stepped outside, the cold rain slapped you in the face like a cruel reminder of your reality. the chilly water seeped through the fabric of your expensive dress, sticking it to your skin, and your purse grew heavier with every drop that soaked into the leather. the sound of your high heels tapping against the wet pavement echoed through the quiet street, the only music to your one-woman parade of disappointment. you hadn't anticipated the storm when you'd chosen your outfit earlier, the forecast promising a clear evening. but then again, you hadn't anticipated being stood up either.

then, through the sheet of rain, you saw him. spencer reid, your boyfriend, the man who was supposed to be waiting for you with a bouquet of roses and an apology on his lips. he was hunched over, his suit drenched and clinging to his lanky frame, hurrying down the sidewalk with a look of utter distraction. your heart jumped into your throat, a mix of anger and relief swirling in your chest like a tempest.

you sprinted towards him, your heels clicking faster against the wet ground. "spencer!" you called out, your voice strained and desperate. he stopped, looking up with a startled expression that melted into something close to guilt when he saw you. the rain continued to pummel down on both of you, but you didn't care. "where have you been?" you demanded, your voice tight with emotion.

he took a step closer, water dripping from his hair onto his face. "i had to talk to jj," he said, his eyes flickering with something you couldn't quite read. "about what she said yesterday."

"for two hours?" you ask, incredulous. your voice grew louder, edged with a mix of anger and betrayal. "while i've been waiting here, getting soaked, you've been with her? discussing your feelings? and without a text or call to tell me that you couldn't make it?"

spencer's gaze dropped to the ground, the rain plastering his lashes to his cheeks. "it's not like that," he mumbled, his words barely audible over the rain's crescendo. "you know we just got out of a tough situation."

you nodded, your teeth gritted. "yes, i know," you replied, your voice tight as a bowstring. "but that doesn't give you an excuse to ditch me like this. we had plans, spencer. important plans."

his eyes snapped back up to meet yours, a spark of anger igniting in them. "important plans? i almost died yesterday, and jj…she had to deal with so much. i had to make sure she was okay."

you took a deep breath, trying to push down the wave of anger crashing over you. "i understand that, spencer," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "but jj has a husband, a family. it's not your job to fix her."

spencer looked up, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for a hint of understanding. "you don't get it," he said, his voice rising slightly. "you weren't there. you don't know what it was like."

you felt the heat of anger rising in your cheeks, your body trembling from the cold and the emotional turmoil. "no, spencer, i don't get it," you retorted, your voice strained. "what i do know is that i've been waiting for you, for hours, in the rain, because i thought tonight was important to us. because i thought i was important to you."

spencer took a step back, his eyes widening slightly. "that's not fair," he protested, his voice tight. "i had to do what was right for jj."

you felt the last threads of patience snap within you. "right for jj?" you echoed, your voice rising to match his. "what about what's right for us?"

spencer looked taken aback, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out of the conversation. "i'm sorry," he began, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

"don't," you said firmly. "just don't. i've had enough of apologies and excuses. i thought after what happened, we could finally move forward, but it seems like i'll always be second to her, to your job, to whatever crisis pops up next."

spencer's mouth opened and closed, a silent protest forming on his lips. the rain continued its relentless symphony around you, a stark contrast to the silent tension that had taken root between you two. "that's not true," he finally managed to say, his voice strained.

but you were already shaking your head, the cold rain mixing with the tears that were now streaming down your face. "it is, spencer," you said, your voice cracking. "it's always been true. i can't do this anymore."

his eyes searched yours, desperation and confusion fighting for dominance in his gaze. "what are you saying?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

you took a deep breath, the rain feeling like a million tiny needles piercing your skin. "i'm saying that i can't be in a relationship where i'm always the backup plan, where i'm never the priority." your voice was steady, despite the storm of emotions raging within you. "i deserve better than this, spencer. i deserve someone who's all in."

his eyes searched yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "i am all in," he insisted, taking a step closer. "you're everything to me."

but the words felt hollow, like they were being spoken by a stranger. "then why isn't it showing?" you countered, your voice strong despite the tears that continued to fall. "why do i always feel like i'm fighting for your attention?"

spencer's expression fell, the rain now a mirror for the sadness in his eyes. "i never meant for it to be like this," he murmured, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. but you stepped back, shivering from the cold, your resolve unyielding.

"actions speak louder than words, spencer," you said, your voice barely above the patter of rain. "and your actions have been speaking volumes."

his hand dropped to his side, the silence stretching out like a yawning chasm. the streetlights cast a sad, yellow glow on the puddles forming at your feet, reflecting the sadness in your heart. "i'm sorry," he repeated, his voice thick with something that might have been regret.

you stared at him, the rain plastering your hair to your face, your dress clinging to your body like a second, unwelcome skin. "sorry isn't enough," you said, your voice cold. "not this time."

without another word, you turned away from spencer, your heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the wet pavement as you made your way to the curb. raising your hand, you hailed a taxi, the yellow beacon of the approaching car's light cutting through the gloom like a lifeline. the engine rumbled closer, the wipers swiping back and forth in a futile attempt to clear the windshield of the relentless downpour.

as the taxi pulled over, you stepped in, slamming the door shut with a finality that seemed to echo through the night. the warmth of the car's interior was a stark contrast to the cold that had seeped into your bones from the rain and the even colder conversation with spencer. the driver looked at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes filled with concern. "where to, miss?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble.

you took a deep, shaky breath and recited your address, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. the car pulled away from the curb, leaving spencer standing in the rain, looking after you with a mix of shock and despair etched on his face. you couldn't bring yourself to look back, instead focusing on the streaks of water racing down the window, blurring the streetlights into a kaleidoscope of colors.

edited 8.20.24

[cool-fancier]

Bitter Devotion

Karina(Yu Jimin) x Female Reader

Synopsis: When love blossoms between two women, one finds salvation while the other hides a sinister agenda. Lies unravel, hearts break, and a single betrayal threatens to destroy everything.

Word Count:2.2k

— — — — — — —

The first time you met Karina, it was as if the universe had finally decided to show you mercy. You were drowning in the suffocating world your parents had created—a world where love was measured in favors and worth was tied to success. The charity gala was one of many events you'd been forced to attend, another chance for your mother to parade you like an accessory. You'd perfected your role over the years: polite smiles, graceful nods, the right words at the right times. But inside, you felt like a hollow shell.

Karina shattered that the moment she walked into your life.

It was a fleeting interaction at first. She'd introduced herself with an easy confidence, her voice like silk against the din of polite chatter around you.

"You look like someone who's good at pretending to care about all this," she'd said, smirking as she tilted her head toward the ballroom full of polished guests. "But I can tell you don't."

You'd blinked at her, startled. It wasn't often someone saw through you so quickly.

"And you're different?" you asked, your voice teasing but cautious.

"Completely," she said without missing a beat, her eyes locking onto yours. "I'm here for the wine and maybe one interesting conversation. Looks like I just found it."

It was bold, unexpected, and utterly disarming. For the first time in years, you felt the weight on your chest lighten, if only slightly. That night, you laughed more than you had in years. Karina's humor was sharp but never cruel, her insights revealing a depth that left you wanting more.

And more you got.

— — — — —

Karina became a fixture in your life almost overnight. She texted you after the gala, her messages casual but consistent, like she'd known you for years. Lunch dates turned into late-night phone calls, and before you knew it, you were spending nearly every waking moment with her. She was warm in a way no one else had ever been. She remembered the little things—how you liked your coffee, the books you loved but never had time to read, the way you hated the rain but loved the sound of it against the windows.

When you told her about your family—how your mother's cold ambition had shaped your entire life, how your father followed her lead with quiet detachment—Karina listened without judgment. She didn't try to fix anything or offer hollow platitudes. Instead, she gave you something you'd never had before: a safe space to just be.

"I don't know how you survived growing up like that," she'd said one evening, her voice soft as you lay tangled together on the couch. "But I'm glad you did. I'm glad I found you."

Those words had stayed with you, burrowing deep into your heart. For the first time, you felt like someone saw you—not the polished version your parents had crafted, but the raw, unguarded you. Karina made you feel special in a way you didn't think was possible.

— — — — —

The proposal came a year later, under a canopy of stars. Karina had taken you on a surprise trip to a secluded cabin, the kind of place where the world seemed to fall away. You'd spent the evening by the fire, sipping wine and sharing dreams for the future. When she knelt in front of you, holding out a delicate ring, your breath caught.

"I love you," she said, her voice trembling. "More than I ever thought I could love anyone. You've given me a reason to believe in happiness, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel as loved as you've made me feel."

Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, barely able to get the word "yes" past the lump in your throat. That night, you felt like you'd finally found the family you'd always longed for.

— — — — —

A year into your marriage, Karina suggested a dinner with your parents. It had been a while since the four of you sat down together, and you hoped it was a sign that things were improving. Karina had been distant lately—her once-effortless affection replaced with brief, almost obligatory gestures. You told yourself it was work stress. She'd been expanding her business, taking on larger clients and more demanding projects.

The dinner started well enough. Your mother was in high spirits, no doubt pleased to have such an impressive daughter-in-law to show off. Karina played her role perfectly, charming your parents with her wit and business acumen. Even your father, typically reserved, seemed taken with her.

"So, Karina," your mother said, swirling her wine. "What's next for you? Surely someone as ambitious as you has a grand plan."

Karina smiled, the picture of grace. "Oh, always," she said lightly. "But right now, I'm focused on building something lasting. Both in business and in life."

Your mother nodded approvingly, clearly pleased with the answer. You felt a swell of pride, convinced once again that Karina was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

— — — — —

Later, as the conversation continued, Karina excused herself to use the bathroom. It wasn't unusual, but something about the way she glanced toward your father's office before leaving the table stuck with you. You brushed it off, focusing instead on your parents' rare moment of warmth.

It wasn't until much later, after dinner had ended and your parents had retired for the night, that you noticed something strange. Passing by your father's office on the way to the kitchen, you saw the light was on. Curious, you pushed the door open slightly and froze.

Karina was at the desk, rifling through papers. She looked up sharply at the sound of the door, her expression unreadable.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice low and uncertain.

She straightened, closing the drawer she'd been searching. "I was just looking for a pen," she said smoothly. "Your father mentioned needing to sign something earlier, and I thought I'd save him the trouble."

It was a plausible excuse, but something about it felt off. You wanted to ask more, but the exhaustion of the evening weighed on you, and you let it slide.

— — — — —

Unbeknownst to you, Karina had found exactly what she was looking for. Among the neatly organized files were documents that confirmed her suspicions: years ago, your mother had manipulated Karina's family out of their fortune. Karina's mother had been left destitute, forced to rebuild from nothing while your mother profited from her downfall.

Karina had spent years climbing her way to the top, meticulously crafting the perfect façade to get close to your family. And now, she had everything she needed. Bank statements, contracts, correspondences—proof of your mother's deceit. With this, she could destroy your mother's empire, just as her mother's had been destroyed.

But as she stood there, holding the evidence in her hands, a pang of something unexpected twisted in her chest. She thought of you—your smile, your laugh, the way you'd looked at her when she proposed. For the first time, she hesitated.

— — — — —

Her hesitation didn't last. A week later, your mother was arrested for fraud, her assets seized, her reputation ruined. Karina had orchestrated it all, her plan unfolding flawlessly. But her triumph was hollow. No matter how much she tried to justify her actions, she couldn't shake the image of your tear-streaked face when you learned the truth.

And you would. Because secrets like this never stayed buried for long.

— — — — —

After your mother's arrest, everything changed. Karina didn't seem triumphant or even relieved—she just seemed different. The warmth she once radiated, the way she would reach for your hand without thinking, the lingering kisses that used to make you feel cherished—all of it vanished. She became distant, like a ghost of the woman who had promised to love you forever.

At first, you tried to rationalize it. The stress of the past few weeks, the pressure of running her business—surely those things were taking a toll. But as days turned into weeks, her coldness only grew. She was no longer the Karina who brought you coffee in bed or whispered sweet nothings in the quiet hours of the night. Instead, she snapped at you over small things, ignored your attempts to connect, and retreated into her office for hours at a time.

— — — — —

One evening, after another strained dinner, you tried to confront her.

"Karina, what's going on?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and sadness. "You've been so... distant. Did I do something wrong?"

She didn't even look up from her phone. "You're imagining things," she said flatly, scrolling through emails.

"I'm not imagining it," you pressed, your chest tightening. "You barely talk to me anymore. You don't even look at me the same way."

Her eyes flicked to you, cold and unreadable. "Not everything is about you, you know. Maybe I'm just tired."

Her words hit like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless. Tired? That was her excuse for the growing chasm between you?

"Karina, I love you," you said softly, desperately. "I just want to help. Please talk to me."

She sighed, setting her phone down with deliberate slowness. "Maybe I don't need help. Maybe you should stop trying to fix things that aren't broken."

The words were like daggers, and you felt tears prick your eyes. She had never spoken to you like this before, and the pain of her indifference was almost unbearable.

— — — — —

The weeks that followed were no better. Karina became colder, her dismissive tone and distant attitude leaving you reeling. She started staying out late without explanation, her phone glued to her hand whenever she was home. The intimacy you'd once shared was gone, replaced by a suffocating silence that made your heart ache.

One night, unable to sleep, you wandered into the kitchen to get some water. As you passed Karina's office, you heard her voice through the slightly ajar door. Curious, and more than a little desperate for answers, you paused.

"No, everything went according to plan," she was saying, her tone sharp and businesslike. "Her mother's assets were seized, and the old woman's in prison where she belongs."

Your blood turned to ice.

"She never saw it coming," Karina continued, her voice tinged with something cruel. "It was almost too easy. Playing the devoted wife was the perfect cover."

Your stomach dropped as you clung to the doorframe for support, your mind racing to make sense of what you were hearing. Playing the devoted wife? What was she talking about?

"Yes, I used her," Karina said, her voice colder than you'd ever heard. "She was just a means to an end. The perfect way to get close to her family."

Your heart shattered as the full weight of her words sank in. Every tender moment, every whispered promise—it had all been a lie. Tears streamed down your face as you stood frozen, unable to move or speak.

Karina's next words cut through you like a knife: "No, I don't regret it. Her family got what they deserved. And she... she was just collateral damage."

That was it. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, your breath hitching as a sob escaped your throat. Before you could stop yourself, you pushed the door open, your voice trembling with pain and fury.

"Tell me it's not true," you demanded, your tears falling freely. "Tell me I didn't just hear you say that."

Karina's head snapped up, her face a mask of shock and guilt. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words, but the coldness quickly returned to her expression.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

Her dismissiveness made something inside you snap. "Eavesdrop?" you repeated, your voice rising. "Karina, you used me! You lied to me, to my face! Was any of it real? Any of it at all?"

For a brief moment, you saw something flicker in her eyes—regret, sorrow, maybe even love. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the icy mask you'd come to dread.

"It doesn't matter," she said quietly. "What's done is done."

You stared at her, your chest heaving as the weight of her betrayal crushed you. "You promised me forever," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I loved you. I trusted you. And you used me like I was nothing."

Karina looked away, her jaw tightening. "You were never nothing," she said, almost too softly to hear.

But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

— — — — —

You turned and stumbled out of the room, your vision blurred by tears. Karina didn't follow you, didn't call your name. You made it to your bedroom before collapsing onto the floor, your sobs echoing in the empty space.

In the silence that followed, one thought consumed you: Was this love ever real, or had it always been a beautifully crafted lie?

And in her office, Karina sat alone, her phone still in her hand, staring at the door you'd just walked through. For the first time in her life, she felt the weight of her choices—but pride kept her rooted in place. Even if she wanted to chase after you, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Not yet.

[avelera]

what would you say are the biggest misconceptions about jayce's and viktor's characters respectively? i see a lot of mischaracterization for both of them, especially jayce, and i wanted to know your thoughts.

Hmm, hard to say because a lot is open to interpretation and I also don't want to rain on people's parades if it's a characterization they enjoy, but two that stick out to me as a couple of my knee-jerk "Who the fuck is this? This isn't Jayce/Viktor!" would be:

"Jayce is Power Hungry" - This one feels incredibly baffling to me. When offered power, Jayce specifically says to Mel, "I never wanted anything to do with politics! You pushed this on me!"

Like, do people just forget that line? Mel then in her character flaw of "always wanting to be the power behind the throne" then initiates one of her most direct and, in my opinion, morally reprehensible instances of manipulation against Jayce by literally whispering in his ear that he can use politics to shape his own destiny. But she includes the fact that he's in danger if he doesn't, and she plays to his male ego by saying others are underestimating him. Game, set, match, she tees up Jayce to pursue power out of self-defense because he was forced into a situation he never wanted, and he buys the bait because he has pretty much no defenses against that kind of power play. (This is, imo, the moment the narrative punishes Mel for the most. First, by Jayce becoming an unreliable puppet she can no longer control and second, when he later breaks up with her over this moment in particular, just at the point where she was feeling vulnerable and seeking comfort from someone she cared for, just as Jayce was vulnerable with her while she was using him, before she eventually fell for him, but I digress.)

Anyway, Jayce is not power hungry. He is very much a victim of circumstance and manipulation and he is clear about that at every step in S1. Yes, he makes use of the power he's given and then a crisis makes it impossible for him to step aside, but once he has a solution for the crisis, he immediately intends to resign. It's maddening to see people characterize him as someone who sought power at any point.

"Viktor is Mean" - I've talked about this one elsewhere, at length, but I see a lot of characterization especially in fic of Viktor being short with Jayce, or whacking him with his cane, or being exasperated him, and genuinely? Footage not fucking found. Not fucking once does Viktor insult Jayce or direct personal comments at him and he has never, ever raised his hand to anyone to harm them.

FFS, even in full villain mode, Viktor's fight with Jayce, the only person he ever engages with in real combat, in the Council Chamber and at the Hexgates is almost entirely dodging and trapping. Even when he grabs Jayce by the throat a couple of times, it's about paralyzing Jayce and stopping him from fighting, basically knocking him out with a chokehold. Viktor is perhaps the least violent person in the entire show, even in his fight scenes when you actually analyze the way he fights defensively and focuses on paralyzing an active opponent.

Look, I understand snark, and I think Viktor has a cutting wit, but it's definitely an instant "nope" for me when I see fics or other fan-takes where Viktor is insulting Jayce repeatedly or in a mean-spirited way, or otherwise raising his hand to others, including the whole idea of him whacking anyone with his cane. It's a squick for me but people are welcome to write whatever they want.

[syerra-637]

The final decision is yours.

(Yandere!king x fem reader)

A/n ¹: Probably the longest fic I've posted so far and I plan on surpassing myself. Consider this my gift to start 2025 off right ;) Trigger warnings: yandere themes, anst, physical violence, murder, psychological manipulation, abuse of power, confinement, verbal abuse, abusive relationships, humiliation, sexual tension, death themes Summary: Life was like a long and quiet river, until that fateful day. How could you have known that this chain of decisions would lead to such a tragedy? Word count: 5.9k

The hunting season was open, a period you dreaded every year. The peaceful woods surrounding your modest cottage transformed into a noisy playground for arrogant nobles. They paraded on horseback, their laughter echoing through the forest, taking cruel pleasure in hunting and killing poor animals. Fortunately, your refuge was nestled in a secluded corner, far from the beaten path. It was rare for anyone to venture here, and you relied on this isolation to preserve your peace.

That evening, however, a storm was brewing. The rain poured in torrents, hammering the roof of your cottage, while lightning streaked across the dark sky. The wind, cold and violent for the season, swept through the trees, making the branches crack. Sitting at your wooden table, a steaming bowl of soup and a piece of bread in front of you, you let your thoughts wander. The fire crackled in the hearth, spreading a comforting warmth, but a dull anxiety weighed on you.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps in the mud pulled you from your reverie. You froze, straining to listen. It wasn’t a mere animal. These footsteps were heavy, assured… human. Your heart raced as someone knocked violently on your door.

You remained still, holding your breath. Maybe they would leave eventually, you thought. Maybe they would believe the house was abandoned. But this illusion was quickly shattered when a deep, authoritative voice rose from the other side of the door:

— "We know someone is here. Open the door immediately!"

You shivered. They had probably spotted the smoke rising from the chimney. You hesitated, staring at the door as if it might give way to the force of their voice.

— "Open up, or we’ll break down the door!"

The tone was unmistakable. These men were not here to ask politely. A cold fear gripped you. Who were they? Lost hunters? Or worse? You knew your refuge would not protect you for long against their determination.

Your heart pounded as you slowly approached the door. You unlocked it carefully, but left the chain in place, making sure it opened just a crack. In the doorway, you scrutinized the figures standing in the pouring rain.

There were four of them. The first, a small young boy, seemed to be a squire. He wore simple clothes, drenched by the downpour, and his face showed more nervousness than determination. The next two, clearly nobles, were more imposing. One of them, the one who had spoken earlier with an imperious voice, seemed agitated, his features tight with suppressed anger.

But it was the last man who caught all your attention. He stood slightly apart, yet he dominated the scene with his mere presence. His youth and beauty were striking; his elegant but powerful build inspired a strange combination of respect and fear. His luxurious clothes, adorned with embroidery and shimmering jewels despite the dim light, indicated he was not an ordinary noble. A member of the high nobility. There was no doubt about it. Perhaps even royalty.

You swallowed hard before asking a question in a calm but wary voice:

— What do you want?

You didn’t miss their reaction. The moment your voice broke the silence, their faces showed palpable surprise. They exchanged looks, as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. You guessed why: they had probably assumed a man lived here, isolated from the rest of the world.

The man who had spoken earlier answered, his voice slightly softened but still authoritative:

— Shelter and food for the night.

He took a step forward, clearly trying to make you more visible in the darkness. You could analyze them in detail thanks to the firelight behind you, but to them, you were just a silhouette in the backlight.

You hesitated, but finally declared firmly:

— I am a woman, and there is no man in this house. It would not be proper to let you in.

A silence fell, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder. Then, the man who seemed to be the leader of the group exclaimed, clearly perplexed:

— What? You don’t live with any man?

You took a deep breath and lied without flinching:

— Yes, I am married. But my husband is not here at the moment.

The nobleman frowned, and you saw him exchange a quick glance with the royal figure, who had remained silent until now. The latter gave a slight smile, but it wasn’t warm. It was an enigmatic, almost predatory smile, and it chilled you to the bone.

— Then we have nothing to fear, he finally said in a low, velvety voice. We will stay only one night.

You hesitated for a long moment. Their presence was oppressive, and every fiber of your being screamed at you not to let them in. But the wind howled outside, and the storm rumbled so fiercely that even you, warm inside, shivered. If you left them outside, they might break down the door, and you weren’t sure you could resist them.

Finally, with cautious resignation, you closed the door just enough to remove the chain, then opened it reluctantly. The men entered one by one, bringing with them the smell of rain, wet leather, and earth.

The small squire apologized timidly as he dropped a soaked bag near the door. The two nobles remained standing, casting curious glances around the modest room. But it was the king who drew all your attention, despite yourself. He didn’t move much, simply staring at the flames with an almost unsettling intensity.

— You have a charming house, he finally murmured, his low, controlled voice resonating strangely in the confined space.

You didn’t respond, merely nodding as you closed the door behind them. Your instincts screamed at you not to turn your back, but you had to go fetch blankets for your guests.

— If you would follow me, you said in a voice that tried to sound assured. I only have one room for sleeping, but it will suffice.

You pointed to a small adjacent room, usually used for storing wood and provisions, but which could offer them temporary shelter. The squire and the two nobles settled there without much ceremony, removing their soaked coats.

The king, however, remained in the main room. He had moved toward the fireplace and was observing the flames with an almost disturbing intensity.

— Aren’t you joining your men? you asked, trying to mask your discomfort.

He turned his head slightly toward you, a cryptic smile curling his lips.

— No. I prefer the company here.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. It wasn’t so much his words as the way he said them. Slowly, he sat down in the chair you had occupied earlier, his eyes never truly leaving you.

— You are brave, he continued. Living alone, so far from everything. Few women would have the strength for it.

You lowered your gaze, trying not to respond to what you perceived as a provocation.

— I manage, you replied simply, grabbing a clean bowl. Would you like some soup?

— With pleasure.

You hurried to fill a bowl, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. You could feel his eyes on you, like a physical presence. When he took the bowl from your hands, his fingers briefly brushed yours. That contact felt like an electric shock.

— Thank you, he said softly, his smile still present.

The evening continued in a heavy silence. The other men seemed tired and did not leave their room, but the king stayed with you, occasionally asking innocuous questions: how long had you lived here? Why so far from civilization? Had you never been afraid?

Each of your answers seemed to fascinate him more. His dark, piercing eyes rarely left your face. At times, you felt like he was studying you, as if he were trying to uncover all your secrets.

You tried not to give him too much attention, but he had a magnetic aura that made it impossible. The later the night went, the more vulnerable you felt under his gaze, like a prey aware that it was being hunted.

— You are quite charming, he finally murmured, almost to himself. A woman like you shouldn’t be living alone in a place like this.

You didn’t respond, but your silence didn’t seem to bother him. He merely continued to watch you, his smile becoming more enigmatic, almost possessive.

It wasn’t until he finally stood up to join the others that you could breathe again. But even then, you knew this night would be long. You could still feel his gaze on you, even in his absence, like a heavy shadow that would not leave you.

The night was long and difficult. Sleep didn’t come easily, and every little noise made you jump. The creaking of the wood under the wind, the rustling of the trees in the rain… everything seemed amplified in the oppressive silence of your house. Several times, you woke up with a start, the fear of what these men might do keeping you awake.

Finally, unable to find peace, you got up and sat by the window. The sky was still cloudy, but a few stars pierced through the gaps. You stared at their distant glow, hoping their light would bring you some comfort.

Suddenly, a movement behind you made you shiver.

— You’re not sleeping, my dear?

The royal's low, smooth voice broke the silence. You slowly turned around, finding him standing in the doorway, dressed in a simple doublet that accentuated his imposing build. He was looking at you, a curious smile on his lips.

— I could say the same to you, you replied, weary and tired.

He let out a small laugh, clearly delighted by your retort.

— Touche, he said, stepping closer to look out the window. Oh, look! You can see the constellation of Cassiopeia. You know, in legends, she represents a queen. Beautiful, but proud.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

— Mhm, you replied simply, turning your gaze back to the stars.

In truth, you didn’t know much about constellations, and you had no desire for him to start talking about myths or fairy tales, especially at this hour. And if you were to be honest, you had never been very interested in such discussions, even less with him.

A silence settled, heavy and strange. For you, it was almost an enjoyable moment; you could finally savor a little tranquility, even in his presence. But it seemed that this silence bothered him.

— I hope your husband will be back soon, he suddenly said. It’s not good for a delicate creature like you to be alone here too long. Who knows who… or what you might come across.

You felt a wave of contempt rise within you. The word "husband" had been spoken in a strange way, both venomous and sarcastic, as if the idea disgusted him while not convincing him. He was staring at you with a piercing look, probably trying to detect a flaw in your lie.

Inside, you couldn’t help but mock him.

My poor, if only you knew how long “the delicate creature” I am has been living alone here…

But you showed nothing on your face.

— He’ll probably be back tomorrow, you replied in a neutral tone, hoping to end the conversation.

He looked at you for a moment longer, then a strange smile stretched across his lips. He hummed a tune you didn’t recognize before turning away, heading back to the room where his companions were sleeping.

You stayed still for a moment, your fists clenched, before returning to your room. This time, you made sure to lock the door. Yet, even behind that barrier, you couldn’t escape the oppressive feeling: his gaze, his smile… something about him made you deeply uncomfortable.

You slipped under the covers, praying that this night would finally end. But you knew that this was only the beginning of a much greater unease.

The next morning, you got up quickly, driven by the hope that by hastening the preparations, you could shorten their stay in your house. You prepared a simple breakfast: rye bread, some dry sausage, and a bowl of porridge. Sitting at the table, you savored the relative silence, a rare moment of tranquility since their arrival.

This moment was interrupted by the squire who entered discreetly. Unlike the others, he seemed less intrusive. He gave you a small, hesitant smile, as if waiting for your permission to sit. You gestured to a chair, and he sat down.

— I’ll wash your clothes after breakfast, you said calmly. You’ll probably be able to leave before lunchtime this way.

The squire looked at you with a mix of gratitude and awkwardness.

— Thank you, he replied sincerely. And I’m sorry that we imposed ourselves like this on you. Understand, your house is the only one in the area. But…

He hesitated, as if weighing his words.

— But the time of departure is not up to me, he added. It depends on the king’s will.

You stopped dead, staring at him in disbelief. The king? That insufferable, arrogant, and intrusive man, was he the king? Until now, you had thought he was just a high-ranking noble, but the king? A shiver ran through you, a mix of astonishment and apprehension.

As if to confirm your fears, the king entered at that moment, followed by his two companions. They sat at the table with an assurance that made it seem like they were at home. The king, with almost calculated precision, sat right next to you. He gave you a warm, almost charming smile, wishing you a good day in a soft, affable voice.

You furrowed your brow, confused by his behavior. Quickly clearing your dishes, you turned to him to regain some semblance of control.

— As I told your squire, I will wash your clothes after breakfast. That way, you’ll probably be able to leave before lunchtime.

The king stared at you for a moment, his gaze taking on an unreadable quality. There was something unsettling in his eyes: an intensity that seemed to probe your soul, as if he were trying to detect your every thought. Then, an almost imperceptible smile flickered on his lips.

— How kind of you, my dear, he said softly. However…

He paused, his tone turning more serious, almost solemn.

— It turns out that I wish to meet your husband. We will therefore wait for his return.

His gaze remained fixed on you, a glimmer of amusement mixed with a certain threat. He knew. He knew that you had lied, and he seemed to take a malicious pleasure in playing with you.

The atmosphere in the room immediately changed. The two nobles exchanged a glance, one of them sporting a smirk, clearly entertained by the situation. The other, more serious, seemed puzzled by the king’s insistence. As for the squire, he lowered his eyes, uncomfortable, nervously fiddling with the edge of his tunic.

You felt trapped. Your heart was racing, but you forced yourself to keep a neutral expression.

— My husband probably won’t return until late this evening, you said in a tone you hoped sounded firm.

The king didn’t respond immediately. He simply stared at you, his smile widening slightly.

— Then we have all the time in the world, he murmured finally, his voice soft, but heavy with innuendo.

This simple exchange left an overwhelming weight in the air. You now knew that his departure no longer depended on just washing clothes. And more than ever, you felt that this man was dangerous.

The day unfolded slowly, each moment stretching out like an eternity. The stares of the four men weighed heavily on you, their invasive presence seeping into every corner of your home. Even as you tried to focus on your daily tasks, every movement felt monitored, every breath scrutinized.

The squire was the most discreet, occasionally casting you a hesitant glance, as if unsure of his place but too polite to leave. The two nobles, however, seemed to revel in the situation. One of them kept glaring at you with a judgmental gaze, while the other, calmer but no less observant, appeared lost in thought, missing nothing of what transpired around him.

As for the king… He kept watching you, like a predator stalking its prey. You felt his eyes on you constantly—heavy, curious, scrutinizing. Every task you undertook seemed to serve as an opportunity for him to evaluate you. He would sometimes approach, ensuring you weren’t too busy, offering remarks that seemed casual but were, in truth, precise observations of your every move.

When you tended to the fire, he leaned in close and murmured softly: — You’re so attentive to everything; it’s admirable. You never miss a spark. The comment sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried not to let it show. You knew he was testing you, probing your resolve.

After cleaning and tidying up, you headed to the garden to tend to a few plants, hoping for a moment of respite. But even there, you weren’t alone. The king positioned himself by a window, watching you through the curtains. One of the nobles also kept his gaze fixed on you, as if every gesture needed to be observed, measured, and noted.

Finally, lunchtime arrived, though the thought of spending more time with them was far from appealing. You forced a smile, serving the food with a courtesy that grew more taxing by the moment. The king, ever charming, addressed you with kind words, but his eyes betrayed his relentless search for something more—a crack in your composure, a moment of vulnerability.

By the afternoon, you realized you couldn’t endure the tension any longer. Taking a deep breath, your heart pounding, you calmly announced: — I’m going into town. It’s been a while, and I think it would do me good.

Silence fell over the room, and all eyes turned to you. The king was the first to react, a faintly amused smile playing on his lips. — Into town? he said softly, with layers of meaning. Why not wait until your husband returns? It would be safer, wouldn’t it?

You didn’t need to think twice to recognize the trap. He was trying to cage you again, to make you feel his control over every aspect of your life. But you weren’t about to give in. — There’s nothing dangerous in town, you replied, striving for confidence. And I’ll return well before nightfall.

The nobles exchanged glances. One seemed on the verge of protesting but held back, as if a decision had been made beyond his control. The older one shrugged, appearing indifferent.

The king said nothing at first, his gaze piercing, sending a strange heat through your chest, followed by a chilling unease. Then, slowly rising from his chair, he moved toward you with measured steps, every motion deliberate, like a ruler fully aware of his authority. — Very well, he said calmly. Go ahead, but… don’t stray too far. I’d hate for anything to happen to you on the way. You know, it’s never entirely safe to be alone, especially in such an isolated place.

He turned away without another word, but his seemingly gentle tone carried an unmistakable threat. He didn’t need to say more for you to understand: he would be watching. No matter where you went, his shadow loomed over you like an invisible chain.

The other three men regarded you with varying expressions—indifference, amusement—but the king’s silent vigilance was ever-present. You had no choice but to leave, though deep down, you knew that any semblance of freedom you might feel was nothing more than a fragile illusion.

When you prepared to step out the door, the king rose again, his cold, determined smile returning. — I’ll accompany you, he said quietly but firmly. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d prefer to keep you under my watch.

He followed you without another word, and you had no choice but to accept it. The town, usually quiet, felt livelier today. People hurried to finish their errands before nightfall, and the clatter of hooves echoed on the cobblestones.

You headed first to the butcher, hoping the quick errand would go unnoticed. The king kept his distance, observing everything—the streets, the people, and most of all, you—with eyes as sharp as blades. His presence made you nervous, forcing you to move with heightened awareness of his scrutiny. — Some meat for tonight, please, you said in a calm voice, though your hands trembled slightly.

The butcher served you without question, though his gaze lingered on the king, then back to you. The tension was palpable, and no one could ignore it.

After paying, you continued on your way, maintaining a composed facade. The king remained silent, but his unrelenting eyes bore into you, as if waiting for the slightest misstep.

You stopped next at the tailor’s, hoping the visit might offer a brief reprieve from the king’s oppressive attention. The tailor, a middle-aged man, greeted you warmly. — Just a small repair for the skirt, if you don’t mind, you said, handing it over. Nothing too complicated.

The king leaned against the wall, watching every movement. You knew he disliked being here, but his desire to control you outweighed his discomfort. The tailor’s scissors seemed louder than usual, each snip amplifying the oppressive silence.

When the tailor handed back your mended skirt, you seized the moment. Taking a deep breath, you turned to the king and said calmly: — I’m going to visit a friend now. She works at a brothel nearby, and I need to deliver something to her.

The king studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. He hesitated, as though weighing his options. Then, with a faint smile, he replied: — Very well, I’ll wait here. But don’t take too long, all right? I wouldn’t want you to find yourself in a compromising situation.

Leaving him behind in the bustling street, you headed toward a quieter, shadowed part of town, where the alleys narrowed and the air grew heavier. Here, you hoped to find Jean—the one person who might help you escape the king’s grip, if only for a night.

Jean, a man with a rough demeanor, was well-known in these parts as a pimp but also as someone who didn’t hesitate to use violence to get what he wanted. You found him repulsive, but he was your only option.

Arriving at a discreet door, you knocked twice and waited. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and there stood Jean, a cynical smile on his lips.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” he said, looking you up and down. “You must want something, don’t you?”

You took a deep breath and held out five silver coins, which he snatched with interest.

“I have a deal for you, Jean. I want you to pretend to be my husband tonight. The king, that… insufferable man, is here with his nobles, and I can’t take it anymore. I need to escape, even if it’s just for one evening. In exchange for five silver coins, you’ll be my husband and shield me from his intrusive gaze.”

Jean laughed, a harsh and joyless sound.

“Five silver coins? For one evening of a fake marriage? You care more about freedom than money, I see. But you know what? I’ll do it. For tonight, you’ll be Jean’s wife, and the king won’t be able to do a thing about it. But don’t expect it to come cheap.”

He gave you a piercing look, one that felt far too calculated. You knew you had to tread carefully, but for now, this was your only option.

“Fine,” you replied, your gaze hardening. “But after tonight, you stay away from me, Jean. This is a deal, not a commitment.”

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said with a mocking grin.

Jean arrived at the cottage in the late afternoon, and you couldn’t help but feel a shiver of apprehension. Every step he took toward your door seemed heavy with consequence. When he entered, a mix of emotions overwhelmed you: a certain relief, of course, but also a growing unease. This dinner was no longer just a meal; it was a trial that could disrupt far more than your evening.

You greeted him with a reserved smile, trying to keep your composure. He settled at the table, his gaze scanning every corner of the cottage as if uncovering its secrets. The atmosphere was tense, and you sensed that nothing about what was to come would be trivial.

The others arrived shortly after—three nobles, followed by the king. They took their seats, but the air remained heavy. The king sat beside you, and you immediately felt his scrutinizing gaze on you, as though he were evaluating your every move. Then Jean turned toward him, his piercing stare as sharp as a blade.

The initial exchanges were polite, but the underlying tension was palpable. Jean, for his part, seemed intent on testing the king, pushing him to his limits, his remarks laden with innuendo.

“You have such a serene air about you, Your Majesty,” Jean began in an almost friendly tone, though his eyes gleamed with something sharper. “There’s a strange calm that emanates from you. A calm… that perhaps hides a certain vulnerability.”

The king shot you a quick glance before responding, his tone icy: “And why would you think that?”

Jean shrugged, as though he didn’t care about the answer. “Well, after spending time around powerful men, you learn to see the cracks in their facades. One might believe your power is unshakable, but I’m certain there are flaws. And when you find them, that’s when the real game begins.”

The king straightened slightly, his gaze hardening, though he maintained his composure. “You seem to underestimate what it means to be a king, Jean. You don’t understand what it entails—the sacrifices, the responsibilities. You can’t simply talk about power as if you know what it is.”

Jean smirked, a nearly provocative expression. “Oh, but I understand far more than you think. You speak of sacrifices, responsibilities, but at its core, everything is ruled by money. You, your nobles, your lands—it’s all an illusion. You think you’re at the top, but you’re just puppets in a much larger game.”

The nobles around the table exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to intervene. The tension escalated, and you could feel the air growing heavier. Jean wasn’t there to flatter; he was there to provoke, to push the king to his breaking point.

“You wear a fine crown, but it’s just an ornament. When you take it off, you’re like everyone else, aren’t you? Just a man among men, no matter how much you like to think otherwise.”

The king, visibly irritated, clenched his fists under the table. “You’re a strange man, Jean,” he murmured in a threatening tone. “You know nothing of what it means to be at the top. All you understand is money. You’re a man of the gutter.”

Jean burst into laughter, though there was an ominous edge to it. He stood abruptly, stepping closer to the king, his eyes blazing with restrained fury. “Maybe I am a man of the gutter, but tonight, you’re going to see what it feels like to lose control.”

Without warning, Jean drew his sword, the motion swift as lightning. The king, with a fluid movement, unsheathed his own and managed to parry the first strike. The violent clash of metal echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine. The other guests remained frozen, shocked by the sudden attack.

Jean, consumed by rage, launched into a series of brutal strikes, but the king was faster. Each of Jean’s blows was met with precise counters. The king appeared calm, but you could feel the intensity of the duel, every movement of his arms calculated and deliberate.

Finally, with a sudden burst of motion, the king disarmed Jean. Delivering a decisive strike, he sent Jean crashing to the ground. The ensuing silence was heavy, almost suffocating. Jean, groaning in pain, lay motionless.

The king, breathless but composed, stood tall and regarded Jean’s body with an icy gaze. Slowly, he turned to the other nobles. “Well. That’s settled.”

The nobles, paralyzed, said nothing. But you remained seated, frozen in place. A mix of relief and dread coursed through you. The king had killed a man during dinner, but the situation was far from resolved. On the contrary, you knew everything was about to change.

The guests eventually left, the king casting a final glance at Jean’s lifeless body before turning to you with a chilling smile. Then, he walked out the door.

You stayed behind, your eyes fixed on Jean’s motionless form, a storm of emotions swirling within you. The smell of blood and death filled the room, heavy and unbearable. The walls seemed to close in around you, and before you could fully grasp the gravity of the situation, everything went black. Darkness engulfed you as you fainted.

When you opened your eyes again, daylight filtered through the window. You sat up abruptly, dizziness overwhelming you. The nauseating smell of Jean's corpse immediately reached your nose, making you gag. The weight of what had just happened crushed you, and you felt overwhelmed by panic. What now? How could you erase what had just occurred? Jean's body was there, in the room, and you couldn't simply leave it there.

Instinctively, you got up and hurried outside, running to the back of the small house where no one would disturb you. You began digging a hole in the garden, more or less deep, but every movement felt heavy, almost mechanical. Your mind was foggy, your hands trembling. Jean's body, too heavy to handle alone, seemed almost unreal. Dried blood stained your hands and clothes as you dragged the body out of the house, each movement sending a shiver of disgust through you. The body fell into the hole you had dug without much thought. The earth slowly covered him, but your mind kept spiraling.

Was what you just did really smart? People would surely notice Jean’s disappearance. And if someone came, if someone found his body in your garden... It would be you they accused. You they judged. A cold shiver ran through you. What now? You had to flee. Find a solution before it was too late.

Panicked, you ran inside the house, hastily gathering anything you thought might be necessary. Some silver coins, a few clothes, and other small items you could carry. Each action felt more rushed than the last. But as you were gathering everything, you heard a noise. A sharp knock at the door.

You froze. It wasn’t the wind. It was another knock, more insistent this time. You approached the door cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. Then a commanding voice rose from the other side, cutting through your thoughts.

— Open the door immediately! You are accused of high treason against the crown. We are here to escort you to your trial.

Your blood ran cold. The voice was firm, authoritative, leaving no room for negotiation. The royal guards were there, and everything was about to fall apart. You stood still, your mind racing. You had no plan, nothing. You had to face what was coming, but how? What to say? What to do?

The sound of footsteps approached, and the door began to tremble under repeated blows. Everything was collapsing around you.

The door burst open suddenly, and everything seemed to blur around you. The daylight was too bright, almost unbearable, and your eyes instinctively squinted. Before you could react, you were seized by the arm with such force that you had no time to defend yourself. The sensation was terrifying, as if an invisible rope tied you to a horse, dragging you behind it mercilessly. The pain, the anguish, everything mixed within you in a chaotic whirlwind.

Your mind wavered between reality and memory, a flood of blurry, confused recollections. The cell, the dampness of the cold walls, the heavy silence of the prison… Then the judge, the man who condemned you, and his cutting voice announcing your sentence: "Death by hanging." The sound of his words still echoed in your ears, and you felt lost, crushed by inevitability.

Now, you were there again, in that cell. A heavy silence weighed on you. The last day, the day of the condemned. You had prepared yourself for this moment, for this inevitable end. But nothing could prepare you for what happened next.

The door to your cell opened once again. You expected to see a guard, another court official, but that wasn’t the case. A malicious smile stretched across your face as you recognized the one who had entered. The king himself. He wasn’t there to carry out a sentence, no. He stepped toward you with that manic smile, the smile he always wore when he felt in control, when he knew everything was under his power. That smile, at that moment, froze your blood.

— So, here you are at last. It’s amusing to see how the wheel of fate turns, isn’t it? he murmured, his voice smooth, almost disdainful.

He stood there before you, and the air he exuded was suffocating. He seemed to take cruel pleasure in observing your distress. He advanced slowly, his gaze fixed on you, as if savoring every moment of this encounter, every second he knew you couldn’t escape.

You were there, facing him, in that cell. There was no escape. No false hope. Just him, the king, delighting in your predicament, and that predatory smile he wouldn’t stop wearing.

The king approached closer, reducing the distance between you to a mere breath. His eyes glimmered with a strange light, a mix of cruelty and desire. Then, with a chilling smile, he murmured:

— In my great mercy, I offer you a way out, a chance to live. But on one condition: you must agree to stay with me for eternity.

Your breath caught. The words echoed in the cell like a distorted, unreal sound. Your heart raced, and yet a strange sense of irony crossed your mind. You dared to speak, your voice trembling despite yourself:

— Is… is this a marriage proposal?

The king burst into clear laughter, almost joyful, but every note of that laughter was filled with condescension. He shook his head slightly, as if amused by your supposed naivety.

— No, of course not! My dear, our social classes are far too distant for such absurdity, he said, letting the words drip with disdain.

He took another step, leaning slightly toward you, his tone lower, more intense.

— What I’m offering you is far more than a simple marriage. I’m offering you life, an existence by my side, as the royal mistress. A title few could claim, a privileged place in my world.

He paused, his eyes scrutinizing every detail of your face, watching for your reaction.

— And together, we will live happily until the end of time. Until the stars themselves extinguish, and the universe is nothing but a memory.

His smile widened, triumphant, as if he already knew what your answer would be. But deep inside, a storm raged. The final decision is yours.

A/n ²: Hope you enjoyed :3. If this is the case, please let me know. Besides, I have lots of ideas for explanations and follow-ups (like: -Why did Jean act like this?, (assuming Darling chooses to live)What will life be like for Darling now that she is a royal mistress?, What if the king had a wife?)

[itsybitsybluesy]

THE PERFECT ROMANTIC GETAWAY: ONE WEEK FOR TWO AT SCENIC, LAKESIDE MOUNTAIN LODGE

CHAPTER 1 / ELUCIEN / EXPLICIT / 1 OF 3

There was simply so much they’d had to extricate themselves from in the middle of Solstice season, Elain thought several times that they should really just call the whole thing off. “It’s never a good time for a vacation,” Lucien told her. “Which is why you have to take them.”

🎁  🎁  🎁 

LMAO HAPPY ACOTAR GIFT EXCHANGE @huntquinlan!!! surprise surprise, i accidentally revealed myself as your secret santa AND THEN TURNED AROUND AND DOUBLE-CROSSED YA BY PRETENDING I WAS YOUR NEW, DIFFERENT SECRET SANTA... did you guess? i am selfishly super happy i didn't have to switch, because i loved writing this and i also loved getting to discover your wonderful art! my only regret is that i couldn't write you asks in gossip girl speak the entire time.

thank you @temperedink for the generous beta read and thank you @acotargiftexchange for dealing with my mistake... i'm told at least once a year someone spoils the surprise and i am not that shocked that i did it my first time. just too excitable i guess!

have a wonderful holiday season, and i really hope you like this! i tried to take your Outlander hot springs suggestion and go somewhere new on the Continent (that is, ahem, quite obviously a lakeside town in japan i once visited in my early 20s). there will be three chapters total, sprinkled somewhat evenly over the next few days of the event!

LOVE U BESTIE!

xoxo,

itsy <3

(read it on AO3!)

preview under the cut:

ELAIN

She was slightly anxious the whole carriage ride as town streets turned to farms and fields and then to hills and valleys. There was simply so much they’d had to extricate themselves from in the middle of Solstice season, Elain had thought several times that they should really call the whole thing off. Nesta was just a few months pregnant and horribly sick in the mornings, sometimes only able to keep down the soothing bone broths Elain made her from scratch; Nyx was going through his first few challenges with his schooling and consequently driving court tutors to madness; Feyre and Rhys had their hands full and heads spinning with a squabbling pack of High Lords and uneasy, bickering detente with the human queens. 

Elain had been soothing and tending and chipping in and charming her ass off anyone that needed it. “I just don’t know if it’s such a good idea for us to leave now ,” she’d said to her mate, though it pained her to rain on his parade. 

Lucien was still splitting his time between Day and the apartment they were renting in Velaris, though Elain knew the constant winnowing didn’t always help with the question of what, exactly, to do about his inheritance: the title of Day Court Prince, Helion’s pride and joy, the golden boy he would have been, had he been allowed to grow up by his father’s side. The High Lord of Day seemed to have an endless fount of ideas on what Lucien should learn about in Day’s libraries, or why it was very important for him to accompany Helion to a trade meeting, or any number of other reasons to invite the current emissary of Night to stay another day, week, month. 

Elain knew there was no reason Lucien needed to keep going on Rhys’s nosy little reconnaissance missions or put up with the polite friendlessness that faced him in Velaris - just as she knew her mate still could not take the final step into the place Helion offered to him, the path that seemed to be open after so many decades thinking he deserved so little. It was Lucien who perhaps needed to spend more time communicating with his relatives and trusted friends this Solstice, and of course it was Lucien most convinced they should leave, Cauldron boil them all, because they wanted to and because they could. 

“It’s never a good time for a vacation,” Lucien told her before they left. “Which is why you have to take them.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Elain said loftily. “I think it’s you trying to avoid a Solstice visit with Helion.” 

“Forget Helion,” her mate said. “It’s me trying to whisk my gorgeous mate away for some actual peace and quiet.” 

And in the end, she’d agreed with him, in her heart of hearts so craving a day or two to just themselves. Lucien spared no expense or comfort, ever gallant and also very dramatic about his holiday plans; he worked with court engineers to spell their carriage against the winter cold so that he and Elain could enjoy a cozy, comfortable ride to their destination, laden with trunks of likely unnecessary furs and blankets and books and tea. He knew Elain still preferred real-time travel to winnowing, and he also knew it was a simple pleasure for her to not have to pack light. Across from her in the carriage, he sat with one hand stroking her own, eyes bright as he peered out the window. 

“Tell me again,” Elain said softly, “what this place is like.” 

“I don’t want to build your hopes too high,” Lucien said gaily, clearly proud of what he’d planned anyway. “After all, it was a suggestion from Eris, of all people.” It was his brooding, severe half-brother who’d told Lucien about the town and the inn, the mountain and the springs before it, about a day’s ride Northeast into the Continent. Only the Mother knew how, exactly, Eris had acquired this information, but Eris had heard about Elain’s dreamy musings on travel, exploring beautiful places and getting to know new people. Lucien expected it was ultimately fondness for Elain and not himself that had so inspired this exclusive recommendation. 

“That’s why I know it’ll be just perfect,” Elain countered. “Any place on the Continent notable enough for Eris Vanserra must be pretty breathtaking.” 

“It’s only a town,” Lucien said, grinning. “A town he happened to know, by a mountain, populated by quiet mountain people he probably terrified.” 

Elain curled closer to him and sighed. “Quiet people, how lovely,” she said. “What if I never want to return?” 

Lucien dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sure I could handle your correspondence, be your emissary.” 

“No, I’ll make sure you’re enchanted into following my every step,” his mate replied. “So you can never leave my side.” 

He turned and let himself take a deep whiff of her hair and pearled, soft skin. “No enchantment needed, mate.”

[fanboyswhore9]

The Proposal (Pt. 1)~ Sherlock Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill’s version) x Fem! reader

Contains: Henry Cavil, marriage of convenience, childhood lovers, long lost love, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Summary: Childhood friends Sherlock Holmes and the reader were inseparable until she left for boarding school, leaving unresolved feelings between them. Nearly two decades later, she returns to 221B Baker Street with an urgent proposition: to secure her inheritance, she must marry, and she asks Sherlock for help. Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock has harbored feelings for her all along. They confess their love for each other and agree to marry, not just for convenience but out of genuine love.

A/N: THIS IS POSSIBLY THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN ON TUMBLR! This is my first Sherlock fic that I’ve done. I hope I do him justice!❤️❤️❤️❤️

The rain was steady that evening, casting a mist over the streets of London. Inside 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, eyes half-lidded, mind lost in a myriad of thoughts as the fire crackled. He hadn’t had a proper case in days, which left him restless, pacing between fleeting memories and idle deductions.

A knock on the door cut through his haze. Sherlock frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for most visitors, but not impossible. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson was entertaining guests again. He rose, heading to the door, when he heard the knock again—more insistent this time.

When he opened the door, the last person he ever expected to see stood before him, soaked from the rain, her hair damp around her face. “Sherlock,” she breathed, her voice a familiar melody he hadn’t heard in almost two decades.

His breath caught. It was her. The girl from his youth, his best friend, his confidant—until she was whisked away to boarding school, leaving him behind in a cold and silent void that he rarely acknowledged but always felt. She had grown into the woman he imagined she would be: poised, beautiful, but with that same spark in her eyes that always challenged him, intrigued him.

He stepped back to let her in, not trusting his voice just yet. She entered, glancing around at the familiar setting of 221B. “Some things never change,” she said, her lips pulling into a soft smile, though there was an edge of uncertainty there. Wanting to be polite, he asked her, “I know it’s past time, but would you like a cup of tea?” She looked at him nodding gently, “Yes, please. I’d love a cup of tea.” He nods as he starts to brew tea in the kettle.

Sherlock cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for the words to sound so cold, but they came out that way regardless.She looked at him, her expression guarded, then stepped closer. “I need your help, Sherlock.”

“Help?” His curiosity piqued, but there was something else in her eyes. Something more personal. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her coat as she gathered her courage. “I… I’ve come back to London because of my grandmother. She’s ill, Sherlock. She’s… dying.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for once, it wasn’t merely out of politeness. “She’s left me her fortune, her estate, but there’s a catch.” She glanced away, as if embarrassed to continue. “I have to be married to inherit.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Married?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice tightening. “My parents are pressuring me. They’ve paraded potential suitors in front of me for months, but none of them… none of them understand me.” She took a deep breath, her eyes finally meeting his. “And I really don’t want to marry any of them.” The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Sherlock’s mind was already racing, calculating her reasons for coming to him, searching for the logical thread.

“And you’ve come to me because…?” he asked, though a part of him already knew the answer.“Because,” she said softly, stepping closer, her eyes searching his face, “I don’t want to marry just anyone. I want to marry someone I trust. Someone I care about. Someone I…” She hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. “Someone I love.” Sherlock froze.

The words he never expected to hear from her—yet had longed to hear—hung in the air. For a moment, he was sixteen again, watching her pack her things as she left for boarding school, a thousand words unsaid between them. He had always assumed she moved on, that she forgot about him. But now, here she was, standing before him, offering him not just her trust, but her heart.

“You—” He started, but his voice faltered. His mind, usually so sharp, struggled to find the right words. “I know this is sudden,” she rushed on, her hands trembling slightly, “and maybe it’s foolish. Maybe you’ve moved on, maybe you never thought about me that way. But I had to tell you, otherwise I might regret it for the rest of my life. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, Sherlock. And if there’s even the smallest chance that you feel the same…” She trailed off, hope and fear mingling in her eyes.

Sherlock, for once, was at a loss. His emotions, something he kept carefully locked away, threatened to overwhelm him. He had thought of her often over the years, wondered where she was, what she was doing. He had buried his feelings for her, convinced they were pointless, that she was a part of his past he could never reclaim.

But now…

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw with emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “I—” He paused, the words foreign on his tongue. “I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. I assumed… I thought you were happy. That you had your life, your suitors.”She smiled sadly. “I never wanted anyone else.”

Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with possibilities, with unspoken promises. Sherlock, ever logical, ever calculating, found himself making a decision not based on reason but on something far more human.

“Then marry me,” he said simply, his eyes locked on hers. Her breath caught, her eyes widening in surprise. “Sherlock, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, stepping closer until they were mere inches apart. “Marry me. Not for your inheritance, not for your grandmother, but because I can’t bear the thought of you with anyone else.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Yes, Sherlock. Yes.” He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped her face. And for the first time in years, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, let himself feel.

His eyes, usually so calculating and detached, softened as they locked onto hers. The distance between them seemed to disappear, years of unspoken emotions finally surfacing. His thumb gently traced the line of her cheek, his touch both tender and reverent.

“I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, “for not realizing sooner.”

Before she could respond, Sherlock leaned in, closing the final space between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deliberate, as if he was discovering something new but also something long overdue. The kiss was soft at first, slow and searching, but then it deepened, filled with all the feelings they had kept hidden for so long.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders, holding him close as she melted into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in this quiet, intimate moment. His kiss, though unsure at first, soon became sure and steady, filled with the depth of emotion he had kept buried beneath layers of logic and restraint.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the silence. Sherlock’s eyes remained closed for a brief moment longer, savoring the connection, before he finally opened them to look at her. “For you,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion, “I’ll always make an exception.” A soft smile tugged at her lips, her heart swelling at his words. “Then I’ll always be your exception.”

~SHORT TIME SKIP~

A few days had passed since she had shown up at Sherlock’s doorstep with her proposition. The weight of their confession and the whirlwind engagement still felt surreal, but there was no time for hesitation. Arrangements had to be made, and there were still people she needed to see.

That afternoon, she found herself in the grand, stately sitting room of the Diogenes Club, Mycroft Holmes’ preferred sanctuary. He greeted her with his usual aloofness, but there was a subtle curiosity in his eyes as they exchanged pleasantries.

“My brother is not one for sentiment,” Mycroft said, swirling a glass of brandy as he studied her, “but you seem to have managed what few others could.” His words were clipped but not unkind. “It’s rather remarkable.” She smiled, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I didn’t come here expecting him to say yes. But I know Sherlock, and I believe this is right for both of us.”

Mycroft gave her a small, approving nod. “You’ve always had a peculiar influence on him. I suppose if anyone can make sense of this arrangement, it’s you.” Before she could respond, the door opened, and a young woman with wild curls and a sharp, curious look in her eyes entered the room. Enola Holmes, Sherlock and Mycroft’s little sister, stepped in with an air of confidence. It was the first time they’d met, though she had heard much about Enola’s independent and rebellious nature.

Enola glanced between her and Mycroft, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. “So, you’re the one who’s finally going to tie Sherlock down,” she said, half-teasing, half-curious. She let out a soft giggle and smiled, amused by the younger woman’s boldness. “It seems so.” Enola stepped forward, her curiosity obvious. “I must say, I’m impressed. Sherlock’s never shown much interest in anything besides his cases. You must be quite extraordinary.”

“Not as extraordinary as you, Enola. Sherlock speaks highly of you,” she replied warmly, and that seemed to catch Enola off guard. Enola smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Well, you’ve certainly earned my respect. Anyone who can handle Sherlock is worthy of admiration.”

As the girls exchanged more pleasantries, she felt a sense of warmth from Enola, a feeling of acceptance, even if it came with a bit of Holmes skepticism. It felt like the final piece of her integration into Sherlock’s life, meeting both Mycroft and Enola, and earning a place in the family dynamic that was uniquely theirs.

Later that evening, in the quiet of Sherlock’s flat at 221B Baker Street, she sat at his desk and wrote a letter to her family. Her parents, grandmother, and sister needed to be informed, though she was sure the news would spread quickly once the engagement was made official.

Dearest Mother, Father, Grandmother, & my dear Sister,

I write to you with news I never expected to share. After years of distance & time apart, I have returned to London & reunited with Sherlock Holmes. Our connection, though it was once left in the past, has rekindled, & I am pleased to inform you that I am now engaged to be married to him.

I know this news may come as a surprise, but please understand that this decision was made with great care and certainty. Sherlock has always held a special place in my heart, & I believe that this union will be one of love, companionship, & understanding.

Sister, I especially want you to know how much I look forward to you being by my side through this, & I can’t wait to tell you everything in person.

I will return home soon to speak with you all in person & explain further. In the meantime, know that I am happy and excited for what lies ahead.

With all my love,

Your daughter and sister

She sealed the letter, her heart feeling lighter as she prepared to send it. The wheels were in motion now. Everything was becoming real. Soon, her family would know, and the life she was about to build with Sherlock was just beginning.

[writtenbynamu]

Dickmatized

Myg X black reader

Tags/warnings: HAEGEUM! (Yoongi), mentions of human trafficking, talks of s/a (not by Yoongi, doesn’t actually happen), violence, degradation, rough, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), choking, daddy kink, perjury, reader is weak in the knees

Word count: 3.4k

Minors DNI

Your legs are crossed, right over left; back rigid as you try to maintain your composure. To anyone else in the room, your behaviour would have seemed normal. After all, women crossed their legs all the time out of habit or politeness. It was nothing out of the ordinary….or it wouldn’t have been if your legs had been crossed for any other reason that to quell the throb budding in your underwear.

You were better than this. You were a strong, independent woman. You were one of the two partners of Park & Min. A lawyer, a ridiculously good one at that; with one foot in the underground crime syndicate and the other on the necks of every prosecutor in Seoul. In this city, your name had to hold weight for you to survive…and yours was heavy enough to burden tongues. You made sure of it.

You had spent years getting your shit together, yet somehow, all it took was one look from him for you to fall apart.

You had first met Agust back when you were nothing but a decoy for the Itaewon dragons. The Itaewon dragons were one of the most feared gangs in Seoul, run by one of the most unassuming men you’d ever met. They sold everything from party drugs to cocaine to people. That’s where you had come in.

“Are you sure you want to do this noona?” The man before you asked as soon as the door shut. “You could get stabbed, or shot, or raped…oh my god this could end so fucking badly”

His teeth worried at his lip, the metal of his piercing hit against his teeth but he didn’t notice. He never did when he got anxious.

You tutted at him and walked over to where he stood. You looped a hand around his neck, urging him to look down at you and used your thumb to pull his bottom lip from between his teeth.

“Breathe Bun,” you said gently, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

His shoulders sagged and he dropped his head into your shoulders. He took a deep breath, shuddering a bit when he exhaled.

“ I don’t want to do this noona, I don’t want any of this. I just want to go back to art school” he said with a whine, a petulant pout on his lips. You resisted the urge to coo at him.

“I know bun, but it’s only for a little while hm? Just until your hyung gets back right?”

“Mhm hm” he mumbled, not ready to lift his head from the comfort of your warmth.

“So just let Noona do this so you can get it out the way in time to finish your project hm?”

He sighed against you and wrapped his hands tighter around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Time was going, but he needed the tactile comfort to ground him and so you let him have it for a few more minutes.

“Okay, now put your poker face on and let’s go do a drug heist Kook”

The plan was simple. You, Jungkook and the other dragons were supposed to meet up with some lackeys from D Town who had been interested enough in the “sexy foreigner” they had seen Jungkook parade around with to strike a deal with their mortal enemies. 15 kilos of pure white booger sugar for one night with you is what they offered.

It was insulting to think that they thought you had fallen for such a ruse.They knew that Seokjin wouldn’t have fallen for it, that’s why they waited until Jungkook had taken the reins. Jungkook might have been younger and less experienced, but he was no fool.

You would meet them and the specified location, demand a show of the product and then when they asked for you in return, the dragons would kill them and take the coke. It was foolproof, or at least it had been until the sky decided that it was the perfect time to burst and started to rain.

The dragons had the D town boys surrounded, guns drawn and pointed right at their heads. The sudden downpour had thrown everyone off-kilter and in the blink of an eye, you had found yourself with a knife to your throat and a gun pressed to your hip.

“LET HER GO YOU FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT”

Jungkook yelled over the clap of thunder that rolled overhead.

“ONE MORE STEP AND I KILL THE BITCH AND YOU” the man screamed.

Jungkook froze in his spot a glare on his face to conceal the dread he truly felt about the situation.

The man started backing away with you in tow only to freeze when he bumped into a hard chest. The smell of newports and the tiniest hint of…tangerine? Hit you both at the same time and you felt the man holding you start quivering.

“Having a bit of fun without me Jaehyuck?” came a low, deep voice; words gravely as if he hadn’t spoken all day.

“N-no Ag- n-no sir” he replied, hands trembling so much that he dropped the knife

“Really? Because it looks to me like you stole my product and tried to buy someone with it…” he spat.

The heel of his boots clicked on the paved rooftop as he circled the man holding you.

“What are my two rules Jaehyuck?” He asked, no demanded.

“N-never involve w-women and children s-sir”

“Now unless I’ve completely lost sight in my right eye and my left one has decided to start playing tricks on me… that’s a woman you’re holding…is it not?”

The man let go of you immediately, falling to his knees to plead with the man looking down at him with utter disgust.

You should have grabbed the coke and run over to Jungkook while they were both distracted, but you just couldn’t look away from your dark saviour.

You watched enthralled as he reached into the pocket of his coat, and you braced yourself for him to take out a gun of some sort; only to be confused when he pulled out a pair of red chopsticks instead.

The man seemed to recognize the utensils though, in fact, he seemed terrified of them.

“Beg for forgiveness.” Said the scarred man.

“I’m so s-sorry s-“

“Not from me you imbecile, from her”

To his credit, the man did beg for your forgiveness with so much sincerity and desperation that you almost felt sorry for him. But Scarface didn’t care. He used his chopstick on Jaehyuck in ways you had never seen before, ways you hadn’t known were possible. It should have scared you, but you had never felt more intrigued by a singular person in your entire life .

And when he was done, he held his chopsticks out so the rain could wash them off, bowed to you and offered you the coke as an apology (not that you weren’t going to take it either way) and turned to leave.

“Wait! What’s your name?” You asked, a bit winded from the adrenaline pumping through your veins

“Agust” he said “Agust D”

🥢🥢 🥢

“Agust” (as you came to know later)had been in the process of taking over the D- boys when you had your little run-in with them. He was keen on changing the way things worked in the gang, determined to make sure his rule was never questioned or contested. Killing Jaehyuck for not only undermining his authority but threatening to jeopardise the partnership he had been working to establish with the dragons through Jin was his first step in doing so.

Now, 5 years later, Agust had the largest cities in Korea, Seoul included, trembling under the weight of his thumb. He had long since created an alliance with the dragons and went on to take over when both Jin and Jungkook wanted out.

He owned almost everything and everyone. What were once periodic whispers of his name became incessant screams, loud enough that everyone knew it.

Still, very few people knew what Agust looked like. Sure they knew his name, knew who he was but he rarely showed his face in public, the threat of his existence was potent enough that he didn’t have to.

Still, in Seoul, walls could talk and they loved to gossip. And so everyone knew that “Agust D '' had a scar over his right eye and could kill people with his bare hands and a pair of chopsticks. August’s favourite part of his partial anonymity was the theories about how he got his scar. Some say he got it in an underground fight, others said he had been cut with glass in prison and the truly bold suggested that he had done it himself. They were all wrong, but they were fun to listen to.

When Agust did show his face, it was usually in a setting like you were in right now. A conference room full of lawyers being debriefed on his latest transgressions and how they would be expected to handle it, had he ever gotten caught.

The funny thing about Agust is that no matter who he bought or for how long he bought them, he never recruited a police officer or any member of the judiciary at all for that matter. He loved the rush he got from winning a trial simply because he had a good legal team; that he had you on his team. He liked knowing that he could win fair and square There was something so fascinating…so attractive about the way that you made an airtight case against the prosecution, how you played the jury like a puppet master in your… in his favour.

To this day, you had only lost once, a petty crime charge of aggravated assault for one of the boys. It should have rolled off your back because he, like almost everyone you represented, had been guilty. But there was something about the way Jisoo looked at you in that courtroom as if she knew she had won before the trial even began, as if she was better than you that fueled your thirst to be the best lawyer Seoul had ever seen, even if just out of pure spite.

🥢🥢🥢

There was something about the way Agust could command a room that made you feel hot all over. There was something about the way he spoke, calm, collected, controlled as if words were nothing but a nuisance to him and he had made them his bitch.

His presence filled any room no matter how big or small it was and his demeanour was enough to make even the most insolent of individuals sit with their backs straight. Fuck, he made you feel the need to sit straight.

You tried to pay attention as he spoke, but your mind could only focus on how his plump lips wrapped around his words. How his tongue darted out at intervals to wet his lips, how his fingers twirled the chopsticks he held between them as he paced the room. You couldn't help but stare at his hands, hands that had done unspeakable horrors to scores of people, hands that had dealt unspeakable pleasures to you.

You’ve officially zoned out. You hear no words, no shuffling of paper; your brain blocks out everything that isn’t Agust or your memories of him so much so that you don’t realise that the meeting is over until the heavy double doors bang shut. Almost instantaneously, the smell of cigarettes wafts towards you and you look up to see him standing beside you.

You swallow thickly.

“How was the meeting Y/N?” he asks you, taking a long, slow drag from his cigarette.

“Good.” you lied “It was good.”

“Hm,” he hummed. “ So what do you think Dongshik’s chances are on that murder charge?”

You clear your throat. “ I have full confidence that Jimin can get the charges dropped or at the very least, get him out on bail” you reply carefully, praying you didn’t sound as unsure as you felt.

Agust chuckled before spinning you around in your chair to face him and leaning over you so that your faces were mere inches apart.

“Good try baby, but “Dongshik” is one of your paralegals, not one of the dragons. The only crime he’s committing is wearing that God-awful fake Dior cologne.”

Shit.

“What's got you so distracted, hm pretty girl?” he asked, running his left index finger along your jaw.

Your breath hitched. “N-nothing, I’m just a little tired,” you replied, clenching your thighs together.

Agust narrowed his eyes at you, his mouth forming a straight line. Unamused. He takes one last drag of his cigarette before he puts it on one of the ashtrays on the long table.

He looks you up and down, gazee burning against your skin as his eyes rake over you, arms crossed against his chest.

“You know better than to insult my intelligence like that don’t you Y/N?” he asks, clearly not expecting an answer.

He grabs your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him “ You think I couldn’t see you squirming? That I couldn't see you clench those thighs for all they’re worth?”

His eyes were intense, just like everything else about him was but you fought defiantly to maintain eye contact with him.

“ I did no such thing” you retorted, much to his displeasure. He scoffed.

“You’re such a brat you know that? Such a big fucking brat.” he said shaking his head. “Stand up.”

You don't move, much to his annoyance.

He takes a deep breath and brings his right hand down to your throat, not squeezing hard enough to hurt, but applying enough pressure to get your heart racing and to know how serious he was.

“I’ll say it again once. Stand. Up.”

You obey this time, looking up at him as you rise from your seat, hand still wrapped snugly around your neck.

He releases you once you’re completely upright on your feet and sits in your chair. He taps the space on the table in front of him and you take the hint and sit.

He runs his hands up and down the length of your thighs and your legs part almost on instinct. He gets a view of your underwear, the dark red in the centre from how wet you were and hisses.

“See why you shouldn’t lie to me, baby? Because no matter what you come up with in that pretty little head of yours, your body will always tell me the truth, hm?”

He hikes your pencil skirt up to your waist and pushes your thighs further apart and your body arches towards him on instinct. He brings his head down to kiss at the sensitive skin and you barely hold back a scream when he sinks his teeth into your soft flesh. He runs his tongue over the bite and you whine. He pulls away to look up at you

“What kind of behaviour is this hm? The big bad Y/N making such a mess on this table? Aren’t you a bit embarrassed to be reacting like this hm? Dripping all over me as if I didn’t fuck you senseless just yesterday.” he says bringing a hand to your core and pulling your underwear to the side.

You roll your hips forward and resist the urge to bring your hands to cover your face because he was right. He did fuck you senseless less than 24 hours ago, but Agust was more addictive than any combination of drugs he sold. He was toxic, mean…evil if you were to consider anything he did with your moral compass…but you needed him. He might have been cruel to everyone and everything else, but he was good, so, so good to your pussy.

He pushes a finger into you, the cool metal of his ring grazing against your walls. He adds another and your eyes roll back and your head falls back. He starts pumping his fingers in and out of you, your wetness making obscene noises as you clench around his digits. The pressure builds up in your pussy embarrassingly quickly and your orgasm is so close you can practically taste it. You roll your hips forward to meet every thrust of his fingers urging him to go faster. And of course, in the most Agsust fashion ever, he slows down.

He pulls his fingers out of you, your juices running down to his palm and he meets your eyes as he licks them both. The sight is obscene and incredibly hot and it sends you surging forward to put your lips on his.

The kiss is a desperate tangle of tongues and the occasional clashing of teeth. It's wet and messy and it makes every nerve ending in your body stand on edge. Your hand makes its way around his neck and you pull away from him.

“I need you to fuck me,” you say simply. Chest heaving against the silk of your blouse, three buttons somehow missing from the expensive top.

He glares up at you and rips your hand from his neck.

“I don't take fucking orders from you” he spits as he flips you over on the table, face down and ass towards him. “But I'll give it to you just this once, and only because I want to feel you cum on my dick”.

With that, he pulls your underwear down and pushes into you in one go, ripping a scream from your throat as your walls struggle to accommodate him. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust before he starts thrusting into you. His pace is rough and punishing and you can't help the moans that escape you.

“Youre so fucking tight every. Single. Time.” he groans, punctuating his sentence with his thrusts.

He grabs onto your braids, pulling your head back so he could push his tongue into your mouth. His hips start moving impossibly faster, and you can do nothing but moan brokenly against his lips.

He brings his hand down to your clit and rubs it, and your eyes blow wide open and you scream.

“Yoongi please.” you beg.

His hips stuttered in shock.

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

Your eyes widen as you realise what had slipped out of your mouth. Agust had told you his real name years ago but you had never used it. Sure you had practised the way it felt on your tongue in secret but you had never felt brave enough to say it.

“I’m s-sorry,” you say in between moans

“Don’t apologize- fuck it sounds so good when you say it.” he moans out, picking his pace up once more “ Say it again.” he demands “ tell me who this pussy belongs to baby”

“YOONGI!” you scream, tears streaming freely down your face “ It’s all yours Yoongi please”

“That’s right. Thats fucking right” Yoongi replies. “I can feel you clenching around me, do you want to cum baby?”

“Fuck yes, Yoongi please let me cum” you begged.

Yoongi gives you one last particularly hard thrust and your entire body convulses as your orgasm washes over you.

“That’s it, baby, cum for daddy.” he guides you as he slows his thrusts down to barely their pace as you come apart around him.

His orgasm follows yours almost immediately and he spills into you, sending a combination of your juices running down your legs.

He runs his hand along your back as you go limp against him, recovering from your high and places a gentle kiss on your forehead and he pulls your underwear back up.

🥢🥢🥢

As rough as Yoongi is with you whenever you have sex, his gentleness after the fact always negates it.

As bad as Yoongi was for you, he simply made you feel too good.

Deep down, you knew Yoongi loved you in his own twisted way, and you loved him too. But neither of you was willing to admit that out loud. Instead, what existed between you was an unspoken agreement of ownership. You were Yoongi’s just as much as he was yours.

Of course, you saw something more with Yoongi than just fucking him, and it would b unfair to say that was all your relationship was.

Maybe you would've brought it up if you weren't so enthralled by him. If you weren’t so distracted every time he touched you.

Yoongi was everything you did not tolerate, and yet you tolerated him so well.

Yoongi was nothing but death, sex and bad vibes.

Maybe you were insane.

Or maybe you were just dickmatized.

[matan4il]

I can't believe it's only Aug 12th and already there's a Xmas post on my dash.

Every single year I have to get through the non-Christian erasure that is Xmas season, the way that everyone acts as if the whole world celebrates Xmas, every year I have to feel like I'm being mean and raining on people's parades when I refuse to join in, or when I try to (as politely as I can) refuse to be greeted with Xmas wishes, every year I have to grit my teeth as every show has a Xmas special, every app and software has festive events and sales, changing into special Xmas versions of their icons, every media outlet wants to tell me about the joys of Xmas shopping and tourism, meanwhile I'm biting my tongue not to blurt out repeatedly that Xmas is when historically my people were targeted, brutalized and sometimes even MURDERED... and apparently Xmas season just keeps getting longer.

I don't mind that people who are religiously or culturally Christian celebrate it. I kinda mind it when non-Christians do, because that strikes me as the effects of commercialism and cultural colonialism, but hey. Other people are independent individuals, it's up to them to make their own choices, even if I personally make a different choice. And I'd never make anyone personally feel bad about their choice, either. What bothers me is that it's basically IMPOSSIBLE to opt out of Xmas celebrations if you're one of the people who don't want to participate. They're everywhere. They're in every place, they're in so many spaces that I otherwise love. And they just keep starting earlier every year. I wanna bang my head against the wall.

This is what religious / cultural coercion feels like. Yeah, even if it's done unintentionally by many.

[nyoomfruits]

no i was THINKING that but i didn't want to rain on the rpf parade. like cmon. lando is BUILT and the NECK and it would take approximately 5 seconds for oscar to realise that he's extremely and entirely familiar with gyms and training and whatnot except that oscar. simply is not looking

i can also see oscar being entirely too polite about it. yes this guy looks like he's been at the gym before but like. he said he wasn't so it would be kind of rude for oscar to point it out? also this is lando who a) can't act for shit and b) probably doesn't want to start this new budding love story (that he's entirely writing in his own head) to start off with a lie so it takes him 1, maybe 2 excercises to blurt out the truth. the truth being he's been to the gym before. he conveniently forgets to mention the professional athlete part. for rpf reasons

[letteredlettered]

Stupid ways CQL changed the story from MDZS:

First on most people's list is gonna be the gay, and I agree on a political and societal level that this is an egregious change I can't get on board with. I will say though that on a personal preference level, I don't think the romance really adds much; the magic of this story is not the gay and I'm just as happy with WWX/LWJ have the intense, weird, unstated relationship they have in the drama as I am with the ultimately gay relationship they have in the book.

The Yin Iron plot in the drama is so bad, you guys. So bad. This includes a) there being multiple parts of the Yin Iron, b) WRH having some of it and creating puppets with it, c) LWJ/WWX going to search for it. Did they add this so WWX looks less terrible? So it looks like all he's doing is fighting fire with fire? I hate it. There was a knife fight, and WWX invented guns. That's literally the point of him; that's why he's terrifying; he invented something that was beyond his means to control and it got out of hand and everyone wanted the gun and there was only one. The plot in the drama is just SO STUPID. I like WWX and LWJ getting to bond when they search for it and the trip to the bunny cave, but you could really have them bond and get bunnies a different way.

The most egregious thing, imo, is how the Wen remnants are first portrayed in the drama. After the Wen Clan is defeated we see constant abuse of these prisoners, often pretty much in front of everyone's face. At one point they are even paraded in front of everyone and WWX is the only one who has a problem with it. I get that WWX is the hero, but it makes everyone else look super morally reprehensible. Like, how are we supposed to get behind LWJ if he can stomach that. Actually, forget LWJ, because I actually think the scene in the rain with the umbrella establishes that LWJ is simply unwilling to defy social convention/popular opinion, and while I think it is a slight twist on LWJ's character, it's not a big of one as you might suppose, given the novel. But Lan Xichen? The character who is supposed to be the absolute paragon of kindness, goodness, and compassion? It's always sat wrong with me. Anyway, the novel basically shows that the poor treatment of the Wens is mostly hidden from view of the public, and WWX only finds out because WQ goes to him for help.

Replacing NMJ's dismembered arm with an angry sword spirit was super confusing. Why does the sword spirit attack people's arms, and why does it ONLY do that at Mo Manor? It's stupid and confusing. I assume this was censorship as well? Unwilling to show some dismembered corpses?

Speaking on NMJ, the character is pointless in the drama. I think you really needed to show the way he helped and trusted Meng Yao and how utterly betrayed by Meng Yao NMJ was to really understand his character.

Speaking of which, it is so completely ludicrous that the Wen Clan attacks the Unclean Realm before the Wen Sect Training/Tortoise of Slaughter sequence. It does say in the book that the Wen Clan and Nie Clan are kind of in constant skirmishes, but that's why the Wen Clan heavily attacks Cloud Recess first and then goes for Lotus Pier; the point is that the Unclean Realm is too well defended. That said--I still find it outrageous that in the book everyone (except WWX, perpetually clueless) seems to know about the attack on Cloud Recesses but sends their children to the Wen Clan anyway. Like I get they're all intimidated but that is too much.

WWX falling off the cliff. So silly. LWJ never would have allowed that to happen. What was JC even doing? That said, the actual death in the book is so unclear; I get that it was the spiritual rebound, but what was JC doing then? What did it look like? I found it really weird how the book just did not illustrate a few very key climactic plot points.

Weirdly, JFM. I actually like the guy better in the drama, but that's a problem. He really is a terrible father to JC, and his terribleness really helps explain why JC is like he is.

[blood-starved-beast]

Hm there's some interesting parallels this season.

Jinx is in a similar narrative position to Caitlyn last season. Episode 4 starts with her being sort of, refusing the call of her birth. The same was Caitlyn was being pressured to give up being a Cop by her family and the society, Jinx is being pressured by Sevika and indirectly, by Zaun itself to take a Role as Zaun's "leader." Jinx eventually heads to Stillwater for her own purpose (saving Isha) and indirectly, involving herself in that conflict between Zaun and Piltover the same way Caitlyn wanted to investigate the issue of the explosion after she was blown up and in doing so, got involved in the Piltover/Zaun politics.

In Stillwater, both Caitlyn and Jinx get what they want (info and Isha respectively) while also meeting a figure locked away from the "past" - Vi and Vander. This leads to the main plot of the rest of the Act. Caitlyn with Vi follow the lead back to Jinx, and Jinx finds Vi to team up to resolve the Issue with Vander.

Vi is officially introduced in ep5 in both seasons. She is Fucked Up. She is dragged into hijinks with both Caitlyn and Jinx (or rather, she does so with Caitlyn initially) - with Caitlyn, it's the brothel scene and Jericho's - with Jinx, it's stupid sibling fights. This eventually culminates in a family blast from the past - Caitlyn and Vi end up in Vi's old home where Caitlyn learns of Vi's past; Jinx and Vi end up in Vander and Silco's old hideout (bonus points for Vi+Jinx and Vander+Silco connection here). Eventually we get a family reunion - Vi meets up with Jinx after so many years; Vi and Jinx meet up with Vander after so many years - Jinx and vander are kinda out of it both times (understatement).

Unlike in s1, however, Jinx and Vi are not horribly seperated until the you know. Explosion in ep6 - which I guess qualifies as the equivalent of Ekko raining on the parade. Though I suppose Caitlyn and the Noxus crew dropping in does not help matters, and well, once can say Jayce pulls an Ekko to say the least lol.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Ohhh, salty asks? I'll dabble with 9, 14, and 19.

Most disliked character(s)? Why?

Sari, Russel & his Dad, and Elita-One.

I haaaaaaate Sari so much. I don't even like TFA that much, but I would have enjoyed it more if this little girl weren't present. She annoys me on a spiritual level. She does have a few moments where I vibe with her, but the annoyance overrides the comradery. I know some people will die on her hill, but I am not one of them and even her fascinating lore can't drag me from my hole in the ground.

Russel and his Dad are just annoying and it's not even their fault. They were part of a garbage show that disregarded and danced on the grave of TFP before spitting on it for good measure. It isn't THEM that bothers me necessarily, it's their characterization that murders me. I just can't enjoy them or their presence when they are treated as jokes or just get in the way.

As for Elita-One? I am genuinly sad I don't like her. I generally enjoy her in fandom and I LOVE G1 Elita with every fiber of my being. I can even appreciate Skybound Elita a great deal. But other canon versions of Elita? It's just painful. She's NEVER written well. Generally being too arrogant and stuck up for her own good (TFOne), not particularly notable (TFE), lowkey evil and not in a way I find appealing (IDW comics), or not even Elita (TFA). I just can't vibe with her even though I really really really want to.

Unpopular opinions about your fandom(s)?

This fandom is unreasonably sexual. Look, I totally get it. You love your blorbo. I love my blorbos too and I know that sexual themes/art/ideas have their place. Heck, I use the concept for comedic and angst purposes all the bloody time. But for heavens sake yall, we've got SO MUCH LORE and half the fandom is sitting over here drooling. When I use such themes, I tie it in with either a good story or unique lore. But the fandom just kinda... throws it around for funsies? Idk it just bothers me as a person who cares very deeply about things having meaning and design. Feels a lot like chugging a pixie stick when there's a ton of such themes getting thrown around. I would much prefer a more delicately devised art piece, personally.

The robots are hot, I KNOW. But goodness we've got so much else to play with here people. (Not saying this to rain on anyone's parade. Just my thoughts).

What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?

Well, I suppose what I hate most would be the strange unspoken division in the fandom. Transformers, thank the stars, is a very unified fandom on almost every front. You might never run into the people I'm about to talk about. But there is a noticeable divide between two rather undefined factions. For the sake of this, I shall dub them the lore purists and the rabid fans. The lore purists get SO mad at everyone who doesn't agree with their takes, those who mess with the lore, or otherwise have views that don't match with canon content. On the opposite side of things, the rabid fans can be kind of unhinged and not in a good way at times. They can become quite vicious when it comes to other people's headcanons and preferences. Both sides fight each other and amongst themselves.

It's not particularly noticeable to newcomers, but I've seen more than a few people trying to fight each other over the net for being sympathetic toward a certain character or for having ideas and aus with 'problematic' content. Even I've been on the receiving end of the unhinged a few times for having sympathy for my fav war criminal. With that said, honestly its easy to avoid getting involved in these two sides to the fandom. Just do your thing and be polite and huzzah, everyone is really really nice.

[wannaeatramyeon]

PLEASE MORE OF THE HOTUB MEETING THINGS ITS SO FUNNY AND I LOVE UR WORK FOR LOOKISM

Hey Anon! I responded to the other anon but I got inspired to write more crack. What is continuity, you ask? Well who the hell knows.

Men of Lookism: Bathhouse Meeting Part 3... with Guests

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4: Women of Lookism

What is this, a crossover episode?

As more naked bodies file in, the tension could be cut with a knife.

The establishment was supposed to close off the bathhouse for the rest of the night. Any further admittance being strictly forbidden. This has never happened before, there must be some scheduling mistake.

Even with the fights and squabbling breaking out from before, the easy air was no longer.

All eyes are on the men entering.

Recognition dawns.

Turns out, they are not out of place here.

Gun Park makes the first move.

"Warai Oni," he bows, "We finally meet."

Baek Seongjun returns the greeting with reverence, "Shiro Oni."

"The fuck is wrong with your eyes?" A rude voice cuts through.

"Taehoon!" Yoo Hobin scolds under his breath, elbowing him swiftly in the stomach. He'd much rather face the wrath of Taehoon, who would likely just kick him a few times, than the infamous Gun Park, who would probably murder him. "Don't you know who that is?!"

"Why the fuck would I know?" Seong Taehoon does indeed throw a kick at Hobin, who manages to jump out of the way in time. How dare that little asshole elbow him.

"That's Gun Park!" Snapper is practically vibrating with excitement to be in the same place as him. "He was voted most popular by a fricking HUGE margin!"

Gun smirks at the last part but of course his partner comes to rain on his parade.

"So what? His eyes are freaky, aren't they?" Goo Kim teases, materialising next to Taehoon and resting his head on his shoulder. "He's so ugly."

"Get off!" Goo pouts as Taehoon pushes him away.

"Hey," Jason Yoon nudges Johan Seong, "There's that Taehoon. Do you think we should say hi?"

Johan doesn't bother to look, making a move to get out of the water anyway. "Whatever. Any crossover was years ago."

"So what's your backstory?" Baek Hangyul asks the man sitting to his right.

"Nothing interesting," Jinho shrugs. "I'm just crazy."

"Same." Hangyul smiles at him, having found a kindred spirit.

Seo Haesu studies the menu on the wall, mind never too far from food, and wondering what he should eat next.

"Hi," he greets the guy now next to him, eyes also scanning the menu.

Johan looks over and nods.

"Welcome to the Sad Boy Simp Club!" Ryuhei throws his arm around Kim Munseong.

"Sup," Zack Lee says, joined by Xiaolong and Warren Chae.

"I... guess that's me." Munseong grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Can I join?" Wangguk overhears, thinking that he deserves at least an honorary membership.

Confusion paints Munseong's face. "I thought you and Rumi...?"

"Sort of. It's all very rushed. No one's satisfied-"

Xiaolong suddenly breaks off from the group "Sorry, excuse me!" having spotted someone in the distance.

Ji Yeonwoo feels strangely exposed as he walks nude into the room. Not that he's shy, but he feels vulnerable. Like someone is constantly watching. He heads for the water as quickly as he can, wanting to cover up.

Mangi relaxes in the water as Yeonwoo settles next to him.

Two bald heads belonging to Jerry Kwon and Brad Lee catches his eye. He smiles to himself, comforted by the sight of his bald brethren.

A set of doppelgangers meet up.

"Baek Seongjun!" Xiaolong calls out. The other blue haired man smiles politely at him.

"I'm sorry for stealing your design," Xiaolong, contrite, executes a 90 degree bow.

"Don't worry," Seongjun dismisses any concern or ill-will, "It's not your fault. Besides, I'm dead."

From afar, Eugene keeps a close eye on Yeonwoo, observing him from the moment the latter walked in. Almost a doppelganger of his own if his growth spurt would kick in and if he could put on 30lb of muscle.

Goddamnit. He wants a glow-up too.

[warthogreporter]

R/FictionAITA

AITA for being suspicious of my host?

Okay so this is more of a ‘Am I the crazy one’ or ‘would I be the asshole’ but I really need outside opinions on this.

So for my first work trip ever, fresh out of law school, I got sent to visit a client to help close the sale of a new house in London to him.

On the way there the locals turned out to be incredibly superstitious, about my client especially. They kept making vague comments and one even forced a crucifix on me (not my branch of Christianity but she was so concerned it’d be rude to refuse). I tried to get some elaboration but they wouldn’t.

By the time I’m in the carriage to my client’s home I’m low key freaked out, but trying not to rush to conclusions. I’m here for real estate and have a letter from a client, it’d be rude to let mere rumors ruin this deal.

Also you know first deal I’m handling, and I like my boss so I don’t want to let him down. Can you imagine a new employee coming back and saying they ruined a real estate deal because it was too spooky for them? I’d be out of employment in the entire field.

So I finally meet the client, and I notice that he looks a lot like his carriage driver. And he took a lot of time coming to the door after the carriage driver left.

I’ve been with the client for a few days now and I’ve only seen one servant, the carriage driver, who I haven’t seen since arriving and never at the same time as my client. I know it sounds silly but I swear they really did look near identical and I haven't seen them at the same time.

My client is really polite when we’ve actually spoken, seems enthused to move to London. So I don’t want to rain on his parade with all the local rumors, after all maybe that’s why he’s moving.

So am I being judgmental/paranoid or do you think I should bring this up to the client?