#in his tender 'not marrying you for reasons of that man' moment WHAT THE FUCK by the way

[witchezandwonderz]

Aegon x Reader Headcanons- p1?

Masterlist

You dreaded marrying Aegon, for you had heard countless stories of his insolence. He had been described to you as a troubled, impulsive and entitled man. This was, of course, before you had been promised too him. You and your friends would laugh at the stories, jesting about how bad you all felt for the woman who would have to eventually marry him. Exactly two years after such conversations, you discovered that the poor woman would be you.

You were both young when you first met. Luckily, you did not have to wait until your wedding day. Your mother had arranged for you to move into the red keep 3 weeks prior to your wedding. The reason being that when your father died, your mother did not know what to do, and could not cope. So, she made a deal with the Targaryens and shipped you off before you could process what was happening.

You thought he was insolent, initially. The stories you had heard were true, for the man in front of you seemed to not be able to take anything seriously, including both his title and his new marriage. You saw it as insolence, he saw it as an attempt to win you over. He never was good with social cues.

Unbeknownst to you, Aegon had taken a liking to you immediately. You were the first beautiful, intelligent woman he had ever met. But more importantly- you did not just tell him what he wanted to hear. You challenged him, you shot negative looks and comments to him, and sometimes even ignored him. He found it enduring. He found it personable.

You had been successfully avoiding him for days, for the ceremony was creeping closer and closer, and you were dreading it. You found him attractive, and were secretly starting to enjoy his company, which terrified you. You had never considered actually liking him. He knew you were avoiding him, and so he went out of his way to find you, which he did- in your quarters. You had not thought he would dare come to you here, for it was not proper. But Aegon was not proper, and a part of you secretly hoped he would find you.

By this point, he was annoyed. Why did his wife to be hate him so passionately? Which was in fact the question he blurted at you, as you opened the giant door, peering through the crack with tired eyes. This was the evening that everything changed.

You could not answer his question- you did not have an answer to his question. You instead stared at him blankly, unsure as to whether you should be honest, or continue your harsh exterior. You decided to be honest, inviting him in.

Although you both had a break through that night, you did not share any intimate moments until the night of the wedding, which you count as the best day of your life. It held every trait that you had imagined a Targaryen royal event would- High vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of dragons and Valyrian symbols dominate the space. Everyone stared at you as you walked through the hall, holding your head high despite your growing nerves- you hated attention. Aegon watched you in awe.

That night, Aegon unexpectedly seemed to set aside his usual arrogance and replaced it with tenderness. Nervous but genuine, he ensured to only make light conversations, trying to get to know you more. He however, could not help but make teasing comments every other sentence. He was mesmerised by your beauty, offering sincere compliments and displaying a softer, more vulnerable side rarely seen by others.

His touch was tentative and light at first, showing a desire to make you feel comfortable and valued rather than rushing into the moment. He made a conscious effort not to fuck this encounter up as he knew he had a habit of doing so. You had both been perched on the end of your bed when he suddenly stood up, and as he did so he pulled you to your feet, your faces inches apart. He looked at your body, the candles flickering and their light dancing on the gold threads of your gown. His hands settled on your waist as he took a deep breath, attempting to control his thumping heart. He leaned in to kiss you, you both paused for a second, allowing the tension to grow with every second. After what felt like centuries, his lips finally planted upon yours, gently, softly, almost as if he was worried about offending you. But to his surprise, you leaned closer, your hands sliding up from his shoulders to cup his face. The movement caught him off guard, and his breath hitched against your lips. Your fingers brushed his jaw as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Aegom stilled for a heartbeat, his surprise giving way to a low hum of approval. He followed your lead, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as the kiss grew more passionate. The caution between you dissolved, replaced by a shared need to explore the connection you’d hesitantly begun.

[brawltogethernow]

Increasingly difficult to be on an affectionately disrespectful first name basis with Magneto the more names he accrues. Stop dodging I AM going to refer to you exclusively in the least formal mode possible.

[sceletaflores]

any nasty down bad breeding kink art musings love of my life?

viciously yanked me out of my mini challengers rut with this one because yes. yes i do have some thoughts on that.

for some reason the first thing that came to mind was virgin!art....in a universe where he somehow didn't get laid before stanford lol

like auurgggghhh virgin!art and his deep seated breeding kink. it's literally ingrained in him even before he has sex for the first time.

you're his first real girlfriend, met when you needed a tutor in accounting and art's professor suggested him.

the two of you have been dating for two months and he already knows that he loves you despite what patrick says about "playing the field a little man, you're not married to the chick."

but the thing is that art would marry you. he'd up and marry you tomorrow if that's what you wanted. he doesn’t care how crazy it sounds.

he loves you and he wants you to be his first.

maybe he wasn't entirely expecting it when you laid on your back on the mattress of his dorm, peering up at him through your lashes as you announced that you were "ready to take our relationship to the next level..."

he was hard before you finished talking.

art could barely think straight, his body reacting faster than his mind. he swallowed hard, trying to steady his hands, which had started trembling the moment you laid back on the navy blue comforter of his bed.

“are you...are you sure?" his voice came out more breathless than he intended, his brain scrambling to keep up despite all the blood rushing to his dick.

your gentle nod, paired with a soft smile that made his heart stutter in his chest was all it took for him to lose any lingering doubts.

he crawled up the mattress, leaning down to kiss you with more tenderness than urgency, his heart thudding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape his chest.

he fumbled his way through fingering you, his hands shaking with nerves even though you've done this part countless times.

it wasn't until the two of you shed all clothes, art settling himself between your legs before you were speaking, thighs twitching to close around his hips.

"you'll have to pull out, i'm off the pill."

fuck.

art's heard of that before, pulling out. usually the punchline of some jokes the guys like to tell in the locker room, or from patrick recapping his own hook-up stories.

the dirtiness of it makes his cheeks burn, and he hopes to god you can't see the embarrassing red blush he knows is there.

he takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve as he presses the leaking head of his dick to your slick hole.

"okay." his voice sounded pained, his hold on your hip probably a little too tight as he held his throbbing dick steady and nudged his hips forward until just the tip slipped inside your fluttering hole.

"oh fuck."

art’s brain short-circuits for a moment, his entire body freezing as the tight heat of you grips the head of his dick. he sucks in a shaky breath, trying to keep his cool, but every nerve in his body is screaming at him to move, to take more. to bury himself so deep he wouldn’t know where he ends and you begin.

he lets out a low groan, fingers digging into your skin, knuckles turning white with it. he wasn’t prepared for how overwhelming it would feel, like his entire life had been leading up to this exact moment.

"jesus...you're so—" he can’t even finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

"art," your hips shift beneath him, making him jolt forward, sinking just a little deeper inside you. his mind goes blank, a vast space of nothingness but the tight heat wrapped around his dick.

there's only you, your soft skin, your quiet gasps, the feeling of being wrapped in the most sinful warmth.

for a while art gets lost in the feeling. in the way you pant into his open mouth, too overwhelmed to kiss him properly. in the way your hands grip his shoulders harder with every inch he gives you. in the way your pussy shakes around him like it can hardly wait any longer.

art knows he's getting close, that he probably needs to pull out soon. but you're just so soft and you smell so good and your pussy is sucking his dick in so wet and warm like it never wants him to leave again.

"i can't," he grits out against your collarbone, shaking his head frantically. "i can't do it."

"don't stop," you whine, manicured nails digging into the toned muscle of his shoulders, "don't stop, baby. fuck, give it to me harder, harder please-ah!"

art screws his eyes shut as tightly as he can, brows pinched together as he presses his forehead against the sweaty skin of your shoulder to ground himself. his hips speed up to punch out more high whines of his name from your slick lips.

there's an odd feeling working it's way through his body as he ponders his options, a wrongness flashing in the back of his mind each time he reminds himself of pulling out to spill over your stomach.

despite the fact that he's never done this before, his gut tells him no.

you deserve his come inside you, painted along your insides as he claims you for the first time.

"i can't pull out," he whines through clenched teeth, big hands tightening their hold on your waist. his voice is pinched and high in a way it's never been before, desperation leaking through his tone.

your lips fall open on a gasp, your head shaking back and forth dazedly, but he feels the way you clench around him. the way your pussy tightens up like it's trying to milk the load directly out of his aching balls.

"fuck! please don't make me baby," he begs, self restraint snapping in two as he buries his face in your neck. "lemme come in you, it'll be okay. we'll be fine, nothing’s gonna happen if it's only this once."

"no..." you moan, "art don't, gotta pull out..." but your hips start rising of the bed to meet his thrusts, the dirty smack of skin on skin filling his tiny single. you're dripping around him, coating his dick with a slick layer of shiny wetness.

"i can't," art repeats breathlessly, dick twitching inside you warningly.

"i need it…need you, need to come in you so fucking bad," his voice is strained and cracking, hips trembling with the effort, but you’re so tight around him, every squeeze pulling him deeper.

it's too much and not enough all at once—the heat, the wetness, the overwhelming need. it has pure kerosene burning in his veins.

"art," your legs stay wrapped snug around his hips, ankles locked over his lower back. "m'close, gonna come, fuck! i'm coming—!"

so is art. the added squeeze of your pussy coming around him shattering the last of his resolve and sending him careening him over the edge.

"fuck," your name falls from his lips in a tight groan as he unloads inside of you. flooding your pussy with warm come as his hips keep up the punishing pace he set.

art doesn't stop thrusting even as he comes so hard his vision whites out. he can't stop, like you've got some sort of magnetic field that keeps pulling him in over and over and over.

your too-loud moans and cries dissolving into sharp keens and gasps as he fucks you into over-stimulation, his hips pumping in in in as the image of his come getting fucked deeper and deeper inside of you plays on a loop in his mind.

when his arms finally give out and he collapses on top of you in a sweaty heap of limbs, your arms immediately come up to wrap around his shoulders. a pleased hum rumbling through your chest as you scratch your nails along his scalp soothingly, smug smile hidden in the sweaty halo of his hair.

art's out like a light in five minutes, falls asleep right there with his head resting on your bare-chest and his dick kept safe inside you.

patrick buys a plan-b for art the next morning when he's too nervous to face the cashier at walgreens.

[pepperyduck]

“taping it” with tooru oikawa

this is part four of my kinktober event!

word count: 1.5k

warnings: nsfw, timeskip oikawa, recording, degredation, unprotected p in v, finishing inside, backshots, fingering, squirting mention🙌, nasty nasty nasty. (18+ mdni!)

notes: early :33 enjoy first haikyuu fic. also need recommendations for what to do w toji cus i wanna write for him so badddd😆but im out of ideas. love u!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

play ▸

0:01

0:02

0:03

“is it recording?” you ask, soon appearing in the frame as your fiancé adjusts the camera. oikawa squints at the screen, grinning when he can see the full view of the bed behind him. he steps back, turning around, walking over to your cute form, and you’re covering your naked body with a fuzzy blanket. his bare body is shown off to the camera, in all of his glory – hard cock bobbing as he struts towards the bed. 

the hotel room is lit by the two lamps on either side of the bed, casting a yellow-white glow over the both of you. oikawa crawls over you, coming to plant a sweet kiss on your lips. he’s so sweet and tender with you – and awfully desperate to show the world who he really belongs to. you lean into his kiss, locking your lips with his, holding onto his shoulders. his slim, experienced hands come to drag the blanket off you, but you quickly stop him.

“tooru, wait—i’m nervous,” you squeak, giving your fiancé an utterly adorable look with your doe eyes. he smiles at your expression, cockily soaking how anxious he continues to make you, even after so many years of being together. 

“it’s okay, pretty girl,” tooru coos in reply, watching how your eyes cross as they focus on his lips coming to your forehead. the kiss makes you relax into the sheets and let go of the blanket, allowing for oikawa to peel the blanket off. “relax, just gonna show the world how well you satisfy me, y’know, since they’re so concerned.” 

right… the whole reason your soon-to-be husband suggested this tape was because of all the hate comments online, the forum posts and discussions had online about how there’s no way a man like oikawa was going to marry you. your engagement broke the internet, and now, well… 

the two of you were about to break the internet again.

3:46

3:47

3:48

“open your legs, pretty,” tooru commands, pushing the soft blanket to the side of your body. no matter how many times you did this, you always felt so nervous exposing yourself to him. like he was a god among men—and with his looks, no one could blame you. 

“okay, tooru,” you murmur, spreading your thighs slightly. oikawa can’t help but relish in how trembly you are, anticipating his next move. he takes leeway to quickly grab behind your knees, pushing your legs against your chest, holding you in place by the back of your thighs. no time is wasted before he leans down, tongue darting out to meet your slick folds. 

you throw your head back into the soft pillows, hand reaching for tooru’s  hair to pull it. he groans at his locks being tugged, the vibration sending chills down your spine. the tip of his tongue comes to circle around your clit briefly, before wrapping his lips around the nub and suckling delicately. every squeak and moan of his name is music to his ears – and picked up by the camera, too. his tongue dips down lower, slightly fucking you with his tongue to pull more choked whimpers from your throat. 

there’s nothing else like the taste of you to tooru. the way he felt about you would be described as worship – in each conference or interview he quite literally couldn’t shut up about you. he wouldn’t shut up about you. he made sure that everyone knew just how much he loved you.

that’s what he was doing now, too.

9:59

10:00

10:01

“you ready, baby?” tooru coos into your ear, peppering a few tickly kisses to your neck and cheek. you giggle and nod your head. a sweet gasp is drawn out from your lips the moment oikawa lines himself up, your sensitive hole fluttering around just the little bit he had given you. tooru lifts his head up to look at you; with your eyes screwed shut and mouth slightly agape, all in anticipation for him.

tooru slowly begins to push himself in, aching length stretching you out so easily. you whimper loudly at the familiar stretch, a heavenly feeling the more he slips into you. when he bottoms out, tooru stays still for a few moments, giving both of you time to get lost in the feeling. your mind goes halfway blank, and all the way when he begins to pull his hips back and slam them into you. 

his back facing the camera looks a bit awkward at this point, as it shows his whole body tensing up with each harsh thrust he gives you. the camera only picks up on the loud slapping of skin together, and each moan you give that’s loud enough. 

oikawa allows himself to let loose for this first part, jackhammering his pelvis into you meanly. he kisses your cervix every time he slams his cock all the way into you, earning confirming moans and whimpers that you just love it so much. all your noises are compliments to tooru, they each make his head grow bigger and self-esteem rise—as if he needed that, anyway.

28:47

28:48

28:49

“tooru—,”

“what, hmm?”

you slap your hands over your face in embarrassment, all to the pleasure of your fiancé as he opens your legs to rest atop his own. he has you comfortably sat on the corner of the bed, while his legs come on either side of you, trapping you into a position with your thighs open. this position gave the camera a good look at you, feeling more exposed than you had thus far. 

but the second the tips of oikawa’s fingers poke your spongy g-spot, those worries practically melt. 

it would be no surprise to anyone how good the tooru oikawa was with his fingers. but unfortunately for anyone else, they’d never have a chance to experience his skills in the way you did. he had come to know all the sweet spots of you, inside and out, and he used them to his full advantage. tooru took pleasure in making you crumble by himself, and how easily you did so. 

the camera picks up the lewd imaging of you spread out, the famous setter’s middle and ring finger slowly yet surely pumping in and out of you, your body quivering each time he hit that spot.

49:56

49:57

49:58

“tooru—please,” you plead, choked sobs coming from your throat.

your fiancé has no intentions of giving up on his crusade—but you’re beginning to regret allowing him to make this tape. he had been fingering you for realistically about 20 minutes, but in your mind, it felt like 20 years. 

it was insane how much pleasure can be brought to you by someone’s hand.

a nasty squelching is halfway picked up by the microphone, but unfortunately, the viewers wouldn’t be able to hear the filth being poured into your ears. it was unholy, the mouth on that man. yet he whispered so quietly, just to you, some things that would honestly ruin his career—almost as much as this sex tape would.

tooru’s constant switching of attitude gave you whiplash.

“you’re so disgusting, getting off like this in front of a camera.” “this feel good, baby? ohh, what about this?” “so pretty, baby, look at yourself.” “tell them how much you love me.” “oh my god, did you just squirt on me? nasty.”

you practically cry of embarrassment, shame, and pleasure all in one as you gush around tooru’s fingers. eyes roll into the back of your head, crying out more when he rips his fingers out of you just to rub your clit and force more out of you.

chest heaving, you throw your head back onto tooru’s chest, waving a white flag to tell him you were ruined. yet, after giving you a whole minute to calm down, he kisses your cheek and begins to shuffle, moving you and flipping you around. before you know it, your eyes can’t help but make out your figure in the camera, in a deep, lazy arch.

“almost done showing ‘em, babe.”

1:12:17

1:12:18

1:12:19

tooru revels in the reflection of himself in the camera, a smug look on his face when he clutches onto your hips even tighter. your poor body is all the way fucked out, pathetically shoving forward into the sheets. 

“where do you want me to cum, angel?” oikawa smoothly asks, cocky grin apparent just from the way he speaks to you, “tell ‘em where you want it.”

“inside, tooru—cum inside, please,” you reply, making sure it’s loud enough to be picked up on film.

your fiancé wastes no time to harden up with his thrusts, bursting inside of you after a few pumps. your walls squeeze around him and milk him dry, keeping inside every bit of seed you were gifted. shaky legs twitch and spasm when tooru pulls out of you, leaning down to give you a sweet kiss on your left temple. 

mere seconds pass, and oikawa steps off the bed—somehow, still hard—and walks over to the camera, smiling at your tired body, leaving an awkward angle of his face as he picks it up to stop the recording.

1:15:43…

replay? ⟳

[emo-batboy]

Okay what is this I keep hearing about Harvery Dent and Bruce Wayne being caught kissing???? Storytime?

Okay so this is probably a much longer winded story than I’m sure you expected but here’s my whole explanation of Harvey/Two-Face in the Battinson universe:

I always like to imagine that there is a distinct difference between Harvey and Two-Face. In this world, Harvey is regarded as an accomplished man suffering from DID who is forced to live in Arkham to keep his second personality, Two-Face, behind bars. Meanwhile, Two-Face is a notorious crime boss and master manipulator. They share the same body, yes, and it almost impossible to tell them apart sometimes, yes, but Bruce is the only person that can reliably tell who is in control.

You see, over the years, Two-Face has become an expert at pretending to be Harvey, so much so that the guards at Arkham just refer to them as Dent now. There have been several incidents where doctors believed Harvey was somehow cured of his DID and they gave him more privileges due to “good behavior,” only for Two-Face to bash a prison guard’s skull in while trying to escape.

But the one person he can’t fool is Bruce, the man who knows Harvey so intimately that he can examine his facial features down to the micro expression.

They thought they would get married one day, Bruce and Harvey. It was sickeningly sweet. They were so madly in love. Then the accident worsened Harvey’s condition. Bruce will never forgive Two-Face for taking his true love away from him.

Bruce visits Arkham once a week to see Harvey. Only the guards know about their past relationship because the two can’t stop giving one another heart eyes while they play chess and tell each other about their day. They’ll talk for hours, and it’s no secret that a pretty, Bambi-eyed, lovestruck Brucie Wayne will pay off any guard to see his “friend” for another fifteen minutes or so.

But sometimes, Bruce walks into the room, sees Dent’s face, and immediately storms out. Because it’s Two-Face. Posing as his former lover, wearing his lips and cheeks and nose, but the eyes are just wrong, all wrong, and he’s giving Bruce a smile that isn’t even close to Harvey’s gorgeous smile. And it’s sick. The guards can’t tell, the other patients prisoners can’t tell, no one else can tell but oh, Bruce can fucking tell.

On other days, Bruce will be talking with Harvey one second, only to stop mid-sentence, scowl at him, and say, “Give him back. I’m not talking to you.”

Two-Face breaks into a grin. “I can never pull one over on you, can I, sweetheart?”

“Shut the fuck up. Where is he?”

“He says he loves you, and you look very nice.”

Bruce has been held back by the guards several times for this very reason. He blames himself that they can’t hold hands during visits anymore. Instead, they talk through that stupid fucking glass, but at least they get a private room. The guards now know that even if pretty Brucie Wayne looks sweet and delicate when talking to Harvey, he can also throw a decent punch.

On good weeks, it’ll be nothing but soft words and smiles.

“I finally bought those chocolates you recommended,” Bruce says.

Harvey smiles. “Did you like them?”

“I did. Thank you.”

On bad weeks, Bruce will leave with hot tears streaming down his face, and the guards will treat Two-Face just a little harsher than necessary as they escort him back to his cell.

Sometimes, it’s a mix of both. Even rarer are the days when Harvey comes back right before Bruce leaves to say goodbye to his angel. Those moments are the most tender because they all know Harvey has trouble taking control back. But he did it for Bruce, just to make him smile again before they parted ways.

One day, however, a guard thinks he can flirt with Bruce. He makes a move when no one’s looking and receives an answer in the form of a black eye. Only a day later, he gets maimed by Dent and lands in the hospital. Bruce learns about it during his next visit.

“Your boyfriend’s other half tried to kill that guard last week,” another guard tells him.

“The one that grabbed my ass?”

“Two-Face put him in a coma.”

Bruce chuckles and picks at a loose thread from his dress shirt. “What you makes you so sure it was Two-Face?”

No guard tries making a move on Arkham’s favorite visitor again. And the star-crossed lovers keep seeing one another and confessing their undying love. Even after they accept their fate. Even when Bruce tells Harvey about Selina and how he’s slowly falling in love with her too. But something is holding him back.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Bruce whispers.

“I don’t either,” Harvey says, tracing his love’s hand through the bulletproof glass, “but I want you to be happy.”

“But I’m happy with you.” Bruce was always a crybaby, but he hates crying in here the most.

“You can be happy with me in here. But I can’t bear to be the reason you’re not happy out there.”

After a bit more convincing, Bruce finally agrees. Before beginning a new relationship, he tells Selina about him and Harvey, tells her that it’s non-negotiable, and she accepts it.

The next time Dent breaks out of Arkham, Selina gets a visitor. “Break his heart, and I’ll drown you in the pier,” he says.

Selina smiles as her hoard of cats purr against the stranger. Maybe they can tell just like Bruce can. Or maybe this is Two-Face doing Harvey a favor. Either way, she doesn’t particularly care.

Selina gives him a once-over and nods. “Likewise.”

Anyway, yes, that is my BruHarvey lore. Hope you enjoyed :)

@bruciemilf this is right up your alley, bestie

[calaisreno]

Yes and No

“Do you love her?”

It had taken them less than thirty minutes to go from the Rizla game to just asking each other random questions. The only celebrities that Sherlock knew were nineteenth-century chemists and twentieth-century criminals, which had more or less spoiled the game, and Sherlock had declared it pointless.

Then he suggested Yes or No, which at least required some deductive reasoning, and John agreed. But Sherlock was very good at this game, having deduced nearly everything about John in the first days of their acquaintance. Without asking any question, he deduced that John would choose violin, a human liver, Mrs Hudson’s nephew, and Sherlock’s old mouse-coloured dressing gown.

John gives up. “Fine. What don’t you know about me?”

Do you love her is a real question, he gathers— from the look on Sherlock’s face, which is serious and a bit sad.

The answer, which should be yes, of course I love her, instead comes out, “I’m marrying her.”

“People marry for reasons other than—“ Sherlock stops, appearing to realise he is going in a direction that can only lead to bad feelings. “Sorry, not a fair question. Better: When did you know that you loved her?”

He remembers grief. The intense pain of the days after he saw Sherlock die on the sidewalk in front of Barts. There are few details he can recall after that moment. It was as if the pain had receded just enough to let him breathe, and a kind of grey fog had descended. Pain, then sorrow.

Somewhere during the sorrow part, Mary had appeared. She may have been there sooner, but he hadn’t noticed. At some point he became aware of her bringing him coffee, talking to him, urging him to come out for lunch. Always there, cheerfully bullying him back into life. Eventually he noticed that he wasn’t quite as sad, and that she was rather pretty.

But the pain was still there, a tender spot in his memory, and most days he still felt defeated. Mary helped, though, and he thought that if she stayed, everything would be easier. He didn’t need to explain; she understood. He could keep the memories at bay when she was around.

By then he was having sex with her. He didn’t remember exactly how that had begun. Maybe it was a pity fuck one night when he’d had too much to drink. He woke up in her bed hungover, waiting for the darkness to descend like a weight on his chest, and she was there, making him a cup of tea, urging him to have some toast, sweetly solicitous and not accepting any excuses.

Does he love her?

Sherlock is still looking at him, the question in his eyes.

“She was there when I needed someone,” he says. “I just knew.”

He’d known that morning that he needed to move on, to leave what had happened in the past and live his life. And there she was.

“Your turn,” Sherlock says.

John thinks of all the things he’s ever wanted to know about Sherlock, but has never asked because it has never seemed a good time. Sherlock has a way of warding off questions with just a look. An armour that does not allow anyone in, not even John. He’s wondered about a lot of things, but asking has never been an option. Sherlock never has to ask; he simply deduces. John is terrible at deductions, as Sherlock often reminds him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Twice.”

“That was a yes-no question, so I get follow-up. So, the first. Who was he?”

Sherlock smiles. “You’re assuming it was a man.”

“Wasn’t it? I thought… you’re… erm…”

“Gay? Yes, I am.”

“You loved a man,” John says. Obviously.

“Well, a boy. I was twelve. I suppose it wasn’t love so much as infatuation and hormones. His name was Victor. I never told him until I met him again at uni.” He gives John one of those looks that makes him feel like he is being x-rayed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”

“I’m not gay,” he says at once. “I mean, why would I kiss a man if I knew I wasn’t gay?”

“Follow-up question, then. When did you know you were not gay?”

John’s mouth may have been open for a bit. It’s an odd question. Everybody knows they’re straight until something happens and they know they’re not. Isn’t that the way it works? “I just knew. When did you know you were gay?”

“When I was twelve. I was at a stupid birthday party my mother made me attend, and we were playing Forfeit. I was asked a question I didn’t like to answer and took the forfeit. Up until then the penalties were stupid things like singing a song or doing a dance, but this time it was kissing a girl. The girl was willing, and I was curious, so I agreed. That was when I realised girls weren’t my cup of tea, so to speak. I wanted to kiss Victor.”

John says nothing, though it’s his turn. He remembers a similar party, a boy who wanted to kiss him, and feeling terrified that his parents would find out if he did. Harry had just come out, and he was trying very hard to make up for all of her shortcomings.

Sherlock asks, “How do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never kissed a man?”

“I’ve kissed lots of women,” he replies. “I don’t need to kiss a man to know I’m not gay.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I assumed that I was like everyone else, that some day I would meet the right girl, get married, and have children. That was how it was supposed to work, and I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t like girls that way. All my fantasies were about boys, but I thought I would eventually be attracted to girls as I got older. That kiss told me I would never love a woman.”

“You think I should kiss a man just to see if I’m a bit gay?” He laughs.

“It’s your forfeit, for not having an answer.”

“I’m not going to kiss some random bloke just because you—“

“Not a random bloke. Me. Kiss me.”

This is dangerous ground. Somewhere in his libido lies something that he’s thought about. Maybe he’s even fantasised about kissing a man. Having sex with a man. Just a lark, maybe. Don’t lots of men go through that? It doesn’t mean anything.

But, Sherlock. He lived with him for a year and a half, and they’d been friends. And he grieved when Sherlock died. Not grieved like a friend. He’d lost friends before, and this was nothing like those losses. Pain, darkness, unending regret. Even after Mary, some of that darkness remained. Moments when he remembered something Sherlock had said or done, a stab of pain. If it hadn’t been for Mary—

And it came to him. Mary was balm for his wounds. She brought him back from the edge. He is grateful to her. But gratitude isn’t love. Being in such pain for so long, and then a bit of light— that isn’t love, it’s relief. He’s seen patients in physical pain become almost giddy when given a dose of something that takes their agony away, not even enough to make them high. Relief feels like intoxication when pain has gone on so long.

If it hadn’t been for Mary, he would have understood what he’d only begun to see. She helped him, saved him even. But she was a distraction from the pain, not a cure.

He glances at Sherlock, who is pulling back, looking like he wishes he hadn’t just asked for a kiss. Maybe he’ll make a joke about their game, move them towards goodnight, goodbye, see you at the wedding.

“Yes,” he says. It’s an answer to everything— regret, grief, sorrow, love. It’s an apology for not seeing sooner, for the night at the Landmark, for his anger and cruel rejection of the man he has loved for years. “Kiss me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Sherlock is right. The kiss tells John things he’s tried hard to forget. It tells him that has loved men before, but called it friendship, that he has wanted to touch men and kiss them, and called it lust, or fantasy, or a phase that all men go through. Women attract him too, and he grabbed onto heterosexuality like a life-raft because he was afraid of the alternative. His sister and his father, yelling. Harry thrown out of the house. His father, looking at him, saying not you too. Never you, my boy.

The kiss tells him that has already met the love of his life.

“I need to call Mary,” he says when they break away.

Sherlock looks sad. He nods. “Of course.”

“One more question,” John says. “Who was the second person you loved?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says. “I’m about to call my fiancee and break our engagement just days before the wedding because I’m in love with my best friend. So please, answer the question.”

Sherlock’s face does something John has never seen. It crumples and tears fill his eyes, and then he’s laughing and crying and not able to speak.

John kisses him again.

Author note: This is an old ficlet, from Trifles, posted here.

[zapreportsblog]

Yandere Aemon Targaryen ( Jaehaerys 1 son)

❝you and I will rule together❞

✭ pairing : yandere aemon targaryen x reader

✭ fandom : game of thrones

✭ summary : aemon targaryen is a known as the ruthless prince and it’s a wonder to the people how he managed to get with a sweet young women such as (y/n), wherever she goes, he lurks in the background watching her every move.

✭ authors note : yeo I turnt his picture around and now it’s fucking with me 😭

✭ yandere masterlist

In the realm of Westeros, tales of the Targaryens had always been shrouded in mystery and intrigue. Stories of dragons, madness, and power were whispered through the halls of King's Landing. Yet, amidst the legends and blood feuds, one Targaryen stood out in a different way - Prince Aemon Targaryen.

Aemon Targaryen was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as the Ruthless Prince. His demeanor was cold and calculating, his words sharper than Valyrian steel. His reputation for cunning, ambition, and a ruthless determination to achieve his goals preceded him wherever he went. Many pondered how such a man could ever find solace in the arms of a woman, especially one with a reputation as sweet and gentle as his wife, (Y/N).

(Y/N) was a stark contrast to her husband in every way imaginable. Her smile was a beacon of warmth in a world that seemed perpetually shrouded in shadows. Her kindness and compassion had won the hearts of all who had the privilege of knowing her. But what truly puzzled the court and commoners alike was how Prince Aemon, the feared and obsessed protector of his wife, could ever have found love in the first place.

Their union had been a source of endless fascination, for Aemon had always been notorious for his affairs and dalliances. He had indulged in passionate liaisons with countless women, including his younger niece, before the day he married (Y/N). Yet, as soon as their wedding vows were exchanged, a transformation occurred. Aemon's infidelity ceased, and the relentless pursuit of his desires turned towards his wife.

It was said that he had been obsessed with her long before their marriage, though few dared to speak of it openly. Some whispered that he had been captivated by her ethereal beauty, her radiant kindness, and her unwavering loyalty to him. Others believed that it was something darker, an obsession that consumed him entirely, making him willing to forsake all others for her.

Regardless of the reasons behind their union, one thing was certain: Aemon Targaryen was fiercely protective of his wife, (Y/N). Wherever she went, he was never far behind, though often he remained concealed in the shadows, lurking like a silent sentinel. It was as though he believed himself to be her unseen guardian, sworn to protect her from any harm that might befall her.

The courtiers of King's Landing often gossiped about the strange relationship between the Ruthless Prince and his sweet wife. Some speculated that he kept her locked away in their chambers, a delicate bird in a gilded cage. Others claimed to have witnessed tender moments between the two, glimpses of a love that defied the prince's reputation.

As the tales of Prince Aemon and (Y/N) continued to unfold, it became clear that their union was far more complex and enigmatic than anyone could have imagined. The Ruthless Prince had indeed been tamed, but the reasons behind this transformation remained hidden, buried beneath layers of secrecy, obsession, and the shadows that clung to them both.

The court of King's Landing was always abuzz with rumors and speculation about Prince Aemon and his sweet wife, (Y/N). Some said that their marriage was nothing more than a strategic alliance, a move to solidify power and alliances in the ever-shifting game of thrones. Others believed that there was something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface.

(Y/N) moved gracefully through the courtly affairs, her gentle smile lighting up even the darkest corners of the Red Keep. She was a beloved figure among the nobility and commoners alike, known for her charitable deeds and her ability to bring a sense of calm to the chaos of the capital.

But as beloved as she was, there was always a lingering unease whenever the conversation turned to her husband. Aemon Targaryen was a man of sharp edges and unpredictable moods. His obsession with (Y/N) was undeniable, and it was often the source of hushed whispers among the courtiers.

Whenever she attended social gatherings or events, Aemon's presence was felt, if not seen. He remained hidden in the shadows, a vigilant guardian who watched over his wife with unwavering devotion. Some found his protectiveness endearing, a testament to the depths of his love. Others couldn't help but feel a shiver of discomfort at the way he loomed, unseen but ever-present.

Aemon's transformation from a notorious philanderer to a devoted husband had been abrupt and mysterious. It was as though a switch had been flipped on the day they were wed, and his former pursuits were cast aside. No longer did he entertain the company of other women, no longer did he engage in reckless liaisons that had once been the talk of the court.

The court's intrigue only deepened as time passed. (Y/N) seemed content in her role as the beloved wife of the Ruthless Prince, but there were moments when glimpses of unease flickered in her eyes. Those who were closest to her noticed the subtle changes in her demeanor, the way her laughter sometimes sounded forced, and the hints of sadness that occasionally clouded her bright spirit.

As the court's whispers grew louder, one question remained unanswered: What had driven Aemon Targaryen, the Ruthless Prince, to forsake his past and become the shadowy protector of (Y/N)? What secrets lay beneath the surface of their marriage, and what price had been paid for their union?

The sun hung high in the sky as (Y/N) strolled through the bustling marketplace of King's Landing, her heartlighter than usual. The aroma of exotic spices, the calls of vendors haggling, and the vibrant colors of fabrics and trinkets surrounded her. Despite the lively scene, there was a persistent absence by her side, a shadow that never strayed too far.

"Sweet King," she whispered, her voice gentle as a summer breeze. It was the affectionate nickname she had bestowed upon her husband, Prince Aemon. She paused her steps, glancing over her shoulder towards the concealed figure lurking among the crowds. "Would you come out from the shadows and walk beside me today?"

Aemon hesitated, his silver hair concealed beneath a hood as he observed his wife from afar. He had always been vigilant, his eyes sharp and wary. But at her request, he reluctantly emerged from the shadows, his presence sending ripples of unease through the marketplace.

His tall figure materialized beside (Y/N), and for a moment, the people of King's Landing seemed to hold their breath. The Ruthless Prince, now visible in the daylight, was an imposing sight. But as his wife took his arm, her smile warm and welcoming, some of the tension dissipated.

As they strolled through the market, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. Her husband had a reputation as the ultimate protector, a guardian that lurked in the darkness. Yet today, he had yielded to her request, stepping into the light by her side.

Amidst the stalls and vendors, (Y/N) stopped at a jewelry merchant's cart, her eyes sparkling as she admired a delicate necklace adorned with sapphires. She exchanged a few words with the merchant and handed over a few coins, and he, in turn, reached out to give her the purchased item.

Aemon's watchful eyes never left her, even for a moment. He saw the merchant's hand brush against (Y/N)'s as he handed her the necklace, a seemingly innocent gesture of transaction. But to Aemon, it was an intrusion, an unwarranted touch that sent a jolt of anger through him.

Later, in the privacy of their chambers, Aemon summoned the merchant who had dared to touch his wife. The man, trembling with fear, stood before the Ruthless Prince, unaware of the storm that was about to descend upon him.

With a swift, merciless stroke, Aemon ordered the man's hand to be severed, a gruesome punishment for what he had perceived as an act of disrespect towards his beloved (Y/N). The merchant cried out in agony, his life forever altered.

When (Y/N) came to her husband with questions in her eyes, her voice trembling with concern, Aemon held her close, his arms a shield around her. "My perfect little dove," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with an underlying intensity. "I saw that man doing something unspeakable with his hands before he touched you. I couldn't let him near you."

(Y/N) was mildly horrified by the brutality of her husband's response, but she didn't doubt his words. She had always trusted Aemon's judgment, even when his actions seemed extreme. Nestled in his protective embrace, she nodded and whispered, "I know you'll always keep me safe, Sweet King."

The enigmatic shadows that clung to their marriage deepened, and the secrets that bound them together remained hidden from the prying eyes of the court. As they held each other close, Prince Aemon and his sweet wife (Y/N) faced a future filled with uncertainties, their devotion to each other stronger than ever, and their love veiled in mystery.

Late that day, as the moonlight gently cascaded through the curtains, Aemon lay beside his wife, watching her peaceful slumber. He couldn't help but be captivated by the delicate contours of her face, tracing his fingers softly over her features.

Whispering tenderly, he shared his deepest promises, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. "I'll always be there for you, no matter what," he murmured, his words filled with unwavering devotion. "When I am king, you will rule beside me as queen, sharing in the power and responsibilities that come with it."

His heart swelled with affection as he imagined a future where she stood by his side, their love a beacon of strength and unity. "By my side is your rightful place, your birthright," he continued, his hand resting gently on her stomach, envisioning a time when it would be rounded with their heirs.

In that moment, the room seemed to hold an air of anticipation, as if the dreams they shared were on the brink of becoming reality. Aemon's mind raced with thoughts of the legacy they would create together, a dynasty built on love and unity.

As he watched her breathing steady and calm, he felt a surge of gratitude for the woman lying beside him. She was not only his partner in life but also the embodiment of everything he held dear. Her strength, grace, and unwavering support were the foundations upon which his dreams were built.

With a gentle touch, he pressed his lips against her forehead, sealing his promises with a silent vow. In that quiet moment, Aemon knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them with unwavering determination. For his wife, his love, and the future they would forge together, he would give his all.

As sleep finally began to claim him, Aemon held her close, cherishing the warmth and comfort they found in each other's embrace. The night was filled with whispered dreams and the tender hopes of a future that seemed closer than ever before.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

Now that 430 is suggesting 25yo Izuku has been the one narrating most of the story, could it be that 25yo Katsuki is the narrator of the "kuso nado" line after all? I bring this up b/c in you said previously the use of "kare" ruled Katsuki out—but could it be that 25yo K does use "kare" now for I? Especially say in a more formal "interview like" setting where he's recounting this story? (If nothing else, perhaps we can use this as a chance to talk about what language 25yo K might use for I.)

WILL THIS IDEA EVER DIE???

Let's do this point-by-point.

1. We have always known some future version of Izuku was narrating. This isn’t new information, it just narrowed down his age, which changes nothing.

2. Katsuki is seen screaming rude language at the press in the final chapter. In what universe is this a man who would change his behavior in an “interview-like setting”?

3. The anime gave us a narrator and it was a perfectly reasonable one. Present Mic is our exposition guy in the anime, and likewise he is the narrator and emcee of the stage musicals. Nobody was mad when he was reciting explanations of people’s Quirks.

4. If you read my posts on this topic, you’d know everything about that narration’s language rules Katsuki out, not just “kare.”

Katsuki has never used formal language towards Izuku or about Izuku, and he never will. This isn’t up for debate. Katsuki does not shift away from informal third-person addresses for Izuku regardless of who he is talking to or what circumstances he is in, and that is completely normal. For him to do so would suggest they have lost their close bond and become completely distant and detached from each other. Everyone was reasonably incensed over the (unfounded) assumption that Katsuki and Izuku drifted apart during the eight year time skip, but now you’re saying you want that?

Izuku and Katsuki already use the most familiar language with each other. Katsuki switching from temee to omae for Izuku is the only change of note, and notice my point about this being a return to how Katsuki referred to Izuku when they were kids, before their relationship fell apart. They are the closest they can be. Even if they were dating, it wouldn't change how they talk.

Do you know how I know that? It is partly based on my own observations of real people, but also, it's because that's how shipping doujinshi portray them.

From confessions and living together as a couple to scenes of them getting married, Katsuki and Izuku retain their canon-typical communication dynamics in Japanese fanworks.

I have never once seen Katsuki use polite Japanese in doujinshi. Fanworks are completely self-indulgent, so they include all kinds of wild, out-of-character behavior that just scratches an itch for the creator and their audience. The utter absence of this for Katsuki tells me not only that it reads as out-of-character, but also that it offers no satisfying emotional benefit in exchange. In Japanese, there's nothing romantic about the idea of Katsuki using formal language for Izuku.

Conversely, I can't tell you the number of times I've seen Katsuki whip out a sudden omae at the height of an emotional moment, driving home the tenderness he feels towards Izuku. Or the times during an established relationship story when Katsuki just casually defaults to omae for Izuku unless he's scolding him and uses temee. This is what reads as romantic, this is what comes across as believable and normal for them.

The narrator is not Katsuki and cannot be Katsuki. Nothing would be gained if it were Katsuki.

Just be charmed that an omniscient narrator went out of their way to say, “damn, that Bakugou kid was right about him” and laugh at the funny fucking joke, buddy.

[moonspirit]

I love all the ideas of Armin planning a well thought out proposal and all but what if it was more implosive?

After a day of work, they just got in with some crappy takeout (and a box of donuts) for dinner, before sitting on the couch and starting to eat. Annie being Annie decides she can’t be arsed to eat dinner and just goes straight in for the donut as Armin watches her lovingly then…

“Marry me”

Annie being in shock chokes a little, “what?!?”

“Marry me”…”I mean like only if u want to I don’t want to for..”

“Yes”

Then later on in bed, they are cuddling together, talking about what they just said

Armin: “I’ll buy your a ring soon, we can go get one tomorrow take the morning or afternoon off”

Annie: “why don’t we just take the whole day off? Go to the court house and get married, just you and me. No need to have anyone else there just us”

“Yeah let’s do that”

They then get shouted at by everyone else cause in less than 48h they got engaged and married without telling them (mikasa, Pieck are really pissed but Connie is the most)

Ohhhhhhhhh anon! You know what's the best part of this?

It's Armin being more spontaneous!

You know, I think he could really benefit from being more "spur of the moment" every now and then, and being with Annie, it rubs off on him a little! He spends so much time hung up on planning and obsessing over perfectionism that him finally letting go and being more spontaneous is a sign he's adjusting and healthily so! T//////T

And you know, when Armin's watching Annie stuff her cheeks with sweets, it suddenly doesn't matter - that seaside proposal doesn't fucking matter. She's right here, being comfortable and adorable and so, so warm against his skin, why does it matter where he proposes?

He has to ask. Right now. Because all that matters is this happiness and moment.

What this shows is just HOW little the grandeur matters when they're both so happy and comfortable with each other - the essence is the love still tender and warm inside their hearts and ready to be that way for the rest of their lives.

He has a ring. He slips it on her finger when they're in bed, and that's that. They laugh about how quickly they've become engaged. He kisses her fingers, one by one, just lingering a bit longer on the one with the ring.

The next day... well. Mikasa's upset, Hitch is angry, Jean is pissed, Pieck's sad for changing reasons, Reiner's emotional, but Connie... CONNIE'S MAD! Because how DARE they not let him be the third wheel to their wedding! HE HAD A BUNCH OF BEST-MAN JOKES READY FOR THE BIG DAY!

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Undercover Problem

Summary: You volunteered to go on an undercover mission without really reading the mission report or acknowledging that there would be someone going with you. When you learn that you would have to pretend to be married to Marcus Pike on this mission you end up having a nervous breakdown. Because you're 34. And you have never been kissed.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem. reader (though it can be read as gn. reader)

Worcount: 2.8k

Rating: G

Warnings: made up facts about the FBI and undercover missions, anxiety attacks, food, fluff, humour as a coping mechanism, fluffffff

A/N: This goes out to all the late bloomers (and everyone else who just want to read a cheesy first kiss) If I missed anything that makes the reader gender neutral let me now. I tagged this as fem. reader because I always write with a female reader in mind.

follow me @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics to get notified for new fics

You walked through the FBI headquarters with, what you hoped looked like, a professional smile plastered to your lips, nodding at anyone who greeted you. Trying to appear not like you were fleeing to your office.

You could only hope nobody could see the anxiety attack that you were on the verge of having. 

The door of your office was almost in front of you when you heard your name being called behind you by a familiar voice. 

Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, before you changed your destination towards the women's bathroom. Somewhere where you wouldn’t have to tell him to leave you alone. 

“I gotta use the restroom quickly. I’ll find you after,” you turned around briefly, catching Marcus Pike’s eyes for a fleeting moment before you practically ran down towards the restroom. 

This was fine. 

It would be totally fine. 

You were fine. 

Sitting on the toilet seat in the thankfully empty bathroom you massaged your temples, taking deep breaths. You had finally stopped shaking, your chest fully and slowly expanding as your lungs filled with much needed air. 

It shouldn’t have taken you by surprise that the meeting you had just attended was about the mission your boss had approached you about earlier this week. For years you had worked on getting information on Claudio Monero, the highest ranking mob boss of the Monero Mafia clan in the States. 

It was your first big case and you were proud of the progress you made not only in your division, but in working with many different crime divisions at the bureau. 

Claudio Monero also was involved in art crimes, which was the reason you had been working closely with Agent Marcus Pike, Senior Agent of the FBI art crime division. 

He was…. Honestly made straight out of a fairytale. He was funny, he was caring, he had your breakfast order down after three days of meeting for the first time and he was so fucking handsome in an almost annoying way. You sometimes asked yourself if he was real. 

You caught female (and male) Agents secretly swooning over him more than once in the break room. And you couldn’t blame them. 

You definitely had a crush on him, which also was your problem because… you had no fucking idea how to act on it. If you would act on it that was. 

Because the… maybe sad or let's say unique/different/annoying fact was, that at the tender age of 34 you had never been on a date. Or been kissed. Or… well you get the idea. 

And up until Marcus Pike strolled into your life with his smile and dimples and warm brown eyes, you never really thought about another man (or woman) like that. Like you wanted to know what made them laugh. How they spend their lazy Sunday mornings. How they tasted. 

But ever since then it was like a switch was flipped in your brain and you had no idea what to do. 

Was this how teenagers felt in puberty? Because your parents more than once told you that they felt like you skipped that part of growing up and went straight to adulthood at the tender age of thirteen.

Only one friend knew about your… lack of experience. You had tried to tell someone else once a long time ago, only to find out they had told everyone they knew about it, making you the weird one. Ever since then you lied about it to not feel like a weirdo. God you were a mess. 

Which brought you to your current problem. 

Claudio Monero would be in Washington next week for a charity gala and the FBI had managed to get two invitations. Two agents would pose as newly married couple Colin and Riley Rogers who had made a name for themselves selling forged art.

That should have been your first hint on who would go undercover with you. 

You volunteered to go undercover when you heard about it the first time and your boss had a long talk with you, because this would be your first time going undercover. 

She only did not mention everything that would be included on the mission. 

You probably should have read the fine print when she gave you the mission report.

There you would have read that not only are the two undercover Agents freshly married and very in love, no. That married couple also was open about visiting swinger parties, something Claudio Monero was heavily involved in and known for in the community. 

Which meant that the FBI Agents also would attend one of his swinger parties in two weeks that he had planned in DC. Of course without the intention of…. Partricipating in any kind of sexual relations (the FBI could not force their Agents to have sex for the sake of getting information, though they did not explicitly forbid it).

Had you known that, you probably hadn’t volunteered like the dumb idiot you were.

That was the first time today you almost had a nervous breakdown in the fully seated meeting room as your boss presented the plan for the undercover mission. 

But then you learned that the other Agent who would go undercover with you, the man you would have to pretend to be newly wedded and very much in love with, would be Agent Marcus Pike. 

You don’t remember much of the meeting after that, only his eyes on you, his stupid pretty face giving you an encouraging smile that slowly dropped the longer he looked at you, replaced by a frown and maybe even concern the longer you had been stuck in the meeting.

You bolted out of the door as soon as the meeting was finished. 

This… was a fucking mess. 

But you could do it. Right?

You knew that your co-workers were wondering about your private life after working together for almost ten years and never bringing anyone to any kind of Christmas party or get-together you had throughout the years. 

More than once had Agent Murphy tried to ask you out, only for you to shut him down firmly last year. He spread some rumours about you being uptight and difficult after but you couldn’t care less. 

Now you wondered if Marcus had heard those rumours too.

God, Marcus. 

You’d have to get close to him. Closer than you ever had been with anyone really. Or you could… quit. Move to another country and live on a tiny Greece island and make feta cheese until you die. 

There was a knock on the door and you jumped to your feet. 

“Sorry. I’ll be right out,” you called, releasing a sigh. 

“Are you okay?” It was Marcus. Of course it was. 

You looked at the mirror over the sink before you grabbed a paper towel and cleaned your mascara off your cheeks. You didn’t even remember that you cried? Your eyes were red though, nothing you could do about it now.

“Can you let me in?” he asked, his voice now quieter. 

You kept looking at yourself in the mirror. Calming yourself down. You had to get it over with. Even though living out your life out in this public restroom had a nice ring to it, you knew you couldn’t hide here forever. And Marcus was right outside.

Deep down you knew that you couldn’t ask for a better partner to go undercover than him. And you wouldn’t even have to play being in love with him.

Oh shit did you really just admit that to yourself? 

He said your name and you walked over to the door unlocking it. He slowly opened it, looking at you with those warm brown eyes. 

You took a deep breath. 

“I need to talk to you,” you said.

“If it’s about the mission. I can request someone else if you’re not comfortable with me going with you. You worked long on this case, you should be the one seeing it through,” he said.

Your heart warmed. Anyone else would insist on being on this mission to take the credit, but not him. You shook our head. 

“That’s… That’s not it. Can we… Can we go to my office? There’s something I have to tell you,” you said quietly. 

“Of course,” he nodded, giving you a small smile. 

“Good,” you nodded too. 

“I’ll meet you there in five minutes?” he asked. 

“Okay.”

His eyes lingered on you for another moment before he turned around and walked towards the elevator, probably to his office which was on another floor. 

You, in the meantime, went to your office to google how expensive living on a greece island was. 

He brought cake. And the good coffee from the first floor. 

Of course he did. 

He sat down across from you while you took a sip from your coffee. 

Apparently living in Greece wasn’t as cheap as you thought, so you decided the best plan was to come clean to Marcus about your… lack of experience of… literally anything that had to do with love. 

Easy peasy.

Even if he would judge you for it, you trusted him to keep your secret and not be mean about it. 

“You’re quiet,” he observed. 

“I’m thinking,” you replied, reaching for the cake. Lemon sponge. Another one of your favourites. 

“About what?”

“About my reaction earlier,” you took a bite. 

“Looked to me like you didn’t read the report before,” he teased and you rolled your eyes. 

“Guilty.”

“I get it. It’s your first undercover mission and of course it’s the one where you get to pretend to be into some kinky shit with a complete stranger. It’s not perfect.”

“That’s not it. I just… Fuck. Okay,” you took a deep breath and Marcus raised his left eyebrow, eying you warily. 

“I have never been in love. Ever. I don’t know if something’s wrong with me or if I’m just… oblivious if someone along the way has been interested in me in that way but…” you shook your head, "pretending to be freshly married and in love and in some kinky shit? Yeah I should have read the fucking report before,” you laughed nervously, taking another bigger bite of your cake to shut yourself up. 

You avoided Marcus' eyes, not really wanting to see his reaction.

“If you save you have never been in love before, you mean…” you looked at him and he tilted his head. 

“Yeah. I’ve never… kissed someone. Or… had sex. Which doesn’t mean I might not be into some kinky shit but I’ve never….”

He parted his lips in surprise while you shoved more of the cake into your mouth. You focused on chewing the cake while Marcus processed the news. 

“I have to admit you caught me off guard there. But.... It actually makes some sense? I really thought…” he huffed to himself and you grew even more nervous. He shook his head to himself, a smile playing on the corner of his lips before he looked at you. 

“You really thought what?” you asked. He seemed to be in thoughts before his face fell. 

“The undercover mission…” he said and you nodded. 

“Yeah. That’s why…. I have to ask a favour. A big one and you can say no and I will go to my boss tomorrow and request that she finds someone else but. I really want to see this fucker behind bars. And I want to be the one to do it. So… I need you to kiss me. Before we go undercover. There’s no way a newly married couple isn’t kissing or touching each other. And the swinger party… We won’t have sex. But we have to be comfortable with each other so… I am asking you to kiss me. Now,” you ended your rant. 

Marcus blinked his eyes at you, his face blank. 

“You want me to… kiss you?” he asked. You nodded. 

“Now?”

You nodded again.

“Because of the mission?” he asked. You hesitated. “Because if it’s just because of that my answer is no.”

“Why?” you breathed. 

A small smile came to his face, his eyes softening as he leaned closer. 

“Because it’s your first kiss. Ever. And maybe that’s my romantic heart but your first kiss should be with someone who means something to you. Someone you want to kiss and not someone you just… rip the bandaid off with so you can go on a mission.”

You took a deep breath, your thoughts running through your head. You knew that you would have never asked him to kiss you if you hadn’t been assigned this mission with him. Because he was your co-worker. Because you didn’t know if he’d be interested. Because deep down you wanted your first kiss to be with someone who meant as much to you as you did to them and you were scared to be rejected. 

“But if… You happen to have some other reason to ask me of all people, reasons that have not to do with the mission, then I want you to know that I have been thinking about kissing you for a while now,” he said, his eyes warm. 

What he was trying to say took a couple of seconds before your lips parted in surprise. 

“Really?” you gasped. 

He nodded, a smile on his lips. 

“Do you think I know the breakfast order of every one of my co-workers? Or how they drink their coffee? Or that they are the funniest and most beautiful person I might have ever met? I thought you weren’t interested,” he said. 

“I… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think…” you laughed nervously. 

Marcus said your name, his hand reaching over your desk to put it on top of yours. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

You walked with him in comfortable silence, his hand holding yours as the sun set slowly. 

After your confession he had asked you to meet him in the parking garage after you both finished for the day. You followed him with your car, as you drove through the busy streets, surprised when he parked at the Lincoln Memorial. He waited for you at the exit after you parked, taking your hand to lead you through the evening crowd at the sight. 

Every time he looked at you from his side, you finally started to understand what people meant when they said that they felt like there were butterflies in their belly. You never experienced love, but if it was only half as what happened in your brain when you were looking at Marcus Pike you might finally know what all the fuss was about. 

He walked a little away from the crowds, towards the cherry blossom trees that were in full bloom, until he stopped and came to stand in front of you. He had switched his blazer for a very soft looking dark blue coat and you wondered if it was as soft as it looked. 

“Your first kiss isn’t something that should happen in a dark office between files and outdated stock art,” he said. Marcus took a step closer, and you sucked your bottom lip in as he let go of your hand. Slowly he rested his one hand on your waist, his other hand coming up, his fingers brushing over your cheek. 

Your breathing got faster as you tipped your head up, giving him a shy smile which he mirrored. 

“You brought me to the Lincoln Memorial at sunset to kiss me?” you whispered. 

He shook his head. 

“I brought you to the Lincoln Memorial at sunset because I want to give you the perfect first kiss,” he said and you smiled. 

“Perfect huh?” you teased, feeling brave as you put one of your hands on his chest. And yeah, the coat was as soft as you had imagined. 

“I mean it is your first. So it’s not like you would know if it wasn’t,” he shrugged with a teasing smile and you playfully slapped his chest before you both laughed. 

But then he put his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer as he leaned in, a soft smile still on his lips. 

“I like to make a fuss for the people that I lo…. Like,” he corrected himself at the last minute and your heart fluttered. You put your other arm around him, resting your hand on his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. 

“In all my life I haven’t thought about kissing someone before I met you Marcus,” you said quietly and he released a shuddering breath.

“Then I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said and you nodded. 

“On the lips,” he added and you chuckled before sighed as his lips pressed down on yours. 

[thedeadedhooman]

Favourite supernatural ship/s

thanks for the ask anon<3

samjess is my favourite I guess. it's tragic and sad and beautiful. It always makes me upset and I end up in a puddle of tears. It hurts my brain and heart. It's like a stabbing pain in the gut. what gets me is that even after such a long time, sam could never actually let go of jessica I think. I mean what am I supposed to feel after the i still think about jessica. he was shopping for rings, and he proposed to a ghost, to his past. a nice sweet normal figment of his life, that he held on to for a while until tragedy struck. sam probably doesn't even have any photos of jessica, they were all burnt in the fire. he probably had that voicemail that she sent when he went with dean to hunt the woman in white. which probably got deleted when they had to switch phones or simcards cuz of their shitty lifestyle. she's only a memory to him...fuck

sastiel cuz I love their autistic swag. of course there are moments that make me mad like cas breaking sam's wall but cas also took sam's pain. sam and castiel are so soft and tender with each other. I just know the sex would've been a galaxy brain moment.

samruby because they're toxic af but they truly loved each other at some point. they would've worshipped each other I think. it's bout the roles and the dynamics, there's also a lot of manipulation and betrayal going on and that adds to the more complex elements regarding the pairing. also the soft tender way ruby tries to cajole sam into believing that what he did was right scratches at my brain because she too sacrificed a lot to be the one who catalysed the whole thing. they could've ruled hell together. and their whole sex scene is like two lesbians fucking each other.

deanlisa because dean had a bit of normalcy and a cute son. dean and lisa made a cute pairing I think. he got to be a dad for a little while I guess. It's sad and tragic cuz when cas wiped Lisa and Ben's memories, it really hurt. Like you build this little family and they gave you something to hold on to for a while when you missed your brother and then have all of that taken away from you PERMANENTLY. that shit is sad af.

sambrady because I KNOW WHAT THEY HAD GOING ON. demon lover brady my beloved. I know they fucked. cuz brady is a demon and he died.

samsarah. they are so cute. and honestly out of all the partners sam had in the show I think sarah blake would have been perfect for sam imo. she wanted to help them during the hunt. she's a tough girl. they kiss for the first and the last time and she hopes that sam would visit again. she keeps waiting and waiting and waiting, days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years and then one day she gets married has a kid and that tall floofy haired boy with the puppy dog eyes turns up at her doorstep. she has moved on obviously but at what cost? she died cuz of the very man she waited for so long. and oh sammy. the only reason why he didn't go back was that he knew it was dangerous for her. later he had to go to her to save her but again at what cost? sarah still died and she had a husband and a kid...

wincest. do I need to even say anything? I mean where do I even start? It's not like I want them to fuck each other but it's the codependency. there's a lot going on with these two that can't be seen with the naked eyes. it's the subtext, the yearning, the longing looks, the roles...how dean can't function without sam, he's afraid to be alone, how sam loses it when dean is gone, the need to be the no. 1 person on their priority list, and the fact that they're canonical soulmates. yeah they're weird and that's what I like about it. sam and dean winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other.

sammadison how could I not mention this one. THIS IS MY FAVOURITE AS WELL. I mean it's so fucking tragic. like you think you saved the girl but for what? it didn't work and it's gonna happen again and there's no cure and you two share these tender moments of intimacy thinking everything's gonna be okay only to be met with the opposite. you gave her hope and now it's being taken away..it's never gonna be okay and she asks you to kill her. whatthefuck. now you slowly see yourself in her, what if I become a monster and there's no way back and what if someone I love so much has to put me down like a sick dog. GOSH. I cried while watching that episode.

I also like samwena and saileen and megstiel but I haven't watched the later seasons that well so can't say much.

[welldonebeca]

I could have chosen you (and yes, I would) (VII)

WC: 1.4k words Warnings: Tension. Angst. Fluff.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

You grimaced at the pain in the lower belly as you woke up, confused for a moment - had James been rough last night? - before realising the true reason behind it.

Your blood.

Of fucking course. Always in the mornings, never during the day when you were ready for it.

“God,” you groaned, feeling the pain radiating to your back just as your husband moved stiffly by your side.

“Are you okay?” he called, turning to look at you.

Your marriage was… quiet. Uneventful.

James’ family was nice and a warm comfort for your long days, but your husband resembled them in nothing when it came to you. His company was silent, tense. He barely even looked at you during the day, much less spoke to you.

The only times you saw one another was during the daily meal you shared and at night. When he came to you, to lay with you as man and woman, you had a brief glimpse of what he could if he wanted to. If he wanted you.

James was gentle, his touches were careful, always aiming to not hurt you

Once, he had even kissed your shoulder sweetly while inside you.

You wanted that tenderness again. Was it too much to ask it of him?!

But you couldn’t.

You were a princess, an honourable woman.

You shouldn’t even think of those things.

“Yes,” you lied, trying to push yourself to sit up before you made a mess on your bed.

When you moved, you were proven that you were late, however, and your husband also noticed it.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t know, I…”

“Are you in pain?” he stood, walking over to you and putting a hand on your waist, and you couldn’t quite stand straight.

The first day was always the worst.

“A little,” you confessed. “But I’ll survive.”

You had work to do. As the Queen’s head lady-in-waiting, you had many duties, too much to do to just let the pain of something so common hurt you.

Besides, this was your curse as a woman.

You hadn’t conceived a child, so you were suffering the consequences.

“Bullshit,” he moved you closer to the bed, practically making you lay down again. “I know how painful that can be, Rebecca used to have the worst pain when it was her time of the month.”

You looked at him, taken back by his words, but didn’t quite sit on the bed, not wanting to stain it.

“I don’t want to make a mess,” you protested.

James rolled his eyes, but pulled away and walked to a chest, managing to open with a single hand, and your eyes fell on his left side.

Normally, he had a prosthetic arm in place, and you rarely had the opportunity of seeing what he looked like without it. Not that he looked too different, but he did lack a whole arm.

Still, your husband seemed very used to it, doing everything with a single hand, and pulled a thick towel from inside.

“Here,” he gave it to you. “Let me pull the top sheets, I’ll replace it, and you can lay down.”

You watched, surprised, as he moved, not seeming to care to do.

He removed the stained sheets - thankfully your blood hadn’t leaked to the lower layers - and replaced it quickly, taking your towel and placing roughly where you’d lay down.

“I’ll ask for some herbal tea for you,” he told you, “The royal midwife has it.”

You complied, surprised, and your husband’s shoulders relaxed when you finally did, but you looked away from him when his gaze met yours.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised.

James moved in front of you and sat down by your feet, his arm within your reach, and turned to look at you.

“About what?” he asked, looking surprised.

You picked on the edges of your sheets.

“I’m not pregnant,” you reminded him. “I should be.”

Your husband breathed in and out, and slowly reached for you, touching your knee and giving it a bit of a squeeze.

“We have time,” he assured you. “We are young, just married. I don’t mind waiting.”

You shook your head, scoffing a little.

“It’s been only a month,” James reminded you, still. “If it takes more than a year, then we start worrying.”

A year?

Such a long time.

Still, you nodded, and he stood.

“I’ll have your meal brought here,” he told you. “And some warm towels, for your cramps.”

“Thank you,” you spoke softly.

James smiled and nodded, stepping away.

And he left you. Alone, once again.

Your husband stuck to his words, though. Soon, your ladies-in-waiting had come down with your meal, herbal tea and towels for the pain.

They even sat with you to pay you company, and one of them left to go assist the Queen’s ladies, so they wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

Her majesty had sent you well wishes and assure you that you could have the day to rest and recover and that the royal midwife would help you find a way to prepare yourself for your blood in the following months. Not that you planned to have them, but at least it was good to be ready.

Could this be a bad omen?

A sign your marriage was going to fail even worse?

Your husband already disliked you enough, and if you didn’t give him any children…

“Ma’am,” you heard.

You raised your eyes to your lady, and she smiled to you.

Darcy was a very interesting your lady. She was beautiful, still unmarried, and had the most interesting sense of humour.

“May I ask you something?” she seated on the armchair near you.

You’d put on a dress, simple and without many layers, never one to look improper in front of people, but was still barely presentable to people.

Your pain had gone down - the tea and towels were very effective - but you were still a bit uncomfortable. Besides, the queen had already given you a day to rest, and if you could have it to yourself, then you would.

“Of course,” you agreed.

“You don’t like your hair?” she asked, pointing at you.

You raised your eyebrows, surprised.

The fashions of your husband’s land weren’t quite the same as back in your home country. They took inspirations from many countries around, from fabrics and colours to cuts and, especially, hair.

The whole time you’d been here, you had resigned to wearing the cap you hated oh so much. It was the only thing you had brought, the only stable sense of fashion you knew.

“I don’t,” you told her.

Darcy was also very loose with her tongue, of course.

The women around you didn’t hide their hairs the way you were told to do. Of course, they wouldn’t walk around showing it off. The styles they would wear around women and around their husbands and family were beautiful, intricate, with braids and twists before they were pinned back from their faces, leaving a couple of curls to frame their faces. In other occasions, they would cover them with a single headpiece. It looked like a French bonnet, but it didn’t need to be assembled with several pieces, just one. They would put it over their heads, leaving their fronts exposed, and the backs were covered with long flowing fabric that would go down to their shoulders, and was pined and made to not be blown away.

“Where I’m from, it’s frowned upon to show much of your hair,” you told her. “More than a slit, the side an inch, is too much.”

The women looked impressed, a little uncomfortable.

“Of course, my family was much more conservative,” you told her. “We were all told to wear the bonnet and cover everything. I don’t believe my lord husband even knew the colour of my hair before…”

Before he saw you in the sunlight?

That had only happened in the ship, when he was forced to share a room with you.

“Our wedding night,” you told them, anyway. “I like the way you do your hair, all of you. But I’m not sure I would look as beautiful as you do in it. The Duke would probably find it preposterous. Laughable.”

The women giggled along with you.

Darcy, though, was unconvinced.

“We can do it for you, ma’am,” she offered. “I’m sure the Duke will find it beautiful.”

You moved, unsure, looking over at her. The other women set their books and knitting needles down, though you moved unsurely, flushing.

“Please,” she insisted. “If you don’t like it, it’ll be just an experience.”

You sighed, and shook your head.

“Alright,” you agreed. “You can do it.”

. . .

"i could have chosen you (and yes, i would)" was posted on my Patreon in October 2022 and is fully posted on my page. To read it before anyone else, consider subscribing! It's just $2 a month and it helps me a lot during these hard times.

. . .

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[nasuversekinkmeme]

Weekly Roundup: Prompts

FSN

Luvia Edelfelt/Emiya Shiro For some reason Luvia is one of the only women in fate Shiro isn't shipped with. I will fix this by force if necessary, but would rather just do this. threesomes are acceptable.

FGO

Penthesilea "I will literally murder you if you call me pretty" x Medb "I am horny for everyone that is heroic" I think they'd make a weird but cute couple

anyone done sakamoto ryouma / possessed ryouma? the idea haunts me. evil ryouma's hot. sfw or as nsfw as you like, i'm not picky, but it's nsfw in my heart.

smut, Caenis pounds Altera into the bed

Oryou and Ryoma are called Fujimaru parents while out. Oryou takes the rolled very seriously whiles Ryoma just laugh it off. But when Fujimaru asked them to be his parents both agree to do so right of the bat.

Izcalli and Tlaloc having straight yuri energy, maybe reminiscing their time back when he was king and the garden he loved. I just want more melancholic and nostalgic servant interactions. This can be romantic or not it is up to you.

I want Jinako to let slip one day the her parents died when she was young (we can assume it’s understood that she means “her” parents and not Ganesha’s parents) and Salieri hears this and just goes “Alright, guess I’m your new father now.” And she think he’s joking but he absolutely is not, she is his daughter now and that is final. Salieri was a father when he was alive, and he wrote about how much he loved his kids, so I just think it could be nice for Jinako to have a loving and supportive father figure. Also they both really like sweet things, and it’d be nice to see them bonding over it, especially since Salieri probably wouldn’t be judgey about Jinako having sweets. He can platonically co-parent with Parvati, Durga, and Kali

smut, Izo is allowed into Ryouma and Oryou’s relationship, as their cuck. And watches them have sex.

smut, After Takasugi is followed following the events of Guda6, he makes good on his dying wish to hook up with Okuni. She graciously accepts and the two fuck nasty. The flirtier and more intense things get before the bedroom the better. That's all.

Just finished lb4, can I get some Ganesha being unable to return to her shut-in lifestyle bc of the thousands of years she spent alone, and (character of your choice) helps make sure she knows she's not alone anymore?

"Wait, what do you [servant couple of writers choice] aren't married?" Cue all of chaldea arranging a wacky but personal wedding ceremony

smut, Castoria is Excalibur, right? Ergo, I want to see someone polish her (because she's literally a sword) (gone wrong) (gone sexual) (gone right)

Martha tells the Christians of Chaldea, along with anyone willing to listen, what sort of wacky shenanigans Jesus got up to. Apparently, one such thing was Jesus being so good at being a carpenter that anything he worked on could be considered an angel of heaven because of how well done the job was and not because he was the Son of God.

Izou gets some tender love and care and appreciation

smut, man idk i just want izo and oryou to spoil ryouma and give him a wildly fun and hot and tender night that leaves his face hurting from smiling, his ass hurting from taking them both, and everywhere else hurting from bites. man works so damn hard Please he needs a break and a nice fuck. also oryou and izo bonding over their love for this man is always 👌

smut, Any one/robin hood, but mlm is preferred! Robin with a praise and humiliation kink being showered with love and praise. I'd love to see his low self image and self defeating attitude be bludgeoned with love. ☺️❤️

Guda and Castoria kiss for the first time. It would be a great, intimate moment... except they quickly discover that Castoria has a barbed tongue like a cat. It doesn't have to be a dealbreaker, but I do want the fic to have an emphasis on how different (and slightly painful) that tongue feels compared to a normal one.

smut, All the artoria variants (except for lily ofc) have an orgy, bc that girl deserves some self love

CROSSOVER

Izo talks about stabbing a british guy who had a blue policebox with him and being scared off when he started shooting fire out of his arms and head as everyone listens on in horror as they realize that not only did he nearly permanently kill The Doctor from Doctor Who, but also that apparently The Doctor is a real person and was nearly killed by Izo of all people.

ANY

A perhaps annoying patron asks one half of a romantic couple (doesn't matter which canon or even if its canon) for a good time. What leaves after can no longer be identified

The backlog of unfilled prompts, framed like pets in an adoption center.

[arielhopepeace]

Part Two

18+ only

Tw: mention of cancer, death, grief, cheating, panic attacks, angst, depression

5,790 words

Y/n

  You hear the blaring of your alarm, your eyebrows furrowing with pure ire and disgust as you roll onto your side, smacking your phone screen to cease the incessant noise.

Sam's hand wraps around your midsection, his nose burrowing into your hair as he breathes you in. You want to enjoy his touch, and the way he caresses you in the morning, but you can't. Things with him have been so rough lately, that you're numb to all of the tender moments.

"Sam," you say with a groggy raspiness, "c'mon, I've gotta get ready for work."

His lips trail along the side of your neck, his erection pressing into your lower back. "You don't have time for me?"

You shake your head, freeing yourself from his embrace as you leave the room. You feel guilty for always brushing off sex with him lately, but you simply can't get past the hurtful things he's said during your arguments. He's told you that he wishes he never proposed, and that he wants to be with someone more mature who actually wants to get married.

It's not that you don't want to be married, it's that he proposed the day after you graduated college, and expected you to drop everything you just spent years working for, simply to plan a wedding. He knows how important being a teacher is to you, yet he's somehow managed to make it about himself as he always seems to do.

In the bathroom, you pull your hair back, seeing Sam's reflection walking in behind you.

"Are you even happy anymore?" he asks quietly, leaning against the open door.

You prep your makeup in front of you, not daring to meet his saddened eyes. "I'd really like to not do this right now, Sam. This is only my second day of teaching, and I don't want to go in depressed."

"So, your job matters more than us?"

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

"What? What if I chose my career over you? You'd be fucking pissed."

"I'm not choosing anything over you!" you shout. "You know how passionate I am about being a teacher. I can't just stop when I've only just begun. You expect me to take time off to plan a wedding, have it, and go on a honeymoon? I literally just started! These kids want a teacher, not a substitute."

"You always have some sort of excuse as to why you don't want to marry me!" he yells back. "I'm fucking tired of it."

You begin to dab makeup onto your face, still only focusing on what you need to get done. "They aren't excuses, Sam. They're things you should've already known. Why is it such a problem if I want to wait a bit?"

"Because I'm already thirty-eight, for fuck's sake. You expect me to just keep waiting around? You want me to be an old man by the time we have kids?"

"My dad was fifty-two when I was born."

"Yeah and he died before you were even twenty-four years old," he spits.

You swallow, dropping your fluffy makeup sponge onto the counter to turn and look to your fiancé with an incredulous expression. "Wow," you begin, "you really are just a fucking asshole, aren't you?" Shaking your head, you look down, sliding your engagement ring off of your finger and handing it to Sam. "I won't marry somebody who uses my dad's death against me."

His eyes widen as he shakes his head. "No, I didn't mean it—"

"You meant exactly what you said," you say flatly. "I'm done."

"Please, y/n. Don't do this."

You turn, facing your back to him as you resume your makeup application. "Get out."

Sam storms out of the bathroom, the sound of car keys jingling as he opens the front door, slamming it so hard behind him that your bathroom mirror shakes. Normally, this angry behavior of his would leave you a crumbling, sobbing mess, chasing after him to prevent him from leaving. But not anymore. Not after everything, and especially not after what he just said about your beloved father.

The only reason tears threaten your bottom lids right now, is because you miss your parents. You miss your dad, and feel like he only passed away just yesterday, that pain still feeling so recent in your chest. You grip onto the counter as you squeeze your eyes shut, desperately trying to calm your dramatically racing heart that is sending you into an emotional downward spiral.

You wish there was a cure for grief and panic, two things you've suffered with nearly every day since your mom died, but all you can do is suffocate in your own sorrow. There were nights when you'd dream of your mom, waking up in a fit of terror and sweat, and Sam would lull you back to sleep. But that was before everything went wrong, and you stopped feeling that die-for-him love you once had.

Sam really was a good guy, and never gave you any reason to doubt that he was the one for you, until he proposed. For some reason, he had become a completely different person, and it's been nothing but nonstop fighting for the last year. You wish he would've just given you the time to adjust to being a teacher before pushing marriage onto you, but as you've come to realize, he's really only concerned about himself.

***

  Once it's lunchtime, the announcement is made over the speaker, the principal's voice echoing throughout the classroom. The conversation you and Sam had this morning has haunted you all day, the ghost of your ring on your finger causing you to fidget with an imaginary band.

"Okay, let's see a single file line!" you say happily as the students line up at the door. "Did everybody who has a lunchbox grab it from their cubby?"

A few students briefly leave the line, returning with their decked-out lunchboxes. You can't help but giggle at their innocent forgetfulness, adoring every single one of them, even the misbehaved ones.

You stand at the front, giving the students a wide smile as you lead them out of the classroom, the caboose of the line holding the door open for everybody.

"Everyone make sure to say thank you to Derek for doing such a lovely job holding the door," you announce cheerfully.

A resounding 'thank you' comes from the line, making you giggle as you continue the walk to the lunchroom. It is a noisy, bustling mess in here as usual, but you lead your class to their tables nonetheless. Everyone sits in a seat, taking up every spot at the two tables reserved for your class.

Off to the side of the room, there's parents all sitting at their own tables, some with their kids, and some still waiting on theirs to arrive.

"Daddy!" you hear one of your students shout, seeing Sarah sprinting out of her seat to run towards her father who stands out of view to your right.

You watch as Joel chuckles, getting down onto his knees to wrap up his daughter into a tight embrace. You swallow nervously at his presence, being just as intimidated by him this time as you were when you first met him on Saturday.

His attractive looks instantly caught your eye at the park; the way his brown hair was a charming, shaggy, ruffled mess on top of his head, and his soft puppy dog eyes that are vast and brown, drawing you in with just a single look.

You've always had a thing for older men, being turned on by their maturity and experience in life. You know that you've been heavily influenced by seeing your parents so in love regardless of being many years apart. Younger guys have just never done it for you. Sure, there's been a few that have exceeded your expectations, but never for long. They've always ended up showing that they're not emotionally ready for a serious commitment, something you desperately long for at the right moment in life.

Even though Sam is more than ten years older than you, he still has displayed his immaturity about your dedication to your job; and also his sick need to throw your father's death in your face as an insult.

"Okay, I'll see you all after lunch," you say to your class, doing your best to ignore the alluring, handsome man who walks with his daughter to one of the parent tables.

As you push open the exit door of the cafeteria, you're stopped by the sound of your name being called behind you. You already know whose voice it is before you turn, seeing the rugged, tanned face of Joel.

"Hi," you say fondly. "It's nice to see you again."

He flashes that charming grin at you that turns your body into jello. "You too," Joel replies gently. "I felt really bad for not bringing you something on Saturday, so I got you a little gift." He hands you a decently small, wrapped box. "It isn't much, but I thought you might like it."

"Oh, Joel," your eyes soften as you take the gift from him, "you didn't have to do that for me."

Joel shrugs nonchalantly, his plaid-covered shoulders falling easily. "You've already made such an impact on Sarah. It's the least I could do."

You tuck the present into the pocket of your yellow cardigan, giving Joel a genuine, wide smile. "Thank you so much. You're very sweet."

He chuckles, nodding his head. "You're welcome." He turns around briefly, "Well, enjoy your lunch. I'm gonna go back to Sarah."

"Thank you. Enjoy yours, too."

Joel gives you a small wave before he turns, your eyes following him for a short while before you realize you're gazing, admiring his tall frame and the casual sway of his hips. You turn and head back to your classroom, enjoying the peaceful quietness of the room, but also missing the boisterous students.

You lean down beneath your desk to retrieve your lunchbox, pulling out your pathetically prepared sandwich and chips that you hurriedly threw together. You hate to admit that your panic attack this morning caused you to run a bit behind in your schedule, but it's not the first time that's happened.

The gift that Joel gave you is practically burning a hole into your pocket. You retrieve the box, placing it in front of you as you decide to open it. You've never been great at waiting to open gifts. It's always one of the first things you want to do on your birthday. You're not a materialistic person by any means, you just enjoy the thought and excitement that goes into presents.

Your fingers peel at the pristine silver paper, being displayed a singular black box with perfectly angular edges that you run the tip of your finger along. The box flips open on a hinge, an audible gasp leaving your mouth as your eyes fill with raw emotion.

Inside of the box is a single silver chain necklace, and on the end of it is a metal ribbon-shaped, teal colored charm. The ribbon and color represent ovarian cancer awareness, the same illness your mom passed away from. You can't believe Joel went through the effort to get this, let alone remembered the specific cancer you said your mother died from.

Not only did he have to have the thought of getting something meaningful, but he also probably had to look up what color ribbon stood for that specific cancer. Words can't explain how you're feeling in this moment. Tears are heavily flowing down your cheeks as you continue to gaze at the gift, not knowing how you can ever thank him enough for it.

You want to run full force back to the cafeteria and wrap him up into the biggest embrace you've ever given someone, but you're a blubbering mess. You're honestly worried that you won't be able to pull yourself together before lunch is over.

With shaky fingers, you remove the necklace from its box, clasping it on around your neck to let it hang at the top of your chest. You place your hand over it, shaking your head in disbelief as you sob more. Every single gift that you've received from your students have been so kind and thoughtful, but this one has completely stolen your heart.

  Once all of the kids have been dismissed to go home, you dive into your desk, searching for Sarah's file to retrieve her emergency contact paper. On it, you find a cell phone number with the name Joel Miller beside it. Your thumbs quickly type it into your phone, hesitating as you hover over the call button. Is it weird if you call one of your student's parents personally to thank them for a gift? Or are you throwing all of your morals out of the window because you find him incredibly hot and even romantic?

Letting out an unsteady sigh, you push the 'call' button on your screen, your pulse climbing in time with the trilling of the other line.

"Hello?" Joel answers curiously.

"Hi, Joel. I'm sorry for calling so randomly. This is y/n, Sarah's teacher."

"Oh," his voice lightens. "Hi, how are you? Is everything okay?"

Emotion chokes you, spreading like poison Ivy around your words as you attempt to speak. "Yes," your voice wavers. "I was just calling to say thank you for the necklace. I—" a cry catches in your throat, "I can't believe you got this for me."

"Hey," he says gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset."

"No," you shake your head. "I'm happy. It was just so thoughtful, and I appreciate it so much. I don't know how I could ever thank you enough."

"You don't have to thank me." His voice is so soft and comforting that it feels as if he's hugging you through the phone. "I just was hoping it was the right color. I wasn't sure which one it was."

You knew he looked it up. Does he not realize how amazing he is for this?

"It's perfect," you sniffle. "Please, let me treat you to a drink or something tonight to say thank you."

The line is quiet for a moment, and you're wondering if you've fucked up by saying that. Have you made him uncomfortable?

"Okay," he replies. "I can have my neighbor keep an eye on Sarah for me. She's the one who watches her when I work on Saturdays if Sarah isn't spending the night at a friend's."

You breathe out a sigh of relief at his response. "Do you know the bar on Weston Street? It's called The Goose."

"Yeah," he chuckles slightly. "Used to go there during college."

"Hey, me too!" you laugh. "Had a lot of horrible blackouts there."

"You and me both," he laughs again. "What time were you thinking?"

"Whenever is best for you, really."

"Is seven good?"

"Seven is perfect. Thank you again, Joel." You wipe your wet cheeks.

"You're thanking me too much," he teases. "I'm really glad you like it, though. I wasn't sure what to get."

"It's amazing." You look around your classroom, examining the empty desks. "I'll see you at seven, then."

"Yes," he says easily. "See you later, y/n."

"Bye." You both hang up, a giddy feeling suddenly zipping through your body.

Part of you is hoping that Sam isn't home by the time you leave, since he wasn't back this morning. This isn't the first time that he's left after a fight and not come back for an entire day. You stopped wondering where he goes, because truthfully at this point, you don't care.

You've already given him your ring and told him exactly how you feel about your relationship. It wouldn't be heartbreaking if you didn't see him again. What he said about your father was spiteful and unforgivable. It was the final straw that you were grasping onto for him, and he cut it down with the sharpest blade.

  Much later around six, Sam still hasn't come home as you've stepped out of your hot, relaxing shower. Due to the fact that you're happier without him here, just proves that you're not meant to be with him. You've had your wavering doubts throughout the day that you made a mistake, and you found yourself lingering on the happy moments. But you know that's foolish of you. How can someone claim they love you, yet not support you in your career, and also throw your dad's death in your face? That's not love. It feels more like ownership to you.

As you dry your hair, the wind from the blow dryer is so deafening, that you don't hear Sam come into the bathroom. He's standing there awkwardly as you open your eyes, letting out a high-pitched scream as you jump, dropping the hair dryer directly onto your foot.

"Oh, fuck!" you scream, leaning down to turn the device off. "What the fuck are you doing sneaking in like that? You scared the shit out of me!"

Sam lets out a small laugh that you decide to ignore. "Sorry, y/n. Can we talk?"

You walk into your bedroom to sit on the bed, examining your bruised foot as you let out an exasperated sigh. "I have to get ready. I'm meeting a parent."

"I'll make it quick," Sam says gently. "It's just something I feel like I need to get off my chest."

"Fine," you answer flatly as you cross your arms. "Tell me."

"I think it's best if we aren't together anymore. Being with you has let out this ugly side of me that I don't like. You've made me a meaner, more aggressive person and I can't be that way anymore."

You can't help but laugh, nodding your head as you continue to listen to his complete bullshit. "Okay."

"I've slept with someone else."

Your laughter ceases as a feeling of nausea rises up your throat. "What?"

"A few months ago, we fought and I left to go get drunk. There was this woman who was so comforting and understanding. One thing led to another and we ended up at her place together. I'm sorry, y/n."

All you can do is stare at him, not sure if you're more sickened or furious. You've slept with Sam in the last few months, meaning that he had that woman all over him, and still felt it was okay to share an intimate moment with you.

"Did you wear a condom?" you finally ask.

Sam shifts, his eyes not meeting yours, his body language giving you the only answer you really need.

"Oh, my god," you stand. "You're even more vile than I thought. You fucked some random woman without a condom, and still thought it was fine to sleep with me too?"

He stays quiet, still unable to make eye contact.

"How soon after did you sleep with me?" your voice is steady and even, surprising you.

"I don't want to say," he says lowly.

"How soon after?!" you finally yell.

Sam sighs. "The next night."

"Oh, my fucking god. You are the most disgusting, pathetic excuse for a man."

"You've pushed me to this!" Sam yells. "You've made me this way!"

"Own up to your own fucking actions, Sam! Stop blaming me for your poor decisions! Be a fucking grown up!"

He laughs incredulously. "Why don't you?! You can't admit the fact that you have serious commitment issues and can't be an adult about it."

"Commitment issues?!" you scream. "All I've ever wanted is to be married, but I'll be fucking damned before I marry someone like you. Oh, my GOD, I'm so glad I haven't started planning a wedding."

"Yeah, me fucking too, y/n."

Your eyes narrow at the man you once loved, realizing that he doesn't have a smidge of remorse in his body for what he's done or said. "I want you to leave the house."

"You can't kick me out, y/n. My name is on the lease, too. You think you can afford the rent alone on a teacher's salary?" he asks with a mocking tone.

"I don't give a shit!" you yell. "Just get out! Go stay with somebody who actually wants to fuck you."

Sam scoffs, shaking his head at he leaves the room. "Oh, fuck you, y/n. Fuck you." The front door slams behind him once again, a nauseating reminder of this morning.

You can't believe everything he just told you; from the blaming his behavior on you, to the infidelity. Knowing that he slept with someone else and then immediately was intimate with you makes you feel like you desperately need to make an appointment to get checked out. You haven't felt any different or had any odd growths, but now you're paranoid beyond belief.

How could he do that to you? How the hell could he be so selfish? Your mind is reeling, pacing around your bedroom as the thought of having an STD consumes every part of you. You do your best to relax, but truthfully you're terrified to your very core.

Pacing into the bathroom, you grab your phone, pressing onto Joel's contact as your breathing is ragged and unsteady.

"Hey," his husky voice answers.

"Joel," you push out. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm gonna make it tonight."

"Is everything okay?"

The sincerity in his tone causes you to crumble, letting out a guttural sob that makes you sound like a complete lunatic. You can't even answer him, all you can do is cry. Your anxiety is only climbing as the seconds pass, that all-consuming dread washing over you as you sink to the bedroom floor.

"Y/n, talk to me. Do I need to come to you? What's going on?"

"It's just—" You can't make out a coherent sentence, crying ceaselessly into your phone. "I'm sorry," you sob.

"Hey, take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?"

Air fills your lungs in choppy breaths as you try to settle the intensity of your outpour of emotions. You are finally able to suck in a small breath, holding it a bit before letting it out slowly.

"Good," he says lightly. "Do it again."

With your eyes closed, you breathe in the air around you, smelling the scent of your body wash from your freshly scrubbed skin. As you let out the steady breath, you realize Joel is breathing with you through the phone.

"One more time for me, y/n," Joel guides you gently.

An easy breath expands your lungs, the fullness of it being released through your parted lips.

"Good," he praises you quietly. "Now, can you please tell me your address?"

You say it to him lowly, a slight drowsiness overtaking you from the meditative breathing. "You don't have to come over if you don't want to, Joel. I'm so sorry for calling you, I just—" you pause, feeling your tears building again, "I didn't know who else to call."

"I want to come over," Joel replies with an easy, smooth voice. "I'll be there in five minutes. You live ridiculously close to me."

You can't help but giggle. "Okay."

"Do you want to stay on the phone with me? I can just set you down so I don't lose you to the Bluetooth."

Your fingers grip at your phone, knowing your panic will return if he hangs up. "No, it's okay. Just drive safely."

"I'm perfectly capable of talking and driving, y/n," he says with an audible smile in his words. "I have a very talkative nine year old as my shotgun most days."

You laugh slightly, holding your towel-covered body with your free hand. "She was so happy to see you at lunch today."

"Well, she was just telling me how bummed she was that I'm never one of the parents at lunch, so I decided to ask my boss if I could just have the day off to spend time with Sarah. He didn't mind. I almost never take off of work."

"You're a good dad," you respond softly.

"I do my best."

Your eyes look around the room, your panic having crippled you so much that you feel glued to the spot against the wall where you sit in your plush towel. "I can't move."

"Why?" he asks with concern. "Did Sam hurt you?"

"Not physically," you scoff. "Just kinda panicked and now I'm frozen."

Joel sighs. "Unfortunately, I know the feeling." The phone is quiet for a few seconds. "I lied to you at the park. I wasn't light headed from not eating, I was having a panic attack."

Your brows furrow together with sympathy. "Oh, my god. Why? I'm so sorry. I should've known."

"Just the mention of cancer made me think about my late wife, is all. Sometimes I get panicked thinking about her."

"I'm sorry," you apologize again. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

"You didn't," he chuckles lightly. "You made me feel understood."

A smile spreads onto your face, the sound of a truck muffler rumbling through your ears.

"I'm here," Joel says slowly, "but if you need a minute before you can stand, don't worry. I can wait."

"No," you reply, doing your best to find your feet well enough to lift yourself off the floor. "Just let me put on some clothes. I just got out of the shower."

"Take your time, y/n. I'm not in a rush. Sarah is over at my neighbor's house. She'll fall asleep there if I take long enough. Neither of them mind, I promise. She's fallen asleep there so many times."

You trudge to your closet, your feet feeling like lead as you walk across the carpet. You pull out a large shirt, tossing it over your head as you set your phone on the floor beneath you. Your fingers grab at a pair of shorts, slipping them on beneath your top.

"Okay, I'm coming," you finally say. "I'll see you in a few seconds."

"Okay."

The call ends as you carry yourself to the front door, pulling it open to see Joel standing there with shaggy, dampened hair and beautiful brown eyes that are filled with concern. He looks way better than you, wearing a lovely short sleeved button-up shirt and blue jeans. You want to devour him, but you also want him to hold you and tell you everything is okay.

"Hey," he says gently as you invite him in. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

You nod lazily, gesturing over to the couch as you shut your front door. "Well, this morning I gave my ring back to Sam since he used my dad's death as an insult against me." You join Joel on the couch, your body facing his as you talk. "He also blamed me for his horrible, shitty behavior which is ridiculous," you pause. "Then he told me we're better off separated, and explained how he cheated on me a few months ago."

Joel's jaw drops, his eyes widening. "Jesus, y/n. I'm so sorry. What the hell?"

"Not only did he have unprotected sex with her, but then immediately had unprotected sex with me the next day. I've been so freaked out since he left. I'm so scared that I have something now."

He furrows his brows as he shakes his head. "If you had something, you'd know by now. But you should still make an appointment, just to be safe."

"First thing tomorrow, I'm calling," you roll your eyes as you throw your head into your hands. "Everything just went to shit so fast."

Joel's hand reaches out and tenderly rubs your upper back, the contact heightening your senses to a fine point. "I'm sorry, y/n. Where is he now?"

You keep your crying face cradled into your palms. "Who knows? There's a million people he can stay with. I'm gonna change the locks, too. I told him not to come back."

He lets out a sigh, his hand still soothing you in gentle circles. "I could do it for you. I know how."

"Really?" you gaze up at him. "You'd do that for me?"

Joel shrugs as he grins down at you. "Of course."

You can't take it anymore, you need the comfort of someone's body against yours. Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing your chest against his as your cheek rests against his shoulder.

"Thank you," you whisper, the emotion of the situation catching up to you once again.

His hands run down to the small of your back, his strong arms wrapped around your body as the two of you sit there in a tight embrace. You wish you could stay here forever, enjoying this closeness and the smell of his cologne. It's a comfort you haven't experienced in far too long, and now you're drowning in it, letting it swallow you whole.

"This isn't weird, right?" you suddenly ask, the hug finally ending.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head, "No."

Your eyes are on his lips, watching as he quickly darts his tongue out to lick them. "I'm glad you came over."

His hands are still on your back, as your arms are resting on his neck, your bodies still near each other's. "I am, too."

It takes everything in you to not lean in and kiss him, but you know now isn't the time. You've just found out your fiancé cheated on you, and you're desperate for a connection in this moment of heartbreak. Even though you find Joel ridiculously attractive, you wouldn't want to use him for that kind of comfort. He's a thoughtful, incredible man who deserves better than that.

You clear your throat, the loose embrace ending as you turn your body away. "Would you like a drink?" you ask as you stand off the couch. "Since we didn't get to go to a bar tonight."

Joel chuckles as he follows you to your kitchen. "What do you have?"

The fridge opens with a gentle pull, your hand reaching down into it to retrieve a bottle of beer. "Are you a beer man exactly as you are a meat man?" you ask with a smirk.

He laughs, nodding his head. "I am."

"I guess you're just very predictable," you tease, grabbing out your bottle of wine. "I'm a wine drinker."

He twists the top off of the beer bottle, tossing it back to take a few sips. "You drinking wine is very predictable, I'm afraid."

You giggle, chugging directly from the bottle after you pop the cork out. "Oh, yeah? What other assumptions have you made about me?"

Joel eyes you, making you feel bashful beneath his gaze. "I'm going to assume you're still wearing the necklace I got you."

You nod as you pull it out from inside of your t-shirt, letting it lay flat against the fabric. "I'm never taking it off."

"I'm glad," he beams. "I'm also gonna assume that you're a kind woman, and you deserve more than what you're getting."

"I don't know what I deserve, Joel."

He shrugs as he sips more beer, swallowing before he replies, "Happiness."

"I haven't had that in a long time."

Joel scoffs, nodding. "Neither have I."

You feel drawn to him in this moment, wanting to feel his warm, firm body pressed to yours again. Your lips are eager to feel his, wondering if he would have as much fervor as you feel for him. You're desperate for his touch, and you need to know what he's feeling for you. Is he simply just a nice guy, or can he feel the connection as you do?

"Joel," you begin softly, "I'm going to be honest with you."

"You can always be honest with me," he smiles gently at you.

"I think you're an incredible man. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable because you're my student's father, but I just find you so—," your voice trails off, unable to think of a better adjective than perfect.

"Hopefully the end of that sentence is good," he chuckles, making you laugh as well.

"You're just great," you finally say, not at all getting as detailed as you would've liked. "And I appreciate you for being here for me even when you barely know me."

"I know that you're my daughter's teacher, and that you share a lot of the same hurt I do." His eyes flick between yours, "I had never talked about my wife to anybody besides family until you. I'm not sure why, but you just made me feel comfortable with being vulnerable."

Your eyes soften, tears beginning to form in them. "Oh, Joel," you say quietly.

That magnetic pull to him has only intensified, and it takes all of the strength you can muster to keep your feet planted on your side of the counter. You just want to throw yourself at him, but you can't for so many reasons.

"Anyway," he shakes his head with a bashful chuckle, "I was thinking I could come by tomorrow after work to change your locks. How many do you need?"

The subject change makes you swallow with relief, wanting to focus on anything other than how badly you crave his lips.

"Just two. Only need to change the front door and the side door. The sliding glass door doesn't take a key."

Joel nods. "I'll pick some stuff up. I could be here around six-thirty or so. Is that okay for you?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you so much."

He smiles warmly, setting down his empty beer bottle as his eyes flick to his watch. "Will you be okay if I leave?"

The fear that you've made him feel uneasy settles into your abdomen, regretting ever telling him how amazing you think he is.

"Of course," you nod, walking around the counter. "I'll be fine."

Joel strides to the front door with you, pulling it open as his eyes flick down to meet yours. "Don't hesitate to text or call if you need me, okay?"

"Thank you," you smile. "But really, I'll be okay."

You watch as Joel walks out of your house, wishing that he was wrapped up in your arms once again with his lips being gently pressed onto yours. The thought sends a slight twinge of arousal between your thighs, knowing that you have to be completely fucked in the head to even be considering those thoughts.

He's your student's dad. You can never pursue him.

****

[aajjks]

reward!jungkook

sung-woo is a rich successful man. he married, re-married, cheated, and did all the things men do when they’re young and dumb. until the birth of his only daughter, lee syelle. when she was born, she was tiny. really, tiny but that never stopped her from being the imaginative kid she always was.

from an early age, syelle wanted to be a doctor and her dreams finally came true when she graduated from a highly pristine college with her degree in nursing and became a registered nurse at the tender age of 22.

sung-woo was so proud of his daughter. he’s always been proud of her. most rich parents raise spoiled brats but not sung-woo. his raised syelle to be respectful, kind, and humble. his only hiccup? marrying his daughter off to her crush, jeon jungkook.

the deal was business-related but he couldn’t help but notice his daughter’s inquisitive eyes when she saw him passing by. in such a short amount of time, she was in love all over again and quickly took a liking to jungkook much to his reluctance.

so like usual, sung-woo pays a PI to look into jungkook and when it came back that was being unfaithful to his daughter he was once again starting from scratch with her love life until he received the horrid news of his daughter’s death.

his little princess. his bright young girl died from a broken heart and he immediately blamed himself. he should’ve checked in with her more. he should’ve called and visited more.

until a detective reveals a certain video coming from an unknown number:

hey sweetie! don’t worry, he’s doing just fine 😉

sung-woo clicks on the file and what he saw was outright disgusting. he couldn’t believe his eyes and to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, he zoomed in close and there it was: jungkook, his daughter’s husband, and y/n his private investigator in bed having sex.

he wonders if this video was intentional. could jungkook be the vile and cruel? livid, sung-woo slams his daughter’s phone on his desk and lets out a anguished “HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO MY DAUGHTER!!! THEY KILLED MY DAUGHTER!!!”

and then…tears.

“i won’t kill him. no…i want him to live with this. i want him to live with the fact that they both are responsible for killing my sweet little girl. karma will catch up with them. no one can be happy forever”

as jungkook stands over you with his hands wrapped around your neck, you aren’t sure what to think. you usually like when he does this because his intention is for pleasure. this time, his intention is to kill you for once again ruining his life that he participated in.

your hands frantically reach up to hit jungkook in his face. your eyes begin to bulge from their sockets the tighter jungkook squeezes your neck and then once he’s killed you he plans to kill himself. but not before seeing the ugly truth you’ve been hiding all along.

*ding dong*

jungkook lets go of your neck when he hears the doorbell ring, you’re gasping for air. choking on your throat from how fast you’re inhaling as much air as you can before making a beeline for the front door and when you do, there is jorja standing on the other side.

“girl did you see the news?! she’s dead! she’s fucking dead!” jorja says in a panic and when jungkook sees jorja’s shocked eyes he realizes that you both know each other. she caressed syelle’s hair when she cried to her but jorja knew everything from the beginning.

“what the hell is he doing her, y/n?” jorja nervously asks.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE JORJA?!” Jungkook screams with agony, she talked to you like you’ve been friends for a long time. “You wanna know know what the fuck I am doing here? I WAS FUCKING THIS WHORE WHEN MY WIFE DIED!” He cries falling to his knees.

He can’t live with this guilt, you should just kill him like you probably wanted to. “KILL ME YN JUST FUCKIN KILL ME!” He begs you, he’s the reason she died from a broken heart.

Her young heart gave out.

And it feels like his will too, at any given moment. How the hell do you know jorja. Does hoseok know about anything? “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU YN?!” He questions you before getting up and he wants to kill you.

The red angry marks around your neck are proof of jungkooks rage.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! AND HOW DO YOU KNOW JORJA?!” He demands, screaming like a mad man. Oh he’s going to go crazy.

Is there a knife? He wants to kill himself.

“I can’t kill you yn but I’ll kill myself- she’s dead because I COULDNT KEEP IT IN MY PANTS!? OH MY GOD.” He freaks out over and over, the truth is she’s dead because of him, not because of you or anyone.

Because of his infidelity.

Syelle is dead because of Jungkook.

“I NEED MY ANSWER!”

[callsigndragon]

Oh. My. Goodness!!! The sweetness!!! Tasting the Ashes Chapter 8 is so soft, I am melting!!!

Long message coming as always...

""I think I'm your big brother now."" - awww, I love these two 💗💗

"You blink, not knowing what to do or say. "...you win."", ""Oh, I know." He chuckles, looking at the inside of the mug. "He's dead now, I can finally live the life I always wanted."" - hahaha, yeah, not many things can compete with that. Although I am very, very inrigued to hear the full backstory Ash has

"Red? Your Red? The girl that cried at Disney movies and puppies? That man must have been a fucking nightmare to make her do something like that." - I love how well Ash must know Red and the implied history between them is so so good!!! Again, you establish past and already existing relationships so well, without giving too much away right away about them!! It feels so organic and it is beautiful!!! 💗💗💗

""I didn't know if I was gonna keep the babies." You admit it; your head is bowed in shame. It's only half the truth, but it's something, at least. "My body, my choice, right?"", "" There's no need to be embarrassed."" - okay, first, I love supportive Jake, as always. He is doing the big brother (and just being a decent human being really) part very well. And second, I love the intrigue intensifying around Ash's reasons!!! 💗

""So, none of us had a real family until recently. Maybe we can learn what that means. Together."" - awww, that really will be nice!!! I love this beautifully forming extended family 💗💗💗

"“She’s a crier, huh?”", "“ I get angry.”" - I love that they are reacting differently to the hormones and how well it goes with them! It both feels natural and it also deepens their character, it is amazing!!! (Also makes me wonder what Minnie is going to be like with their set of triplets...) 💗 And I agree with Jake, "“Poor himbo.”", hahaha 💗

"“Rooster, I’m not letting you inside.”" - again, loving protective brother Jake!! But poor Bradley, haha

"he did all he was supposed to do. He was there when you woke up, cuddling with you in his sleep, a content smile adorning his face.", "Probably one of the best nights of your life but…", "He had a light in his eyes that you didn't want to extinguish with your trauma." - such a sweet descriltion of Bradley, and it is so lovely to see that he always treated Ash right, doing everything he should (except when he told her to wait, but...) 💗 And I am so excited to find out more about Ash's trauma!!!

""Can we talk?" There's desperation in his words" - my poor deaperate baby!!! I love him! 💗

""Hi." You whisper back, rubbing your belly. He follows your hand movement, and you swear you can feel his hand twitching, as if he wanted to be the one doing it." - this is the absolute sweetest thing ever, him wanting to rub her belly, but respecting her and not doing without asking!!!! I am melted! 💗💗💗

"we should get married. We're going to have babies. It's the right thing to do."", ""Yeah, when you're in love! But we're not in love, Rooster. We barely know each other."" - Bradley darling, we know you are smitten, but Ash doesn't! Give the girl some time, would you? Jokes aside I love how his mind automatically goes to "we should marry", so sweet!!! And I love how he corrects himself and apologises ""Sorry, Ash. When my dad got my mom pregnant, they married. I thought I should do the same."" - he just wanted to do what he thought was the right thing and I love him for it! Great characterisation!!! 💗💗

""I think they know who you are."", "Bradley kneels in front of you, both hands on you, pressing his forehead against your round belly. "Hey, babies. It's me, dad. I'm sorry I haven't been here before. But I won't go anywhere now."" - I am melting!!! This is so sweet!!! It is such a tender, vulnerable moment, I absolutely adore it!!! 💗💗💗

The Chapter 9 chat is also incredible!!! I love that Red and Jake report what is happening and then Rooster thinks he's sharing this big news, everyone already knows about! Hahaha, love them all so much!!! 💗

Incredible, amazing, awesome, brilliant writing as always my Love!!! 💗

So much love to you! 💗💗💗

(italics anon 💚)

"You blink, not knowing what to do or say. "...you win."", ""Oh, I know." He chuckles, looking at the inside of the mug. "He's dead now, I can finally live the life I always wanted."" - hahaha, yeah, not many things can compete with that. Although I am very, very inrigued to hear the full backstory Ash has

It's a deep one... connected to her call sign

"Red? Your Red? The girl that cried at Disney movies and puppies? That man must have been a fucking nightmare to make her do something like that." - I love how well Ash must know Red and the implied history between them is so so good!!! Again, you establish past and already existing relationships so well, without giving too much away right away about them!! It feels so organic and it is beautiful!!! 💗💗💗

It's the tiny details! If you tell a lot about a character since the beginning...Where's the mystery?

"“She’s a crier, huh?”", "“ I get angry.”" - I love that they are reacting differently to the hormones and how well it goes with them! It both feels natural and it also deepens their character, it is amazing!!! (Also makes me wonder what Minnie is going to be like with their set of triplets...) 💗 And I agree with Jake, "“Poor himbo.”", hahaha 💗

Red has always been this badass character, and now that she's pregnant, she C R I E S, and Ash (who is still a bit of a mystery) gets angry. Different ladies, different reactions!

"he did all he was supposed to do. He was there when you woke up, cuddling with you in his sleep, a content smile adorning his face.", "Probably one of the best nights of your life but…", "He had a light in his eyes that you didn't want to extinguish with your trauma." - such a sweet descriltion of Bradley, and it is so lovely to see that he always treated Ash right, doing everything he should (except when he told her to wait, but...) 💗 And I am so excited to find out more about Ash's trauma!!!

That 'wait until the party is over' will haunt Rooster for a while hahaha

Trauma is a keyword in this fic. I think that we all have our traumas, but we don't know it. Something that seems insignificant for us, can be a traumatic experience for another person. We're all little heroes in our own way.

"we should get married. We're going to have babies. It's the right thing to do."", ""Yeah, when you're in love! But we're not in love, Rooster. We barely know each other."" - Bradley darling, we know you are smitten, but Ash doesn't! Give the girl some time, would you? Jokes aside I love how his mind automatically goes to "we should marry", so sweet!!! And I love how he corrects himself and apologises ""Sorry, Ash. When my dad got my mom pregnant, they married. I thought I should do the same."" - he just wanted to do what he thought was the right thing and I love him for it! Great characterisation!!! 💗💗

He's just a sweeeeet guy, y'all. A bit dumb, but with good intentions.

Lots of love 💚💚