#it’s getting harder to disprove

[kookminis3d]

Army: there’s no evidence

Jkkrs: *show evidence*

Army: but that’s just fanservice

Jkkrs: *show evidence of Jikook posting on key dates throughout the 10 years of BTS including constantly matching and mirroring each other without trying*

Army: …ok but it’s platonic.

Jkkrs: *show evidence of behavior that clearly crosses a platonic boundary*

Army: *ignores and posts about another member*

[boldymoldedcheese]

another thing with ai art that i hate is how many accusations get thrown around for actual artists, like "this looks like ai art" like yeah no shit where do you think the ai is getting it from

[xanothersideblogx]

Computer. How do I fix my sleep schedule, easiest route.

Puter do you hear me 😭

[spidey-webz]

Hi :D I just watched Thunderbolts and I’m totally obsessed w Bob/Sentry/Void omg 🥰

I’m requesting a Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader smut, preferably riding him (reference to the movie hehe) - could be riding his fingers/thighs/c*ck 👀

ngl, i've been having the exact same idea since i left the cinema ahhhh. this is just soft sex ngl

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x f!reader Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fingering, dirty talk, soft dom bob if you squint, riding, unprotected p in v, petnames (honey), brief mentions of bob's anxiety, no beta Words: 1.4k Summary: Bob loves to finger you, but he loves seeing you ride him even more.

masterlist

Bob and you had been together for a little while. He was glad that he had found you. You made him feel less alone, less... alienated. He could feel normal around you and your presence alone oftentimes took his mind off things. It distracted him from the memories rushing in and out of his mind, sometimes lingering, sometimes not.

And there was no better distraction than getting to touch you. You had taken it slow at first, but after the first few times you ended up in bed together, he grew more and more confident.

Bob loved to please you. There was nothing sweeter to him than seeing you come underneath him. Or to have you writhe on his fingers.

Like he was doing just now.

His fingers were fully buried inside you, making your hips squirm against his hand. Your hands were fisting the sheets in a desperate attempt to grab hold of something while Bob was curling his fingers up. Just a little. Just enough for you to gasp. "Does it feel good?" He asked, a mischievous smirk on his lips. Of course it did. There was rarely a time where you didn't enjoy anything the man gave you.

His hair was a dishevelled mess as he bent over you. Bob always looked at you with wide, curious eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he had gotten. How much he adored to see every small change in your face, the slightest hint at your approval or disproval, but most importantly… the way your lips parted when you came or how you tilted your head back slightly whenever he hit that sweet spot inside you.

Despite his initial nerves when it came to making you come, he had grown so good at it. Bob knew exactly where his fingertips had to brush over your sensitive walls. After watching you so carefully the first few times, he had been able to make out exactly when his fingers needed to speed up or slow down until you'd be trembling under his touch.

“I asked you something, honey."

His fingers sped up inside you.

Bucking your hips up against his touch, you nodded.

"Yes." Your voice was barely audible, but the smirk on Bob's face told you enough. He was pleased with himself.

Bob struggled with his own self-worth and identity constantly, but pleasing you often made him feel better. Being able to make you feel good was enough to lift his mood and he thrived on knowing that you wanted him to make you come.

He could tell your climax was close when your walls started to squeeze around his fingers, moans spilling from your mouth by the second.

Then he pulled his hand away and you were left gaping around nothing. You were about to protest, tempted to reach out and pull your boyfriend back to you, but he was faster.

You often forgot how easy it was for Bob to just pick you up and place you wherever he wanted you to be. His hands grabbed your hips, lifting you up and onto his lap. His lips found yours as his big hands travelled down your back, squeezing your ass while you could feel him get harder and harder in his boxers.

He groaned into the kiss, a desperate sound, before he pulled away to look at you.

He didn't have to say anything for you to know what he was going to suggest. His cock was pulsing underneath you, desperate to get the attention it deserved as you had probably already left a stain on Bob's boxers.

Your hands took a hold of his shoulders as you lifted yourself enough for Bob to wiggle out of his underwear. He placed a few more kisses along your throat as you hovered above him while adjusting his cock, so you could sit down on it.

The tip of his cock brushed against your folds and you felt your pussy squeeze around nothing. His fingers had left you craving for so much more and you couldn't wait to have him fill you to the brim.

Bob grabbed your hips again, this time slowly guiding you down onto his cock. He took his time with it, allowing you to take him inch by inch as his lips remained on your soft skin. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his cock started to stretch your walls so deliciously.

And when you had finally taken him completely, he couldn't help but grab the back of your neck and take a look at you. There wasn't a sight more beautiful in the world. This is what gave him peace of mind.

Seeing you in his lap, tits right in front of him while he could feel your tight walls squeezing him. While he could see you squirm impatiently.

"Take what you need, honey."

His voice was raspy, marked by his desire.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

You leaned forward a little, starting to move your hips back and forth first. He always filled you out so nicely and when you angled your hips just right, you could feel him pressing against that sensitive spot deep within you.

Bob's head tilted back, a few strands of his hair falling into his face as he just let you take what you needed.

When you planted your hands on his chest and sped up your pace, he couldn't keep his own moans at bay. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips as he started to meet your movements with his own. You bounced up and down on him, nails leaving his skin red and he wished he could feel the sting of them.

"Looking so good," he mumbled, eyes fixated on your tits bouncing up and down. His hands left your hips to squeeze your breasts and it only made the knot in your stomach tighten. Your legs were trembling, but you wanted more. So much more.

You moved your hips back and forth, then up and down again. He was so deep and every time you sank back down on him, it brought you closer to your high. You didn't hold back your moans either, whimpers falling from your lips as he hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Going to come on top of me?" Bob sounded a little out of breath as he was simply mesmerised by the sight in front of him.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples as he thrusted up into you faster, desperate to reach his own high. Your pussy was starting to contract around him, enough of a sign to tell him you were so very close.

"Mhm?"

You fell into a desperate frenzy with your movements, almost too distracted to answer him, but when you could feel your orgasm approaching, like a wave ready to rip you apart, you nodded again.

"Yes," you whispered, nails digging further into his chest.

You were so very close, so-

His right hand moved to your back, urging you forward a little, so you could lean over him. His lips found your breasts, biting into your soft skin before he took a hold of your hips again.

Bob started to hold you in place as he thrusted up faster and harder into you. His speed was unrelenting, each thrust driving you further towards a sweet release and your whimpers only grew louder.

When Bob hit that sweet spot again, you fell apart with a soft cry. Your thighs started to shake on either side of his body, hands gripping the headboard as your orgasm rolled over you and all the while Bob was moaning right against your breasts. He was close too and the contractions of your walls around him just pushed him further and further to the edge.

Until it hit him too.

"Shit," he groaned loudly, hips bucking up hard one last time, before he forced you all the way down on his cock again.

You could feel him fill you up with warm ropes of cum, his shaft pulsing inside you as you both attempted to catch your breath.

His arms snaked around your torso, pulling you closer to him, so you could bury your face in his neck while he still stayed inside you until he would go soft again.

Moving his lips to your ear, his words were barely a whisper.

"I love you."

[funnygirlthatbelle]

i suspect that a huge factor in the defense of students using gen ai (and academic dishonesty in general tbh) comes from the fundamental misunderstanding of how school works.

to simplify thousands of educator's theories into the simplest terms, there are two types of stuff you're learning in school: content and skills. content is what we often think of as the material in school- spelling, times tables, names, dates, facts, etc.- whereas skills are usually more subtle. think phonics, mental math, reading comprehension, comparing and contrasting; though students do those things often, the how usually isn't deemed as important as the what.

this leads to a disconnect that's most obvious when students ask the infamous "when will we use this in the real world?" they have- often correctly- identified content that the content is niche, outdated, or not optimized but haven't considered the skills that this class/lesson/assignment will teach.

i can think of two shining examples from when i was a kid. one was in middle school when they announced that we were now gonna be studying latin, and we all wondered why on earth they would choose latin as our foreign language. every adult promised us it'd be helpful if we went into medicine, law, or religion (ignoring that most of us didn't want to go into medicine, law, or religion), but we didn't buy that and never took it seriously. the truth was that our new principal knew that learning languages gets harder as you get older, and so building the skills of learning a language while it was easy for us was more important than which language we learned, and that's an answer twelve year old me would've actually respected.

similarly, my geometry class all hated proofs. we couldn't think of a single situation where you'd have to convince someone a triangle was a triangle and "look at it, of course it's a triangle" wouldn't be an acceptable answer. it was actually the band director who pointed out that it wasn't literally about triangles; it was about being able to prove or disprove something, anything using facts.

and so, so, so many assignments that are annoying as hell in school make more sense when you think about the skills as well as the content. "why do i have to present information about something the teacher obviously already knows about?" because research, verifying sources, summarizing, and public speaking are all really important skills. "why does this have to be a group project?" because you will have to work with other people in your life, and learning how to be a team player (and deal with people who aren't) is an essential skill. "why do we have to read these scientific articles and learn about graphs?" because if you can understand them, people can't lie to you about them.

now, of course, there's a lot we could do better- especially we as in the american school system. the reason i have an education minor but am not teaching is because of those issues. there are plenty of assignments that are busywork and teachers that are assholes and ways that the system is failing us.

but that doesn't mean you should cut off your nose to spite your face!

the ability to learn and grow and think critically is one of our most powerful tools as people. our brains are capable of incredible things! however, the same way you can't lift a car unless you consistently lift and build up to that, your brain needs to train in order to do its best.

so yeah, maybe chatgpt can write a five paragraph essay for you on the differences between thomas jefferson and alexander hamilton's governing philosophies. and maybe it won't even fuck it up! congratulations, you got away with it. but by outright refusing to use your brain and practice these skills, who have you helped? you haven't learned anything. worse, you haven't even learned how to learn.

[ruesol]

“You have to let me go, Ken,” you groaned out from under your husband’s bulk.

Your husband, a grown man with bills and responsibilities, was clinging to you like a neglected wet puppy, body flat on top of yours as you laid on the bed with your backside up.

Nanami simply buried his nose deeper into your neck, tip of his nose stroking your skin as he deeply inhaled the lingering smell of your body wash from the bath you took the day before. “No,” he sulked as his lips brushed against your nape.

“Baby, I’m gonna be late for the airport!” you chided with a giggle as his fingers danced on your sides. He left small pecks around your shoulder blades as his nimble hands slid under your tank top and began to stroke your skin.

“And? What’s the worst that’ll happen? You’ll end up spending a few more hours with me and you’ll take a later flight,” he reasoned, pushing you back down with a single hand when you tried to get up. He placed his heavy hand at the base of your nape to prevent you from attempting to get up again.

“You also forgot to mention that I’ll probably be fired if I don’t show up for the meeting on time,” you retorted with a hand reaching behind to stroke his messy morning hair.

But your ever stubborn husband only grumbled his disproval. “I earn enough for the both of us,” he mumbled as he lifted the back of your tank top to lay down directly on your warm, naked skin.

Sleep clings to you like the nectar that still sticks to a drooping pitcher plant. Too tired to fight your husband’s hulking figure, you accept defeat. “Five minutes of cuddling, and then I’ll basically superglue myself to you once I’m back from my work trip. Deal?”

You hear silence, and then all the air is knocked out of your lungs when your husband flips you over. Nanami now rests his head on your chest and places your hand on his hair, signaling you to scratch his head. “Deal. I better get the most out of this cuddle session since I’m not gonna see you for a week.”

It kills you to leave him like this so you decide to get your fill too. You could only survive so long without kissing your husband’s lips.

“Oh, my clingy man.” You grab his face and pull him up to your lips so you can give him a sweet kiss. Nanami smiles against your lips, tongue teasingly brushing against your mouth as his hands situate themselves behind your neck.

He pulls you in closer before you can pull away and devours your mouth in yet another kiss, not letting you reprimand him for taking up your precious time.

“Ken…” you whined as his hands travelled south, squeezing your waist as he pushed his lips against yours again. “We can’t do this right now—I have to shower and finish packing my suitcase!”

You tried to push him off but your efforts were futile—he was simply too strong for you.

“You know we can always shower together to save time.”

You rolled your eyes at his suggestion and gathered his face in your hand, squeezing his cheeks to pull him away.

He noticed your glare and raised his brows. “What? It’s efficient,” he garbled out as you squeezed his face harder.

You pondered over his suggestion, weighing the pros and cons of showering with your clingy husband. Pros: he scrubs your back, and makes you come. Cons: you miss your flight in a post-sex haze, and then get fired.

“Don’t tempt me,” you sigh as you slap his shoulders and push him off to ruefully get ready for your business trip.

——

main masterlist

[echoes-of-a-dream]

blind instinct 0.2 | matt murdock

blind instinct masterlist | matt murdock masterlist

synopsis: when you find matt unconscious and bleeding out, your instinct is to take him to the e.r.: good instinct. when they won’t release information on his condition to anyone outside of kin, you lie and say you’re his wife: bad instinct. when matt wakes up from surgery with amnesia, believing when the doctors say you’re married, you play along to keep him safe: you don’t even know how to categorize that one.

amnesia | childhood best friends to lovers | marriage of convenience/fake marriage | slow burn | mutual pining | wc 1.6k

<- previous chapter

You don’t know how long it takes for the ambulance and police to arrive. You just know that suddenly you have lights on you, blinding you, hands gently pulling you away from Matt’s unconscious body. Someone is screaming as you clutch at your best friend.

It takes you a minute to realize that someone is you.

“No! No, please! Please let me see him!”

But your pleas go… not ignored, exactly. More unanswered. You’re led to another room, stepping over an unconscious person being tended to by paramedics before he’s taken to the hospital and then, hopefully, to prison. There’s two others—the one in the entryway, and one laying by the coffee table Matt broke through.

You hope they all rot.

The police set you down on the end of the bed, on Matt’s silk sheets, and all you can think is that you hope you don’t get blood on them. You vaguely recognize one of the officers, Mahoney, Foggy’s not-friend. 

“Alright, Miss…?” The one you don’t recognize begins. You give your name a little shakily, clenching and unclenching your hands in your skirt. A skirt you will never wear again, given how stained it is by Matt’s blood. “Can you start from the beginning?” 

So you do. You left, realized you left your purse, turned around, found Matt like that. No, you have no idea who the others are. Yes, it does appear convenient that you found him when you did—it must be God. Yes, you know Matt well; you grew up at the same orphanage. Did he have any enemies? His fame as a lawyer is from taking down the big bads no one else will touch because they’re too scared to, and he’s a defense attorney. It would be easier to name who doesn’t hate him. Yes, you understand the gravity of the situation, your best friend is bleeding out on his apartment floor. Yes, you’re sorry, you’re ready to return to the interview. No, he does not use, he gets overstimulated a lot and stays away from getting drunk, much more staying away from drugs. Yes, you will let them know if you remember anything else or recognize any of the men. 

When they release you, you’re immediately rushing towards the paramedics as they roll Matt out on a stretcher. “Matty? Is he alive?”

One of them steps away from the stretcher, stepping in between you and Matt. “We’re stabilizing him, ma’am. He is currently breathing, but he won’t be out of the woods until we can get him through surgery. Right now we need to get him to the hospital.” 

“Okay.” You try to follow, but the man steps in front of you, blocking you from doing so.

“No, ma’am, only kin can ride in the ambulance.” 

“I’m his wife.”

The words come out before you can think too hard about them. Later, you will berate yourself. You could have said sister. If they doubted (which would be entirely valid), you could say half-sister to explain away dissimilarities. If you wanted to go with romantic, hell, fiancé would be easier to lie about and harder to disprove. But no.

You went with the most obvious lie you could. Like an idiot.

Matt would laugh so hard if he knew.

The paramedic raises a brow. “Wife?” 

“Yes.” You’re digging yourself a deeper hole here. Again, like an idiot.

The man before you appears to be weighing the benefits versus downsides of pressing you about your claim and getting back to his job. The latter appears to outweigh the former as he sighs and steps aside. You’re immediately at Matt’s side, grabbing his hand and gripping it tightly as you half-speedwalk, half-awkward little run to maintain pace with the stretcher.

When asked about it later on, you don’t remember the ambulance ride. You had to release Matt’s hand and sit out of the way as the medics worked. All you remember is training your eyes on his chest, watching the shallow but present rise and fall of it. The proof, the reassurance that he’s alive. He’s still fighting. You force yourself to hope that he will win that fight. That he’ll live.

Come on, Matt. Come on. Come on.

It’s a prayer, every inhale and every exhale dedicated to pushing the thought towards him as if he can hear it. You will him to live with everything in you, will him to make it out, to make it back. To make it back to everyone who cares about him—you, Foggy, Karen, Sister Maggie, all the Defenders and Defenders-adjacent like Claire that he might complain about but that have become a second family to him.

You realize with a start that you need to text Foggy. You can trust Foggy to text the others; you don’t have the energy at the moment. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone and tap at the screen, dotted with crescent moon impressions from where your nails dug into the other hand, some hard enough for blood to well up from breaking the skin. They sting slightly, but not enough to register. Your blood mixes with Matt’s on your phone screen as you text Foggy, hoping he can decipher the typo-filled message.

mstts otw t othe hospital hmoe inavdion will uodate wjen i cna

You eventually make it to the hospital and are stopped once more from following Matt. It takes a minute to realize that they’re taking him to surgery, and you’re aware enough to process that you can’t go with him and stop fighting the nurses. You are instead led to the lobby. Time passes—you don’t know how much—before you zone back in to find Claire kneeling in front of you, snapping her fingers in front of you. She lets out a sigh of relief when you meet her eyes a little blankly.

“Hey,” she says gently, voice low. “Foggy texted, he’s on his way. I’m going to get you cleaned up, okay?” 

“No,” you refuse instantly. “I need to wait for Matt.” 

“Matt’s in surgery. Right now, we need to get you cleaned up, okay? I promise we’ll be done by the time Matt is out.” 

You hesitantly nod and stand. Claire leads you to a bathroom, wetting a paper towel and starting to wipe the blood away from your hands, face, neck, legs, feet. There’s no getting it out of your top or skirt or shoes, though Claire manages to mitigate the damage. When she’s done, she tells you to wait there, disappears, and returns with gauze and antibiotic ointment for the cuts on your hand. “Feel better?” She asks.

You nod. “A little.” The feeling of water brought you back, and the removal of the blood on your skin kept you from the need to dissociate again. “Thank you, Claire.” 

“Of course. I’ve got to get back to work but just let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay.” You stay in the bathroom for a second, playing with the string around your neck before your hands trail to the rings hanging from it, your mother’s engagement and wedding rings. You hesitate before undoing the necklace, slipping the rings off, and sliding them onto your ring finger. It’s a little off in fit—her fingers must have been larger than yours, although you don’t really remember—but it stays, if you clench your fingers together tight enough. 

It’ll at least add a little legitimacy, make investigation a little less likely. You’re pretty sure you signed something for Matt’s surgery and you don’t need your best friend awake to hear his voice in your head informing you that that’s perjury. It’s maybe a little stupid of a way to convince someone, but it at least makes you feel a little more in control of the spiraling situation.

When you leave the bathroom, Foggy and Karen are already in the waiting room. They take one look at you and Karen can’t help the gasp that comes.

“Thanks. Really know how to make a girl feel good,” you joke tiredly as you hug her. You’re well aware you look bedraggled—Matt’s blood crusted in your hair, eyes puffy and red, expression still not recovered from the horror of the trauma. You’ve still got blood on your clothes despite Claire’s best attempts.

“I think that’s supposed to be your husband’s job,” Foggy responds when it’s his turn for the hug. You pull back, embarrassed, to find him staring at you with his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, Claire updated me about that. The hell were you thinking, signing something as his wife?”

You grimace. “I know some really good lawyers?” You offer awkwardly.

Foggy curses, scrubbing a hand over his face as he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like you and Matt are the same person, I swear to G-d.

You flick him in the arm. “Are you taking the Lord’s name in vain?” You attempt humor. Foggy just gives you an I’m-not-doing-this-right-now look and you shut up quickly. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to keep going with pretending you two are married until Matt wakes up and we can leave. You’re not signing anything else. I’m Matt’s medical proxy, I’ll sign everything from here on out. We let Matt know, we hope none of the hospital employees dig, and we get the hell out of dodge as soon as possible. Capiche?”

“Caposh,” you agree, voice small.

Foggy deflates a little, still tense due to both your perjury and Matt’s injury, but nevertheless a little less tense. “I called Jessica, she should be here any moment.”

You nod in response. “Sounds good.” 

“Mrs. Murdock?”

It takes Foggy lightly elbowing your side for you to jolt and remember that thats supposed to be you. “Sorry, yes?”

“Dr. Bahl sent me to tell you. Your husband is awake.”

next chapter ->

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[menlove]

one thing that adds to credibility of Paul being closeted imo, is that often he is thought of as having this internalised homophobia, if not homophobia itself, because he always mentions how un-gay he is whenever some gay subject comes up in interviews

but like, there are so many things that disprove him being homophobic, it's not even funny. going to Paris alone with gay men? Paul did that two times (three if we count John lol) and that Peter Brown story is incrediblyy suspect. what homophobic man, scared of gay, sits on the bed of his male employee and his male fling that casually late at night in his hotel room and chats them up?

most likely reason, combined with his incredibly suspect lyrics, is that he is so defensive about his sexuality because he has something to hide

THATS WHAT IIIIIM SAYING!!!! like he is so comfortable w gay people and gay culture which on its own isn't suspect but it Is when people insist he's homophobic as a Reason He's Repressed Not Closeted. and once again I must remind everyone that john nearly beat a man to death for calling him gay and was still undeniably queer.

it's just like. imagine for a moment. with me. everyone hold my hand. not claiming this is true but walk w me along this path to get to current paul that isn't "he's just repressed and stupid and doesn't even know he's bi" but is instead MY speculative timeline (somehow this turned into a mini fic or something god help me but I'M SO SERIOUS IM SO SERIOUS THIS WOULD MAKE THE MOST SENSE TO ME WALK WITH ME HOLD MY HAND)

you are born in the 1940s. you are raised by a strict man who was physically abusive & in a culture that hates gay people. you grow up watching people get killed for being queer and being bullied over your feminine features that people think make you queer. you hit puberty and Shit Gets Harder because you start finding other men hot. elvis, for one! when you're 15 you start seeing a boy around that you think is hot and it turns out he's in a band and you fall in love with his looks and his voice and then him. and he's just as insane about you. you start doing increasingly sexual things together. eventually, you're having a full blown sexual affair. while writing love songs together and growing up together. and then he gets his girlfriend pregnant. and marries her. and you lose him, a little bit. he goes off and has an affair with your gay manager & when he gets home he ruins your birthday party by nearly beating a man to death for bringing it up. you wonder what he'd do if anyone found out about the two of you too.

and then the insane happens and you end up The Most Famous Band In The World. the ENTIRE world is watching your every move. the entire world loves you. they wouldn't love you if they knew. you get a girlfriend and it's convenient because she's always gone and you're always alone. but you still have him. and other girls. through everything, you have each other. even when he says something stupid and the world wants all of your heads on a platter and he starts to fall into a depression, you still have each other. even if now you Know how bad it could be if they ever found out. and then your manager, your father figure, an openly gay man, dies. and it's not a suicide, but a lot of people think it is, and sometimes you wonder, and fuck it's terrifying, isn't it? the reality of your life, the reality of loving Him, the reality of being queer. what if that winds up being You? you start to lose Him a little bit more as you throw yourself into your work and push everyone way too hard. you propose to your girlfriend. and then you do lose Him. to a woman. which was sort of unthinkable because he was already married and never cared about her, just you. never cared about any women, just you. but he cares about Her. and you fucking lose your mind. lose yourself in drugs. blow up your engagement. propose to another girl and many more "jokingly". your one girlfriend says you had to try again or you would have gone "raving queer" and killed yourself. the whole time you're losing Him more and more. suddenly he's looking at Her like he used to look at you. you're no longer his world and what the fuck do you have? a bunch of girls you don't care about and a drug problem? and then you meet a woman who, according to you, is more woman than anyone else. she's a mother already, a family ready made when you've always wanted one. she's smart and she's funny and she's quick and you let yourself cling to her because you don't have Him and he has Her so you've got to have someone, don't you? and she winds up pregnant and that's great, that's wonderful, you're no longer in danger of dying alone and queer and sad. you've lost Him by now completely, even though you have about a month where things feel a little less awful again and you perform together one last time. you marry her and you ASK people, flat out, if they expected you to be a 26 year old unmarried queer. you fight the night before you're married for some unknown reason, so badly she almost leaves you. and then He marries Her, and everything is fine. and then it all falls apart completely. you at least had Him as your friend, your writing partner, the other half of you legally. and then he asks for a divorce. and the world ends. you don't have the band, you don't have Him, you don't have anything. you stay in bed all day, drinking, miserable. like a breakup, not just of the band.

eventually, your wife pulls you out of it. you survive. you start writing again. you write to him. you put two beetles fucking on the cover of your second album and he thinks a song you wrote about your wife's ex is about him (and maybe it is, a little) and he shoots right back. and you keep that up for a decade. writing to each other. seeing each other only in the news and in snatched moments together where nothing is the same as it was. you plead with him through your music: why do you hurt me so bad? call me, pretty baby. I'm waking up screaming over you. I can't tell you how I feel. you try and make things like they were, even a little, showing up to his house with your guitar like you're 15 again, but he sends you away. in all that time, he's basically gone to conversion therapy. he's with someone who makes disparaging remarks about his sexuality. for you, you've let yourself embrace being a bit campy, but you still can't bring yourself to be open about any of it. not with anyone but your wife.

and then you start talking again. you make up. things seem hopeful. it seems like he might still love you and he writes you a song about starting over with you. and then he's murdered. and it's senseless. it's so so senseless. and it's unfair. you lock yourself away for days listening to that song he wrote you. the media tears you apart for grieving wrong. they wish you died instead. they think you're cold. you never loved him, not like he loved you. you write a song, with tear marks on the page, telling him how much you DID love him. all the things you'd say to him if he were there with you. you write more songs about that, all centered around that theme. some of them you say are about him. others you don't. once, you say if anyone catches on you can just deny it. but he wrote you love songs too, apparently, for you, and you eventually record them with your old band

and the thing is, You are one of his widows. his name follows yours every time it leaves someone's mouth. he's all anyone ever talks about with you. he's all you want to talk about too. his legacy is your legacy. he's no longer here to tell people about his sexuality, he's no longer here to consent to everything that you were being told. he's not here. and how can you even begin to mention Your Own sexuality without bringing him up? you owe him more than outing him in death. you owe Her more than that too, because you were already cruel to her and so was the world. she's grieving just like you, you can't do that. your wife dies, and now you're her legacy too and you being queer would seem like a betrayal to her. your best friend dies, and now he's your legacy too. you aren't just you- you're Him, you're 1/2 of the living members of the most famous band to ever exist, you're Her, you're your dead wife

so when someone asks you about him. when someone asks you about being gay or calls him the love of your life. What Exactly Are You Supposed To Say?

I wouldn't say shit either

[freeluigihesbae]

𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 (𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖) - 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟏

(5,534 words)

summary:

You and Luigi are coworkers for TrueCar, but you've never met in person. You've been flirting around on Slack and exchanging messages as of recent, which seems to become an invitation for him to entire your life. And body.

He accepts and soon, you do too.

𝗍𝗐: 18+ !! 𝗀𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒, 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖽𝗈𝗆!𝗅𝗎𝗂𝗀𝗂, 𝗌𝗎𝖻!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋/𝗌𝗎𝖻!𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖽𝗎𝖻𝖼𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍, 𝖽𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗁

~

TrueCar was the best thing that happened to you. You'd moved from the east to the west coast after attending both your undergrad and graduate years of schooling at Stanford and finally decided that California was the place for you. The weather was fine other than the earthquakes, wildfires, and other disasters hitting the state but you simply ignored them all. As a Computer Science major, jobs were becoming harder rather than easier to find. Your degree was no longer a scarcity but then...

then TrueCar happened. The position was hybrid - both work in-person and virtual - which would come to show how they were far ahead of their time and unknowingly prepared for the pandemic that was going to erupt in a year's time. The main form of communication was Slack, which really was a professionally themed copycat of Discord, but no mind. Everything you did and said was posted and discussed in the several channels that constantly pinged your phone as the app became your new source of corporate social media. You managed to make friends in your new team, having video-calls and occasional meet-ups at nearby bars when time-permitted. In-person was fine but working from home was really the best thing you could ask for.

A few months pass and you see the news about the pandemic. The president is waving his hands in a downward motion, saying everything will be fine, but the coming weeks seem to disprove it. The case numbers are rising and your company decides to go fully virtual, whether this becomes a serious issue or not.

Thank god because you could definitely need it. At the same time, it seems like the company was undergoing re-arrangement which meant everyone had to switch around with team members and projects that they were working on. It seemed cruel, in a way, that they were trying to compensate for the comfort they gave by dipping employees into new arenas on short notice.

But little did you know it would be the best thing that could ever happen to you.

❧

Today is the biggest meeting of the company because you just got approached by one of the biggest car retailers in the world and they want to implement a new program to make vehicles more affordable. They'd be giving away thousands of cars to be exclusively sold on Truecar's website, and you were in charge of convincing them why Truecar was the best option for it.

"Ladies and gentleman, thank you for joining us today. On behalf of TrueCar, we are incredibly honored to have your time and interest in pursuing the deal you have proposed to us. It is my understanding that our consistent increase in sales is what convinced you to approach us, is that correct?" You ask with a brightness in your voice, desperate to get this deal under your belt.

"Absolutely. We were, are, and continue to be pleased with how well your company advertises the use of second-hand and lower priced cars in order to increase the market and frankly, decrease the stigma around it. Cars are cars and as a car company, we are in the business to sell." A man's voice responds in confidence and an undertone of I'm impressed to go alone with it. It makes you smile as your bright teeth are on display for all of the stakeholders, company employees, and members of the interested party to see.

"That's wonderful. The increase in sales that you are seeing are impressive, but I believe it's our methods which are better than the results. The way we have approached sales includes elements of morality and passion. We want to give our customers the best cars for the best price, but we never forget the need to make money. We have and continue to strike a delicate balance which has benefitted our company." You pause, allowing pride to swell in your chest as you click to the next slide, which has a bunch of graphics you spent hours understanding with the help of the responsible parties who made them.

"These graphics are based heavily on the cost-benefit principle. To give a little more background, we use microeconomics to understand our customer because the fundamental exchange or our country's currency starts and continues in the hands of the people. How do we approach the company from a consumer perspective? We did several surveys and found..." You continue with your speech, going through each and every graphic while answering questions that pop-up every now and then, until you get to one specific graphic.

Luigi Mangione's.

He was one of the brightest employees at TrueCar and had a stellar reputation amongst everyone, but strangely enough, you never got the time to know him like everyone else did. But, since re-organization happened, this project was practically catapulted into your face. You found out it was being done in several parts through terrible communication and had to message nearly every single employee (200 private conversation would make a case for this statement, even if it isn't true) and one of them was Luigi Mangione. He responded in haste and detail which was exactly what you needed during such a hectic time. He had volunteered several hours of his time over the past three weeks, hopping onto Slack calls and Zoom meetings whenever you requested them. You can't find a single time when he said no which made you wonder if he was even doing his work.

Of course he was! That's why he was given his project too.

Let's not forget, you are totally into him. That was the worst part because you knew he must've had so many other girls pining after him, probably shooting him meetings and asking questions like dumb blondes would and trying to waste his time. You can't help but indulge in his features and his face every night, wondering what it would be like if...

Back to business.

You land on his graphic which was the most complex and detailed, but highlighted the best of the best points about the company which you knew would make the executives before you swoon. It was a fun experiment and session where you could prove to him that you totally got it.

"This is one of the most important points that we have here. We have a table showing you all a hypothetical scenario in which, it would seem like Option A is the best answer for our first question. But in our second questions, Option B seems more suitable. What you are seeing here is the framing effect, which several if not all companies use to dupe and cheat money out of consumers. We take that out. We cut through the bushes and give customers details that they can read with simplicity in order to make the best decision because buying a car is one of the most expensive purchases someone can make. When we treat our consumers with the respect they deserve, they'll give us the business back. They'll invest in not just the website or the cars, but in us." You speak in smooth, complex sentences which unravel simplicity with skill. You're praying that Luigi is watching, perhaps smiling and impressed, because your eyes are forced to stay trained on the screen in front of you and analyze the graphic like you haven't done so already. You add a few more details before ending and opening up the room to questions.

A few hands go up and you answer them like 1+1 was being thrown at you a hundred times. Your answers are filled with expertise and you make the best impression, getting well wishes and successfully landing a deal which is going to take your company to new heights.

The meeting ends and you let out a sigh of relief before getting flooded with congratulatory messages and hundreds of mentions in the, well, hundreds of channel that you are apart of. Everyone is cheering you on and it makes you smile, but you're really waiting for one specific message.

And it finally comes.

Luigi Mangione: Hey that was a grt presentation. You aced my graphic I'm so impressed.

The message nearly sends you over the edge as you squeal embarrassingly loud, trying to contain your excitement and surprise? Because wow, even you didn't know you were this into him.

You: omgggg thxxx ur so sweet 💘

You add the emoji for your own satisfaction, hoping cupid gets the message across to the man you're keening over right now.

Luigi Mangione: Ugh so cute. Slack call? Do you have a few?

You heart jumps. Did he just call you cute and THEN propose a call? You're rushing to the mirror to do a few fix-ups but thanks to your preparation for the meeting that just happened, you were looking smoking hot to talk business with Luigi.

And maybe, something more.

You don't answer and instead, press the video call icon at the top right, waiting for him to pick up. You turn your camera on while graciously using the time he takes to pick up to stare at his profile picture. His thick eyebrows and sharp nose draw you in like you'd seen him for the first time. His smile was disgustingly charming and-

He picks up. His face pops up on the screen as he gives a wave.

"Hey there." He does his infamous eyebrow raise before laughing out loud and you giggle back.

"Stop, oh my god. I couldn't have done nearly as well if you and so many others hadn't spent hours explaining this to me. The credit goes to you guys." You say, but your eyes and glued to the side of the screen where he's sitting back in his chair, upper torso in display as he is in a short sleeved compression t-shirt. Talk about details and noticing them at the wrong time.

"You talked to others?" Luigi folds his hands and you think you're going to have an orgasm right there. Fuck, the veins are popping up softly under his skin and you're thinking to yourself one hell of a reward would having his biceps around your neck. He seems to catch you staring.

"Hey pretty. Heard me?" Luigi smirks and you snap out of your trance before staring right into your camera.

"Y-Yeah I had to talk to like, 20 other people. You know, like Josh, Andrew, Ashley, and-" You stop, feeling yourself get stressed just having to think about the gruesome three weeks where you had to sit and listen to everyone explain while taking notes furiously. Your fingers would often hurt after these session, which wouldn't be helped by your everyday ministrations having orgasms, screaming Luigi's name and having terribly dirty fantasies that you wish he could fulfill.

Dreams.

"I wouldn't think the explained things as well as I did, did they?" There's a streak of something in his eyes, which darken when he asks his question. Is it jealousy or pride? You're trying to figure it out but he quickly replaces it with a smile.

"No Luigi. They didn't. They didn't at all." You answer back before giving him a wink, feeling bold at what you just saw in his eyes. He finds himself surprised, as his hands slowly rub his triceps and god...

He knows exactly what he's doing. Your eyes are following their movement, taking note of his long fingers which you just wished were inside of your right now.

"Oh I know." Luigi says and your eyebrows furrow.

"What do you mean?" You ask, intrigued by his statement. His eyes go wide before you chuckles out.

"Can't a man be confident in his abilities m'lady?" He asks, a seductive voice intertwined with his question. You gulp before giving him a smile.

"Yes can do my knight in shining armor." You answer cheekily and this time, he winks at you.

"I'm getting pinged by my team. Talk to you later after your pilates at 6." He states this with amusement in his voice but you feel your heart drop.

Because you do have pilates at 6.

"W-Wait how do you know that?" You ask, unable to stop the stutter that makes it's way past your lips. Your smile is at half-mast now, unable to decipher whether this man was just great at guessing or he really knew your schedule.

"Women are predictable. I'd assume you are too?" Luigi smirks before you get a chance to answer. "Does that work?" He asks, tapping his fingers across his abdomen expecting an answer. You let your eyes linger there for a second too long before giving a soft yes and that does it for him.

He puts the phone down and you're left with thinking about how time can go faster, simply waiting for him to call you back.

❧

Pilates couldn't get done any faster, as you had your weekly catch up session with your friend, Bea. She knew everything about Luigi and she was a trusted companion since her type was different.

Entirely different.

It was actually women.

"Oh my god Bea you wouldn't believe it. He told me I was fucking cute after the meeting and somehow, he knew I had pilates at 6." You're walking out of the glass doors, as Bea sighs behind you.

"You know this guy could show up at your apartment unannounced and you'd let him fuck you." Bea snorts and you giggle, letting the thought sear through your core.

"You know I think I would. I wouldn't complain at all." You emphasize the all at the end of your sentence because you have to admit, you were a less innocent than your face cared to show. You liked the idea of him thinking about you when you weren't looking and although it might've been scary, you wouldn't mind if he fucked you senseless.

You actually needed it really badly.

Bea can see how gone you are in your thoughts about him, so she gives a shake and a quick bye before you return it, walking over to your car. You start the engine, steeling yourself and clearing your thoughts so you can drive home safely and call him as soon as possible.

Finally, your car gets into the driveway and the exhaustion from your pilates session scurries away into the dark corners of the world (your car?) and you hurry inside, slamming your door shut and locking it before throwing your shoes off and making your way up the stairs.

You're about to call Luigi on Slack, maybe send a message asking for his number before an unknown number sends you a message.

Unknown: Hey there.

Something about it feel strangely familiar, like how Luigi had addressed you in your earlier Slack call. Normally, you never respond to unknown messages but this one...

this one really drew you in, making something of an obligatory pull bloom inside of you. You slowly type a hey, who's this? back and hit send. To your surprise, the response comes quicker than you'd imagined.

Unknown: Luigi

You swallow hard, pulse beating against your sensitive spot on your throat a little faster. You didn't actually think it would be Luigi, but hey, all is fine. Maybe a coworker gave your number, you think, but it still doesn't sit right because in the time you've been with the company, you only ever gave them your second work number... not your personal.

You: Funny. How'd you get this number?

Luigi: A coworker.

So far, you buy it. You ignore the gut feeling and suppose that it must've slipped and spread across your coworkers at some point since the most recent project had several overlaps with other team members you worked with in the past.

You: So..

Luigi: So...? Do you want to keep typing or can I hear that pretty voice of yours?

He did not.

You: We can call how about you call me this time? I was nice enough to ring you this morning. You end the message, hitting send and smirking.

Luigi: We don't have to call if you don't want to.

Ugh, mean. Was it really that hard to press the call symbol? You wanted to hear his voice though, so you give in and ring him yet again.

The line is going through and you put your stuff down, opening your fridge to heat up some leftovers from earlier last night. You rummage through your stuff, trying to look for that orange-lidded box but it's nowhere to be found. The line is still ringing, so you put the phone down and walk around your kitchen, wondering if you were stupid enough to leave it outside. Nowhere. You check the trash, empty. You're scratching your head at this point and you finally walk over to the sink and to your horror, it was licked clean with remanants of the food on the side with the fork still inside. Luigi's voice scares you at the same time and you jump.

"Hey there." He says, in the same tone he had this morning. You can hear his smile but your breathing is too heavy as your back is pressed against the cool fridge. You swallow the saliva before stepping forward and picking up the phone on her island.

"Jesus, you scared me Luigi." You say, half-focused on him while you're trying to figure out why your leftover tupperware is in the sink. It's making you feel unsettled.

"I don't think I'm a scary person. Is everything alright?" His voice is laced with concern now and you feel yourself calming down, explaining the situation.

"Y-Yeah I'm fine I'm just confused because my leftovers are in the sink and I'm starting to think I sleep eat now." You answer him with amusement and he gives a deep, heart laugh back. It sounds hot, you note, thinking about what it would be like if his voice was in your ear right now. You still can't help but turn around and glance at the box.

"Must be a good cook. I know I'm a sucker for some good Thai food." He breathes it out with the same amusement in your tone and this time, you feel a shiver down your back. Your leftovers were a pad see eu takeout from your favorite Thai restaurant and his answer seemed a little too close for comfort.

"Are you?" You ask, darting your eyes around the room because it's not feeling so comfortable in the house anymore.

"Yeah. Wouldn't you say we have a lot in common?" His voice a bit more stern now but he's asking her with innocence you can't tell whether is real or feigned.

"Like what?" You keep your question curt like the last, slowly walking into the living room and checking the sides and corners to make sure no-one is there. No-one is. You sit down on the couch, trying to control your heart rate.

"Like how we both like Thai food. That's a good start." Luigi answers with surety in his voice and the air feels thinner now.

"I never told you that, so how do you know?" You try to maintain your composure but your voice starts to shake.

"Now I do. Thanks for confirming." Luigi has an irritating attitude in the laugh he lets out.

"I wasn't trying to." You answer, rapid fire. Every sound outside starts to make you jump as you're looking over your shoulder.

"Now, why so jumpy? You seem scared." He teases you, mocking the hesitation in your voice. Your skin is shivering and you're 99% sure someone is watching you.

"I'm not scared Luigi. Just making conversation." You're still talking into the phone, but you slowly get up, making your way upstairs. You know you might regret this, but you have to be absolutely sure because Luigi isn't making you feel too good right now and you're trying your level best to ignore the suspicions your gut is feeding you right now.

"Conversations aren't usually this... high-strung. Are you okay?" Luigi responds, shifting his tone from something dangerous back to concern and you know he's fucking with you. You know this man is trying to screw around with you.

"Great. Great Luigi. You still haven't told me how you know I like Thai food." You snap at him, unable to contain the stress your feeling as your head is spinning.

"I wouldn't be so rude if I were you, baby." The name slips from his tongue and you freeze. Something hot blazes across your skin as you realize you like that. You want that. You've been wanting it and finally, you just got it.

It doesn't clash to well with your increasing heart rate because if anything, it makes it shoot higher. You let out a sharp exhale.

"You like that don't you?" You stepped into your study room on the top floor, checking the windows to make sure they're locked and opening the doors, squeezing your eyes shut and praying no-one is hiding there. Clear. But his question makes you nearly whimper and you find yourself nodding before you stop, stepping back out of the room and back into the foyer.

"I don't." But it's a lie and you can feel it. You can feel your conscience eating away at you, begging you to tell the truth.

"Don't fuckin' lie." Luigi growls, spite and another emotion dripping across the phone and that's when you hear a creak downstairs.

Fuck.

"I'm not lying Luigi. I don't know what you're trying to do right now." You raise your voice before checking the bathroom quickly and as you wished, nobody is in there. You finally make your way down the foyer to the very end, feeling your chest tighten as you prepare to step into your bedroom. Your fingers twist around the doorknob and you practically throw it open when you hear another creak downstairs. You shut the door and lock it, running into the closet and climbing into the attic crawlspace.

"I'm just asking questions and you are lying to me." You're terrified now because this isn't the Luigi you are quite used to.

"You're freaking me the fuck out Luigi. That's what's going on." You hear a step on the stairs and throw your hands over your mouth. Someone is in your house and you think you know who.

But you're praying this is all a trick of your mind.

"It's okay to open up, you know. You can trust m-" "Shut the fuck up Luigi." You shout into the phone before cutting the call. The relief washing over you is better than any medicine you've ever taken, you have a newfound confidence as you press your ears against the wall of the crawlspace. You can hear some sounds from outside and birds chirping which is comforting. You wait for ten minutes and when you don't hear anything and your phone, thankfully hasn't rang from Luigi again, you open it up, making your way down into the closet.

You still step into your bedroom with utmost caution, but you can't seem to take it seriously. Your strides become more confident as you open your bedroom door and nearly missing the wave of panic you feel when you see the foyer.

No-one.

You laugh, thinking Luigi was just acting like a creep but you walking to the bathroom, fixing your hair and letting your ponytail loose. Your mind keeps reeling back to the conversation with him, replaying the way he called you baby and it was just too fucking good.

Too bad he didn't call again. You almost missed his voice but the panic was worse, so mostly, you were glad. You walk back into your bedroom, sliding your sweatpants off and realizing your clothes are everywhere, running around in boxer shorts. You manage to grab a fresh pair of pajama pants which you throw onto the bed before taking your shirt off and letting it slip to the floor. You shiver a bit, just left in your bra. Another top catches your eye and you slip it on, appreciating the cropped fleece.

But something raises a red flag.

Earlier, when you entered the room, it was warm. Quite warm, actually, because you had the heater on the entire day to combat the winter weather. It took all but five minutes for that to disappear? You're staring at the window and realize.

The window was open.

Open.

The window was open.

And as if it couldn't get worse, the phone rings and you nearly trip over the clothes on the floor.

It was Luigi.

Your hands are shaking as you let a cry out, hugging yourself. You place the phone up to your ear before sobbing out a Luigi? quietly.

"Yes baby?" His voice is right next to you, behind you in the slightest and you let out a primal scream which is quickly muffled by a strong, unrelenting hand that gets pressed into your mouth, fingers threatening to choke you. You writhe and squirm against the hand but quickly, another arm grabs your neck and turns it to the side.

It's Luigi alright.

"Missed me baby?" His grips your throat tighter and you can't stop the fear driving your arousal past a previous breaking point, feeling heat spread across your body and absolutely relishing the light-headedness his hands were giving

The hand leaves your throat before a slap lands on the side of your thigh. You bend forward, ass brushing against his crotch before placing your hand on the now blooming red print.

"Fuckin' answer me slut." Luigi's voice is dripping with desire, demanding an answer of you. You slowly remove your hand from your thigh, letting it hang in the air as it shakes impossibly hard.

"Y-Yes." You mewl it out and you can hear his breath hitch before his arm is circling around your waist, pushing your head back into place as you face forward. That hand starts to feel around, teasing over your breasts and down your navel. You whimper, letting tears rush out as his cold fingers are playing cruel games with your skin. He flips, suddenly, grabbing a breast and you feel your knees nearly buckle.

"N-No." You attempt to stop him weakly but he just laughs, gripping harder. He does let go after a few choice squeezes, pushing you onto the bed and flipping you around as you face him and you see him in all his glory. His eyebrows are knitted together as you watching eyes swim with desire. His neck is strained, chest heaving as he is trying to restrain every filthy desire he's waiting to hurt and pleasure you with. His arms are flexed, veins pulsing as he waits and waits.

His eyebrows furrow deeper before his lips curve into a nasty, sly smirk.

"No? No? You fucking slut." He grips your throat and this time, takes the liberty of letting it cover the entire diameter. Your eyes go wide as you pull on his single arm, feeling your breathing get harder and harder.

"I don't know why you're lying to me. I've heard you fucking this pretty cunt with these tiny fingers, moaning my name every single night. I've watching this pretty ass," he stop to turns your lower body around and give your ass a nice slap, letting it echo in the room and watching as the pleasure makes you choke out a sound, something akin to a gurgle. He smiles, letting go to let your gasp and take air in before his hands are on your throat again. You feel yourself trying to get out of his grasp, trying to process how in the world he could know you were masturbating to him and why his hands felt so good around your neck. The deprivation was simply delicious and you wanted more.

"I've watched you ass bend over and split into two at pilates. Been watching you everyday for the past few weeks. Been watching you show my ass to everybody else in that class. I've watched men walking by ogle and just the thought of them staring at your makes me wanna-" Luigi groans, palming himself through his sweatpants. His grip on your throat as lightened up, but you dare not move.

"Makes you w-wanna what?" You gulp, wondering what he would say and he stares down at you, cooing at your glossy eyes that stare at him in fear and wonder and an impossible amount of

submission?

"So glad you asked. Makes me wanna hurt you first. Makes me wanna fuck you with my fingers and slap your ass so hard you cry my name out." Luigi fingers trail down to your shorts, sliding in between your legs as your moan, slowly rolling your hips against his fingers. The touch feel electric, sending waves into your core and you can't stop. Your eyes close until you realize his fingers aren't there anymore. You cover your face with your hands, suddenly overwhelmed with the reality of the moment.

But he has other plans.

He grabs both arms, pulling them down with one hand before slapping you across the face with another. You let out a sob, the pain stinging but still making you pulse between your legs. You can tell he knows by the small sighs he lets out, pressing his bulge against it.

"Can feel you pulsing. You little painslut. That's what you are, isn't it baby?" He starts grinding down on you faster and you can't help but let the sensations get to you, struggling to let free of his grasp because you desperately need to thread and grab his hair in yours fingers, but instead he presses down into your stomach, watching you wince at the discomfort.

"If you don't talk I'll make you bitch." God the insults are just perfect, turning on parts of your brain you didn't know exist. You keep silent, indirectly telling him to keep going. His eyes widen before he tears the top off, making you scream.

"What happened to the cunt that was aching for me, hm? What happened to that pretty voice moaned my name when work was over? Where's that pretty body that was arching off the bed every time you came huh?" Luigi slaps your breast and you moan, crying his name out in a harsh exhale which he bends down and drinks up, devouring your mouth with his tongue. You feverishly reciprocate, desperate for his validation and constant touch on you. "Please."  You let out a quiet, slutty noise that makes him groan. His fingers thread into your hair which you starts pulling without mercy, adding to the pain by biting into your neck and you think he might tear it off.

"H-Hurts Luigi. It hurts." You are feeling more pain than pleasure, attempting to let him know how you feel but a part of you knows that he won't listen he won't care. He'll do whatever he wants and in the case he does slow down, it'll all be for his benefit.

"You're gonna take it anyways." He flips you around, forcing your body onto all fours and the sensations of the moment make you arch your back, sticking your ass up in the air which he adds to, pushing your neck sideways and down into the bed. You yelp as you feel another hand smoothing over the entirety of your back, going lower and lower until your stomach is nearly touching the bed and your ass is directly on his crotch. "You haven't answered any of my questions and if you don't," you here something click and shake, which you find in the corner of your eye.

A gun.

"I promise I'll make it hurt baby you want me to hurt you?" He's bent his body now, entirely draping himself over your backside and whispering into your ear, juxtaposing the absolute threat with a sweet, honey-glazed voice. You let out a slow breathing before moaning through your words.

"Don't hurt me Lu." You say this, breathing in slowly as you savor every shift in his position, taking in a slightly sharper breath when his hands start roaming around atop your ass. The lack of pressure makes you un-arch your back, taking solace in having space but a hand is back on top, pressing down.

"Move and I'll make you cry." He takes the gun, pressing the cool metal in the space between your legs, feeling yourself impossibly wet as his slow, circling motion imitate his fingers that were on you earlier. "W-What were you asking-" You wanted to be the perfect little girl and answer his questions which have flown out of your mind, but he's pulled the gusset of your underwear to the side and shoved the tip of his gun inside your cunt, watching the juices flow right down and onto the trigger.

"Oh I'll take my sweet time and make sure I get all of my answers." He keens with a soft, soothing the voice that betrays his next motion as he shoves the entire length in, forcing your to clench and sob at the pain.

He wasn't playing games. He was playing you.

part 2

[ariaste]

Do you have any advice on how to get funnier? Do you bounce jokes/plots/etc. off other people to see what hits? Do you just write what you find funny? I feel like I'm funny enough in real life, but it's hard to translate that to the page.

Oh gosh, this is a toughie. HOW TO FUNNY.

Well, for one thing, being funny in writing is a lot harder than being funny in person, because in person you're generally talking to people that you've built a rapport with (friends, acquaintances, coworkers). Humor is one of those instinctive evolutionary tools that we developed in order to help form social bonds. Like how our brains register babies as cute because or evolutionary development requires us to be really invested in caretaking. That's how an adult bonds to an infant, yes? But then there is also an evolutionary advantage in adults forming bonds with other adults. Sometimes this happens with physical traits like cuteness or hotness (romantic/sexual attraction is one type of bond), sometimes with vulnerability and "this person needs me" (caretaking is another type of bond)... There are lots of bonds. Leadership. Respect. Solidarity. Community.

But then humor is a REALLY effective form of bonding -- arguably the MOST effective, because it can trump any other of the other bonds any day of the week, and twice on Tuesdays. We have all met someone who was physically not that spectacular to look at, just sort of a Normal Looking Human, but then you find out that they are SO FUNNY and suddenly they are the "hottest" person in the room. We have all heard of a situation where someone was the leader of a clique and had managed to get everyone to worship them... Until a new jokester entered the social circle and suddenly the leadership-bond is not nearly so compelling as THIS GUY WHO MAKES EVERYONE LAUGH (and the leader gets huffy and grouchy about it, and suddenly everyone notices that the emperor has no clothes and that the leader were faking it the whole time. And then the local jester has won the day).

So how to GET FUNNIER? And how do I advise you, when comedy is so individual and what you find funny might be different than what I find funny?

First, study funny shit. Study it like a bug. Read funny books or watch comedy shows with an eye of "How are these jokes constructed? What is making it funny?" Frequently you will notice that some comedians aren't actually all that funny, they're just snarky and good at building rapport with the audience, so the audience laughs as an expression of the social bond, not because the joke was legitimately hilarious. (Here is my "this made me Actually Laugh out loud" tag if you want some insight into my comedy style and possible raw material to study)

Second, a lot of writers like Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams have written about the art of writing comedy, and I'm sure that there are how-to books for comedians as well.

There are a couple main things that make something funny: The juxtaposition of things, the element of surprise, anticipation that pays off, repetition of an established joke, and comedic timing. (Notice that surprise and anticipation are OPPOSITES -- sometimes a thing can be funny when we see it coming a mile away. Sometimes a thing is funny when it is unexpected.)

Examples: In this video, the comedy is coming from the juxtaposition of the background song against the long shot of the Oreos. We see the punchline coming from a mile away (the oreo package says "MOST STUF" and yet he takes the oreos apart to increase the stuf, thereby disproving the package's claim), and so it reasserts something that many people already know and have experienced for themselves. It's the "we've all been there" effect. This would probably not be a funny to people who did not grow up eating Oreos, or who for some reason did not go through the spontaneous phenomenon of "take them apart for MORE SUGAR".

Comedic timing is, of course, the king of comedy techniques, and it is the hardest to pull off in writing. Or, well, people say that it is the hardest. It's not actually the hardest, because it's just a subcategory of the technique of Pacing, both on a story level and on a sentence level. If you can figure out how to take control of the reader's mind and ride them like they're a jaeger and you're the pilot, then you can make them laugh. This is done by controlling the SPEED that they're reading at and the rhythm -- control their speed and rhythm and you control comedic timing. Controlling a reader's speed is done with relatively simple techniques, of which there are two big ones:

Sentence length. Really short sentences read fast. Use a lot of short sentences. Your readers will read quickly. This style is easy to skim. Unfortunately, it can also get boring. See what I'm doing here? Lots of short sentences. On the other hand, as everyone knows and as you have probably experienced for yourself, longer sentences give the impression of a longer and more complex and nuanced thought, even if not as much information is being conveyed; it's a simple matter of hanging a lot of dependent clauses off of one main thing and seeing how long you can go before you hit that final full stop. Varying your sentence length varies your timing and starts to unlock some of the timing control necessary to generate comedy. You can put something in a joke rhythm with this and then it will read like a joke.

Forcing a pause. A pause is the alpha and the omega of comedy. Thus, do not underestimate the comedic potential of a strategic paragraph break. The human brain works so quickly that even the NANOSECONDS it takes for your eyes to physically move from one line, through the strategic paragraph break, to the punchline -- that alone is enough time for the brain to register a pause and for the reader to then feel "surprised". Strategic paragraph break is perhaps the king of comedic writing techniques, IMO. (Careful not to overuse it!)

There are other mechanical techniques involved, but these are the big ones for timing. With these, you can take an otherwise unfunny scene and adjust it through nothing but timing alone to suddenly be funny.

Finally, a fun fact: When I am writing comedy, I am writing with a dead straight face. I am a cold and ruthless joke-engineering machine. I nearly never laugh at my own jokes. There is ONE (1) joke that got me to crack when I was writing Running Close to the Wind, and that was someone talking about Avra "scuttling up a tree like a little rat that's got something badly wrong with it". Still makes me grin to this day. Idk man.

Anyway I hope that helped!! wow this got long

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Severance - BTS OT7 CEO au Chapter 16

So did anybody guess what was on the news? I thought it was rather obvious (it’s getting harder and harder to find gifs I haven’t used)

Prev / Next

“Care to explain this Y/n,” Junmyeon says, reaching for the remote and pressing play.

You feel your world freeze, the newscasters lips moving but the thumping in your ears drowns her out. Footage after footage of your dates, the three maknaes and you at the airport, date stamped proving you played hooky, there was nothing you could say to disprove the videos, not when in every single one they steal a kiss.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, not even a breath goes in, you’re stuck. You don’t see anything but the screen where the secret you so desperately wanted to keep was aired out for the world to witness. You don’t see Jongin desperately texting Jimin under the desk, what you do see is the channel cut to a newscaster introducing the last woman you ever expected to see, the shock filling your lungs with air so fast it makes you dizzy. Your eyes sting with tears as she starts talking, was this karma? Was this the universe telling you you made the wrong choice, that you should never have fallen for them, that you were too greedy for their love. Was this the price, the consequences? 

“I think she’s hyperventilating,” the voice sounds muffled, your ears feel like they're full of burning cotton but at least someone has the sense to turn the screen off. Baekhyun fills your vision instead, hands on your shoulders with worried eyes on your form. 

“Cars coming to pick her up, back entrance,” you recognise it's Jongin that’s speaking but the word’s go over your head. 

Someone hands you a tissue but you don’t register the gesture until you hear a sigh. Chanyeol gently wipes your tears away, the stern look on his face softening when you look up at him. The sound of the phone ringing sounds so distant, like it was at the end of the tunnel. Jongin answers it before handing it to Junmyeon.

“Namjoon,” he greets through the line, the sound of his tone cutting through the fog you were drowning in. Joonie, you wanted nothing more than to be buried in his arms away from all this, but he wasn’t here. Whatever he was saying though the line made your current boss stare at you with an accusation that didn’t budge.

“We need to get her out without any more commotion,” he says to the others stiffly after he cuts the call. 

“I’ll sort out the employees,” Kyungsoo states walking out. 

The silence that follows is palpable, the lead CEO breaks it with a sigh, and you know it’s due to the aftermath he would have to deal with because of your decisions. He moves to walk past you, but you grab his sleeve before he can. You try not to flinch under his stare, your hands trembling where they hold him. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say as sincerely as you can through a hoarse whisper. He acknowledges your words with a nod before he leaves. You’re quickly ushered to the corridor by the others, the sight of them shielding you like your own personal bodyguards would make you chuckle on any other day, but you were still shaking like a leaf. 

All that work, all those years of making something of yourself, all the sacrifices and it came to this. Your life exposed to the world in a way that would cause it ruin. Your future at e.xo was done, no other company would ever employ you, you could never go back to work for bangtan. Everything was gone. 

—

“Yeah we’re in the car, we got her out safe,” Seokjin says through the phone while Yoongi drives, his eyes glancing at you with worry. 

A question Namjoon asks on the phone had Jin tensing, looking at you hesitantly. Is she okay?

“She’s not saying anything, she’s just shaking,” he sighs, he wanted to say more, how you were staring at the floor despondently, how when Jin tried to hold your hand to comfort you, you tensed and turned away.

The fear in their hearts that you regretted everything you had with them made Jin pull away, all he could do was be grateful they got to you before the media did, and in the tinted vehicle you were at least safe. 

“It’s safe to go back to the mansion,” Jin tells Yoongi when he hangs up the call.

The drive is silent, they didn’t know what to say, everytime they tried the words died before they could form. Security was back in full force at their estate, running out any media outlet that tried to sneak close, their lawyers were having a field day. Not to mention the commotion at the office as they walked out, the whispers conjugated together so loud, not even Namjoon’s glare could silence them.

The gates open to the estate, and Yoongi can hear his heartbeat thumping faster and faster in his ears, it felt like they were coming to an impasse and there was no going back. The car slows to a stop, and as he kills the engine all they can do is stare at you.

Move. You had to move.

You could hear a faint commotion outside, the three maknaes running towards the car but a stern look from Yoongi stopped them in their tracks. Worry, anticipation, anxiety, no one knew exactly what concoction of emotions paralysed them, what made them hesitate to reach out to you.

“Kitten,” Yoongi starts softly, “you need to talk to us.”

That made you move, the door opening without a word in return. Your legs work against you, feeling like lead on twigs, a second away from collapsing. You couldn’t speak right now, your whole body felt empty and yet the weight of thoughts in your head made you need to bury it. You wanted your bed, you wanted to hide, and you wanted to be alone. 

Yoongi shares a look with Jin, the hurt flashing between both of them at your rejection but they try not to take it to heart. You never wanted your relationship with them made public, not yet at least, you weren’t ready for the backlash, but now the choice was taken from you in the most heinous way. 

“Noona,” Jungkook calls for you gently, a sadness in his eyes at the way you were walking with your head hanging low. Jimin holds him back, understanding better than anyone how you were feeling. He used to do the same, when something went wrong, when he made a mistake, he cut himself off from everyone, it would be a mistake to approach you until you were ready, until the voices in your head either broke you or quietened down. 

The steps to the front door took so much energy from you, you didn’t think you had any left. You could feel them walking behind you at a distance, and yet it didn’t feel far enough or close enough. Something inside of you was tearing its way out and you didn’t know if you wanted to be embraced through it or to suffer it alone the way you had before so many times. 

“Y/n,” Namjoon didn’t get the memo, he tries to embrace you but feels you stiffen against him, letting go immediately to look at your face with worry. “Baby girl, we'll fix this, okay? We-”

You push him away and he looks at you in shock, you didn’t want to hear it right now, you were barely holding yourself together. Voices were pounding inside of your head, the same repeated phrases over and over about how all your work was ruined, it was all for nothing, all your dreams, all your efforts. You couldn’t handle anything right now, you just needed your bed and to cry yourself to sleep alone. 

“Y/n talk to me,” Namjoon says sternly, brows knitted at the way you didn’t even look at him. 

He blocks your path when you try to walk past him, why didn’t he understand what you needed right now? You hear him sigh, as if his patience with you was wearing thin. 

“Baby girl, you always do this,” he says, holding onto your shoulders to ground you, to keep you from leaving him. “You shut yourself down, you punish yourself, you push us away and then you break.”

“You can’t do that anymore sunshine,” Hoseok says standing beside you. “We’re in a relationship, we’re in this together, your pain is our pain Y/n.”

They watch you shake your head, bowing your head down so low as they hear the telltale sniffle that turns into a violent sob. Namjoon is quick to catch you in his arms, hushing your softly, stroking your hair until you calmed. All the while guilt ate him up, this was his fault, he could see it in all of their eyes as they watched you fall apart. 

—

The house was solemn and quiet, you had retreated upstairs to your room, Jimin staying beside you while you slept. 

“We underestimated that bitch,” Yoongi breaks the silence with what they were all thinking. They’re all scattered around the living room, Jungkook sitting deep in thought on the headrest of the sofa, Yoongi on the seat beside him. Namjoon sat opposite them with Hoseok on the armrest, Jin pacing the room slowly while Taehyung sat on the floor with his face in his hands. The black face of the TV on the wall stared at them, taunting them with what it held inside. The face broadcasted alongside yours and theirs was one that they barely remembered, but she had the audacity to be interviewed by any news outlet desperate enough for a story. They didn’t want to turn on the TV and see her face. 

“She signed an NDA,” Namjoon says, a headache forming, “we didn’t think she was going to be a problem.”

“That’s where arrogance gets us,” Jin scoffs.

“Flower worked so hard for so long,” Taehyung says quietly, mourning for you. They all knew it better than anyone. 

“We’ll fix this,” Namjoon states, he wouldn’t rest until they did. 

“Namjoon be real for a second,” Hoseok sighs, “we might not be able to fix it.”

“No company is going to take her without an agenda,” Jungkook pipes in stoically.

“Or without thinking she’s a corporate spy,” Jin agrees. 

“We can’t control everyone and everything,” Hoseok finishes, patting the lead CEO on the shoulder sympathetically. 

“And we definitely can’t ignore a problem away,” Yoongi scoffs, staring daggers into Namjoon. 

“Let’s not start this now,” Jin warns, feeling Namjoon’s guilt from a mile away.

“What does he mean?” Jungkook asks, feeling confused. 

“Namjoon’s been burning threats concerning us,” Yoongi continues accusatively. 

“We never opened those letters,” Namjoon argues back, “we don’t know what they contained.”

“Well we know now,” Yoongi says mockingly. He hated when you were upset, the feeling made his own claws unsheath, ready to tear into anyone who was held responsible. 

“We don’t know the two things are connected,” Hoseok tries to defend their lead. 

“Don’t be stupid Hobi,” Yoongi seethes, “Kitten’s whole career has gone down the drain because of us, what the fuck is she going to do if she finds out?”

“You best hope she doesn’t,” Taehyung snapped, his earlier melancholy now fueled by fear. 

“We can’t keep this from her,” Hoseok shakes his head, disregarding the point.

“She’ll hate us,” Jungkook states, terrified it would manifest before his eyes soon. 

“She’ll be angry at us,” Jin corrects him, “but we have to tell her.”

“Not now, it’s too soon,” Namjoon says quickly, his own fear warping his judgement.

“You should’ve opened one fucking letter,” Yoongi can’t let it go, all of this could’ve been avoided if it wasn’t for Namjoon’s stupid stubbornness. 

“What good is bringing that up now going to do?” Hoseok sighs again. 

“We don’t know if it’s connected!” Namjoon yells exasperated. “What we do know is Shin Suran leaked the photos and the story, and she is going to fucking pay.”

—

“So you’re saying the CEOs fired you because you threatened to expose their relationship to HR?” Solar, the newscaster asks her aghast. 

“Honestly, I didn’t want to expose their… relationship,” she can’t hide the disgust in her voice at the word, “but I was concerned for Y/n’s wellbeing, I thought maybe they were holding her job over her head until I found out she was only entertaining them to climb the corporate ladder.”

Both anchors were shocked, the information sending them reeling.

“I mean what self respecting young woman would sell herself like that? Y/n was never a team player, or very good at her job but somehow she was always favoured by the CEO’s. It should have been obvious really.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of information to unpack Suran,” Solar says. “Aren’t you scared of the repercussions, these are the world’s business leads you’re going up against.”

“I only want to convey the truth,” Suran lies through her teeth. “It isn’t fair that the women who have worked hard and devoted themselves to Bangtan corporations are not appreciated or given the opportunities they deserve.”

“But Miss L/n left bangtan corporations,” the other anchor Hwasa finally speaks after having watched the little snake for so long. Something didn’t sit right with her and this woman’s sickly sweet attitude, it stank of deceit and she wasn’t blind to it. 

“I have it on good information that she was sent to spy on the competition,” Suran’s eyes narrow, not liking her tone of voice. 

“That’s a wild allegation,” Hwasa replies, every bit the professional. “I hope you have the evidence to back it up.”

—

“Bangtan corporations are under serious investigation after allegations of corporate espionage came from their former employee…”

She smiles at the screen plating in front of her, the chaos unravelling in so many wonderful ways. The Sun was shining despite the winter air, how many interviews could she fit into one day? Many it seemed, and while the day was over there was always tomorrow to cause more havoc to your life. Now she would sit and bask in the TV light, watching all of her fire ignite. 

She had only gotten cosy when the doorbell rang to her little flat, groaning as she went to the door to answer it.

“Shin Suran?”

The three piece suit should give away something serious was in the brown paper envelope in his hands but she couldn’t bring herself to show any respect to the figure. She sneered and rolled her eyes, this man might’ve looked intimidating but she was currently on a high from ruining your life, nothing was going to bring her power trip down.

“Wi HaJoon,” he continues in the absence of a greeting, handing her the envelope. “You’ve been served.”

“What?” That elicits a reaction out of her, for some reason she didn’t even contemplate there would be consequences for her actions, deluded into thinking she was untouchable.

“You’re being sued for stalking, defamation and breaking the nondisclosure agreement you signed.”

That wasn’t part of her plan, her jaw drops to the ground and she realises maybe she played her cards all wrong. In the violent web of wanting to destroy your life she didn’t realise all her defences were gone. Maybe he was right after all.

—

When you wake up, the sun begins to set and Jimin’s warmth engulfs you. The feeling is comforting but fleeting, unfortunately real life problems don’t fade just because you’re in his arms. You wanted to bury yourself in his hold, have him take everything away until you were ready to deal with it. Jungkook’s favourite grey sweatshirt swallows you whole, his smell calming your senses, you try to focus on it when your mind tries to swim through the thoughts that wanted you to drown. 

The door creaks open, two figures cautiously peaking in whispering to themselves. When Tae notices you’re awake he takes a seat beside you, caressing your cheek in his palm gently, his thumb soothing your skin. His eyes are downtrodden.

Jungkook kneels on the floor next to you, taking your hand in his and covering it with hard kisses, resting his cheek where they intertwined.

You try to get up but Jimin beside you grumbles in discontent, shuffling closer mumbling something under his breath without opening his eyes. A chaste kiss to your shoulder where the fabric hangs off your skin, lets you know he’s awake but refusing to let you go. The gesture brings a small but genuine smile to your face, one that turns into confusion as the commotion downstairs gets louder.

The younger two give each other knowing glances, one you don’t miss.

“What’s going on?” You ask, voice still hoarse from crying.

The hesitation in both of them fills you with dread. Did something else happen? 

“They’re just trying to sort things out bunny,” Jungkook tries to reassure you, “it’s nothing to worry about.”

Despite Taehyung not wanting you to find out, something sickened him at the idea of keeping secrets from you. He knew how the truth always found its way out, and he knew if you didn’t hear it from them, it would have worse repercussions. 

“Tae?” you could see a storm in his eyes, a battle between the loyalty to the others and his love for you. 

“The hyungs…” he hesitates, Jimin now fully awake and sitting up at his deep uncertain tone. 

Jungkook looks at him imploring him not to say it yet, it was going to be too much to deal with so soon after this morning. You grab Jimin’s arm, pulling yourself up closer to Taehyung who now avoided your gaze.

“Guys what’s going on?”

“I’ve been here with you,” Jimin mumbles half asleep, his hair a soft mess on his head. 

“Kookie?” you turn to the youngest who bites his lips nervously, doe eyes begging you not to ask him. 

“You’re worrying me,” your nerves were shot, the trauma from this morning making you beyond paranoid. What could be worse than this morning, what weren’t they telling you. 

“Jimin, Jungkook and I didn’t know,” Taehyung starts slowly, not wanting to put his hyung’s under the bus but he wasn’t going to let them shoulder the blame when they were innocent. Plus when this was over he had a feeling you would ostracise the older four for a while, he couldn’t handle being a part of that. 

“Didn’t know what?” you ask tentatively, urging him to continue.

“I still don’t know,” Jimin grumbles, getting annoyed with the suspense. 

“Namjoon Hyung has been getting letters,” Jungkook says when Taehyung pauses for too long. He sighs, cursing the hyung’s for keeping this from you when he knew the betrayal would crush you. 

“What letters?” 

Something ticks in Jimin’s brain, his sleep filled eyes going wide with realisation. The other day in the office, when the hyung’s went solemn, it was to do with that?

“We think…” Taehyung tries not to stumble over his words, “they were threats, about you or us, but we don’t know because…”

Threats? You’re sent reeling, did Namjoon know this was coming? And he did nothing to warn you, or confide in you?

“Because what?” you breathe, your voice heavy, eyes watering as your thoughts ran away from you. Jimin places an arm around your shoulders, trying to soothe you.

“He burned the letters before he opened them,” Jungkook finishes, feeling a deep rooted shame for his favourite hyung, and for selling him out. 

“Angel…”

Jimin calls after you as you throw the covers off of you, storming downstairs to confront the men hiding things from you. 

“Sunshine-”

“You’ve been getting threats and you didn’t tell me?” 

They startle at your accusation, as right as it was, the four of them confounded until the younger three stumble in behind you. All four hyungs glance at them disgruntled and disappointed, this was not the way to handle things, the thought was hypocritical but justified in their minds. 

“You didn’t tell me?” Your teary eyes pierce Yoongi with so much sadness, of all of them you never expected him to keep it from you, and for some reason it stung the worst.

“Kitten,” he tries reaching out to you, a vulnerable edge to his voice. He would let you scratch and claw at him until you were satisfied, anything to keep you from looking at him like that again. 

“Babygirl it’s my fault,” Namjoon sighs, taking the edge of his hyung and shouldering all the blame. “I told them not to.”

You turn back to him with anger in your eyes.

“Namjoon you’re the lead at work but that doesn’t make you the lead in this relationship,” you snap. “You had no right to keep this from me!”

“I know,” he says, his voice small.

“How long have you been getting these letters?” You ask and he hangs his head in shame. 

“Months…” he replies, “since you left the company.”

You stare at him appalled and it wounds him.

“You have the gall to tell me how to behave in this relationship Kim Namjoon,” Your voice is strained through the onslaught of angry tears. “And you keep this from me?”

“I didn’t know what the letters said,” he says as an excuse, and he knows it’s a feeble one. 

You shake your head in disbelief.

“I thought you of all people would get it Joonie,” the way your voice breaks cuts through him with shame. “You built everything from the ground up, I admired you long before I loved you. So how the hell could you play with my future like this?”

“Baby girl that was never my intention,” he begs you to understand him now, that he didn’t behave nonchalant with a potential threat, he thought he was doing what was best. 

“It doesn’t matter what your intention was! There was a clear right and wrong, and you know it.”

He bows his head again, you were right, he disrespected you when he didn’t discuss the letters with you, you should’ve made the decision together as to what to do with them. But in his heart he thought he was protecting you, protecting your peace and happiness, but all of that was a bubble set to burst.

“We don’t know that it’s connected beautiful,” Jin steps in between you, speaking as softly as he can knowing you were full of rage and sorrow, but he watched Namjoon take the blow and needed to shield him a little. 

“We don’t know that it’s not,” you argued back. “We have no way of knowing, because instead of talking to me about something unpleasant, you guys decided to bury it.”

“Sunshine, I get that you’re upset-” Hoseok tries but the look of incredulous shock shuts him up.

“Upset?” you repeat, the strain in your voice carrying tears. “Everything I worked for, all my dreams, are gone.” 

It was a struggle to get out every word, having to take a breath between each one, but you were determined to. 

“No company is going to employ me, even if they do I’ll be subjugated to whispers and isolation and we know how that worked out last time.”

You sniffle, wiping your nose and tears with your sleeve. You wanted to appear strong but you were breaking down, didn’t they understand what they had done? Didn’t they care? Or were they so comfortable in their gold seats so far above you they forgot about their struggles on the way there?

“I didn’t join your company to seduce you, I wanted to work hard and make something of myself, maybe start my own company one day, but all of that is gone.”

“Kitten,” Yoongi dares himself to try again, to console you even if you pushed him away. He walks over to you, remembering all the times you seeked him out for comfort. It used to confound the others, how Mr Stoic Stone was the one that you reached for, and even though it was unusual for him to step into those shoes, with you it came so naturally. He wanted to be the one you searched for when you needed soothing, he never wanted to lose that connection he built with you, ever. He knew it was a privilege, one he never took for granted.

He hates the way you look at him now, it breaks his heart, those watering eyes showing how truly hurt you were while you tried to control the trembling of your bottom lip, tried to look strong in front of him. 

“Whatever you think is gone, we can rebuild,” he takes your face in his hands, kissing the top of your head softly before looking into your eyes. “I am so sorry for not telling you, but I promise you whatever dreams you had will come true. It's just going to suck for a while and that’s our fault.” 

“We know better than anyone how hard you work sunshine,” Hoseok smiles at you sadly, regretting not telling you. 

“If you want a company babygirl, we’ll get you a company,” Namjoon’s own voice thick with remorse. “Whatever you want.”

“There’s enough space in the office for another desk,” Jimin tries to lighten the mood with a teasing lilt to his voice, but he’s not joking at all. “No one would dare to whisper about our angel CEO.”

You shake your head, removing Yoongi’s hold on you. They didn’t get it. You’ve worked for everything you had, it was how you had always been. You didn’t want to be handed a title you didn’t earn, or have your powerful boyfriends buy positions for you. 

“Why would that be such a bad idea, beautiful?” Jin asks softly. “You’re more than capable.”

“I don’t need anyone thinking I slept my way to the top,” you scoff. 

“Who cares what other people think, Kitten?” Yoongi sighs. “No one can deny you deserve a CEO position.”

You shake your head again, breathes of humourless laughter escaping your lips. They really didn’t get it. It was so easy to say that when you were untouchable to people’s words. 

“You guys made the decision by yourselves to keep this from me,” you state, not looking at them but to the ground. “My career has nothing to do with you, whatever happens next is my choice.”

“Kitten-”

“You don’t have the right Yoongi,” you try to keep the anger out of your voice. “None of you do right now. I need to figure this out alone.”

“Are you breaking up with us?” Jungkook asks in a panic, not moving from the doorway, he would block your exit, he would fall to his knees and beg you to stay. 

“No,” you reassure him with a syllable. “I love you, I always will, I’m just angry right now.”

“And you have every right to be,” Namjoon agrees solemnly. 

“I just have one last thing on my mind,” you frown, an obvious question was left unanswered. 

You face Namjoon, knowing he would hold the answer.

“You destroyed the letters before opening them,” it’s not a question but it sounds like one. 

He nods, wondering where you were going with this. 

“So how did you know they were threats?”

He hesitates, trying to build up the courage to tell you how he knew exactly who they were from. 

“The return address,” Jin answers for him. “It was from the penitentiary.”

The realisation hits you, and for some reason it makes the whole situation so much worse. The accusation in your eyes returns as you gaze at Namjoon. He knew exactly what he was dealing with when he got rid of those letters, and looking at you now he knew he would have to beg for your forgiveness. 

—

Bonus scene flashback:

Dear Kim Namjoon,

You haven’t responded to the last 6 letters I have sent, so either you’re not taking me seriously, or you haven’t read a single one. Both choices are not in anyone’s best interest, I don’t think you realise the situation you’ve put me in, I have nothing to lose. 

The deadline is approaching for you to transfer the funds and secure my release. I am not spending years in jail because of your jealousy. Enclosed are copies of the images I will release to the media, I bet you’re wondering how I was able to get these when you locked me away. 

It seems I’m not the only one you thought you could cross and toss away. For your sake, I hope you make the right choice.

I look forward to hearing from you,

Alexander Pettyfer

“They haven’t responded to a single one of your stupid letters, what makes you think they will now?” Suran scoffs at the news that he sent another. 

“Just be patient,” he replies, the usually clean cut male looking rugged and rough. “We need something out of this other than just ruining their lives.”

“Look, the images I got are proof enough about what that whore is doing, I say we release them.”

“Not yet!” The rise in his voice gets the guards attention, and he takes a deep breath to calm down. Stupid woman didn’t know when to listen, it was unfortunate that he had to use her, although he should count his blessings the day she came and visited for the first time with an idea to take the CEOs down. 

[itsgiovanna]

playing for love (chapter 19)

pairing: fem!character x mason mount

summary: injured and lost, mason mount begins his recovery with the help of adeline alderidge, a tough yet brilliant physiotherapist. but, some wounds don't heal easily, and the closer they get, the more mason realizes she might need saving just as much as he does.

notes: you're either gonna hate me or... hate me. anyway, enjoy :)

word count: 7.0k

warnings: angst and that's it.

next: chapter 20 (coming out soon)

tag list: @avalentina @coffeevacation @destinyg237 @obi-wansgirl

He hadn’t breathed properly since she collapsed.

One second, she’d been standing in front of him, pale and trembling — the next, her body had gone limp in his arms, her skin cold.

And, that image — of Adeline crumpling to the floor, his name on her breath — it had carved into Mason��s mind like something that wouldn’t close. Every second they spent waiting for answers had felt like drowning underwater — arms thrashing, lungs burning and no surface in sight.

He hadn't left her side all night.

Not when Kai had tried to make him stretch his legs on the hallway. Not when the nurses offered him coffee. Not when the clock ticked past 3 a.m. and his body begged him to rest.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He sat in the chair, beside her bed, one hand tangled with hers, the other rubbing circles over his tired eyes. Machines beeped softly. The curtains swayed with the breeze. Her face — pale and peaceful now — was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And, he watched her breathe.

Because, he needed proof. Proof she was still here. Still with him.

It wasn’t until Declan arrived, a fresh t-shirt slung over one shoulder, that Mason blinked, back into the world.

“You look like hell, mate.” Declan muttered, tossing him a granola bar.

Mason didn’t respond.

“She’s stable.” Declan reminded him gently. “You’re not. Go to the hotel. Shower. Eat something. Stella will stay here. I’ll go with you.”

Reluctantly — painfully — Mason had agreed.

The walk back to the hotel felt surreal. Like his body was moving, but, his mind was still tethered to that room. The second he stepped inside their room, he stopped.

Her book was still on the nightstand and her perfume hung in the air.

The bed, still unmade on her side, tugged at something deep in his chest — a reminder of the laughter they once shared in these sheets, the warmth of her skin against his, the way she curled into him.

And, the letter. God. The letter.

He’d only read three lines before it happened. Before, she collapsed and everything else vanished.

But, those three lines haunted him now. Her mother’s handwriting, soft but steady — apologizing for choosing Adeline’s father, for turning her back when Adeline needed her most. The mention of being kicked out. Of being left alone.

And, suddenly, all the walls Adeline had built — all the quiet storms in her eyes — made sense.

Mason had never felt that heartbroken in his life.

No wonder she never told him.

She didn’t think she could. She didn’t think he’d stay.

And, maybe… maybe he hadn’t helped disprove that fear.

After a quick shower — one that did nothing to rinse away the ache in his chest — Mason pulled on a hoodie and joggers, ran a towel over his damp hair and met Ben in the hallway.

“Thought you might need company.” Ben said simply, as if there weren’t a thousand other things Mason might need instead.

Mason managed a tight smile. “Sure.”

They moved down the corridor side by side, their footsteps muffled against the carpet. The hotel’s quiet lobby gave way to the soft buzz of activity as they made their way toward the hospital. The walk wasn’t far, but, the tension in Mason’s shoulders made it feel like miles.

The air in the hospital was too sterile, too quiet. Mason’s heart was hammering harder than it had during any match he’d ever played. A nurse passed by with a clipboard. The door to Adeline’s room stood a few feet away — closed, sealed like a question he still didn’t know how to answer.

Ben handed him a takeaway coffee. “You sure you don’t want to go in first?”

Mason shook his head slightly. “I will. Just… give me a second.”

They stood side by side for a beat, silence stretching between them until Ben said, gently. “You alright?”

Mason leaned back against the pale green wall. “I don’t know, mate. I keep going over it in my head. The bakery. The letter. Everything she didn’t say.”

Ben stayed quiet, letting him talk.

Then, Mason let it out, barely, above a whisper, eyes fixed on the tiled floor.

“She’s not who I thought she was, Ben.”

Ben looked at him sharply, about to say something, but, Mason cut in — voice tightening, thick with emotion.

“I don’t mean that how it sounds. I mean… I didn’t realize how much she was carrying. All this time, I thought I was getting to know her — all of her. But, I was only seeing what she let me see. And, now? After the letter, the bakery, the hospital—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I feel like I’ve only just met her. And, I don’t know how to help.”

Ben frowned. “You are helping. You stayed. You showed up.”

“I pulled away, Ben.” Mason admitted, jaw tight. “The second I felt shut out, I stepped back. And, maybe that’s fair in any other situation, but, not with her. She’s… she’s different.”

Neither of them noticed the sound from the other side of the door — the subtle inhale of someone, just out of view. Adeline sat upright in bed, silent, barely breathing.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But, then, she heard it.

And, the rest? The part that might’ve changed everything?

She never heard it.

Only the sharpest edges of his doubt. The heartbreak she’d feared from the beginning — now, echoing in the hallway.

(...)

The room had gone quiet.

Machines beeped steadily beside her, soft and rhythmic, but, Adeline’s eyes weren’t on them. They were fixed on the small, worn bag Stella had dropped on the small couch.

Her fingers twitched under the blanket.

She hadn’t seen Mason since she passed out. Since her body failed her. Since everything had gone off the rails. And, now with the silence pressing in like a heavy curtain, there was nothing else left to distract her from it — from him… and from it.

The letter.

It sat, barely peeking from the side pocket of her bag. Her mother’s handwriting still burned in her memory, curved and elegant, painfully intimate.

Adeline exhaled slowly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed with effort. Every muscle ached — her body was wrung out, fragile. But, her need to know… to face it… was stronger.

She crossed the short distance, trembling fingers closing around the envelope. Back in bed, she unfolded the letter, the paper soft from how many times she’d already read the first few lines — once, when it arrived and again the day she almost burned it.

This time, though, she read it all.

My dearest Adeline,

I don’t know where to start. I’ve rehearsed versions of this in my head for years, and none of them feel enough. Nothing does, after what I let happen.

I was wrong. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve stood by you the day your father threw you out. I knew what he was doing was cruel, but I stayed silent because… because I was afraid.

Because I didn’t want to lose both of you. But, in doing so, I lost you anyway. I’ve left him, Adeline. It took me years — too many — I finally found my voice. I divorced him last month. I took the settlement and moved to a flat in London.

It’s small, but, it’s mine. I’m trying to build a life that isn’t made of silence. I want to earn your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it — not yet, maybe never. But, I’ll try until my last day.

Because I miss my daughter. I miss you. And, if there’s a chance… one day… that I could meet my granddaughter, I would give the world for it.

With all the love I didn’t show you when it mattered.

— Mom

The words blurred through her tears.

She felt gutted. Swollen with all the emotions she’d tried to hide — betrayal, grief, longing… but, also, oddly, a thread of something else.

Something like, being wanted.

Adeline pressed the letter to her chest and closed her eyes, the burn in her throat too much to hold in. She wanted to hate her. To scream at the apology coming too late. But, another part of her — raw, hormonal, exhausted — needed it. Needed to hear that she hadn’t made it all up, that the wound her parents left was real and still mattered.

She leaned back against the pillows, glancing around the hospital room again — sterile white walls softened by the glow of afternoon sun bleeding through the gauzy curtains. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, but, beneath it, something else lingered.

His hoodie.

It was still folded over the couch, soft and worn — like he’d meant to stay longer, like he’d left it behind on purpose. Even when things were broken between them, even when she couldn’t tell him everything… he hadn’t left her alone. The nurse had said as much. And, Stella too.

A ghost of a smile pulled at her lips.

She almost confessed how much he meant to her while too drunk to say it clearly. But, she remembered his touch. The way he held her in the club. The quiet tenderness he offered when she was too sick to ask for it.

God, she missed him.

And, for a fleeting second, that warmth started to rise — maybe, they could fix this. Talk. Heal. Maybe he would understand.

Then — voices outside. Low. Quiet.

Ben’s voice, unmistakable.

And Mason. His tone like gravity, even muffled through the door.

She didn’t mean to listen. She hadn’t planned to.

But, then it came — clear, sharp and unfiltered.

“I don’t know, mate. I keep going over it in my head. The bakery. The letter. Everything she didn’t say.”

“She’s not who I thought she was, Ben.”

Adeline’s breath caught mid-chest. The words landed like a blade to her sternum — precise and cold, devastatingly final.

It knocked the air out of her.

She blinked, heart hammering now for a different reason entirely.

He hadn’t sounded angry. Just… disappointed. Hollow.

And, that was much worse.

The letter slid from her lap, forgotten.

Every bit of strength she’d started to gather unraveled. The hope, the warmth, the tentative belief that maybe he was still on her side — gone in a second. Snuffed out. That’s what he really believed. That behind the woman he’d kissed, touched, stayed up with — behind all the laughter and late-night talks — there was someone else.

Her fingers curled into the blanket, knuckles white.

She’d known this was coming, hadn’t she? That eventually he’d piece it together — her past, her mistakes, the secrets she hadn’t shared — and realize he’d made a mistake. That she was the mistake.

Her throat burned. Adeline turned her head toward the window, blinking back tears that no longer felt hormonal. These were sharp. Personal. Deep.

And, yet… she couldn’t cry.

Instead, she laid still, her chest rising and falling like a metronome — trying to breathe through the betrayal, through the ache curling in her stomach that had nothing to do with the letter.

It was him. It was this. And, it hurt.

(...)

The knock on the door barely registered.

Adeline stirred slightly in the hospital bed, the room is quiet, except for the machines and the muffled sounds of voices down the hall. Her eyes felt heavy, her limbs drained of strength, but, she sat up as the door opened and a man stepped in.

“Miss Alderidge?” he said kindly. “I’m Dr. Bellini.”

She nodded faintly, her throat dry. He had a calm presence, the kind that tried to soften the blow before it even landed.

“I’ll keep it brief.” he offered with a reassuring smile. “You fainted due to a combination of things — physical exhaustion, dehydration, and what I imagine has been significant emotional stress. Your body was overwhelmed, and it did what it had to do to force you to slow down.”

Adeline nodded again, her mind already drifting. It made sense. She hadn’t eaten properly in two days and her nerves had been stretched to their limit.

“Also...” Dr. Bellini continued, flipping through the chart in his hands, “There was something else in your bloodwork we didn’t expect.” He looked at her, gently. “You're pregnant, Miss Alderidge. Roughly six weeks along, judging by your hormone levels. It’s early — but, clear.”

She blinked.

The silence rang in her ears before she could even find her voice.

“No.” she whispered. “That… that can’t be right.”

“I understand it’s unexpected—”

“I take the pill.” Her voice sharpened, panic lacing through it now. “I’ve been on it for years. I’m careful. I’m always careful.”

“I believe you.” he said calmly. “It’s not common, but, it’s not impossible. No birth control method is one hundred percent effective, even, when taken correctly. Timing, stress, and a number of other factors can affect it.”

Her mouth opened and closed. Her fingers had started trembling again.

Six weeks.

The thought ripped through her like a jolt, leaving behind a mess of disbelief and confusion. She shook her head slowly, almost dazed.

“I didn’t even miss a pill.” she murmured, more to herself now than to him. “I didn’t miss anything.”

He nodded with gentle understanding. “That happens more often than people think. The important thing now is taking care of yourself — and, the baby. You're okay. But, this kind of physical collapse is dangerous in early pregnancy. You’ll need to rest, hydrate, eat properly and follow up with your doctor once you’re back home.”

She couldn’t answer. Barely... breathe. Her whole chest had locked up.

Mason.

Adeline thought of the conversation she overheard outside her door.

His voice. The tone. The sentence that kept echoing in her head like a bell she couldn’t forget.

Dr. Bellini jotted something on her chart and added softly. “We’ll keep you for observation a little longer, but, you should be okay to leave by the evening. Someone from the staff will bring something to eat.”

She nodded mutely, blinking too quickly, the tears already welling behind her eyes. As the door clicked shut behind him, she looked down at her lap.

This was too much.

A baby. Mason’s baby.

And, she didn’t even know if he wanted her, let alone this new weight between them.

(...)

The soft click of the door pulled Stella into the room like a gentle breeze — but, what she found on the other side halted her steps.

Adeline was standing, slow and, slightly wobbly, one hand braced on the wall as she tried to zip up her jeans over the hospital gown. Her hoodie — Mason’s hoodie — was already on her shoulders, sleeves too long, hanging past her wrists.

“Woah, woah—” Stella rushed in, tone light, but, concerned. “You’re just gonna sneak out of here before thanking me for saving your life?”

Adeline froze. She didn’t even turn around. But, when she did, Stella’s smile melted. Her eyes, glassy and red-rimmed, gave her away before a single word was spoken.

“Oh, Ady…” Stella stepped closer, reaching instinctively. “What happened?”

Adeline didn’t answer. Her chin trembled as she seated on the couch, hands shaking as she tried to fasten her backpack. She looked exhausted. Hollow.

“Sit.” Stella said, gently, but, firmly, lowering beside her. “Please, talk to me. What’s going on?”

There was a long pause. Adeline’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

“I’m going back to Manchester.”

“What?” Stella blinked. “Why? The doctor said you’re only being released in a couple hours.”

“I changed my flight.” Adeline whispered, eyes on the floor. “It’s for tonight. I booked it already. I’ll go straight to pick up Lily and move out of Mason’s flat. I'm going to a hotel. I’ll figure it out.”

Stella sat back slightly, processing the information like it physically weighed her down. “Wait—What? Why? What the hell happened?”

Adeline bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hold herself together. Her voice cracked. “I overheard him. Mason. Talking to Ben outside my room.”

Stella’s brows pinched. “Okay… and?”

“He said I'm not who he thought I was.” Her throat closed around the words. “Like, I'm a mistake.”

“No, Ady, that doesn't sound like—”

Adeline shook her head. “Please, don’t try to fix it. I’ve already made my decision.”

Stella exhaled, searching her best friend’s face for any opening. There was none. Just pain. Thick and cold and heavy.

“I can’t drag him into my mess.” Adeline continued, voice steadier now, as if she were convincing herself. “He’s public. He’s admired. He deserves someone who doesn’t come with years of baggage and a baby on the way.”

Stella’s eyes widened slightly, but, Adeline shook her head.

“I can’t talk about it. Not, yet.”

“Ady…” Stella’s voice was soft, almost breaking. “He’s not like that. You know he’s not.”

“I know he cares.” Adeline admitted. “And, that’s why it’ll hurt him less if I walk now. Before, he feels obligated to stay. Before... I ruin his life, too.”

Her voice cracked again — the tremble that betrayed all the strength she was trying to fake.

“I read my mom’s letter.” she added, a distant edge to her tone. “She wants to reconnect. Maybe… maybe that’s where I start over. Maybe, London. Just me, Lily, and—whatever comes next.”

Stella stared at her, at the broken pieces of the friend she loved fiercely. “You deserve happiness, Ady. You deserve love, too. Real, messy, painful love. Running from it isn’t the same as healing.”

Adeline reached into her bag and pulled out a sealed envelope. Her fingers shook as she placed it in Stella’s hands.

“Give this to Mason. When I’m gone. Not before.”

“Adeline—”

“Stella. You've got to promise me.” she said quietly, eyes full of tears she wouldn’t let fall. “When I’m not here… if I don’t get the chance… don’t let him think it was all his fault.”

Stella’s breath caught, her throat thick with emotion. She nodded, swallowing hard.

“I promise, Ady.”

(...)

He hadn’t slept.

He hadn’t been able to shake the memory of her collapsing. The sound of her body hitting the tile. Her pale face, the fear tearing through him as he called Stella with shaking fingers. The image haunted him. He'd replayed it a thousand times in his mind, searching for signs he’d missed — things he could’ve said differently, ways he could’ve protected her from the storm she never let him see.

And, then, that letter.

He hadn’t meant to read it. But, just three lines were enough to shatter him — her father's rejection, her mother’s apology, that quiet suffering she'd carried in silence. How the hell hadn't he seen it? He’d thought he knew her. That she was just guarded. Stubborn, sometimes. But, never someone who had to claw her way through life on her own.

And, now… she wasn’t even speaking to him.

Every time a nurse walked by, his heart jumped. But, when he asked about her, Stella had the same rehearsed lines:

“She’s sleeping.”

“She’s not feeling well.”

“She just needs rest.”

So, Mason had sat in the hospital lobby, like some useless shadow of himself, twisting his hoodie sleeves, leg bouncing, heart racing — trying not to bolt upstairs and see for himself.

That, was when he saw her.

Stella, down the hallway, walking with her head low, her eyes red and puffy. Ben reached her first. Mason watched, frozen, as Ben pulled her into a hug. The way she crumbled into his chest. The way something in Mason’s gut immediately sank.

He stood.

Ben’s eyes flicked to him. Then, he slowly stepped away from Stella, walking toward Mason, something clenched in his hand. Mason’s heart thundered, breath catching in his throat.

“What is it?” he asked before Ben even opened his mouth.

Ben exhaled carefully. “She left, Mase.”

“What?” Mason blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Last night. Flew back to Manchester. Stella helped her get to the airport. She didn’t want anyone to know.” Ben extended the folded paper. “She left this. For you.”

Mason’s world blurred.

Gone? Without a word? Without a goodbye?

He ripped the letter from Ben’s hand, his fingers trembling. A thousand instincts pulled at him — anger, disbelief, fear, guilt — but, above all, this crushing weight in his chest that only seemed to press harder as he read.

Mason,

I don’t know how to say this without making it worse, but, I have to try. You don’t know what you did for me. You made me feel like I was allowed to laugh again.

Like I could be someone whole — not just Lily’s mom, not just a girl abandoned and stitched together by survival. I don’t think I deserved any of it.

But, you gave it to me anyway. That’s why I’m leaving. I overheard something. Maybe, I misunderstood it. Maybe, I didn’t. But it hurt more than I can explain. And I didn’t know how to stay after that. You don’t owe me anything. Not your forgiveness. Not your anger. Not even your sadness.

But, I owe it to you to step back before I make things harder. I need to find out who I am when I’m not terrified of my past or pretending my heart isn’t already breaking.

Just promise me something. When I’m not here… if I don’t get the chance… don’t let yourself believe it was all your fault.

Because, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I just wasn’t ready for it.

— Adeline

The paper trembled in his hands.

His throat was tight. Raw. Mason had no clue if it was anger or heartbreak or something else entirely building behind his ribs — something heavier.

She was gone.

And, she thought he didn’t want her?

He pressed the letter to his chest, leaning back against the wall of the hospital corridor. His knuckles whitened around the edges of the page. He felt hollow. Stripped down to nothing, but, the echo of her voice in his head and the ghost of her body curled into his side that night in the bathtub.

The way she, almost, said those three words.

The way he felt them, anyway.

He wasn’t ready for this to be the end.

(...)

The plane’s wheels touched down with a jolt, Adeline barely registered it. Her head leaned against the cool window, eyes half-closed, body aching. The flight hadn’t been long, but, it had drained her. Maybe, it's the stress. Maybe, is the nausea she’d been trying to ignore. Or maybe… the life growing inside her was already making itself known in the subtlest, most exhausting ways.

She’d forced herself to eat a dry sandwich at the airport, pushing down each bite like it might come right back up. Her hand rested over her belly — light, barely-there — and for a second, she let her mind wander.

Was it selfish?

Leaving without telling him. Without giving herself the time to explain, or to hear him out. But, she couldn’t take that risk. Not when she’d already overheard something that shattered that little strength she had left.

She told herself — over and over — that it was for the baby. For Lily. That, she couldn’t afford more heartbreak.

The cab ride felt like floating underwater. Manchester blurred past the window: gray skies, rainy roads, people bustling about their lives like nothing had changed. But, she had. Completely. In ways no one could see.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she texted Jaz.

Adeline: Landed. On my way to pick her up. Thank you again for keeping her, Jaz. I owe you big time.

Jaz didn’t know the truth. She believed Adeline had been pulled back home early for her job at the hospital. The lie tasted bitter, but, it was the safest way to guard herself right now. And Jaz, never asked too many questions.

The cab finally pulled up to Jaz’s house and Adeline’s heart skipped at the sight of it. Her pulse quickened — not from fear, but, anticipation. The kind that cracked something open in your chest. The kind only a child could stir.

She didn’t even knock. Jaz must’ve seen the cab from the window because the door opened the moment Adeline reached the steps. And, there she was.

“Mommy!”

Lily launched into her arms like a spark of sunlight, wrapping her tiny arms around Adeline’s neck and burying her face into her shoulder. The scent of lavender shampoo and strawberries hit her like a wave and Adeline crumbled, knees on the floor, arms tightening desperately around her daughter.

She didn’t say anything at first. She couldn’t. Her throat closed up, thick with everything she’d been holding in.

“I missed you so, so, so much.” Lily said, cupping her mom’s cheeks like she hadn’t just reunited after a week, but a lifetime.

“I missed you more, bug.” Adeline whispered, voice breaking, forehead resting against her daughter’s.

Behind them, Jaz watched quietly with a gentle smile. “Told you she was counting down the days.”

Adeline wiped her eyes quickly and stood, still holding Lily. “Thank you again for having her, Jaz.”

Jaz waved her off. “Anytime. She’s an angel. A loud one, but an angel.”

Little did she know, this might be the last time they’d see each other for a while. Adeline didn’t say it. Couldn’t.

The cab slowed in front of the building that no longer felt like hers to return to. As the driver unloaded their bags, Adeline glanced up at the familiar windows — each one whispering a memory. A laugh in the hallway. A quiet morning with Lily. A night when Mason cooked them dinner.

She paid quickly, eager to get inside, before her heart caved in.

Lily’s small hand fit into hers, grounding her.

The moment they stepped into the flat, the air shifted. Still. Still his.

Adeline tried to move on instinct — shoes off, bags set down, check the kitchen — but, everything, from the curve of the counter to the softness of the couch, echoed with memories she wasn’t ready to feel again.

She watched Lily run ahead, already pulling her things toward the bedroom she’d claimed weeks ago.

Adeline exhaled slowly, standing in the middle of the flat, unmoving.

Back at Mason’s flat.

Except now, it wasn’t home.

It was just the place she had to say goodbye to. Soon.

She exhaled shakily and pulled Lily’s suitcase inside. “Let’s just stay tonight, yeah? Tomorrow we’ll figure things out.” she mumbled to herself. Because, she would have to. For Lily. And now… for the baby.

They settled into their routine. Adeline made pasta with butter — Lily’s favorite — and they curled up on the couch. Lily, full of stories, asked a hundred questions about the “trip” that Adeline tried to answer with half-truths and feigned smiles. She was a master at pretending happy. But, the more Lily smiled, the more Adeline felt the pull in her chest.

It ached. The guilt. The weight of walking away. The love she never spoke. The goodbye she never gave.

Later that night, Adeline tucked Lily into bed and kissed her cheek twice.

“Will you tell me more about the place with the blue water tomorrow?” Lily asked, already half-asleep.

“Of course, sweetheart. Tomorrow.”

Adeline turned off the lamp, stood in the hallway and leaned her head against the wall.

Her hand went to her stomach.

And, before she could stop herself, the tears came.

She missed him.

She missed them — what they, almost, were. But, mostly, she hated that part of her still hoped for something more. Something kinder than goodbyes left in letters.

(...)

Sometime in the early hours, long after the city had gone quiet, a small whisper broke through the stillness.

“Mommy?”

Adeline blinked through the haze of her half-sleep, curled on the couch. Lily’s little form stood in the hallway, rubbing one eye, her stuffed animal held tight under her arm.

“Bug?” Adeline sat up, clearing her throat. “What are you doing awake?”

Lily walked over slowly, bare feet padding against the floor. “You were crying.”

Adeline froze.

“I wasn’t—” she started, but, Lily tilted her head, always perceptive.

“You're sad.”

Adeline hesitated, then, pulled her daughter to the couch beside her. “I’m just… tired, sweetheart. Grown-up stuff. But, I’m okay.”

Lily studied her. “Are you sick?”

“No, no. Just... sleepy.”

Lily laid her head on her mother’s chest. “You need me to take care of you?”

Adeline let out a shaky laugh, wrapping her arms around the little body curled into hers.

“I think you already are, bug.”

They sat there for a while, wrapped up in warmth and quiet. And, for a fleeting moment, Adeline allowed herself to pretend that this was enough. That just the two of them could carry the world on their backs — even if hers felt, unbearably, heavy.

(...)

The morning light slanted through the curtains, warm and far too gentle for the storm inside her chest. Adeline sat at the edge of the bed in Mason’s flat — or, what was still, technically, his flat — clutching a lukewarm cup of tea she’d made only for the motion of doing something. The scent of his cologne still lingered faintly in the hallway. The duffel she’d half-packed last night, sat by the bedroom door, like a silent reminder that she didn’t belong here anymore.

Lily was still asleep, curled up under the cartoon blanket she insisted on bringing back from Jaz’s. Adeline didn’t want to wake her.

Her stomach felt off again — not from the pregnancy, but, from everything. The weight of the night before. The letter. The look on Mason’s face that she kept imagining — confusion, hurt, anger — all tangled together.

She stood up slowly, setting the cup aside. Her flat wasn’t ready. The last update from her landlord said another week, at least, before the renovations would be done. The thought of booking a hotel felt sterile and cold, but, she couldn’t stay here. Not with his things everywhere. Not when she was carrying his child, and he didn’t even know it.

Adeline stared at the wall for a long moment before grabbing her phone.

Her thumb hovered above a name in her contacts.

Mom.

She hadn’t deleted it. She’d thought about it, more than once, but, something always stopped her. After the letter, after the raw honesty her mother had finally offered… she still didn’t know what she wanted. Reconnecting was tempting. Dangerous. But, it also whispered a promise of something she hadn’t let herself hope for: forgiveness. Not just hers — the kind that ran both ways.

She didn’t press call.

Instead, she opened her browser and started searching for nearby hotels. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere Lily wouldn’t ask why “Masey” wasn’t making pancakes anymore.

Just as her fingers hovered over the search bar, the phone buzzed softly on the bedside table. Startled, Adeline glanced at the screen — Stella’s name lighting up the display. For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Then, slowly, she answered.

“Hey, Stells.”

“Ady.” Stella’s voice was steady but laced with concern. “How are you? How was the flight? And Lily — is she okay?”

Adeline forced a tired smile she knew Stella couldn’t see. “Lily’s still sleeping. I’m… just here, in the flat. Trying to catch my breath.”

There was a pause, and then, Stella’s voice softened. “I haven’t seen Mason, yet. He didn’t catch the same flight as us. Declan might know where he is, but… Mason’s not himself. I can’t get the look on his face out of my head.”

Adeline swallowed hard, the knot in her chest tightening. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Stells. I’m scared it’s all falling apart.”

“You’re not alone.” Stella said firmly. “But, you need to take care of yourself, especially now. Whatever you decide, make sure it’s what’s best for you — and, for the baby.”

Adeline closed her eyes, breath trembling. “Maybe I’ll be out of town for a bit. My flat still isn’t ready, and… I’m thinking of seeing my mom. After the letter… maybe, it’s time.”

“Whatever happens, keep me close.” Stella whispered. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Adeline smiled through tears. “Thank you, Stells. I really needed to hear that.”

(...)

Mason hadn’t told anyone, except Declan, where he was going. They’d all assumed he’d gone straight back to Manchester after Italy — but, instead, he’d let the train carry him south, far from hotel lobbies and unanswered questions, to the quiet edges of Portsmouth.

The unmistakable coastal air hit him the second he stepped off the platform. It was heavier with salt than he remembered, or maybe that was just the ache still clinging to his chest. His mom had wrapped him in a hug too tight it pressed right into the bruised part of his heart. His dad said nothing at first — just patted him twice on the back, solid and warm, like the way he did when Mason was ten and had cried over a missed penalty. His brother Lewis had cracked some weak joke about him getting old and dramatic — and, for the first time in days, Mason had actually smiled.

He wasn’t okay. But, at least here, it didn’t feel like he had to pretend to be.

The guest room hadn’t changed since his last visit. Same football flyers from his youth, photos his mom refused to update, even though they were, at least, a decade old. The space smelled faintly of laundry and salt air, of home. He tossed his bag in the corner, sat down on the edge of the bed and let out a breath, he didn’t realize he’d been holding, since the moment Adeline disappeared.

She was everywhere — in the weight of his shoulders, in the corners of his silence. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the letter. About the way she left. About the sharp hurt in her eyes when she caught him with the note from her mother in his hands. He’d meant to explain. To say he hadn’t meant to read it. That it had slipped from her book, and he’d only gotten a few lines in before everything had shattered.

He could’ve gone after her. He wanted to. God, every part of him had screamed to book the next flight, to show up at her door and demand they talk. But, what if she didn’t want him to? What if leaving had been her choice — a final one?

So, instead, he gave her space.

And, retreated to the only place that had ever felt like it could hold the pieces of him.

The next morning, he found himself walking through the harbor, past the fish-and-chip shop where he and Lewis used to bike to after school, past the rusted benches where he’d sat with his mates the night before he moved away to chase football. There was comfort in the mundane — the locals who didn’t recognize him, the sounds of gulls, the feel of wind off the ocean. It dulled the edges of his thoughts.

Back at the house, his mom was cooking. And, of course, pretending she wasn’t watching him too closely.

His dad sat across from him at the kitchen table, reading the paper, sipping tea.

His mom turned from the stove, eyeing him quietly. “You’re not eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She hummed under her breath, unconvinced. “You always eat my eggs when you’re home.”

He didn’t answer.

His dad folded down the paper, slow and deliberate. “What happened?”

Mason blinked. “What do you mean?”

His mom sat down across from him, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “You come back from Italy early, alone. You look like you haven’t slept since. And, you haven’t mentioned her name once.”

There it was.

Mason rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. “She’s… she’s back in Manchester.”

“Something happened?” his dad asked, gentler than before. “Between you and Adeline?”

Mason didn’t look up. “Not exactly. Or maybe… yes. Something did.”

His mom reached out and laid a hand over his. “We like her, Mason. She’s good for you. You seemed different, when you talked about her. Happier. More grounded.”

He almost smiled. But, it cracked halfway. “I thought we were alright. I mean… I didn’t see it coming.”

“What did she say?” his father asked.

“She didn’t.” Mason murmured. “She just… left. Told Stella she needed space. Left a letter.”

His mom’s brows lifted slightly, her eyes clouding. “And, you let her go?”

“I didn’t know until she was gone.”

Silence stretched between them.

His mom gave his hand a small squeeze. “Sometimes, love, when people leave without saying goodbye… it’s not because they don’t care. It’s because they care too much.”

Mason swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the mug.

“She’s carrying something. I know she is.” he said, voice low. “I just don’t know what. But, it broke her enough to run. And, I let her think she had to.”

The kitchen felt still, the way only a childhood home can. Safe. But, for the first time, Mason didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere.

Only with her.

And, she was gone.

(...)

The late morning sun filtered gently through the glass doors of the hotel lobby as Adeline stepped outside, Lily’s tiny hand clasped tightly in hers. The crisp spring air was a welcome relief, a small balm against the heaviness settling deep in her chest.

She glanced down at her daughter’s eager face, the way Lily’s curls caught the light, the innocent excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. For a moment, the world beyond that moment melted away.

Thank God I’m still off work, Adeline thought, pushing back the creeping anxiety. Lily was the distraction she desperately needed — the anchor in the storm of everything else.

It had been a few days since she left Mason’s flat. She’d taken every piece of her life from there — boxes packed, memories wrapped carefully. The key was already handed to the doorman, a symbolic door closed on what felt like a chapter she never wanted to read again.

Her mind raced, though, always circling back to him. The way his eyes had looked — torn between anger and hurt. The letter she’d left behind, words she didn’t know if she could ever say out loud.

She tried not to think of him, tried to bury those feelings beneath a carefully constructed wall of saying she's fine and that it's for the best. But, sometimes, in the quiet moments when Lily was asleep or distracted, the ache crept in — raw and relentless.

As they walked hand in hand toward the park, Adeline forced a small smile, brushing a stray curl from Lily’s face. The day was bright, full of promise, but, inside she was still searching — for answers, for peace, for a way to move forward without losing herself.

The park was alive with the gentle sound of a lazy afternoon. Children’s laughter rang out, weaving through the soft rustle of leaves overhead. Towering oaks and maples stretched their limbs toward the pale blue sky, their branches swaying in a delicate dance with the breeze. Dogs bounded along the grassy fields, tongues lolling happily, tails wagging with pure joy.

Adeline settled onto a weathered wooden bench, the wood cool beneath her fingertips. She watched Lily dash toward the playground, her tiny legs pumping furiously as she chased after a bright red ball, her giggles mingling with the soft calls of other parents.

A corgi trotted past, sniffing at the edges of the sandbox where Lily had just been, and a couple walked hand in hand, their smiles easy and relaxed under the forgiving sun.

But, despite the warmth of the scene, Adeline’s heart was a quiet storm. Her gaze kept drifting downward, to the small curve of her belly hidden beneath her loose blouse. She had built a habit — almost unconsciously — of resting her hand there, as if by touch she could both protect and connect with the little one growing inside her.

The little fluttering movements — faint, but real — reminded her of the secret she carried. Of the hope and the fear intertwined like vines inside her chest.

Mason didn’t know. And, the weight of that silence pressed heavy on her. She felt guilty, a pain twisting through her every time she thought about the space growing between them — the distance made wider by misunderstanding and unspoken truths.

For all the beauty around her, all the life buzzing through the park, Adeline felt alone.

Adeline exhaled slowly, watching Lily’s carefree smile light up the playground, trying to find her own light again, one quiet step at a time. Her thumb vibrated against her thigh — her phone buzzing with a new message. She pulled it out and saw it was from Dr. Hearst, her boss.

Dr. Hearst: Adeline, I hope I’m not disturbing your break. But, something unexpected came up — a vacancy just opened for Head of Physiotherapy at The Presbyterian Hospital in New York. I don’t know if you’d be interested, but, honestly, you’re the best in the field, and I’d be proud to recommend you for the role.”

Her breath caught. New York. Another country. Far from Stella’s steady presence, from the rainy streets where Lily took her first steps, from the life she was trying hard to hold on.

Her mind raced. Is this a getaway? Opportunity? Could she really run from the past, from the tangled mess with Mason, from the doubts gnawing at her heart? Or, was it time to face all of it head-on?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitation twisting inside her like a storm. Maybe running, wasn’t running at all — it's just the first step toward something new.

Some decisions, she realized, don’t come easy.

But, sometimes, they come anyway.

(...)

[spikesbunny]

♥︎ SWEET TEA ♥︎

+ warnings: use of aphrodisiac, food play (tea is drugged), dom ruan mei, fingering, use of pet names (sweetheart, darling)

+ ft: ruan mei x gn reader

+ wc: 0.7k

+ @ficsforgaza kinktober: day 14 - aphrodisiacs/food play + ruan mei (m.list)

nsfw under cut, minors dni!!!

ruan mei was always tinkering with something. she loved testing out how plants caused reactions in people, especially those that could be considered aphrodisiacs.

but she never let you try them. she insisted that it was safer, just incase any severe side affects occurred. she would never hurt you.

but you wanted so desperately to try it, to see how it heightened the feeling. were your orgasms harder? were you easily aroused? more sensitive? did it affect your behaviorism?

and so, she finally decided to test it out. after all, it would be better to observe how one reacted, rather than just test on herself. she made sure you were comfortable being randomly dosed, as she didn't want you to be fully aware when taking it (after all, she must take precautions to now potentially skew her results!).

you could smell tea brewing, thinking nothing of the overly sweet smell. she probably made some sort of sweet tea with an artificial sweetener she designed, concern not even a thought in your mind.

after all, there was no point in questioning her, right? she normally made you tea, so it wasn't something unusual.

that was, until you drank it. the liquid was sweet, almost too sweet, and made you feel kinda fuzzy, almost like some twisted version of melatonin.

or so you thought, until you felt your skin burning, aching for your girlfriend. heat was pooling in your gut, a sudden need for release clouding your brain.

you try to ignore it, but the longer left unattended, the worse it gets. finally, you work up the courage to whimper out her name, her graceful figure now standing in the doorway.

"what's wrong, darling?" she coos, so sweetly. she knew exactly what was wrong - it was hard not to, your face was flushed.

"i- i need you," you whine, much to your disproval. you were crumbling, lust coursing through your veins at rapid speeds.

she hums, pulling the chair out to better access your legs. "yea, you want me? does my sweetheart need me?" her words had you melting, nodding eagerly as she works your bottoms down, pressing her fingers between your lips. "suck"

you take them into your mouth, looking down at her, framed so prettily between your legs as you work on her digits, coating them in saliva before she withdraws them.

she eyes your pretty hole, kissing your thighs as she complements you, showering you with "so pretty"s and "my darling looks so ready f' me already", circling her fingers teasingly.

with a free hand, she jots down her observations onto a notepad. "warm skin, sensitive to the touch, extra whiny, trying to rut against the air..." she list off, still tracing around your hole. you whine, trying to get her to already sink them in.

"paitience, dear" she hums, before finally dipping one finger in, curling up to massage your walls. you whine, squirming from barely any stimulation, watching her write down notes.

it was insane to you, how composed she was, as if you weren't feeling your orgasm already creep up onto you.

ruan mei continues her jotting, now adding a second finger, peaking up to observe your face. "red, flushed, lips are bit raw, maybe some tears from overstimulation? all plays into sensitivity..." she whispers, still writing down notes.

her words were so arousing for no reason at all, clenching around the two digits she was leisurely pumping in and out of you.

"there it is, sweetheart" she coos, jotting down notes while muttering "clenching at two fingers" under her breath.

you can barely take it anymore, especially when she breaks her usually distant demeanor, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. "you're doing so good, love, this aphrodisiac really did the trick on you."

that was it, your orgasm crashing over you at her words of praise. she gives you a small smile, continuing to press her fingers into you as you ride it out, before withdrawing.

she writes down two final notes, muttering as per usual - "came after praise" and "was such a good subject."

she sets the pad aside, rising from her position between your legs.

"i'm assuming that wasn't enough, i believe i put too much into your cup... how about we continue this in the bedroom? my observations are done."

you nod, following her graceful figure out of the room. you couldn't deny, being ruan mei's test subject sometimes wasn't so bad.

©2024 spikesbunny- please do not repost or translate my works on other media sites ♡

[acourtofbooksandinsanity]

HEAR YE, HEAR YE ITS THEORY TIME !!

i think this is gonna be a two part post because im so tired and this is what i could come up with for now. i’ll post part 2 sometime tomorrow!! (once again everything is up for discussion, feel free to say your theories in the comments!!)

PART 1: who’s the new brother?

chapter 65 from xaden’s pov starts of with xaden being at the canyon south of Draithus, sgaeyl is injured, we find out panchek was a traitor blah blah blah then xaden says “the bond between berwyn and i is the kind that shouldn’t exist” which i already have a short post for here. then he mentions the unconscious dragon behind everyone and how betrayed he feels that this new brother would willingly turn venin after seeing him struggle for 5 months. there are a lot of theories as to who this new brother is and i know its bodhi, ill explain why it’s him and i’ll try to prove why it isn’t the other options i’ve heard

1. garrick: now i can’t exactly disprove this bcs the only reason i dont think its garrick is because theres more evidence for it being bodhi but yes during imogen’s pov he is described as tired and also says himself that he doesn’t have enough power which would lead one to believe that he could be it but i dont think theres enough proof.

2. aaric: um i dont know why people think this, him and xaden were never close enough that xaden would feel this betrayed and heartbroken by him turning venin and idk i just feel like its a dead end

3. brennan: i dont even want to explain how poopoo caca this theory is. he didn’t even find out xaden was venin until a few days maybe weeks prior to this fight so um yeah no 🙂

4. why it IS bodhi:

mention of an unconscious dragon in xaden’s pov —> in imogen’s pov she mentions seeing bodhi’s dragon having a hole in his right wing

bodhi is in a constant state of “i dont want to rule tyrrendor, im gonna fight with you, you cant stop me” they even get into an argument in Aretia (i think?) about it. he just wants to support and help xaden with whatever he does. i remember seeing in an interview when someone asked RY what drinks the fw characters would get and she said that xaden would get a beer and bodhi would get a beer because xaden got one which further proves my point. so him turning venin just to not be alone and be with and help xaden doesnt seem too far fetched to me

after bodhi got sent away by violet bcs he wasnt strong enough to counter theophanies storm signet in chapter 64 the tornado theophanie sent out suddenly dies and violet assumes she stopped it so that she made it harder for her to wield. i think bodhi channeled at that moment making him powerful enough to counter theophanie’s signet and clear up the sky. hes also seen retching towards the end of chapter 63 could be the overwhelming power after channeling for the first time

also wouldn’t bodhi just be made duke after xaden leaves if he was completely fine? why would xaden go through whole process of getting married to violet during a battle unless he absolutely had to (bodhi also turned venin).

@violentdelightshavevioletends

(if anyone wants to be tagged in the next one lmk!!)

[qiu-yan]

imo, defending the position of "blorbo is not completely evil" is much easier than defending the position of "blorbo is always morally good," just like. logically. it doesn't even matter who the blorbo is, this is basically always true on a mathematical level.

if i want to argue the claim "blorbo is not completely evil," then all i really have to do is identify a single instance in all of canon in which blorbo was not a piece of shit. after all, in order to disprove the rule "X is always Y," all i need to do is find one instance in which X is not Y. meanwhile, my opponents - that is, people seeking to argue that "X is always Y" - must take every single one of my counterexamples and prove why they are not actually counterexamples. for every instance of X not being Y that i identify, my opponent must prove that X was actually Y in that case.

however, if i want to argue the claim that "blorbo is always morally good," then i have a much harder time, because then i must prove that every single thing blorbo ever did was morally good. if i want to prove that "X is always Y" (and i have no ontological definition of X on hand), now i must disprove every counterexample of X allegedly being Y, while my opponent gets to identify and lob as many counterexamples at me as they see fit. my opponent can identify as many instances of X supposedly not being Y in the provided sample set as they want, and i will have to find an explanation as to X actually was Y for every single one of these instances. my labor will only be finished once my opponent's imagination is completely exhausted.

this is why, i suppose, claims such as "jiang cheng is not completely terrible" and "jin guangyao was not completely terrible" are much easier to defend than the claim "wei wuxian is always morally good." if i want to defend the former, all i have to do is identify one single instance in which jiang cheng or jin guangyao did something good (something that the MDZS canon makes entirely doable). meanwhile, if i want to defend the latter, then i am stuck in the rather unenviable position of arguing that all of the demonic-cultivation-powered torture that wei wuxian did during the sunshot campaign was justified - and if i really was that willing to argue that wartime torture could ever be morally justified, then i would apply for a job at guantanamo bay.

[cheol-e-kat]

can i request professor cheol for your bingo

hi anon, yes, of course you can - i hope you like him ⋆˙⟡ fr i love writing cheol - couprangs where are you ;-;

♡ kat

bingo square: professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) (prof. choi, pt. 2)

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

summary: prof. choi has extra sessions with a special student

genre: prof!seungcheol, student!reader, age gap, dark themes

word count: 0.9k

warnings: below cut

smut, dark themes, mentions of stalking, age gap, penetrative sex, edging and orgasm denial, humiliation kink (kind of), use of panties as gag, power imbalance, pet names

he was breathing heavily - he refused to allow himself to make sounds during your sessions. his hands grasped your thighs roughly as he stood between them. your knees were hooked over his arms as his fat, leaking cock moved slowly back and forth in controlled motions, and he bit his lip. he was dragging his cock between your naked pussy lips, just barely teasing your clit with every move. he wasn’t watching you - he was staring at the mess he was making out of your cunt.

“it’s astounding how little stimulation you need before you’re practically soaking for me,” he whispered, thrusting a bit harder. you could hear the soft slap of his balls against your ass.

“i’m not even inside you, and you’re dripping for me,” he bit his lip gently, his movements continuing. 

he had already told you that he wasn’t concerned about whether you came this afternoon or not. today’s time was just about him working out his frustrations by making use of your pussy, since you seemed to always be wet for him anyway - his “perfect little cock sleeve.” 

you gasped, the fabric of your wet panties muffling the sound. almost the moment you stepped into his office, he asked for your panties, wanting to know just how wrecked you already were. he normally stuffed them in his pocket - you knew you wouldn’t get them back - they would go in his bottom desk drawer. you sometimes got off in your room thinking about how he used your soiled panties. but today, he had shoved them between your lips, “insurance,” he had whispered against you making any sounds since he planned to take his time - his evening was free. 

“shhh,” he breathed, glancing at you, “i told you, not a sound if you want to come today,” he said sternly. 

you had yet to disprove his theory that you were always wet after his lectures. the very first time you had talked to him after class it was about your abysmal test grade, he had listened to you talk about how you studied and the practice exams - how you thought you were doing well, and then he had suddenly asked if you were distracted in class. you had stared, caught off guard by the odd question.

he had elaborated, “i think you’re problem is that you’re distracted in class - you always seem like you’re paying attention to things other than the material, and squeezing your thighs tight under your desk - i wonder why that is?” he asked.

you had blushed heavily because he wasn’t exactly wrong - you were distracted in class - you couldn’t help that you liked watching him, thinking about him. and it wasn’t your fault that he always seemed to excite you. you sometimes had to leave class and rush to the bathroom, knowing you were too wet, worried that someone would notice.

he suggested that you focus on the lesson and that you visit him after each class so he could ‘check’ your progress. 

his office was in one of the older buildings on campus, full of wood and winding stone hallways. the first time you had come into his office, you thought you would joke about how difficult it had been to find his office, even if you were lying - you knew exactly where prof. choi’s office was - you had known since your freshman year when you had first followed him. you knew the way there like the back of your hand. you even knew how often he stayed late, grading exams - you worried about how tired he looked sometimes.

but he hadn’t given you time to make small talk. instead, he had thrown an arm around your waist and shoved his hand under your skirt, his fingers dipping into your pussy. he immediately knew what a mess you were. 

and now, you were just balanced on the edge of his desk, your ass barely making contact with the wood while seungcheol held you in place. you griped the desk, struggling to keep your hands exactly where he had placed them. you knew if you obeyed the rules, he would reward you - you would be his “good little girl.” you loved it when he whispered those words. 

you were surprised when his cock pushed between your folds and the sudden feeling of being completely full. you struggled to grasp the desk as he began to fuck into you, deep and hard, every thrust stretching you wider and wider. there were papers in the way - you could feel them crumpling between your fingers as you whimpered, grateful your panties were there to keep you quiet. 

you could feel your orgasm building and building, and without warning, he pulled out, just as you were on the cusp of coming undone. you fell back, whimpering, feeling him returning to the same position of barely teasing your clit with his thrusts. 

you heard his small laugh, “i told you, y/n, i’m in a terrible mood this evening - why not take it out on my little stalker - keep edging you and your tight little cunt until you’re beyond begging,” he whispered close to your ear. 

you nodded, moaning softly, you were happy to have him edge you as long as it pleased him. as long as he was enjoying it, you didn’t care. 

a/n: hehe tehy're both freaks - hope you enjoyed them tho!!

♡ kat

if you want to keep reading these two (prof. choi, pt. 2)

bingo card master list

bingo v. 1 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 2 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 3 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 4 ⋆.˚ 333 followers bingo ⋆.˚

seungcheol: knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (untitled alpha!!cheol pt. 1) |

mingyu: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles |

seungcheol & mingyu threesome: oral |

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