#the adultery fic

[javelinbk]

New fic: Heart of Glass

Meet Paul McCartney. Forty years old. Husband, father of two, teacher turned PhD student. So far, so dull.

Until he meets his new next-door neighbour, a successful writer by the name of John Lennon, who turns his life upside down.

Chapter 1 - Welcome to your life

Chapter 2 - Acting on your best behaviour

Chapter 3 - Turn your back on Mother Nature

Chapter 4 - Lonely rivers flow to the sea

Chapter 5 - To the open arms of the sea

Chapter 6 - Clad in black, don't look back

Chapter 7 - That certain feeling carved by another's hand

Chapter 8 - An offer that cannot be ignored

Chapter 9 - Dreaming is free

Chapter 10 - You can never win or lose if you don't run the race

Chapter 11 - Help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure

Chapter 12 - Never was a cloudy day

Chapter 13 - It's just the touch of your hand behind a closed door

Chapter 14 - 'Neath the cover of October skies

Chapter 15 - To dreams that never will come true

Chapter 16 - It's my own design, it's my own remorse

Chapter 17 - Adorable illusion

Chapter 18 - Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down

Chapter 19 - In the game of love, you reap what you sow

Chapter 20 - You say I’m a dreamer, we’re two of a kind

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[quicktimeeventfull]

A Good Old-Fashioned Kiss: An L/Sachiko Fic

Explicit 4.7k words Read on AO3 Contains: Adultery, cunnilingus, really bad HR practises Bored at a particularly loathsome New Years office party, L decides it's a fantastic idea to proposition his HR manager, one Sachiko Yagami. Thank you so so much to @lightyaoigami and @blondiest for reading this over and helping so much with this. <3

Sachiko sighs. “I used to be very attractive when I was their age,” she says. “Boys couldn’t get enough of me.”

He blinks at her, then look down at the drink in her hand. It’s in a plastic cup, because their company is a clownshow. It’s mostly empty. There’s an open bar, which L had been taking advantage of before he switched to his beautiful fruit cup, and perhaps this is why he decides it’s an excellent idea to respond honestly.

“Well,” he says, “I certainly don’t think that’s changed.”

She sighs again, and waves her hand towards the room. “You’re very sweet,” she says. “Look at everyone. They’re all so — young. They all dressed up.” This is more or less true. Everyone has taken it upon themselves to look as though they’re going out somewhere festive rather than clustering around a bunch of folding tables with plastic covers. Even L has gone and found himself a black button-up, which he’d belatedly realised makes him look like a waiter. Sachiko, in her Christmas sweater, stands out, the one soft and pleasant thing amongst all this sharpness and anxiousness to please. “No one here would be interested in me.”

“No,” L says, a little more forcefully. “I’m very sure they would be.”

[winepresswrath]

Your Schrodinger's brother tags re: wwx and jc. One of my favourite AUs to have fun with in my brain is WHAT IF Jiang Cheng is the bastard. As in his bio father is Wen Zhuliu. And he somehow realizes this bc mumblemumblen golden core. Very fun position to put JC in emotionally!!! (If he doesn't figure it out nothing changes from his pov so I need him to find out for him to have emotional turmoil).

This is obviously not canon but I find it fun to think about.

tragically i cannot see yzy ever cheating on jfm but this would break everything inside of jc's brain. possibly at the right time it would actually be freeing in a twisted way! there's a cosmic reason he's bad at jianging and his dad doesn't seem to like him. he can just put it all down and stop trying. of course then he had no identity and no place in the world but you know. trade offs.

[nostalgia-tblr]

if anyone is reading the sylki arranged marriage fic and is willing to be spoilered for it so that i can ask them if the twee ending is twee enough pls message me here on tumblr dot com, thanks in advance.

[historyofstoriesendingsadly]

Back to your old tricks i see...

Tricking us with "fluff" for it only to be gut wrenching ANGST. You're sick.

I love it hehe.

it is fluff.

Please bear with me as I set the scene. It's one of those lost days between Christmas and New Years. You're in a little stone cottage in the middle of beautiful nowhere and outside there's a perfect blanket of snow. You're sitting on a sofa curled up with your new wife. Technically this is your honeymoon, and it's been the happiest week of your life. There's a fire crackling in the corner, keeping the tiny room warm. A dog sleeps in front of it, the silly reindeer antlers he's been wearing all day have finally fallen off his head.

There's music playing and your cheeks still hurt from laughing so hard at easy conversation with your favourite person.

You open your laptop and say 'I think I'm going to write something.'

.

Could a fic written in these circumstances be anything but fluff.

your honour, I rest my case.

[theficpusher]

Human Zoo by jaerie | E | 1209 Harry is a hybrid that was captured for display in an isolated country far from home. Someone from his past could be a savior, but he has other plans.

Twenty-Eight by beardyboyzx | M | 1499 "Can't believe you finally caught him," Niall says, clapping him on the back. He's been there with him on his very first mission, when Twenty-Eight was just the first criminal Harry encountered in his spy career to them. or: Agent Harry Styles has finally caught his nemesis, but there's a knot in the plot he's not ready to detangle.

routine surveillance by disgruntledkittenface | E | 2680 Harry’s training period for the Bureau consists of routine surveillance. One night, it becomes a little less routine.

The Night Market by Anonymous | E | 3000 It’s to earn a bit of extra spending money and have a bit of fun while doing it, that’s all. Harry examines his reflection in the mirror as Niall does up the back of his outfit. The clothes he wore on the train here are already safely tucked away in a locker, along with the key to the thick, heavy collar around his neck. The little green light shines from the centre of it, indicating that he’s available.

excuses for adultery by Anonymous | E | 3588 Louis asks for a break from sex, Harry finds a way to get his needs met. Louis finds his way to get revenge.

Knot's Farms by Anonymous | E | 4774 Hybrid travel visas are much stricter than laws for human travel. About twenty more hoops to jump through, and five times the cost. Louis’ proud, so proud of Harry going off on his first big tour, but he’s realistic, too. They would see barely a dime of that money if they had to spend on a hybrid EU visa. So, he’s spending ten days at Knot’s Farms, one of the higher rated hybrid kennel agencies.

the trolley problem by ThereAreOnlySecrets | E | 7350 In front of him are three men of different ages, but with similar distressed looks on their faces. Beaten and bloody, each one tied to a chair. Panicked, Louis backs away from the sight - and straight into a solid, muscled chest. “What - what is this?” “Oh, this is a little problem I thought you could help me with,” Harry murmurs into his ear lightly. “You see, these three men betrayed me, baby. And I want your help in deciding which one to make an example out of. Now, it’s a very simple game. I will put on a ten-minute timer and by the end of the countdown, you will tell me which one of these very distraught and scared men deserves to die. If you don’t choose anyone…Well, then I will kill all three of them.” This is not how Louis thought his day would go. Please let this be a sick, twisted joke...

The Revelation by creamcoffeelou | E | 8373 Harry feels his edges start to unravel. He can’t find where he ends and where Louis begins.

Lick the Knife by larry_hiatus | E | 13303 Three things about Harry: 1. He wants all of his exes dead. 2. He has a blood kink. 3. He’s Louis’ roommate. Three things about Louis: 1. He’s a serial killer. 2. He hates Harry. 3. He also kind of loves him.

[arunima]

woke up at 3:30 😂 just doin anything

[rescue-ram]

Sometimes I think I want really toxic fucked up tragic BJHawk. Then I realized I don't lmao.

[rosesnink]

The Other Woman

Author’s Notes 

Aaaand we’re back on TCH stuff!! This story is not my favourite, but it’s been fun to explore. As I said in the fic, I am not justifying Roselyn’s behaviour, but rather looking for a reason on why she acted like that and understand her point of view as a writer. Make it make sense, unlike PB here. 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistake I might’ve made. 

If you want to read the whole story, here’s the link! 

I will be publishing stories like these of other characters this week, like Miss Sutton or Edmund, so stay tuned for more! 

Summary: Roselyn tells us her side of the story 

Word Count: 2.9k 

Category: Angst 

Pairing: Roselyn Sinclaire, Ernest Sinclaire, Duke Richards 

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings: Death, grief, adultery, strong language and major death character 

Book: Desire and Decorum 

1796, Paris, France

The young Roselyn D’Ouleur played with her doll, watching as her mother sighed, looking at the family’s books. It was late at night, and the French Revolution was at its peak. What was worse, the prosecution towards nobles was worse than ever and Madame Guillotine was stronger than ever. Though, young Roselyn was suspicious, but her brother Renard was getting even more suspicious.

Suddenly, their father, Henri, came into the house, panting “Quick, we need to pick out the essentials and get into a boat now!”

Pierre, who was eleven, frowned “But Papa, we thought we wouldn’t go until next week!”

“Someone snitched on us and the revolutionaries are on their way here! Odette, quick, pack Rosie’s things and get her dressed, we don’t have much time!”

Odette nodded and picked up little Roselyn, who clung to her mother for dear life. The rebels would be here soon, and to say that she was scared was an understatement “We’re leaving for London. We’ll be safer there.”

And with that, they left in the eerie French morning. Roselyn wagered it was past 2 a.m., the latest she’d been up. They had a trusted friend who took them to Normandy in three days. After that, in the eve of the morning, Roselyn and Renard both embarked, with her mother on tow… when they heard their father crying out to get into be boat immediately. The royalist resistance knew that they had to go now, and so they did. Some former soldiers of the king prepared to fight in case any revolutionary dared come aboard. Roselyn would never forget the grotesque image before her: her father, fending off armed soldiers… who shot him and started to strip him to get some goods. Her mother Odette was quick to take the young girl inside the boat, where they had to share a room.

Roselyn swore that she’d never go back there. And she heard her brothers swear that he’d soon get his revenge.

1804

It had been nine years since they had left from France, and Renard had heard that Napoleon had crowned himself emperor and would restore the lost titles. With that, despite being quite young, he was the heir to the estate that awaited them back in France. The D’Ouleur fortune belonged to him. And thus, she was in on the coasts to Tilbury, bidding her brother goodbye. She kissed his cheek and wept “Please tell me you’ll write to me, brother.”

“But of course, dear sister. I will send you and mother money. Now, obey mama and make papa proud from you, alright?”

She nodded and hugged him before he was rushed into the boat. As they went back to the carriage, Odette wiped her daughter’s tears, who was but eleven years old. Poor child, she thought.

When they arrived at their modest house, her mother turned to truly gaze at her, motioning her to sit. She had stopped crying as they reached the house. When the servants were gone, she started speaking “As you know, we are all alone here. Until then, there are two things you’ll soon learn about life: that it’s never fair to us ladies, and that the only way to survive resides in the coin. The more money you have, the better. It’s not the same being unhappy but have everyone at your command than being unhappy and hungry. Soon nature will choose you to bleed, and when you do, your childhood will be over. I will make of you a lady who can get the wealthiest man of the ton, I promise you.”

“What about love?” She whispered.

“You can grow to love your rich, titled husband, dear. That’s what I did back in the day. I saw a rich man, married him, and loved him through my children. It’s what we’ve been doing since the coin came into the human lives. You shall do the same, my dear.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You’ll wise up, and will realise to thank your wealthy husband not to be hungry or ask for something, you’ll see. If you can score one rich man who’s also kind, then you will have won the game, dearest. Those savages on rags wanted us dead because they’re envious of us. Thankfully, Napoleon has put them in their place. All you need in this life is wealth, a husband who does not lift his hand, and a son to continue on what you’ve started.”

1809

In five years, Roselyn had been training every day. The arts of a lady, a socialite, managing a household… and know when a man was truly rich and when he was simply bluffing. Her mother had made connections, and had listed a few honest men who possessed enough wealth to make her daughter’s life content. But Roselyn thought different. Why not being a wealthy, titled woman? She had that ambition.

After the period of mourning of her main suitor, Mr. Ernest Sinclaire, was over, she had been looking for someone, anyone with a title. She had wondered often. Someone close to power. She did feel guilty, though, and not deserving of Mr. Sinclaire. He was wise, smart, kind, generous and did look like he liked her very much. She did not deserve his spoils. Or him, for that matter.

She was genuinely surprised that he liked her, enough to dine with his mother—his father had died years ago rather mysteriously—and his mother eyed her suspiciously and made remarks of how she expected her to return the feelings. Surely she could fall for a rich man like heroines do in the books?

He was the perfect match, and he seemed like he actually liked being with her and talk to her. Her mother agreed. He was the best bachelor.

During the dinner before their wedding, some illustrious friends of her fiancé came. One of them a duke! Roselyn thought that all dukes were taken. This one hasn’t married once!

“Your Grace, may I present my future wife, Roselyn D’Ouleur?”

She bowed, giving him a seductive smile. He seemed to catch her meaning and kissed her hand “How do you do, Miss?”

“I am fine, especially now that all our illustrious guests are here.”

Ernest smiled at her, but her gaze was fixed on the duke. Sure, he was a bit grey and rogued, but oh, the titles, money, lifestyle… perhaps she’d find a way to get out of this engagement? It wasn’t uncommon for women to back out… at least in France.

As the men left to cigars and cards, with Ernest already there, the duke approached her “I’m glad that my friend has found a suitable woman for him. Perhaps… you’d like a visit, eh?”

She giggled “I’d love nothing more, Your Grace.”

“Meet me here in two hours, sweet nightingale.”

1810

Roselyn was full of guilt. She had been too much of a coward to tell Ernest she had cold feet, for the duke had persuaded her to stay married to him. The encounters had been frequent, while Ernest and Mr. Chambers dealt with the creepy viscount, she had some spicy escapades with the duke. It had been going on ever since, and summer was nearing.

Her husband was confused on why she didn’t have any marital appetite for him, but was respectful, waiting for her to come to him on her own account. The reason? She found it quite rude to have someone on your mind while you were with another. Maybe she was a dirty, shameful cheater, but she had some morals left. What was worse, she started to feel sick. Really sick. Maybe it was guilt and shame, building up.

But the fateful night of Ernest finding out the worst was possibly come, and she couldn’t stand seeing her kind husband looking at her with hate. She had gone back to her mother’s house, and when she finished telling the tale, her mother didn’t respond.

Instead, she got up and smacked her across the face!

“Stupid girl! How could you be so… so careless! In his dining room, a public place! I told you to back out, but turns out I have raised a fool instead of a smart girl! All the money your father left us, wasted for nothing!”

She had been trembling and sobbing the entire time “Maman, please!”

“Get out! You are not my daughter anymore!” She called out “Boys! Take this shameful girl out of my house and don’t let her in!”

“NO! NO! MAMAN, PLEASE, I NEED YOU! NOOO!” She cried out, her screech waking the entire neighbourhood.

She didn’t know how much time has passed, but a kind woman of a brothel had taken her in, attending her. Her name, was, if she remembered correctly, Marianna. Such a kind and tender woman for a low rank. Maybe Ernest was right and these women deserved equal respect.

“There is something you must know.”

“Hm?”

Marianna bit her lip “…You’re pregnant, Mrs. Sinclaire.”

She stood there in shock for a few minutes before breaking into sobs. It certainly hadn’t been her husband’s, and she knew that Marianna knew. What had she done? Her husband would never take her in…

“He should know.”

“The father? Or my husband?”

“Both, madame.”

After a few more crying, she finally calmed down. She had to tell Tristan first. Perhaps she could remarry and finally be his duchess, like he promised!

She rushed towards his townhouse, and entered as usual to his office. What she saw broke her: at least two girls, younger than her and half naked, kissing the duke.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! What is this?!”

“Roselyn? What the fuck! Shouldn’t you be with your husband.”

After taking a few deep breaths, she slammed the door closed and pointed at him “Just when I was about to tell you that I am bearing your child, I find you wenching with these… these!” She cried out, pointing at the prostitutes.

“Girls, wait for me in the bedroom.” He ordered calmly. He got up and smirked “What makes you think that bastard is mine? Knowing you, you’ve been with half the men of this neighbourhood alone.”

“It’s not true, because you monopolized me! You held me in your arms and told me you loved me, that I was your one true love and your rightful duchess!”

He laughed out loud “And you believed that?

“I’m just another fuck for you, am I not? Does it not matter to you that your child—”

“You’re so sure it’s mine, it’s embarrassing. I want nothing to do with your sinful child or you ever again.”

She got on her knees “Tristan, please!” She cried out as the guard carried her out “I BESEECH YOU!” She cried out, her cries so loud the girls he was with looked at her, pity in her eyes.

She didn’t know how much time she had been walking, or that she knocked on one door. When her husband opened, dumbfounded, no doubt, he asked coldly “Why are you here?”

“My mother kicked me out. The duke hates me. And… I am with child. The duke’s child. Please, Ernest, if you ever loved me, even if it was for a single moment…” She sobbed “I promise not to disarray anymore. I will do your bidding. Just… please, don’t turn your back on me.”

There was a sepulchral silence before he sighed, opening the door and beckoning her inside “Do I have your word, Roselyn?”

She nodded, still sobbing “You do.”

“Take the guest room upstairs. I will ready everything.”

He was about to start going upstairs when she asked “Do you hate me, Ernest?”

“…I don’t know what to feel right now.”

1811

Time had passed, and her belly grew… as well as the people’s talk. Ernest avoided her or showing her off at all. He no longer called her “my dearest wife”. He instead called her “Mrs. Sinclaire”. She didn’t know which one hurt more.

Sometimes, when she went looking for a late night craving, she could tell that he was dreaming of someone. A woman. She didn’t have a name, but she hated her already. And she confronted him about it “Is there another woman in your life, Ernest?”

He nearly choked on his scone “Pardon?”

“Who is she, Ernest?” She demanded.

“There is nobody.”

“Oh yeah, and those dreams, huh?!”

He looked at her coldly “They are that, dreams. Just illusions. But I assure you, unlike you, I have kept my wedding vows.”

She flinched and looked down “I’m sorry, I know that it is hypocritical of me, and that you have needs… needs I have unattended.”

“Even if I did… I won’t have an affair.”

“Thank you.”

Something in his eyes flickered “One shouldn’t thank their spouse for being faithful. It’s the bare necessities.”

With that, he wiped off the crumbs and left again to his study.

The moment the door closed; she broke into sobs again.

The night of the birth, Roselyn woke up knowing that something would go wrong. Clearly, God did not want her sin to succeed. She could feel it in her bones. She didn’t dare tell Ernest. He had enough burdens. She didn’t like the idea of him moving on or remarrying if she died, but she probably deserved it.

The birth was a complicated one, and Roselyn felt number as the hours passed and the baby was closer to be born. She looked at the midwife and whispered “One of us will die, won’t we?”

“Probably.”

And so, she closed her eyes and started praying: O’ God, I beg of you, let this child be born healthy and fine. Take me instead. I am the sinner here. Give this boy a life and someone who can love him. I promise that you will never reproach me if you choose me to be in your paradise, and I promise to be good. I beseech you to have mercy upon my poor, clueless baby.

And, suddenly, with the cries of her baby, she started seeing a light. And someone “It is time, Rosie.”

“It’s a boy, madame.” The midwife declared.

The accoucheur disappeared for a bit before her husband came in. They talked, and she looked down onto her son “Mon bebe. J’et aime…” She sighed, and allowed her father to carry her with him.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in France, but it remained the same one of her father’s times. No revolutionaries, no Madame Guillotine, only the France she ever wanted to live… and her father and brother by her side. She didn’t even ask why he was there. They just hugged, enjoying this bliss that she was certain it’d last forever this time.

My name is Roselyn Lilou D’Ouleur. I was born in a spring of 1792 in France. I was clueless at the time of the turmoil surrounding it, and what an historic event would play in it.

I saw my father die by the revolutionaries. I never knew until later how poor our family became because of it. My mother sent our brother away to fight for the future Emperor Napoleon. I never saw him until it was too late for the both of us.

My mother trained me to make a wealthy man fall in love with me, and that I did, marrying Mr. Ernest Sinclaire of Ledford Park in 1809. He was kind, smart, maybe too smart, loving and simply the best man I’ve ever met. I confess I was never a good wife. I tried my best, but I was caught in a scandalous affair with Tristan Richards, Duke of Karlington. His money and power attracted me, as Icarus was attracted to the sun, and like him, I too got burnt, falling pregnant with his baby as well.

My husband was perhaps too kind for letting me back into his house and have the baby. I tried to win him back, but he hated me already. I know he did. But he never said anything, because his heart is bigger than hatred itself. He took care of me, despite being petty and entitled to a privilege I lost the first day I lay with the duke. If I could go back and smack myself and tell myself to stay married to Ernest, I would. We would’ve worked as a couple, were it not for my endless greed and ambition.

On the 5th of April, 1811, I gave birth to my only child, Percival. I told my husband that, were he to want him, he’d be all his. He deserves someone who will love him. I know that he will ask for nothing, and perhaps Ernest will find someone who will make him happier and give him the life he deserves.

My name is Roselyn, the unfaithful woman, the forgotten wife of Ernest Sinclaire, the traitorous and backstabbing wife who preferred money to a good man. The forgotten mother of Percival whom he’ll never get to know. I am one of the greatest sinners of my time, and this is my story.

I don’t ask anyone to justify me, or tell me I did to survive. I only ask that you look onto yourselves and ask yourself this: in my stead, what would have you done in order to survive a world that is cruel and merciless to women like me?

Would you have submitted to your family’s ambition, or you would’ve stayed in your place? Would I do it all over again? That is a question for another tale.

[novelconcepts]

Lovers come together once again in the wake of another friend lost. (Post S2 finale.)

They aren’t really talking. This is nothing new; Van sometimes thinks not talking is their default. Their thing. If two people could win a medal for failing to communicate, they’d be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the gold looped around both necks.

[confusedpandabear]

Would you guys read if it I wrote a prequel to Remember Me that is centred around Haru and Gou’s affair before Gou calls off her wedding? 🫣😳

[lumiereswig]

What is your opinion on lumibelle

i find it attractive because i do find the appeal of french-sex-machine vs nerdy-bookworm to be hot. but i haven't written it ever because i've never found a way to really make it work, since you'd have to sideline plumette and adam to make any of the story function (and i love plumette too much to do that, and where the hell do you put adam). I think they occasionally have a passing flirt, but belle knows it's never serious and lumiere just does that with everyone

[winepresswrath]

i want fic written to my exact specifications about minor ships in small fandoms where most of the content is presumably in another language. what am I supposed to do? write it myself?

[nostalgia-tblr]

i miss those heady days when i was writing the anglo-saxon au and looking shit up and then not using the information in the fic but hey look i'd Researched, and the thrill of having to explain to the imaginary reader that 'this thing is SCANDALOUS in the historical context that i haven't really provided for you', and all that sort of stuff, so i would quite like to write another Historical MCU AU but i don't know what it'd be and also i kind of fear people getting somehow annoyed by it.

[edwinspaynes]

the chapter of my fic going up today has a ridiculous number of references to taylor swift's ivy solely because i used the ivy metaphor once at the beginning and rolled with it. i love having complete creative control of my own content. no one's gonna stop me from being a swiftie on main