#the dread of giving up your freedom for another person you care about

[myrxellabaratheon]

Something which really has me thinking while reading some takes on Hazbin Hotel and, especially, Helluva Boss, is that people ignore the warning at the beginning.

There is a reason why these shows are intended for an adult audience and it’s not the reason you are thinking about.

Younger people can understand violence (and realize it’s not something which should be imitated) and sex so that’s not the reason, the real reason is that they usually can’t understand the situations characters find themselves in.

I read soooo many “critical” posts blaming either Blitzø or Stolas and the reason was that the poster had never found themselves in a similar situation.

It’s ok, teenagers should have those rose-tinted lenses when talking and thinking about love and relationships (really, you want to have them, trust your friendly aromantic girl in her late 20s) BUT that doesn’t mean that you can understand how different relationships work, especially when you have none real life examples.

Stolitz is so complex because is real, but it shows ADULT problems, which not everyone can understand. You can’t judge it through a “all relationship must be fluffy and pure and perfect” state of mind, because real life relationships outside of “high school sweetheart” AREN’T fluffy and pure and perfect.

[mrpenguinpants]

LORD GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE

— "I'm not here to disregard your hope, angel," the doctor says softly, their voice like a balm—calm and soothing, yet something about it unsettles him further. Sunday bristles at the nickname, his jaw tightening, but the doctor doesn’t pause. Their voice presses on, smooth and unyielding, like water slipping through cracks.

"I'm merely giving you a perhaps."

In the cold cell, another stranger visits Sunday.

— Sunday

[Masterlist]

Not me dredging up the remains of my HSR creativity juices to squeeze out a Sunday fic as an offering. This fic is literally one big meme disguised under 20 trench coats. Happy 2.7 everyone and good luck in your rolling!

Sunday does not slouch. His posture is as unyielding as his will, spine rigid as he awaits the inevitable. There is defiance in the tension of his muscles, an unspoken challenge to the forces that brought him here. He will not bow. They’ll have to drag him, force him, twist his broken neck to fit it through the guillotine’s hole. He imagines the hands that will do it trembling with effort as his ambition burns hotter than any fire they could wield against him.

But the cell is cold. Far colder than Sunday has ever experienced in his life on Penacony. The chill bites deeper than the winds of dead planets and even the defeat that landed him here. The stone walls seep an icy dampness, as though the prison itself is alive, drawing warmth and hope from its captives. How could it be that while reigning over this dreamful planet, bound to it only by misplaced duty, he has never felt so cold? His thoughts drift unbidden to Penacony's open skies, once a reminder of freedom now as unreachable as a distant star. A lingering dread whispers that it doesn’t matter. This chill feels personal, like a punishment carved into the very marrow of his existence. Even the chains binding him are crude, iron and purple venom biting into the skin that has never known injury, pushing past the small protection of his clothing. Every subtle shift sends fresh waves of pain radiating from his wrists, a sharp contrast to the numbness settling into his legs from the unmoving hours spent in the same position. The metal feels like it’s becoming a part of him, fusing with his flesh in a union of cruel irony. The air is no better. It's stale and stagnant, as though even time refuses to move forward in this forsaken space. Each breath feels thick and heavy with the scent of rust, decay, and despair. Sunday briefly wonders if the air has always felt like this around him. Has he been too preoccupied to notice?

His only hope, a fragile, fleeting sparkle, is that Robin will escape their hate. The idea of her, untethered and free, burns like a flicker of warmth in the ice-caked confines of his heart. If she survives, it will be enough.

“You only get five minutes. Be careful,” the guard’s gruff voice echoes from beyond the door, dripping with unease. The tension in the words is sharp enough to cut, underscoring a danger even they don’t fully understand, “We still don’t know if he still retains THEIR power in his voice. If he pulls you under, we can’t guarantee your safe passage out.”

Another guest? Again? Sunday’s lips curl into a faint wry and bitter line. It’s almost laughable. He’s already endured Lady Bonajade, the IPC’s well-polished substitute with her cloying charm that masked sharp fangs. Her diplomacy dripped with venom, thinly veiled promises woven into her words like poison-laced silk. He can still recall her presence heavy with expensive perfume and arrogance. If it’s that gambler next, with their cavalier smirk and penchant for empty bargains, perhaps Sunday will do them all a favor and ask for an expedited execution. Better to end this circus on his terms than dance further to their tune.

Who could they have sent this time to join him in this suffocating void?

The heavy door groans open, the sound grating against his ears. A slice of harsh light invades the cell, stabbing his eyes with unrelenting brightness. He squints reflexively, but it’s no use; the light feels like a blade carving through his defenses. Surrendering, he shuts his eyes tightly, the glow painting the back of his eyelids a fiery red as it burns into him. Then, as abruptly as it came, the light is swallowed when the door slams shut. Darkness reclaims the space, and he’s left adrift once more. Though this time he isn't alone. The shadows press closer, heavier, as though they’ve taken on a sentient weight. It’s not the barely above-satisfactory solitude he’s come to accept but a suffocating presence that lingers just outside his range. Sunday opens his eyes slowly, the dim light of the cell revealing the shape of... a doctor? The figure before him is unassuming, dressed in a pristine white medical coat that seems to glow faintly in the oppressive gloom. The sight doesn’t trigger any immediate alarm in Sunday’s mind, but that only deepens his unease. They stir no recognition, not from Penacony’s ever-shifting guest lists, nor from the IPC’s infamous rogues gallery. Whoever this person is, they carry no air of importance.

But no one sent to this place is ever what they seem. This stranger is either far more dangerous than they appear, their unassuming facade concealing power that could rival or even dwarf Miss Jade’s manipulations, or they are an ordinary person—an idea Sunday dismisses outright. No ordinary doctor would be granted access to this place, to him. In Penacony, there is no place for neutrality. There is no shortage of monsters who hide behind well-tailored costumes. Sunday would know; once, he wore such a mask himself. He doesn’t call out. He refuses to give them that satisfaction. They are not a guest but an uninvited visitor. So, he remains silent, his breath steady and measured, his posture unyielding. The figure shifts slightly first, their coat whispering against the still air. Their posture is calm, expression unreadable in the darkness, and yet Sunday doesn't feel threatened. No sense of being grounded into the dust under someone's thumb.

The wings at the sides of his head twitch, a brief flutter betraying his agitation.

For now, the stranger remains a mystery. Their gaze drifts lazily over him, studying every detail. Their eyes linger on the chains digging into his flesh and the halo above his head, its once-radiant light now reduced to a faint, erratic pulse of THEIR power. The stranger moves with maddening indifference, as though the ticking clock means nothing to them. Despite their limited time, they saunter, unhurried, as though they could stretch five minutes into five hours. Sunday meets their stare, unblinking, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of a reaction. To his irritation, the stranger smiles a slow, pleased curl of the lips that feels entirely too knowing, as if they’re privy to a secret he hasn’t yet uncovered.

"I'm quite sad that you lost,” they say at last, their voice soft, almost conversational as if they were discussing the weather rather than his downfall, “I think I would’ve enjoyed living indefinitely on a rest day.”

Their quiet laugh follows. A muted, understated sound that drifts through the stale air like smoke, curling and lingering in the space between them. Sunday doesn’t respond. The stranger’s tone, smooth as silk and disturbingly casual, grates against him. They sound exactly like Ms. Jade.

They want to use him yet have no courtesy to say please.

He replies flatly, his voice cold, “If you’re here to appeal to my ego, you should turn around now.”

The doctor chuckles softly again, a sound that feels too intimate for the sterile air of the cell, as if it belongs to a private moment and not this standoff. Without hesitation, they begin to circle him, their steps measured and deliberate, their gaze fixed on the faintly glowing halo above his head. Sunday feels the weight of their scrutiny, the way their eyes trace the gentle flicker of light as though searching for hidden truths. Yet, to his surprise—and mild unease—the halo remains steady, its weak pulses undisturbed by the stranger’s presence, as if indifferent to them entirely. He doesn’t move, his stillness a deliberate choice. His silence is his armor, and he wears it with practiced precision. But the doctor seems utterly unbothered, their serene demeanor bordering on infuriating. The chains biting into Sunday’s flesh, the damp chill that clings to the air, the oppressive darkness of the cell, none of it seems to bother them. As if they've been in this same position before. Instead, they hum softly, a tuneless, meandering sound, as if they were lost in thought rather than examining a chained prisoner. Their head tilts slightly as they move as if searching for something intangible, something that only they can sense. Each step carries a deliberate weight, each moment of their low, aimless hum digging under his skin like an itch he cannot reach. When they finally come to a stop, their eyes meet his once more. There’s a glint in them now, something quiet and unreadable. Sympathy? Understanding? Or perhaps, something more insidious, like pity disguised as interest.

“So,” they murmur, their voice almost gentle as the pure white coat they wear, “Have you accepted your burden of guilt?”

Sunday’s jaw tightens imperceptibly, the only sign of the tension building beneath his outward calm. There is no accusation in the doctor’s tone, just a quiet curiosity, its softness more insidious than any harsh reproach. It’s not meant to provoke, he realizes, but to probe. The question feels like an outstretched hand, seeking not an answer but an opening, a crack in the armor of his resolve. He scoffs, the sound sharp and derisive, cutting through the stillness. It’s not loud, but it carries weight, a dismissal. The faint light of the halo above his head flickers, its weak glow casting fleeting shadows across his face, deepening the sharp contours of his jaw and the unyielding steel in his gaze.

The doctor, however, doesn’t flinch. Their composure is maddening, as steady and immovable as stone. They tilt their head slightly, studying him as though his reaction is a puzzle, a piece of data to be cataloged and analyzed. The only betrayal of their reaction is a subtle twitch at the corner of their lips, a movement so small it could be missed, but Sunday sees it. He knows it for what it is: the beginnings of a smile. Not a full grin, not even an expression of amusement, but a faint, restrained elation that feels far too calculated. It’s the look of someone who has just confirmed something they already suspected. A twinge of annoyance kindles in Sunday, though he douses it immediately. He won’t crack, won’t falter under their probing gaze. If they expect him to stumble, they’ll be disappointed.

“Guilty? You’re mistaken.” Sunday’s voice burns through the stale air, steady and resolute. He straightens slightly, his chains clinking softly with the movement. The sound is faint, but it reverberates in the oppressive silence of the cell. “There is nothing to feel guilty about. I did what I thought was right.”

The words land like stones, heavy and unyielding, filled with a conviction he's cultivated and forged. Yet, despite his defiance, Sunday can’t shake the sense that something about the doctor has shifted. They almost seem proud, as if they're happy about Sunday's unremorseful response. Their silence stretches, unbroken, as though they are savoring his answer. The doctor’s eyes never leave his, unblinking, as if peeling back layers to see the truths buried beneath his words.

Finally, they tilt their head slightly, their voice soft but probing. “And yet, here you are. The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, Sunday. And you? You’ve committed enough sins to pave it twice over—more than enough to last a hundred lifetimes. Perhaps even a thousand. You’re certainly going to have a hard time atoning for them. Tell me, does being ‘right’ bring you peace?”

The words are sharp and deliberate, meant to sting, yet they lack the malice that would make them truly dangerous. There’s no fury in their expression, no glee in their cruel words. There’s no gleam of a scalpel in their hand, no syringe hidden in the folds of their coat. This isn’t the cold, clinical sadism of someone ready to dissect his body or tamper his blood. No, this doctor is not here with the tools of physical torment. The doctor’s presence looms over him, palpable, like a weight settling into the stale air of the cell. He feels it—the pressure of an unspoken expectation, like a string pulled taut between them. He can sense it in the way they watch him, the way they wait. There’s only one answer they are fishing for, the one that will justify whatever lies ahead, whatever they plan to do to him next. The cold yet whimsy nature of their approach mirrors something he knows all too well, he just experienced it an hour prior. Miss Jade had played the same game, her words sharp but veiled, wrapped in the trappings of diplomacy. She had presented accusations like a ledger of business transactions, always with that smile of hers, so polished, so perfect, a lure. And when Sunday had refused to take the bait, she had simply smiled and said she could wait.

He’s not afraid of their games. They can play all they want, but they’ll get nothing from him. His silence is his shield, just as it was with Miss Jade. The doctor can wait too. He knows better than to speak too quickly.

But Sunday is so, so tired. Tired of these people and their endless games. Tired of their riddles, their insidious questions designed to unravel him piece by piece. Tired of their quiet cruelties, masked with words that sound too polite to be anything other than weapons. They think they can break him like this—one question at a time.

It all feels like waiting for the guillotine to fall.

“The one who will decide if I am guilty of my sins is not you, nor any other mortal,” Sunday says, his voice steady. The weight of his words fills the small cell, challenging the doctor's expectant gaze. “I have lived my life according to my beliefs, and I stand by every decision I have made. If THEY deem me unworthy, then so be it. I will accept THEIR judgment with humility.”

Sunday keeps his posture firm, unbowed, his muscles tense, as if preparing for a blow that might never come. He steels himself, accepting that what comes next is inevitable, like the guillotine poised above him. His hands clench into fists, but they remain steady, unshaken by whatever may come. He has nothing more to offer. If his words do not satisfy them, they can leave. He will not grovel, will not entertain their games any longer. He closes his eyes for a moment, retreating inward. His thoughts are calm and resolute, as though his body and mind are two separate entities, perfectly still. The waiting has become familiar now, a grim ritual he has endured countless times before. In the end, they will act, or they won’t. It no longer matters.

The doctor does not respond immediately. They remain still, a silent specter. The only sound is the faint rustle of their coat as they shift slightly.

And then, the doctor’s hand comes to rest lightly on his shoulder.

The touch is not harsh or commanding, but it is deliberate. A quiet, calculated assertion of presence. Despite the sudden gesture, Sunday does not flinch. Still, the cold weight of their hand lingers, sending a subtle unease coursing through him. It is not physical pain, but something deeper—a sensation of being measured in a way that makes him feel exposed despite the darkness.

It is not the guillotine. But it feels no less final.

"I'm not here to disregard your hope, angel," the doctor says softly, their voice like a balm—calm and soothing, yet something about it unsettles him further. Sunday bristles at the nickname, his jaw tightening, but the doctor doesn’t pause. Their voice presses on, smooth and unyielding, like water slipping through cracks.

"I'm merely giving you a perhaps."

The hand on Sunday’s shoulder squeezes briefly, firm enough to remind him of its weight, before withdrawing. The absence feels oddly pronounced, a phantom pressure that lingers even as the doctor moves. Standing before him now, framed by the faint, pale light from his flickering halo, their smile is gentle. Yet it does nothing to soften the unease that coils in Sunday’s gut. The doctor’s gaze, steady and piercing, seems to strip him bare, as though it peers through flesh and bone and into the very fabric of his soul. Sunday feels exposed, and vulnerable, as if the very walls of the cell have dissolved, leaving him standing alone in front of a vast, uncharted abyss. Yet he meets that abyss head-on, as he always has. He has lived in the dark long enough for its weight to feel familiar. Fear had been a companion of his youth, a shadow he had learned to outrun. Now, it is a distant memory.

The doctor’s tone sharpens, each word precise and deliberate, as they step closer. Their eyes never leave Sunday’s—dark, enigmatic, like deep pools where the bottom remains hidden no matter how far one leans to peer in.

“You’re an ordinary person, Sunday. A man, just like the rest of us,” they continue, their voice low but cutting, each syllable landing with unnerving clarity. “And everything around you, everything you once believed in, is falling apart. You can see that, can’t you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication, settling on Sunday’s shoulders like a weight he cannot shrug off. Their gaze drills into him, unrelenting, and for a fleeting moment, the hum of his halo grows louder, almost as if reacting to the tension. Yet Sunday does not waver. He meets their stare, unblinking, though his jaw tightens as the words burrow deep, hitting a nerve he’s tried desperately to protect.

“Your ideals, your mission, all of it is gone. Nothing but shattered dreams, scattered like dust in the wind.”

The doctor’s smile stretches wider, but it holds no comfort, no reassurance—only a wet chill that seeps into the cracks of the words they weave. The pools in their eyes seem to deepen further, the ripples folding in on themselves, twisting into a current that spirals downward into unseen depths.

“And now you’re faced with a choice. A tough one. One that will define what little you have left. Will you continue to try and burn as bright as a little star, shining alone in the dark, fragile, flickering, doomed to fade away when the inevitable cold comes?”

The pause that follows is deliberate, the stillness amplifying the weight of their words. The water is starting to overflow, spilling past the rim, lapping at the wood and kindling that's kept Sunday alive from the harsh winter.

“Or will you choose to become something greater? A planet. Cold, distant, unmoving—but vast. A foundation. A force. Unstoppable."

The doctor steps back slightly, letting the weight of the decision settle. The water slowly retreats yet still surrounds him on all sides. The stillness stretches again, the words sinking into the space between them. The doctor tilts their head, studying Sunday’s expression as if searching for the faintest crack in his defiance. Their final words fall like stones into the darkness. “The star may dazzle, but it is the planet that builds. Which will you be?”

The silence that follows is thick, and suffocating, as Sunday’s mind races. The words hang in the air, their weight crushing, each one a reminder of the choice he must make. The doctor watches him with that same unnervingly calm expression as if they know exactly what Sunday is going through. They’ve seen it before, the internal struggle, the battle between the remnants of pride and the pull of cold reality. Sunday’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. He wants to resist, to reject the notion that he has to choose between these two bleak paths. He wants to believe in the ideals he once held, to believe in something greater than survival. But the truth gnaws at him. The world has already rejected him. His dreams are shattered.

But have they really?

“The world has fallen apart. People like you, like me... we don’t have the luxury of holding onto idealistic dreams anymore. The reality is harsh and unforgiving. You can either fight to keep burning out, or you can accept that the world has moved on and adapt. Become something that doesn’t need to rely on hope. Become something that will outlast it all,” they pause, their eyes narrowing slightly as if waiting for Sunday to come to his conclusion. “So, Sunday... will you hold onto your dying star, or will you choose the cold, inevitable truth of being something greater?”

Sunday sits motionless, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on him like a mountain. The cell is silent, save for the faint hum of his halo and the rustling of the doctor's coat as they wait. His mind spins in a desperate frenzy, struggling to piece together some semblance of resistance, some last thread of hope. But the doctor’s words have struck too deep. He feels them in his bones, in the places where his ideals once lived. A small, bitter laugh escapes him, but it’s hollow, devoid of any real amusement.

“A planet,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Cold, unfeeling, and distant... But it endures. Doesn't it?”

“It shapes the world around it, whether it wants to or not. It doesn’t fade into nothingness. It stands firm, no matter the storm," the doctor easily agrees. Sunday can feel the pull of the doctor’s words, like a gravity he can’t escape. The halo above his head hums softly, as if reacting to the intensity of the moment, vibrating with the tension building inside him. He looks up at the doctor then, eyes narrowing, his gaze hardening. The chains on his wrists shift slightly as he stands straighter, every fiber of his being screaming with the desire to reject what’s being offered. He wants to defy it, to shout that he won’t become that thing, that lifeless entity, that thing the doctor’s trying to turn him into. But he knows, deep down, that the fight is slipping from his hands. He's so tired. The idealism he clings to, the belief that there’s something worth saving, something worth fighting for, feels more fragile with each passing second.

What would Robin think?

The doctor’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, soft but insistent. “I know it’s a difficult one. But the world won’t wait forever. You have to choose: a flicker that will vanish in the next gust of wind or a force that will remain, unchanged, no matter the storm.”

Sunday’s fists tighten again, his knuckles white. “I never asked for this,” he mutters, more to himself than to the doctor.

“No one asks for it,” the doctor responds smoothly, “but the truth remains. The world has no room for weakness, for those who cling to ideals that no longer have meaning. What matters now is what you choose to become. You can keep trying to burn as a star, but that won’t stop the darkness. Or you can let go and rise, like a planet, indifferent to the storms around you. You'll be alive to try again."

Sunday closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his halo pressing against his skull, the faint hum like a heartbeat in his ears. He can feel it. This tug, this pull, deep inside him. The pull to embrace this cold, inevitable truth, to give up the battle and accept what the doctor is offering. There’s something comforting about it. Something that promises survival. The question still hangs in the air, like a blade poised above him. He’s running out of time. His heart beats louder now, thudding in his chest as he realizes—he may not have a choice at all.

Slowly, he exhales, his breath shaky, but his voice is steady when he finally speaks. “And if I choose the planet... what then?”

The doctor’s smile widens, a gleam of something darker lurking behind it. “Then you will embrace the power that comes with it. You will shape the world as you see fit. You will no longer be bound by the past. The future will be yours to command. No more waiting, no more being preyed upon. You will become the force that others bend to. And you will never have to feel the sting of hope again.”

The words are tempting, soothing, like cool water to a burn he never knew was there. Sunday’s pulse quickens. His breath comes more shallow now, as the weight of the decision presses down on him. For a moment, he simply stands there, lost in the quiet hum of his halo, feeling the coldness creep up his spine. He’s so, so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of waiting, tired of being crushed by the weight of his choices. He can feel himself sinking deeper into that black water.

“You are Sunday. The man who almost became an Aeon, only for it all to fall apart. The dream of a world free from the harshness of reality cannot comfort you down here. Not anymore. Right now, you are alone.”

No. That's not true. It's not-

Their words scrape against him. The mention of the Aeon—of his failed rise—stirs something deep within him. The memory of what he almost was, the power he almost held, flashes in his mind like a fading echo. For a moment, he feels the ache of that loss, the hollow sting of what could have been. But just as quickly, he shoves it down. That doesn't matter anymore. Three footsteps echo through the cell, slow and deliberate, the sound amplified by those previous words. Before Sunday can react, he feels the faintest pressure, arms wrapping around his neck in a cold, hollow imitation of a hug. The touch is freezing, sinking through his skin and into his very bones. It makes his muscles tense, his breath catching for just a moment. It is not the warmth of an embrace but something far more alien, far more wrong. The doctor’s voice comes next, soft and intimate, a whisper so close it brushes against his ear.

“But it’s okay,” they murmur, their tone almost tender. “We can be alone together.”

The words, as quiet and soothing as they are, carry a weight that sinks into Sunday’s chest. There’s something deeply unsettling about the doctor’s closeness, their coldness wrapped around him, suffocating him with an intimacy that has no place here. The promise of shared isolation is chilling in its own right, an offer too twisted to accept. Sunday’s muscles tighten instinctively, the discomfort gnawing at his composure. The prickling sensation that crawls up his spine cannot be ignored. This is not a comfort. This is a reminder of his solitude, his isolation, twisted into something almost mocking. His heart beats just a little faster, and he fights the urge to shudder. The doctor’s words echo in his mind, lingering in the empty space like an unsettling shadow. He knows now, that this is not a game. This is something far more dangerous.

"The dream of the Order has dissipated," the doctor says, their voice calm, almost mournful. They run their hand through his hair, almost like a mother attempting to soothe their child. "Yet there are still those who will not relinquish their original intent. To the traveler whose wings were clipped…" Their head tilts slightly, the words deliberate and heavy. "Whereto shall your footsteps lead?"

The air in the room feels heavier now, charged with the energy of the decision that’s been made. A faint vibration courses through the halo above Sunday’s head, a subtle tremor of something. Its light pulses unevenly, responding to the storm of his emotions. Sunday’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening as the words settle over him. The air thickens, and for a moment, the world outside the cell feels distant, as if the very walls are closing in. His mind races, skimming the edges of memories he’s long buried, of battles fought and lost, of promises broken by those who swore loyalty. His fingers twitch slightly, the chains around his wrists clinking softly. The doctor’s question lingers, floating in the air like a thread ready to be tugged, pulling him toward some deeper hole. The halo above him flares briefly, its light flickering erratically as if responding to the emotion rising in his chest. Sunday’s eyes narrow, just enough to show his growing irritation.

He’s had enough—enough of the chains, the suffocating cell, the endless waiting for a sentence that looms but never falls.

“Then… I choose,” Sunday says, his voice low but wavering. The doctor’s smile deepens, and they step back, giving him space to breathe, to make the final step. Yet close enough to loom over him, their invisible shadow smothering him. "I choose..."

And most of all, he’s had enough of these strangers—these meddling interlopers who waltz into his prison with their veiled words, cryptic challenges, and their insufferable, thinly disguised disdain. His patience is gone, frayed to the breaking point. When he speaks, his voice remains deceptively calm and steady, but the smoldering flicker of anger in his gaze has become unmistakable—a faint ember flaring into a wildfire. “Neither. I am not some helpless bird without purpose. I have always chosen my own path, and I will continue to do so—even in penance."

The hum of his halo surges, vibrating louder in the cell, an electric pulse that reverberates against the walls and into the rocks and sand. The sound is raw, and primal, matching the rage that courses through him. His fist swings, a blind, furious arc toward where the doctor stood a moment ago, but the space is empty. Of course, it is. The doctor has already moved, slipping away as though they had expected this—no, wanted this. Their entire presence feels like a calculated provocation, an engineered storm. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his muscles coiled and aching from the violence of his strike. His eyes burn as they sweep the cell, searching for the shadow that dares to mock him with their calm detachment. The pounding of his heart is deafening in his ears, a counterpoint to the relentless thrum of the halo above his head. Anger courses through him, sharp and unrelenting, demanding action, demanding release. The weight of his declaration hangs in the air, heavy despite being simple words he’s repeated in his mind countless times. Yet, they feel different now—sharper, more potent—carried on the air for another to hear. He doesn’t feel strange letting them out, even though doing so feels oddly like exposing something raw and unguarded. Sunday doesn’t know what comes next, but he knows this: the small flicker of his old self is fading, and something else—something more unyielding—is beginning to rise. In contrast, the doctor hums again, their voice eerily in sync with the faint vibrations of Sunday’s halo. The resonance feels deliberate like an unspoken language only they understand. The sound threads through the space between them, burrowing under his skin. Their gentle smile lingers, unshaken, as though they had been expecting his answer—or perhaps even orchestrating it. The way their gaze rests on him feels less like scrutiny and more like careful calculation, their expression distant yet unnervingly focused, as though assembling a puzzle only they can see. Sunday’s fingers flex against the chains that bind him, the faint creak of metal grounding him as time stretches unnaturally. He wonders, not for the first time if the allotted five minutes have passed. It feels like far longer, the oppressive air in the cell distorting the flow of moments into something alien and unrecognizable. Finally, the doctor’s smile shifts into that soft, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there smile. It’s not a smile of triumph, nor one of satisfaction, but something more elusive. Almost… admiring.

“No...no, you are not some caged bird,” the doctor murmurs, bringing their hand up to feel the vibrations of their voice through their lips, the words rolling out with finality. As if they're talking to themselves rather than him. Then, suddenly, the air lightens. The weight that had hung between them vanishes as if it had never existed at all. The water recedes, growing calm and quiet, as though it was never trying to drown him in the first place. The doctor's smile becomes unexpectedly kind, even a little silly. It's disorienting—this sudden change from the sharp, probing presence to something almost affectionate. They step a little closer, their expression now open, becoming someone simply offering comfort rather than delivering an execution.

"I'm glad," they say, voice lighter, warmer now. Even the light in their eyes has returned, "When I heard Ms. Jade had come to speak with you, I was worried you would accept her offer. I’d hate to see you make the same mistake as the others. After all, you’ve been alone long enough, haven’t you?”

The change is subtle but undeniable—the sharp edge in their demeanor has dulled, replaced by an almost maternal kindness, as if they're genuinely concerned, even protective. Sunday feels the shift, though he can’t fully understand it. The calm in their presence is unsettling, and yet, for a moment, it feels less like manipulation and more like... care. A care that feels strange coming from someone who only moments before seemed intent on breaking him. Sunday's muscles remain tight, still coiled from the tension that had just been released. His mind races, trying to decipher the sudden shift in the doctor's demeanor. The warmth in their voice, the ease in their smile—it feels foreign, out of place. He’s been surrounded by manipulation and false kindness long enough to know better than to trust a sudden change. But the doctor’s presence is no longer suffocating. There is no sharpness in the air, no tension laced into their every word. It's almost... normal. And that’s what unnerves him the most. He takes a slow breath, pushing the unease back down, and forcing his body to relax, though his mind remains wary.

“Alone?” He repeats the word, tasting it on his tongue as if it might reveal something deeper. The doctor’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding his attention with that same unsettling steadiness.

“Yes,” they nod, “Alone. You’ve been isolated long enough to start thinking your only options are escape or destruction.”

They step back, creating just a little more space between them, “But that’s not all that’s left, Sunday. You don’t have to keep fighting against the tide, drowning in the same thoughts over and over. There’s another way. You don’t have to be the only one holding yourself up.”

They turn slowly, their coat trailing behind them, their presence still palpable even as they begin to walk away. Sunday’s gaze follows them, his chest tight with a mixture of uncertainty and something else he can’t quite name. The hum of his halo pulses faintly in his ears, but the oppressive stillness of the cell settles back in, thick and heavy. The doctor pauses at the door, their hand resting on the cold metal, and turns their head just enough to meet Sunday’s eyes once more.

“I’ll leave you with this. What you do with it is up to you. I know you won’t make it easy, Sunday, but I hope you will come to visit sometime. Perhaps even later today if you're feeling generous?" the doctor laughs lightly at their joke yet it carries a weight that lingers. The doctor slides a sleek paperslip colored in a luminous palette of metallic gold and red out of their pocket. The top section of the paperslip is adorned with geometric and circular designs, with small circular holes on the bottom line. A subtle rainbow light emanates from its edges and central emblem.

It's a train ticket. It flutters in the wind, landing gently on top of his hand.

And with that parting gift, they step through the door, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty space. The door clicks shut with a finality that feels too real, too absolute. Sunday remains still, the silence pressing down on him like the weight of an unspoken truth. The offer- no - the perhaps lingers in the room, intangible but undeniable, swirling in the corners of his mind. The weight of his decision, of what comes next, rests heavily on his shoulders. His fingers curl around the ticket, shining brightly in the middle of his palm. The choice, the path he will take, is entirely his. The possibility of something other than solitude, other than endless struggle, hangs in the air like a question he has yet to answer. But for now, there is only silence and the slow, steady pulse of his halo, waiting for him to make his next move.

[bedtimescenarios]

Hii! You asked for prompts to stay motivated, so I thought I'd share my all time favorite as a possible request?

I'm a SUCKER for an injured whumpee who's incredibly scared of the caretaker, not understanding that they just want to help them! Maybe they lash out or try to run away and have to be held down to receive the medical care they desperately need, with the caretaker trying to comfort them as best as they possibly can... You know?

/nf of course!! Have a great day!!

This is my first time requesting whump stuff, I hope I'm doing everything right aaa

hey there, anon!! thank you so much for the prompt:) it's actually helped me get to writing, and it's even a bit different from my usual stories, so i had an opportunity to diversify my writing!!

i hope you like this and that it fits the prompt well enough, and thanks again!

p.s i am supposed to be sleeping and have written this at 2 am. if there's any mistakes in there or something that needs to be re-done please let me know😭

. . .

As the door swings open with a squeak, Whumpee instinctively presses their back into the wall and lowers their head. Whumper must have had a bad day, otherwise he would've let them heal before another session. They're not getting that luxury now, they think, as the wounds on their body throb and sting with the reminder of their situation. They prepare themselves. They unclench their jaw so they won't bite down on their tongue, shifting so their knees are facing outwards,- they'd rather endure another leg fracture than be nauseous all week- and they tightly shut their eyes.

"Whumpee?"

The voice that rings out is different.

They don't raise their head, but they hear the person's next footstep resound closer. Another one is their cue to cower, pressing an arm against their bleeding abdomen. Did Whumper send someone else to hurt them? Oh, God, he sent someone to finish them off. He got bored, they're finally going to die, or worse-

"Whumpee, I'm not here to hurt you." The voice says, as if reading their mind, and Whumpee takes note of the apparent gentleness of it. A trick.

They look up through the fallen strands of hair stuck to their forehead, trying to assess the amount of danger- no, pain- they're about to be in. A man stands a few feet away, and they quickly identify him as the owner of the voice. Fuck, he's strong, Whumpee thinks as they notice his buff, tall build. He could break their wrist bare handedly, without much effort. Their eyes slowly trail up to his face, noting the short, dark dreads pulled back into a ponytail that ensures an unperturbed view of his surroundings. Increased efficiency and a boost in fun. I can pair your screams with clear images, Whumper used to say.

Caretaker's obsidian eyes meet Whumpee's, and they imagine him saying that same thing to them. They ignore his manipulative attempt at an empathetic, pitying glance. Having been through this too many times already, they can recognize it from a mile away. They just want their break, at least until their wounds close. And they won't let this random stranger take it away from them. Their gaze hardens slightly, yet it's still tinged with raw fear.

"I'm Caretaker. I won't hurt you, I swear- Just- Whumpee, we need to get you to a hospital."

Another lie. But... taking them to another location? No, no no no. Whumpee's hand clenches around their wounds. Another lonely gathering of walls where their screams will echo for eternity. Whumper is giving them away for good. They're so, so tired. Death suddenly doesn't sound as bad.

Alarms blare inside Whumpee's mind, turning their world to hues of red. They feel their veins burn with adrenaline, and before they know it, they're on their feet, scratching at Caretaker's face. They use all their strength, a final attempt at freedom- one way or another. Like a wounded rabbit scratching at the fox whose jaw is clenched upon its ears.

They expect a hard blow to their temple. Or the sharp prick of a syringe. But nothing comes, except for pressure pulling their hands away from the man's face. As they're pulled away, writhing in the grip, they internally swear at themselves for omitting the possibility of backup. Only when their arms are held firmly to their sides is it that they notice themselves trembling, and only when the two people next to them lower them to their ground do they realize how much of an effort each move is. How much pain each shift brings.

As the people behind them hold them still, hands quickly shuffling through a first aid kit, they can finally make out Caretaker's expression. Beyond bloody streaks, his face is painted with genuine shock- or simply incredible acting. He doesn't step forward again as Whumpee sobs in terror, their eyes glassy and breathing labored. Though, if they look closely enough, they can distinguish tears at the corners of his eyes too. He tilts his head, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards softly.

"Shh...It's okay. We'll make you all better, and you'll be able to trust again sometime."

[cutielando]

Hello can I request draco with a gryffindor reader who happens to be the daughter of both Ares and Aphrodite. How would her parents react when their daughter wanted to marry a former death eater after the battle of hogwarts?

ungodly romance | d.m.

synopsis: in which you don't know how your parents will react

my masterlist

Being the daughter of two Gods came with many difficulties.

With your status came responsibilities, obligations and burdens. Things were expected of you, you needed to reflect well on your parents and your kind.

Studying at Hogwarts had been your way out, your one place where you could be yourself without people breathing down your neck, without being judged for every little thing that you would do. It was your escape.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, that place had forever disappeared from your life. You were back in your closed-off world, living to please the people around you, make them proud and give them someone to show-off and brag about.

However, there was one person whom you reconnected with that gave you your freedom back.

Draco Malfoy.

During the war, you had had to cut off contact with him because of your opposing positions in the war, your parents having forbidden you from associating with Death Eaters or anyone who might tarnish their stellar reputation, as a matter of fact.

You and Draco had just secretly started dating before the war broke out, cutting contact being the most hurtful thing you've had to do. Having just found someone to love you for who you were, and immediately having to let them go.

When you reconnected after the war, it seemed like two pieces of a puzzle reunited after a long time without each other. You finally felt like you were at home again, safe and sound in the arms of the one you loved.

There was just one problem.

Your parents.

The fear that crippled your heart at the thought of them meeting Draco was paralyzing. You knew how they felt about Death Eaters, and despite Draco leaving those days behind, that wouldn't matter to them. He would still be evil in their eyes.

Draco was the one who insisted that he meet them. He was positive that he could change their minds and make them see that he was good for you, that those days were long behind him and he wasn't evil at heart as they had concluded.

You weren't so sure, but you figured you had nothing more to lose. The worst your parents could do was lock you away for good, but it wasn't anything that you hadn't previously been through.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" you asked Draco for the twentieth time as you stopped before the grand door that sat in front of you.

You had been very evasive with details about your boyfriend when you told your parents you would be bringing him to dinner, which sparked their curiosity even more.

But not in a good way.

"Love, we have to get this done. We can't hide away forever" he caressed your cheek, sensing how nervous you truly were.

"Yes, we can. There's nothing stopping us. They don't care about my life anyway, and I know what they're going to say already. This is all really unnecessary" you tried to reason with him, trying to convince him just how bad this idea was in your eyes.

"I want to meet your parents, and regardless of what they say, I'm not giving up on us. Whatever comes our way, we'll deal with it together" looking into his gray eyes, you felt comfort.

Without realizing it, you found yourself nodding and taking his hand, finally entering the place you had been dreading to enter for the past few days.

Immediately, as soon as you stepped foot into the house, servants bombarded you left and right, not even sparing Draco a second glance as they focused on you.

"Master and Mistress are awaiting you in the grand ballroom" one of the servants informed you before disappearing with the others into another room.

You glanced once more at Draco before letting out a big breath, and beginning your journey towards the ballroom.

Once stopped in front of the entrance, you raised your hand to knock, but the doors opened on their own before you got the chance.

"Hello Mother, hello Father" you greeted your parents, both of them conversing with their backs turned to you.

"Sit" your mother's sweet yet icy voice spoke, not turning around yet.

You glanced at Draco with the corner of your eyes, but followed suit nonetheless.

Both of you took a seat next to each other, clearing your throat and keeping your hand clasped in his.

Your parents, Ares and Aphrodite, God of war and Goddess of love and beauty, now stood facing you, eyeing you down wearily. You were accustomed to their intense gaze, but it hurt Draco to look at them.

"Who have you brought here?" your mother asked, her eyes scanning your boyfriend.

By the way she was looking at him, you could already sense her suspicion.

"This is my boyfriend, Draco. Draco, these are my parents"

"It's an honor to meet you both," Draco said nervously.

Your father stared him down, cracking his knuckles.

"What is this young man doing in my house? Do you have no respect for us? Don't you know what he did in the war?" the booming voice of your father echoed off the walls, his fist hitting the long table that stood between you.

You didn't even flinch, accustomed already to his outbursts. There was a reason why he was the God of war, after all.

Clearing your throat, you held your head high and looked at your father.

"I am aware of Draco's actions during the war, but I am also aware of the fact that he did not participate willingly in any of them. He was being forced by his father, who is now residing in Azkaban for his crimes. I know you despise the lot, but Draco is not like them. He never was and he never will. I ask of you that you give him a chance and get to know him before making any judgements" your father was fuming, but you could your mother smiling from the corner of your eyes.

She had always encouraged you to fight for the ones you love, and this was the first time you had really stood up to your father like this.

"I don't want to hear this right now" he turned around and stormed out of the room, something you had known was going to happen.

"Don't worry, my dear. I will speak to your father. Draco, consider yourself welcomed to the family" your mother caressed his shoulder before graciously following after your father.

Left alone in the room, you let out a big sigh of relief, not quite believing what had just happened.

"I told you so" Draco teased, bumping your shoulders.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

thank you for requesting !!

i changed things up a bit as i went along with it, hope that’s okay !!

i hope you like this, i had fun writing it !!

REQUEST HERE

[rollinouttahere-writes]

mmmm for the alphabet can I choose yandere Luffy with H , J , O , Q , V 🍪 anon pretty please 🙏

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

I've kinda covered this in this post under N.

Outside of that, the worst thing that you'll experience is the crushing realization of how trapped you are. The sense of dread that hits you from how inescapable Luffy is will be devastating.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Not strongly, any jealousy he does have is pretty mild. It most comes out when you spend more time with other crewmates over him. He'll wrap around you while pouting and asking why you're ignoring him. Whoever you were spending time with will take the hint to leave, and Luffy will happily carry you off to do something together.

He doesn't get jealous from romantic rivals. If he sees someone trying to hit on you, it makes him get protective because he thinks that person is making you uncomfortable even if they aren't. He'll casually knock them the hell out and then act as if nothing happened.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

For the most part, none. You're able to travel the world on his ship, make friends with the crew, and you're still actively pursuing your dream... Just with him by your side. The only thing you don't have the freedom to do is end your relationship with him.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Escapes never last long. Luffy can and will follow you to the end of the earth. If your escape attempt lasts under a day, he'll just kind of act like nothing happened while keeping a tight grip on you for the rest of the day. If you manage to keep your distance for longer then that, you're going to be thrown into isolation as soon as he gets his hands on you.

If you die, it hits him hard. He beats himself up about not being able to protect you or provide you with whatever you needed to live. He feels like a failure for not being able to save another person that he cared about, and it takes him a while to bounce back. But, he will eventually. He'll slowly return to his usual self and go about life, but you'll always be a part of it. He has a shrine for you on the ship, and he visits it every day to tell you about what's happening in your absence. He never moves on from you romantically. He's loyal to you even in death.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Given that he can't go a week without fighting an overpowered tyrant, you'll honestly have plenty of opportunities to try and give him the slip. It's still not easy because the other Straw Hats will be keeping an eye on you for him, but this is your only real shot at escaping.

[fyodior]

No but just imagine

Someone trying to get you pregnant. Maybe a long term partner who has been subtly manipulating for quite some time. Or a new one who is just so desperate and of course it’ll be fine, maybe they even say it’s just a fantasy and they just wanna finish inside a few times, no issue. Maybe a stalker… either one who has pregnancy as the end goal or one who doesn’t really care at first, just needs you. Or perhaps it really was an accident

But when they find out…. They want you to carry it to term. And as time passes they get weirder about it. Just utterly fascinated as their offspring leeches off your body. As they start seeing the evidence on you. You start to feel aches. Your mind and body begin to feel only half under your control. It’s hungry for this, it doesn’t like this, you want to cry and none of it is adding up. As it grows more and more, it’s like you’re being consumed. Your entire body whether you like it or not, is throwing itself into sustaining the creature this person put in you. It would be more bearable. If they didn’t seem so completely obsessed. Your freedoms slipping away, as more and more of your body gives itself to sustain this being. And as the person who put it in you controls more and more. The way they rub your belly and say such sweet words is so strange. Now you’re stuck playing house as their offspring grows. You can feel it moving now. You can’t seem to hate it in the strangest way, even as it makes you ache, and makes you sick. Even when it kicks and stretches uncomfortably and you almost think something will tear. And the damned person who did this…. They love every second. How your entire body has surrendered whether you want it to or not. But not surrendered willingly. It has no choice. How it tries desperately to sustain itself enough to appease the creature within. Some part of how they watch you feels sweet. Almost adoring. Another part feels sadistic. As if they enjoy watching the discord their offspring is causing in your body

You didn’t have a choice. They keep you now, far away from anyone. You see out this pregnancy isolated, and yet somehow completely exposed. The way they’ll inspect your body. As if you’re an animal meant for birthing sometimes. It can be so humiliating. Especially the way they rub your back and call you good to soothe you.

It gets worse when they tell you you’re made for this. In no way do you feel made for this. Your body teeters on the edge of being consumed. The creature you can’t seem to hate is only growing stronger… and sometimes you imagine it can only be because you aren’t. And they seem to love it

They watch you give birth. Only them left to help. You have no choice but to accept it, you want this to finally end. You never felt more like livestock than in that moment. And the way they watch you…. Watch as your body struggles and fights… all because of what they’ve done… there’s no doubt it fascinates them. The months of strain. All of it bringing you here, to when the creature leaves you. And some part of you doesn’t want to let go. It’s lived off you for so long, now your body can no longer sustain it. And it seems it can’t escape fast enough.

Then it’s here. A mess, looking at you so strangely, and you forgive it. What can you do? Your belly where it rested so long, stretching your skin to its limits and making your body heavy and your bones ache seems just a little smaller. The creature left destruction in its wake, that you can see on yourself, but what can you do but feed it? Let it feed on you, that’s what’s become of you. And that person watching is grinning at you. But what can you do now? You almost surrender to it all. The idea of it. Let them put the parasites in you, as many as they want. Let the parasites nearly devour you. What can you do but love them for it?

THIS….. THIS………………:. IS EVERYTHING

the subtle body horror, the dread this inflicts, the yandere-ism, the stockholm syndrome…. wow all i can say is WOW

the struggle between having the life sucked out of you by this thing you didn’t even consent to have put in you and the almost… adoration you feel for both the child and your partner/captor

“The creature left destruction in its wake, that you can see on yourself, but what can you do but feed it?” is SUCH a good line, so full of despair, dread, yet resignation….

i rly just love this sooo much ugh ugh ugh. something i’d love to explore more is the birth and the havoc it wreaks on your already depleted and broken down body …… WOW this truly is so amazing tho thank you for this!!!

[annotatingdays]

Notes from Victor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning

Frankl is fond of quoting Nietzsche, "He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how”.

In the concentration camp every circumstance conspires to make the prisoner lose his hold. All the familiar goals in life are snatched away. What alone remains is "the last of human freedoms"—the ability to "choose one's attitude in a given set of circumstances." This ultimate freedom, recognized by the ancient Stoics as well as by modern existentialists, takes on vivid significance in Frankl's story. The prisoners were only average men, but some, at least, by choosing to be "worthy of their suffering" proved man's capacity to rise above his outward fate.

Don't aim at success—the more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it. For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side-effect of one's dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by-product of one's surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it. I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge. Then you will live to see that in the long run—in the long run, I say!—success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think of it.

In psychiatry there is a certain condition known as "delusion of reprieve." The condemned man, immediately before his execution, gets the illusion that he might be reprieved at the very last minute. We, too, clung to shreds of hope and believed to the last moment that it would not be so bad.

I think it was Lessing who once said, "There are things which must cause you to lose your reason or you have none to lose." An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behaviour.

At such a moment it is not the physical pain which hurts the most (and this applies to adults as much as to punished children); it is the mental agony caused by the injustice, the unreasonableness of it all.

Apathy, the main symptom of the second phase, was a necessary mechanism of self-defence. Reality dimmed, and all efforts and all emotions were cantered on one task: preserving one's own life and that of the other fellow

"Et lux in tenebris lucet"—and the light shineth in the darkness 

Humour was another of the soul's weapons in the fight for self-preservation. It is well known that humour, more than anything else in the human make-up, can afford an aloofness and an ability to rise above any situation, even if only for a few seconds. 

No man should judge unless he asks himself in absolute honesty whether in a similar situation he might not have done the same.

Death in Teheran -  A rich and mighty Persian once walked in his garden with one of his servants. The servant cried that he had just encountered Death, who had threatened him. He begged his master to give him his fastest horse so that he could make haste and flee to Teheran, which he could reach that same evening. The master consented and the servant galloped off on the horse. On returning to his house the master himself met Death, and questioned him, "Why did you terrify and threaten my servant?" "I did not threaten him; I only showed surprise in still finding him here when I planned to meet him tonight in Teheran," said Death.

Whenever the degraded majority and the promoted minority came into conflict (and there were plenty of opportunities for this, starting with the distribution of food) the results were explosive. Therefore, the general irritability (whose physical causes were discussed above) became most intense when these mental tensions were added

Dostoevsky said once, "There is only one thing that I dread: not to be worthy of my sufferings”.

If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death human life cannot be complete.

The Latin word finis has two meanings: the end or the finish, and a goal to reach.

It is a peculiarity of man that he can only live by looking to the future— sub specie aeternitatis.

What does Spinoza say in his Ethics?—"Affectus, qui passio est, desinit esse passio simulatque eius claram et distinctam formamus ideam." Emotion, which is suffering, ceases to be suffering as soon as we form a clear and precise picture of it.

Those who know how close the connection is between the state of mind of a man—his courage and hope, or lack of them—and the state of immunity of his body will understand that the sudden loss of hope and courage can have a deadly effect. The ultimate cause of my friend's death was that the expected liberation did not come and he was severely disappointed. This suddenly lowered his body's resistance against the latent typhus infection. His faith in the future and his will to live had become paralyzed and his body fell victim to illness—and thus the voice of his dream was right after all.

It did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life—daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfil the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.

When a man finds that it is his destiny to suffer, he will have to accept his suffering as his task; his single and unique task. He will have to acknowledge the fact that even in suffering he is unique and alone in the universe. No one can relieve him of his suffering or suffer in his place. His unique opportunity lies in the way in which he bears his burden.

Whoever was still alive had reason for hope. Health, family, happiness, professional abilities, fortune, position in society—all these were things that could be achieved again or restored. After all, we still had all our bones intact. Whatever we had gone through could still be an asset to us in the future. And I quoted from Nietzsche: "Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich starker." That which does not kill me, makes me stronger.

Again I quoted a poet—to avoid sounding like a preacher myself —who had written, "Was Du erlebst, kann keine Macht der Welt Dir rauben." What you have experienced, no power on earth can take from you.

Logos is a Greek word which denotes "meaning." Logotherapy, or, as it has been called by some authors, "The Third Viennese School of Psychotherapy," focuses on the meaning of human existence as well as on man's search for such a meaning. According to logotherapy, this striving to find a meaning in one's life is the primary motivational force in man. That is why I speak of a will to meaning in contrast to the pleasure principle (or, as we could also term it, the will to pleasure) on which Freudian psychoanalysis is cantered, as well as in contrast to the will to power on which Adlerian psychology, using the term "striving for superiority," is focused.

A public-opinion poll was conducted a few years ago in France. The results showed that 89 percent of the people polled admitted that man needs "something" for the sake of which to live. Moreover, 61 percent conceded that there was something, or someone, in their own lives for whose sake they were even ready to die. I repeated this poll at my hospital department in Vienna among both the patients and the personnel, and the outcome was practically the same as among the thousands of people screened in France; the difference was only 2 percent.

Logotherapy deviates from psychoanalysis insofar as it considers man a being whose main concern consists in fulfilling a meaning, rather than in the mere gratification and satisfaction of drives and instincts, or in merely reconciling the conflicting claims of id, ego and superego, or in the mere adaptation and adjustment to society and environment. 

What man needs is not homeostasis but what I call "nod-dynamics," i.e., the existential dynamics in a polar field of tension where one pole is represented by a meaning that is to be fulfilled and the other pole by the man who has to fulfil it. And one should not think that this holds true only for normal conditions; in neurotic individuals, it is even more valid. If architects want to strengthen a decrepit arch, they increase the load which is laid upon it, for thereby the parts are joined more firmly together. So if therapists wish to foster their patients' mental health, they should not be afraid to create a sound amount of tension through a reorientation toward the meaning of one's life. 

The existential vacuum is a widespread phenomenon of the twentieth century. This is understandable; it may be due to a twofold loss which man has had to undergo since he became a truly human being. No instinct tells him what he has to do, and no tradition tells him what he ought to do; sometimes he does not even know what he wishes to do. Instead, he either wishes to do what other people do (conformism) or he does what other people wish him to do (totalitarianism). 

The existential vacuum manifests itself mainly in a state of boredom. Now we can understand Schopenhauer when he said that mankind was apparently doomed to vacillate eternally between the two extremes of distress and boredom.

Such widespread phenomena as depression, aggression and addiction are not understandable unless we recognize the existential vacuum underlying them. This is also true of the crises of pensioners and aging people.

The Meaning of Life

question posed to a chess champion: "Tell me, Master, what is the best move in the world?" There simply is no such thing as the best or even a good move apart from a particular situation in a game and the particular personality of one's opponent. The same holds for human existence. One should not search for an abstract meaning of life. Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life to carry out a concrete assignment which demands fulfilment. Therein he cannot be replaced, nor can his life be repeated. Thus, everyone's task is as unique as is his specific opportunity to implement it.

"The self-transcendence of human existence." It denotes the fact that being human always points, and is directed, to something, or someone, other than oneself—be it a meaning to fulfil or another human being to encounter. The more one forgets himself—by giving himself to a cause to serve or another person to love—the more human he is and the more he actualizes himself. What is called self actualization is not an attainable aim at all, for the simple reason that the more one would strive for it, the more he would miss it. In other words, self-actualization is possible only as a side-effect of self-transcendence.

we can discover this meaning in life in three different ways:-

(1) by creating a work or doing a deed; 

(2) by experiencing something or encountering someone; and 

(3) by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering. 

The first, the way of achievement or accomplishment, is quite obvious. The second and third need further elaboration.

We must never forget that we may also find meaning in life even when confronted with a hopeless situation, when facing a fate that cannot be changed. For what then matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into a triumph, to turn one's predicament into a human achievement. When we are no longer able to change a situation— just think of an incurable disease such as inoperable cancer —we are challenged to change ourselves.

But let me make it perfectly clear that in no way is suffering necessary to find meaning. I only insist that meaning is possible even in spite of suffering—provided, certainly, that the suffering is unavoidable. If it were avoidable, however, the meaningful thing to do would be to remove its cause, be it psychological, biological or political. To suffer unnecessarily is masochistic rather than heroic.

Anticipatory anxiety

It is characteristic of this fear that it produces precisely that of which the patient is afraid.

In this context, one might amend the saying "The wish is father to the thought" to "The fear is mother of the event." 

Logotherapy bases its technique called "paradoxical intention" on the twofold fact that fear brings about that which one is afraid of, and that hyper-intention makes impossible what one wishes.

there is a danger inherent in the teaching of man's "nothing butness," the theory that man is nothing but the result of biological, psychological and sociological conditions, or the product of heredity and environment. Such a view of man makes a neurotic believe what he is prone to believe anyway, namely, that he is the pawn and victim of outer influences or inner circumstances. This neurotic fatalism is fostered and strengthened by a psychotherapy which denies that man is free. To be sure, a human being is a finite thing, and his freedom is restricted. It is not freedom from conditions, but it is freedom to take a stand toward the conditions. As I once put it: "As a professor in two fields, neurology and psychiatry, I am fully aware of the extent to which man is subject to biological, psychological and sociological conditions. But in addition to being a professor in two fields I am a survivor of four camps—concentration camps, that is— and as such I also bear witness to the unexpected extent to which man is capable of defying and braving even the worst conditions conceivable."

Man is ultimately self-determining. Man does not simply exist but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become in the next moment. 

Let me cite the case of Dr. J. He was the only man I ever encountered in my whole life whom I would dare to call a Mephistophelean being, a satanic figure. At that time he was generally called "the mass murderer of Steinhof" (the large mental hospital in Vienna). When the Nazis started their euthanasia program, he held all the strings in his hands and was so fanatic in the job assigned to him that he tried not to let one single psychotic individual escape the gas chamber. After the war, when I came back to Vienna, I asked what had happened to Dr. J. "He had been imprisoned by the Russians in one of the isolation cells of Steinhof," they told me. "The next day, however, the door of his cell stood open and Dr. J. was never seen again."

This is the story of Dr. J., "the mass murderer of Steinhof." How can we dare to predict the behaviour of man? We may predict the movements of a machine, of an automaton; more than this, we may even try to predict the mechanisms or "dynamisms" of the human psyche as well. But man is more than psyche.

A human being is not one thing among others; things determine each other, but man is ultimately self-determining.

Our generation is realistic, for we have come to know man as he really is. After all, man is that being who invented the gas chambers of Auschwitz; however, he is also that being who entered those gas chambers upright, with the Lord's Prayer or the Shema Yisrael on his lips.

Tragic optimism

one is, and remains, optimistic in spite of the "tragic triad," as it is called in logotherapy, a triad which consists of those aspects of human existence which may be circumscribed by: (1) pain; (2) guilt; and (3) death.

In other words, what matters is to make the best of any given situation. "The best," however, is that which in Latin is called optimum—hence the reason I speak of a tragic optimism, that is, an optimism in the face of tragedy and in view of the human potential which at its best always allows for: (1) turning suffering into a human achievement and accomplishment; (2) deriving from guilt the opportunity to change oneself for the better; and (3) deriving from life's transitoriness an incentive to take responsible action. 

But happiness cannot be pursued; it must ensue. One must have a reason to "be happy." Once the reason is found, however, one becomes happy automatically. As we see, a human being is not one in pursuit of happiness but rather in search of a reason to become happy, last but not least, through actualizing the potential meaning inherent and dormant in a given situation.

Unemployment neurosis

And I could show that this neurosis really originated in a twofold erroneous identification: being jobless was equated with being useless, and being useless was equated with having a meaningless life. Consequently, whenever I succeeded in persuading the patients to volunteer in youth organizations, adult education, public libraries and the like—in other words, as soon as they could fill their abundant free time with some sort of unpaid but meaningful activity—their depression disappeared although their economic situation had not changed and their hunger was the same. The truth is that man does not live by welfare alone.

Since Auschwitz we know what man is capable of. And since Hiroshima we know what is at stake

[derelict-antiquarian]

The weirdness is more of an internalized fear of losing your independence and freedom.

For instance, I have no issue with children. I have taken care of my nephews and nieces countless times and probably will in the future. But I don’t want to have children of my own. I started off hating children. Like actively avoiding them, asking people to not bring their children to events I would be at with them. There was this fear inside that if I spent time around kids and happy families that 1. I would catch the dreaded “baby fever” or 2. I would see how easy it is to raise a child and think I can do it myself.

1. Baby fever is a thing, but much like a fever it will go away. All living creatures on this planet are hard wired to do two things. Biological we are set up to reproduce and die. Those are the only two things that have gotten our species to the point it is today. Baby fever is your brain telling you to do that first thing before that second thing happens. It’s lying to you. You don’t have to reproduce to be a contribution to the species. There are plenty of people reproducing. No need to contribute to that. Unless you want to. I don’t care.

2. This one is more complicated. Seeing happy families, functional communication, and parents that know how to handle a child is an incredible thing to witness. It may give you a false confidence in your ability to interact and raise a child. This is another incredible lie your brain plays on you. You do not have the knowledge, experience, or drive to raise a small human like their parents have. Slow down. The other side of this one is reflecting on how you were raised. The fear that you might make the same mistakes, or you might be like your parents, or you just saw how unhappy this child was to see their parents you don’t want to be that for a child. This sort of thought can be hidden behind a strong anger or a low simmer of hate. You may not notice why you are felling this toward children, or what it is that makes you fill with a strong aversion to children, but how you were raised plays a large factor in how you raise your children.

With all that said, the overarching reason, I have found this with every single person I have talked to about their opinions on children, the loss of their independence and freedom. Once you have a child you are irreversibly tied to two other living beings. Financially, socially, medically, your life is not the same past this point. Your taxes change. The way you drive will change. All you will talk about is your child. They are sticky, stinky, and you are the only thing keeping them from death. They depend on you for everything, and then they get loud, and start running, and have to go to school, wait they want to play soccer, but don’t forget all the kids at school they like and the ones they don’t, and make sure they aren’t on the same soccer team, oh and now they don’t like the texture of carrots, and anything that’s orange is automatically a carrot, so now you are changing your whole families eating habits because you can’t take the screaming anymore, it’s just carrots. It’s just a carrot. A fucking carrot. Really. Oh shit. Now they know how to say fuck. Who taught them how to say fuck. Are you serious. This persons mind is a sponge. It soaks up all the information and only keeps the swear words!!!!

The loss of freedom from thinking about anything other than your child. It can be scary. It can also be enraging to see other parents raising a child and see how they are acting and talking to them, because you don’t know what it would be like to have that be your everyday, and then have someone see you and tell you they would never have kids. Kids are awful. Why would you bring a child into this world.

People who are vocal about their dislike of children are projecting their own fear and anger toward children and parents that are just trying to do their best. The most immature mind is one that complains before they understand.

i thought the child free movement was about your choice to not have children, not like throwing a tantrum bc a child is near you. i can't on any level comprehend the hatred towards kids. it's almost like they're mystifying children instead of just being like hey that's a human being but kinda smaller. it's literally just another guy, what is the weirdness for?

[thewriterspeaks]

Dear Supporter,

I hope this message finds you and your family in good health. My name is Eman Zaqout from Gaza. I am reaching you out to seek your urgent help in spreading the word about our fundraiser. I lost both my home and my job due to the ongoing genocide in Gaza and we are facing catastrophic living conditions. 💔

I kindly ask you to visit my campaign. Your support, whether through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Palestinian cause. Your dedication brings us closer to freedom. 🙏🕊

Note: Verified by several people as 90-ghost and aces-and-angels. ☑

https://gofund.me/b141d50f 🔗

On this beautiful day, may every person breathing be given a moment of tranquility in these trying times, in every part of our global world. If you do read this, please 🙏🏼 remind yourself there are countries with survivors that are alive like you, eat like you, dream like you, if it were you...may god forbid it, you'd ask for such simplicities too! All together we can create a linked chain reaction, a response so loud they'll have to listen. "They" being the head's of this treacherous operation. Politics should not interfere with the practice of human rights, to argue otherwise would mean none of our lives ever mattered to begin with.

Lest we wish to lose our geographical advantage, it'd do us much better to utilize every freedom we have as living people to support other mothers & fathers & sisters & brothers and ultimately all lifeforms alike. Who are we? If not them in another life. Do this now so that we may prevent the screams of terror and trauma that so many continue to suffer through, as we sit hear with the privilege to read 📚 on a functioning device, without fear of bloody murder, agony, and misery.

[shrimpalt8]

[● When people talk about new plushies they're getting it depresses me and they will never know because damn imagine having anywhere near that kind of freedom. Imagine not being banned from buying stuffed animals because "You're a young lady and you need to set your priorities better"

I'm happy you get to be happy but I also don't wanna hear it because it simultaneously accidentally reminds me of the freedom I don't have

I have been told I have to grow up so many times before while I was still just a kid

Everyone here doesn't like saying it but they all know it for a fact that me and my sibling were forced to grow up way too fast

We're already way too aware of everything and yet we're still only kids. We are not adults yet, but we have to be. Whether that be hypersexualization from adults who never listen to the word "no", or having to take care of ourselves amd even our own parents who just couldn't be bothered and are always upset at us for not doing things the way they want us to. They know we probably deserve more credit than we're given, but I guess asking that would be too much from them. They don't like to say it, but we are pretty broken, and it isn't exactly entirely our faults. It's the faults of everyone in our family and it will be a blessing the day the last of us die off. I only really have hope in my sibling because he knows what he's doing and he knows how to be better, amd he wants to be better, but I don't really think I can. I'm tied to the things that bring me such dread and misery because that's all I really know. I can buy whatever house I want and I can have whatever job I want, but when I have to become what my parents want me to be, then I will never truly be my own person. I'm sure they'd much prefer I be their daughter with a good husband and kids that will live to pave another future. But that's wishful thinking, we're all better off dead. We're all equally broken and there's nothing we can do to fix that. I give up every single day, and one day I'll give up completely and entirely, and I can lie and say I'll be strong enough to carry on the next day. But I know it's a lie. Everyone does.

This goes just beyond you, you know.

I'm talking about me and I don't care how it affects you.

I'm sharing my end and I'm screaming out and I am telling you things are not okay and that's fucking fine by me. I will not fly off the handle like every other time, but we are all doomed and things will never get better. We'll lie here until eventually it comes time for us to welcome our extinction.]

[briamichellewrites]

130

For the past year, Bradley and Elliot had been working together on a fictionalized movie about her life. He had taken notes from what she told him, but he wanted to interview Mike, Brad, and Anna because they knew her as a child. She also thought Mike would have her paperwork from when she lived with him and Anna as their foster child. He could also interview George because he was very close to her father, even though she hadn’t seen him in years.

They could continue working on the project during her pregnancy. He was still in shock, even after two days. They had gone to a store that sold upscale baby items just to look. The store had diapers, bottles, cribs, clothes, and everything else a baby needed. They also sold gifts for the grandparent-to-be. She bought two onesies, both of which said Great Men Become Great Grandfathers for her father and Mike.

She was going to give them to them as a way of announcing her pregnancy. He thought that was a cute idea. Everything in the store was adorable, though expensive. The clothes were so small! Because they just discovered she was pregnant, they decided not to buy anything other than the two onesies. She was starting to feel the effects of pregnancy.

Her body became tired more easily and she needed to nap at least once in the afternoon. She didn’t have morning sickness yet, but she was dreading it. When they got back to LA, she would make an appointment with her doctor, as well as her therapist, to talk about her medications. They were both feeling nervous, though very excited and happy! He didn’t care about gender. If they had a little girl, he would teach her how she should be treated by men.

He wouldn’t hold her to gender stereotypes. If she wanted to play with the boys, he would let her do that. They could play catch in the backyard or football. If she was girly, he would learn everything there was to know about princesses and dresses. If their son wanted to wear princess dresses and be like mommy, he would let him. They both agreed to let their children discover who they were.

As a child, she was masculine and feminine. Her foster parents and father gave her the freedom to decide who she was. When she was younger, she had come out as an agender. What did that mean? It meant she was not masculine or feminine. She also announced she was bisexual, though she didn’t agree with that anymore as she was only attracted to men. At the time, she had just learned about the LGBT community. Mike had a brother, who was gay, so she was able to meet him.

“At the time, I had never met anyone who identified as LGBT. Mike and his girlfriend at the time, introduced me to his brother, Jason, so I would learn that he was just like everyone else. I don’t want to say it was a phase I was going through or that I was confused because it sounds disrespectful. I didn’t understand what being bisexual or agender truly meant when I came out. I’m not either of those.”

“I don’t think it’s disrespectful but I can understand why you would be concerned about saying that. Maybe if you talked to Jason or your friend who just came out, they would be able to tell you if you’re being disrespectful. I’m sure they would know that it’s not intentional.”

Mike didn’t know how it happened but he was in bed with Brad. Did he consent? Yes, he did. It was just once. Curiosity. That was how it started. Brad had kissed him. That led to touching and playing with each other. They ended up in bed together with Brad inside of him. What was it like to love another man? He felt some justice in making Anna feel like he had when she cheated on him.

Brad loved every part of his body, as they moved around the bed. Anna and Shiloh were gone for the three day weekend, so it was just them. They made love until they were both exhausted and the bed sheets were wet. He wrapped his legs around his waist. Mike had forgotten how great it felt to have another person love his body. He needed more of him. When they finished, he felt satisfied! They shared a kiss before Brad got up to clean up in the bathroom.

After they both got dressed, they shared another kiss before agreeing to keep what happened a secret. Brad was comfortable in his manhood to not worry about what people would think about him being with another man. He was thrilled that he had been his first. For one night, he had been in his bed. He felt his body underneath his.

Mike was attractive but he didn’t know how good he looked without his clothes on until now. Would he hook up with him again? Fuck yeah! He left the next morning because Elliot was coming over. Brad promised to text him later. They kissed one final time. When he got home, he took a shower to clean up. Even though he knew what he had done, he didn’t regret it because he had been just as curious as he had. Brad had a great body! It felt great to have someone make love to him.

After getting out, he wrapped the towel around his waist before opening the door. His bedroom door was closed and locked, so nobody could accidentally come in. He got dressed before going downstairs to find Elliot waiting at the door with a gift bag. They hugged before he invited her inside. How was New York? It was a lot different from LA! What did she have? It was a surprise for him.

He gave a confused expression because it wasn’t his birthday or a holiday. At the kitchen counter, he set the bag down before reaching in and pulling out a onesie. Great Men Are Promoted to Grandpa! It took a moment before he realized what she was saying. You’re pregnant! Yeah, they just found out. He hugged her and congratulated her! How far along was she? She was five weeks, so a month and a week. They sat down at the kitchen table.

“I have so many questions! Did you talk to your doctor and therapist?”

“I was just at my doctor’s office. It’s too early to do an ultrasound. We will do that in seven weeks. As for my medication, I’m meeting with my therapist tomorrow for an emergency appointment. My doctor recommended keeping me on my medication until my therapist decides otherwise.”

“Wow! Congratulations! I’m going to be a grandpa! That sounds so weird but in a good way! What does Bradley think?”

“He’s excited! We made some decisions about our baby during our vacation. He’s going to make an offer on the townhouse we visited. We also decided to start the application process for me to get into New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts. They have a television and film program. I’m also going to enroll in their Japanese language program. We’re going to hire a nanny during the day while I’m in school. Then, we’re going to have our child go to a French immersion school when they’re older.”

So, they were moving. Yeah. It was going to be hard with her pregnancy and moving, but they were going to discuss that later. Maybe he could go there first and get everything ready before she flew in. He could not believe she was growing up and moving away!

Selfishly, he wasn’t ready. He laughed as he admitted that. Could he be a part of her pregnancy? Of course! Thank you. Did her father know? Not yet. She was expecting him to kill Bradley. He laughed. When was she going to tell him? She would go over after visiting with him. He felt honored that he was the first person to find out, other than Bradley.

“I should fucking kill you!”

That was Brad’s reaction to Bradley upon learning his daughter was pregnant. He was joking, of course. Bradley laughed as he looked at the onesie he had been given. They had greeted her when she arrived home from visiting Mike. He was curious about why she was handing him a present until he saw what was inside. Grandpa. He hugged his daughter before hugging Bradley. Congratulations! They were going to be great parents! He thanked him happily.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia @boricuacherry-blog

[whathappenedtodecember]

contributing my own propaganda, if i may

chara's absence doesn't only impact the plot; it IS the plot. there is no undertale without chara. from the very beginning of the game, where you give them your name, you become witness to the haunting that enables this story to even be told to begin with. their best friend, unable to die, stuck grieving them in an endless time loop, is stuck in the inbetween form of chara's favorite flower when they were alive. as you progress through the game you find people frozen in various stages of grief, clawing their way one step after another dreadful step through life, which all could be traced back to the moment chara died. even people born way after chara's death are still impacted by the human touted as the symbol of hope, snuffed unfairly like a carrot dangled in front of a foolish animal. chara's death is symbolic of something larger, as they represented the idea of human being as a species for a community of monsters who have known entrapment longer than they have known freedom; chara's death is something so small it's tragic, because they are a child leaving behind two bereaved parents who will know nothing but the conviction that they've failed the person they care about beyond belief.

in the sense that you are able to name chara after yourself, this is only made more profound by the fact that YOU are able to haunt the narrative by proxy. congratulations! your presence is a haunting. you are not supposed to be here. without your knowing it, you have doomed a kingdom into decades-old grief. and yet it is you who will save them from it; it is you who will exorcize them of your past.

anyway, enough of me rambling :3 here are some posts that i like re: chara's hauntology:

• you-can-always-come-home's post on chara:

• doge-w-a-bloge's exploration on hauntology in undertale:

• my tags from i forget what post on my priv:

edit: since i've seen other propagandas mention how chara's death greatly affect the main characters (namely, the dreemurrs), i'm going to touch lightly upon just how severely their death affects the rest of the underground!

as they were the first and last human - up until the events of the game - to ever make it in to the underground, back out, and then back in again, understandably the most visible impact they have on the denizens of the underground is their hope to one day make it out of their prison. this hope is bolstered by asgore's agenda of, well, killing other humans that fell down, which was put into motion the moment chara and asriel passed away. you can see tendrils of this decision forming the life passion and ultimate goals of several other main characters - undyne and papyrus, dedicating their lives as royal guards, with their opposing views on humanity; alphys, desperate to prove herself, created an imitation of human soul and a whole other host of unspeakable things, as well as keeping others, including part of chara's ghost, shut in her basement; mettaton, building his hotel atop a memorial that commemorated chara and asriel's death.

you can even see small details that all speak to a longing for a past where chara was present: gerson talks of the way asgore still called toriel pet names, when they were still together before their children died; napstablook maintained a snail farm where asgore was likely their only or largest benefactor, even when asgore sucks at making snail pies, all because his family was no longer together. the hearth was safely warm in the ruins; the tools still blunted down.

Haunting the Narrative Semifinals

Haunting the narrative means that the character’s absence heavily impacts the plot. They’re not present or active in the story when their influence is most strongly felt, whether they’re alive or dead!

[btsgotjams27]

safety zone | jhs

when you forget to rsvp to j-hope's listening party, you take it upon yourself to make it up to him.

✨ title: safety zone | ✨ pairing: hoseok x ceo f!reader ✨ word count: 5.3k | ✨ rating: m/18+ | minors dni ✨ genre: strangers-to-lovers, idol!au, mutual pining, pwp, smut ✨ warnings: alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, oral (m,f receiving), fingering, consented sex, unprotected sex, mc is on the pill, they're both clean, use of the word slut, sex against the wall, I also suck at writing smut, so I apologize in advance ✨ outfit for the night ✨ a/n: this started as a convo with my friend Ana when the JITB party was happening and it turned into this one-shot lol. enjoy.

The invitation to the party of the century was waiting inside a brown package outside of your door when you arrived home from work, but you wouldn’t get to open it until the day after. You grabbed the box, not thinking anything of it, didn’t even care to see who sent it because you always received so many gifts from companies and reps trying to sway you with their products. It was just another box amongst your other pile of boxes. You'd get to it at some point.

Another Thursday, full of meetings. The most dreaded day of the week, so close to the weekend, yet so far. And one may wonder why you’d say yes to being the senior editor of a fashion magazine, and sometimes you ask yourself the same question. Well, because you love the hustle, the adrenaline rush from a deadline, and mostly the freedom of creativity…you love that aspect of your job. The other part of your position included mingling with people in the industry, schmoozing with the rich and famous. Sounds like a dream, right? WRONG. Celebrities were the worst, it was hard to find people you actually liked and could connect with, without someone wanting something in return. Sure, you held a position of power, but at what cost? No friends and long work hours? The closest friend you had was Ari, your assistant, who knew the ins-and-outs of your life, but that was only because it was her job.

Ari knocked on your office door before peeking her head in. “Hey boss…I received an email from HYBE today and they haven’t received your RSVP for the ‘Jack in the Box’ album listening party tonight.”

Tonight? You looked at the clock in the corner of your screen, it was nearly three in the afternoon. Perking up from your laptop screen, your eyes widened at Ari’s statement. “I don’t remember receiving an invitation.”

“They said a package was sent to you last week.”

Shit…You’d been so busy that you didn’t have a chance to look through your packages. “They sent it to my apartment?”

“Yes…” Ari scrolled through the tablet in her hands, “it looks like j-hope personally sent it to you.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You closed your laptop. “Get them on the phone. NOW.”

She grabbed her phone from her pocket and immediately dialed, and handed the phone over. It rang a few times before someone on the other end picked up, directing you to Mi-na who was in charge of the event tonight. While on the phone, you expressed how terrible you felt for not responding sooner and that you would of course be there at the listening party.

When you hung up, you glanced up at Ari who was sporting a smirk. “What?” You asked, giving her the side-eye.

“You mean you haven’t been texting the one and only Jung Hoseok, aka j-hope, from BTS - the biggest band in the world? How could you not know about this party?” She asked with a curious expression.

You knew his album was coming out, you’d been on the set of his photoshoot, not even a month ago, but you didn’t know there was a listening party. “No…he’s been busy and so have I…and when would I have time to text him?”

Ari grinned, “Mmhm.”

“Besides…he left me on read.” You weren’t bitter about it. You weren’t! He was a busy guy being a worldwide superstar and you were busy running a magazine. You thought there might have been some sort of chemistry the last time you were on the set of his photoshoot, but maybe you read the signals wrong, maybe he wasn’t flirting with you - he was just being nice.

The listening party was being held on the 19th floor of the HYBE building. It was smart to do so, you thought - doing things on their terms and no one else’s, and that’s what you admired about HYBE and their business model. They took care of their artists unlike other companies you knew.

Arriving at a private entrance in the parking garage, you stepped out of your car, dressed in leopard print mini dress, black combat boots and leather jacket. It was good enough for j-hope’s party, right? You threw whatever you had in your closet. There was literally no time to go and shop for a new one.

As you walked through the sliding glass doors, you checked in at the front desk. The receptionist handed you two badges, one printed with the ‘Jack in the Box’ album cover and the other was a white key card. You didn’t think anything of it, stuffing the white key card in your jacket pocket and the other laced around your neck.

When you reached the 19th floor, the party was already in full swing: the bar fully stocked, a line forming in front of it, a few groups forming here and there dancing as the DJ played old school hip hop tracks along with some of today’s latest hits. It was everything you’d expect from j-hope - the vibe, the atmosphere, it was very him.

Your phone suddenly buzzed, breaking you out from your amazement at this listening party. The stupid little green purse you chose for tonight was probably a bad idea, it had no space to hold anything - just your driver’s license, a card, lipstick and phone. But of course, Ari suggested, “the ridiculousness of a bag determines a person’s importance.” Important? You were hardly important. It’s not like you were Anna Wintour.

When you finally dug out your phone, you double tapped the screen, it was a text from Ari.

Ari 8:12PM

Say hi to Jungkook for me

and j-hope too! Have fun boss! 😘

You rolled your eyes and looked up from your phone to scan the crowd. Jungkook wasn’t hard to spot with his tattoos on full display. He was sitting near the stage next to Jin, sharing a drink, and watching a group of dancers show off some moves. You chuckled and shook your head - biggest stars in the world and you found it cute how they stuck to one another, probably a comfort thing, you understood it. You didn’t respond to Ari, rather you just stuck your phone back into the small confines of your green bag.

The line for the bar began to wither down, which called for a drink. The drinks for tonight were, of course, Jack in the Box themed. They were all named after the album track list. When you reached the bartender, you were undecided on your choice of drink.

“Try Pandora’s Box,” a low voice whispered next to you. You glanced over to see RM leaning against the counter, observing the crowd.

“Ah, got it. I’ll take a Pandora’s Box,” taking his suggestion. Just a few minutes later, the drink was in your hand. When you took a closer look at what was actually in it, gin, honey, mint, and lime syrup - you turned to RM, “Thank you,” nodding your glass to him. After taking another sip, you introduced yourself, pulling a business card from your jacket pocket, handing it over to him.

He held it in between his fingers. “I know who you are,” he grinned while taking your card and taking a sip of his drink.

You raised your eyebrow, “You do?”

He nodded his head, “Mmhm..your name has been dropped here and there around this building.” This made you wonder why your name was floating around and from whose lips.

“Have fun tonight,” RM said before starting to walk away.

“Call me when your album drops!” You hollered in his direction, in which he turned back around, smiling and waving your business card in the air, indicating that he would keep in contact.

When you received the call from HYBE themselves asking if your magazine would feature j-hope for the month’s cover, you, of course, accepted with no hesitation. Your magazine was up and coming, and to have a big star featured in it was something to not waver on.

The night continued on as you mingled your way through producers, dancers, singers, etc. You wondered where the man of the hour was - maybe he was making a late entrance, everyone would continue to wait for him anyway. The bartender went heavy on the gin in your drink, almost causing your bladder to burst if you didn’t find a bathroom right away.

You wandered down a hallway, hoping you went the right way to find a restroom, but instead you found the man of the hour, leaning with his head back against the concrete wall, quietly muttering to himself.

When he saw a figure coming towards him, he glanced up, grinning from ear to ear when he saw it was you, “Thought you weren’t going to make it.”

Your eyes crinkled at the sight of Jung Hoseok, though he was absolutely a nervous wreck from the looks of his deep breaths and sighs, you found him rather cute and adorable at this moment. “I’m here,” you said, before mirroring his position against the wall. “You okay?”

“Nervous,” he chuckled softly. “Never done this before.”

Nodding your head, you understood where his head was at. His first big solo project and it was just him, no members to shield him if there was any disappointment or fighting words to come his way. Not that j-hope needed to worry about that, because from the interactions and short conversations you had with him, his art spoke for itself. It would soon be a masterpiece that the world could have a piece of, a piece of j-hope, a piece of peace.

Pushing yourself off the wall, you stood in front of him, trying to get him to look you in the eye. “You’re gonna do great,” you stated, grabbing the lapels of his jean jacket, letting your fingers linger longer than expected from either of you. Quietly, you tapped on his chest, feeling the heat radiate from his body.

A small smile left his lips, “Glad you’re here,” he spoke before finally getting the courage to look you in the eye.

“Me too," your expression now mirroring his.

Another figure dressed in a black suit and tie began making their way towards you and j-hope, prompting you to quickly step away from him. J-hope cleared his throat as the man walked towards him, whispering something in his ear. He responded indistinctly before glancing your way and smiling. “Looks like they’re ready for me. We’ll talk later?”

“Yeah…I’m looking forward to it.” You said as he walked off, making his way to the stage.

Like you expected, j-hope’s album was incredible, full of life, deep lyrics, some fun tracks, some tracks that hit you in the gut - you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. This album was a momentous occasion, and he should be so proud of it.

Once he went through a listen of his full album, there was a sense of relief on his face. Countless people came to congratulate him, as did you when the night was ending.

“Are you…heading home already?” He asked, trying to pay attention to you but others kept interrupting.

“Yeah, I was thinking about it.”

So many others continued to get in the way of your conversation, he gestured for you to wait for a moment while he politely bid farewell to his guests.

Once the crowd calmed down, he made his way back to you, leaning in so only you could hear him, “Do…you want a tour of the company?” J-hope asked, biting his bottom lip, wondering if he was too forward with his question.

The corners of your mouth went up and you licked your lips, a shameless chuckle escaped too, "Sure, I'd love a tour." 

You’ve seen your fair share of music labels and their company but none as extravagant as HYBE’s. They really thought of everything when it came to what their artists would need. From their own hair salon, quiet rooms, gyms, dance rooms, cafe, even a greenhouse (which was input from RM himself).

“This is um, quite impressive.” You remarked as the two of you turned the corner with Hoseok leading the way. “And where are we heading off to now?”

He leaned in towards you, “It’s a secret.” Smiling as he pressed a code to get into the elevator, which you found remarkable. You guessed they didn’t want just anyone to be walking through these hallways - made sense.

The two of you entered as the elevator doors opened, J-hope scanned his card before pressing the '6' call button. You leaned against the wall opposite of him, trying to avoid each other's gaze and suppress small smiles. "What?"

He shook his head. "You look really pretty tonight," he said, biting his bottom lip again. He's never been this forward with anyone, but little did you know you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger. He was just too scared previously to make his move.

Shying away from his comment, your eyes flickered to your boots before glancing back at him. "You know how to make a girl blush, J-hope," noting as the apple of your cheeks began to warm up. Some parts of you wondered if things would have progressed differently if you weren't stubborn and just texted him first, even though he left you on read.

“Just call me Hoseok or Hobi…j-hope seems too formal,” he giggled. You smirked, letting the informal name roll off your tongue.

The elevator dinged, opening up to an empty hallway. Hoseok gestured to follow him, you couldn’t help but try to peer into the other studios labeled for RM and SUGA. After RM and SUGA’s studio doors, you arrived at Hoseok’s studio, the last one down the hall.

You stood in the middle of his studio, taking in the vibrant decor. He indicated for you to sit in his chair, which you did. "So this is where all the magic happens huh? Hours upon hours here, dreaming of big things." You quietly tapped on his desk, before swiveling the chair around to face him.

"Or hours upon hours of sitting and doing nothing," he chuckled, because there were countless days like that. He took a step closer towards you. "What did you think of the album?"

"Loved it. Wouldn't expect anything other than greatness from you," you flirted at him, causing him to shy away with a smile, revealing the cutest little dimple.

“Do you have a favorite song from the album?"

Running through the tracklist in your head, you thought about the song that stood out to you the most, they were all great, but this one was magical. You held your finger to your cheek, tapping on it. “Equal sign, that one is my favorite.”

“That’s a good one. Do you have a favorite lyric from it?” He asked, trying to pick your brain or was he stalling because he was nervous being in the same room with you.

“Not so different, you and I…looking for love in a different light…”

He watched the words roll off your tongue, “Oh–not so different hm?” His feet shuffled closer towards you.

You shook your head, looking up at him, grinning like an idiot. "And are you looking for love?"

He leaned forward, placing both hands on the armrests beside you, causing you to draw back slightly. He was close, extremely close. "Maybe.." Hoseok continued exploring the details of your face, from your eyes to your nose, then lingered on your plush lips. "What about you?"

A breath hitched in your throat as you explored his features too, watching the small dimple appear now and again when he would smile, and you never noticed the faint beauty mark on his upper lip, making you wonder what his lips would feel like against yours. Your stomach fluttered at the thought of his lips.

Snapping out from your daze, you explained, "I don't know…the last guy left me on 'read'," referring to the last interaction you had with him. Again, not upset. He's busy. You're busy. Things didn't happen like you wanted them to, but maybe tonight would change that.

Hoseok clicked his tongue, "That's rude." His face now leaning in closer to yours, so close you can feel his breath, so close you imagined the things he could do to you with that mouth and tongue.

"Very…" you quipped at him, biting down on your bottom lip, curling your fingers underneath his chair as you inched forward to him.

"The last girl didn't RSVP to my party," he said, avoiding your eyes and instead, lingered on your parted lips - curious to know how your rose tinted lips would look on his neck, maybe even on his cock.

"Also rude of her…" you stated, knowing that he was referring to you. It wasn't your fault, per se…

"She didn't RSVP, but she did show up and now she's in my studio." You couldn't help but blush when he said that. So you weren't crazy, because he was thinking about you after his photoshoot. Maybe he had been too excited to have finally found someone he connected with and didn’t want to be overbearing, therefore trying to minimize contact with you, only to find out later you really wanted him to chase after you.

Playing dumb, you asked, "Is that right? Is she hiding somewhere?" Pretending to look around his studio, chuckling at your silly remark. You were just glad the two of you were on the same page now - that the two of you were definitely into one another.

His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips again, "Mmhm…she should come out to play."

You softly giggled, "What game are they gonna play?" Your hand now toying with his necklace, urging him to come closer.

He chuckled, "How about a game where I get to kiss her?"

"Kiss her hmm?"

He slowly nodded, watching your every move, waiting for you to give him the signal to move in.

"Only if you don't leave me on 'read' again."

Hoseok hung his head down before looking at you once more, "I promise you that won't happen." And he meant it.

"Okay…" you whispered, eyes focused on the little beauty mark on his upper lip, before traveling up to his gaze. Licking your lips, you gently pulled him by his necklace towards you. Your lips faintly in contact with his, closing your lips on the beauty mark you so wanted to taste.

He closed his eyes, turning his head to the side to deepen the kiss, pushing you back further into the chair. You cupped his face, continuing to entangle your lips with his, and you couldn't help but lace your fingers in between the hair curling on the nape of his neck.

The two of you let out a moan in unison once you pulled away. You stood up, pushing away the chair from underneath you, his hands now gripped onto your waist, and yours snaked around his neck. He began to pepper kisses down your jawline, then your neck, leaving small traces of himself on you. Tiny whimpers grew louder as you became desperate for more of his touch.

"Hoseok…" you mewled as he continued with his kisses. You began backing him up against the wall, needing to show him how regretful you were for not responding to his invite sooner.

He removed your jacket, letting it drop to the ground, mouths connecting once more, his urgency to feel all of you. He broke the kiss, asking if he could remove the straps of your dress. You responded by letting them slide off of your shoulders, revealing your bare chest.

"Fuck, you're so sexy, better than I could ever imagine," he groaned at the sight, taking his hands in yours, you brought them to cup your breasts - his hands warm and soft against them. He kissed you again, now letting his tongue dance with yours, and his hands in full control - kneading and caressing your breast and nipples.

You suddenly pulled away from him, getting down on your knees, beginning to unbuckle his belt and undo his button. He quickly looked down at you in this compromising position, didn't think he'd get to see you like this so quickly. He didn’t want to let his mind wander too far off - scared he’d blow his load before you even got your mouth on him.

"Thought you were mad," he panted, "and that's why you didn't RSVP." His head rolled back as you shimmied his pants then his underwear off, letting his thick cock spring out. "Ah–fuck," Hoseok gazed at you, all wide-eyed, ready for him to fill you up.

You grinned, "If I was mad, I wouldn't be on my knees right now, would I?" Your hand finally wrapped around his hardened length, pumping it a few times, making him hiss at the sight of you. Faintly, you dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock, running alongside the prominent vein, bringing it to the tip where a small dribble of pre-cum started to form.

“Shit–baby–you’re going to be the death of me,” Hoseok moaned, his hands tugging at his own hair.

You giggled at the cute man of the hour, “Already? I barely did anything.”

“You’re doing a lot–” he beamed. "Driving me absolutely insane right now."

"Good–" you chirped before licking your lips and taking his cock into your mouth, causing him to groan and knit his eyebrows together.

He wanted to keep his eyes open, he did. He wanted to imprint this memory into his brain forever, but your mouth was all consuming, making him forget who he was, and where he was.

You continued bobbing up and down his cock, letting your mouth go further until it would hit the back of your throat, triggering guttural groans from Hoseok. "Wait–don't wanna cum yet," his voice quivered as he looked down at you. His hand caressing your cheek, eyes pleading for this to continue in other ways. He wanted to make you feel good too.

Hoseok took your hand in his, making you stand up and switch positions with him - it was you against the door now. "Wanna make you feel good too," he whispered before placing a kiss in the crook of your neck, then your collarbone, moving it along to take a mouthful of your tit, making you gasp. His tongue flicking against your pebbled nipple, while the other was being pinched between his fingers.

"Hoseok, please…touch me," you pleaded with him. While his cock was in your mouth, your pussy clenched around nothing, you wanted to give all your attention to him, you weren't expecting anything in return but he stopped you earlier than you wanted.

"You're a needy little slut, aren't you?" He asked as he pulled down your undies, letting it drop down to your ankles. Slowly, his fingers dipped into your cunt, gathering your juices to rub your clit.

Surprised to hear those words from his mouth, but it was all the more exciting too - it turned you on even more. "Mm.."

"Say it."

You cleared your throat, "I'm a needy little slut."

"For who?"

"For you Hoseok, only you."

"Good–" he repeated your words from earlier before shoving two fingers into your pussy without any warning, making you yelp and fall forward against him.

"Fuck–Hoseok–"

"You're so wet for me already."

"I was wet the second I stepped into his building," you confessed with no shame whatsoever. You were excited to come to the party, even more excited to see Hoseok.

He flashed a grin as he continued pumping his digits in and out of your pussy, causing the most lewd noises to echo throughout his studio. Thank God it's soundproof.

"Hoseok–ah–" your expression twisted as he pumped faster. "Need you–inside me–now," you said, panting harder than before.

"Can't," he said, "No condom."

"Don't care," you chirped, making his eyes widen. "I'm on the pill, and clean - haven't had sex, been almost a year." Sad to admit, but true.

Hoseok abruptly stopped pumping you, just to make sure he heard you correctly. "Shit–I get to have you raw?"

"If you want to…yeah."

He studied your face again, just to confirm if this was really happening. You leaned in, connecting your mouth with his, telling him yes, you're sure.

Hoseok pulled away, growling into your ear, leaving small bruises onto your neck. You really were going to be the death of him, letting him have you raw.

His cock still erect and poking your thigh, you took it upon yourself to stroke him again. Now guiding his cock towards your entrance, rubbing his tip with your juices, getting yourself ready for him. Spreading your legs apart, Hoseok held his cock, just slightly letting the tip in, causing you to whimper.

"Shit–baby, I'm not gonna last long," he whispered, his head leaning against your forehead, nose nuzzling yours.

"That's okay," you reassured him, as long as you could fuck him now, you didn't care how long it would last. You kissed him again, letting your tongue play with his, as he writhed underneath to get you into a good position. You slipped your underwear away from your ankles, so he'd have better access to you, widespread, on your tip toes as he lifted you against the wall, pinning you, as he pushed his cock into your pussy.

The pair of you moaned together, he held you against the wall for a moment before steadily thrusting into you. Like he said, he wasn't going to last long if you went raw.

"You're so tight–" he grunted as he began fucking you against the wall, causing your head to bump against it every now and then. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he watched your eyebrows knit together in pleasure. It's also been a while for him since he's fucked anyone.

"Ngh–Hoseok," you whined before he abruptly set you down on his leather couch, causing him to slip out of you. Another whine left at the loss of his cock.

He let you watch as he undressed himself, then he placed himself in front of you, slipping you out of your dress and boots. Hoseok wanted to take in the view of you, memorize all your curves and beauty marks. "Beautiful," he whispered before getting down on his knees. "Can't wait to see how sweet you taste."

You propped your head up to flash him a smile before covering your face. Now that you were completely naked, you felt embarrassed at the fact you were fucking Jung Hoseok in his music studio.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you towards him, peppering kisses along the inside, making his way down to your pussy. You could hear soft chuckles coming from him, it was fun for him to see you squirm at the slightest touch.

His mouth then found your clit, slowly licking it, trying to figure out how many licks until you'd reach your high - it was pure torture, your legs quivering and shifting underneath his tongue. Then he began to lap between your folds, and every once in a while darting his tongue in your entrance making you cry out his name.

The yearning in the deep pit of your stomach started to rise up, edging you closer and closer to climax. As you continued to squirm underneath, Hoseok placed his two fingers inside your cunt, repeatedly pumping it in and out of you, bringing you over the edge and into bliss, legs shaking and convulsing as he rode out your high.

Propping yourself up to see the damage, Hoseok looked up with a grin on his face, wiping away your juices from his mouth. "So sweet," he murmured.

You sat up, pulling him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on him. He's right - so sweet. Smiling into the kiss, you told him to lay down because you wanted to show him your appreciation. He was intrigued and ready for whatever you wanted to do. He was game.

He laid down, hands behind his head, intently watching you straddle him. He couldn't help but grin at the sight of you, couldn't wait to keep having more of you, explore what you liked, loved, and what you'd be willing to try.

You stroked his length, bringing it to your entrance again, rubbing his cockhead with your juices before letting yourself bottom out on top of him. And fuck–this position was much better, you could feel all of him inside your walls.

Hoseok closed his eyes, groaning and breathing heavily as you began to roll your hips, then slamming yourself down, bordering him closer and closer to his climax - it had been building for a while already. He was trying his best to hold onto it, but once you were riding him - it was over.

He grabbed a handful of your ass, smacking it noisily, making you grin at his touch. You didn't make him out to be like this during sex - actually you had no idea at all, but you loved it. You leaned down to kiss him, and he wrapped his arms around you as he began thrusting roughly from below, whispering filthy things into your ear, causing you to moan. He continued slamming harder and harder into you, lewd noises from his cock hitting your pussy repeatedly filled the air, you bit down into his shoulder to muffle your moan.

"Baby–I'm gonna cum so hard for you," he whispered into your ear.

"Please, cum for me Hoseok–" whining back at him.

He moaned shamelessly, panting heavily as he reached his orgasm, painting your walls with white, hair now sticking to his temples as he laid his head back. He laced his fingers into your hair, lightly tugging you back so he could give you a sloppy kiss. As you laid on his chest, he grazed up and down your spine with the tips of his fingers, making you slightly shudder.

You couldn't help but chuckle at the fact you just fucked Jung Hoseok - in his studio of all places. This was definitely not your intention when you showed up at his party. You lifted yourself up, the two of you grinning like idiots at one another.

Hoseok cleared his throat, "Well um, I think that was the highlight of my party."

When you got back to your apartment, you found yourself still smiling like an idiot. You were sure your doorman knew exactly why you were so happy.

Tonight's party was perfect. More perfect than you could have imagined.

Setting down your bag and taking off your boots, you stared at the stacked pile of packages sitting next to your dining table. You walked over to find the package that Hoseok had sent the week before, wondering what could possibly be in it.

Grabbing a pair of scissors to cut it open, you found a white box, scribbled with the artwork from his album, and a small lever on the side - you assumed it was a jack in the box. You began turning the lever and it began playing a melody from his album. Knowing what would pop up at the end, you braced yourself for the inevitable, and our popped the character from his album artwork. Attached to it was a crinkled note, handwritten by Hoseok himself, it said, "Hope I get to see you. Let's also go out on a proper date and get to know one each other better - Your hope."

You grinned at the note, if only you opened your package earlier, then you would have known he wanted to take you out, instead of you just showing up to his party and fucking him.

You 1:27AM

Can I pencil in a date before

Worldwide superstar j-hope

jets off?

Hoseok 1:28AM

Absolutely. See you in a few hours? 😏

You 1:28AM

Come over for breakfast?

Hoseok 1:29AM

What's on the menu?

You 1:29AM

Me.

Hoseok 1:30AM

Mm..exactly what I was craving.

[donutloverxo]

Good little wife

Note - Inspired by a request I got long ago and written for the happy hoelidays challenge I'm cohosting with my sister hoes @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 . I used the prompts two idiots in love + Character A loves Christmas. Character B hates it. A melts Bs cold heart Dividers by @firefly-graphics .

Summary - Your husband makes up to you for being a Grinch and a meanie to you throughout your marriage.

Warnings - 18+ only, smut(m/f), dub con, older man/younger woman, arranged marrige, leaking nudes, daddy kink, blood play, virginity/innocence kink, loss of virginity, virgin reader, painful sex, misogyny, mob activities.

Pairing - Mob!Andy Barber x reader

Word count - 8k

“You look beautiful, cookie,” your mother raved, pressing her lips to your cheek, “He’s a lucky man.”

You only hummed. Staring at your refection, seeing someone you didn’t even recognize.

Your white lace dress somewhat conservative, still really pretty, something you would’ve been more than happy to wear if your circumstances weren’t so depressing.

You almost let out a sardonic laugh, you didn’t get to choose your husband but at least you chose your wedding gown.

“It’ll be alright,” your mother picked at your hair, noticing your evident sadness, you’ve never been one to hide how you feel anyway, “you’ll learn to love him. He’s very successful.”

“I always thought ‘money doesn’t make you happy',” something she had said to you so many times over the years.

“That’s just a fairy tale. People fall out of love, run out of things to talk about, men cheat, in the end all that’s left is how well he can provide for you,” she stated.

You checked your phone as soon as you could, going through your messages to see if your boyfriend, or rather your now ex boyfriend, had sent you anything. You still naively hoped that he'd come on a white horse and sweep you off and away, so you wouldn’t have to marry someone you’ve else. So you wouldn’t have to give up your freedom forever and just be someone’s wife.

But you saw nothing. He hadn’t talked to you, not since your father found out about you both. Since he was from a family your daddy hated with a passion, and you were supposed to as well, your father made you cut all times with him. Locked you in your room in a timeout till you came to your senses.

After over three weeks he came to you, telling you how he was ready to forgive you and move on. You were so happy. For a minute you let yourself believe that this was your father, he loved you unconditionally, of course he'd set aside whatever vain feud he has and let you be with your love.

All your hopes were crushed when he told you he had selected a husband for you whom you have to marry in just a month. That you had to drop out of college since you wouldn’t need that degree anyway.

You always did believe that he had your best interests at heart, you wanted to believe it this time as well, but you just couldn’t.

Cringing inwardly when he kissed your cheeks, “You look beautiful,” he told you, cold eyes staring at you, “Don’t try anything stupid. Andrew is a good man,” he looped your arm in with his.

“He’s more than a decade older than me,” you argued, biting your lip as he squeezed your arm to warn you.

You slapped a fake smile on your face, walking down, one step after another as everyone looked at you in awe.

This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life...

But when you looked at Andy waiting for you at the alter you felt nothing but grave anxiety which made your teeth clatter, his palms joined together at his front, he did look handsome with his tux and neat beard. You have had a crush on him for a long time but you’ve never even had a real conversation with him, you didn’t know him. No one did.

Your heart filled with dread as your father handed you over to Andy, patting him on his shoulder, “Take good care of her.”

“I will,” Andy smiled.

You weren’t really there, maybe your body was but your soul had left you to maybe make the whole ordeal less painful. The priest read the vows asking you if you were ready to take him as your husband forever.

“I do,” since you had no other choice.

“I do,” he repeated.

You felt a shiver jolt up your spine when his fingers grazed yours, putting the thin silver band on your finger before lifting your veil to press his lips to yours, giving you a chaste, barely there kiss as everyone cheered you on.

The rest of the evening was a blur, you could barely register what had happened, everyone sweetly calling you ‘Mrs Barber’ only making you more nervous.

Andy however, was cordial and formal as always, shaking their hands and thanking them.

Since you hadn’t really taken any dance lessons you were left to simply wing it with him at your first dance. With your clammy hands in his you tried to match his pace as he lead you, bumping into his feet with yours more than once.

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Relax,” making you shudder.

You looked up at him, he had barely said two words to you but your grandmother often said ‘Eyes are the windows to the soul’.

And Andy’s eyes were so... kind, like a blue ocean you could happily drown in. He almost looked at you as if he were fond of you.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad...

You didn’t really expect Andy to carry you over the threshold, that was just a silly little fantasy you’ve always had and you knew he’d never indulge you in it but he didn’t even hold the door open for you.

You looked around his condo, so grey and boring, looked like it was out of a magazine catalogue, you felt so out of place there.

Naturally, you followed him to his bedroom, watching him wake his coat off, followed by his cuffs as he rolled his sleeves up.

You went over what you wanted to say in your head, how do you tell your husband that you’re a virgin, on your wedding night--that was something your grandmother never gave you advice on. You could’ve used her wisdom then.

With your mouth suddenly dry you tried to speak as he poured himself a drink, “Um... I’ve...”

“What?” he looked at you, quirking a brown brow up.

“Nothing,” you shook your head as you took a seat on the edge of the bed. “This is a nice house.”

“You can take the guestroom,” he said bluntly.

“What?”

“You can take the guestroom. I’ve already put all your bags there, you can decorate it however you like but don’t touch anything else.”

“But I...I’ve never heard of husband and wife sleeping in different rooms.”

“That’s true, it is unusual. This is not a normal marriage though, is it?” His tone so frustratingly patronising, as if he was talking to a child.

You’ve never really been appreciated for your mind, women never are--not where you come from, even your love Alex only ever thought of you as a ‘pretty face’. But Andy didn’t need to spell it out for you, “You... don’t want me...” you realised.

He only scoffed. He’d never been one for long term relationships, he had tried but he could never give himself to another person, women often called him emotionally unavailable, his demanding and dangerous job did contribute a lot to that, but more than that it was his unwillingness to change. He was self aware enough to know that but he didn’t need anyone else. He didn’t want to be tied down or to have a nagging immature wife.

“But why...” you wondered. Sure, you weren’t thrilled to marry him, but now you had accepted it and wanted to make the best of your new life. You thought he wanted the same.

“Why would I want you?” he spat. “ You’re nothing but a spoilt rich girl who’s had everything handed to her. Who was ungrateful and stupid enough to fraternize with the enemy.”

You let out a shaky exhale, looking at him with teary eyes, “I loved him...”

“You don’t know the first thing about love,” he rolled his eyes.

“He loved me too! But I’m willing to put that behind me. I made a vow to you.”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” you frowned.

He took his phone out of his pocket, opening his gallery to show you the compromising pictures you had sent to your ex, “He shared that with everyone, it was all just a ploy to humiliate your father.”

You gasped, taking his phone in your trembling hand, your breasts exposed as you shyly looked at the camera. You had flat out refused to send him a nude when he asked for it but then he threatened to break up with you, to go after your best friend, even called you a prude because you hadn’t slept with him. At the moment you felt as if you had no choice but to do it...

“He wouldn’t,” you sobbed.

“And because of your stupidity I had to marry you since no one else would ever want you,” he said. But then regretted it as you just started crying harder. He thought of maybe trying to console you but what would he even say?

He took the phone from you before you could even think of deleting the photos. He used them to pleasure himself almost every night. Maybe he was an idiot, he could have the real thing, yet he was pushing you away, “Go to your room,” he told you which made you sob even moreso.

You looked up at him, begging him for a hug, for some sort of comfort or sympathy but his face was cold and harsh. Finally gathering your wits you went to the other room, ready to cry yourself to sleep.

No matter how beautiful you were, you were still thrusted upon him, you didn’t love him, you never could because you never even had a choice

“Perfect,” you beamed, setting down the chicken pot pie you had just cooked up.

Your grandmama had always told you that a wife should be a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. So that her man would never stray.

And while you hadn’t had a chance to be a whore for Andy... something that you were looking forward to, you hoped the fresh home cooked meal, the holiday season and decorations you had spent the past few days working on would put him in the mood. To maybe accept you as his wife.

For the past six months you had tried everything, making him breakfast, packing his lunch, offering him massages, even trying to help him with his work but he was always so cold to you.

You feared that this is how it will be forever. He would never love you, not the way you’ve always loved him. Even when he was so cruel towards you.

But you were nothing if not resilient. So you said chuck it and went all out. Decorating your whole house, with a real tree for the past few days while Andy was out on a work trip for thanksgiving. Maybe you could surprise him and he’d realise just how much he lucked out with you.

You even went with a more risqué outfit than you usually would. Your little emerald green skirt with pleats was a bit too short and impractical for the cold winters but you were going to stay inside anyway. It was topped off with a tight burgundy blouse and a push up bra which made your girls look enticing and some red pumps.

With a pumpkin pie for dessert in the oven, your salads done and the gingerbread flavored candles lit up you were good to go.

So you sat on the couch, watching 'A Christmas story' for the hundredth time to kill time till he gets home and to distract your nervous mind.

After ninety minutes the movie was over but Andy still wasn’t home. You tried calling him but it kept going to voicemail.

Frustrated, but determined to follow through with your ‘Seduce Andy Barber’ plan you put on another movie, chewing your lip till it bled as you impatiently waited for him.

Soon it was midnight, your food got cold and the rumbling in your tummy became more prominent so you decide to eat your dinner, put the leftovers in the freezer and cut your losses.

You were almost done with your dishes when your husband coming into the apartment, turning around you saw him hang his coat on the back of the chair and plomp down on it. He groaned, pulling the sleeves of his shirt up to reveal his bulky forearms.

“You’re home,” you said, taking off your apron so he could see your little get up.

He didn’t smile at you like you expected he would, he didn’t say ‘Good job’ like you thought he would. He certainly didn’t look like he wanted to bend you over the dining table and take you then and there. He simply frowned at you. Looking at you as if your mere existence offended him.

“I told you; you were allowed to decorate your room however you liked. Not the whole apartment,” he growled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What? I did it for you... I thought you would like it, ” you stood there, dumbfounded, shifting from one foot to another, “You don’t like Christmas.” You realised.

“No, I don’t. Christmas isn’t all fun and jolly for everybody. I’ve never had anyone to celebrate it with,” he did you a once over, his pants tightening uncomfortably as he took in your little ensemble.

He had never had a single good Christmas in his whole life. He’d usually spend it either working or drinking. But now, he had you, his good little wife who had gone out of her way to do all this just for him.

He could kiss your red lips then and there, finally do what he’s been wanting to go for the past few months and make love to you, eat the delicious meal you had made him because he was fucking starving.

But then he realized how easily you could be taken away from him. How this was all so fickle.

“Do you want a divorce?” he crossed his hands over his chest, as if daring you to give a wrong answer, “If you do, I’ll give you one right now.”

“I - ” you strutted, you didn’t really know, “Daddy would never let that happen.” To which he scoffed.

Your father would kill you both if this marriage failed. He knew that, why would he still be willing to risk everything?

“Where are you going?” you asked when he got up from the chair.

“To my room, to sleep,” he sighed.

He knew what you would say, he knew you were daddy’s little girl who’d die before disappointing her father, which was solely why you were with him, and yet he let himself fall for you and get hurt.

You tugged on his shirt, ready to beg him to at least eat the meal you made for him but then you frowned, inhaling the feminine perfume from his shirt, mixed with his own Cologne, you took a step back, your eyes brimming with tears as you realised he might’ve been with another woman.

While you were home slaving away to make everything perfect for him.

Your father had a handful of mistresses, a few of them younger than you. Your mother knew, all wives know and look the other way. That was how it was supposed to be. It was how you make marriages last...

And your poor beaten heart could take his coldness towards you, it absolutely could not bear him being with another woman. Your father had always praised him for being loyal, and it was one of the things you loved about him...

“Where were you?” you sniffled to keep the tears at bay.

“I was out working. So I could pay for your shopping sprees.” He spat.

You gasped, “I haven’t gone shopping in months! I only did now for Christmas!”

“That tree better be down by the time I wake up. You can out all that crap in your bedroom if you like. I do not what to see it.” He said gravelly, before slamming his door shut.

Something was horribly wrong.

Andy came home to an empty, cold house. You weren’t there to greet him like you usually are, in fact you hadn’t been for the past few weeks. He could hear the TV from your room, some kind of musical playing.

He checked the kitchen for some food, you used to make dinner every night, rave about your love for cooking and baking, but now it seemed that you lived on poptarts and McDonald’s.

He knocked on your door, to ask if you wanted some of the alfredo he was cooking up, also to maybe get you to have dinner with him.

Ever since he had married you, he had such a beautiful companion to have dinner with. To watch silly romcoms with, someone who waited for him to come home, called him all worried when he was late, asked him how his day was

It’d break his heart to say good night to you, you’d give him those puppy eyes, fluttering your lashes as if begging him to invite you to bed with him.

He wanted to ask you to come, to feel what it would be like to snuggle up with your soft body, to smell your hair, to finally fuck you, but he’d just go away to sleep in his cold bed with a heavy heart. Making do with his hand as he thought of you, it wouldn’t feel nearly as good as you would but it would have to do.

“Can I come in, honey?” he asked.

Letting himself in when no answer came from you. You were lying on your bed, blankets draped over you, your eyes trained on the television. He looked around your room, he had only been there a couple of times, he had expected to see some kind of winter wonderland since you were such a fan of Christmas.

But it looked just how it usually did... pale pink walls, a queen sized bed, a small closet and a dresser and a vanity. No tree or fairy lights or nut crackers.

He leaned against the door frame. “Did you have dinner?” He wanted to know.

You made some sort of unintelligible noise; which could mean anything. So he asked, “Would you like some pasta? I can’t make it as good as you do but I’ll try.”

“No.” You answered. Still not even looking at him.

“It’s Christmas Eve, do you want to go celebrate with your family?”

You shook your head in response. “No, I think I’ll just stay here.”

He had stolen your brightness and sunshine away, tainting you with his darkness. “Stop it,” he scolded, switching off the TV and standing in front of you to make you listen to him. “Get ready, I’m dropping you off at your fathers. You’re not spending Christmas in bed.”

“What difference does it make?” you huffed.

“Get ready. Right. Now.” He ordered, pulling your blanket away from you.

“No!” you whined. Sitting up, your face heating up with a simmering rage you had harbored for months. “Why do you even care? Do you want to get me out of the house so you could spend Christmas with her?!”

“Who’s her?” he furrowed his brows.

“Your mistress!” you yelled, looking around for something you could hurt him with, you grabbed a hold of your Mrs Bunny, your cute pink stuffie and threw it at his face. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not bringing her in to my house!” You said, throwing another stuffie at him which he caught with his hand.

“Honey,” he said, as if he was so disappointed with you, for catching him in his lies and deceit. “I don’t have a mistress. Where would I even find the time for one? All those late nights were spent at the office or in meetings.”

He would be the world’s biggest idiot to get a mistress when he had a wife like you waiting for him at home. A wife he hadn’t even so much as even kissed... given how pouty and tempting your lips looked, he didn’t know how he resisted for so long.

“Don’t call me honey,” you puffed out your cheeks, “And I don’t believe you.”

“Well, what can I do to make you believe me?”

You sighed, laying back down on the bedding, “There’s not much you can do. Except leave me be. I just want to sleep this Christmas away.”

He had to do something to get your spirits up. And since you has thrown away your old decorations he ran to every store in the town, waiting in the queue for hours, calling in as many favors as he could to get some new ones.

While he wasn’t able to get a real Christmas tree, he got a fake one which was a bit smaller than the one you had put up but not all that bad.

You had decorated the apartment with the traditional red, greens and golden he decided to go with a soft pastel pink theme. Hoping that you would like it and forgive him.

He had gotten you couple of gifts, a little babydoll he saw on the internet, it was pink and sexy, he thought of you the moment he saw it. Ordering it for you but he never really gathered enough courage to ask you to wear it. He wrapped it up for you in some festive paper, tying a ribbon around it.

He decided to get as many gifts for you as he could so the tree wouldn’t look so depressing, a Tiffany’s set, an advent calendar from a make up company he knew you liked, a box of cookies and one of chocolates, a new apron with floral patterns and frilly trimmings, some cozy socks, and a surprise gift he had been saving for you.

Looking around the living room, while it wasn’t as good as what you had done with the place he was still proud of what he could pull off in just a couple of hours.

He called out your name before knocking and entering, switching on your bedside lamp he sat next to you, stroking your hair, “Wake up, angel.”

“Seriously, stop it with the petnames,” you said, your voice groggy from sleep and irritated. Because he had only ever said your name with contempt before.

“I’m not going to stop, honey. You’re my wife, I can call you whatever I like.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, rubbing your sleep away from your eyes.

“I have a surprise for you.” He smiled at you.

And while he had certainly smiled at you before that, when you had said something funny or silly (which you usually did just to see him smile), this one seemed so much brighter and warm.

“What is it?” you sat up. Still a bit crossed with him but excited to see what surprise he had for you.

“You have to come into the living room for that, and promise to stop being a Grinch,” he said, bopping your nose.

You scoffed incredulously, “I’m being a Grinch?! You were the one who made me take everything down in the first place!”

“I know, honey, and I am sorry for that. Hopefully I can make it up to you.” He winked.

You combed your hair, splashing some water on your face and then following him out to see what he had in mind for you.

You all but gasped at the tree in the middle of your living room, so beautiful, the soft glow of the fairy lights illuminated the room, little festive trinklets all over the room.

He had got you a pink stocking with sparkling silver hearts on it. His was a normal red one with ‘Andy' written with a sharpie or a pen. You giggled at that.

“You like it, honey?” he asked.

You nodded, observing the ornaments on your tree, “I do. Thank you so much, Andy. It’s so beautiful, I don’t think anyone’s ever done something so grand for me.”

Your rave gave him the courage to out his hand over your waist, pulling you into him, “I know this doesn’t make up for everything, but it’s start.”

“Yes! I think... I’d like a fresh start,” you beamed up at him

He excused himself to make some hot chocolate for you both, handing you a mug with little heart shaped marshmallows and sprinkles on top of it. You didn’t even realise how you ended up snuggled up next to him on the couch, Elf playing on the TV which he shockingly had never seen before.

“You know... for someone who hates Christmas so much you did a pretty good job saving it!” you giggled, kissing his bearded cheek.

“Well...” he looked down at you, wiping away the mustache the hot chocolate gave you before sucking his thumb off, “I don’t hate it anymore, because I’m not alone,” he said, his thumb pulling on your plump bottom lip.

“Um...” you face heated up as looked away, “You got me gifts!” you screamed a bit overzealous to change the subject, “Can I open one now? Please?! I’m just so excited!”

“Sure,” he murmured, a bit salty that he didn’t get the kiss.

He knelt next to you on the carpet as you pinked one up, shaking it next to your ear, scrunching your nose up so cutely as you tried to decipher what it was.

“Mmm... I can’t tell...”

“Why don’t you just open it?” he asked as his hand caressed your bare thigh, finding himself unable to keep his hands off of you now that he has you.

You ripped at the wrapping paper, opening the box to reveal the skimpy baby pink lingerie he had got you.

You pulled it out of the box and then started stammering, unable to form words once you realised what it was. “Is this... um..”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s very cute and nice. Do you, want me to wear it for you?”

“If that’s what you want,” he said casually and then shrugged but then regretted it as your face fell and you let. He wasn’t used to half-assing things if he was going to tell you his true feelings, he had to go all out.

Taking a deep breath, “I have to tell you something I’ve been meaning to say for months.”

“What?”

“I... love you,” he looked down at your lap, because he couldn’t bear to look in your eyes if you decided to reject him.

“Oh, Andy!” you beamed, “I love you too! I’ve always loved you,” you crawled on top of him, throwing your arms around his neck you hugged him.

“That’s good then,” he smiled stroking your back, he pulled you back so he could look at your pretty face, cupping your cheek he pressed his lips against yours.

He had only kissed you once, months ago at your wedding, and while it was not bad at all it was too short and formal and distant, nothing compared to how he felt right now. Moulding his lips against yours, kneading the flesh of your ass, you tasted just as sweet as he imagined you would.

You gasped in his mouth when he rutted his erection up into your core. “Andy!” your chest heaving as you felt him pressing against your thigh.

“What do you say you go put that on for me, doll? Hm?” he instructed.

You meekly nodded, grabbing a hold of the lingerie which you just now noticed was so sheer and would not really leave anything to the imagination.

“Come on out quickly now,” his impatience seeping through his voice as he sat on the edge of his, or what would now be both of your marital bed, one leg crossed over the other, his foot tapping against the floor.

His pants already snug, just from imagining what you would look like with the flimsy thing on. It wasn’t as revealing or kinky as some of the other pieces he had seen, but he felt it would match your personality perfectly.

He groaned, calling out your name again, “I’m gonna fucking die of blue balls, if you don’t come out right now, I’m coming in,” he got up to his feet to do just that but then stopped when he heard the knob twist.

One smooth leg peaking out of the bathroom, “Um... promise you wouldn’t make fun of me?” you asked. Your eyes screwed shut, you didn’t really have much of choice but you had never been so vulnerable in front of anyone. You’d hate to not be satisfactory for him.

“I promise,” his face softened, he had to practice some restrain, at least until he breaks you in, “Now come on out.”

You opened the door, your meek eyes fixed on your hardwood floor, your hands hugging your midsection. You blinked when he said nothing for several long, tortuous moments. Peaking a glance up at him you found him staring at you.

“Uh, do you like it?” you asked as your hands played with the helm of the teddy.

He almost scoffed. Like would be an understatement.

He knew pink would be your color. The nightie so short, clinging to your curves, your nipples pebbled against the satiny fabric, you looked like a sweet little doll and a whole fucking meal to devour at the same time. He would burst before he even got to touch you.

“Twirl,” he made the motion with his forefinger to demonstrate it, “Let me look at you better. And hands to your sides.”

You took a deep breath, letting your hands fall, doing as he had asked, your heart hammering in your chest because for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out if he actually liked you.

“Stop there,” he instructed when he got a look at your pert, round butt, the cloth barely covering it, he could see the imprints of the thong you wore.

“What are you thinking?” you asked.

“If I like your front better or your behind.” He almost chuckled at the incredulous gasp you let out. “Alright, look at me again.” Definitely the front, because he could see your beautiful face. Taking his original position on the bedding, “Come here,” he patted his lap.

Like the obedient wife that you aspired to be, you followed, perching yourself up on his lap, your arms around his neck for some support, looking into his lust blown, dark eyes.

You bite your lip when you felt that pressing into your thigh. Unable to bear his intense gaze you hid your face in the crook of his neck.

He hushed you, snuggling your soft body closer to his, his fingers drawing patterns on your hip, “How many men have you been with before?”

It didn’t really matter whatever your answer would be. But he wanted to tell you, that how ever many there were before him won’t matter anymore. From now on you are solely his.

“None,” you whispered so lowly that he almost couldn’t hear you.

“What?” Holding onto your chin so that he could make you look at him, “None? How is that possible?”

“I’ve just been waiting for the right one... I was going to with Alex but then didn’t...” you said as your hands caressed the coarse hair on his jaw.

He hummed, the fact that he would be your one and only, forever, only served to entice him further.

“Have you ever sucked a cock before?” he asked, although he knew the answer.

“No...”

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you,” he promised, pushing on your shoulders to make you get on your knees.

You hissed at the cold floor, biting into the your calves and knees.

His dainty princess, he grabbed a throw pillow, instructing you to put it under, all the while staring at your cleavage peaking out like a creep.

Your eyes were fixated on his crotch, eager to see what a real penis looks like. You had watched some porn when you were a teen, out of sheer curiosity, but your friends had told you to lower your expectations. That real ones are much smaller and not so aesthetically pleasing.

You all but gasped when he took his cock out of the confines of his sweats, slapping over his abdomen. So big... and thick, with two veins over it, a bright flushed tip leaking with pre-ejaculate, and some soft hair dusted at the base of it.

You tried to stop yourself but then couldn’t help it, your hand shyly touching his tip yanking it down and then releasing it to see what happens. As suspected it flew back over, hard against his tummy, making you giggled.

“Oh gosh...” you slapped a palm over your mouth to stop from laughing.

He scrunched up the hair on the back of your head, yanking your neck back so that he could look at you, “What’s so funny?” he growled.

“Nothing,” you gulped, “It’s all just so strange and new... and exciting...”

He hummed as he took in your words. Grabbing the base of his cock as he rubbed his tip and precum all over your cheeks till your face was positively glowing with his essence.

“You wanna taste it?” he asked, to which you eagerly nodded.

Nudging your pouty lips with his tips before tapping on them when you didn’t get the clue, “Open.”

“Oh,” you said before opening as wide as you could, his length easing into your mouth. You hummed around him, the salty unique taste of him you had never really known before and couldn’t get enough of now.

He was barely halfway through inside you when he touched the back of your throat, he tutted, “Relax your throat,” he told you.

You didn’t really know what he meant but you tried loosening up all your muscles. Choking around him when he pushed in a few more inches.

Most of him was still out but it was as good as it’s gonna get, not that he’d ever complain... no... your mouth was like heaven. He had only known his hand for the past year Or so, and your mouth was almost too much.

Holding onto your face to keep it in place he started thrusting upwards into you, his heart swelling with tears escaped your eyes but you still tried to take more of him, to please him like the good girl that you were.

He stopped his hips, gently slapping your cheek to get your attention, “You always look at me when my dick is in your mouth. Got it?”

Since you couldn’t talk with your mouth full of cock, you just nodded.

You peered up at him innocently, fluttering your lashes, popping him out of your sloppy mouth, “Am I doing it right?” because you truly couldn’t tell.

He chuckled, smoothening a hand down your hair, “More than right... it’s too good but I want to come in your pussy. Maybe I’ll make you swallow my load latter, what do you think?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” you licked your lips to taste more of him.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered.

“Um... can I go fix my face before that,” you rubbed your mouth with the back of your hand, you doubted you looked very pretty to him then.

“No,” he stated, pulling you up by your armpits and all but throwing you on the bed.

You yelped and tried to protest, “I wanna look good for you...”

He pushed your legs apart to make room for him, smirking above you, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat, his prey, “This really does look pretty on you...” he rubbed the flimsy spagetti strap between his fingers, “but it’s served it’s purpose.”

You screamed, holding onto his wrists as he ripped the babydoll in two pieces, revealing your breasts to him, he yanked at it, throwing the remains away.

“That’s much better,” he gritted, pinching one of your peaks, capturing it in his mouth and suckling at it to his hearts content.

You pouted as you looked at the torn cloth, a bit upset that he ruined his gift to you. “I really liked that...” you sniffled. But couldn’t really ponder because Andy’s ravenous mouth was sucking hickies all over your breasts.

“I’ll buy you another one. I’ll buy you ten more,” he bit into the side of your breasts, your mewls and whines were like music to his ears.

“Andy...” you heaved, “Don’t leave marks... I have to go to dinner tomorrow to moms...”

He stopped abruptly, propping himself up above you and you were afraid that you had upset him, “You’re my wife now, honey. Your father gave you to me,” his hand snaking down your body, between your legs, he parted your moist lips, the pad of his fingers meeting your little pearl, “I can do whatever I want with you,” he reminded you, pushing a finger into you, “This cunt is mine now, got it?”

“Yess...” you whined as you squirmed under him, the invasion of his finger inside you too alien to your body.

“Which means you ask for permission before you touch yourself, or better yet, don’t touch yourself because that’s my job,” he stated.

“Have you ever made yourself come?” he asked, trailing soft kisses down your body till he settled between your legs, moving the strong of the thing to the side so he could get a better look at your virgin pussy, adding another finger inside you, your snug walls clinging to his digits, “You’re so fucking small. Can barely fit my finger. How will you take my cock,” he teased.

He’d make you take it.

You whimpered at the sting of it, “I’ll try, daddy...” throwing your head back as you massaged your breast.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him when he stopped his ministrations, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he quirked a brow. “Do you realise what you just called me?”

You simply shook your head because you hadn’t really called him anything, “Andy?”

“No,” he huffed, “You called me daddy, honey.”

You gasped, you didn’t mean to say it out loud! “No...” you shook you head from side to side, trying to pull away from his fingers still knuckle deep inside you, “It can’t be!”

“Oh, but you did,” he laughed, “And you’re gonna say it again. In fact, from now on, when it’s just the two of us that’s the only thing that you will call me. Unless you wanna get punished...”

“Okay...” you said, still a bit unsure of it all.

You had always called him ‘daddy’ in your fantasies. It was maybe a bit expected for it to slip out like that but still so embarrassing. You said it again just to make sure that he actually wanted you to call him that and wasn’t just teasing you.

“Good girl,” he winked, latching his mouth around your clit, fucking you with his fingers as he kept sucking.

“Daddy...” you whined, biting on your hand to muffle some of your noises, a knot building up in the pit of your stomach, “Don’t stop, please!”

You gushed over his mouth, he lapped it all up, making sure nothing went to waste.

“You did good, honey,” he said, your cheeks heating up when you saw his beard glistening with your juices. He rolled your thong down your thick thighs, “You wear this to dinner tomorrow,” he told you. “Since I’m going to be a real husband from now on I pick out what you wear.”

All so he could see you in those pretty flowy dresses you wear sometimes, but you didn’t need to know that.

He hastily pushed his sweats and briefs past his hips, throwing them off the bed before pulling his t-shirt over his head.

You bit your lip at just the sight of him. His shoulders so broad, chest so wide, dark hair dusted all over his chest, you just knew then that all those hours he spent at the gym paid off, you knew he’d be ripped.

But you absolutely did not expect, someone as uptight as him to have numerous tattoos all over his torso.

Something inscribed in Sanskrit on his chest that you didn’t really understand... the logo of your family’s mob on just under his pectoral.

You sat up to get a better look at them, tracing a skull on his bicep that looked much less sophisticated than the others, the lines a bit scribbly, it was already fading.

“That’s the first one,” he interrupted you, “I was a kid back then, got my foster brother to do it.”

You pressed a kiss over it, “I love it.”

His blue eyes beamed at you, he was so beautiful...

“Now for your gift...” he circled your wrist bringing it down to his pelvis.

“Hm?” you looked down, tears brimming up in your eyes as you saw your name written on just beside his hipbone, next to his hard cock, standing tall against his stomach. In a small heart, dark ink against his pale skin, “When did you get it done?” you sniffles, touching his skin to feel the texture of the tattoo.

“A few weeks ago. I just... I’ve never belonged to anyone. Never had a family of my own. But now I have you, and you have me, I’m just as much yours as you’re mine,” he confessed, finally feeling the weight of it lifted off his shoulders. You were a blessing in disguise.

“I love you,” you beamed up at him.

“I love you too, doll, now come on,” he pushed you till you were on your back, “Daddy’s waited long enough. Can’t wiat to fill you up, make you mine.”

He planted a hand on the mattress, so he could see what he was doing to your virgin cunt, look at you and her, as he defiles you and makes you a woman, his thick manhood nudging your glistening lips as he eased into you, he felt you stretching around him, your face twisted in pain as you begged him to go easy on you, he halted when he felt your barrier.

He looked up at your pretty face, sparkling with his spend and your tears, your sweet little whimpers filled the room, he stayed still for a moment to let you get used to him, he knew he should take it easy.

His wife was a delicate, fragile, sweet little girl. He should be more gentle. A better husband and man would be. But he had his whole life to become a good man for you, tonight he just wanted to take what was rightfully his.

Letting out a deep, almost animalistic growl, piercing through your seal, your innocence till you were screeching, your nails drawing blood from the sides of his thighs.

“It hurts!” you screamed.

“It’ll only hurt for a little bit, doll. Just ride through it,” he cooed, stroking your sensitive clit to draw your attention away from the pain, he withdrew his hips before snapping them back till he was deep within your womb.

“You’re so snug, honey,” he grunted, not letting up his pace as he kept fucking into you,

A proud smirk gracing his face as he looked down to see himself covered in blood, a sticky mess of both your bodily fluids where your sexes were joined. His dick somehow grew harder inside you knowing how he took something from you that you’ll never be able to give someone else.

Slowly your crying and whining was subsiding as you got used to have him inside you, but he wanted to hear you scream for him in a different way. “Don’t you want to make your husband, no, your daddy happy, honey?” He asked, each word punctuated with a deep, harsh thrust into you.

You nodded, willing your tears away, cringing when you saw his crotch covered in your blood, “Yes I do, daddy. What do I do?”

“Your cute dumb brain always needs to be told what to do,” he chuckled, moving closer to you he circled his palms around your wrists, pinning them above you, “Wrap your legs around me.”

You followed along, wrapping your legs around his hips and hooking them together on his back. Closing your eyes when you felt your body seizing up, your pussy pulsating around his length when you felt the familiar feeling creep up on you.

“Look at me!” he barked and you immediately opened your eyes, “You look at me when I fuck you.”

You gulped and dared not close your eyes again. Even as you felt your orgasm wash over you, clenching around his length. His face was scrunched up, his neck, face and chest flush as he chased his own release till you felt his warm release coating your walls.

He collapsed above you, panting beside you he kissed your hair, “You liked that, babygirl?”

You let out a meek little yes. Feeling empty and void of his warmth and hardness when he pulled out of you before settling next to you.

“But...” you trailed off. Not finding it in you to bare yourself to him like that just yet.

“But what?” he whipped his head to look at you.

“But I’m sorry if I wasn’t very good!” Since you had simple laid there and took whatever he gave you. You had heard that men don’t like that...

“Don’t worry, honey, you were absolutely perfect,” he sighed. “You’ll get even better with practice, we’re gonna practice a lot from now on.”

You tried to cover your breasts up with the comforter, still awkward about being stark naked right next to a man, a man who looked as good as like Andy, but he swatted at your hands, reprimanding you and telling you to stay still and let him look at you to his hearts content.

Soon you felt your cunt throbbing back up again, still so raw from the loving Andy gave it, you tried rubbing your legs together to ease it a little bit.

“It still hurts?” Andy asked as you nodded.

He snaked a hand between your legs, massaging your little nub and your lips, tutting when you tried to pull away from his touch, “Shh I’m trying to make it hurt less.”

He hummed when he saw his seed leak out of you, pushing a finger in you, much to your displeasure, to keep it inside you, where it belonged.

He would make you go on some form of birth control as soon as he could. While the idea of you all round and plump with his kid was more than appealing, he didn’t want to share you with anyone else just yet. You were young, he had plenty of years to breed you.

“You’d make a good mother,” he wondered out loud.

“Hm?” you blinked at him. Squirming from the torture he was yielding on your overworked sex. His lips curled up in a twisted smile as he pulled his fingers out of you, wiping your blood on your soft nipples, painting them crimson as you shivered.

You looked at his cock, hard again against his stomach. “Does it hurt?” you asked, your hands twitching to touch it again.

“Yes, it does. Do you wanna help me get rid of the pain?”

“Mm... can I use my mouth again? I’m sore...”

“It’s okay, honey, you’ll get used to it,” he promised, grabbing your hips and pulling you on top of him, your palms pressed into his abdomen as you looked so wrecked, “Guide me in,” he ordered.

You shook your head which earned you a harsh slap on your ass so you held onto the base of his cock, parting your intimate lips, before slowly sinking down on him.

You sighed as you settled, sitting on top of him with his cock nestled inside you, so full and strangely satisfied, his warmth soothing your aching walls, he spanked you again to remind you to move, so you started bouncing on top of him the best you could.

His hand groped at your bouncing titts before he wrapped a hand around your throat, applying the slightest bit of pressure as you whimpered and cried, just to remind you who’s in charge, not that you’d forget anytime soon.

His only regret was that he hadn’t done this sooner. He was an idiot to ever resist an angel like you. He’ll have to do a lot to make up for lost time.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm. Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤❤

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

Rivalry Put To Rest

Pairing - Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Warnings - Arranged marriages (non of that under age like child marriages though fuck that yuck, these are obviously of age adults i just really wanna make that clear jesus), praise kink, modern AU, just lovely soft sex with my favorite man :'^).

Word Count - 2.4k

Other Comments - Dude it’s been so long since ive actually written anything im so sorry. But i couldn't resist writing this. I know i promised xiao but he will come in time. This is a little bit of a slow burn, or at least the sex doesnt start right away lol i want this to be nice and soft. P.s. youre on birth control so dont worry about no condom lol.

You did not like this idea. Why your parents were still forcing you into this was beyond you seeing as how you were a fully grown ass adult. You just couldn’t stomach the disappointment you would be seen as in their eyes. You were the daughter to the CEO of one of the most well known Law Firms in Teyvat. Zhongli was the son of another CEO who controlled your Rival company. Yours's and his parents wanted to finally settle the bad blood between the firms by having the two of you get married. You knew damn well the benefits of doing this was, god forbid if your Fathers firm went underwater, you would still be secure with Zhongli as your husband.

It’s not that you didn’t like Zhongli, and he certainly was not ugly; you just couldn’t stand your freedom to choose who you really wanted to marry being ripped from you. It was non negotiable though, so you had to go through with it. Zhongli didn’t seem to mind at all, he thoroughly enjoyed his very brief moments he had with you before, and was frankly excited to get more of those moments. He just hoped you didn’t resent him or blame him for this.

You both of course had an extravagant wedding, why would you not when your family was one of the wealthiest in Teyvat. You were grateful to your parents for letting you invite a few of your friends, and it seemed Zhongli had done the same. There was almost like a crowd formed around you two at the after party, you talking to your friends, and him with his. Zhongli had offered you his arm to hold onto, but you politely declined, feeling that even just holding his arm was too intimate for you.

“Already trouble in paradise for the two lovebirds?” One of Zhongli’s friends had chuckled, a red head with a stupidly smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as you shot a look at him. Your friend Ningguang frowned, turning to look at your now husband.

“Control your dog, Mr. Zhongli.” You let out a chuckle, when you heard Zhongli’s friend scoff.

After a while, it was customary for the newlyweds to go on their honeymoon; so after a couple of hours you had to bid farewell to your friends and family. You approached the jet the two of you would be taking, with Zhongli carrying the luggage not far behind. You went ahead and boarded, while your new husband spoke with the pilot and the crew, sighing to yourself.

“Come on (y/n) suck it up, this honeymoon will be over sooner than you know it.” You mumbled to yourself, settling into the high class jet.

“Did you say something (y/n)?” You jumped, not expecting to hear Zhongli’s voice. “Ah.. My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You sighed and shook your head, waiving your hand to dismiss the apology.

“You’re fine Zhongli, I’m just… Nervous is all.” He hummed in response, nodding as he settled himself into the jet.

“I understand (y/n), I really do apologize about this being thrusted into your lap. I know this isn’t the ideal circumstances for a young woman to go through.” You nodded, glad that he understood your hesitance to the situation. Zhongli really wasn’t a bad guy.

“It’s really not your fault Zhongli, I understand you probably had no more say in it than I.” You gave him a reassuring smile, the first genuine smile to grace his line of sight. Without noticing he found himself smiling back, relieved that you didn’t see him with any contempt. A comfortable silence settled, as the jet took off towards your destination.

It wasn’t a long flight, and along the way you were able to make small talk, slowly learning more about Zhongli. After two short hours, you felt the jet jump slightly against the ground before steadying itself on the runway. After a few more moments, you both departed, Zhongli once again handling the luggage, leaving your side to retrieve it.

Before you knew it, you were at the house you would be staying at for your honeymoon. It sat on a beautiful beach side shore, with a large open patio looking out over the ocean. By the time you guys had arrived it was already around 10:00 o’clock at night, so the crescent moon was high in the sky as you both stepped out onto the patio. The moon and stars gleamed against the inky black water, with the rhythmic beating of the waves lulling you both into a comfortable silence. You stood next to your husband and finally for the first time that night, actually took in his face.

The light of the scenery exposed the beauty Zhongli held in his face, the pale light bouncing off his cheekbones and illuminating his golden irises as he looked out over the sea. He must’ve felt you staring because moments later those golden eyes were locked on yours.

“Do you like the scenery (y/n)?” You gave a quick nod before ducking away from his gaze, a red flush rising to your face. You heard him chuckle for a moment before shifting.

“I know what is customary to happen on our honeymoon, and I do not want you to feel pressured to fulfill that part of our relationship.” You flushed even more as you suddenly found the pattern of the wood to be very interesting. You had completely forgot that sex was usually something people did on honeymoons. It seemed normal, because generally the people who get married have had a relationship before this so nothing felt awkward about the topic. Obviously that wasn't the case in this situation, but there was something in you that kind of wanted to. Something in you that felt comfortable enough with him to do it, you already trusted him which shocked you. What if he wasn’t though? What if he was uncomfortable with the thought of having sex with you right now which is why he brought it up so suddenly?

“Thank you Zhongli, you’re too kind. You’ve truly been so understanding through this entire thing.” You looked back up to him finally, and found a gentle smile on his face. He nodded and hummed before turning back to the house.

“We should probably get to bed, it’s already fairly late.” You nodded, pulling out your phone to check the time. You both walked about into the house together. “There is another room down the hall from the master bedroom if you don’t want to sleep in the same bed. It’s smaller so I could always take it.” There he goes, being considerate and kind; handling your thoughts and feelings like glass that would break any second. You remained silent for a moment contemplating on what he had said, before gently shaking your head.

“No, no, it’s fine. I want to share the bed with you.” You smiled up at him, and he looked almost surprised with your willingness, but the shock didn’t last for long before he smiled back at you and nodded; offering you his arm to hold on to, which you shakily took. You both reached the bedroom, where he had placed all of your guy's luggage before letting you go to retrieve your sleeping clothes as he did the same. You went into the bathroom, to give yourself and him some privacy before slowly re-entering. Zhongli was in a pair of brown silk pants with golden accents and a black short sleeve shirt. Your eyes met each other, and Zhongli smiled when he saw you.

“I know that these were unideal circumstances to get married, but I’m happy it is you who is my spouse. I can only hope you think the same of me, and that at some point you can genuinely feel connected to me.” You blushed as he said this, genuinely taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. You feel bad for dreading and almost resenting Zhongli when you were first notified about the engagement, once finding out just how compassionate and caring the man before you was. Slowly, the two of you made your way into the large king sized bed. There was a large gap between the two of you, large enough to comfortably fit another person. Your mind raced a mile a minute trying to decide whether or not you should scoot in a little closer to the man next to you.

And so you did, without taking another moment to think about it you shifted closer to Zhongli until your side gently pressed against his. You felt Zhongli stiffen beside you for a brief moment, and for a split second you regretted scooting in; that was until you felt him roll over onto his side and wrap a strong arm around your torso. You could really take in Zhongli’s scent like this and you noticed that he smelled like amber rum, chestnuts, and a hint of vanilla. It wrapped you in a warmth that lulled you into a comforting silence as the two of you laid together like this.

You rolled onto your side, letting Zhongli’s arm now rest against your waist. Your noses were almost touching as the two of you stared into each other's eyes. You saw his eyes dart down to your lips for the briefest of seconds, letting yourself do the same.

“Zhongli…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Can I kiss you?” You saw Zhongli’s eyes widen as his gorgeous eyes met yours, not expecting you to ask him that.

“I would love nothing more… Darling.” You flushed at the mild pet name, before softly placing your lips onto his. It felt as time skidded to a halt, as the two of you moved against each other with the grace of a slow dance. Soon enough it became heated, as you changed positions and straddled his hips. You could feel his boner pressing against you through his pants, and it made warmth bloom in your chest.

“You really want to do this right? You don’t feel pressured my dear?” You smiled at Zhongli’s questions, nodding before he could get another one out. It felt good to be so concerned about, so doted over.

“Yes Zhongli, I really want to do this with you. I trust you.” This time it was Zhongli’s turn to flush, an elegant smile gracing his lips. Before long, the both of you were out of your sleeping clothes and back on top of one another. Your back was to the silken bed sheets, as Zhongli was on top of you lining his hard cock up with your eager pussy. Zhongli gave you one last look before slowly entering you inch by inch. To say he was huge would be an understatement, so he knew he had to take it slow with you so as to not hurt you in any way. Zhongli needed this to be a good experience with you, he would never forgive himself if he hurt you or made this unenjoyable in any way at all.

The noises you were making and the way your hands were clawing at his back reassured him that he was doing everything right so far, always stopping after pushing in a few inches to give you time to adjust. Without thinking, Zhongli's mouth just started moving as words spilled out.

“You’re doing so good for me my angel, you’re taking me so well. You’re too good for me.” With the praise spilling out of Zhongli’s mouth, you couldn’t help but unleash a flurry of loud moans, as he bottomed out. He stood still for a couple moments, making sure you were nice and comfortable, until he felt you trying to move against him; trying to get him to move in and out of you.

“If you were ready for me to move, all you needed to do was ask my gem.” You let out a whine like moan, that evolved into a guttural groan when he finally started to thrust in and out of you. Your nails raked across his skin, surely leaving marks for you to admire after this was all said and done. He wasn’t skipping out on the marks either, as he sucked and bit at your skin, still throwing out praise every time his mouth left your skin. His fingers dug into your hips, as he sped up. He just couldn’t help himself, your wet quivering pussy just felt way too good wrapped around him; sucking him in every time he pulled out.

“I can’t believe it took us getting into an arranged marriage to finally meet, my god where have you been all my life.” Zhongli had begun to groan, obviously getting close to tipping over the edge, with the way his thrusts continued to get sloppier every so often. You moaned in response, too blissed out of your mind to form actual words. Zhongli’s head fell against your shoulder, his ebony black hair hanging off his shoulders.

With a few more strokes, Zhongli had both of you tumbling over the edge and cumming in unison. All that could be heard in your room was the quiet crashing of waves and the combined panting of the both of you. After a few moments of Zhongli getting his breath back he tumbled down next to you, sweaty shoulders touching. A couple seconds of silence passed before you spoke up in a raspy broken voice.

“It took us so long because I’m technically your rival.” You were giggling slightly, when Zhongli let out a loud chuckle.

“I guess you are right my dear, but now we are joined together. And I cannot wait to see what comes of our joining.”

[min-jpg]

may i request albedo , venti and kazuha with a bimbo reader?

Note: more bimbo gf lets goooOOOOO. It honestly surprises me how many people want to see more, but I appreciate the interesting idea. Enjoy!

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Genshin Boys x Fem Bimbo!reader pt.3

Part 1 - Part 2

Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Venti

Genre: fluff, established relationship, suggestive theme for Kazuha and Venti (sfw overall)

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ALBEDO

seeing the both of you together will surely have people baffled. Albedo, the alchemist only fixated on his job that never projected interest on anything outside of it, now dating you?

you constantly receive inquiries on how did you even attract a prodigy like him. Not only that, but you have been criticized for not cultivating a level of intelligence or maturity on par with Albedo. "What am I supposed to do about that? My boyfriend's brain is out of this world."

Albedo usually overlooks topics regarding this when appointed towards him, unless they go too far with their judgments to the point of insulting you. "You better watch what you say. I'm not sure if you want to keep running your mouth like that." The tone of his voice is always perceived as serene and tame, but one would know if Albedo has any residing anger

he also loves your fascination over his experiments or whenever he wonders on and on about what he knows. Albedo wants someone to listen and engage in what he finds interesting, whether the latter possesses any knowledge on it or not. You always give a profound response because of how easily amused you are by the simplest things. He finds your reaction adorable and felt contentment in sharing more

his lab is off-limit because your clumsiness is a walking hazard. With many potions, fragile and brittle items in there, he admits he is not willing to take the risk for himself and also for your safety. But he always promises to tell you the result of his experiment or discovery by the end of the day

with your revealing garments, although Albedo would not react much, he likes to have you as a subject for his drawing. When going outdoors, he will ask you to stop by any scenic point of interest that inspires him to pull out a canvas. "It's a method for me to preserve a beautiful memory. I hope you don't mind, my muse." paint me like one of your french girls moment

KAZUHA

it was only a matter of time before the both of you got together. You get along with Kazuha because of how honest you are, vocalizing everything that comes to mind first. He can gauge you as a person with no ill-intention that way. Although others may view you as naive, your boyfriend loves your free spirit that rides along with the flow

he feels at ease around you, especially because he can also speak of anything. Whether you understand or not is another thing, but you always answer back frankly

Kazuha can get metaphorical with his string of words, leaving you confused most of the time. Other times, he speaks in a simple manner. He probably began picking up that habit and adjusting to it once he dated you, just to make better conversations with you

you follow Kazuha to sail out to the sea when you feel like it. He lost count of how many encounters there are of you nearly falling off the edge of the boat when the waves come crashing. You always laugh it off and give him a peck, "I wouldn't drown. You'll save me if I do, right?" To which he just sighs at you, but not refuting to the idea

being very in tune with the condition of the weather, Kazuha will take notice of a windy day. If you wear something revealing, like a miniskirt or a short dress, he will be very wary with how he positions his gaze. Kazuha refuses to stare at what he should not if it makes you uncomfortable

you do not bear such concern as he thought you would be, so whenever a breeze wanders by, some things may be exposed to the public a little too much, "If it's you, feel free to enjoy looking at it." Kazuha will be remarkably concerned about that, but he would not hinder you from wearing what you like. He only holds onto the sentiment that you will be extra careful and also trying not to glare at everyone gawking at you. Now, if he detects a windy day, it would be something Kazuha dreads. How ironic for the Anemo vision holder

VENTI

similar to Kazuha, you have great synergy with Venti and he welcomes your presence. Your attitude is recognized as the embodiment of freedom that Venti desires because of how you act based on your own accord without fretting what others may presume of you. You are oblivious of this yourself since it comes as natural to you, but Venti can discern it well. He feels at peace being by your side

your relationship can be described as the quote, "Prepare for trouble and make it double." Venti involves you a lot in his pranks. You tag along since the fun factor is there

sometimes the pranks end up with you being the victim because of your gullible nature. He finds your reactions just too hilarious and precious. You seldom doubt anything that comes from Venti, even if it sounds ludicrous. The two of you started dating in the first place because he asked you out as a harmless joke. Only it did not fall within his expectation that you would actually believe him and accept

still, he took the responsibility to explain he was not sincere, but you only replied, "You don't have to lie! You're just shy about having a crush on me, hmm?" Venti did eventually develop genuine feelings for you after some time as mentioned earlier how he feels at ease around you

one of the favorite things your boyfriend likes to do with you is when you sit on his lap when he performs in the tavern. It would not be strange for two eccentric people to clump up together. He just thinks your beauty should be exhibited by his side, "All of you can look at her, but not too much!"

wearing anything short around Venti is asking for trouble. That prankster who can command the wind at his convenience will send a heavy breeze your way, causing your dress or skirt to fly. He finds your outfit cute though, never neglecting to sing praises every time he sees you