#the notes yielded no success :(

[silver-lily-louise]

[Video description: A pair of brown hands are seen squeezing blue paint into a large tray, then rolling marbles back and forth in it by shaking the tray. The video cuts to show that the marbles have created a blue and purple finely-striped background against the previously black canvas. Spinning tops are then spun through yellow, red, black and white paint, guided by the artist's movement of the tray, forming halo-effect stars and the bust of a white stag. The video cuts to show that the words 'Merry Christmas' have been added to the finished artwork in yellow paint. End video description.

ID: A gif of Frollo from 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame', recoiling in angry horror and declaring 'Witchcraft!' End ID.]

Does anyone have a source for this?? I wanna know who this sorcerer is!

[yueebby]

onsen incident  — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo satoru gets everything he wants and right now he really wants to go to an onsen with you.

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, he's just a cute loser, highschool!gojo (first year), he needs to be locked up asap

notes. this is part ii to indulge me? and a piece in the series, but can be read alone.

you’re not sure how you ended up here. one moment you were exorcizing a grade one curse that rampaged a small town with gojo and now you find yourself back at the ryokan you had stayed at the prior night. except this time around you have an overly excited gojo, still at a high from the successful mission.

“suguru mentioned how nice the onsens here were,” he brings up innocently, his lips curving into a sly grin. you spare him a side glance. 

“we should be heading back to the airport to return to tokyo,” you asserted, eyes trained on the entrance of the onsen— a wooden paneled door leading to the private hot spring that came with the room you and gojo had unknowingly reserved. 

gojo stretched leisurely, his body arched like a cat as he yawns, “i don’t know about you but i’m beat! that curse wore out all my energy and a quick dip in an onsen is just what this body needs.” he opens one eye, gauging your reaction.

you don’t buy his act. “you exorcised the curse instantaneously, gojo.”

but gojo doesn’t back down easily, “yeah, well that took up a lot of cursed energy and now i’m drained,” he reasons. the white haired male solidifies his argument by collapsing on you just to show how fatigued he was. his dramatic show nearly sends you tumbling.

annoyance simmered in you, arms folding over your chest. the flight back to tokyo was in a couple of hours, and you had hoped to be able to go sightseeing. 

but gojo’s sky-blue eyes plead silently as they look up at you, unblinking. his pink lips start to quiver. it was hard to deny him when he was basically begging. as comical as his dramatics were, you could almost argue how hard it was to resist his unwavering gaze. plus, he was the one that completed the mission singlehandedly.  

“fine.” you yielded. “thirty minutes and then we leave.”

he perks up happily.

“great! let’s go!” without wasting a moment, he seizes your hand and practically skips to the entrance. 

you recoiled, nearly shrieking, “you pervert! i’m not going in there with you! i’m going to go sightseeing.” 

gojo looks at you like you’ve sprouted two heads.

“... then what’s the point of the onsen?” he looked at you incredulously. it deeply troubled you that someone so conniving could look so innocent.

your response is caught in your throat, leaving you flustered and unable to make eye contact. arms remained crossed, you mutter, “you’re insane if you think i’m stepping foot in an onsen with you.”

gojo’s tongue prodded at his cheek, lost in thought, “they do say you have to be insane to be a jujutsu sorcerer." he looks at you all enthused, "don’t be shy now, we’ve already slept together after all.” there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

“we slept in the same bed– not together! don’t you go spreading that around now,” you jump to cup a hand over his mouth. you feel him grin underneath the palm of your hand.

“same thwing,” gojo’s voice is muffled, but he doesn’t bother taking your soft hand off his face. 

“it is not,” you furrow your eyebrows. 

“it can be.” he wiggles his eyebrows, a boyish smile growing.

you remove your hand from his face, “have you no shame?” 

“not a shred,” he declares cheerfully. “come on, we’re wasting precious time standing here. i can feel the steaming water calling our names.” 

“i’ve told you already, gojo. i’m not going to a hot spring naked with you.” 

he waves his hand dismissively, “you don’t have to be naked, it’s not unheard of for people to go in with a towel.”

you sigh exasperatedly at his stubborn disposition, “it would still be highly inappropriate.”

“as inappropriate as cuddling with your classmate while he’s naked and unconscious?” he raises an eyebrow suggestively. gojo was once again referring to the previous night’s moment of vulnerability.

you stiffen. 

“it was not like that and you know it. for all i know, you were the one cuddling me,” you retorted, crossing your arms with a huff.

 gojo raises his hands in defense, “how about we call it even and hop in the hot spring together as a compromise?”

“that doesn’t make any sense.”

“it makes perfect sense. just two classmates relieving the weight of the world off their shoulders.” 

you hate that he’s starting to convince you. 

the knowing smile creeping on gojo’s face signals that he’s sensed your weakening resolve. he decides to deal the finishing blow.

“this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. with busy lives like ours, who knows the next time we will be able to visit one of the world’s best hot springs?” he gestures dramatically. reluctantly, you start to give into his words.

“fine. but if i see you indecent, i will kill you.” you point a finger threateningly at gojo. 

he simply chuckles, “kinky.”

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

gojosatowu attachment: 1 image

shoko.ieiri what the actual hell gojo.  i did not need to see a picture of you with nothing but a towel on. ts is disgusting.

getosugu where is [name]? i thought you guys were returning from your mission today.

gojosatowu heh the two of us are going to take a little dip in kyushu’s world famous onsens haha :3

shoko.ieiri WHAT

getosugu  you?? [name]?? onsen?? together?? gojo satoru explain hello?

shoko.ieiri where is [name] you dirty pervert  i swear i’ll murder you if you pull any dirty tricks answer now

gojosatowu gotta go! ive been dreaming of this day ><

shoko.ieiri  don’t you go ignoring us!!

you’re already settled in the hot spring by the time gojo arrives. with a snug towel secured tightly around your body, you are submerged underwater from the chest down. the steam curls lazily into the air, casting a dreamlike haze around you.

“for someone that was excited about the onsen, you came awfully late,” you quipped at the snow-haired boy. his signature glasses are absent, allowing you complete access to his azure eyes. on the other hand, gojo is granted the opportunity of seeing you in all of your natural beauty.

gojo enters the steaming water just a couple of feet away from you, “had to calm myself before seeing you.” he sighs contentedly when the water envelopes him. it was true. his nerves were a lot calmer when he was fighting the grade one curse than the short walk from the changing room to the hot spring.

you can't help but roll your eyes at his obvious flirtation attempt, but you decide to let it slide.

the conversation lapses into silence, an awkward veil settling between you. you were starting to regret ever entertaining gojo’s invitation to the onsen. to escape the discomfort, you divert your gaze to the steam rising from the water's surface and the surrounding rocks. the trees around you start to look interesting as you focus on not letting you eyes stray on gojo’s solid buil—

breaking the silence, gojo interjects, "did ya think i looked cool taking down that curse?"

your eyes shift from the rocks to gojo’s face, “it was quite impressive how you were able to crush the curse with your infinity.” you have heard of stories of gojo’s strength, but seeing it with your very own eyes was truly incredible.

he preens under your praise, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"perhaps i deserve a reward," he suggests, his voice taking on a playful tone.

you entertain the idea, your curiosity piqued. "i suppose you do."

a deeper flush tinges gojo's cheeks, and he averts his gaze. without warning, he points at his cheek, anticipating something. you tilt your head, puzzled by his unspoken request. he keeps pointing to his cheek, poking it multiple times.

“…”

“give me a kiss!”

the water ripples with how fast you lean back, “huh? no way.”

undeterred, gojo shakes his head. "fine then. i guess i'll have to kiss you.”

your eyes widen as he leans closer, and you instinctively scoot away, surprised by his boldness. "what? no!"

“eh?! why not? i went total snowagumon on that curse!”

“that’s your job gojo,” you respond matter-of-factly. you’re a bit taken aback by his digimon reference. how dorky.

gojo clicks his tongue, feigning indignation as he looks away. “hmph. can’t even get appreciation for keeping the world in balance.” 

you let out a resigned sigh, realizing he's being dramatic again. it almost feels like dealing with a child. but you suppose you’ll play right into his hands this time– and this time only. he has worked hard on this mission, taking on all the work while you watch idly from the sidelines.

hesitantly, you inch closer towards his frame. the distance closes as you lean towards his face. it was only a split second, but your lips placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

you watch what once was a pink blush blossomed into something deeper. gojo sits up a little straighter and you notice how the corner of his lips are slightly upward.

“gojo, are you oka–” 

“satoru. call me satoru,” he interjected, sounding breathless, his eyes locking on yours. 

you look at him, uncertain. “isn’t that a bit too informal? we’ve only known each other for a couple of months.”

“if it was up to me, we’d be married by now,” satoru closes his eyes nonchalantly, sinking deeply into the water until half of his face is under. he blows a series of bubbles. he really was a child.

your laughter rings out melodiously as you throw your head back, finding his remark utterly amusing.  “you’re actually ridiculous.” 

satoru watches you with a soft smile, his heart feeling lighter. it was criminal how cute you were. if this was his reward for exorcizing a measly grade one curse, he was willing to wipe out all special grades on the earth just to receive your praise again. maybe next time you'll even kiss him on the lips (he'll die a happy man if that happens).

"i am, aren't i?" he muses, basking in the joy of the moment.

extra notes. i lowk hate this but due to popular demand i had to write it. ps i dont even know anything abt digimon i js know gojo likes it gn (forgive me if my digimon reference was totally wrong)

[pricegouge]

price x pregnant!f!reader meetcute drabble i whipped up on my lunch dedicated entirely to the girl at work who's too heavily pregnant to fit her scrubs rn. john price would love you, girl, keep your chin up

The worst part wasn't actually the discomfort of the papery material, nor the cheap elastic waistline which dug into your plush sides and itched like a sonofabitch. It wasn't even the embarrassment of having to track down your lead at the start of your shift and shamefacedly admit that you could no longer fit into your designated scrub pants and ask if he could maybe please find some spares somewhere? (He couldn't, because apparently no one on the team before you had ever fallen ill with a baby in the belly or even just gained a little weight.)

No, the worst part was the noise.

It hadn't been something you'd even considered until you were already barging into your first patient's room, swishing away with each step. Mr. Jeffreys had grumbled in his sleep, eye peeking open just as you'd leaned over him to start your morning check. Enough ruckus, woman. You'd thought he was just being irritable, a common enough occurrence, but then it happened again and again, each new room bringing another grumpy occupant, displeased about being woken up so far ahead of breakfast. Still, you almost preferred that to the early risers, the old biddies who would turn to greet you, already alert, take one look at you with your swollen belly overhanging the thin paper pants they'd made you wear over your reliable leggings, and start cackling loud enough to draw attention from the other orderlies. 

You weren't the first pregnant woman to outgrow her pants, but you were perhaps among the first to have done so in a professional setting. 

At least it got easier the more the day dragged on, quippy remarks coming more naturally to you the more you had them levelled at you in kind. You'd even let a little boy doodle on your shin, an attempt to keep his mind of his mother groaning in pain, attempting to work through a kidney stone. You're fairly sure you're rocking an Incredible Hulk there now, but it was a bit hard to tell with the way the magic markers had bled across the tyvek weave. 

"Missed your calling." 

You frown down at the man before you, thick brows only slightly pinched despite the way you knew his shoulder must be killing him. GSW. Didn't get many of them 'round here, but you'd seen enough hunting accidents to figure out the good stuff didn't always cut it. And this didn't seem like your average misfire, or pulled-shot graze. He'd been the talk of the nurses station when the call had come through to prep for him, bullet taken straight on, center mass. He wasn't from here, didn't seem to know anyone from here. No one believed it was a simple hunting accident, but the authorities had come and gone, sent skittering by a rather severe woman yielding a badge no one had gotten a good look at. No arrests, minimal testimonies. Rumors had sprouted roots, grew too tall too quickly to be believable. You'd heard everything from a jilted lover to some sort of military coup, but you hadn't placed much stock in anything other than the three letters which had remained unchanged on his chart since the moment he'd been admitted, and then later the surgeon's notes.

GSW. Successful operation.

That had only been two days ago. You'd been in his room once before, set about the same task. He'd been fast asleep, the handsome man who's been visiting offering charming but ultimately short conversation. It hadn't bothered you as you'd been in a rush, and you'd known full well the stress loved ones usually felt, trying to ensure the best possible rest for their injured loved ones. 

He had no guard dog today, no one to send you packing when your putzing made too much noise. And now you've woken him, poor man.

"Pardon?" 

Blue eyes blink open, cloudy with pain and the influence of strong meds but surprisingly alert. They flick down to your leg, shoulders tensing a bit as he lifts his head to see properly. "Pretty tree you've made there." 

You can't help but laugh. "Seems I'm right where I should be, then, seeing as that's supposed to be the Hulk. I think," you add once you've earned a smirk.

"Can't even remember what it is you've drawn? You the reason I can't find a comfortable position? Been stealing my morphine?"

"I wish," you sigh, pat your belly dramatically. "But they say it's bad for baby."

His brows lift into his hairline, pain momentarily forgotten as he looks you over again, as if seeing you for the first time. You realize pretty quickly that he's one of those people, the crinkling around his eyes revealing him as the type. It's one of the weirdest parts of being pregnant, the strangers who look at you with awe, as if you've hung the moon. You try not to think too much of it, don't like imagining couples who've tried for years when all you've managed to do was slip up your birth control one time, like a fool. This man isn't wearing a ring, but that doesn't mean much. Most women who carry on after you are single, too. At least he's not trying to touch your belly.

"Is that why you're half way to a paper gown? Come wandering from maternity?"

"Har, har," you deadpan, waving your stethoscope at him although you know full well he's seen it - hard to miss, resting atop your swollen tits. "No, I've simply grown too fat for my scrubs. And I think my lead's having too much fun embarrassing me about it."

He frowns, somehow vaguely patronizing even while heavily medicated. "No spares for someone in your condition?"

"Nope! Apparently I'm lucky enough to be the only fertile little heifer ever on the team," you snark, and then squint at his monitor when his pulse spikes unexpectedly. 

"Sorry," he mumbles - odd - and when you check, you notice some color to his ears. He clears his throat to distract you from fretting, though the softness is gone from his eyes again, replaced by an implacable type of tension. "Perhaps they're simply not used to expectant mothers working so late into their term?" 

Ah. At last, the well-meaning concern. It grates at you worse than usual, the ease and simplicity (albeit annoyance) of your silly morning falling apart in seconds. Perhaps it's that, the whiplash, that has you huffing irritably, mood plummeting. "Well. Someone's got a pay my bills," you gripe, snapping the claw of his clipboard just to work out some aggression. Maybe it's the hormones.

There's a huff of breath, almost as animated as yours. When you look to make sure he's not aspirating or something, your new friend's absurd mustache is twitching. "Well. That's what Mr. Pretty Nurse is for, no?" 

The phrasing makes you smile, hands gentling as you busy yourself with his monitor. This is familiar ground, at least, a path well-tread which you'd like navigating with a conversational partner who would call you Ms. Pretty Nurse. "Sure," you concede, tapping away at his station to check the trend of his vitals. Steady, even. All night. Like he was practiced at taking bullets. "You ever see him, you tell him he owes me a back log of bills, alright?" In truth, your 'mister' never was a mister, just some guy you'd been trying to blow off steam with. He'd cut and run the second you'd brought up the pregnancy, but you'd decided to keep it after some thought and had never followed up with him, deciding it ultimately was no longer his concern. You harbored no ill will, really, but the dead beat dad was a common schtick, an easy conversational piece when simply shooting the shit with talkative patients. If the worst part about pregnancy was the noisy pants (and the morning sickness, and the belly hair, and the leaky nipples and the -) then the best part was surely the built-in small talk.

"Be sure to let him know," chops murmurs, voice tight. You check his file again, correct your mental dub with his real name, John Price. Traditional, like the neat beard hiding the growing color in his cheeks. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly rougher. "Who did that, then?" 

You think he's pointing to your belly, far too forward, but when you check you see his finger aims lower, towards the art that started this conversation. "Kid over in pre-op. Was upset watching his mom writhing around. Passing a stone," you supply with an exaggerated whisper, as if telling him some scandalous secret.

John grins, soft again. "You'll be good at it, then."

"Pardon?" you ask absently, watching as his heartbeat seems to flutter weakly. 

"Said 'too round for scrubs,'" he chuckles. "Good job, mama."

You scoff, scandalized, but when you turn to him you find he's got that far off look in his eye, a sharp contrast to the lucidity of his speech. That does it. You tut, leaning over him to check his forehead with the back of your hand. And outdated practice, sure, but still useful in a pinch. He doesn't feel overly warm, but his focus has slipped back into that slight haziness, blissed out and vaguely absent, staring a good half a foot below your eyes.

"Mr. Price -," you start but he interjects.

"Just John, love."

"Sure. John. Are you feeling okay?" 

Eyes crinkling again, he gives you an unbearably soft smile, at odds with everything you've managed to glean from his chart. "Never better, doll."

banner by @/cafekitsune

[alavestineneas]

Losing dogs

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader

summary: His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return. warnings: not really canon-compliant, mentions of minor violence, blood and shitty relationships word count: 4k

Part 2 is here!

author's note: remember kids, manipulators and sick bastards are only hot in fiction - don't do them (and drugs) in real life!

The polished toes of his new shoes reflected everything in the grand hall—they caught glimmers of lamps adorned with gold, colourful drapes on the enormous windows, and the kaleidoscopic dresses of women around. The chatter filled the room, almost too loud to hear the music—not that he would enjoy it either. Some things require focus.

''Mister Fabius, Missis Fabius.''

Corialanus's face melts into a smile-like expression at the sight of the older couple.

They look like lice in the large building—rich lice, that is. The golden and platinum rings on Missis Fabius's fingers shine with every gemstone known to man, mirroring the bright lights. The jewels look ugly on the wrinkly hand, he notes. What a waste.

''Mister Snow, what a surprise! I was just telling Livia of your prodigious success in your new position. Incredible work, Mr. Snow; simply incredible! ''

The man's face radiated with excitement, getting closer in shade to his burgundy tie. The gold threats on it piqued more interest for Mister Snow than the words of the old man—after all, it's not every day you meet such luxury in person.

The man's wife, however, seemed less enthusiastic; her cold, bored gaze circled him up and down, stopping only after getting the satisfaction of an undoubtedly unpleasant conclusion. 

Coriolanus mentally went over his outfit, hairstyle, and anything else she might have noticed. Nothing was out of place; the holes in his coat were a thing of the past. Still, it was something—that thought found its place in his brain, drilling a small hole in its way. 

''When will we know of your decision, Mister Snow? We gave you time—a lot of time.''

''This evening, Mrs. Fabius. After the play, I promise to give you my answer tonight.''

He has to look first. What fool buys a horse blind? Sure, the horse came with immense fortunes and, most importantly, connections, but still. He couldn't afford to make a hasty decision, especially when the stakes were so high. After all, he was one of the most desirable bachelors; Fabiuses had to thank him for even considering the offer.

''There is no agreement until tomorrow, Mister Snow. We will have you for breakfast at nine o'clock sharp,'' Mr Fabius said, placing a hand on his wife's back and leading her towards the entrance. They could afford not to make one's adieu.

The opera was popular among the richest; all of the seats were taken. He would have lied if he said the golden rails and red velvet didn't make him feel a bit out of place. Nobody paid him any attention, although this time it didn't hurt him as much as usual. He could hide in the shadows of his box seat without being concerned about making an impression.

Not the stage, of course. It was the least of his worries, although he did pay a high price for a ticket. No, he looked at her. 

The golden gown on her was a shimmering masterpiece. Layers and layers of the most expensive fabric covered her body like soft waves, crashing down at the round neckline with their gilded ends. She wore diamond earrings, just like her mother did, although they suited her better. 

Coriolanus remembered her from the academy; she always sat near the window, gazing out at the world with a longing in her eyes. She wasn't a very bright student but rather a dutiful one. always on time, always prepared with her assignments, and always eager to please her teachers. The heiress to the jewellery empire. The flower of the elite social scene. Her presence attracted attention, yet she seamlessly blended into the background, never stealing the spotlight. YN Fabius was everything he needed her to be—a picture, but never a spectacle. 

-

The manor was grand and opulent, showing the wealth and status of the Fabius family. Its sprawling gardens and delicate architecture were a testament to its esteemed position in society. Collums, paintings, and endless staircases stood as if frozen in time. It was as if there was no war just a decade ago. 

''Mister Snow,'' the butler called out, his voice echoing through the grand foyer. ''Breakfast is served in the blue dining hall; if you would please follow me.''

Thousands and thousands of steps and passages lined the walls, leading to various wings and chambers of the mansion. It was warm, even during the cold autumn season. Only keeping the fireplaces always lit must cost a fortune.

When they finally reached the needed room, Coriolanus was slightly out of breath. The blue walls reached the high ceiling, painted with pictures of half-naked gods and goddesses frolicking in fields of flowers. It created the illusion of a smell wafting through the air as if the vibrant colours had come to life. 

The table was served for four, not three, suggesting that someone else was expected to join them. The silverware gleamed under the soft rays of sunshine, casting a shimmering glow across the room—pure silver, nothing less. 

The door behind him opened with a gentle creak, revealing Mr. Fabiuse's humble figure. His simple, at first glance, shirt was another of the perfectly constructed illusions—Coriolanus knew the fabrics like the back of his hand. The shirt, though seemingly plain, was made from the finest Egyptian cotton, woven with intricate patterns. 

''Mister Snow, how good that you came on time. Excuse my ladies, the girls are such girls at every age. Take so long to get ready,'' he laughs. ''Please, take a seat," Mr. Fabius said, gesturing towards a plush chair covered in velvet. 

''There is no point in all of those paints once you hit sixty,'' Mrs.Fabius said, appearing right behind her husband. She circled the table before taking a seat herself, her eyes glancing disapprovingly at the young man. "Let's begin before the food grows cold," she added with a sigh, her tone tinged with resignation. 

''Of course,'' Mr. Fabius nodded, lifting the lid on the first dish. The aroma of it filled the room, and Coriolanus couldn't help but feel his hunger grow. He didn't have the habit of eating so much in the morning—another thing he needs to adjust about his routine. 

When Mr.Fabius finally placed the fork down, Coriolanus knew it was time. ''Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Fabius. I must say, I thought a lot about your proposal, and after careful consideration, I have decided to accept it.''

''Good.'' Mrs. Fabius answered instead, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that, Coriolanus. I believe this union will bring great delights to both of us." 

Mr. Fabius seemed not to notice the interruption. ''I think a winter wedding would be absolutely perfect. Everybody seems to be getting married in the spring, but in the winter? Oh, it's definitely going to be a hit. Ah, and here's the lucky bride-to-be!''

She stood beside the just-opened door, her eyes following his expressions. Her hands, adorned just with one small pearl ring, were gently clasped together in front of her. She looked nervous, like a child standing in front of the full class on the first school day. Her dress, a delicate lace creation, clings to her figure like a second skin. 

He smiled at her. YN looked like an antique statue, as if she just stepped out of the ruins of the Panem. Coriolanus wasn't even sure she was breathing—her stillness was so deep. 

''Let's leave the lover birds to chirp,'' Mrs.Fabius said, standing up. She walked towards the couple, her heels clicking against the floor, and extended her hand towards YN. "Congratulations, my dear," she said with a warm smile before leaving, her husband following after her.

''It's time for a ring, isn't it?'' Coriolanus cleared his throat. Everything is to be done appropriately; there is no reason to avoid traditions. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small box. White, of course—who is he, if not a romantic at heart?

''Mr. Snow,'' YN watched him stand up and come closer with the same expression she always bore—a mixture of melancholy and worship. ''Grant me something.''

He paused. Coriolanus didn't like to make promises. He would have to make it clear to her later, after the wedding—the fact that he took her for a bride was enough of a promise. Still, he needed this engagement to work, and he was not about to lose it to a crude lie. With a sigh, he softly replied, "What is it that you desire, Miss YN?"

''Promise me you will be kind to me. All of our marriage, promise to be kind to my heart.''

Coriolanus almost laughed in her face. Oh, what a lovely, clueless fool. "I will do my best to treat you with kindness, Miss YN."

''Good,'' she smiles. ''I think we will make a great couple then, Mister Snow.''

''Coriolanus, my dear. Please call me Coriolanus." 

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. It was sealed. His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return.

-

Mr.Fabius didn't lie—his daughter was the perfect bride. She never spoke to him unless he did first; she never questioned him. She simply followed his lead, like a well-trained pet. A pretty, lovely YN. She knew what to do, how to dress, and what to say. He searched for one—at least a slight imperfection—and couldn't find one; it was as if she wasn't a human, which, to him, she wasn't.

''What are you going to do today?'' he asks, without bothering to look up from the newspaper. He doesn't wish to hear her answer, but he still asks out of courtesy. Coriolanus knows that her daily routine is made up of attending charity events, dinners with influential figures's wives, and shopping for designer clothes. It's a predictable pattern.

''Well, the trees I ordered came in today; I'll have to chat with the new gardener about them. Are you meeting with anyone important later?" 

''As a matter of fact, I do. Larry Tremblay wants to include me in a business deal he's been working on." 

It's partly true, but she doesn't need to know more. Just a familiar name was usually enough for his wife to hum in satisfaction and assume that he was still climbing the social ladder. Not this time, evidently.

''You shouldn't accept.''

He looked up from his cup, trying to guess if she had gone out of her mind. YN looked like usual, her eyes meeting his without a care in the world. Why today, of all days, she decided to question his decision was beyond him. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his composure. "And why should I decline such a good-looking opportunity?" 

''He beats his wife. Just yesterday, I saw her with bruises. ''

Coriolanus fought hard to keep a smile from forming on his lips. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. He knew his wife wasn't the brightest, but this? "Is that so?" 

''Don't you understand what it means? The man only beats his wife for two reasons. If he has always enjoyed those types of things, which Larry did not, or if he loses power and control in other aspects of his life. The business isn't going as well as he wants it to,'' YN lowers her gaze, losing confidence in her voice. ''I thought you would want to know that.''

He would, very much. Her conclusion was the dumbest thing he ever heard, based on some black and blue marks and a twist of her imagination. Still, it was interesting—his wife's head wasn't always empty like he hoped. She thought enough to notice something, and she listened enough to remember his partners. 

''I will keep that in mind,'' he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. What harm could it do to entertain her thoughts? It was even slightly amusing to see her try to piece together a puzzle that didn't exist. 

-

It wasn't so fun anymore when Larry Tremblay was fired exactly two weeks later. Surely, it could be a consequence, but Coriolanus Snow didn't believe in them. There had to be something, anything, to explain his wife's sudden knowledge—she couldn't have acquired it on her own, about that he was sure.

YN looked unfazed by his questioning gaze as she lay on the dark olive-coloured sofa in his office, continuing to play with a snow-white kitten on her stomach. It was his wedding gift, one of many—the pricy creature with a diamond collar. He thought it was rather symbolic—two caged animals who were once considered sacred.

''How did you understand that Tremblay was about to be fired?'' Coriolanus asked, his voice laced with suspicion. It could be that she overheard the woman talk about it, or even that she had some inside information from her connections. What bothered him more was what she could know from the same source about him.

YN paused, her fingers gently stroking the kitten's fur as she met his gaze. "I didn't know that. I simply knew he had trouble at work. Evidently, they were big enough for him to lose his position." 

''Really?'' he chuckled. Maybe she was telling the truth. ''Then, what can you say about my work?''

YN's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your work doesn't matter; how you present yourself does. Can I give you some advice?'

 "Sure.'' Coriolanus bit his tongue, fighting the urge to snap back at her. After all, it is what he married her for—to fit in. He took a deep breath.

''Buy a new car, but not the most expensive one; it will give off an impression of stability, like you know the job isn't going anywhere. Your shoes are always too polished; it's like you wore them right out of the box. And throw away that hideous tie you always wear—you look like a student." 

''Something else?'' Coriolanus mustered a weak smile, trying to hide his frustration. 

''I don't want to offend you, Coriolanus. But I want you to do well. After all, you are my husband now, and your success reflects on both of us. Why not help where I can? You know I love clothes.''

''Good, '' he replied, forcing a more genuine smile. "Now get away from that cat before it scratches you. I'll figure out the rest on my own." 

''Of course you will. You are the smartest man I've ever met.''

-

He was. It was because of his intelligence that YN married him, because of his ambition. Well, that and something else. 

From her earliest childhood, YN knew what she was destined to be. She was the child of late parents, the only child, and a girl; she would inherit everything the generations of her family worked so hard to achieve. And YN was no fool; she needed a man. Driven, proud, and cold-blooded. The one who was not afraid to get his hands dirty while she spent her time leisurely in his shadow. Oh, no—YN never minded her place, much like her mother did. She taught her to bet on the finest horses, and Coriolanus Snow was no exception. 

From the time she saw him in his ridiculously tight shirt in the academy, she knew what she wanted. Him. The top of every class, the charmer with pretty eyes—a catch, really. Her mother said there was darkness inside her dear Coriolanus, but YN knew. That's why she now sits in the opulent living room, waiting for him to get home. Mr. Snow was a horrific, ruthless man. But he was still, at his core, a man. 

And men never listen. That's how she got him and got him good—a silent, fawn-eyed creature that he thought he could control. An obedient wife and a lovely lap dog. It was funny to see his gaze twitch slightly when she said something she wasn't supposed to—how long would it take him to figure it out? 

It's time—his tall figure appeared in the corridor leading to the living room. YN watches silently as he takes off his shoes and coat, placing them on the rack by the door. Home at seven p.m. sharp, just like any other day. Just like any other day, dinner is at the table. 

He never said thank you. Instead, her closet grew bigger with countless dresses, bags, and shoes—sometimes even brand-new jewellery. YN didn't mind it; she loved it—the jealous whispers of other women at the events about how lucky she was. She didn't have to sleep with a big, fat old man to get the latest fur coat or the most exquisite diamond necklace.

At least a few times a month now, Coriolanus would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. This night was one of those: YN woke up from the constant turning and tossing in the bed. She doesn't know how he didn't figure out why; it was easy to guess his food contained something to make his sleep far worse—YN made sure of that. Maybe he just didn't have the heart to admit his weaknesses, even to himself.

''Hey,'' she whispered, getting out of the warm covers. YN tiptoed over to Coriolanus' side of the bed, careful not to bump into anything in the dark. ''Hey, wake up. Are you okay?" she asked, gently shaking him awake. 

Coriolanus jolted upright, his eyes wide with fear as he gasped for breath. He wasn't; of course, he wasn't. Yn would have lied if she said she didn't find it hot to see him like this—sweat glistening on his forehead, his chest heaving. 

''You were having a nightmare again.''

He looked at her with the eyes of a lunatic, still not over his dream. ''What did I say this time?"

''You were mumbling something about birds and songs, I think? It didn't make much sense." 

He doesn't recall that she mentored the 10th game too. Without much success, of course, but one thing she did remember was a girl from District 12 who liked to sing. Coriolanus remembered her too; it was evident from the fear that crossed his eyes.

''Excuse me,'' he said, his voice still shaky. ''I need a moment.''

YN watched as he stumbled towards the bathroom, his hands twitching. As much as her husband wanted to hide those parts of himself, he couldn't. Not from her. 

There was nothing else to do but wait. YN climbed on the bed, turning her back to the bathroom door. Coriolanus would only come out when he thought she had fallen asleep. She learned to control her breath when she was just a little girl; it saved her life once, when a rebel pointed a gun at her small frame, meaning to shoot. He didn't—what use was it to waste a bullet on a non-breathing child?

Surely, after some time, the blonde man stepped out of the bathroom. For a few minutes, he listened to her steady breathing before sliding under the covers and pressing his body against hers, his large hand covering her shoulders. Coriolanus wasn't gentle; YN wasn't sure he knew what the word meant anyway, but he was careful. His arm around her chest wasn't tight—just enough for him to bring her closer.

As much as YN wanted to turn around and face him, she didn't. There was no point—like any other human, he hated the feeling of vulnerability. Instead, YN focused on the warmth of his body. Coriolanus Snow was a god more than a human, and real gods were never kind. The only currency they recognized was blood.

-

The annual party for the victor of this year's games. The first year Coriolanus Snow worked as a head gamemaker, his creation was a bloodbath, a spectacle of violence and despair. He did a good job—an excellent one, even—and one of the greatest stars of today's celebration was him.

They needed to dress the part in clothes that exuded power. And so they did. Coriolanus's suit was ample—purple velvet with gold embroidery—the colour of Roman emperors. The colour of the winners. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, suiting his white hair. Gold cufflinks, gold rings—he looked like a sovereign among men. It was risky to do so right in front of the current president, but who was Coriolanus Snow if he was not confident in his success? 

YN wore the gown from the matching collection, a floor-length masterpiece. The deep purple colour was a stark contrast to her skin tone. And jewellery, of course—she came from the Fabius family for a reason. The lavender diamonds on her necklace and earrings. They were rare—the rarest—even. Only a few violet diamonds have been mined in the past seventy years.

It was all anyone talked about behind their backs. Whispers, rumours, and so much venom dripped from the mouths of Panem's elite—that's what they were hoping for, anyway. The Snows were just as shamelessly rich as they were powerful. 

That's why they now sat at the President's table, just a few faces away from them. Coriolanus smiled to himself - not even the President's wife could compare to YN. Not in fashion, not in elegance. He had an impeccable taste - even a person far away from politics could see that.

''A toast!'' the President stood up with a glass in his hand, turning to face the Coriolanus. ''I am sure many of you know who was the mastermind behind the games this year - it's my pleasure to introduce Coriolanus Snow to those of you who don't. However, not many know his story of success. From a dirt-poor background, when his greatest possession was his family name, he worked hard to achieve the position he holds today. Let us raise our glasses and celebrate his remarkable journey to success and the country of Panem - the land of opportunity!''

YN cursed under her breath as she listened to the crowd cheer for her husband. He remained stoic - the only thing that gave away his fury was his eyes - they grew as dark as the sky outside. She didn't bother to calm him - this fire was impossible to put out. The President made a fatal mistake with his speech - she knows. But the true fear crept into her heart when she saw the President's wife pass Coriolanus the dish. 

Cabbage.

Under a fancy sauce, it could be transformed into a delicacy fit for their circle. But tonight, it was his last straw. The colours changed on the face of Coriolanus, from white to all shades of red. His fists clenched, and veins pulsed on his temples. The room fell silent as they observed.

''Oh, I am so sorry,'' YN chipped in. Quick, something. ''I have a terrible allergy to cabbage.'' 

The President's wife looked concerned. ''Oh, I didn't know.''

YN made her eyes water, throwing a coughing feat for more dramatic effect. ''I think I need to step outside for some fresh air." 

She felt a warm hand on her back. ''Let me accompany you, just to make sure you're alright." her husband announced, carefully leading her towards the exit. 

-

The first thing he did when they reached the women's bathroom was break the mirrors in a fit of anger. Shards of glass scattered across the floor as he paced around the room like a caged animal. YN watched as shouted and hit the walls, sitting on the bathroom floor. Beautiful one - the tile was a lovely shade of pink, contrasting with the chaos unfolding before her. 

After a good few minutes, he finally calmed down and sank to the floor beside her, his face buried in his hands. Her husband, her hauntingly beautiful, pathetic husband - oh, what a sight. He looked mad, maniac, even; his blonde hair was far from its usual perfectly styled form, falling on his tear-stained cheeks.

"What do you think of me?"

His voice is hoarse, a few notes down from a honey-like. She likes it better, YN thinks - nothing of the fasçade he was trying so hard to uphold. No, just a raw hunger with a mix of equally raw despair.

"I think you are an animal, Coriolanus."

She smiles, watching his expression change. He suspected it, of course - her husband was a smart man. Still, he can't believe it - his head twitches in her direction, his gorgeous bottomless eyes shining under the weak light of the only surviving floor lamp.

"What?" he asks with such a loss in his voice YN has to fight the urge to bring him close. Not now, she thinks. It's not the time. 

"A hungry, desperate, sick, sick animal with nothing to lose."

Coriolanus gets closer abruptly, clearly angered - she can't let him leave now. His arm shouts to find its place on her neck, long, slim fingers forming a circle around her throat. "You think I am after money, don't you?"

"No, no," a yelp escapes her lips, bordering a hysterical laugh. "Only fools are after money, Coriolanus, and you are no fool."

YN watches as he loses his grip a little, calmed by her words. What a pitiful, fascinating creature was her husband - one word of reassurance and he is willing to let thousands of cursings slide.

"What is it, then? What did you fantasize about in your small dull head?"

He still doesn't believe her. YN is surprised at how quickly it becomes boring. 

"You want power."

Clap - the grip on her neck is tight again.

"That's why you choose the fear. People forget the hand that feeds them, but the one who beats? Never."

The frown on his face falls a little, and through the gritted teeth escapes something like a curse. "You talk an awful lot about me," he notes. "What are you hungry for?"

"You."

He laughs. That was a deep, chest laugh - YN thinks she never heard him laugh so sincerely. "You want my love? Don't lie to me, YN," he taunts, pressing a little harder on her neck.

"Not love. Love is easily swayed, is it not? No, I want you."

Coriolanus looks at her as if he never done so before. Well, he looked thousands of times, but he didn't see. His eyes study every expression in hers, every part of her face. "A hungry dog is not a loyal dog," he finally masters.

There is a certain silence after his words. YN gulps, desperatly trying to help her dried throat - the blood from his hands ran down her neck onto her exposed chest, leaving sticky, dark trails behind.

"Feed me, then."

He kisses her. He puts a force behind it, watching her hands fall on his chest for some kind of support. Coriolanus kisses her until there is no air in YN's chest anymore, and she has to push him away to take a rushed breath. 

They were going to be just fine.

After all, they both never bet on losing dogs.

[leclerc-hs]

wait for your love - cl16

pairing: arranged marriage!charles x fem!reader summary: in which you're in a fake marriage OR you and your fake husband might be in love with one another warnings: none?? no smut in this part (SORRY), badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD!, angst, pining???, jealousy, complicated feelings word count: 3.6k author's note: I'm still unsure how i feeeeel about this one but I tried my best!! I think writing about an arranged marriage is a little hard because i didnt want it to be mafia related so this was my take on it. there will be a second part!! i also want to mention that all these separate parts are just events that are little peaks into their marriage. it is not in the span of a week or anything, it takes place over time. they do not go from nothing to being in love in the span of one week. just wanted to make sure you guys were aware of that LOL. ok love u all. sorry if this sucks.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE MARRIAGE WAS merely a façade, designed solely to serve the interests of both of your media images. You weren’t in love—far from it…right?

“Charles! How are you and the beautiful Mrs. doing?” A reporter placed a microphone in his face, an eager grin pulled on his lips as he awaited an answer.

“Elle est tellement merveilleuse, n’est-ce pas?” She’s so wonderful, isn’t she? His gaze strayed from the reporter to where you stood a few feet down the carpet, posing for the dozens of cameras. “Tellement belle.”So beautiful.

His eyes remained transfixed on you, the rest of the world fading into insignificance as he watched you approach. The chatter of the reporter beside him became distant background noise, overshadowed by the sight of your radiant smile. With each step you took closer, a surge of warmth flooded through him, causing his heart to swell with an overwhelming sense of anticipation. Charles turned back to the reporter just as he said “Looks like she is making her way over here!”

“Salut beau gosse!” Hi handsome! You gently press your lips to his cheek, the warmth of your smile radiating as Charles’ face lights up upon feeling your kiss. His hand finds its place on the small of your back, a comforting and possessive touch that speaks volumes of his affection and protectiveness towards you. A united front.

“You guys are seriously too cute!” 

The both of you smile largely at the reporter, thanking him, before heading down the carpet to enter the movie premiere.

It wasn’t until you crossed through the main doors of the building that you drop the smile, and his hand drops from the small of your back.

“Tellement crédule.” So gullible. He utters the words briefly, prompting a nod from you before you take a small, deliberate step back, putting some distance between the two of you. 

-

You learned early into the arrangement that Charles wasn’t capable of love. His heart seemed barricaded behind the walls of his ambition, his sole focus on climbing up the ladder of success in his career. It seemed easy at first though, it’s not like the either of you had any feelings for each other.

“Assez!” Charles roared from behind his imposing oak desk, his voice echoing through the room. “That’s enough!” His words cut through the tense atmosphere like a thunderclap, commanding your attention and halting any further discourse with an authority that brooked no argument.

With a subtle roll of your eyes, the delicate sundress draped over your form swayed gracefully with each purposeful step towards his desk. His gaze, cold and piercing, met yours as you reached out, your fingertips lightly grazing the polished wood surface. Leaning in just slightly, you locked eyes with him.

“Je vais me répéter une fois de plus,” I will repeat myself once more. You declared, your tone carrying a hint of assertiveness. Tracing the edge of the desk with a meticulously manicured nail, you maintained your composure, refusing to yield under his scrutinizing stare. “You need to be more careful in public.”

Your cheeks flushed red with frustration, a stark contrast against the determined set of your jaw. Despite the tension, Charles couldn’t help but be captivated by just how stunning you appeared in that moment. He couldn’t tell if he hated you or just wanted to fuck you.

He scoffed before reclining back in his chair, the top buttons of his shirt carelessly undone. His tousled hair appeared as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times—or perhaps someone else had.

He watched as your eyes traced along his disheveled hair and the partially undone buttons of his shirt, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Jealous, mon ange?” He teased; voice laced with amusement. Now it was your turn to scoff.

Mon ange. Him and that stupid nickname.

“Jamais.” Never. You replied firmly, your tone leaving no room for doubt as you turned around. With a subtle sway of your dress, it raised slightly, offering him a glimpse of the lace set beneath it. Without another word, you walked out of the room, leaving him to ponder just how badly he wanted to remove that dress from your body.

He always resented how you seemed impervious to his charms. No matter his efforts, you remained aloof, seemingly untouched by his presence. It bothered him to no end. To him, you were an epitome of perfection, a constant reminder of his own shortcomings.

-

“Es-tu affamé?” Are you hungry?

You didn’t care if he was. You just needed to distract yourself from the fact he never came home last night. From the fact that he came home obviously smelling like another woman.

The marks on his neck had your throat feeling tight. Marks from another woman. Marks on your husband.

You tried your best to ignore the dark purple marks littered on his neck, and the tiredness in his eyes as he plopped down on the chair across from you. The umbrella in the center of the table, protecting you both from the bright sun as you sit beside the pool.

“Non, simplement fatigué.” Just tired.

You nodded slowly, your movements languid as you bit into a strawberry, its juices trickling carelessly past your lips and trailing down your neck in a sensuous cascade.

Charles couldn’t help but allow his gaze to follow the path of the juice, his eyes tracing its journey down your neck, almost reaching the enticing curve of your breasts.

You made no effort to wipe away the trail of juice, the glistening droplets lingering on your skin like a tantalizing invitation. With a knowing smile, you relish in the anticipation, fully aware of the effect it had on Charles. Men, they’re too easy.

“You should cover up those marks.” You bit into the rest of the strawberry, before standing from the table, preparing to dip into the pool. Charles hands reached out as you walked by him, his fingers dipping into the strings of the bikini bottoms at your hips. 

His touch seared through you like a branding iron, leaving a scorching trail of sensation in its wake. 

“Est-ce que ç ate derange?” Does it bother you? He looked up at you, his face serious.

The words felt like lead in your throat, heavy with unspoken truth. It didn’t bother you, did it? But deep down, it gnawed at you like a persistent ache, an undeniable discomfort you refused to acknowledge.

“No.” You attempted to push out of his grip, to no avail. “Lâche-moi.” Let go of me. He didn’t.

Never, is what he wanted to say.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned; his eyebrows scrunched as he looked up at you from his chair.

Your hands slipped around his wrists that rested on your hips. “Rien ne va pas.” Nothing is wrong. He cocked his head to the side, as if to say liar. You finally pull out of his grasp, walking towards the pool and jumping in.

End of discussion.

-

“Did you really need to eye fuck her the whole night?” You half-shouted in the passenger seat of his car, the cool leather seats contrasting with the warmth of your bare thighs clad in the mini skirt.

“Did you really take that guy’s number?” He half-shouted back, his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel. 

“What’s wrong with taking his number?”

There was nothing wrong with taking his number. You both agreed you can date other people if it was kept under the wraps. But despite the coolness of the leather against your skin, it did little to quell the agitation simmering within Charles.

Perhaps it was the rarity of you into dating others. It wasn’t that you couldn’t attract men; in fact, men often vied for your attention. Rather, it was your own inclination against one-night stands that set you apart. Charles concluded in that moment that this must be the reason for his discomfort. And considering you had finally shown interest in someone, did it imply he was special?

“Tout le monde remarque!” Everyone noticed!  He spat out the words, unable to conjure a coherent response in his frustration. Deep down, he knew there was nothing inherently wrong with simply exchanging numbers.

You laughed, a carefree melody that seemed to dance through the car, causing you to lean forward over your lap. The casualness of your reaction grated against Charles, intensifying his frustration. How could you be so nonchalant about accepting another man’s number? The knot of unease in his stomach tightened, gnawing at him with a persistence he couldn’t comprehend.

“So?” You turned towards him; his eyes were focused solely on the road. “It’s not like I fucked him in front of everybody.”

Charles head snapped briefly towards you; his eyes narrowing with sharp intensity. The mere thought of you being intimate with another man felt like nails scraping against a chalkboard, setting his teeth on edge with raw, visceral discomfort.

Why was he so bothered? It’s not like he doesn’t fuck other girls.

-

“Où vas-tu?” Where are you going? You found yourself stood in the archway of the kitchen; Charles leaned against the kitchen island with a glass of water in his hand. 

His eyes trailed down your figure, a short black dress that hugged your curves. He felt his patience wearing thin as he watched you engrossed in your phone screen, fingers tapping away and a large smile on your face. 

Who were you texting?

“Hm?” You said, still smiling down at your screen. “Où vas-tu?” He egged on, his tone dripping with impatience at your lack of an answer.

“Oh, j’ai un rendez-vous.” I have a date. You tore your gaze away from the screen for the first time since you came downstairs. Lifting your eyes, you met Charles with an infectious smile spreading across your face. The sheer warmth and joy emanating from you caused Charles’s heart to momentarily falter in its rhythm.

A date? He felt sick.

Charles remained silent for a few moments, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand betraying the turmoil within him. The sudden crash of the glass hitting the kitchen floor startled you both, causing a shared flinch as shards slid across the tiled surface.

“What about my event tonight?” He disregarded the broken glass around him, his attention consumed by the word “date” echoing relentlessly in his mind.

“Pretend I’m sick or something,” You tilt your head in confusion. “You’ve gone to events without me before.”

It wasn’t until you went to make a step towards the broken glass that Charles snapped out of it. “Don’t come near, tu pourrais te faire mal.” You could get hurt.

The words made you stop in your tracks and your heart clench slightly.

“Je dois y aller.” I must go.

Your eyes meet Charles one last time, you offer him a small smile before pulling your phone to your ear and answering it with a smile.

Leaving Charles alone in the kitchen, the lingering question of when this feeling would dissipate hung heavily in the air.

“Je ne veux pas que tu partes.” I don’t want you to go. He muttered to nobody but himself in the empty house.

-

You went on a relentless series of dates since then, each time returning home with a grin that seemed to mock Charles. He longed to wipe that smug smile off your face, but deep down, all he truly desired was to see you genuinely happy. Yet, the idea of your happiness being derived from someone else filled him with a sense of dread he couldn’t shake.

One night, Charles felt his sanity slipping as he anxiously waited for your return, each passing minute amplifying his restlessness. Was this what you did when he was away?

His unease peaked when you finally walked through the door well past noon, wearing a smile that seemed out of place and with your hair tousled, a stark departure to your usual pristine appearance. A faint, barely perceptible mark gracing your collarbone served as Charles’ triggering a tumult of emotions within him.

“Did you fuck him?” His voice was gruff as he walked up to you by the front door, essentially cornering you between the front door and his body.

Your eyes widened at his tone and question.

“Cela ne te regarde pas!” That’s none of your business! You shouted, your finger pressing into his chest.

His eyes blazed with fury, the green in them almost appearing black. “C’est tout à fait de mon affaire!” It’s all of my business! 

He was aware of his irrationality, but despite that knowledge, he couldn’t shake the overwhelming emotions stirring within him. All he wanted was for the burning ache in his chest to subside.

“Ce n’est pas juste.” That’s not fair. You countered, your narrowed eyes reflecting your simmering anger, your chest flushing red with frustration as you breathed heavily.

“Tu es ma femme.” You are my wife. He folded his arms firmly across his chest, the sinewy muscles of his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing his imposing presence.

You rolled your eyes, “C’est faux.” It’s fake. The words almost hurt to say aloud.

“Is it?” His words were short as he looked down at you, his gaze unfaltering, almost begging you to admit that there is something between you two.

“Oui.”

You pushed past him, rushing up the stairs and slamming your bedroom door shut.

-

You didn’t always fight though. There were good and bad days. Almost like a real marriage, right?

“Mon ange, wear the blue one.” His voice came from a distance as he sat on the edge of your bed, surrounded by the chaos of your closet. You felt a sense of panic wash over you, unable to find solace in any garment you tried on. You couldn’t even decide on a color.

“You always look good in that one, yeah?” He continued; his tone almost absentminded. Despite your turmoil, his words elicited a small smile, causing a faint blush to rise on your cheeks. Grateful that he couldn’t witness your reaction, you silently thanked whatever higher power existed. You vowed never to let him see you blush from his words.

You stepped out from your closet a few moments later, the blue silk dress that left little to the imagination of your breasts, with a small thankful smile on your face. Charles felt his hands itching to touch you as you leaned over the vanity, applying a last coat of lip gloss.

“Prête?” Ready? You turned back towards him, the small pebble of your nipples poking through the thin fabric, a sight that momentarily arrested Charles’s attention. With an effort, he tore his gaze away, clearing his throat discreetly before nodding in response and leading you out the house.

“Pourquoi cela?” What is this for? You quickly ask about the purpose of tonight over the low murmur of the radio as Charles pulls into the valet area of the event.

“It’s for charity,” He swung open his car door, the faint sound of camera clicks filling the air in the moment it remained ajar before he swiftly closed it again. With a sense of urgency, he hurried around the car to open your door, his movements a flurry of activity as he sought to ensure your comfort.

Tonight, he remained steadfastly by your side, his attention solely focused on you, his wife. He didn’t allow his gaze to wander, even as other females vied for his attention with near desperation. It was a departure from his usual behavior, as if he finally decided to listen to your complaints.

“Tu es magnifique.” You look beautiful. He muttered into your ear, his words meant for you alone, shielded from prying cameras. It caught you off guard—a genuine compliment, untainted by presence of the reporters or observers.

-

“Mon ange, regarde tes cheveux!” Look at your hair! Charles laughter filled the kitchen, reverberating off the walls with a hearty resonance. It wasn’t long until you joined in, your laughter mixing with his in symphony. The sight of both of you covered in flour from your baking rendezvous added a touch of whimsy to the moment, the white powder dusting your hair like a playful snowfall.

You stepped closer towards him, a playful pout forming on your lips, while he looked down at you with a twinkle in his vibrant green eyes. The intensity of the green hue in his eyes was so striking that it caused your stomach to flutter with nervous anticipation.

You noticed his eyes briefly flicker to your lips before meeting with yours again. A silent ask.

His flour dusted fingertips rested against your jaw, holding your face in the palm of his hands, while his eyes flickered to your lips again. 

“Laisse-moi t’embrasser, s’il te plait.” Let me kiss you, please. His words were so quiet, as if you both were secluded in your own bubble. You didn’t answer as your eyes trailed all over his face. As if you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly.

“Ne me fais pas supplier.” Don’t make me beg.

He could feel the rapid pace of your heart, almost beating out of your chest as he uttered the words. You nodded in response, but before you could even finish the nod, his lips crashed into yours.

It was anything but gentle. As if, you both had waited years to be able to do this without a camera in your presence.

His tongue slipped into your mouth almost instantly, eliciting a soft moan that escaped your lips and melded with his own. He groaned in response, his arms encircling your waist to draw you closer, pressing you flush against his chest before guiding your back against the messy countertop. One hand found its place against the nape of your neck and jawline, holding your head in place with gentle insistence. Meanwhile, the other hand tenderly played with the ends of your hair before wrapping them around his fist, holding your hair firmly yet tenderly.

“Si doux.” So sweet. He murmured against your lips; his breath warm against your skin as he continued to savor the moment. 

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his biceps, holding him close, though he showed no inclination to pull his body away from yours.

His lips trailed along your jawline as he pulled the ends of your hair, lulling you head back to give him more access to your neck. Another soft moan left your lips, escaping into the kitchen, as he sucked on the spot where that mark once was.

“Drive me crazy, mon ange.” He muttered against your skin, peppering kisses along your neck, along your jawline, until he met your lips again with a soft peck.

Your eyes met his and you could’ve sworn you would’ve dropped to your knees right then and there for him. 

The distant ring of a cell phone was heard in the background, immediately causing you to push him away from you. Your cellphone.

You looked at Charles with a sense of panic. What were you doing?

As if Charles could sense that panic, he brushed off the pain with a small smile. “Tu devrais répondre à ça.” You should answer that.

-

You didn’t see Charles for a few days following the kiss. 

“Que fais-tu ici?” What are you doing here? Charles eyebrows were furrowed as he took in your figure standing before him, an unnamed bag in hand.

You shook the bag in your hand, “Déjeuner.” Lunch. You waved the bag around like it was no big deal. Like you didn’t come all the way to Maranello to bring your fake husband lunch.

You found yourself unsure of the exact reason behind your actions, yet you did it anyways. With Charles away for the past few days, leaving you alone at home, a peculiar sense of longing seemed to linger in the air. Though you refused to admit it outright, all indications hinted at a quiet, yearning for his presence that you got so accustomed to over time.

“Tu n’avais pas besoin de le faire.” You didn’t need to. A smile pulled on his lips as he slung his arm over your shoulder, grateful for the sight of you.

“Je m’ennuyais.” I was bored. You confessed with a shrug, a hint of sheepishness coloring your tone.

He pulled you into an empty room, wordlessly. Instructing you to take a seat as he grabbed two waters from the nearby fridge.

“Comment se passe le travail?” How’s work? You asked, although your inquiry was more out of habit than genuine interest. Since the kiss, you found yourself at a loss for how to engage with him, unsure of how to navigate the shifting dynamics between you two.

He chuckled softly, choosing to settle into a chair beside you rather than sitting across from you, as if he wanted to be close to you. “Tu m’as manqué.” I missed you. He confessed quietly, his tone revealing a vulnerability he rarely displayed with you.

The tips of your ears flushed with a rosy hue in response to his confession, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your gaze softened as you reached into the bag, delicately arranging the food on the table before him, each movement infused with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

“C’est bon.” It’s okay. He muttered, a silent acknowledgment passing between you two. “I know you missed me too.”  A smirk pulled on his lips as you shoved his shoulder half-heartedly. 

You didn’t deny it.

[delirious-donna]

I Still Worship The Flame [Nanami Kento]

an: thanks to @poohbea for putting this richly indulgent thought into my head about Kento having red marks from his harness when he takes it off… delicious (points for anyone that recognises the title)

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: soft smut, unprotected sex, body worship (kinda), mark marking

Masterlist

You couldn’t help but stare. You were a woman, after all, and your husband was the finest specimen of man you had ever laid eyes on.

The hour was late, long had you been settled in the warm nest of your bed to await Kento’s return home. There was no fear in your heart, the mission had been a success with little to no damage taken. Your only annoyance that you hadn’t been there to help, but it was your day off and your husband would be damned to see you working when you should be resting.

Finally, you were roused from your thoughts by keys jingling, the front door being opened and closed and then a rattle of porcelain. You smiled, knowing that your husband was home, and his keys were in the small ceramic dish alongside your own set.

He appeared from the hallway that led to your bedroom, thick fingers rounding the edge of the door and pushing it open. Kento smiled, happy to see you despite the tiredness that tightened his eyes. “Honey, I’m home.” He joked with a chuckle caught in his throat.

“I can see that. Come to bed, Kento, the shower can wait until morning,” you pleaded, sitting up and gently tugging on his broad palm as he neared. He bent over your hand, kissing the knuckles tenderly. He turned to sit and brought your arm over his shoulder.

Kento sighed, exhaustion settling into his bones with every breath. “Perhaps. The mission might have ended in our favour, but it was still a long day,” he admitted. Slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt, the familiar yellow splattered tie already discarded by the laundry pile.

The smell of sweat permeated in the air, though it was far from off putting. This wasn’t the aroma of stale sweat and body odour, more so it was the fresh dewy sheen that would cling to his skin after an intense workout. It blended harmoniously with the notes of his favourite cologne—oud and leather. It brought you to your knees, shuffling down the bed towards him before standing and placing yourself between his spread legs. Would you ever not be immediately turned on by his mere presence and scent?

“Let me help you with that.”

Your hands traversed the broad expanse of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your palms until you were able to work the fastens of his harness. Kento grunted low in his throat when you tugged them loose with capable fingers, eyes low to watch you work, burning with appreciation and something else.

His shoulders flexed and rolled back when the harness loosened enough to allow the leather to slide down his arms and fall to the bed. It was hot to the touch, warmed by Kento’s furnace-like body and the exertion it had seen. The metal buckles clattered, and you hummed, moving it to the dresser but not before you fingered the strong yet yielding leather.

It did not go unnoticed.

You felt naked beneath his gaze, taking the few steps that brought you back between his thighs, his eyes low lidded and no longer looking quite as tired as they had before. His cock jumped in his boxers, slowly thickening at the close proximity of his loving wife, the woman he loved and cherished above all others.

His hands settled at your bare thighs, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your sleep shirt to indent the soft skin as you worked the buttons of his shirt open. The more he slowly—methodically—kneaded at your thighs and up to your hips, round to your full backside, the faster your heart beat in your chest.

Starchy royal blue shirt gave way to bare skin, a smattering of scars with lines of raised white served as reminder of the dangers of your shared profession. You had your own, though far less than Kento, and he paid his respect to them in the moments when you were naked beneath him. His kisses soft, tinged with the regret that he couldn’t prevent them, but acknowledging that you were still here and whole. The thought tightens your throat, shirt sleeves halfway down his arms and your eyes unable to focus on anything other than the marks that could have ended his life if his luck hadn’t held out.

“Hey. It’s okay… there are no new ones to add to the count,” he murmured in understanding, holding your jaw and tilting your chin up from where it had lowered into your chest. Nodding, you smiled but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Kento kissed you. A soft whoosh left you, dragged into the warm depths of a kiss filled with reassurance and passion. His hand held the back of your head, fingers knotted in your hair, leading the charge to rid the melancholy that had stolen into the moment uninvited.

Coffee and lingering caramel from some long-eaten pastry infused on your tongue, accepting, and demanding more when you moaned and finished the job of dragging the sleeves of his shirt off his arms one at a time since he was unwilling to drop his hold on you entirely.

Before you realised it you were above him, working free the buckle of his belt then the zip on his trousers. Reaching between you to wrap around the continuing thickening of Kento’s cock, thumbing at the salty beads of precum to hear him groan out and for his eyes to roll over.

You needed him. You needed to be filled by and with him. To have every thought knocked askew by the pleasure only he could deliver. To worship at the altar of his body, chant prayers offered in thanks for the soul that had found yours and woven together until you didn’t know where he ended, and you began.

Without warning, Kento flipped you over and crawled over your body whilst pushing your sleepshirt up with one hand. His mouth was hot against your sternum, tongue sweeping towards your breasts and taking the nipple between his lips. He offered you a wicked smile, impressed by your feet that wiggled their way into the waist of his trousers and underwear to shove them down and down until they were around his knees. Only then did he release you, leaving your skin shiny with spit as he shucked out of his clothes and drew your thighs to your stomach only to spread them wide with an audible groan at the lack of underwear barring his view.

“Were you waiting up for this, sweetheart?” He asked, voice husky and knowing.

You knew he didn’t need an answer, but he would wait for one all the same. Wait until you gave him that satisfaction to know that any pleasure you could give yourself would never rival what he could draw from you. Kento could play you like a finely tuned instrument; he knew every key stroke and chord. He was a savant and what was worse—he knew it.

“Perhaps…” Your voice trailed away as your gaze lowered from his, finding it hard to keep the eye contact but falling straight into the trap of the red marks left by the harness he wore day in day out. Tracing the path that curved over his broad shoulder and disappeared behind his back, you knew that it moved towards the centre of his back where his knife would reside.

Unlike the scars, these marks had a habit of stirring something else within you, something far more primal and hungrier than was rational. Your fingertips blindly followed the indentations in his skin, blinking up to be met with eyes filled with a kindled fire. Flames leapt from crackling logs in a warm hearth. His breathing was shallow and when his hips lowered to allow his erection to rub against your sex, you mewled like the feline you felt like.

Kento’s jaw flexed at the sight of you. His composure was slipping from a combination of his earlier exertions and the tiredness that came with it. He knew that he wouldn’t last long, that he would find the solace he craved in your body, but that he couldn’t hold off for as long as he’d like. “Ready? Need to make it fast… fuck, sorry. Are you...?”

It was your turn to catch his jaw, turning his head and lifting from the sheets to capture his lips. Your poured everything into the kiss—desperation, passion, love, appreciation and so much more—feeding him what he needed to assure him that you were ready with the little prep he had given. You reached between your bodies once more, fingering the velvety skin of his cock as the foreskin rolled back, and you eased the tip of him to your entrance.

He didn’t need any more encouragement, letting his weight settle further onto you whilst he slid his cock into your embrace. Your pelvis rocked upward to help him, eyes rolling skyward when his arms found their way beneath yours to hook up and over your shoulders. With one thrust of his hips and a pull on your body to bring you down the bed, you were impaled to the hilt. Stuffed completely and the sense of fullness had you crying out.

Insistent lips hushed you, Kento’s tongue curling over your teeth and pushing into your mouth akin to how he was fucking into you. The pace was slow despite his earlier warning, only drawing himself back a few inches to repeat the action over and over whilst the stretch adjusted in your gut.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, a hand trailing between his shoulder blades to scour at his skin with your nails. Hissing at welcome pain, he reared back to tower over you, hands on either side of your head as he pounded you out. All you could was absorb it, take him like you always did and clench around his cock in an attempt to milk of that creamy seed you so desperately sought. You wouldn’t be content until you were sore and leaking.

“Ken…oh! Fuck—wait! What are you…fuck-fuck!”

On a whim fuelled by pure desire, he grabbed your legs together and hugged them to his barrelled chest before leaning forward. The strength in his core was to be marvelled, every muscle and tendon stretching and flexing whilst he reached new depths in your cunt. His cock continually kissed up against your tender cervix, knocking again and again until the strain was too much, and the dam burst all at once. His thrusts turned sloppy, uncoordinated as his body spasmed from the release, yet his brain buzzed with the need to have you follow close behind.

He reached out and pushed his thumb into your open mouth, flattening your tongue and having to pull it free when you tried to suckle it. Kento growled, digging for your sensitive pearl, and roared in triumph when he rubbed at it with the saliva coating his thumb and you damn near shot to the ceiling from the stimulation. Your walls pulsed around his still twitching dick, pulling him deeper again and he clenched his teeth to prevent a whimper leaving him.

It took no effort at all for you to see stars. The band of tension in the depths of your belly pulled to the breaking point and released, a wave of toe-curling bliss dragging you underneath the surf. You could feel Kento’s continued slow thrusts, the slap of his now empty balls against the cleft of your arse and the breathy grunts when you spasmed insistently, but you had no desire to open your eyes.

When you finally did return to Earth, you were cradled against Kento’s chest. You couldn’t recall the moment he repositioned you both, but the comfort was immediate. Stretching out your legs to feel that exquisite burn of overuse from your thighs and lower abdomen. For the longest time you detailed each and every little mark on his shoulders, biceps, and chest. Running delicate fingertips along the ridges of more prominent scars and pressing careful kisses to the ones not fully healed, where the skin was still pink and new.

“Still focused on those I see. Should I be worried?” Kento asked in the otherwise hush of the room.

You shrugged, non-committal but ultimately opting for honesty. “Just thinking, I guess.”

“… about?”

“If any of these had been the one. Y’know, the one that took you from me,” you admitted with a whisper. It wasn’t a topic you liked to discuss, even though, given your shared profession it was best to have matters like these addressed regularly. You hated thinking that it was an insurance for if the worst did come to pass and you understood it wasn’t just a one-way concern.

“We don’t have long until we can pack it all in like we planned. The kids—the next generation are nearly ready to take over, we both know that. Then you won’t have to worry about any more scars. Well…” he paused, gazing down at you with amusement shining through the façade of his serious declarations. “Except for the ones you seem keen to add to my back.”

The scoff you let out made his smile widen. Glad to have drawn you back out of the sombre thoughts clouding your mind. He was all too familiar with the morose direction of your thoughts when you got inside your head like this, and he hated that there was so little he could do to reassure you. However, he wasn’t lying. He didn’t plan for either of you to be involved in the jujutsu world for any longer than you absolutely had to be, and the day you could escape was hurtling closer.

“Come on, let’s shower then get some sleep. We’ve got a strategy meeting in the morning, and I don’t fancy dealing with Gojo’s hyper arse whilst being sleep deprived and under-caffeinated. Also, I think I need to see my handiwork too…”

“So much for the shower can wait until the morning, hm?”

Leaning up on your elbow, you kissed the tip of his nose before darting towards the bathroom door. Looking over your shoulder with a wiggle of your bare arse, you cooed enticingly. “My scratches might have faded by morning. C’mon, Nanami-sensei… I’ll let you fuck your cum deeper into me if you can beat me to the shower.”

It was safe to say that Kento proved that night that he could still move faster than lightning when he wanted to…

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Just for the Taste

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Masturbation, smut. Word count: ~3k

Summary: Growing increasingly frustrated with the pace things are going at between her and Michael, his girlfriend takes matters into her own hands, quite literally.

Author's note: Day nine of Smuffmas - stockings and sex toys. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She had met Michael in her first month at Oxford university. It was a Saturday night and, unlike the vast majority of people living in her college, she had opted to stay in instead of hitting the town to spend her student loan in one of the many pubs. She had a tutorial on Monday and was determined to impress the computer scientist who would be leading it. Her entire weekend revolved around getting ahead with the required reading in order to have a full understanding of the previous week’s lecture topics. She wanted to be able to talk about them at length, and share her ideas in a comprehensive manner.

Her stomach had dropped as she had reached into her backpack, feeling that her Discrete Mathematics textbook was missing. She cursed under her breath, realising she had left it on the table in the Bodleian Old Library. It closed at 4pm on Saturdays, so she’d have to wait until it opened tomorrow to go and fetch it back.

A lack of a textbook wasn’t enough to deter her though. On average, of students that applied to the Computer Science course at Oxford, only 17% were interviewed, and only 5% were successful. She was acutely aware of how fortunate she was, but also how hard she’d worked to get here, and wasn’t about to let that lapse.

A thorough Google search yielded nothing useful, all of the PDFs she managed to unearth were outdated editions and would have been of no use to her. She decided to go door knocking – the time will pass anyway, she figured, and there might be someone in their room that had a copy of the textbook that she could borrow. A long shot, but it was either that or lose an evening of studying, and she wasn’t prepared to do that.

Unfortunately for her, the Computer Science course wasn’t an especially sociable one – the difficulty of the subject matter and competitive nature of the field it eventually lead into wasn’t a breeding ground for fast friendships, and with only 44 people on the course who were all more than happy to keep to themselves, she had no idea where any of them were actually staying. There had to be at least one in her college though.

The first three doors she knocked on yielded no response, the fourth was answered by a flustered, barely dressed girl, who stared at her in wide eyed bewilderment as a male voice from within the room called out “tell them to go away!”

Her skin ablaze with embarrassment, she descended the stairs and was fully prepared to give up after receiving no response from another two doors, before the one in the far corner creaked open, causing her to turn to face the noise. A bespectacled pair of blue eyes peered out at her, narrowed in suspicion.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

She glanced at her watch – just after 9.30pm. “Yeah, it’s not late…”

“What are you doing?” he asked her. His voice was quiet, but laced with derision. “Are you pissed?”

She shook her head, slowly approaching his door as she clasped her hands in front of her. His stare was piercing and intense, yet his posture was so rigid she got the sense that he’d likely slam the door on her if she moved too quickly.

“I haven’t been drinking,” she said apologetically, “just need to borrow a textbook. You’re not on my course so I doubt you could help me anyway.”

“What are you reading?” he asked, his posture softening slightly, though he didn’t open the door any wider.

“Computer Science.”

“Hmm. I’m reading Maths, so–”

Her eyes lit up, a surge of hope making her heart soar. “I need a copy of Discrete Mathematics,” she said excitedly, “I don’t suppose you have one?”

“Not a physical copy…”

She visibly deflated, her heart sinking in disappointment as her shoulders sagged. “Nevermind then. Thanks anyway.”

“I’ve got a PDF,” he said, opening the door wider as she turned to leave.

She stopped in her tracks, her gaze drifting to where his fingers clutched the USB drive that was clasped to the belt loop of his tan coloured cargo trousers with a carabiner clip. “From what year?” she asked quietly, as her eyes lifted back up to his.

“2005.”

She grinned. That was exactly the year she needed. “You’re an absolute lifesaver,” she told him, her voice breathy with relief.

“I think the file might be too big for me to send over email though,” he admitted.

“Could you not just lend me the flash drive? I can give it straight back tomorrow morning.”

He pursed his lips, eyeing her from head to toe. “How do I know you will? This is a one gigabyte USB drive, it’s valuable. You might steal it.”

She grinned, until she realised he was being serious. “I live in the room directly above yours,” she told him, gesturing upwards towards the ceiling, “so you’ll know where to find me.” She gave him her name, as she fiddled with the clasp of her watch, removing it from her wrist and holding it out to him. “Here, insurance, so you know I’m not trying to steal from you.”

The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across his lips as his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Alright, fine,” he relented, taking her watch from her and slipping it into his pocket. He unclipped the USB drive and handed it to her. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

“Thanks, Michael,” she said with a coy smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She made her way back upstairs to her room and spent the rest of the night studying then, true to her word, on her way to the library the following morning, she knocked on Michael’s door to give him back his USB drive.

“I’m glad to see you’re a woman of your word,” Michael said playfully, as she clipped the drive back onto his carabiner, his cheeks flushing at her close proximity.

She held out her wrist and, silently, he clasped her watch back around it. Her skin tingled as his fingers brushed across it, their eyes meeting as their breaths simultaneously caught in their throats.

From that moment on, her and Michael were inseparable. The attraction was instantaneous, deepened by a shared love of mathematics and a refusal to toe the line when it came to the unspoken social hierarchy in place at the university.

Michael was a virgin, and so they took things slowly. She had had a long term boyfriend before going away to university, so she had had sex, but wasn’t overwhelmingly experienced. The split between her and her ex had been amicable; both going away to study in entirely different cities, they had wanted to give each other the opportunity to focus on their respective courses, rather than the pressures of maintaining a long distance relationship.

Things often turned hot and heavy between her and Michael. As their kisses grew feverish, his hips grinding of their own accord against hers, she could feel he was hard, knew that he wanted her, but was often left disappointed when he would hurry to the bathroom for a cold shower before anything truly interesting could happen between them. She cared for him, so she was happy to wait, though the sexual frustration was beginning to take its toll on her.

She had never been more grateful for the bullet vibrator she had brought with her to university, though it was costing her a small fortune in batteries – it had never had so much use before.

Three months into their relationship, she was beginning to get desperate. They had arranged to watch a film in Michael’s room that evening, so she decided to make it more than obvious that she was eager to take things a step further.

She pulled on lace topped hold up stockings and a black, lacy lingerie set, covering it with the red woolen jumper that Michael had left in her room the last time he was there. It fell to her mid thigh, so it wasn't immediately obvious that she had no other clothing on underneath.

They had fallen into the comfortable habit of leaving their doors unlocked when they were expecting each other to come over, so that they wouldn’t have to knock. She let herself straight into his room, finding Michael hunched over at his desk, fiddling with a Blockbuster DVD case to open it, so he could insert the disc into the CD drive of his laptop.

“What we watching then?” she asked, letting her rucksack drop from her shoulder onto the floor as she perched on the edge of his bed.

“Revenge of the Sith,” he answered, turning in his seat to look at her, “it’s a Star Wars film. I thought, erm…”

He trailed off, his lips parting slightly as he pushed his glasses up his nose. She followed his line of sight, seeing that the hem of his jumper had ridden up as she’d sat on the bed, revealing the lacy tops of her stockings. She smiled, knowing her outfit was having the desired effect, before looking back at him.

“You thought what?” she asked innocently, settling back properly on the bed as she moved a pillow behind her to lean against. She didn’t bother to pull the jumper back down, wanting to leave no room for doubt as to what her intentions were.

Michael swallowed thickly, before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter, let’s just watch the film.”

As the film played, she could hardly concentrate, the closeness of Michael next to her, the heat of his body so close to hers was a distraction. Their fingers were entwined upon the sheets between them, a gesture of closeness and intimacy, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

Slowly, she moved his hand onto her thigh, leaving their fingers interwoven there for a few moments while she gauged his reaction. His eyes flitted to hers and he offered her a tight smile before he returned his attention back to his laptop screen. He made no attempt to move his hand away, so she left it there.

Gradually, she disentangled her fingers from his, pulling her hand away until only his remained on top of her thigh. His thumb absentmindedly began to stroke at the lace of her stocking, tracing the swirling pattern of the material as he continued to watch the film.

She had no idea what was occurring on the screen; the light sabers, the red and black face of Darth Maul, it was all just a blur of colour to her as her pulse raced beneath Michael’s touch. His hand moved higher, fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her inner thigh. It took all of her restraint not to just grab his hand and place it where she needed him most, knowing that she shouldn’t rush him. At a maddeningly slow pace his fingers inched their way up, her core throbbing with desire and the crotch of her knickers growing damp with arousal the closer he got. As his fingertips reached the hem of her underwear, so close to pushing underneath, the credits of the film began to roll and Michael moved his hand away, climbing off of the bed towards the desk where the laptop sat.

She wanted to scream in frustration, every nerve ending in her body felt ablaze, desperate to feel something, anything and he was painfully oblivious to all of it.

Not in the mood to answer his questions about what she had thought about what they had just watched – she hadn’t been paying attention anyway – she stood up, tugging the jumper down and slipping the shoes back on.

“Night then,” she called over her shoulder, not giving him a chance to respond as she hurried out of his room and back up the stairs towards her own.

She knew she was being rude and incredibly unfair to Michael, and that they would likely have to discuss at some point how his apprehension towards physical intimacy was affecting her, but right now she was a pent up mess of hormones and arousal and she needed release.

Slamming the door closed the moment she stepped into her room, she flopped down onto the bed, roughly tugging her underwear down her legs and tossing it to one side. She reached into the bedside table drawer, feeling around until her fingers wrapped around the familiar shape of her bullet vibrator.

Thank god, she thought, switching it on and bringing it between her legs, sighing in relief as she pressed it against her swollen clit and her eyes fluttered closed. Her breaths grew heavier as she moved the toy in tight circles to aid the gentle rumble against her sensitive bundle of nerves.

She froze as the door swung to, her eyes snapping open to see Michael standing there.

“Hey, you left your bag, so I– oh, shit, sorry!”

“Wait!” she pleaded, turning the toy off and chucking it down onto the bed as she moved into a sitting position. “Don’t go.”

He let her rucksack drop to the floor beside his feet, closing the door behind him and resting his back against it. His eyes were glued to the floor, his cheeks ablaze as he struggled to find the words. “Were you…were you…um…”

“Yeah, yeah, I was,” she admitted shamefully, feeling her skin grow warm with humiliation.

“Is that why you left so quickly? Because you wanted to…”

He looked so dejected, so sad, so hurt, it made her want to burst into tears. She’d have done anything to take away the furrow of his brow, the disappointed look in his eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, hating herself for the answer.

“Do you not want to with me then?” he asked, his voice so soft she had to strain to hear it.

“Of course I do,” she insisted, “that’s why I was doing…what I was doing.”

“I don’t understand,” he admitted, finally looking up to meet her eye, his back still pressed against the door as she sat on the bed.

She sighed, raking a hand through her hair, unable to keep the frustration from her voice as she tried to explain. “I want you, Michael, but I appreciate that you’re a virgin and I don’t want to push you before you’re ready. I have needs though, I’m sorry…”

“You shouldn’t have to apologise for that,” he reassured her, pushing away from the door and slowly approaching the bed, “I am ready, I just never realised you wanted to, you never said.”

“I’ve been dropping hints left and right, did you not see what I was wearing tonight?”

“Yeah, my jumper,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck, “just assumed you hadn’t done any washing for a while.”

She groaned, fighting the urge to laugh – for an intelligent guy, he could be so incredibly dense. “I want to fuck you! Is that clear enough?”

Michael nodded, his gaze falling upon the toy that lay discarded beside her. “I don’t know what I’m doing though. I’ve always just been able to do maths in my head, never needed a calculator before, but I know they help people. Maybe that–” he pointed towards the vibrator, “could be my calculator, could help me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Show me how to fuck you.”

The bluntness took her breath away, but the intensity of his stare left no room for argument. “Alright,” she nodded, picking the toy up once more.

Michael stepped clumsily out of his shoes, then moved to the foot of the bed, kneeling upon it. “Go on then, show me.”

She could feel nervous excitement fluttering in her belly as she laid back, allowing her legs to fall open, giving him an unobstructed view of her most intimate area, before she pressed the bullet back against herself and switched it on.

Michael inhaled sharply, his hands coming to rest upon the knees of her bent legs, holding them open as he watched her intently. “What does it feel like?”

“It…it feels good,” she whispered breathlessly, slowly circling the toy against her bud, “there’s pressure, but it feels nice.” 

She gazed up at him as she panted and moaned softly, seeing the way his pupils dilated subtly. His hands moved to his belt, tugging it open, causing her to bite her lip, a mixture of arousal, curiosity and disbelief all fought for dominance in her pleasure-addled mind as she watched him unzip his trousers and free his hardened length. It was long, thick and slightly curved, the tip weeping with arousal.

“Can I?” he asked, gently grasping her wrist to coax her hand away from herself. 

She nodded, allowing him to move her arm to her side, the toy still buzzing in her hand. She gasped as he replaced the toy with the flushed head of his cock, rubbing it in circular motions, allowing it to notch against her clitoral hood.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice strained, and she simply nodded, desperately fighting the urge to buck her hips from the exquisite pressure he was applying.

“Shouldn’t…shouldn’t your first time be special?” she uttered, voice thick with desire.

“We’re not fucking, we’re learning,” he said softly, his gaze never moving from between her thighs as he continued to stroke himself through her slick folds, “and besides, it being with you automatically makes it special.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, they would have been romantic were it not for the lewdness of what they were doing.

“Now,” he said, pulling back slightly and grabbing her wrist again, “show me what else you do with this toy.”

Read on AO3

More Michael fics

[reinawritesstuff]

First Kisses Are Hard

featuring: rindou haitani x fem!reader notes: if I have to start a blog as a means to fangirl over men I like, might as well start with this beautiful human being

Summary: sometimes taking that first step is harder than it seems

Discover who your crush is: ✅ Ask her out: ✅ Kiss her after the first date: ❌

It should've been simple, easy, a no-brainer- yet how in the world did he mess this up? Rindou had the perfect plan in mind on how he wanted to kiss you. He figured all girls had their idea of a perfect date, which resulted in the night ending with a kiss at the front step of the house. Seemed simple in hindsight. No way he could mess up with this game plan yielding high success. How does he know this you might ask? Read it from a Cosmopolitan magazine he secretly bought prior to the date with the hopes of impressing you.

"fuuuuck..." Rindou let out a groan as he slumped to his feet as soon as he got back home.

"Ah Rindou, you're back!" Rin walked out of his room with a towel in hand, as he attempted to dry his hair. "How did the date go?"

"Awful, just awful" he sighed as he had his face in his hands, trying to hide himself away from the world. "I fucked up so badly"

Ran raised his eyebrow as he looked at his brother still lying on the floor. "right...well, why don't you pick yourself up from the floor, sit on the couch, and tell me what happened."

Rindou sighed, moving to the couch as he slouched against it, further highlighting his will to live. Ran rolled his eyes at the dramaticism displayed by his brother. Kid these days, he thought to himself. "So?"

"I ruined the perfect date plan I had for us," Rindou said, adding nothing further to his statement. Ran's face dropped out of annoyance. "Need a little more context there Rin. Try again from the start."

"Right, so I had this great plan set for us. Food, talking, walking her home once it got late...and just right when I was about to kiss her before she went in, I chickened out. I chickened out. Me! She was waiting for me to kiss her...and you know what I did? Patted her on the shoulder, told her to have a nice night, and left. I left her there!"

Ran bit back a laugh, not realizing that the story would be more amusing than it already was. "Oh...I see. That is...unfortunate."

"She is going to break up with me. My god. I'm going to be the guy whose girlfriend broke up with him because he couldn't kiss her. What if she finds someone who can kiss her? Holy shit- Why didn't I just kiss her?" Rindou rambled in panic at his newfound realization.

"Rindou. Rindou...calm down. She's not going to break up with you. I think you're just jumping the gun at this point" Ran tried to calm him down, albeit trying not to laugh at him. "You're making it sound like you guys never kissed before." Rindou stayed silent at his words, making Ran raise his eyebrow at him. "You have...right?"

Rindou sighed and shook his head "I was waiting for the right moment. I read that girls want their first kisses to be memorable so I planned things so that it would be good enough." Ran cocked his head to the side, taking him his brother's words. "I didn't take you for quite the romanticist there. Sounds like something you'd see in movies."

"Whatever- the point is I didn't do it and I know she must be judging me for it." Rindou continued with a groan. "How am I supposed to face her tomorrow?" Ran shook his head as he threw his towel at him. "Just shut up and cool down for a moment, why don't 'cha? It's not that big of a deal. You'll get more chances; and if it bothers you that much, just talk to her about it. If she is the girl you say she is, she'll get it no question. If she doesn't, she ain't the one for you. It's that simple." Ran spoke with a shrug, getting up from his seat "Now if you excuse me, I'm drying my hair and then going to bed."

Rindou stayed silent taking in his brother's words. He won't admit it but surprisingly the wet towel did cool him down, even though he almost instantly wasn't happy with the fact his clothes and hair were now wet. "I'm gonna go see her..." he said with a mumble, getting up himself and leaving the apartment to go see her.

Arriving at your place, Rindou rang your doorbell and waited for you to open it. Even though he was nervous, the excitement of still getting to see you was there.

After what seemed like a moment, the door opened and there you stood staring at him in surprise "Rindou? What are you doing here?" You asked him, not expecting to see you here. "Missed me already? you know, it's just been an hour right?" You continued with a tease.

"I know...I just wanted to see you" He said with his ears starting to turn red. He wasn't expecting to see you in pajamas and how cute they looked on you.

"Did something happen? Do you want to come in?" You frowned taking in how nervous he looked.

"Ah no! I just wanted to apologize to you about today-" He said awkwardly, his hand rubbing against his neck as he looked at you. "Apologize? for what?" You asked him. "Today was a lot of fun so not sure what you mean. Were we meant to go somewhere else?"

"Oh no, no. That was all part of the plan, but when I was supposed to take you home...I was supposed to well you know, kiss you and stuff." Rindou admitted, his cheeks betraying how cool he wanted to portray himself to be.

Before you knew it, you burst out into laughter. "Is that what that was? I knew you were acting strange but I didn't realize that's what you were trying to do. That's very cute of you Rin"

"So...you're not mad?" He asked quietly

You responded by tugging on his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you kissed him on his lips yourself. "Never. I love every part of today, including this moment right here."

Rindou was caught off guard by your sudden boldness and yet all he could think was about how soft your lips were. He placed his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up towards him. "Good, because there's more of that coming soon." He said softly before kissing you himself.

[cozycottagetarot]

Positive Plot Twists Coming Your Way

How To Pick A Group:

I recommend going with the image you find you keep coming back to after giving each of the piles a once over.

Notes:

This reading is focused on the next positive plot twist happening for you. Do keep in mind a 'plot twist' is still a plot twist ➡ there's still an element of surprise to it, this is all just clues to it happening. ✨

This Readings Contents:

Your Energy (It was supposed to be your current energy but it actually seemed more like your energy before the plot twist occurs)

The Plot Twists

This reading is for entertainment purposes only. ✨

LINKS: Reading Masterlist | Dividers | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Paid Readings — Open 🫧

Pile 1 (Vials)

Your Energy

This is one of those times when the cards don’t make sense until I’ve done the rest of the reading, so this is a bit of a mid-reading interpretation!

You have a lot going for you Pile 1– on paper, you should have a rich and fulfilling life, even if there is more you want to add in. You have (see I’m just going blank again). You’ve got yourself, you’ve got the things to make you emotionally fulfilled. Your social life is satisfactory, there are things to celebrate. You’ve got a good relationship with yourself, and you could even have someone special in your life!!! But even though you know this and you’re aware of it you just feel rather empty right now. Like none of it matters, and you’re trying and trying but there’s just this feeling of “I can’t”.

I’m not a doctor and I don’t read on health topics, but if this resonates with you (now or at the time) and feels like a mental health thing, then I definitely recommend exploring ways in which you can safely and healthily combat it. 

The Plot Twist

The positive plot twist that is happening for you is the scattered cycle you’ve been in that yields results but nothing of substance is coming to an end.

For a while now you might find that you’re doing things but they haven’t been very focused. You could have a lot if things burdening your mental or physical world and it’s taking a toll on your life. You may have successes but they don’t mean anything to you. What I mean by having things is the relationships and people there. I was wondering why your cards for your current energy were all so happy yet felt so empty and it makes sense now. Even though you’re doing well you’re lacking something though you may not even know what. Well thankfully, your sense of purpose is returning.

When you get back this sense of purpose and direction, there’s going to be action and with that action follows abundance. You’re going to be able to enjoy all that life currently offers you as well as welcoming in more. It feels like you’re going to come alive again because the energy in this section in comparison to your current energy is such a drastic shift. You could be expanding your point of view as well which is a good thing as the more perspectives we have the more opportunities will be available to us. I think you’ll also have a better grasp on how to manage everything on your plate so it doesn’t overwhelm you in the future.

Don't miss out on the extended version of this reading, which dives into the event that triggers the plot twists and sneaks a peek into its immediate and long-term impact. Check it out here.

Pile 2 (Potion)

Your Energy 

You could be connecting with your happiness on a deeper level or exploring memories of what made you happy or feel more carefree. There’s a sleepy energy... one of searching for something more. It’s also peaceful.

The Plot Twist 

You’re about to receive a win that’s going to shift your world's balance. This could be something you’ve been anticipating but regardless of if you have or not, it’s going to leave you in high spirits. It could either bring you back into balance or you’ve been anticipating what kind of results you’ll yield. I’ve been struggling with what deck to use and I pulled cards from another briefly. You had the knight of wands, the star and the seven of swords, so I think maybe you were an anxious ball of energy (good or bad) trying to be hopeful but maybe expecting the worse of course though it’s a good outcome or even if not you may discover something that makes you glad it didn’t work out. 

This could be a key piece of information you receive from someone else or something might suddenly ‘click’ for you. It could also be relating to you planting seeds and tending them, so maybe this plot twist is relating to the first ‘sprout of success’.

Don't miss out on the extended version of this reading, which dives into the event that triggers the plot twists and sneaks a peek into its immediate and long-term impact. Check it out here.

Pile 3 (Hourglass)

Your Energy 

You are diligently chipping away at a task Pile 3. You are putting in the effort to move away from something or I should say towards something. It’s not to say it’s without its sadness. There’s a bittersweet feel to this. This feels like the most straightforward pile... you have a bit of a quiet optimism going on. Part of it feels like you’re just keeping your head down trying to make the best of the situation. 

The Plot Twist 

Someone is coming in or this could be someone in your life who you two pair well together with whom you’ll find some kind of happiness and stability. Spoiler alert this is related to romance or companionship (with or without traditional romance) so that’s the only interpretation I’m reading for. You can try a different pile if that’s not something you’re necessarily looking for.  This person can be very comforting or you might start to envision creating a home, literally or figuratively, with them... they might also just feel like home. As I'm editing, I realize it could be that you're working towards creating your version of home and this person comes along. Why is this a plot twist? It feels like a shock or the feelings catch you by surprise. There’s a strong connection between you two. This could be someone from the past (with happy memories attached!) or they may help you to heal.  You may not think much of them at first but something forces you to pause and reconsider. It could be a chance to start over with this person. Some questions you may have to ask is what needs to change this time around or moving forward. The big thing you may be considering is how this person fits into your life (long term).

Don't miss out on the extended version of this reading, which dives into the event that triggers the plot twists and sneaks a peek into its immediate and long-term impact. Check it out here.

[autumnslance]

I really appreciate Gulool Ja Ja as a ruler, a father, and a hero in his own right. There were concerns about why the Scions, as outsiders, would be participating in a contest of succession, and everything we learn about Gulool Ja Ja's younger years, and his reasons for the Rite of Succession, neatly addresses that.

As a much younger man, Dad^2 traveled the lands of Tural with his own diverse group of comrades, from all races and walks of life. From Kettenramm as the foreigner, to Cahciua the long-lived Shetona wilderness expert, to Pelupelu and Yok Huy, to Hanu and Xbraal; especially given the animosity between some of those clans at that time.

And along the way, Gulool Ja Ja learned how much stronger they were together. Alone he is a formidable champion, but even Blessed Siblings can't do it all. He also learned about the diverse peoples and cultures of his homeland. It's not so far off from the Warrior of Light's journey; traveling with competent heroic companions as we adventured through the 3 Continents and lands beyond them for so long, loving people and places we found along the way.

But Gulool Ja Ja also became Dawnservant, and now as his years catch up to him, a new ruler must be found. And it's in the conversation after dueling the WoL that he bluntly states his reasoning, speaking to them as a peer:

Even this early in the contest, you must have realized…As potential rulers, all four claimants are lacking. This is why I elected to hold the rite of succession─not to choose a fitting candidate, but to cultivate one. And if no one has impressed me by the end of it, then to no one will I yield my throne. As a parent, I pray that my children rise to the occasion…With outsiders dragged into my game, I am also hopeful that the different perspectives you and your companions have to offer will inspire them to grow. I imagine you in particular have traveled many lands. Known many peoples and cultures─loved them and been loved in turn. Guide Lamaty'i as you think best. Walk at her side and, when needed, push her to walk ahead. Watch over her, champion. Koana's recruits are no less sharp─as one might expect of Galuf's countrymen. They saw the flaws in our claimants from the outset. The other two, though… They dismiss comrades willing to point out their shortcomings, and no good can come of it…

Emphasis mine.

We see this too, in the interludes to Team Second Promise, as Thancred and Urianger turn on their own Dad Skills and gently guide Koana toward his own realization: that innovation is all well and good, but so is taking into account the traditions and needs of his people. As he watches his sister's growth, and how the people love and trust her to respect their ways of life, to help them because it's the right thing to do.

And Wuk Lamat learns and grows, gaining confidence, learning when to rely on her comrades, how and when to face a challenge on her own. The Wuk Lamat after level 96 is a different woman than the girl we met in Sharlayan. She's not done growing and learning, not in so short a time, but the cultivation Gulool Ja Ja put in place succeeds in her and Koana--because they are willing to learn, and listen, and love.

The other two claimants, as Dad^2 noted, don't understand the reasons for the Rite, for the methods the electors choose, or what the Dawnservant is looking for. And they refuse to entertain perspectives that would attempt to point that out, surrounded by sycophants and cronies.

Bakool Ja Ja doesn't learn the same lessons, though he comes around; he was never shown kindness and understanding, never asked what HE wanted, until Wuk Lamat demands he say it out loud. His growth is a surprising one, and along a trajectory he could never have imagined.

And Zarool Ja...his arc is a negative one, and a tragedy of his own making. He works as an antagonist because his fall is entirely avoidable, but utterly inevitable. It didn't have to be this way, yet there's no other way it could go. He internalized all the pressure and potential, all the comparisons, until it ate him alive.

This is a story about the complicated politics and demands of leading countries, of there being no easy answer to peace even when you wish there was. But it's more a story about family, and legacy, and honoring the past while striving to build a better future.

The Warrior of Light sees their own story reflected in Gulool Ja Ja's history, and in the shaping of Wuk Lamat. To fulfill their love of adventure and exploration, but from a new perspective. And taking all that experience and skill and applying it in a slightly different way, though perhaps not so different from some previous side and job quests where we help others and introduce them to friends so they can continue to grow and help themselves after WoL's moved on.

Hydaelyn's brave little spark has long been a beacon of hope for others to follow. As inheritor to the Shepherd of the Stars, the WoL takes steps toward shaping their legacy, still an active participant, but also seeing how those other stars might shine, and like Gulool Ja Ja, finding that some of those stars need a nudge to find their own glowing potential.

[thydungeongal]

out of curiosity, are you aware of any games that mechanised notetaking? just was walking the dog and thinking about making something explicit that's oft implicit

Oh, immediately could think of one! Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy by my good friends at @anim-ttrpgs basically necessitates note-taking not just because it is an investigative game but because of one of its mechanics: Eureka!

Eurekas are one of the many systems the game has in place to make sure that the investigation doesn't stall or lead to a dead end simply because the investigators aren't being lucky that day. It is a very trad game where to gain clues investigators investigate scenes and use their skills to draw clues from evidence. Which, being random, means that there's always a chance that an investigator fails all their rolls and doesn't end up gaining any clues!

This is mitigated in part by the use of graded successes (the most common result on an unmodified roll is actually a partial success), but also, whenever a character makes an investigation roll they gain investigation points, with failures yielding more. Once a character's investigation points reach a certain threshold they can be used to gain a Eureka (and the game even encourages you to stand up and shout "Eureka!" when using it) which allows a character to suddenly gain a clue from one of their previously failed investigation rolls as if they had succeeded at it!

So it's a game that basically necessitates writing down ALL of the clues the investigators gather as well as every single failed investigation roll! It's highly ambitious and crunchy, and I love it. You can also get the prerelease version of it for free at the moment by joining their indie RPG book club where I'm also around to help out a bit! :)

I'm sure there are other games as well, but I literally immediately thought of Eureka when I saw this ask. :D

[ukiyowi]

Channelled Messages II 💌

Channelling messages from your: Future Spouse's guides, your shadow self, your parents.

Note: Have fun!! And please reblog and send feedback (if you want) it helps a ton, have a lovely day everyone. Reblogging and paid readings help a lot! Pls DM me if you want one!

Masterlist! || Book a reading! || Tip 🫙!

Future Spouse's Guides

Your Shadow Self

Your Parents

- ✪✪✪ -

💌 Pile 1

My Dearest,

As the spirit guide of your future spouse, I am honored to offer you guidance and wisdom that transcends the boundaries of time and space. Though my role is to support your beloved from the spiritual realm, I am deeply invested in your happiness and well-being, for your future union is a testament to the profound love and connection you share. In this letter, I aim to provide you with advice that is both general yet specific, touching upon various aspects of life, not solely confined to matters of love.

First and foremost, let us discuss the significance of self-discovery. Throughout your life's journey, you will encounter a myriad of experiences, challenges, and joys. It is crucial to embrace these moments as opportunities for growth and self-understanding. As you become more attuned to your own needs, desires, and values, you will naturally radiate a sense of authenticity and confidence that will enrich your relationship.

Never forget the importance of compromise. In every relationship, there will be differences in opinions, preferences, and priorities. Approach these disagreements with a willingness to find common ground, and remember that sometimes, the act of yielding can be a powerful testament to your love.

Remember to nurture the small moments of joy and spontaneity. Life often unfolds in the ordinary, and it is within these seemingly simple moments that the deepest connections are forged. Cherish the laughter, the shared meals, and the quiet evenings together.

The universe is conspiring to bring you together with your beloved, and your spirit guides, myself included, watch over you with love and care. Embrace the lessons and blessings that come your way, and may your love story be a timeless testament to the power of love.

They are waiting for you, your souls are meant to meld and they will very soon, till then please take care of yourself <3.

With love 🩵

💌 Pile 2

Hello love,

Beginning with, let me assure you that your path is illuminated by the radiant light of potential and destiny. The future holds both challenges and triumphs, and it is essential to approach them with an open heart and a resilient spirit. Remember, life is a beautiful tapestry woven from both joy and sorrow, and every thread contributes to your unique and intricate story.

One of the most important pieces of advice I can offer is to embrace the ever-changing nature of existence. Life is a series of cycles, and like the seasons, it brings moments of both abundance and scarcity. In times of abundance, cherish the blessings bestowed upon you, but do not become complacent. Use your good fortune to uplift others and to grow as an individual. And in times of scarcity, hold steadfast to your inner strength, for they are the crucibles in which your character is forged.

In the pursuit of your dreams and aspirations, I urge you to cultivate patience and perseverance. Life's most significant accomplishments often require time and effort. Do not be discouraged by setbacks, for they are the stepping stones to your ultimate success. Your journey may be arduous at times, but your future spouse's spirit guide assures you that every challenge you face is an opportunity for growth. As you journey through life, you will encounter love in its many forms.

Some loves will be fleeting, like shooting stars in the night sky, while others will be enduring and steadfast like the North Star. It is important to discern between the two, for not all who enter your life are meant to stay, and not all who depart are lost.

Your relationship with yourself is the foundation upon which all other connections are built. Treat yourself with kindness and compassion, and remember that self-love is not a selfish act, but a necessary one. When you love and respect yourself, you radiate positivity, attracting love and respect from others.

Waiting for you~

💌 Pile 3

Hi sweetheart!

In the years to come, you will encounter crossroads and diverging paths. The choices you make at these junctures will shape your professional destiny. Remember, dear one, that it is not always about the most lucrative or prestigious option, but rather the one that aligns with your passions and values. Seek out work that resonates with your soul, for a fulfilling career is one that brings joy and a sense of purpose.

Let me reassure you that the path you're on is destined for greatness. While life can be a rollercoaster, remember that even the steepest drops can lead to thrilling highs. So, don't be afraid to embrace the twists and turns that come your way. They're all part of the grand adventure. Now, let's talk about your career.

Picture it like a delicious buffet (and who doesn't love a good buffet, right?). You've got a wide array of options laid out before you. Some might look tempting, while others might leave you scratching your head. My advice? Try a bit of everything! Just like at the buffet, you won't know what your absolute favorite is until you've sampled a little bit of everything.

Don't feel pressured to settle for the first dish that comes your way. Explore different career opportunities, experiment with various roles, and indulge in your passions. If you're passionate about something, even if it seems unconventional, go for it

Remember, your future is a canvas, and your career is the vibrant palette you use to paint your masterpiece. Oh, and remember to strike a balance between work and play. Life isn't all about the hustle and grind.

Take time to savor the sweet moments, laugh with friends, and cherish the love of your future spouse. They'll be your biggest cheerleader on this journey, and together, you'll conquer any challenge that comes your way.

Take care love!

- ✪✪✪ -

💌 Pile 1

I see you often doubting your abilities and second-guessing your decisions. When you're faced with challenges or new opportunities, you tend to retreat into your comfort zone to avoid the discomfort of failure or rejection.

My advice to you is this: Embrace the discomfort. Step outside of your comfort zone intentionally, even when it scares you. It's in those moments of vulnerability that you can truly learn and grow. Remember, making mistakes is not a sign of weakness; it's a sign of courage and the path to improvement.

When faced with challenges, don't shy away. Confront them head-on, for it is through adversity that you discover your true strength. Embrace your flaws and imperfections, for they are what make you uniquely you. They hold the seeds of your growth and evolution.

Do not suppress your emotions; they are your compass. Feel them deeply, both the joy and the pain. They offer valuable insights into your desires, fears, and aspirations. Learn from them and allow them to guide your decisions.

Embrace your darkness, for it holds the potential for profound transformation. It is not something to be feared, but a wellspring of untapped creativity and power.

Remember, you are a mosaic of light and shadow, embrace both.

💌 Pile 2

When you hear that inner voice saying, "I can't do it" or "I'm not good enough," that's me. My advice is to confront those thoughts head-on.

First and foremost, remember that your thoughts are not necessarily facts. They are products of your perception and past experiences. Start by analyzing the evidence for and against these self-doubts. Ask yourself, "What proof do I have that I can't do it?" You might be surprised to find that many of your fears are based on assumptions rather than concrete evidence.

Furthermore, consider reframing your self-talk. Instead of saying, "I can't," try saying, "I can, but it might be challenging," or "I can, with effort and practice." This shift in perspective can empower you to approach tasks with a growth mindset, recognizing that even failures and setbacks are opportunities for learning and improvement.

Embrace challenges as opportunities to prove me wrong. Remember that growth often occurs outside your comfort zone. Taking calculated risks, setting ambitious goals, and pushing your boundaries are all ways to demonstrate your capabilities. Each small victory, each obstacle overcome, is a testament to your potential.

Seeking support and encouragement from others is not wrong or bad. Share your aspirations and fears with trusted friends, mentors, or therapists. They can provide valuable perspectives, guidance, and motivation during your journey of self-discovery and personal growth.

Analyse your doubts, reframe your self-talk, embrace challenges, and seek support. By doing so, you can prove your shadow self wrong and unlock your full potential.

💌 Pile 3

When haunting memories of past mistakes and regrets resurface, don't let them consume you. Rather than dwelling on the pain of the past, reflect on what each experience has taught you. Every misstep and error holds within its valuable lessons. Reflect on what you've learned from these experiences, for they have shaped you into the person you are today.

Forgiveness, both of yourself and others, can be liberating. It allows you to release the emotional burdens that may be holding you back and opens the door to personal growth and healing.

Finally, those impulses and desires that occasionally surge within you are not to be ignored or suppressed. Instead, explore their origins and motivations. Sometimes, these desires reveal untapped passions and dreams that are yearning for your attention. By embracing and understanding them, you can find ways to channel them positively, enriching your life in unexpected ways.

I am here to challenge you to become a more authentic and whole version of yourself. They are not reckless impulses but signposts pointing to unfulfilled potential.

By acknowledging and channeling these desires constructively, you can embark on a transformative journey toward a more fulfilling and authentic life.

- ✪✪✪ -

💌 Pile 1

You've been positively shining lately, and we couldn't be prouder.

It's like watching a shooting star streak across the sky – you're constantly surprising us with your brilliance and leaving us in awe. From acing your exams to that recent project you tackled with gusto, you're proving to the world that you're a force to be reckoned with.

But you know what we love even more than your accomplishments? It's your zest for life and the twinkle in your eye as you chase your dreams. Remember, life is not just about reaching destinations; it's about enjoying every twist and turn of the journey.

So, keep reaching for the stars, our little superstar! We have no doubt that you'll continue to amaze us and everyone around you. Just promise us one thing – never lose that playful spirit and infectious enthusiasm that makes you who you are.

We love you more than words can express, and we can't wait to see where your next adventure takes you. Congratulations, and keep on. You're not just making us proud; you're making the whole family proud!

💌 Pile 2

We hope this letter finds you well and wrapped in the warmth of our love, even if from afar. There are words we've been carrying in our hearts, words that need to find their way to you.

We want to tell you how very sorry we are for any moments of pain, frustration, or disappointment we may have caused you in the course of your life. As parents, we've made mistakes, stumbled along the way, and at times, failed to truly understand your perspective.

We want you to know that our love for you is immeasurable, and it is in the shadow of that love that we can identify and acknowledge our shortcomings. We recognize that there were moments when we should have listened more, when we should have supported your dreams more enthusiastically, and when we should have been a more constant presence in your life.

Please understand that our actions were never intended to cause you harm. We were navigating the complexities of parenthood the best we knew how, often learning as we went along. Sometimes, our fears and insecurities clouded our judgment, and for that, we are deeply sorry.

Our love for you, though, has always been unwavering, a beacon of hope and pride. Watching you grow, accomplish, and become the remarkable person you are today fills us with indescribable joy. Your kindness, intelligence, and strength are a testament to your character, and we couldn't be prouder.

We hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us for any past missteps. Our wish is that we can move forward with a renewed sense of understanding, compassion, and love between us.

We're here to support you in all your endeavors, to listen when you need an ear, and to be the parents you truly deserve. With a love that will never die,

🩷

💌 Pile 3

You are a cherished part of our lives, and nothing will ever change that. We wanted to share some feelings with you because we believe in open and honest communication. Recently, there have been moments when we felt a slight sense of disappointment in some of your choices and actions.

Please understand that this disappointment does not diminish our love for you, nor does it define our overall view of you as a person. We apologize for feeling this way, as we recognize that no one is perfect, and everyone makes mistakes. Our expectations might have been too high, and we realize that it's important for us to accept you as you are, with your unique strengths and flaws.

Our intention in sharing this is not to make you feel guilty or burdened but to foster understanding and growth within our family. We believe that through open conversations and support, we can work through these feelings together. We hope that you can forgive us for any undue pressure we may have unintentionally placed on you.

Remember, our love for you is boundless and unconditional, and we are here to help and support you as you navigate life's challenges. Let's move forward together, learning from our experiences, and growing as individuals and as a family.

- ✪✪✪ -

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: sorry for the delay folks xx

masterlist

now i wish we’d never met ‘cause you’re too hard to forget while i’m cleaning up your mess i know he’s taking off your dress and i know that you don’t but if i ask you if you love me i hope you lie to me

Bucky Barnes was a great many things, a paradox in a single man, many opposite things to different people. For some he was an angel, charity driven and ready to sacrifice himself for everything and everyone. For others, he was a demon, someone who was power driven, filled with the need for success and stepping on anyone he needed to be the first and the best. No matter what both thought, all agreed on one thing - Bucky Barnes was one hell of a charmer. He’d gotten that from his mother - old high class British charm, his father used to say. That combined with his looks made him irresistible to most people. Everyone flocked to him, everyone except for Y/N. She’d vanished from his side a bit later into the night and he hadn’t seen her since. Each time he thought to look for her, someone would need him or catch his attention.

Even with all that, he couldn’t find her. Y/N was an eye catching woman, she was beautiful and if she were anywhere near he would’ve found her. Instead, she was nowhere to be found and he was starting to get annoyed. He wanted to spend the evening with her, or at least he had intended to spend the evening with her, introducing her to the right people who could help her. He continued listening to whoever was talking to him right now - truth was, he wasn’t even sure who that person was. He just usually smiled and kept up simple talks, that was what was required of him so he would gladly keep doing it as long as it yielded results.

As for Y/N, she had almost forgotten who she was here with. Christopher Davis was someone who she always could picture herself with. He was smart, well spoken, well mannered and seemed to have an interest on her. Besides, he had gone through the same thing as her back at Columbia.

      - I’m just saying Professor Williams is a pain. - Chris laughed as Y/N explained what her supervisor had said. - If Professor Anderson likes you then you must be a bright student.  

      - Or maybe I’m just really daft. 

      - I don’t think so. - he smiled. - Sergeant Barnes doesn’t employ someone who doesn’t have promise. 

      - Except I don’t work for him ... I mean, not like you work for him, I’m just an au pair. I reckon the only criteria was are you a threat and are you good with children. 

      - How is it working with Sergeant Barnes if you don’t mind me asking?

Chris looked at her and then back at James whom he didn’t notice had been staring them down until now. He sighed, putting on his best smile, after all, he was trying to impress this girl. 

     - He’s uptight and a bit controlling but I guess you have to be if you want things to run smoothly. Specially when you work in advertising. 

     - That’s most CEOs isn’t it?

     - Yes but James Barnes is .. different. Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a disgruntled employee. 

     - That is fine. Sergeant Barnes has got me on my nerves every once and again?

     - Is that so? - Y/N felt the blood drain from her face as she turned around to face her boss. She wasn’t afraid of him per say, but she also knew, she just knew he would probably be pissy for the rest of the evening. - Good evening Y/N, Mr. Davis. 

     - I will see you tomorrow, Y/N. - Chris smiled at the au pair.

To say Y/N was over the moon was a massive understatement. He liked her, at least she thought he liked her enough to invite her out. She didn’t think she still had it within her, she was usually busy looking over Sadie or with her postgraduate studies - that didn’t give her enough time to think about her sex and love life. That being said, maybe that explained why she was having the weird dreams and fantasies about James; familiarity. Right? It had to be that.

Bucky on the other hand felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Chris was ... well, he didn’t know that much about Chris other than he came from money yet he couldn’t even blame him from that since he had come from money as well. He was just boring, Bucky found him boring. He didn’t take risks, at least not enough risks for someone who worked at advertising. He played it safe. It worked, but it wasn’t revolutionary. Still, Bucky didn’t like him. He definitely didn’t like him for Y/N either. Y/N was smart, innovative, caring and another bunch of positive adjectives which were too long to list. Chris was just boring.

     - So how’s that lady? - Y/N broke the silence between the two of them, a bit tipsy on the champagne which she wasn’t used to drinking.

     - What lady?

     - Delilah? - she looked up through her dizzy, tipsy mind, before snapping her fingers. - Delia. Yeah, that’s her name. How is Delia?

     - You would know if you weren’t busy flirting with my employees. 

     - Oh so you can flirt but I can’t?

     - Not when you’re with me. You’re embarrassing yourself and humiliating me.

     - But I’m not here with you, am I, sergeant? I am not your date, am I?

     - No. - he smiled forcefully. - However if I were going to flirt with someone I would pick someone less boring. 

     - You work in advertising, Sergeant. Everyone is boring. 

(...)

Bucky had never spent a whole night alone with Sadie, not when she was awake. Yet, here he was, left behind by his au pair so she could go and date boring Chris while he had to deal with a very hyper Sadie who was running around as if it wasn’t 8 o’clock yet. He usually had a babysitter or he had Y/N, or Steve yet right now he was by his lonesome. He thought she would’ve settled down if he played princesses, yet, she did not. Instead Bucky now had knotted hair, glitter on his face and probably some on his eye and permanent marker on his neck. He had finally given up and done the worse thing in the eyes of every parenting book - he’d given her a tablet loaded with all the Bluey seasons. Meanwhile he’d taken to watching re-runs of Mad Men. 

     - Bed? - he asked the curly haired ginger who looked up at him, her hair in front of her face. - I’ll give you 10 dollars?

     - No. - she replied before looking back at her tablet. Bucky sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Soon the terrible twos would be done and he’d have the terrifying threes. 

    - 20 dollars? - he said once again but she ignored him. He sighed, how come Y/N managed to do this? - Sadie, you can either go to bed or you can be tired tomorrow and not go to the park with Y/N. Choose. 

She looked at him with the death stare which she had inherited from him, but eventually got up, grabbing his hand. Bucky smiled, picking her up and walking to her bedroom. He pushed the sheets from her bed, carefully rolling her to her mattress before tucking her in, handing her a Bingo plushie. 

    - You want a story, babe? - he asked her, brushing her curls away from her forehead. - No?

    - Light?

    - I’ll turn your little moonlight on. - he kissed her forehead. - I love you, Sisi bug. 

She smiled at him and it was enough for him to know she meant she loved him too. He tucked her once more before turning off the main light, leaving the room softly lit by the nightlight. Slowly and softly he went up the stairs, grabbing a wick basket and started collecting toys onto it. She had too many toys, still he wouldn’t stop buying them. As he finished it, Bucky sat back down on the couch. He was annoyed. Why did she even go out with that prick? The only thing they had in common was an alma matter and god knows Chris was a legacy student so it wasn’t like he tried as hard to get into university like Y/N had. God, he hated him. Hated how bland and boring he was. 

He toyed around with the remote, trying to find something that would get his head out of the idea of goddamn Christopher Davis trying to get her out of the practically translucent dress she had been wearing. Bucky could swear she did it on purpose, just to show off to him in those strap heels and short sheer black dress like a temptress. He changed channels once more, hoping he’d find something ... maybe a pay per view porn channel or something. Yet nothing took his mind of his au pair, his employee who he should have some professionalism with, and that stupid lacy bra he could make out under that dress. Dressing up like that for goddamn Davis. 

He stared at his phone, watching as hours passed yet nothing fulfilled. Eventually, Bucky made a mistake, a huge, massive mistake. A mistake which fulfilled itself as he opened the door to show Delia. He handled things badly but right now he needed his fill. 

His lips attacked hers as they stumbled towards the bedroom, Bucky locking the door behind him. This was a bad habit, a terrible habit but her lips felt good, her taste was tempting and Bucky wasn’t the one to have good habits. However, today, things were ... different. Her lips leaving lipstick marks on his neck didn’t feel the same. Maybe this was a mistake. He shouldn’t really have a woman in the house when his daughter was asleep upstairs. 

   - Are you alright? - Delia pulled away from him.

Bucky blinked, he had to be going ... stir crazy. Maybe he’d drank a bit too much whiskey but her features morphed and he could swear that in place of the woman he usually called whenever he needed release, stood the woman he wanted to be here now. The sheer dress a vivid memory in the back of his mind. He ignored her question, moving to kiss her neck and putting his hand over her mouth. His fantasies took full front stage as his mind drew a different reality.

All he could see was her, red lips open wide with soft, high pitched moaned as he kissed down her body, doing away with her dress and her underwear. He wanted to mark her, he wanted to mark this vision of a woman he craved. His hands found the top of his joggers, pushing it down as if he were a horny mess. His cock was painfully hard, slapping against his stomach as he stood over her, this vision of Y/N. All he could think of were all the times she saw her, the outline of her breasts, her collarbones. He didn't pace himself, instead lining up with the woman's entrance before he gripped her hips and slide himself in, without much a second of though. The feeling made him grown, he was insane he reckoned, insane because he knew this wasn't her but all he could see is her. The soft moans, the contracted muscles. He fucked her hard and rough until he felt his release approach. Once he did, he slide himself off, jerking off and coming on her stomach, rolling to the side of the bed. He stared at the ceiling fan of the guest bedroom, his mind lulling him back to reality ... all he could think when that moment was once simple thing - Fuck Chris Davis. 

(...)

Y/N didn’t spend the night. He noticed that in the morning as he was getting prepared from work and saw her walk in, with her dress crimped and hair barely brushed. His blood bubbled. If she wanted to fuck old money, she could’ve fucked him. 

    - Had your release? - he knew he was being mean now, just looking to stir the pot. - Fun night?

    - Why? Need some new jerking off material? - she crossed her arms, speaking in a manner and language that almost made him spit his coffee. - Who’s taking Sadie to school?

    - Well, if you can still walk I’d say he did a pretty shit job, huh?

    - I guess I’m taking Sadie to school. - she rolled her eyes. - And it’s none of your business.

    - Well my employee is fucking another one of my employees. Maybe you should go to HR. 

    - Maybe I should and tell them that the boss is acting like an ass. Are you seriously still upset at me that I flirted with someone at your weird benefit? I’m single, I’m allowed to flirt!

    - Not with Chris Davis. Seriously, Y/N, get a better taste in men. 

    - Because you have such a great taste in women. - she poured herself a cup of coffee. - Since you’re dressed, maybe you should take Sadie to school and see your favourite ego boosting group the PTA mums. 

    - Maybe I will.

    - Picking Sadie up from school or do you want me to?

    - Steve’s picking her up.

    - Steve?

Steve. 

////////////////////////////////////

taglist : @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82​ @winters1917​ @vladsgirlxx​

[arachnixe]

The Forest's Covenant

The Old Forest is never silent. Life is noisy, regardless of whether one has the ears to hear it. The ebb and flow of animal calls form a murmuration that, at intervals, yields the stage to the quiet susurration of leaves catching the wind. Even lower, beneath the notice of all but the most careful listeners, the trees creak and rumble with their own song.

Nevertheless, when a distant thunderclap breaks the forest’s natural rhythm, the moment afterward holds its breath in anticipation of rain that will not arrive.

Another peal, now closer, makes a liar of the clear sky above. The two beget children—a violent crackle, a hiss as from some titanic serpent, a series of still-louder booms in rapid succession—and in their wake, the most energetic of the forest’s noisemakers find it prudent to relocate themselves.

With the roar of a terrifying predator losing its fight for survival, something unknown and unimaginable slices a fiery wound through the canopy of trees, crashing heavy and lifeless from the heavens to carve its grave as a scar in the earth. The titan’s blood pools underneath it, soaking the forest floor with poisonous alchemy that transforms once rich soil into lifeless dirt that will never again sustain life. Its presence here is wrong, unwanted, an unforgivable intrusion.

A mind like that of the Old Forest is normally a slow thing, thoughts blooming on the time scale of seasons, but the outrage of such sudden trauma spurs the awakening of something deep within itself.

For the first time in an age, on a creature sharper than any woodman’s axe and twice as unforgiving, a set of eyes opens.

The Resinate, as it calls itself—for it is among the rare few woodsbound souls which are namewise—pulls a shawl of moss across its spindly form and contemplates the intruding corpse. This titan is no beast, it decides, nor spawn of planes beneath or above. It is a child of axe and saw, born of man and imbued with their fire. Yes, and imbued with language too, though the Resinate alone has the eyes to recognize such a thing, but densely packed as it is, such writing rebuffs all efforts to read it.

Man has grown more clever than before, but their collective memory remains as short as ever, that they should again choose to breach the terms of the forest’s old accord. Artificial thunder continues to roar, by now farther away from here, but not too far to detect—and therefore not far enough.

The Resinate leans forward, dragging the tips of its slender fingers along its subject’s metallic skin, contemplating the situation laid out for its appraisal. The intruder is not singular. There will be others. Therefore this thing must be better understood; new lore must be extracted from it.

Ah, now here is some true excitement, enough to make a witch hum in anticipation! Let its house plant itself here, in this scarred glade, bringing its wonted tools and comforts. Let the work begin!

First, the dissection, with grimoire open and ink prepared for meticulous note-taking. Everything must be catalogued, from the lowliest shard of bone-metal and droplet of toxic ichor to the largest of the still-intact organs. To peel apart the outer layers without damaging the subject is a challenge that requires new keys to open locks of novel construction, for which the Resinate sets to work designing and carving the set of tools it needs.

The witch of the Old Forest labors without rest while shadows glide over its house, deepening and eventually overtaking the sunlight, only for dawn’s return to pierce darkness once again, falling through windows to land on the newly exposed—and quite shattered—body of a flesh-and-blood child of man impaled within the crumpled wreckage of their metal host-body.

This too, is meticulously catalogued among the rest of the notes. One child of man reduced to operating as the organ of another. One child of flesh, one of metal. The witch hums and taps its claws on the floor of its house, unable to contain its excitement. What a lovely, lovely, lovely turn of events! Base necromancy is—well, not exactly trivial, but well within the Resinate’s sphere of knowledge, and anything lingering within the mind of this little symbiont will undoubtedly speed the learning process.

Patch the meat with pliable root and vine, let witchsap flush stale blood away, find soul’s lingering tether and bind it with ancient knot, sew sunlight and morning dew into the threads of this creature’s mind, and pass key behind lips to twist the whole thing open and awaken that which had passed into death.

The man gasps for air, wheezing language almost immediately. A feather-light touch of the threads joining mind to witch, and the Resinate begins unfurling meaning from sound.

“…Stinger-12. Do you read me? I’m down. My coordinates are… wait, I don’t… AI link is… I can’t see.”

Confusion is typical for the newly resurrected. Difficult to get more than chaos and prayers from their mouth at first. Easier in the beginning to simply taste what sparks the mind conjures.

Now here, pull petals apart with a delicate touch. Mind’s sweet nectar dances across the tongue, and ah, this man seems to be female, which is a useful truth to inform the color of language required to address her. And there, more clarity: these babbling prayers are directed at a Handler, something of a divinity or god-king. She laments the loss of her symbiotic other half, the precise nature of which is difficult to extract from thought alone. The steel-child is a creature of language, and it will require language to explicate.

“Listen to me, girl. I am Handler now, and you may direct your prayers to me.” As it speaks the word “Handler,” the Resinate plucks the corresponding string in the man’s mind, drawing all of her associations with the word toward itself.

Her eyes open wide, filled with awe and adoration mixed with not-unexpected lingering confusion. “Girl? I’m, ah, what do you— what does that— wait, why would you call me— did my psyche profile—?”

No, that’s too much confusion, now mixing with fear and other strange emotions. The Resinate bristles with irritation. It should have spent more time digging for a name rather than choosing a generic form of address. This is a derailment.

“Very well, I will not address you as ‘girl.’ You will be my Fig Wasp. Does that name suit you?” The witch does not bother waiting for an answer, simply choosing to pluck the string tied to the girl’s identity at the moment it speaks her new name. “Yes, it does.”

“U-understood. My call sign is Fig Wasp.”

With another mental gesture, the Resinate indicates the partially dissected metal corpse. “And what do you know about your Fig?”

Fig Wasp’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly, not from any effort to resist the command, but at a loss of what to say. Her mind is a torrent of truths both relevant and irrelevant. She struggles to organize the information hierarchically, not understanding the witch’s motivations well enough to decide what to prioritize and therefore not knowing where to begin.

Moreover, the previous mistake addressing her as “girl” continues to distract, the memory of its words knotting in a hideous tangle of social dynamics and threads of selfhood that the Resinate has little interest in unraveling.

It taps its claws together in thought. Most of Fig Wasp’s mind is pleasingly regular, the effects of repetitive conditioning wearing tidy trails in her mind almost to the level of base instinct, but all her training is centered around her symbiosis and her god in order to make her well suited to her niche. The Resinate might simply tidy up the rest of it, yes? Tastefully trim the most inconvenient growths of selfhood and those social connections with the rest of her species, leaving only the fresh, lively bond with her new identity as Fig Wasp and with her new Handler and with this Old Forest.

Fig Wasp speaks at last, but her words are halting and disorganized, and the witch silences her with another gesture. How satisfying that she obeys without hesitation! Yes, it needs to craft new keys with which to open the girl’s mind for pruning, but some things, it decides, can remain.

It must craft one key for the heart, the center of connection. One at the base of the skull, where thought meets feeling. One at the spine, where mind blooms into action. One at the forehead, the door between self and other. A key for each season of the year, for each beat of the heartsong, for each limb of the beast, for each eye of the world.

The work takes time, as it always does, but the girl’s anxiety calms when the witch declares its intent to make her a better instrument. She even offers her help, though she could not possibly understand the process. Well, Fig Wasp could possibly help in severing her own limbs, mangled and knotted as they are with the wreckage of her other half, but aside from the practical concerns about the girl’s ability to finish that task, the Resinate’s pride demands it handle the remainder of its dissection and extraction itself.

Fig Wasp is well trained, embracing the pain of change—both the lesser pain of the amputations and the greater agonies of the keys—her mind alight with hope that she might be honed and corrected.

Better. Oh so much better. At last she is capable of stilling her mind and body until they are called upon to assist her witch. She possesses within her a memorized litany of “specs” and “regulations” and more, the arcane words she recites filling page after page of the Resinate’s grimoire. The witch’s detailed dissection notes transform into carefully annotated diagrams with references to particular chapters and verses of the canon. At last, true understanding begins to take shape.

“Your symbiosis is your strength,” the witch observes, graciously naming the obvious so that its new pet might follow this train of thought. “A union of the grown and the constructed. By ritual you are clumsily shaped to better suit that which was constructed to fit a generic form.” The Resinate taps its claws in thought. “I can do better, but I must not alter the fundamental essence of the union.”

Fig Wasp stands in silence, content to know that—whatever her fate—she will have a role to play in the Resinate’s plans. New arms grown of living wood refresh a half-empty teacup on her witch’s desk.

“Only four limbs? No. Your symbiosis could be more complete.” The Resinate sketches vague organic shapes on paper. “I could grow your roots directly into your other half, let you entwine yourself deeply inside in lieu of rebuilding such things as ‘pedals’ for ‘feet’ and similar such pairings: a more permanent symbiosis.”

The threads of the girl’s mind light up with connections, as they always do when the topic of her symbiosis is addressed, providing the witch with a helpful reminder.

“No, of course. That contradicts the Book of Pilot, Chapter Eighty, Verse Three. You are meant to assist in the care and grooming of your symbiont, for which you must regularly exit your integrated state.”

With a slash of the pen, the first sketches are discarded, and new ideas emerge to take their place.

“If not the mandrake, the undine might suit as inspiration. A thing of different forms, you might flow as water, become as blood in the other’s veins, only… ah, I would have to alter its construction far too much for my liking.

“Though of water, there is also the selkie, who sheds one form for another as suits her whim. Not precisely what I need, but the details may be altered for my purposes.”

Lines of ink dance across the page, rough sketches evolving into increasingly specific forms.

“My hybrid alraune, whose roots will know the insides of her symbiont with perfect intimacy, who can shed that skin and emerge from blooming flower to serve multifarious needs. Yes, and with hands to assist me in healing your symbiont’s body.” The witch of the Old Forest turns to its pet project. “You will enjoy your new body.”

The pet project recognizes an implicit invitation for a response. “Yes, Handler. I will.” She cannot resist squirming just a bit, despite her discipline, as sleeping elements of her personality recognize an opportunity and begin to awaken.

Despite its own contempt for man, the Resinate finds itself endeared to this one—perhaps because it has already begun thinking of her as what she will become—and it chooses words it knows the girl aches to hear.

“You have a new mission, Fig Wasp. Procure target ingredients from the forest and escort them safely to the rendezvous point—this house—so that I may poison what remains of your humanity and fertilize what must grow in its place. Precise mission objectives will be delivered, ah, momentarily once I write them down.”

“Acknowledged. Search and delivery run. Standing by for transmission of target data.” The girl’s eyelids flutter, her eyes rolling back slightly as her mind lights up with pleasure at performing this ritual.

After receiving her list, she takes off at a dead sprint. Well, whatever her enthusiasm, it will take quite some time to find the necessary botanicals. Some of those herbs have grown rather clever lately, and outwitting them should prove a challenge.

This gives the Resinate time to begin reading the language comprising the mind of the titan. It is complex, many-layered, simultaneously fragmented and impossibly tangled in itself. The Book of Ay Eye, which holds dominion over this creature’s brain, barely scratches the surface of the complexity the witch finds here.

Without possessing authority over language itself, this would be impossible. As it stands, the task is merely extraordinarily difficult. The injuries sustained here require agonizingly precise rewriting of the most minute sigils the witch of the Old Forest has ever seen. Moreover, the better-protected organs of the mind will require still more careful rewriting, like a book that needs its central themes inverted without changing the word count of any given paragraph.

Now here is a thrill to exceed even the girl’s enthusiasm for her little rituals! This could take a century or more of dedicated study to fully unravel, delving into wholly unexplored corners of man’s lore. Ah, to take a new kind of mind and learn to garden it, help it blossom in harmony with the rest of the forest—at last the Resinate finds a challenge worthy of the heights of its power!

Yet… how unfortunate that the Old Forest needs results on man’s schedule. Nothing for it but to divert the flow of time, just a touch, just around this house, just enough to solve this puzzle. Wicked as such a spell might be, a witch is a thing that does what it must, and if it must take on the debt intrinsic to such defilement of the natural order, well, this wouldn’t be the first time.

When the Resinate’s assistant returns, it is to a house that has aged visibly. The structure sags more in some places and has become wildly overgrown in others. Her timing is a touch awkward, with the old door warped and demanding a hearty shove to force open while a new door is yet green and unready for use.

The Resinate, however, is not only prepared but eager to begin. It fills the house with a hum that vibrates through every branch and gnarl, its sense of anticipation having reached a fever pitch. With tools arrayed and cauldron bubbling, the work of excising Fig Wasp’s wretched humanity begins.

Flesh dies. A seed is planted.

---

When next the old covenant of man and wood is violated by such forgetful creatures, Wasp and Fig are fully grown and prepared to unleash appropriate retribution. Her mission: to refresh man’s memory with blood.

It is not for the forest to remember specifics of any individual clash between itself and man. The Resinate, for itself, is disinterested in such details. Many are the eyes of a witch, and not all of them are tasked with watching merely that which already has come to pass. Thus, Fig Wasp’s success is foreseen and the “how” of it dismissed as triviality.

They return home, titanic frame slipping between branches with no more than the rustling of leaves signaling the landing. A body of intricately engraved steel and stone kneels on its plinth, lowering its upper half, from which the bulb of a huge flower blooms and deposits the witch’s favorite wasp.

With delicate grace, she uncurls and arches one almost-human leg to meet the ground, followed by the other. Her body shines with the vigorous green of new spring growth, glistening with nectar like morning dew. Well, the witch has no heart to speak of, but something inside reacts to the beauty of its own creation. Appraising eyes gliding across the sight, it cannot help but recall the birds who drink greedily of such sweet nectar.

The Resinate catches itself and silences its humming, stills its claws. An excess of imagination can be both gift and curse for a witch, and it must maintain some self-control. In any event—

With a running leap, the pretty alraune collides with her witch, tangling limbs together in an embrace that shatters the Resinate’s train of thought. The witch makes a mental note to train the girl not to leap upon it when excited.

“All the humans are dead, Handler! Except for letting one retreat, just like you said.” The girl giggles, a sound no less melodious than birdsong. “She doesn’t even know she’s carrying my seeds.”

“Well done, pretty thing.” Praise summons a shiver of pleasure from dear Fig Wasp, and the witch finds itself gripping her tighter in response. “Good pilot. Good girl.”

How unexpectedly enjoyable to reward its creation, feeling her whole body quiver with each kind word while her sweet aroma saturates the air. Ah, imagination takes flight once again, and the Resinate decides to expand its notion of just how much “handling” it might justify engaging in.

[robfinancialtip]

✨Evgeniya Radilova reflects on her own experiences, noting that what she formerly thought were the darkest times of her life finally led her to where she is today. She changed her viewpoint throughout time, in which previous difficulties became stepping stones to success. Her message is one of encouragement, pushing listeners to persevere in the face of adversity and believe that their efforts will yield beneficial results. Her journey serves as an inspiration, showcasing how resilience and determination can transform challenges into opportunities for growth.🌱

💪Evgeniya emphasizes the role of pain as important and encouraging. Rather than becoming discouraged by losses or problems, she suggests using pain as an incentive to persevere. This perspective reframes adversity as a chance for growth and development, encouraging people to maintain their pain as a reminder of their strength and determination. By doing so, she claims that hurdles become less daunting when viewed as part of the path to achieving one's objectives. Evgeniya's attitude is inspiring, reminding us that setbacks may drive personal growth and success. 🌟

WATCH the related video: FBI Most Wanted Actor Shares Her Inspiring Bold Pursuit for Authenticity

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[haggishlyhagging]

Another way to solve the paradox of depressed wives reporting their marriages as happy is to view the socialization process as one which "deforms" them in order to fit them for marriage as now structured. We cut the motivational wings of young women or bind their intellectual feet, all the time reassuring them that it is all for their own good. Otherwise, no one would love them or marry them or take care of them. Or, if anyone did, they would be unhappy and feel caged if they had wings and could not fly, or unbound feet and could not run.

There may have been a time when this made sense. It might well be asked if it still does. But whether it makes sense or not, we are quite remarkably successful. We do not clip wings or bind feet, but we do make girls sick. For to be happy in a relationship which imposes so many impediments on her, as traditional marriage does, a woman must be slightly ill mentally. Women accustomed to expressing themselves freely could not be happy in such a relationship; it would be too confining and too punitive. We therefore "deform" the minds of girls, as traditional Chinese used to deform their feet, in order to shape them for happiness in marriage. It may therefore be that married women say they are happy because they are sick rather than sick because they are married.

There are some researchers who believe that this is indeed the case. They note that our standards of mental health for men are quite different from those for women, that if we judged women by the standards which we apply to men they would show up as far from well. A generation ago, Terman could judge women who were conformist, conservative, docile, unaggressive, lacking in decisiveness, cautious, nontolerant to be emotionally stable and well balanced. They were the women who had achieved an adjustment standard of mental health. They fitted the situation they were trained from infancy to fit. They enjoyed conformity to it. They were his "happily" married women.

But modern clinicians see them in a different light. Inge K. Broverman and her associates, for example, ask whether a constellation of traits which includes "being more submissive, less independent, less adventurous, more easily influenced, less aggressive, less competitive, more excitable in minor crises, having their feelings more easily hurt, being more emotional, more conceited about their appearance, less objective"—a constellation of traits which a set of clinicians attributed to mature adult women—isn't a strange way of "describing any mature, healthy individual." These researchers conclude that we have a double standard of mental health, one for men and one for women. We incorporate into our standards of mental health for women the defects necessary for successful adjustment in marriage.

We do our socializing of girls so well, in fact, that many wives, perhaps most, not only feel that they are fulfilled by marriage but even hotly resent anyone who raises questions about their marital happiness. They have been so completely shaped for their dependency and passivity that the very threat of changes that would force them to greater independence frightens them. They have successfully come to terms with the conditions of their lives. The do not know any other They do not know that other patterns of living might yield greater satisfactions, or want to know. Their cage can be open. They will stay put.

-Jessie Bernard, The Future of Marriage