#who I know about but I haven't yet made a connection to

[quitealotofsodapop]

Sun Wukong has been a lot of things over the many, many years he's been alive. King, pilgrim, rebel leader to name a few, but being a father was new. MK is a great cub, sweet, caring, and always happy. But he's also inherited Wukong's proclivity for getting into trouble and stubbornness. From what Tieshan and Ao Yo tell him, he's doing a great job.

Then MK went and got himself kidnapped again.

Wukong groaned, stomping up the steps to the dojo, tail lashing irritably. Perhaps saying MK was kidnapped is an overstatement, since he knows full well that MK more than likely went with the person holding hin very willingly and that his 'kidnappper' would never lay so much as a paw on his son, but it felt better for him to think MK was simply kidnapped. It's better than having to admit the alternative. Pigsy and Tang flanked him, equally concerned and furious, while the Stalwarts brought up the rear, the whole lot of them amused.

Trying to ignore the snickering of Ba, Wukong pounded on the door of the dojo, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in impatience. When the door opened, the cub thief himself lounged against the doorframe like an overly smug cat, grinning wide as he not so subtly checked Wukong out.

"Well, if it isn't the Great Sage! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fair day?" The Six Eared Macaque was practically purring, forcing Wukong to suppress a shiver as his voice rolled over him.

"Cut the crap, Macaque!" Wukong growled, "Where is MK?"

Seeing the crowd behind him, Macaque raised a brow before snorting out a laugh.

"I only just got him down for a nap, come on in. Please don't mind the mess, I haven't had a chance to clean up yet."

Wukong did just that, strutting forth angrily, making sure to slap Macaque in the face with his tail along the way. The inside of the dojo was, as Wukong suspected, trashed but otherwise looked to be in good condition. Well, as good condition a place can be if they had a toddler with the power of a god running about it for the afternoon. In a cleaner corner of the room was a small, Westlake bundle of blankets and cushions with a familiar chestnut brown tail sticking out of it. Wukong immediately went over to check on his son, noting that as he suspected MK was simply tuckered out and there was no injury to speak of on him. In fact, the moment he was in his father's arms, he let out a sleepy chirp and nuzzled closer.

"See? Kid's safe, just like I said." Macaque's voice purred far too close for comfort, his breath agaisnt Wukong's neck as he leaned over his shoulder. Wukong immediately whirled about, fur bristling, as he hissed.

"Don't do that! Sneaking up like some shadow!"

"What!?" Now Macaque looked less amused, "Here I am looking after the kid you lost track of, and you come barging into my home and insult me!?"

"And I thank you for caring for MK." Wukong practically spat the words, carefully handing the child off to Pigsy as he turned to properly confront , "But that's no reason for you to be leaning over me like that!"

"You mean like this!?"

Suddenly Wukong was forced to back up, mouth dry as he was very suddenly reminded that Macaque was taller than him, eyes wide as he stared up at the towering monkey as he stepped into Wukong's space again to lean over him. It was as if an electrical current was connecting the two as he tried to open his mouth, say anything, but so.ply couldn't find the words. Macaque too seemed to feel it as the amusement in his eyes seemed to fade into something softer. Ma let out a cough, suddenly reminding them of the audience.

"Okay!" Wukong shoved Macaque's face, forcing him to back up, "You made you're point! Just stay out of my space!"

"Whatever you say, You're Majesty."

Wukong growled to himself, his fur puffing up in irritation as the smug bastard's grin returned to its annoying sharp point, clearly mocking him. Macaque's eyes left his for the first time since his arrival as he turned to greet the Stalwarts, who happily greeted him back. The traitors.

Hehehe X3

For those not knowing; irl macaques will "kidnap" babies of their mates/romantic partners to babysit as a form of flirtation. Its them telling the parent; "Look how good a parent I am! Can I hang around some more?"

Just had the imagery of Macaque trying to take care "power of a god" cub MK for the afternoon. He quickly decides; "Oh well, any kid of Wukong's is gonna be like this. Come here ya little scamp!" cus now he's thinking of an island overrun with excitable cubs.

I love how Wukong is so mad/frustrated at Macaque that he silently hands MK over to Pigsy. Like "Bro, hold my baby." (ง •̀_•́)ง

But you *know* if they had been alone, that pull-into-my-arms would have led to something else. <3

Macaque cannot help being a flirtly lil shit towards Wukong, and the Stalwarts know it to see it. XD

[dseerie]

My Thoughts On Why Astarion Acts The Way He Does

While I'm waiting for Baldur's Gate 3's cloud status to upload, I've been thinking. I've seen a lot on social media about people questioning why Astarion disapproves when your character wants to save the gnomes (since they are also under an abusive master) or assisting the refugees and how he is always wanting a reward instead of just doing something nice for the sake of it. And I've talked with people who have helped me put this into better words. At least I hope. So I wanted to explain my perspective as someone who was abused when a kid/teen/even early adult.

I fought my abusers whenever I could, figuring if it was going to happen, I'd piss them off, which was satisfying. I liked seeing them hurt when bad things happened to them. I enjoyed making them suffer as I was, even if it wasn't the same as how they abused me. Then when anyone else made me angry, I wanted them to hurt (I never physically fought because I didn't want the pain, but I wished suffering upon them.). If someone started issues with a different authority figure, it annoyed me quite a bit because then I have another problem. And what if my abusers found out I was involved when I wasn't because someone I was with was upsetting the authority figure? It would become just one more issue I had to deal with. Too many details and nuances to keep track of when my mind needed to focus on the first problem. It made sense to stay on the good side of authority figures to keep myself safe and avoid trouble.

For me, something had to be worth doing or my mind just went back to worrying about sh*t, back to the fight or flight survival response. I needed that reward dopamine. Getting praises wasn't doing it for me, since I would forget the good because of the bad. Trauma brain is funny like that. I needed something physical and worthwhile to make me happy.

It's the reason why Astarion is my favorite character that I connected with the most. Not because of his beauty (not that he isn't an elegant elven man. Just that it wasn't what got me to like him. I'd lean more toward Gale or Wyll if it was by appearance for the male companions, though seeing Astarion half-naked with abs was a real shocker. I seriously thought he was a skinny elf 😳), but because he reminds me so much of how I was and how my thought-process worked. How I kept people away by being rude just enough without them wondering if they should say something to my abusers. Because no matter how many times I told people outright I was being abused early on, no one helped, only tattle-told on me.

And I haven't even completed a playthrough yet. I only just got to the Elfsong before starting a Durge playthrough. First playthrough was an asexual Tav to get to know the characters and storyline (I kid you not, I made my Tav a Charlatan rogue then discovered Astarion was also a Charlatan rogue when I was in the forge 😂). As I got to know them a bit more, Astarion intrigued me the most and when Patch 7 came out, I decided to play a Durge Romance. The first Durge both traumatized me up to Act 2 and made me adore and respect Astarion even more. So yeah, I'm romancing him on this Modded Durge Romance playthrough despite Gale having an interest in me, who is the male companion I would connect with if Astarion wasn't a companion (I'm literally just starting the Underdark area and Gale is already at 100 approval while Astarion is at 79 approval. I wish I had a library, I do have a cat, and I love me some white or pink wine 😋).

This is what my perspective of why Astarion acts the way he does. He's not bad, per say. What happened to him for 200 years has made him what he is. Nobody can fix someone else, but they can be guided to help fix themselves. I've been working to fix myself since I got out of the situation. And I want to be the one to guide Astarion toward fixing himself.

If I think of more, I'll see about adding. For now, thank you for reading. I hope you have a great day. 😊

[illgiveyouahint]

czech queer activism circles are so small that once you're in, you soon know pretty much everyone

[commandercoriandersalamander]

two dudes... sitting in a hot tub stone wolf... souls mingled into one complete being but they're not gay

[astrxealis]

really want to read more and more literature (esp classics!) aghhhh yesterday iirc i was on a walk with my mom and twin and an old guy (not a weirdo dw) who was jogging or walking too actually asked what book i was carrying and it's a little funny bcs uhm he just went "oh a classic!" you see. i was carrying dante's inferno. which i still haven't properly started to read but anyways he might... if my mom is right... be the local parish guy so oopsies !! LMAO anyways yeah really interested in lovecraft for a while now! horror scares me and gives me paranoia but i also enjoy the writing of it? and i remember once that something/someone said my writing is kinda similar to his. hm.

[mrsbarnesblog]

i am not the only one who saw that, right?

masterlist

summary: your friends find out that you secretly dating their enemy, but their opinion might completely change when they see Rafe from another point of view

words count: 2.2k

warnings: secret relationship, pogue!reader, attempted assault, mention of blood, soft and protective Rafe

a/n: inbox is open for requests💘

“You cannot be dating Rafe fucking Cameron, Y/N!” John B exclaimed, burying his hands in his hair and walking all around the place. 

“No, seriously, this is not a good idea.” Sarah looked at you, giving out a nervous laugh. 

You were currently surrounded by your friends, who were all practically yelling at you after they accidentally saw a message from Rafe on your phone. You were one of the pogues; you never hanged out around the kooks, but somehow, when you were visiting Sarah a few months ago, you got into a random conversation with Rafe, and since that moment, the connection between you two has only gotten stronger. 

It was an instant click and as much as you both tried to deny the spark, it was there. As you started going out, secretly from everyone, of course, you decided to keep it private until the right time. 

“Alright, guys, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew that this would be your reaction. It just happened, okay?” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, already feeling a headache from the tense situation. All of your friends were standing on the opposite side of you and it felt like they were just attacking you. 

“What were you thinking? You know that he hates people like us, like you. We are pogues, Y/N. How the hell did that even happen?” Kiara was standing with her hands on her hips, as her piercing eyes were studying you. You felt awful looking at Pope, who was the one who always supported you, but he just shook his head and stepped away. 

“I don’t know. It just happened. We talked once when Sarah left, then I accidentally met him a few times in town, and then he texted me. He’s not bad when you know him closer.” You sighed. “Look, I know Rafe was a lot of trouble for us. He did bad things; I know that. But he’s not like that; he’s sweet and caring, and he has never shown any sign of being disrespectful towards me. I just can’t deny my feelings for him.”

“Honey, Rafe is not a good person. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone; he’s evil, selfish and manipulative.” Sarah stepped closer to you, touching your hand. “He’ll play with you, hurt your feelings and just throw you away.”

“And he probably just wants to get into your pants.” JJ grumbled, also taking a defensive position. 

“I haven't even slept with him yet, JJ!” You desperately snapped at him. It felt ridiculous, like all of them turned against you at the same time. Sure, Rafe wasn’t the sweetest person to them before, but they didn’t even give you a chance to say something in your defense. “And you’re wrong too, Sarah. All of Rafe’s actions were just to get people’s attention and appreciation. All it took for me to get on his soft side was to just listen to him and give him some affection. Other people didn’t care enough, including you and your father. He needs someone who he can trust and open up to because he’s hurt.” 

“No, Y/N. If you think that he loves you, then he just got into your head. My brother doesn’t love anyone. It will end badly; I just know that.” 

Tears gathered in your eyes, and a lump in your throat made it difficult to say anything back, so you just stupidly stayed there. You had no strength to fight with all five of them at the same time. You turned around, silently getting back in the car, even though your head was filled with doubt and dark thoughts because of their words. 

For the next few days, it was tough for all of you. You and the rest of the group were still close, and even though they were completely against your relationship, you still met and hung out. The pit in your heart was still there, no matter how hard you tried to act nonchalant and not let their words get into your head. 

Rafe noticed the change in your behavior—that you were upset with something—but he didn’t put any pressure on you and allowed you to decide for yourself when you wanted to open up. 

Pogues decided to go to some party on the cut near the beach and as much as you tried to refuse, Sarah and Kiara managed to drag you there. You all rarely went to such places, preferring to hang out in your little circle, but apparently everyone wanted to clear their heads and saw it as the best opportunity. 

It was pretty fun with a bunch of people you did not know, some music, and drinks, and you mostly hung out with your friends. Though quickly it got overwhelming and made you want to go home or at least go outside of the house to get some fresh air. As you left your friends and wanted out from the backyard to a part of the beach, you didn’t notice the guy who had been eyeing you the whole evening. 

He came out of nowhere from your back, his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You yelled at the sudden and unwanted touch, and your heart seemed to drop into your stomach when you realised that it wasn’t just a joke from JJ, who liked to scare you. You started wiggling in his hands to get free, but he was fighting you back, dragging you up when you fell to your knees on the ground. 

It was such a mess trying to scratch and punch him that you almost did not notice his hand coming into contact with your face several times. You screamed again, this time loud enough, until you saw JJ running towards you. The guy behind you pushed you away as soon as he saw someone, and you fell to the ground with a loud huff. 

“That fucking bastard!” JJ was right near you, helping you to get up as tears streamed down your face. He tried to comfort you, checking your body for any injuries, but you pushed his hands away, wrapping your own around yourself in a defensive way.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” You heard Kiara, along with your other friends, calling your name. “What the hell happened?”

“H-he attacked me.” You sniffed, trying to catch your breath and, with shaking hands, reaching to the pocket of your jeans shorts to get out your phone. All of them looked at each other, questioning your actions, until you pressed someone’s contact button and put the phone to your ear. “Can y-you pick me up, p-please?” You sniffed again, now trembling from the adrenaline. 

“Baby? Are you crying? Where are you?” You heard your boyfriend’s concerned voice through the phone, feeling how JJ tensed beside you. 

“I’m on the cut. Near the beach. There’s a party and... Please, Rafe.” 

“I’m coming, angel. Just wait for me, ‘kay?” You heard the sound of the car engine at the other end of the line. Rafe didn’t ask any more questions, and as soon as you mumbled quiet 'mhm’ he ended the call. 

You all heard him before you saw him. The sound of the tires drifting through the sandy street was loud, drawing attention to the expensive car that was unusual to see at this part of the island. 

Rafe didn’t bother to properly park, turn off the engine or even close the door when he saw you sitting on some old chaise lounge, with his sister and Kie trying to talk to you and your other friends arguing nearby. 

The girls stepped away from you as soon as they saw Rafe running towards you with a furious expression on his face and ready to deal with anyone who made you cry. It looked like he didn’t even care about the pogues, with whom he always had to get into arguments; he was fully focused on your shivering form.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” He squatted down in front of you, and you started sobbing again. Your hands immediately found their place around his neck, and, before he could even properly look at your face, you pulled him closer to get some sense of comfort from his warmth and smell. Rafe hugged you back, soothingly rubbing your back. His eyes shot towards your friends, who were watching in awe at the interaction. “Which one of you did that?”

“It’s not us, you idiot. Some guy jumped her when she walked outside.” Sarah said, rolling her eyes at her brother. “JJ heard screaming, and when we walked outside, he ran away.” Rafe pulled away, finally taking in your appearance.

Your knees were covered in dried blood mixed with the sand. He gently took your hands to see the palms scratched from you trying to catch yourself before hitting the ground. Rafe’s eyes were burning with fury, showing his side that he rarely revealed in front of you. His hand reached to move your hair from your face, noticing a red, now already turning purplish, bruise covering the side of your cheek.

“Holy shit, sweetheart.” He softly brushed his fingertips along your cheek and you leaned into the touch, closing your eyes. Your bottom lip started quivering and you bit inside your cheek to calm yourself down. “Sh-h im here, okay? You’re safe. Did you see him? What did he look like? Just tell me and I’ll deal with it.” He almost begged, but you only shook your head. JJ suddenly stepped closer, slightly hesitating to actually normally communicate with his longtime enemy,  but he thought that it was the least that he could do for you.

As much as he hated The Kooks King, JJ knew that Rafe was the best option to find the guy who hurt you. 

“Tall, with dark and curly hair. Never seen him before, probably someone new on the island, but I’ll recognize him.” They looked at each other for a moment, and Rafe just simply nodded, turning his attention back to you. 

“I’ll find him, ‘kay? I promise I will.” He gently took both of your hands in his, bringing them to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. “We should go now. I need to take care of your knees and that bruise, baby. You don’t mind going to Tanneyhill, yeah?”

“Thank you, Rafe.” You whispered, slightly bending forward to ask for a kiss. Rafe smiled at you, his thumbs gently swiped the leftovers of the tears under your eyes, and then he kissed you on your forehead, nose, and gently pecked your lips. 

Your heart flattered at his soft touches and for a second, it felt like you two were in your own little bubble. Rafe's eyes shimmered slightly in the moonlight, and the way he looked at you, soft and caring, made you want to kiss him again and again. You suddenly snapped out of the trance, looking back at your friends, who all had different levels of shock and uncertainty written on their faces. 

“C’mon, pretty girl.” Rafe stood up, lifting you in bridal style without an effort, carefully not to hurt your bleeding knees. He almost walked away, but then sighed, turning back to look at his sister. “You coming home with us or somethin’?”

“Um, no, I’ll be with John B. It seems like I would be third wheeling with you anyway.” She shrugged, not being able to keep a smile when you two met with your eyes. 

Rafe then looked at JJ, thinking his words over. “I appreciate it, Maybank.” 

They exchanged a tight nod, both slightly shocked that for the first time ever, they communicated without biting each other's heads off. You leaned closer to Rafe, comfortably nestling in his protective hands, and looked at your friends, who were still too shocked to say anything. 

“I’ll see you guys later, okay? 

Everyone agreed, saying goodbye to you and asking you to text them when you get there safely. They saw how Rafe made sure to slowly put you into the passenger seat, then circled the car and drove away. An awkward silence fell around them, everyone at a loss for words. 

“Okay, so I am not the only one who saw that, right?” Pope spoke first, looking around the place as if he were trying to find something. “Rafe freaking Cameron just was acting cute and didn’t threaten to do something to us?” His own body physically shrugged at the word ‘cute’.

“I don’t know, dude. We all just probably drank something and it’s messing with our heads.” 

[skyrigel]

Simon swore he didn't want a relationship, but as soon as he met you — well there might be some changes in the plan.

He did want a relationship, fine, if it's with you, he's willing to give it a try but he's not really going for the trouble. No, thankyou.

Simon wouldn't really ask you if you haven't eaten yet or not, he's not your daddy, like that's a different thing, but he's not going to give you an earful for sleeping late and eating unhealthy.

He's going to be your boyfriend but... nonchalant boyfriend if it made any sense.

It never did.

Maybe changing his priorities was the first tick-tick for the bomb that came along his way because as soon as he found you, he was gobsmacked with a possessiveness that drived him insane.

He thought it would only bother him when you would be around because what sort of man he would be if he didn't melt at your sweetness.

But you lingered like a tattooed kiss, everything now connected with you, every thought started and ended with you.

He almost asked Soap to tie his hands so he could stop texting you random shit.

Like why should he bother with your meds and why it's making his heart burn if you haven't taken them.

Everything was jus' getting out of hand.

You were just so extreme, just out of your mind and he liked it, fuck he loved every bit of you. He just couldn't stop himself —

“You look like... you're bout’ to cry.” Soap annouced from his side, Simon shaked his head, then thinking different, nodded.

“She's having a bad day.” He said, “I am gonna kill this Nancy.”

“Who's..Nancy ?”

“You know wot ?” Simon grumbled instead, “I am gonna call her and tell her.. it's gonna be okay.”

“Right.” Soap bounced, covering his face because what has happened to his mate.

“Untie my wrist.” He growled.“Quick.” he added dangerously.

“Right.” Soap shrugged, already getting on his feet.

And if staying away from you was proving to be bad on his nonchalance then being near was almost tripping.

“You said you wouldn't come.” You gasped when he arrived, looking nervous and perhaps bit surprised himself.

“I...well...you look lovely.” He leaned to kiss your cheek, simple adorable gesture, “Thankyou Si !” He blushed at the nickname.

He really didn't know what took him until he realised that giving in to care about you was probably for the best. And really, it wasn't so bad, to think about you, to put efforts for you, to fucking nick the moon for you, because the moment you smiled at him so fondly, like he was capable to deserve that warmth from you, he actually knew what the trouble was all about and he was very much gladly taking a fall for your sake.

So it really didn't matter if he was putting on his warmth clothes because he was one second away from wrapping you in warmth the moment you very much sniffed.

It didn't matter how hot your body got sometimes with heat, he's there soaking cloth in cold ice water and cooling you down.

He's hearing that french lady talk and talk because he needs that recipe you so very love.

He sleeps with an arm under your head and heart full of things he would do for you and himself, to built a home.

Because he fucking cares, he swore for that, to make you the happiest with him.

He doesn't want to be nonchalant, he doesn't want to pretend like he doesn't care because he does.

Really.

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[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

CHAPTER ONE:

The lights somehow made you glow in Kento Nanmi's eyes. Or maybe it was just you, and your effortless ability to draw everyone's eyes on you. You stood atop a table dancing with Satoru wildly, arms flailing and your body rolling along to the rhythmic pounding of the bass. Pink and blue lights stuck to you and everyone in the nightclub's eyes.

"Stare any harder, Kento; lasers might shoot from your eyes," Suguru smirked as he spoke.

"I don't know what you mean, Suguru," Kento said curtly before taking a swig of his drink.

"Don't worry, I won't tell."

"There is nothing to tell."

"Do you want me to schedule a date with you and Yuki?" 

"Yuki?" Kento coughed a drop of his drink catching in his throat.

"Your eyes have been locked on her since she got on the table with her friend." The blonde man almost laughed in his face from pure shock.

"Who wouldn't stare with her atrocious dancing, almost like a headless chicken. Either way, stop trying to set me up; I've sworn off dating, remember?"

"How could we ever forget." Satoru chimed in, sliding next to Suguru, sweat making his blue work shirt cling to his body tightly, "One bad kiss in University and suddenly, any romantic opportunity was thrown out the window with you."

That was the washed-down version of what happened to Kento, but his work colleagues didn't need to know about how he basically got verbally beaten by a girl cause he wasn't ready to lose his V-Card in a one-night stand.

"Oh, all he needs to do is put himself out there more," Yuki said, forcing herself into this embarrassingly uncomfortable conversation. "You are gonna die a virgin if you keep this up."

"Better to die a virgin than known as a whore."

"Hey! I am not a whore." Satoru exclaimed. 

"Yet somehow you knew Kento was talking about you." Yuki quipped back.

"Where is…" Suguru’s voice trailed off when he realized he had forgotten your name.

“Y/N?” Kento helped Suguru find the name.

"Yes," the long-haired man snapped his fingers, "Where is Y/N? She is going to miss the cake."

"Cake?" Kento grumbled. "You didn't say there was going to be cake, Satoru. You promised there wouldn't be cake."

"Okay, I lied." Satoru tried to conceal a smile

Kento raised to his feet, ready to leave before the birthday parade showed up with cake, probably with something stupid on its icing, and a club screaming happy birthday drunkenly. "But think of it like a welcome cake, too. For Y/N, Yuki wanted her to get to know all of us before her first day in the department on Monday. And you two haven't spoken to her since she first introduced herself." Satoru pointed at Suguru and Kento.

"You are the one who stole her away to do the “Six Devil Shots” and then to the dance floor," Suguru said.

"Or you too could have come and danced with us." You cut in, a cake and candles in hand. "I stole this out of the kitchen."

"You said you were going to the bathroom." Yuki laughed.

"I did, and then I stole the cake."

"Unbelievable," Satoru said. "It was supposed to be a big thing for Nanami." Satoru pouted slightly at the prospects of not being able to embarrass his coworker. 

"Well, Mr. Nanami doesn't seem like the type to enjoy drunk people sing-screaming at him, much less their attention solely on him." You slid your way onto Nanami's side, placing the cake in front of him and the three and five candles in its center. "You have a lighter, right?" You whispered into Kento's ear. He only nodded, letting out a nervous breath before pulling it out and handing it to you.

The group sang Happy Birthday as loudly as they could over the blasting music that played behind them. Giving up after the first verse, Kento blew out his candles.

Thirty-five years old as of today, and he was no better than a teenage boy, semi-hard because you whispered in his ear and stole a cake so he could avoid attention. Sometimes, Nanami felt he was missing out on what Yuki, Satoru, and Suguru had. Some imaginary certificate to adulthood, the type that could only be won through cashing in his V-Card, but then again, would losing it to a stranger make him catch up with others his age? He knew he wasn’t the only virgin at his age, but in situations where a pretty girl flirts with him, and he wants to flirt back, something always manages to catch his tongue. The voice in the back of his head probably reminds him that she wants something from him that Kento knows he won’t be able to give her. So he doesn’t flirt anymore. And as fast as the hard-on came, it was gone, along with any idea of ever entertaining the idea that you would ever want him.

Just because a woman is nice to you doesn't mean you get hard. Kento reprimanded himself in his head.

"Okay, enjoy the cake; I'm heading home now," Kento shouted over the music. "I have to catch the last train."

Yuki and Gojo booed them loudly while Geto threw him a look that screamed, "You are going to leave me with these idiots?"

"So do I." You said, "Mind walking with me?" you said, realizing what time it was.

Kento wanted so badly to say, "Yes, I mind. The whole reason I am taking the train and not a taxi later is to avoid you." but he didn't. He only shook his head and grabbed his coat.

"I'll send you the money for my bill when I get home, Satoru," you said, grabbing your coat. 

"Don't worry about it," Kento said as he placed down a wad of cash before putting a hand over your shoulder, hovering slightly, "You ready?"

You only nodded, ignoring the head in your voice that swooned a little at the simple act of covering your bill. You were tipsy; that's why your delusions ran a little wild.

You made a mental note to never do shots with Satoru again as you slowly made your way through the dancing crowd and out of the nightclub, Kento's hand still on your shoulder.

***

The night air was surprisingly calm for the summer, making you shiver a little as you turned into Kento, keeping his body close to yours under the stars and in a quiet street.

“How was your birthday?” You asked, wanting to break the silence that seemed to fall upon the two of you.

“It was good.” He said curtly, “I don’t really have experience with celebrations to do with me.”

“You don’t celebrate your birthday?” You asked, even though it wasn’t all that surprising.

“What counts as celebrating?” 

“Hmmm, something fun, I guess.” You shrugged.

“Well, it’s my first time going to a nightclub to celebrate.” A small smile decorated his face, “I usually cook a nice dinner for myself or go to a fancy restaurant that I have been saving up on.”

“What about everyone else?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you are telling me this is the first time Satoru has dragged you out for your birthday?”

“The first time since University, yes.” Kento didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t pry, letting a comfortable silence fall upon you two. As you turned the corner, you guys made your way to the train tracks, empty and void of any life other than the three people on the other side of the tracks. 

Just like before, the train ride was quiet. A few people were on the train, but you managed to snag seats together. You don’t know when it happened, but you let yourself drift to sleep, leaving Kento alone to his thoughts.

Each lurch of the cart when the train stopped and started made you curl into the man even more until your body leaned against him completely. 

It was only when his stop approached that Kento realized he didn’t know where you lived or whether you missed your stop. A slight panic filled him, and he shook a fully asleep you back to consciousness. 

“Y/N. Y/N.” He half whispered into your ear. Only to be met with soft groans. He shook you a little harder this time, and that’s when your eyes fluttered open. Still half asleep, though, you barely comprehend what he was saying, mindlessly grabbing his hand and following him as he stepped off the train.

Alcohol was still dancing in your brain; you nodded your head in agreement and followed him to his apartment…

Preview...

Nanami knew he wouldn’t last long, but as he sunk into you, the idea of even holding in the waves of pleasure that drowned him was impossible.

TAG LIST: @marikuchanxo @sukunasstomachtongue @getosgirlfailure @allysunny @tojicvmslut @typefeisu @aiyaaayei @villsophie @sillysillygoofygoose @jinleft @rivversin @haikioo @destinyblue-jjk @ramonathinks @actuallysaiyan @actuallysaiyan @melisuh123

CHAPTER TWO UPLOADED

[narfin-frood]

i've been itching to share my swap au since i thought it up, but i think i now finally have an actual baseline to introduce it with!!

the idea isn't that it's a personality swap, but a role swap, with wander and sylvia as antagonists and hater and peepers as the protags, and i have a whole lot to say about it so im gonna go ahead and infodump below the cut

so i've renamed these two, at least, since hater's story has become less about getting over himself and more about how he sees the world Now That He's Gotten Over Himself. i'm calling him The Great (and absent) Lord Lackadaisical right now, but i don't think that's what he'd like to be called, since he's an absent ruler who doesn't really care to be in a position of so much power and would rather fuck off to all the planets with really nice hot tubs. he and Sir Peepers (his loyal knight who cannot be convinced to leave his side) travel the galaxy with hater's sweet ride (i'm not too good at designing motorcycles yet. pending).

i haven't thought of new names/titles for wander and sylvia just yet (i cannot just call him Sitter Over Therer) but i do know what their deal is, and it's the main reason i made this au (i feel like if wander were a villain he would not in fact be a villain like lord hater or dominator because i think that kinda disregards wander's whole Shit, he'd be like screwball, and even then he'd have very strong convictions that he's doing the right thing): wander has a cult (a hivemind, kinda) and sylvia is his priest.

i think wander comes along this mushroom during a time in his life when everything seems to have been torn asunder, and instead of continuing his adventures and learning and growing as a person, the mushroom offers a solution that doesn't require much effort on his behalf. the mushroom links people together borg-style, makes them share a brain and a purpose. wander not only thinks it's super neat, but he's in such a poor state of mind when he finds it, he convinces himself it's the only way to make the galaxy a better place.

sylvia is the only person in his Ring of Friends who isn't hooked up to the mushroom, because she's actually wander's friend, and she's his ride or die. she does the things she does out of free will and dedication to her best friend, including preaching and fisticuffs.

^^^ here's some more of my initial concept art. originally the mushroom was gonna be a tree, but i had a vision of an upside down mushroom (or several, to take the place of watchdogs) scuttling around and by god is it easy to make that look like his hat.

the thing that really really pushes wander over the edge is the sheer boredom of it all. when he's connected to the mushroom, he's very little more than the brain they all share. he can't move around, and that KILLS him (see: the hole lotta nuthin). so when hater (name pending) comes along and refuses to join him and annoys him enough, he gets suuuuper stoked about having something to really DO for once.

anyway. this is what i've got for now. do you like it. you can be honest if you dont like it

[sorcerersandskillusers]

I want to talk about one of the most terrifying and interesting bsd characters who almost no fan remembers.

This character nearly tore down the ADA without ever getting involved herself, yet the entire fandom has ignored her because of her terrible anime adaptation.

Who am I talking about?

Nobuko Sasaki

If you haven't read Dazai Osamu's Entrance Exam, then you probably don't even know who this character is, in the anime she is watered down to the lovesick girlfriend of an actual villain, and you probably dismissed her immediately. But in the light novel, we get to see how dangerous and cunning she really is, to the point she nearly gets the better of Dazai and almost causes the ADA to be shut down. (Fukuzawa says he would have closed the agency if they hadn't caught her)

In terms of intelligence I'd put her on the same level as Mori, just slightly below the super human genius characters i.e. Dazai, Fyodor and Ranpo

The Azure Apostle

For those who don't remember, Sasaki was the Azure Apostle, a mysterious figure who challenged the agency with several horrifying cases, which would all lead to mass casualties if the agency failed to stop them. These were; uncovering an underground organ smuggling operation (which the agency failed to stop and which massively hurt their reputation) stopping a bombing of Yokohama port which could have killed hundreds of people, and preventing a commercial aeroplane from crashing into the city (this was not included in the anime)

Each of the people, who committed these crimes, had no Idea they were being manipulated and thought it was their own idea the whole time. There was no evidence that anyone else had been involved at all, and the agency had no way to connect her to any of the crimes. And she even makes the genius move of framing Dazai, the mysterious new member with suspicious knowledge of the underworld and a hidden past, as the true culprit.

In fact, she only made one mistake, challenging Dazai. If Dazai had been basically anyone else, they would have been cornered and arrested, but since Dazai's mind works on a level even master strategists can't imagine, he was able to turn the tables on her.

But even after Dazai sees through her plans, the ADA still has to act exactly the way she wants them too and stop the plane crash. Even when they know they're being manipulated, they still have to do exactly what she wanted.

Finally, after Dazai and Kunikida confront her and get her to admit to being behind all those crimes, even then they are powerless to stop her.

Even after being involved with so many massive crimes, Sasaki herself hadn't done anything illegal, so within the law the ADA is completely powerless to stop her.

They can't arrest her, and if they try then the agency will be put in even more danger as will many innocent lives. She has completely trapped the ADA, and even Dazai in a choice to follow the law and let her go or take justice into their own hands and prove they will stoop as low as she did.

In the end, there she has them in a perfect deadlock, let her continue her mission, or kill her themselves. Both are bad outcomes for the ADA.

In the end, Dazai has her killed by using a third party (Rokuzo) to shoot her, so the agency can't be blamed for her murder, though this ends her plans it deeply scars Kunikida and shakes his resolve in his ideals.

The trauma from this event still haunts Kunikida to this day, we see that when he is affected by Q's curse, Sasaki is who he sees.

So thats the Azure Apostle, a terrifying master mind who nearly brought down the Armed Detective Agency, but now lets look at the other side of this character.

Nobuko Sasaki Herself

We know several things about Sasaki as a character and her history from the light novel. That she was a brilliant criminal psychologist and was internationally recognised despite being so young

,that she was the ex-lover of the Azure King and the real mastermind behind his plans, and that she had very little motivation of her own.

That's not meant to be an insult to the character, she says herself that she never really had much direction in life, even with her incredible intelligence she never really had anything she wanted to achieve.

But the Azure King was the opposite, he had powerful drive and strong ideals, he wanted to punish criminals who couldn't be touched by the law and when he failed to change the law as a bureaucrat, she offered him an alternative.

A very important thing here is that neither of them were manipulating or forcing the other into this path, as far as we see they genuinely loved each other, each providing something the other couldn't, Sasaki her mind and the Azure King his drive.

When the Azure king died, Sasaki had no path of her own to follow, so she simply kept following his, even though she doesn't seem to have really cared about his cause.

All of this creates a very unique character, you can't say she was driven by revenge, because she wasn't really driven at all. It's more like she was running on momentum, she had chosen a path to follow and could not stop even though there was nothing pushing her down it any more.

She's a perfect antithesis of Kunikida and was the best possible villain a light novel about him could have had.

A man who brings his ideals into reality with his own hands against a woman who uses others to enforce ideals that were never hers to begin with.

Anyway, I made this because Sasaki is criminally underrated in this fandom, If you haven't read "Dazai Osamu's Entrance Exam" I highly recommend it, I've only put a tiny fraction of the amazing story here.

[hard-core-super-star]

push me on the counter, call me princess [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda develop a connection you definitely shouldn't have with someone in a relationship. unbeknowst to you, it's all part of their plan.

warnings: PURE SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> mentions of cheating! [no actual cheating, though! wandanat have an agreement, R doesn't know about it until things get spicy]; mommy + daddy kink; nipple play; impact play; wanda using her powers to hold R down; fingering [R receiving]; oral [Nat receiving]; twinges of humiliation; degradation + praise; nat's a little mean but we love her for it; use of the term 'slut'; probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: so...i'm technically not doing anything official for kinktober this year because school is kicking my butt already BUT i have a few ideas for some very filthy smut fics so i'll be posting them this month. i haven't written for wandanat in a minute so i hope i did them justice. please let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

That's what you told Wanda when she pushed you against the farthest wall in some dingy, badly-lit, New York bar.

The two of you had come back from a long, draining, mission and, instead of staying at the Compound and actually resting, you decided to go out and get drunk to let off some steam. The mission had technically been a success, but it had also been a pain in the ass...and in the shoulder, thanks to the knife wound you'd received.

So, yeah, maybe going out wasn't the best idea in the first place.

In your defense, it was borderline impossible to say no to the witch. Mainly because she was very convincing when she wanted to be, but also because of your massive, and borderline ridiculous, crush on her.

To make matters worse, Wanda was pissed off at Natasha for...something and you ended up taking the place of a supportive partner.

It would have been fine had the drinks in your system not made your inhibitions lower significantly, which rendered you helpless against the green-eyed woman of your dreams. Then again, it's not like you were particularly against that idea in the first place.

Maybe that made you a horrible person.

Maybe that made Wanda a monster.

But how could she be one when she whispered the sweetest words in your ear while taking you over the edge and destroying you in the most pleasurable of ways? How could there be anything wrong about her soft caresses and gentle smiles?

A part of you knows the answer. It's wrong because the witch's heart isn't yours. Or worse, because someone else's heart belongs to the witch.

Because for all their problems and arguments, Wanda and Natasha love each other. At the very least, they tolerate each other enough to stay together.

And you don't fit into their relationship.

You shouldn't.

But Wanda isn't a person you can just ignore.

She makes that perfectly clear no less than a week after your little "mistake".

You're in the kitchen at the Compound, eating some leftovers and scrolling through your phone to keep yourself occupied, when Wanda walks in. You don't need to look at her to know she's pissed off. Her energy is way too heavy to mean anything else.

"Hey, Wands," you say, barely looking up from your phone out of fear of falling under her spell once more.

She walks over to you, leaning against the counter and silently watching you for a second. Her silence honestly scares you, but you don't question her yet. You know better than that.

"You've been avoiding me," she says, her voice soft yet not gentle. "Why is that?"

A shiver runs down your spine at the question. 

You know you can't lie to her, she's a freaking mind reader, but you can't exactly tell her the truth. You've both been trying to ignore it since the morning you woke up tangled together in her bed.

A bed she shares with someone who isn't you.

"I've been busy," you reply with a shrug. "Kate's been forcing me to train every day."

Clearly, that's the wrong answer, considering the tilt of her head.

Yup. You're fucked now.

"Is that so? I didn't realize you two were such good...friends."

Wanda pushes herself off the counter, taking slow, calculated, steps until she's standing behind you. If you weren't so focused on keeping your voice steady, you might have been able to guess what her plan in.

"Well, we both love annoying Clint and making Yelena mad."

She hums in response as her arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you back until you're firmly pressed against her. 

The action almost makes you fall off your stool. You somehow stay put, though, even as every fiber of your being tells you to leave. The harsh truth is that you don't want to leave.

You want her so badly that the consequences don't seem to matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Which is exactly what she wants.

"You should be careful with the little archer," she says, her hands not so subtly caressing your sides. "You know she's just going to use you then throw you away when she's bored."

The irony in her words isn't lost on you.

You open your mouth to let her know that when her hands move up and brush against your chest. It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from gasping.

"Wanda," you hiss. "We're in the middle of the kitchen."

"Relax, detka," she whispers into your ear, your body instantly obeying her words. "You know I won't let anyone see."

"Do I?" you reply. "Because it seems exactly like something you'd enjoy."

The witch chuckles despite herself. "That's true but you're not the only trying to keep things a secret."

You know her words should make you feel worse about this whole thing but right now, they only serve to turn you on. As messed up as it is, there's something exciting about the situation. 

About how much Wanda wants you.

So, even though you know you should push her away, you lean back against her, allowing her hands to explore your body however she wishes.

Your obedience (if you can even call it that) is instantly rewarded by the other woman. Her hands sneak their way under your shirt, her fingers drawing teasing shapes on your warm skin as she makes the journey upward.

"You're such a good girl for me, baby," she mumbles almost absent-mindedly. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me play with you whenever I want."

A part of you wants to put up a fight. To show her you have a bigger backbone than she realizes. That you're able to switch the tables on her whenever you want.

Unfortunately, that part of you goes quiet the second her fingers find your nipples. "Look at you, all ready for me, huh?"

"Shut up," you mumble as your cheeks heat up.

Your words of defiance earn you a sharp pinch to your already sensitive nipples. "Watch your mouth, sweetheart."

It's impossible to stop your back from arching as the leftover sting rushes through your system. You'd learned the hard way that Wanda could either be the sweetest or the most unforgivable lover. In a way, it made being with her all the more exciting...and unpredictable.

Then again, you can't pretend you don't like it. If you didn't, you would have never gotten mixed up with her in the first place.

"Sorry," you whisper, not sounding particularly sincere.

If Wanda notices, she doesn't point it out and instead goes right back to playing with your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples as she pleases.

Her actions only serve to make you more and more desperate for her. It's almost embarrassing how good she is at reading you. At knowing exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a shaking, pleading mess.

A part of you knows it's thanks to her powers that she can read your desires so well, but you ignore the thought for now. You could beat yourself up over all this later, right now, you had a very important task ahead of you.

"You're eager today," she teases, her eyes zeroing in on the slight movement of your hips. "Did you miss me that much?"

You're not sure why you're in such a defiant mood today but your mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. "Yeah, Kate was too busy today."

You don't see the scarlet that begins to overtake her eyes since you have your back to her. You miss the warning signs until she uses her magic to bend you over the counter, keeping your hands behind your back.

"You're going to regret talking to me like that," she says, holding you down easily thanks to her magic.

It's obvious you should apologize and yet you remain as composed as you possibly can given the situation. As stupid as it is, you're still mad at her for putting you in this situation.

Out of the two of you, she was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one fucking up her relationship just because she was upset with her girlfriend. And she had the audacity to pull you down with her.

To make you like it.

You couldn't place all the blame on her and yet you did it anyway. As if that would somehow fix the entire situation.

Her hand comes down on your ass before you can make your predicament worse. The sudden sensation makes you jump, the leftover sting taking over your mind.

"Wanda." Your attempt to sound mad falls completely flat since your voice is far too breathless for it to be convincing.

She spanks you again. Once. Twice. Each time striking both harder and faster.

"Try again, detka," she tells you, her voice unforgiving. "And then maybe, I'll go easy on you."

She won't.

You know she won't. But the idea that she could is more than tantalizing enough.

Although, then again, it wasn't like you didn't enjoy calling her by her beloved title.

"Mommy," you whisper, your voice sounding way too loud in the empty kitchen.

You don't need to be looking at her to see the proud grin that takes over her features.

This is the real reason why she wants you. Why she likes being with you. Because she doesn't need to fight you to get you to submit to her every whim.

"Good girl." Wanda's hands toy with the waistband of your pants. "Tell me what you want."

You allow the silence to drag on for a second longer than necessary. You both know you won't deny her, you can't, but that doesn't mean you can't keep her guessing. 

Maybe then she'll grow tired of you and stop using you so carelessly.

"Want you to touch me...please, mommy."

You half expect her to drag the moment out until you can't hold yourself back from begging for more. For her.

She doesn't, though, because unbeknownst to you, she's playing a different kind of game with you today.

Wanda uses her powers to undress you, barely giving you a second to register just how vulnerable she's leaving you. You know no one will walk in on you two, she promised you that much, but that doesn't make it any less scary...and thrilling.

"Look at you," she coos, her fingers spreading your slick folds. "So wet and I've barely even touched you. Such a needy thing, aren't you, sweetheart?"

It's embarrassing how hard your walls clench around pure air from the mere tone of her voice. It's that intoxicating mix between degrading and sweet that you want everything she's willing to give you.

"Yes, mommy," you whimper.

"Oh, I know," she says, pushing the tip of her index finger into your tight cunt. "She's such a good girl, isn't she?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but her powers hold you down and stop you from turning to look at her. Your question is answered before you can even ask it, though, as a certain pair of black boots make their way into your field of vision.

"I'm not sure." The sound of Natasha's voice sends a shiver down her spine. "She looks like a desperate slut to me."

Wanda stops you from answering, thanks to her powers. "Oh, come on, Nat, don't be mean. Look how eager she is to be played with."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "That just proves my point."

The witch laughs, taking the moment to sink her finger deeper into your pussy, relishing the wet sounds that fill the kitchen. You're more than a little humiliated, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Worse, there's nothing you can do to deny how wet the situation is making you.

How desperate you are for more.

Wanda knows. Of course, she knows. It's partly because of her powers and partly because she knows your body far too well. And because she knows you so well, she gives you a chance to call the whole thing off before it even truly starts.

"What's your color, y/n?"

It would be so easy to say "red" and stop everything. You know there would be zero judgement. That despite whatever agreement they've come to, they'd both take a step back and make sure you were okay.

And yet...you can't seem to form the word.

Because, as much as you don't want to admit it...you want this.

"Green..." you whisper.

Wanda leans in, taking your mind off of Natasha's eyes on you, and peppers soft kisses across your back. The softness of her lips is a stark contrast to her previous demeanor and it helps calm down your speeding nerves.

The Russian steps forward, her hand cupping your face and gently tilting it backward until your eyes meet. "You want this, don't you, darling?"

You don't want to admit it but you can't bring yourself to lie to her. "Yes...I want this."

The sharpness in her eyes fades away slightly. There's still an edge of annoyance in her features but she looks almost as turned on as you feel. "Good girl."

Your walls clench around Wanda's finger and she chuckles before starting to move in and out of your tight heat. "I think she likes you, Nat."

"Shut up."

Wanda adds another finger into the mix, expertly stretching you out and drawing out a long moan from your parted lips. "That's it, just give in, sweetheart. Doesn't it feel better when you stop thinking so much?"

It's startling how right she is.

She doesn't wait for an answer this time, though, she simply speeds up her movements, curling her fingers in the way that drives you crazy. The pleasure slowly overwhelms your mind, removing all other thoughts until all you can focus on is how good it all feels. How much you like submitting to them like this.

"Mommy..." You whine, watching the way Natasha's eyes darken in response to your sounds. "Please...need more."

"Aw, are two fingers not enough for you, baby?" The fake pity in her tone turns you on more than it should. "Does your greedy pussy need more?"

You nod desperately, ignoring the humiliation that lingers in your every move.

All that earns you is another laugh from Wanda and an eye roll from Natasha.

The redhead steps back from you, causing you to whimper, before her hands move to her belt. Her eyes remain on yours as she starts removing her garments, slowly revealing the red strap-on resting between her legs.

Your lips part almost instantly once you catch sight of the full size of it and just how incredibly dominant it makes Natasha look. You shouldn't be surprised considering what everyone, including Wanda, always say about her. Then again, seeing is believing.

"So fucking eager, aren't you?" You know the Russian is technically making fun of you, but you can't help feeling a bit proud of yourself for the grin on her face.

She steps forward, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair and guide you forward. There's something weirdly soft about her movements, about the way she takes her time with you. Maybe, just maybe, she likes you more than she's let on.

You wrap your lips around the head of the dildo, your eyes glued to Natasha's face. You can see the flecks of pleasure spreading across her features, the way she clenches her jaw to stop herself from vocalizing it. It's like you're stuck in a far too arousing competition with her. Each of you trying your damn harderst to break the other.

Unfortunately for you, you also have Wanda working behind you, her fingers restlessly pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. She knows exactly how to wind you up. 

Exactly how to keep you on your toes yet wanting more.

Natasha guides you further down her cock, working the length deeper into your mouth. "You look so much better like this, malyshka."

"I told you," Wanda pipes up, choosing that exact moment to work another finger into your tight heat. "You just wanted to be a party pooper."

"Keep talking like that and you'll be next, Maximoff."

"You're no fun."

You've never heard Wanda like this. So pouty and borderline bratty. It's a stark contrast to the dominant woman you've grown so attached to. To the one that turns your brain to putty with just a few words.

"Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Mommy's still in charge here."

You moan in response, the sound muffled by the dildo currently stuffing your mouth.

"If you're Mommy," Natasha says, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Does that make me Daddy?"

You try to voice your approval for the title but neither of the women pay attention to you. They just keep talking like you're not even there, like all you are is a toy for them to play with.

"I thought you didn't like being called that."

The redhead shrugs in response. "I don't but now I'm curious."

"I think our good girl would like it."

You wait for Natasha to complain and say something about how you aren't theirs. Maybe make fun of you again for even thinking they'd ever entertain that idea.

She doesn't, though.

All she does is double her efforts as she keeps thrusting into your mouth. 

The kitchen fills with the sounds of your pleasure as they both play with your needy holes.

You feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each one of their well-timed thrusts. You're completely at their mercy and you love every second of their never-ending show of dominance.

Of control over you.

Wanda's movements speed up and you do your best to ask for permission to cum, knowing all too well the consequences that would await you if you forgot. It's practically impossible to speak, though, considering the way Natasha is still thrusting into your mouth, her hips grinding against the base of the dildo each time she slips the length back inside.

"I know, baby," the witch reassures you. "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

All she gets is a muffled whine in response, your body jerking forward when her thumb teases your swollen clit.

"Go ahead, darling," Natasha speaks up, her voice practically a low growl. "Cum all over Mommy's fingers for me."

You're not used to receiving such a command from the redhead and yet your body reacts immediatly to her tone. Your whole body seems to come alive as you fall over the edge, Wanda's fingers never ceasing in their movements. She expertly draws out your pleasure until you're left shaking and panting. 

The ringing in your ears doesn't allow you to hear the string of moans that leave Natasha's mouth as she watches the scene. The sight of you coming undone so violently causes her to fall apart, her fingers tightening in your hair until you're sputtering for air.

Thankfully, Wanda knows your limits well.

No words are exchanged as she uses her magic on you again. You're barely coherent, your mind still too muddled by pure pleasure and the cotton-filled haze of submission.

She gently sets you down on the couch, wiping down your soaked skin with a wet cloth, making sure to look you over in case their rough movements bruised you up.

"You okay, darling?" The witch asks as she settles down next to you.

You nod in response, shifting a little until your head rests in her lap. "Yeah...just tired."

"You should get some rest, detka. We have a lot to talk about."

Her words make you laugh. "That's an understament, Wands."

"Whatever." She moves her hand down to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as sleep overcomes you.

There's a lot you don't understand, a lot you really figure out, but you feel safe with the knowledge that you haven't ruined anything. That you're not an intruder in their relationship. If anything, you're a welcome addition.

[no-144444]

misguided mishap- l.norris

Day 5 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: One bed… what could go wrong? (SMUT 18+)

pairing: lando norris x fewtrell! fem! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Long days and long flights. That was your life now. Yes, you were excited when Max had asked you to join Quadrant straight out of college as one of their PR/ marketing managers, but that was when you still thought it would be an office job. You liked to travel, in the sense that you liked seeing new cultures, countries and relaxing every now and then. What you didn’t like was the 4 days when you’d somehow been in 3 different time zones, trying to wrangle an overactive puppy in the form of a 21 year old skateboarder. Thus the joys of the job. 

Yet now, you were busy at a party making connections and ‘networking’ (Max’s favourite buzzword), too tired to even notice  Max and Lando’s eyes on you. You smiled and politely laughed at exactly the right moments in your conversation with Mark from some startup you’d never heard of or cared about. They both watched with soft smiles on their faces as you navigated the conversations simply, making everyone feel heard. Max was proud to say the least. 

Ever since you’d left for college, Lando hadn’t seen you. He’d always enjoyed your company as a kid, and he’d even thought he’d had a crush at one point, though Max did shut that down pretty quickly. But seeing you now? You were gorgeous. He couldn’t describe it. It could’ve been your personality, your smile, your eyes, or something fucking cosmic, but Lando was in love, and there was no stopping it. 

“Busy?” Lando smirked, handing you a G&T. You’d just finished up what you’d hoped to be your last business-related conversation of the night. 

You turned to him, startled, then smiled. “Hi Lan,” you gratefully took the drink with a nod. “Thank you.”

“It’s good to see you,” he leaned in closer, trying to not draw attention to the two of you. 

“It’s good to see you too,” you smiled back. “Congrats on your win last weekend!”

He smiled bashfully, proud of what his season had become. “Thanks,” he nodded, slyly wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “What have you been up to?”

“Working for Max,” you chuckled. “In Quadrant, of course, but still, I’m basically just Keegan’s PR manager,” you pointed out Keegan, who was busy trying to explain the theory of a kickflip to Max, who had been struggling with his skateboarding skills for some time. 

“You work in Quadrant?” he gawked. “I had no idea.”

You smiled. “That’s the sign of a good company, the boss has no clue what’s going on.”

He chuckled. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you nodded, noticing that little sparkle in his eyes as he watched you. 

“Why hasn’t Max been bringing you to races?” He questioned, taking a sip from his drink. 

“I’m busy now,” you shrugged. “Keegan is a handful.”

“Why didn’t you come to Ibiza?” 

You chuckled. “You must’ve really missed me if you’re asking this many questions,” someone knocked into you, pushing you even closer to him. He blushed and whether it was because of your words or the closeness of the two of you, he didn’t know. “Ibiza is a party place, I don’t like parties.”

“Why didn’t I see you at home then? I went back a few weeks ago.”

“I was home a few weeks ago. Maybe we just missed each other,” you suggested. 

“Not off galavanting with a boyfriend?” he teased. 

You leaned in ever closer, directly at his ear. “Why? Jealous?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “You are something else.”

“And to answer your question, no, no boyfriend. Too busy trying to wrangle Keegs,” you smiled as you watched Keegan burst out laughing with Max. “How is F1 going?”

“You haven't been watching?” he asked, chuckling. 

“I get too stressed knowing you’re in the car,” you explained. “I almost lost it when you crashed in Austria.” 

“Good to know you still care about little old me,” he grinned. “I promise you I’m safe.”

And something about the way he said it made you believe him. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the air, maybe it was the intoxicating closeness of him, maybe it was just always supposed to be like this, but you didn’t know. All you knew was that Lando was in front of you, with all of his attention on you, and you felt like falling straight into his trap. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you reminded him. “We both know you’re not safe in that car.”

He shrugged. “I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can,” you looked up at him through batted eyelashes and smiled. “I think someone’s a fan,” you chuckled, drawing both your attention to the group of girls around his age who were losing their shit over the fact that he was here. 

“Please don’t make me talk to them,” he pleaded and you laughed. One of them slowly started approaching. 

“I don’t think you have a choice,” you smirked and stepped back, waving him a goodbye as his next conversation started. You didn’t notice that he followed you out of the party.

“Trying Irish goodbye?” he smirked, joining you in the elevator. 

“Fuck! You scared me!” you startled. “Do you have to be such a dick?!” 

He laughed, wrapping his arms around you as he apologised. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he mocked, using that stupid baby voice. 

You shoved him off with a playful smirk. “And yes, I’m tired. I just want to get to bed and lie down.”

“Don’t know how well Max will take you not saying goodnight,” he teased. “Might even come check on you.”

“Max can fuck off,” you sighed. “I’m a grown woman, and anyways, he wouldn’t come to the room he probably thinks I’m fucking someone.”

He almost did a double take when you said that, you caught it in the corner of your eye. 

“It’s a long story, but basically Max walked in on me having sex with this guy like 3 whole fucking years ago, and he always brings it up,” you explained. “He likes to hold it over my head.”

“How would he hold that over your head?”

You shrugged. “He thinks I make bad choices, that was one of them in his mind.”

“Was it a bad choice?” he asked, his eyes bearing into the side of your face. Anyone could feel the charged air in that tiny inclosed space. It made the fucking hair on your arms stand up, and gave you goosebumps on your legs. 

You felt your face heat, but answered simply. “No.”

“So then it wasn’t a bad choice,” he told you. “Max shouldn’t have any say in what you do. He’s your brother, not your keeper.”

“I know,” you answered simply, finally looking at him. “Thanks Lan.”

He offered a small smile and let you out of the elevator first. “What room are you?”

“213, you?” “213,” he read out the card the hotel had given him. “Well, that can’t be right.”

“I think it is, I was talking with the hotel staff and they said they’re fully booked up that people from the same companies have been forced to share. Did you come here under Quadrant or Mclaren?”

“Quadrant,” he sighed. You nodded. 

“It’s fine, we’ll survive for one night,” you dismissed the issue with a shrug. 

“One night? I’m here for a week,” he explained. 

“And I’m only here for tonight,” you yawned. “Off to Melbourne in the morning.”

“Break?” 

“Nah, visiting Keegan’s family and doing press stuff,” you explained. You opened the room and let out a sigh of pure rage. “One bed.” 

“I’ll take the floor,” he nodded but you stopped him. 

“We’re adults, we can share a fucking bed Lando,” you chuckled. 

And something about the way that you looked at him made him want to kiss you. The alcohol he’d consumed had definitely loosened his inhibitions and now he was solely focused on you. The way your hair fell, the way you talked to him, the smile on your lips, the way you weren’t shy with him. All of it made him fall deeper and deeper. He didn’t realise he was kissing you until you pulled on his hair, kissing him back. 

“Lan-” you pulled back slightly, but he just started kissing down your neck. “Close the door.”

He kicked it closed and kissed you again, hungry for more. “Jump,” he told you, you obliged and he caught you, carrying you over to the bed. 

“You sure you want this?” you asked as he started pulling off his clothes. 

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he smirked, pulling at your clothes. “You sure you want this?”

You just kissed him in response. He kissed down your neck, down your torso, and in between your legs. He took his time pulling off your trousers and underwear. Then he settled himself in front of you and smirked. 

“Such a pretty pussy baby,” he said before placing his mouth on your clit, sucking hard. You let out a yelp as he smirked against you, lapping at your folds, insatiable. It  made you delirious, how good it was, how good he felt. The way his tongue smoothed through your folds, sucking on your clit while he let’s out soft groans as if he’s the one getting sucked off right now. He had you squirming under him, holding your thighs in an iron-clad grip as he sped up. He got sloppier, more lewd sounds coming from the both of you as you got closer and closer to your peak. 

“Fuck, you’re dripping baby,” he groaned aginast your pussy, sending vibrations up your entire body. Your stomach clenched and contracted, and you came all over his face with a loud moan. You’d feel bad for the neighbours if you weren’t so horny. 

“Lan!” you groaned out, pulling his head away and back up to your face. He pressed kisses all over your neck, undoing his trouser to finally let his cock out. He was rock hard, he’d never been this turned on. “Fuck me, please fuck me,” you begged, and everything else fell away. He bottomed out with a moan as you bit into his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming, and when you nodded he started moving. 

You felt like heaven, gripping him like that. It made him feel like he couldn’t stop. Totally pussydrunk. “F-fuck baby,” he whimpered as he picked up the pace. 

“I’m-i’m gonna cum-fuck!” you moaned as he started hitting that gummy spot inside you, making you see fucking stars. “Yes-yes! There Lan, don’t fucking s-stop!”

He wasn’t planning on stopping. He picked up the pace even more, until the room was full of those lewd sounds from your wet pussy and his dirty mouth. 

“Y’like getting fucked like this? In hotel rooms just to l-leave the next morning?” he smirked as you squirmed under him. “Oh baby n-no, you’re not runnin’ away,” he grabbed one of your arms, pinning you down to the bed with a smirk. “Y’think they can hear us?”

That made you clamp down on him even harder, moaning even louder.

“You like that naughty girl?” he smirked, punctuating every word with a particularly hard thrust.  

“Y-yes!” you cried out, barely able to listen to what he was saying. It was all too much, too good, too little. 

“Fuck you’re perfect,” He groaned, biting into your neck as he willed himself not to cum. “Such a naughty girl.”

“Yours Lan, a-all yours,” you whined as you felt yourself getting closer. “I-I’m gonna cum!”

“You cum baby,” he huffed. “Give it to me.”

And he pushed you over the edge again. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, making you cum again as the world went blurry and your ears started ringing. Finally, he came inside you, triggering yet another orgasm as you screamed into a pillow. 

You fell asleep instantly, and he took it upon himself to get you cleaned up. He cleaned you up with a wet towel, put one of his hoodies on you, and kissed you goodnight before joining the bed and wrapping his arms around you. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You woke up like that, sore but satisfied with Lando beside you.  Then you realised. What had you done?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

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[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

D-16 Megatron (TFO) x Cybertronian!Reader Pt. 2

Someone asked if there was going to be a part 2 of this and the answer is hell yeah. ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ Gender Neutral Cybertronian Reader!

Also, importante message in general - please do not spam my askbox. I've already recieved, in a row 5 asks/requests from a same user. It is kind of annoying, feels like you are pressuring me to do more than I already do and that doesn't sit me well. So, user who is doing this, do not keep doing it or I'll block you. Thanks.

WARNING: Spoilers from the movie (Transformers One 2024). Angst and more angst. Forbidden love scenario.

Days have been... good. To say at least.

Being guided by Optimus Prime, Elita One and Bumblebee's to fight against the Quintessons. Meanwhile, Iacon and Cybertrone was slowly picking up its true, beautiful colors and life seemed brighter for everyone after finally getting their T-cogs and feel complete.

... then, why do you feel.. empty?

It was stupid - you have now your T-cog, of course! And yet...

You try to not think about it too much - you decide to keep yourself focused on your tasks, helping others, and so on. But whenever the night arrives and you are alone in your berth...

"Primus, please... if you are out there - keep D-16 safe and sound. Please." You pray, holding your servos against your chestplate.

With the pass of the days you started to accept the fact that D-16 was no longer there, but it was Megatron who had now his face.

Things were getting better, but also tense at the same time, as from time to time, if they haven't done it on that day Megatron was vanished from Iacon, bots who started to think like him left Iacon by choice to look after the leader they wanted.

You remained on the Autobot's side - your spark longed for the mech you used to love, but you knew he was no longer the sweet, kind D-16 you used to know.

But - you wanted to see him. You needed to see him. Even if it was dangerous or that you might not live another day to tell - you needed to see him.

And little did you know how much Megatron silently suffered to himself as he couldn't forget you. And he, too, wished to see you again. His spark would cry too, wishing to see once again the same cybertronian that he fell in love years ago.

Alas - if something happens then it meant it was what Primus wanted to happen...

You were tasked to go out with a group of autobots to swap places with another group who stayed on the surface in other to keep track on any kind of Quintesson activity... or Decepticon, too.

"Arcee, in position" - "Prowl in position, too!" - "Me too - I mean, Blurr too!"

"(Y/N) in position as well." You add, followed by another one of your teammates through the audio connection. 1 solar cycle to be out there and keep an optic on everything until the next team arrives to swap places with yours. Thankfuly, for the past days, any type of Quintesson activity was nearly none - Primus bless Optimus, Elita and Bumblebee - but all of you wanted to be sure, just in case.

You were relatively far away from your team, moving between tall mountain alike structures, your right servo transformed in your (weapon of choice).

The sound of a heavey step made you quickly turn around, aiming your weapon with a serious expression - to quickly change into one of surprise.

Megatron stares at you and slowly start walking towards you. And you remain frozen in place, slowly lowering your weapon - until the sound of the audial connection being activated. Megatron freezes in place.

"Arcee to (Y/N) - I lost for a moment your location, everything okay?"

Megatron keeps his optics locked with yours, thinking you were going to give out his presence... You press the small audial device on your helm to answer. "(Y/N) to Arcee - affirmative. The structures are doing that glitch - but all fine."

After turning off the audial connection, Megatron runs to you as you open wide your arms, your weapon transforming back into your arm. And the big mech hugs you close, as you hug him back. In silence, you hold each other, his faceplate hidding against your helm as you do as well against his chestplate.

"... I missed you." You whisper, scolding at yourself for saying that - feeling weak. But how could you not say those words when you have been longing for him?

"I've missed you, too." Megatron confesses, moving to gently press his forehelm against yours, closing his red optics as you close your own. "I thought I was never going to see you again."

"... Why did you do it?" You ask, spark hurting.

Megatron looks at you with softened optics, knowing what were you talking about - killing Sentinel Prime in a brutal way when he was already defeated, wanting to destroy Iacon, making a promise to become the sole true leader that was going to guide everyone and whoever stood on his way was going to be offlined. "I did it for our people, for us - Optimus was not going to make Sentinel suffer the consequences he deserved after all the torture he made us go through, (Y/N)..."

You should be angry - Primus, you should be yelling at him and fighting for his violent ways, for not understanding what he was doing was the same thing Sentinel was doing. Alas, all you do is let your optics fill with energon and cry softly as Megatron holds you close.

"I wanted to know you more! I - I wanted to be your friend! Fall in love with you - become your Conjux!" You confess, crying that life you wished for the moment you two met. "I wanted to become yours and you become mine!"

The Decepticon leader tries to not to cry, forcing himself to remain strong. Megatron blamed himself because... how could he give you those things you were wishing between the two of you now that he was the enemy? And he knew he couldn't ask you to follow him, to join the Decepticons - even when he wanted to take you with him, he wasn't going to take away your freedom, not after having that being taken away by the false Prime since everyone's birth.

"I love you." Megatron suddenly confesses, holding your helm with his servos, your optics once again finding each others. "The moment I saw you in that busy day - I knew you were the one who I wanted to bond with, become his Conjux and have our sparks meet the other. I love you, (Y/N) - and... I'm so sorry for having ruin our future."

Your spark fluttered and felt warm, whole. Complete.

Holding his helm back, you kissed him. And he kissed you back.

And that same night you two became the Conjux Endura of the other. And while it hurt you to leave him, and for him to leave you to go back to your respective places - your spark still felt complete.

Whenever you are alone, you place a servo on your chestplate, where your spark rests, and feel. I love you.

And, in silence, you feel his I love you, back.

In silence, you await for the day you get to be back in Megatron's arms. And hope, and pray to Primus, for the war to end and be by his side, one way or another.

I'm not sobbing you are sobbing. /(ㄒoㄒ)/~~ Vhaos out!

[miryum]

A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful

Word Count: 10.3k

I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing

Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious. 

My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter. 

I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends. 

I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly. 

Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree. 

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world. 

You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you. 

Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother. 

Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect. 

For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.

Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.

I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.

We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing. 

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright. 

Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.

Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.

Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.

Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well. 

Best wishes, 

Ginny

P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours  myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable. 

***

Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.

The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated. 

For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.

But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close. 

Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms. 

The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows. 

Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’ 

No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were. 

The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”

Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.” 

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth. 

As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.

***

“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.

“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family. 

“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.

“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”

Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?” 

Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…” 

She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”

You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son. 

While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.

Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.

The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.

“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy. 

Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.

Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?

If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.

Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue. 

Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…” 

He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger. 

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.

***

Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.

In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed. 

Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.

Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates. 

You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.

You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?

While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.

It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.

With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care. 

Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.

Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.

You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.

Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.

“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him. 

You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.

As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.

You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”

He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.

You simply uttered, “okay.” 

Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.

A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.

Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.

“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.

Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour. 

“Goodnight,” you reiterated. 

Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you. 

He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?” 

It was too late now to apologise.

***

Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?” 

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” 

“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.” 

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.” 

You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”

“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”

Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”

After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”

His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”

“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”

Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”

Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.

Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”

For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”

He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”

“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.

Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.

Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him. 

Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence. 

One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.

A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library. 

After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?” 

Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”

Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.

You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.

Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”

You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”

Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.

You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”

Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”

As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.

Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”

Mattheo saw red. 

He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.” 

Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm. 

Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.

Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.

You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”

Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.” 

“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied. 

Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”

“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”

Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.

After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene. 

You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.

You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up. 

After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall. 

Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him. 

You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”

Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.

You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”

Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.

***

Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”

The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read. 

Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.

“Reading,” you said simply. 

Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.

“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.

Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.

One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?” 

You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”

Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered. 

“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.

He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble. 

You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”

Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”

“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly. 

“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”

You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?” 

You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. 

“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer." 

There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?” 

Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.

He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children. 

You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.

Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.

“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.

Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less." 

“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously. 

Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.

You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”

Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."

“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”

"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?" 

“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.

Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you. 

Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”

Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much… 

Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how. 

"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune. 

“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.

"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."

***

The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.

It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted. 

There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.

Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.

“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.

“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.

“How was the dinner?”

Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”

“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.

“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”

“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”

Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”

A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”

Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin. 

“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.” 

Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”

Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss. 

His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his. 

Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”

Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”

“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”

***

The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.

Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”

“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”

“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.

Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!” 

Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”

“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.

“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”

“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid. 

“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.

Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”

“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”

“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck. 

“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes. 

“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?”  Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline. 

You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.

“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.

Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”

“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled. 

“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.

“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”

Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.

“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”

Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”

“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”

“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.

Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”

You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”

“Always.”

[pirateprincessblog]

contract

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: a witcher (polish: wiedźmin) is someone who has undergone extensive training, ruthless mental and physical conditioning, and mysterious rituals in preparation for becoming an itinerant slayer for hire. this witcher is currently in novigrad, and is overshadowed by his fellow brother. whenever a contract for a monster is issued, it is geralt of rivia they expect. seonghwa has grown tired of the disappointed faces that greet him when he accepts a contract, and thus has decided to rest in the big city and let the other witcher do the job. even after geralt left for skellige islands in search of his daughter cirilla, seonghwa decides to keep aside out of spite.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: park seonghwa x f!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.3k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: witcher!seonghwa, catschool!seonghwa, highervampire!reader, f!reader, the witcher universe, smut, angst 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: oral(f!receiving), fingering, squirting, bondage 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: blood, violence, alcohol, nsfw, vampires 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: replaying witcher 3 and I absolutely love this universe! i hate what netflix did to it, it made it all gloomy and sexual and has little to no connection to the lore and aside from henry cavill and his sexy ass voice the show is a complete disaster. if you want to know more about this universe before reading, i suggest you watch this(these animations contain violence, nudity and blood in them!): https://youtu.be/1-l29HlKkXU?si=HAI0GckIcphtcTRa and https://youtu.be/c0i88t0Kacs?si=vvXEaYu_SThzEPNT

not entirely proofread forgive me! 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

the witcher sips his drink at the rosemary and thyme cabaret. the redanian lager in the wooden pitcher has never tasted worse, and the music has never scratched his ears as badly as tonight. he hated what jaskier has done with the brothel. a cabaret, he scoffs to himself.

"oi, witcher!"

the man sighs. even though he was forcing himself to drink the beer and didn't enjoy it, he also didn't enjoy being interrupted.

"'ave you checked the notice board? there's a witcher contract hangin' there for weeks!" the accent behind him is rough. a dwarf, he guesses. but he doesn't have to guess, because the short figure appears in front of him and slams the crumpled piece of paper on the wooden table. "while you're 'ere tryna plough some whores, there's a threat inside the city gates!"

"geralt can handle that." the witcher mumbles, pushing the paper away. he drinks another sip of the warm beer, eyes fixed on the discarded medallion next to his two swords on the table. "he is the mighty wolfie. i'm sure he'll handle it."

"in case ya haven't noticed," the dwarf dares to get into the witcher's face, even goes as far as to flick him on the forehead. "the white wolf has gone lookin' for his lost lass. he is probably already in skellige, solvin' contract after contract and still workin' on finding cirilla. like a true witcher."

when the witcher's eyes start glimmering a familiar yellow, and his irises resemble the cat's, it is a sign for the dwarf to back away. the man places the pitcher with a loud thud on the table, then slowly stands up. his armor clinks as he moves, and his glowing eyes drill into the man's scared ones. still, the shorter male doesn't flinch, even if his eyes give away his emotions.

"when the white wolf comes, he can solve your fucking contract." the witcher doesn't need to raise his voice. the way he growls is enough to make a beast tuck its tail and lower its gaze. which is what the dwarf should be doing now. "as if you know what a true witcher is. stupid humans, hiding in your houses at every wolf howl and owl hoot, burning mages and sorceresses at stakes because they are different than you, casting elves out, calling us witchers mutants, yet crying for help and leaving pathetic notes and contracts on notice boards when you realise just how weak and mortal you are compared to all of us."

"young lasses 're getting killed left and right, and you only care about yer dick and where to get drunk."

"well, certainly not here anymore."

the taller man throws a few coins on the table, not bothering to pick up the ones that fell on the ground. he then takes his swords and puts them on his back, along with the crossbow. the medallion necklace rests in his pocket this time instead of around his neck.

as he makes his way outside, the music doesn't stop, nor do any of the guests or dancers turn to look. they are used to the moody witcher by now. yet the dwarf doesn't give up.

"ye know, i wish geralt were here. he has a daughter. he wouldn't think twice before accepting this contract. you? you are just a coward."

"hey, hey! seonghwa, endarn! you're upsetting my guests!"

"mind your business, jaskier. i am out of here anyway. doubt i'll come back any time soon. you and your cabaret." the dark haired witcher, seonghwa, spits on the ground.

the young bard rolls his eyes. if he didn't know geralt, he would have a very bad opinion about witchers. "passiflora is just a few blocks away. you know, a real brothel. also, not to be rude, but you were a few crowns short back there."

seonghwa grunts. he reaches into his pocket and finds a few more coins, then throws them behind his back and follows the trail to the famous brothel.

"are all witchers 'xcept geralt like that?" the dwarf asks, disappointed.

the bard takes the contract from his hand, looking at the messy hand-writing, then at the stumbling witcher. "no. just the cat school ones. or so i've heard."

meanwhile, seonghwa has found his way to the passiflora brothel. he isn't usually like this, really. but recently, people have been asking for witchers, and when he'd show up, they'd be disappointed it is not his friend and colleague geralt. witchers are not supposed to feel or show emotion. but seonghwa has had enough. just a week ago he had slayed a striga, and the only gratitude he got was a raw fish into his face and a few crowns. he wasn't sad. he was angry that these people had the audacity to plead for help and be picky about it.

he wasn't ploughing anyone. the brothels were the only place where he had peace. people too focused on lust and fun, it allowed seonghwa to sit in the corner and sip his favourite kaedwenian stout in peace. he'd sometimes take a girl upstairs, only to give her a pouch of coins so she can leave him to sleep in peace. some would be relieved, some offended. but seonghwa didn't care. all he wanted was rest.

tonight, however, he needed to switch locations. ever since jaskier met his soulmate, his brothel has transformed into a cabaret. yes, the bard wanted to do that before meeting her. but he delayed it. and seonghwa liked it. now? everyone was at his neck, especially since they discovered that jaskier knows not one, but two witchers. favor here, problem there, and seonghwa couldn't catch a break. this one has rats, this one has a ghoul in his basement, and this one wants to act tough and challenge him to a fist fight so he can win a girl over.

the dark haired man glances at the wooden sign that reads passiflora, before carefully entering. he is greeted with a rather sweet scent and sensual music. the people inside aren't half naked like they were back in rosemary and thyme. they were dressed in prettiest dresses, had their hair decorated with all sorts of pins, and were in elegant make-up. a true refreshment. the place didn't reek of sweat, and wasn't loud at all. no sights of shirtless men with their hairy belly out, no women with missing and unbrushed teeth, no stench of alcohol and bodily fluids. seonghwa was pleasantly surprised.

"ah, a witcher!"

and there it is.

"please, do come in. care for a drink? your first one is on the house."

odd. the middle aged woman didn't bombard him with a plea for help. nor did she look at him with judgement. "thank you...?"

"mathilda is enough." she smiles at him. seonghwa can't remember the last time someone smiled at him genuinely.

"thank you, mathilda."

mathilda turns out to be the owner of the brothel. she has black hair, with dozens of grey strands blending in it. her face has minimum makeup, or so seonghwa thinks. what does he know about makeup? her dress is modest, and he comes to a conclusion that she might be retired. she is also very pleasant to speak with. so pleasant that the witcher doesn't realise how fast the time is passing and how much more talkative he is getting.

"so, which one of the girls has caught your attention?" the woman turns away from the bar, and so does the witcher. he sips his third drink of the evening as the woman points at the girls in the room. "we've got a few new girls, eager to prove themselves. how do you like them?"

when seonghwa glances at the clock, he decides it might be time to go and rest. so he skims over the pretty girls that dance and speak to other customers. some of them are relaxed, as if this is their home, and some are stiff and nervous. his yellow eyes then pick up a figure in the corner, standing all by herself with her arms folded across her chest. her hair is decorated with gold hairpins, and head chain sits prettily on her forehead. it reminds seonghwa of an elven princess. her dress is a deep green, parting at her thighs and falling to the ground. it has a deep cut that goes to her stomach, and it seems that she is trying to hide her exposed skin.

"ah, y/n." mathilda notices his lingering gaze. "good luck with it. i gave her another week to relax, i won't push her yet. if she doesn't change within a week, i'll have to fire her. shame, really. she is gorgeous, and has brought me many new customers."

seonghwa hums. he then locks eyes with the beautiful figure's ones, and downs his beer. to both his and mathilda's surprise, the young woman makes her way towards the bar. for a moment, they think that she might pass by them and just order herself a drink. instead, she places her hand on the witcher's chest, feeling the cold silver armor under her palm.

"good evening, witcher." her voice is as sweet as honey in seonghwa's ears. he is mesmerized, and she has only spoken a few words to him. "come to release some stress?"

seonghwa watches as her glossy lips move while she speaks. subconsciously, his hand reaches for her cheek to cup it, thumb grazing over her bottom lip and eyes focused on the tongue that peeks out to lick the tip of his finger. he almost shudders at the action. the young woman is determined to prove herself, and goes a step further. she wraps her small hands around his big one, and guides his thumb between her lips, gently swirling her warm tongue around it and sending shivers down the witcher's spine. seonghwa feels his trousers tighten; something he hasn't felt in a while.

she releases his finger with a soft pop, but keeps his hand safe in hers near her chest. "i've always wanted to meet a witcher."

and how could seonghwa refuse her, when she looks at him with big pleading eyes, her chest heaving, and with her lip gloss smeared. the desire to smear it further awakens in him, and he wastes no time in paying for his drink and thanking mathilda. the young woman keeps the witcher's hand in hers, intertwining their fingers as she leads him upstairs and into one of the rooms.

usually, this is the part where seonghwa explains that he is not interested in any sexual interactions. but the way the green dress slides off her body, and the way the fireplace illuminates her skin makes his head spin. she turns around, body bare except for the cotton panties that sit on her hips. seonghwa, however, is still in his witcher gear. the feline armor is suddenly too heavy on him. she seems to hear his thoughts, because she is quick to approach him and press her warm bare chest against his clothed cold one. her delicate hands slip around his waist, and on his back, until they reach the belt that holds his weapons.

"may i?"

it only takes a nod from him to get rid of the entire armor and the clothes underneath. he is now also left in his underwear, and he can't wait to take them off too.

"can i give you a massage, witcher?"

seonghwa swears he hasn't heard a voice so seductive... ever. smooth, sweet, breathy. the way she sighs and breathes against his neck as her fingers work on the knots on his shoulder blades relaxes him. before he can fall asleep on the chair in front of the mirror, she wakes him up with a playful hair pull. he only scoffs with amusement. his eyes follow as her last piece of clothing slides down her smooth thighs and pools on the ground. then, she herself gets on the ground on all fours, and crawls over to the stunned witcher.

"what are you-"

"hush, pretty." if seonghwa had anything to add or even finish his sentence, a gasp stops him. he watches as the young woman catches the string of his underwear between his teeth, and pulls until they come loose and fall to the ground.

is she really new?

seonghwa does not complain. he does complain however when she stands up, taking his rough hand in her soft one and guiding him towards the bed. the sight of someone like that getting on her knees for him was a first, and he wanted to savor it just a tad bit longer.

"talk to me, witcher." she climbs on top of him, soft smooth skin caressing his scarred and rough as she lays on top of him. her breasts are squished against his hard chest, and his hands immediately reach for her waist to hold. "tell me what you want. i'll give you all of it."

seonghwa stops for a moment. he isn't sure what he wants. yes, he slept with women before. he slept with sorceresses too. all of them were the same; get it in and over with. seonghwa would simply lay there and let them chase their own pleasure. he would reach his own too, and he never thought further of it. they even complimented him, saying how no man has made them feel that good, that their partners would usually do it for themselves and leave them to finish on their own. now, however, seeing this beauty pressed against him and looking at him with pure desire, he might discover something new. he might put himself first. not that he didn't enjoy the previous encounters. he is just eager to see what she has to offer him. "i give you full freedom to do whatever you wish to me."

her lips stretch in an excited smile, and her eyes have a certain glint. if seonghwa wasn't so painfully needy right now, he would've questioned it. true witcher style.

"just... one thing."

"yes?"

seonghwa's hands reach for the green dress that was dropped on the floor. he hands it to her, and she looks at him with confusion. was he rejecting her?

"put it on."

"but- why?" her lips form a pout. "did i displease you somehow?"

the dark haired witcher smiles. he then simply sits up on the bed, hands still firmly planted on her waist as she fumbles with the green fabric. "no. you just look too stunning in it to leave it on the floor. no panties."

"oh." she exhales, relief washing over her body. "you do realize that you're the first man i've given myself to in this building and you're asking me to cover up?"

seonghwa doesn't respond, but instead watches her dress. her look is complete once again, except for the heeled boots that still lay on the floor. not a single sorceress he has met could compete with her. "so you were waiting for a witcher to be your first?"

"perhaps." her hands reach for the pins in her hair, but seonghwa stops her there too. she then scoffs in disbelief, but obeys anyway. "whatever i want, huh?"

"whatever you want." seonghwa sighs, body fully relaxing on the soft bed and eyes closed. his hands remain on her now clothed waist. he doesn't know what it is, but it gives him a sense of dominance, even if she is the one on top. her body feels small and fragile, and he has the urge to hold her, as if to protect her.

a sweet scent of berries envelops his senses, as well as his mind. her breath warms his neck, just a small warning before her lips attach to his skin. he can't help but flinch. she smiles against him, grazing his neck with her teeth. "found a sensitive spot it seems."

seonghwa only hums. his grip on her waist hardens as she kisses along his jawline, and her nails softly graze the path from his chest, down his stomach and to his defined v-line. finally, she attaches her lips to his. her other hand finds its way to his dark hair, softly massaging his scalp and lightly pulling the strands as he kisses her back. seonghwa feels as if this is his first proper kiss. nobody has ever kissed him before with such desire.

she grinds her hips against his, core lightly grazing his aching crotch, not yet giving him what he needs. as if he wasn't burning with need already, feeling her wet core slide against him only set him further on fire. he never said he was a patient man anyway.

he flips her on the bed with ease, now him being the one on top and in charge. his lips hungrily search for hers, tongue yearns for hers, and hands play with the sheer fabric of the dress. he doesn't care where he touches her. he just wants to feel her.

"thought i had full freedom?" she teases into the kiss.

he doesn't reply, instead biting her lower lip and sucking at it. she whines at the sweet pain, and if seonghwa didn't feel her body arch against his, he would've stopped. his lips chase hers, and no matter how many times his tongue rubs against hers, teeth clash against hers, and lips wipe the remaining lip gloss off hers, he can't get enough. "you taste so sweet."

even though he could spend the entire night just kissing her and feeling her body squirm under his, seonghwa proceeds to leave kisses down her neck, then the exposed skin between her breasts and all the way to her belly. the dress opening ends there, but it doesn't stop him. he disappears under the green ruffles, nose bumping against the soft folds and tongue searching for the source of heat. 

he never did it. he wasn't exactly sure how. all he knew is that he needed to taste her, all of her. with a single swipe up her folds, he has her squirming. he subconsciously grabs her thighs and pulls her closer to his face, holding her in place and burying himself into her core. she does taste as sweet, and smells as delightful. the noises that travel to seonghwa's ears are new to him. never did he hear a woman be so whiny and loud. moans? sure. but whines? that was new. and he wasn't sure if it is a good or a bad thing.

"please..." she finally mutters a word.

the witcher emerges from the green ruffles of her dress, sending her a questioning look. when he sees her flustered face and heaving chest, sleeves pushed down so that her breasts are exposed and her hands playing with the tense nipples, seonghwa realizes what he has been missing out on. there was more to it all than just an orgasm.

and he was going to savor all of it.

"please." she begs again. "i'll be good, just please..."

"please what?" the witcher questions.

"give me something. anything." she shudders when his finger grazes her tense clit. "please."

seonghwa doesn't wish this to end yet. he is loving the impact he has on someone. on her. he can't get over her beauty, or her taste. when he finishes taking in the sight of her half naked and flustered state, he attaches his lips to her clit once again, tongue swiping over the sensitive bud in circular motions and fingers searching for her leaking hole. her moans are more high pitched, and the grip on his hair stronger as he slowly inserts his finger inside. he wastes no time in adding another one, slowly pumping in and out and exploring which motions make her louder and her fingers pull at his hair harder. when he finds a certain spot on her upper wall, he abuses it, to the point where she shakes under his touch and moans turn to a blubbering mess.

"oh, witcher-" she gasps, body suddenly tensing and thighs squeezing around his head.

seonghwa doesn't have time to process what is happening, because he is greeted by clear fluid splashing his face. he doesn't stop yet, even though he wasn't exactly sure what happened. the young woman is a twitching mess under him, grinding her hips against his face and riding out her orgasm. when she starts pulling at his hair to pull him away from her, he takes it as a sign to stop.

"well," he flips the bottom of her dress over, exposing the abused core to the cool air that comes from the open balcony door. "i've never done that before."

"me neither." she admits, face red with embarrassment when she sees the witcher's soaked face. "i'm sorry."

"don't apologize. i am the one that should be apologizing."

"what for?"

instead of answering, he simply kisses her once again, savoring every caress of her tongue against his and every little noise she makes as his hands travel up her body and to her exposed breasts. the rough skin of his worn out fingers give her tense buds a gentle sensation. just enough to have her body arching against his and seek more of his warmth and touch. as she busies herself with playing with his hair and caressing the scars on his back, seonghwa slowly slides inside, letting out a low groan at the warm welcome.

he misses the way her eyes widen and her nails dig into his back. he is halfway in, struggling to go further. when her pretty face makes a painful grimace and a cry leaves her lips, seonghwa stops. "what's wrong?"

"nothing," she blinks her tears away.

"tell me." the witcher cups her face, thumbs caressing her cheeks and wiping the tears away.

"you're big."

his brows furrow. at first he isn't sure what she means, but when he feels her walls clench around him, he realizes. "oh."

"it's alright. keep going." her hands cup his face now, mimicking him. "just go slow."

but the witcher finds himself getting impatient once again. the way her warmth squeezes around him makes him see stars. and just like that, seonghwa finds himself snapping his hips into hers. a painful moan escapes her pretty lips once again, and seonghwa is quick to press his lips into hers to conceal it. she is mess, shamelessly moaning into his mouth whenever his hips collide with hers. tears roll down her cheeks once again, and this time, seonghwa doesn't stop. instead, he slows his pace, opting for sensual moves rather than rough ones.

"you're so big..." she sighs against his lips. "you're going to split me open."

if he could get any rock harder, he would. hell, he might even cum right there and then if it wasn't for the slow moves he was forced to do. "are you complaining?"

"not a bit."

tears of pain soon seem to transform into tears of pleasure, because when seonghwa starts snapping his hips against hers again, she only moans and groans. her walls tighten around him, announcing that she is close again. the witcher holds her waist in place, and his eyes can't get enough of her expressions, or the way her body responds to him and looks so fragile in his arms.

"cum in me, witcher." she begs. "fill me to the brim."

and seonghwa does just that. his moves become sloppy, and his concealed groans are now loud and clear as he pumps his seed into the beauty below him. he sees a slight bulge on her lower stomach when he goes to look where they are connected. fuck, he wants her again. and again and again. until the sun rises, just to watch the pure bliss on her face again.

"are you close?" he asks breathless. he is not yet overstimulated, he is just getting started.

"shut up." she chokes out, clearly focusing on reaching her peak and not wanting to be disturbed.

this time, instead of a moan of ecstasy, her mouth opens without any noise coming out. her eyes roll back, almost all the way, before her body starts twitching as waves of pleasure wash it over. her nails dig into his back, so deep that they pierce his skin and have him wincing in pain. then, her eyes roll back. and seonghwa stiffens.

dangerous red irises stare back at his yellow alert ones. the witcher instinctively reaches for the sword on his back, only to be met with emptiness. the figure below him gives him a wicked smile, with fangs on full display before latching herself onto his neck and piercing his skin once again.

fuck.

seonghwa didn't expect to be awoken in the bed he was in last night. truth be told, seonghwa didn't expect to be awake at all. however, when he tries to move and reach for his weapons that lay on the dresser next to the bed, strains prevent him. strains on both his wrists and ankles. the blinds are blocking the morning sun, keeping the woman who sat in front of the mirror safe. for now.

"why am i alive?"

she looks at him through the mirror, smile dancing on her lips. she runs a comb through her hair and removes the golden pins in the process. "good morning, little witcher."

"let me go."

"well, since you asked so nicely." she rolls her eyes, standing up from the chair and approaching the bed. the green dress is replaced by rags seonghwa usually saw in the war destroyed villages of velen. all of her jewelry sits on the dresser in front of the mirror, including the headpiece that drove seonghwa crazy last night. "come to think of it, i never got to return the favor. you were so eager to fuck me."

he doesn't have to question, because she gives him the answer by running her nails up his thigh and to his crotch. "stop that."

"your cock says otherwise, slayer." when seonghwa doesn't respond to her touch, she huffs. "boring. well, off i go. you better not go anywhere while i'm gone."

seonghwa had many questions on his mind. he didn't know which one to ask first. and he didn't know whether or not he will get a truthful answer. or an answer at all. after all, this was the higher vampire he had a contract on. how foolish of him to leave that medallion in his pocket instead of around his neck. it would've vibrated the moment she laid her hand on his armored chest, and she would've been dead by now.

"isn't mathilda going to question this... situation?" he looks at the ropes holding him to the bed.

"mathilda doesn't care what happens during the day. she only needs the rooms free at night. this room is mine, and i can use it however i please."

"why are you dressed like that?"

"as if you haven't stumbled upon false beggars by now. please, seonghwa." she straightens her rags, and glances at herself in the mirror once again. "you think of us monsters so lowly. like we are stupid. thing is, you're not that different. you're not a human. you're just a mutant."

seonghwa hums, unamused. "it's daylight. how will you go out?"

"there's shades in this city. plenty of them. now, be a good little witcher and stay here." she plants a kiss on his forehead, then turns to leave.

but the witcher is quicker, and grabs her by the rags and tosses on the bed. while he was questioning her, he managed to free one hand from the ropes with his teeth. her eyes turn red again, anger evident on her face.

"silly witcher." her teeth are quick to sink into his flesh again, causing seonghwa to growl with pain. she slurps on his hot blood, moaning in the process, the scent and taste of iron giving her bigger pleasure than anything else. when she pulls away, she has a look of victory and proud on her face. right until seonghwa smirks.

"true. i do think you are stupid." she steps away from him, suddenly feeling dizzy. while stepping back, her shoe kicks something on the floor, causing it to shatter. an empty potion bottle.

"what- what have you done?"

the witcher then frees his other hand, and reaches for his silver sword while the vampire tries to decipher just what he did to her. she gets her answer when she looks at herself in the mirror, veins prominent and pitch black. shaky hands hurriedly get rid of the rags and expose her body. he drank a potion to poison his blood because he knew she'd drink again. her eyes catch a glimpse of the shiny silver through the mirror, and she is quick to dodge it and jump on the bed.

the cut off and untied ropes hang uselessly from the bed frame. or maybe not completely useless. "how should i kill you?"

"no, please." the young woman sits against the bed frame, knees pulled to her chest and hands hugging them in defense. "please."

"i am doing you a favor by asking. silver..." he holds the shiny sword up, runestones making the marks green and match the dress on the floor. "or gold." he points to the balcony door with blinds. a ray of sun has managed to break through, lighting up the medallion that now rests on his chest, vibrating and alerting to danger.

"please." she begs. "i just want to live. we just want to live."

"so does the folk. and you don't let them."

her teary eyes don't work on seonghwa this time. they only make him angrier. she used him. and he fell for it. he was angrier with himself for allowing a woman's seducing to work on him like that. if she were a sorceress, he'd understand. he cannot escape the strong grip of magic. but a vampire? all these years of work and training seemed for nothing. he only hopes geralt doesn't find out about this.

"i don't kill. i just feed!"

"you feed on women and children."

"children are just weak. and those women weren't worth anything! their husbands would come and fuck me, and then offer their wives to me!" she then gets on her knees, hands in a pleading motion. "please, witcher. you kill to survive. so do i."

"no."

in a few seconds, the young woman is bound to the bed, hissing and growling at the witcher as he approaches the balcony door.

"i kill to save people. you kill to save yourself."

with that, he pulls the blinds, allowing the sun to enlighten the room and the nude figure on the bed.

"your kind will no longer torment people. i won't stop until i've killed the last one of you vampires, hags, wraiths and ghouls. i exist for the sole purpose of exterminating you. and that is what i'll do. even if it takes all my life."

the vampire is in no position to form any sentences, body seething and glowing under the morning yellow sun. the witcher is unfazed, already used to it. he calmly puts his armor back on, puts the weapons on his back, and gives the vampire a final glance before going downstairs to sign the contract and collect his reward.

[milfloveer]

Proof of love ♡

Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Prompt: After y/n gets a little stressed about her and Sherlock's relation and— Well, Sherlock shows her how he really loves her ;)

Warnings: smut 18+ minors DNI, age gap (reader is in their 20s and Sherlock in his 30s), p in v, unprotected sex, fluff, creampie

A/n: I need Sherlock in my life so badly 😩

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Sherlock and I just arrived home after attending a high society party so we could unfold more information about this recent case. Enola and Tewkesbury were there too, the first working on her case as well and the later was there on work behalf as he is a Lord and has his duties as one.

Enola was clearly bothered with all the feminine attention Lord Tewkesbury was given. I couldn't censure her as I was feeling the same towards Sherlock and all those ladies around him asking for a dance, their hands all over my man. Enola and I just rolled our eyes and focused on our cases ignoring each woman who approached the men.

•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•

Sherlock opened the door to his apartment and we walked in, I was clearly frustrated and it didn't slip Sherlock's gaze "You alright, darling?" he asks tenderly and cautiously.

I turn to him and see his concern "Yes, love, everything's alright." I say, even though I was lying. Those interactions all night long made me feel easily discarded and replaced.

Sherlock and I relationship was somewhat recent, we were only together for half a year and yet none of us dared to say those three simple words.

I can say that I care for him deeply, I got really attached to his personality, behaviour, the manner he works and thinks, his papers all around his apartment in a perfectly messy way, the way he played the violin when wanted to relax and get lost for a moment.

I truly fell for this exquisite detective, but I didn't dare to say those words to his face as I was afraid he wasn't feeling what I was. So I kept it to myself until now.

Sherlock frowns and follows me to our shared room "Darling, I know you and I can tell something is up." he says with concern in his voice as I try to unzip my dress, ending to ask him for help on it. He gladly does "Please talk to me." his voice wavering a bit making me look at him worriedly.

I sigh seeing his saddened face as I've never seen him like this. Getting closer to him I lay my hands, one on each side of his face and look deep into his eyes with tenderness "It is nothing important of concern, honey." I say softly, trying to brush it off.

But then again, Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes without discovering the truth "It is concerning you and if it is concerning you, it is concerning me." he says pointing between us as he talks "Please, don't leave me in the dark, dove." he says while holding my gaze and I gave in and told him everything I was feeling at the party and when all the female attention is on him, how replaceable I feel, how dischargeable, how ridiculous.

I was now sitting at the end of our bed with my head hanging as my eyes freely released tears while looking at our hands interlocked on my lap "Oh, dear, why haven't you talked about this with me?" he asks caringly, I sniff and he brings his index finger and thumb to my chin, lifting it so I could look into those blue pools "I didn't want to overreact." I say barely above a whisper, he smiles softly "It's not overreacting dear and I assure you here that I have only eyes for you, my beautiful girl." he says as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, caressing my cheek afterwards and cleaning the remaining of my tears with his thumb.

"Prove it then." I blurt out shocking myself with my boldness, but nonetheless Sherlock chuckles darkly making me shiver "With pleasure, darling." he says as he leans over me making me lay down on the mattress behind me.

Now hovering over me he caresses my sides teasingly as his lips brush mine. No words were said as he connects strongly and lovingly his lips to mine eliciting a moan from me. He starts lowering his hands as his lips move to my neck and collarbone, teasing and marking all the soft spots.

I was already on my undergarments making me start to take off his clothes as he's still fully clothed, first his jacket, then his tie and vest, his shirt and belt were now off and he pulled down his pants discharging them somewhere in the room.

"Please, I need you." I say tugging at the waistband of his underwear, he chuckles "Eager are we?" he asks making me flush as I nod. He frees himself as I take off of me the remains of my underwear.

Now both fully naked we scan each others body "You're so beautiful." he growls caressing my side with his fingertips before capturing my lips while aligning himself with my entrance. As he enters me my mouth falls open and a moan echoes through the room "Oh dear." he says against my ear, his arms each on either side of my body, his hands behind my back, flat on my shoulder blades as he moves lovingly in and out of me.

My legs wrap around his waist pulling him closer as my nails dig into his back certainly leaving some scratches over it. Both breathing heavily and moaning into each other's ears; I love this man so much.

Sherlock speeds up his pace hitting a wonderful spot inside me over and over "Yes, honey, don't stop!" I say gasping sensing the tension building up each time he pounds into me. He then gets on his knees bringing my legs up to rest on his shoulders, I cry out in pleasure as he groans pounding strongly "I'm so close, Sherlock." I say, my legs start to tremble with the feeling.

With a few more pushes and I'm taken over the edge, Sherlock following, spilling his seed into me "Ah, Sherlock!" I say pushing him down and kissing his lips eagerly and then softly. As he pulls away he brushes against my lips, whispering "I love you." I froze and look up at him "What?" I breathe out starstruck about his confession, his eyes widen as he realized he just confessed his feelings for me out loud.

I bring my hand to his cheek and caress it, I smile before letting out a soft chuckle as my eyes fill with happy tears. I lift my head so I could reach his slightly trembling lips and close the gap, the kiss is slow, tender and filled with love, as we were telling without words 'I love you'.

Slightly I pull away and whisper against his lips "I love you too." his eyes widen slightly hearing the words slip like honey from my mouth making me smile lovingly at the man still above me.