#who else reads these tags this far down?

[sarcasticratsims]

ZOMBIES!!!! I've actually been going insane about zombie apocalypse things for the past month, so I finally cracked and remade my apocalypse mods folder today, so I present to you...one-month-into zombie apocalypse Sam and Roy concepts :)

Don't know who they are? Check out Seasick :')

| Beginning : Latest |

@that1crowdude @amaranthinessims

[dreamsicle262]

if the reading comprehension of some people who do make dead plate text posts is so bad (as i've had at least two people tell me in the tags) then maybe i SHOULD start analyzing every little detail in the game.

[butchratchettruther]

I may or may not be compiling a chronological list of nearly every locomotive ever directly because of starlight express

[breadboysteals]

Does anyone else have a lot of trouble picking up information like if I read something I don't learn anything but when I read it for the twentieth time I maybe pick up half

[burinazar]

It's a bit funny that to parts of my circles I'm 'the fandom one'/'the fanfic one'/'the shipping one' as the person they know most prominently into such things

because as much as i love writing my fics and shipping my ships my interest in both of those things is, I think, very narrow and specific compared to most people who are into them? due to my habits being like. very particular

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A green-toned drawing of two characters from an original universe, shown from the shoulders up. It's framed as though they're taking a selfie. On the left is Heathrow, a human with dark skin, long hair, a good number of facial scars, and two painted lines below each eye. He wears something akin to a green hoodie, with fluffy plant matter sewn into the back of the hood. On the right is Crassie, a half elf, which in this universe entails long pointed ears, a pair of short pale horns, a slightly rabbit-like nose and markings under her eyes. Her skin is olive-toned, sporting a couple distinct scars on her face and hand, and she's wearing what is essentially a bush and spiked glovelets. Both of them are smiling, Crassie a little bit wide-eyed and Heathrow with a fond expression. The background's a saturated green with the text "1 YEAR!". End ID]

A redraw-in-spirit of the post from last year's Feb 16 that introduced these two to my blog. It's their birthday :]

[veinpursuer]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[rafey-baby]

rafe has always been close with his sister…  

c/w: incest, dubcon, oral (m receiving), rafe being a perv about his (adopted) sister & her being inexperienced, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.7k

part two & moodboard

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx   

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Her big brother has always been rather overbearing, which is something she’s tried to shrug off as him merely being protective, but as far as her understanding of siblings goes— they aren’t supposed to act the way Rafe does.  

Ever since they were little, Rafe has been weird about everyone in their strange family, but sometimes it makes her feel gross when he barges into her room while she’s changing— not even bothering to cover his eyes as he sits down on her mattress and starts ranting about something completely irrelevant.

It makes her feel disgusting when she notices the subtle smirk tugging at his mouth as his gaze narrows down onto whatever bare sliver of skin she’s hurriedly trying to hide from his borderline hungry eyes.   

And she doesn’t particularly enjoy when he gets wasted or high off of whatever he’s snorted at some stupid party and insists that he just has to sleep next to her because he’s not feeling good. And despite her drowsy complaints, he’s always snuggling too close for comfort with his hands all over her; pulling her flush against him and letting the cushion of his lips graze the skin of her neck.

He keeps telling her that it’s nothing out of the ordinary when he gives her details about the girls he’s slept with and what his favorite positions are, even if she’s told him multiple times that she doesn’t want to know. And whenever they’re home alone, he even goes as far as bringing girls to his room— making sure their loud moans echo right into her bedroom when he knows she’s trying to study.   

And whenever he’s tagging along during her little shopping trips (he doesn’t let her go alone because what if something happens?), he always demands on joining her in the fitting rooms— even squeezing himself into the crammed space when she’s trying on lingerie, claiming that she absolutely needs his opinion.   

“Rafe, that’s weird,” she tries to get him to wait outside but of course he merely rolls his eyes.  

“S’not weird, know how indecisive you can be, jus’ wanna help,” he says, seemingly genuine while he’s already fiddling with the clip of her bra.   

And she feels her cheeks burning when the cashier mentions how sweet it is that her boyfriend is paying for her clothes— to which Rafe merely chuckles while she can’t find the words to correct the poor woman because she’d probably faint if she learned the truth about their relationship.

More often than not, he tends to be borderline territorial. One time, she’s simply talking to a guy at some party, when all of a sudden, she feels an all too familiar presence behind her.

“Who’s this, hm?” he slurs, slinging a heavy arm over her shoulder.   

“Oh, it’s…um, no one,” she peeps out because she knows how he is. However, her attempts at calming him down prove to be fruitless because he’s already approaching the guy with a scoff.   

“You, uh, you do know that this is m’sister, right? Mine. So, why don’t you, uh, go ‘n try to impress some other bitch, yeah?” he offers him a sickly-sweet smile, voice harsh before telling her they’re leaving— strong hands on her waist already dragging her towards his truck.

“I was having fun,” she complains when he’s putting the seatbelt on her— his breath smelling of beer when he drawls out a reply. “You can have all the fun you want with me when we get home, yeah?”   

“But I wanted to spend time with my friends,” she pouts.   

“That’s just too bad then, isn’t it?” he murmurs while starting the engine— resting a warm palm on her thigh soon after, ignoring her efforts of shrugging it off.  

- - - - - - - - - - -

When he learns that she hasn’t had her first kiss yet (because why would anyone even think about touching her when they know Rafe is a complete psycho), he mocks her to the point of her eyes growing glossy as she tries to blink away the soggy droplets.

“S’okay, you wanna get it over with, hm? I’ll help you,” he so kindly offers with faux concern glimmering in the moonstones of his eyes.   

“Rafe, that’s gross,” she frowns, to which he merely furrows his brows before scoffing— as if she’s the one being weird.   

“So, uh, so you tellin’ me you want some…some stranger at a party who only wants to get in your pants to do it instead?” he narrows his eyes as if that’s the only alternative.  

“N— no,” her answer is hesitant.  

“Listen, m’just…m’just, tryna be a good brother ‘n help my little sister out, but if you don’t want m’help then don’t come cryin’ to me when you embarrass yourself cause you don’t even know how to kiss,” he lifts his hands up in surrender before shrugging, suggesting that he’d merely be doing her a favor.   

And before her brain has the time to process what’s happening, he’s already dragging her into his lap. And it feels wrong when their mouths are suddenly slotting together— when he’s letting out a shallow groan and slipping his tongue past her teeth without so much as a warning.

“Rafe! You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that,” she squeaks out, pulling away with her face all crumpled up, feeling disconcerted.   

“Shut up, you’re gonna wake up everyone, thought you wanted to learn?” he mutters out before he’s smearing his mouth on hers once more— this time with a tight grip on her jaw that forces her to stay put as the the kiss turns into something sloppy; wet.

And afterwards, he makes her promise that she won’t tell anyone because ‘you don’t want dad to get mad at you, do you?’ and even if she feels guilt eat away at her, she keeps it to herself because the last thing she wants is to upset anyone. 

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Rafe guess what? I have a date tomorrow,” she gives him a giddy smile while stepping into his room a few weeks later.  

“With who?” he eyes her while slouching on his bed, seemingly in the midst of texting someone.

“This guy I met on the beach today,” she sits down on the edge of the mattress when he places his phone on his nightstand.

“Yeah? What’s his name?” he asks, shifting closer.  

“Um, Ethan.” 

“Last name?”  

“I— I don’t know, didn’t ask…why does it matter? Was just wondering if you could drive me there?” she says, surprised by his sudden interest. 

“Where?” his tone sounds almost exasperated now, as if she’s done something bad.

“Um, we’re just gonna hang out at his house,” she chews on her bottom lip, suddenly nervous.

“You havin’ a date at his house? You finally gonna lose that virginity, huh?” he asks as patronizing laughter bubbles from his chest.

“What? No! S’not like that,” she mumbles, her skin already boiling. 

“No? You do know when guys say they wanna hang out, it means they wanna fuck, right? You’re not that stupid, are you?” his gaze is borderline condescending when he raises his brows.

“Well, he’s not like that, he seems nice,” she tries to defend herself, feeling small all of a sudden.

“Sweetheart, every guy’s like that, especially the ones that seem nice, you’re so fuckin’ naive,” he scoffs while running a hand through his hair.

“You know what? Forget about it, I’ll just walk there,” she huffs out, standing up to leave, however, she doesn’t get far before he’s grabbing at her arm.

“Listen, m’just tryna look out for you, okay? Don’t feel like dealin’ with your shit ‘bout how he broke your heart. I mean, if you’re not gonna let him hit, he’s gonna be expectin’ somethin’ else, you know that, right?”

She swallows.

“I— are you sure? But…but I don’t even know how to—” 

“Poor baby, what would you do without your big brother, hm? Don’t worry, I’ll teach you, yeah?” he coos before pinky promising he’ll be gentle.

And that’s how she ends up on her knees in front of him. 

“Ray, this doesn’t feel…right,” she mumbles out, eyes focused on the ruddy tip he’s thumbing over while he stares at her.

“Shh, can be our little secret, yeah? Jus’ wanna make sure my little sister doesn’t embarrass herself,” he lets out a grunt when she blinks up at him with uncertain eyes.

“Open your mouth, tongue out,” he instructs while moving closer to her tentative form, biting his lip when she gingerly does what he tells her to. Then, he’s thudding the drippy head on the flat of her tongue— one, two, three times, which makes her let out a noise; something that only seems to spur him on.

He tastes salty and she doesn’t necessarily mind it, which makes her feel entirely too gross about the situation altogether— the words ‘I don’t wanna do this anymore’ turning into a tangled muddle when he’s already pushing past her lips, making her gag around the sudden intrusion.

“Shit, tha’s good, jus’ take it, yeah?” he rumbles out; a big hand holding the back of her head as he stuffs himself deeper down her throat— cock twitching in response to her whines and attempts at drawing away for air.

It overwhelms her to no end when he’s so rough, abrasive, but despite his broken promise, she’s unable to prevent her thighs from pressing together when throaty moans keep escaping him; his respiration turning labored by each lazy rut of his hips while her head begins to spin.

Only when his sticky cum gushes onto her tongue— the white substance dribbling past the seam of her lips and covering her chin in the process, does he grant her a moment to catch her breath.

“Guys like it when you swallow,” his voice is like gravel when he pushes at her jaw, heady gaze glued to the way her throat bobs when she does just that, the aftertaste of what they’ve done making her feel stained; dirty.

“You know, s’cute you thought I’d let some, some shithead fuck my sister,” he sounds almost humored as he pats at the flushed skin of her cheek— making her eyes turn watery when he swipes a thumb under her wobbly bottom lip to clean up the remaining mess.

She feels something in her guts churn when he tucks it back into her mouth with a sick smile.

[mayullla]

Title: His Dream Wife

Character(s): Richard (Original character / Original work)

Synopsis: He always wanted a perfect family, but life never gave him what he wanted. Instead, he was blackmailed into marrying a gold digger. But after seeing you for the first time the wife of his friend all he could think of was you. So don't mind him when he was given the option to swap his wife's consciousness with yours he took that chance immediately.

Warnings/tags: Yandere Dilf x meek reader, yandere pov, general yandere themes, body swap between reader and Yandere's wife, cheating (not done by reader), arranged, baby trapping, Yandere wants that traditional wife and lifestyle. Word count: 4.2k (Please tell me if I miss anything!)

Note: I just finished reading the webtoon "Marry My Husband," so you can probably see many small ideas taken from it in this story!

Ever since he was young, Richard had fantasies and dreams of a perfect family. He always loved the idea of someone relying on him just as much as he would on them, and someone who would love him exclusively and trust him completely. Maybe that was why he liked wolves, having been told back then that those animals would mate for life. He liked that. He wanted that. Friends were nice there is nothing wrong with that. But there is something about a family that he wanted. Maybe it was because he was jealous back then of how affectionate his grandparents were between each other, while his parents were far from that.

That was what he wanted and well maybe he started to want a little more the older he got. He wanted what his grandparents had, he wanted what the movies had… he wanted what his fantasies had. He loved the idea of a family, coming back from work to an affectionate housewife with her tummy big inside a second or third child while holding the first. The idea of kisses between each other, while his lover irrupts in giggles, playfully pushing him back telling him that he should not let the food turn cold or let the kids see them.

Someone he could spoil and give everything to while she relied on him and his money. He would work hard every day just for her and the kids, to give them the home they deserve. She would give back by cooking and cleaning the house, anybody knows that those things are hard work and everything takes time. But she would do it for the both of them, for him. 

Yet he wasn't able to attain that dream. He wasn't allowed to have it. He attracted the attention of a viel woman, who had used any and every blackmail to tie him down to her. He was a manager at a big company already quickly climbing up but also came from a rich family, he unwantedly got the attention of a woman who was greedy for money and something handsome. 

And her own manager was ripe for the picking.

She did many things but somehow he was able to avoid many of them however that could only go on for so long. She was cunning, too smart for her own good. He didn't know how she did it, it made him furious at what she did waking up in a hotel with her right beside him. He had no memories of the night yet she did when she told everyone that she had his baby a month later.

Everyone was frantic, his parents especially who cared so much about their appearance and reputation than anything else. While he hated them for the lack of love or care only forcing him to their whims to get a word above their acquaintances and rivals. The idea of him their own son mudding their name with the fact that he got someone pregnant without marriage made them furious. They wanted him to marry her immediately and he had no choice not when they held his job, reputation, and life above him not when that woman too did the same with her connections and people behind the scenes. It was idiotic that he fell into her hands like this, no matter what he did she did not let go and sank her claws deep into his skin.

Richard wanted to know if this child was his, but there was no time when everybody demanded his and that woman didn't give him a chance to check. Only to cry after the marriage that the child from miscarriage due to stress from his selfishness. Many blamed him even though he knew that she was lying this whole time but no matter what he said her crocodile tears worked far better than any explanation.

He was furious, angered by everything that happened but he wasn't allowed to do anything he wasn't allowed to break up with her. His life, everything that he worked for had turned to nothing by this woman. She could care less about love or something genuine and only cared about his money, demanding that he give her money to go shopping to buy expensive brand items and clothing while also going to parties and bars with her friends coming back home late leaving only a mess with how drunk she was.

Some days she would not come home at all and he assumed that she was with another man, as he didn't give in to her sexual demands even if they were husband and wife. At this point, the idea of touching her body even her hand disgusted him.

He thought he lost everything, he felt hopeless when he could not break up with that woman who made sure that he could not have a divorce without destroying his reputation and paying her a huge amount of cash. She was insane.

Rather than be with her he would rather drown in his work in his office. The house smelled like her strong perfume that could only make his head hurt the moment he took one whiff of it even though that woman wasn't even in the house having already left to head to the next new bar that opened up in the city.

That was his life, he genuinely thought that this was his ending, a story that didn't end so well, yet unable to change anything with knives around his neck daring him to move. But in the end, nothing is concrete, sometimes all it takes is helping an old lady who just so happens to be a fortune teller. 

Typing away at his computer late at night in his office as he looked at the time, his thoughts could not help but let his thoughts drift for a moment. Richard closed his eyes slightly burning from looking at the laptop for too long. Leaning his chair, he pulled his tie down a little as he thought about this afternoon when he helped out a poor fortune teller the old woman after picking some stuff up at the market, who looked to be in her 80s stuck outside homeless and struggling to open her shop. As she had dropped something that had rolled towards him he picked it up and gave it to the old lady. He didn't know what moved him to help her. But as a present, he had gotten a small viel.

"Thank you for your help. You are quite the hard worker." The old woman said, sitting on the chair when everything was finally set up. She looked at him with a sly smile on her face. The old woman he later realized had a way of speaking, that wasn't normal. Weird yet at the same time sharp... too sharp. “Too bad you are stuck with such a mean spirit woman. How you handle such a woman for so long now… I am impressed.” Sharp as in she knew too much than he would have liked for a stranger to know.

"Buahahaha, don't worry boy this would be the last you would ever hear from me after this." The old woman laughed at his stiff glare. He didn't know how she did it but she seemed to know a lot about his relationship with his wife and the trouble that he was in yet at the same time she had a knack for poking at his sore spots. 

Before Richard could think about calling the police she suddenly pulled out a vial inside containing a blue liquid, "You help me with my little trouble so I want to give you a little something, that could help you with your own little trouble. Besides, I couldn't resist helping someone in need.” 

“A little swap potion, let your wife and your sweetheart drink it and they will swap at the start of the next day. The lil spell would wear off in a month but if there is nothing to return to… well then that means nothing could even happen. Dont yah think so boy? Haha!” He took the vial from the lady, thinking about throwing it when she was nowhere in sight. The creepy grin didn't match her so-called kind action, but she was not finished with talking.

“You better move fast my boy, that woman will make sure you will be dead before a year. It is very easy to hide evidence with a car crash.”

After that, it was difficult to throw the thin vial. Part of him could not drop the liquid into the bin, so he stored it on his office desk, locked but with a key, along with other important documents and such.

"Richard!! Why did you not show up at the dinner party?! Do you know how much embarrassment you have caused me?" his wife screamed. He couldn't help but groan in annoyance the moment he walked through the entrance. It was too early in the morning for such screaming, but she just continued on and on: "And why are you here now?!! It is the next day!? Explain yourself!"

"I don't need to explain myself to you at all." Walking past his wife who was glaring daggers at him. The more he learned about his wife the more he realized that she was similar to his parents, cared only about reputation, and was selfish putting themselves first before anything else. Hypocrites. "I had to finish up some work so I stayed at my office. I needed to finish all the file work before the meeting." Unlike a certain someone who would come home the next day afternoon after being in someone else's arms. 

Walking into his own home, he could not recognize it... everything was thrown about and trashed everywhere. Expensive decorations on the floor and shattered. Sofa and pillows ripped letting cotton spill from them. Walls wet and dirty with glass cups, and pots of plants shattered on the floor. Looking at everything he kept his anger internally holding everything in as he continued to walk towards his office and bedroom locked with a key.

This wasn't the first time this happened, he had found out that there was no use to teaching someone who saw no reason to change her ways. He just needs to call in some cleaners, replace the things that broke and that was it.

Heading to his home office to place his bag on the table he suddenly received a text on his phone. Pulling out the device to check who it was while the woman continued to scream at him.

"That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me you couldn't join the dinner!" It was because she wouldn't listen, no matter what. If he had told her, she would have either demanded that he come or screamed at him—first on the phone, then again when he got home. "Answer your phone when I call! Are you even listening to me?!"

He knew of the calls and messages. She had been calling non-stop and texting for an hour since he didn't come to her friends' dinner. He just didn't care to answer and left it on mute to let him focus on his work. Looking at the sender he couldn't help but sigh.

"Hey, I am talking to you!" Her shrill screaming was mind-numbing as he got his clothes unable to stand her voice and would rather change elsewhere. "RICHARD!!!"

He quickly left the house and got into his car, ignoring the high-heeled shoe that was thrown at him—missing as it landed. Starting the engine, he drove off, tuning out her shouts.

It was past midnight, and he was alone on the road. No one else was in sight. As he waited at a red light, he pulled out his phone to check a message. It was from a "friend" he had made at university, inviting him to dinner the next day. The guy had always been friendly—or at least tried to be. He had the personality of a know-it-all, and while he didn’t care for him much, it seemed the guy had once considered them friends. That was until money and popularity got to his head.

The guy knew a lot and had multiple connections and friends, he was the one who helped him find a cleaner will to keep silent about everything that happened in the house after the housemaid quit due to his wife assuming that he and the maid had done something sexual in the bedroom. The woman was crying as her hair had been pulled and her face slapped by his wife.

He also had seen the lust in that friend's eyes whenever he looked at her. Even after the guy was married for over a year he still looked at another wife with lust, it was disgusting to Richard that his friend would do such a thing but as the guy had helped him with a few of his troubles he didn't just cut him away.

The message was an invite for a double date. Having just left his house and his furious wife behind (not that he would ever take her anywhere unless absolutely forced), he tried to decline, saying that his wife was a bit "busy."

[Dude, dont worry about it and just come then.]

[Won't it be awkward for your wife?]

[It doesn't matter she would just say that it is fine either way.]

[Don't leave me here with her. You have already talked with her either way it is not a problem anymore. ]

From what he remembered it seemed that it was an arranged marriage between the two. Something that was decided by their parents for the benefit of their companies. The guy absolutely hated the fact that he was pushed into this marriage and had nothing good to say about his wife but that was a goody two shoes and boring. "She lacks the wildness that I am looking for." The guy said he was drinking in a bar one time having called him to express his frustrations after an official meeting with her. "She probably doesn't know anything except how to clean dishes.”

"I would not leave the house with a babe like yours. How do you keep everything in your pants?" The guy asked too drunk from all the alcohol to be careful with his words. "You might like my fiance a lot with your uptight attitude and lack of fun. Maybe we should switch wives later. Hey, wanna wife swap one time? It would be fun~~."

He had ignored the very obvious lust in the guy’s eyes, choosing not to address it and instead steer the conversation elsewhere. In the end, between hiccups, the guy told him he’d introduce him to his future wife and insisted that he should come to the wedding.

A few days later, with the invitation in hand, he attended the wedding. There, he saw the guy’s wife—and he was absolutely floored.

It was just a moment. A fleeting glimpse. He caught sight of her for only a second, walking toward his friend across the hall. Through the open door of the bride's room, he saw her, and he froze.

She was stunning.

He could not believe that a woman like you would become the wife of the guy. He wanted to take a step back to see you again, yet when his wife called him he was forced to start walking again not wanting to cause a scene due to her fickle pride. 

After all, he could see you again on the walkway when the wedding starts.

But he didn't want to leave either way.

Seated on the husband's side as the music stopped hinting to the guest that it was about to start soon. He watched as his friend walked the aisle, knowing but not commenting on the dirty slutish look his wife was giving to the guy looking at him up and down and waiting for you to show up.

You arrived soon after, dressed elegantly and sophisticated holding bouquets of flowers. He noticed how pretty you were, your walk and movements were elegant and soft, a far cry to his wife who walked to call the men's attention dressed a little too revealing for the formal occasion.

Would he have married a woman like you if this wench hadn’t come to destroy his life? Would he have married you if your parents and your friend’s family hadn’t forced the two of you into it? If this wasn’t some kind of mask, and this really was you, he wouldn’t have any complaints about being stuck with you. In fact, he would have demanded it—forced it, if he could. But that wasn’t how life turned out... You were not his.

The wedding soon came to an end and that was it. Legally you were tied to his friend while he was already stuck with his own problems. It wasn't fair. He just couldn't let it go as he stayed in his seat even after the end of the wedding speech as everybody started to leave to eat and dance. While his wife went to meet up with the groom he stayed where he was just thinking.

How surprised he was that he ended up meeting you so soon.

The guy had invited him to dinner a few times and he quickly understood that it was to have someone else in the group after the guy was forced by his parents to take you out a few times. But that didn't matter to him when he was finally able to talk to you, to chat with you.

When he reached the restaurant, the guy stood up after a small conversation, stating that he needed to run to the bathroom, take a call, or use some other excuse he had up his sleeve. He left the table for as long as possible only to come back near the end with maybe a lipstick on his shirt or something. And if Richard’s wife was there, the guy would start subtlety flirting with his wife, uncaring if he or his own wife was there, not that the woman herself cared.

He pitied you, as you kept on your smile even when your eyes swirled with an understanding of your place, yet at the same time, you were still so hurt. You were silent for the most part keeping to yourself.

You and he become rather close but not really, it was a kind of comradery of your situations or that was what he would like to think. Whenever you and him were left alone, rather than keep the awkward air around he would start to talk to you.

You were a little flustered at first but slowly you started to get used to talking with him. Chatting amicably as if enjoying the conversation between you and him. He also did enjoy conversing with you. No heavy topics, it wasn't business or anything to do with work but stuff like traveling, hobbies, and favorite food. The things that you would like to do if you only had the time or chance to do them. 

You weren't loud but you were delicate, gentle, and easy to fluster too. You were polite and careful with your words but also curious asking him many questions when he talks about his own stories. You would keep all your attention on him, even if he noticed you didn't seem maybe that interested in a topic or two.

There was one time he went to your apartment, an invitation from your husband who invited him and his wife. Your place was in a high-end apartment probably paid by the family, with decorations that were chic and modern but there was also a homely feeling to the place, cleaned and cared for with love, unlike his messed up house. The smell of the house was similar to that of a fragrant laundry detergent instead of strong perfume. Just for a moment, he realized that you were the one who did all this when he saw you coming out from the kitchen unwrapping the apron you were wearing.

Just for a moment you gave him an actual vision of a home, a vision of what he wanted so much and could have had yet was taken away from him. You gave him a vision of what it would be like to have a wife who cares so much. 

He could not help but crumble and fall.

He started to crave for you, the more he chatted with you the more he fell every night he fantasized about you in his arms. He wished... he craved for you so much that he thought he started having delusions that you were his. At night, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing you clearly in the darkness.

But you just had to break everything, you just had to slam a hammer to his dreams and fantasies just like everyone else.

"I'm sorry," you said, a sorrowful smile on your lips. "I know my husband is using you to get out of our date. I apologize for taking up your time when you're so busy. Please, I’ll make sure this doesn't happen again. You don’t have to come every time he asks you to. I’m sure you’re busy too."

Why...? Why did you say that? He thought you knew that he already understood. He thought you knew that it didn’t bother him at all—especially when you both always had such enjoyable conversations. Why did you apologize? Why would you tell him to stop coming? Why were you pushing him away?

Your eyes looked at him in sorry and guilt and it clicked you were scared you were so scared that something wrong might happen. Because in the end, you were loyal, loyal to a man who didn't even love you.

It made him livid. 

Even if you thought you knew more than he did, he was the one who knew more. He knew well what your husband does on nights that he isn't home, where he goes, and what he does there. In Richard’s own house, he could hear the sounds of two people with familiar voices thinking they were alone. 

His wife and your husband.

You didn't know that, while you probably knew that he partied every day you seemed to have hope that he didn't have the audacity to lay in bed with another married woman much less the wife of his own friend. He didn't care who that guy lay with, but it made him irritated that a guy like him had you.

That appointment ended up awkward. Too awkward as both of you waited for your husband to arrive. The guy knew something was up the moment he arrived but seemed to choose not to say anything having enough tack not to right at that moment when he usually didn't.

Looking at the message again he sighed declining the invite again even when the guy tried to put up a fuss. It was just that he could not face you right now, not when you made it clear that all you felt towards him was guilt.

If only it was you... if only he had found you first if that woman didn't chain herself to him using blackmail and connections.

If he could just swap his wife with you he would have been happier... he would have the life he wished he had and he would spoil you with all his love and time. While you would wait oh so lovingly for him while cooking and cleaning while he worked to bring the money to keep you happy materially. He would be a better husband than your own and he already knew that you would be a far more better wife than his own.

But you just had to draw that line. That line of law and morality.

Watching the road as he drove, he could not help but let annoyance fester him at this whole situation till he saw a poster pass by him. Purple with a familiar design that he saw just this morning. Something to do with a certain fortune teller who knew a little too much and who gave him a small vial.

Truthfully he didn't believe in such things, but part of him had become so desperate that he just could not think straight. He was desperate and he knew that the old woman knew that and was laughing at him for it.

"Here yah go. This is a little something that would have cost a shit ton but I am gonna give it to you for free." The old woman cackled, she was having way too much fun knowing his situation. "If you plan to add this to a drink don't worry about the colour at all."

He didn't believe in such things. But there was a whisper in his mind a little spell in his brain that told him that this would work. That there was something different about that mad woman who probably lived only in entertainment.

His hand moved before he could even think about it, accepting the dinner invitation as he finally reached his office. It was supposed to be closed, but a few employees were pulling an all-nighter, so the building wasn't locked. In his mind, all he could think about was the life he once dreamed of—the life that had been taken away from him. All he wanted was a life with you, and that thing—that vial—would be the answer to all his problems.

[kyofsonder]

I understand the immediate emotional recoil, and the need to defend humanity and/or the self. You read "we each have a nazi in us" and it's perfectly reasonable for the emotional part of your brain to think "that word means evil and I don't want to live in a world where I have evil inside me -- I might not be a good person, but I'm not evil." It makes sense that this fear would naturally override calmer analysis of what's actually being said.

"We all have evil within us" doesn't mean we all act on that evil. It doesn't mean we all have an evil phase where we're cruel and bigoted until we see the light. It doesn't mean we all have a curse that transforms us into were-nazis on a full moon.

It means that "hatred, rage, fear, narcissistic self-regard and contempt for others" as actions and beliefs that harm others are the building blocks of what we call evil by another name. It means that everybody gets mad, finds things or people to hate, gets scared, gets too much in their own head, and forgets that others deserve patience and respect. Everybody has the capacity for these things in normal, manageable, human degrees.

Everybody also has the capacity to have these things turned up full volume in their own heads until nothing else gets through. There are people whose internal slider goes up the less they're exposed to the humanity of others, and in their isolation they become so bitter and hateful that they look down on others in a way that becomes outright cruel. There are people whose internal slider goes up the more they're exposed to other people's cruelty, and in their fear they decide to fight fire with fire. Become cruel or die. This is the impact of trauma that the author is talking about.

We are not all evil by default. We are not all good by default. We are all human by default, and that means all of us have emotions that can be turned into actions and all of our actions can be cruel or kind or otherwise if we let them.

It's our responsibility, individually, to check on our emotional state and our emotional history (with whatever guidance we need to make it safe, some people need workbooks and others need groupchats and others need to try a few times to find a good therapist) and make sure our sliders are set at safe and reasonable levels. It's up to us to avoid having the evil that's within us become evil that acts on the world around us.

If this helps, it's a little like saying all cats are dangerous because they have claws. It's true that claws are dangerous, even a small cut can become easily infected. It's true that having claws is the normal state for a cat. It's not true that all cats will scratch no matter how you treat them. It's not true that all cats need to he declawed to be safe around humans, and the declawing process is actually actively harmful to cats. It's not true that all cats are dangerous to humans any more than it's true that all humans are evil. What is true is that it's important to treat our cats with patience and understanding, and teach them proper claw control so they don't scratch us by accident. We find compromises that are the least harmful to both cat and human in those cases where claw control can't be taught.

To say "we each have a nazi in us" is to say "cats each have claws within them." We don't need to defend ourselves against the statement. We don't need to apologize pre-emptively for being evil. We need to treat ourselves with patience and understanding, and learn proper emotional and mental control so we don't fall into hateful doctrine or lash out emotionally.

We all have the capacity for cruelty. Every person in the world. No matter what. It's up to us how to manage that, and whether we want to break the cycle of cruelty that already exists.

im gonna be real with you guys a little but you are all deeply fucking stupid

[peachsayshi]

// brutally soft // II. 

baby daddy!sukuna x reader 

tags: non curse au; fluff; tension; reader and sukuna are co-parents; girl dad sukuna; mentions troubled past with sukuna; alludes to significant size different; sukuna being extremely soft | wc: x | read this for more context & this

note: you and sukuna attend your daughter's winter performance at school

dni if your blog is blank / ageless / or are a minor

your lips part, eyes widening as the crisp air stings the tip of your nose.

you take sukuna in - his tall body leaning against the pillar of the kindergarten in an outfit that's far too sharp than anything you've ever seen him in.

an overcoat, pressed matching colored slacks, a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle, polished loafers and a dark charcoal turtleneck hugging all the muscle he carries. the all black attire highlights his fiery hair and silver piercings glittering underneath the warm light. he has one hand in his pocket, the other flicking through his phone screen.

your heart hammers. the space between your leg pulses.

he looks so good.

you step forward, the heel of your boot climbing up the concrete stairs. he looks up when he hears you approaching, and stands upright to greet you with a warm smile. "hey," he states calmly, berry tinted irises tracking down your body to subtly check you out.

"hi," you reply, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. sukuna rarely ever dressed up like this. he was a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy. he owned one denim and one leather jacket. he loved worn band tees, gym attire and cut out shirts. he hated spending money on clothes because he found it "frivolous" and instead would blow it on his motorbike, booze, and weed. he rented a suit once and complained the entire time. but this...

"you look," you stammered, unable to ignore the slight spark that ignited between the space where you both stood. "you look really good, ryo..."

he runs his hand over his freshly trimmed undercut, the scent of oak moss and wood wafting across your nose and making you picture an evergreen forest.

"thanks," he murmurs with a slight pout, his face falling into an honest expression of uncertainty. "I thought I overdid it a little..." "not at all, you look…fantastic…” you answer with a shake of your head and a firm word of reassurance. "this shit cost me an arm and a leg, but I had nothing else to wear tonight..." he huffed, before relaxing his stance. "glad it paid off at least" you furrow your brows softly, "you bought all this for her play?" a hint of pink kisses sukuna's cheeks and he averts his eyes shyly. "yeah, the brat keeps complaining about my scary clothes and shit..." your heart melts over the gesture.

when you think about how much sukuna cares for your daughter, how much he wants to prove to her and everyone else around him that he does, in fact, take his role as a father seriously, it makes you immensely proud of him.

you've seen the growth in the man.

the sukuna you knew five years ago and the man standing before you now were two completely different people.

and that fact messes with your head.

you swore to yourself that you would never take him back.

that you would never give him a second chance.

"anyway, shall we head inside? the show is about to start in fifteen minutes..." he interjects, cutting your thoughts abruptly before you even have a chance to tell him anything else.

you nod your head, and he casually places his palm against the small of your back to lead you inside.

the parents were cramped in the auditorium, the steel fold out chairs were uncomfortably cold but even more so for your former ex lover who was struggling to find a position for his large physique. after watching him suffer for a few minutes, you finally offered him your own seat on the aisle to give his legs a bit of breathing room.

"fucking hell, all this money we spend and they can't get some decent chairs in..." he complains and you chuckle as you bump his shoulder into his.

the performance was all about celebrating the seasons of the year and each class from the kindergarten were set to perform a specific season. the first batch of kids started with the spring season, where the kids sang and danced in little floral costumes as they taught the audience in question all about how spring brings abundance and the start of something new. the next scene moved into summer, where the performance transitioned to upbeat tempos as the kids celebrated the warmth that the season brings. the third scene transitoned to fall, where the colors of the set morphed into earth tones as the kids sang about the celebration of the harvest.

and finally it was the last scene to honor the beauty of the ice, cold winter. the scene where your daughter was performing. you nudge sukuna when you notice him dozing off, and he instantly perks upright to catch the part that he's been waiting for all night.

his face lights up when his daughter scampers onto the stage, dressed as a sparkling little snowflake. you both can see her eyes scanning the crowd, and her face brightens when she finds the two of you.

sukuna leans in to whisper in your ear, "she wanted to wear that from when she woke up this morning..."

"and did you let her?" you prod, teasing him over his softness towards her and knowing full well that she could have easily gotten her way with him.

"hell no. I wasn't going to deal with the mess of all that glitter," he answers back, your voices getting lower as the audience hushes.

the performance starts - your daughter is twirling and moving with confidence. she sings along with the choir and whenever you glance towards sukuna, you find him beaming with pride the entire time.

and then there was her big moment, her solo.

the one she has been going on and on about for weeks.

the spotlight shines on her as she takes center stage, her small hands squeezing into two tight balls as she shifts her weight from one foot to the next.

she's nervous, you can see it and it makes you itch with anticipation. you can't help but tug at sukuna's sleeve subconsciously, but the man responds by naturally taking your hand in his own.

your daughter swallows the lump in her throat, a hint of fear veiling her eyes as she glances to the side of the stage then back to the audience.

her eyes fall to you and sukuna once again, and the man simply meets her focus as he playfully waves his fingers in her direction.

her small hand relaxes, and she gives him a secret wave in return before easing her stance.

your eyes sting with tears at the interaction before she starts to sing.

you're holding your breath the entire time, pride sitting at your throat as you let go of sukuna to pull out your camera to record the entire thing. her confidence unfurls as she carries on her performance, making you think of all the afternoons and evenings she has spent performing her solo in front of you and probably sukuna while at home. by the end she takes a dramatic bow before returning to the rest of her cast.

you pause the video and turn to the man by your side who is applauding louder than everyone else in the room.

he looks at you with nothing but fulfillment.

"that's our girl," he says with a wolfish grin and cheeky wink, only triggering happy tears to fall.

sukuna drapes his arm around you, and you sling your own around his bicep in return, the other wiping away at your cheek. "yeah," you answer with a sniffle, "yeah it is"

for a moment your eyes lock, the two of forgetting your surroundings as the final song ensues.

“thank you for bringing her into my world,” sukuna murmurs, his lips merely inches from yours. but you don’t even pick up on the depth of what his gratitude even means.

you dab away at the dampness on your face. “that girl is your world, ryo” you tease but pause when you notice his face soften as he dips his gaze to your bottom lip.

“you both are.” he clarifies earnestly, but you are too stunned to speak.

he leans forward, and replicates what happened on the sofa just a few months ago by placing a small but innocent kiss on the corner of your lip.

“you both are.”

[wandaslovey]

ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ; ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴋʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.3k

authors note: part two is here!! let me just say, thank you all SO so much for all the love you gave me for part one 🫶🏻. there’s a little treat for y’all at the end 🤭 comment to be added to the tag list! this is not proofread.

authors note: for part three, i’m probably going to do a time skip where the contract has been signed and their relationship has begun. don’t worry though, it will still be in the beginning stages!

content warning(s): legal age gap, dom/sub dynamics, in-depth discussions about bdsm and bdsm contracts, kissing, brief mentions of masturbation

if you haven’t yet, read part one here

═════════════

you pop in your wireless earbuds, scrolling on your phone to one of your comfort playlists. it was saturday and you were currently in a taxi on your way to the maximoff-romanoff household. it felt so surreal being in this situation. the more you thought about it, the more nervous you felt, so you opted for listening to some music to calm your nerves.

they’d texted you their address the day before, and you were surprised to find out they lived outside the city in the suburbs. not just any suburbs though—the rich suburbs. scarsdale to be more specific. it was just over 20 miles out of manhattan, so the drive usually took between 30-40 minutes, depending on traffic.

you found yourself feeling grateful that mrs. romanoff texted you early in the morning, telling you she insisted they cover the cost of the taxi as when you glance up at the meter halfway through the drive, it was already almost $100.

you’d thought a lot about your coffee “date” with the two married lawyers. you’d taken it upon yourself to do some of your own research on google the afternoon after returning home, but you quickly regretted it as all the images of people tied in uncomfortable positions frightened you. it didn’t help that the majority of the websites listed first were amateurs who didn’t truly understand bdsm dynamics or relationships—but you didn’t know that yet.

there was something else that made you uncomfortable. well, rather something that made you feel shamefully hot in a way you weren’t familiar with. you think back to a few days ago at the coffee shop, noticing all the little ways both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff gently asserted dominance: they both waited outside, the door was held open for you, they ordered and paid for you, mrs. maximoff guided you gently through the shop, mrs. romanoff hailed you a cab and they both saw you off.. it was all in the little things. all those little things which were carefully calculated and amounted to you feeling safe—cared for. you never imagined you would notice, let alone care for someone to take charge in that way, but you did. you couldn’t begin to imagine all the others things that were typically encapsulated within a dominant. things you were sure both mrs.romanoff and her wife possessed. how far did their dominating desire go? was there anything they didn’t like to have control of?

the cab driver turns down their street, slowing down after passing the first 3 well-spaced out houses and you look out the window to see what you assume to be their home. their house had a clean, modern vibe with some bold design elements. the exterior was wrapped in crisp white paneling, which contrasted against the deep black roof and window frames. the windows were framed with sleek black trim, giving the house a more modern/contemporary feel. the front porch had a few steps leading up to the door, and above it, there’s a simple black square awning that extends out, adding a cool architectural touch. it gave the entrance a little extra character while still keeping things minimal. to the side, there’s a driveway that leads to the garage, and the front featured a circular driveway that made for an easy and elegant arrival or departure. the layout felt both functional and stylish, and modern yet still welcoming.

it’s mrs. maximoff that comes out of the house to greet you. she was dressed in a simple black long-sleeved button up with some white wide leg jeans. her hair was up, twisted in a messy knot that still managed to look elegant. she looked beautiful.

she quickly makes her way over to the taxi driver, handing him a wad of cash without batting an eye. you couldn’t see for sure, but it looked like more than the actual fee that was meant to be paid.

“hey, you,” her greeting paired with what seemed to be her signature smile made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. she seemed genuinely happy to see you again, and for that you felt delighted. you were equally as excited to see her again, even if the circumstances were a bit nerve wracking.

you return her greeting with a small hello, feeling a little flustered when she looks you over in a not-so secretive way.

“look at you…

you know, you really didn’t have to get all dressed up for us,” she grins blithely before leading the way back through the circular drive to the front door.

“this? oh i sort of just threw it on… should i have chosen something else?” you ask shyly as you keep pace with her, walking right by her side.

you’d chosen to wear a rose taupe ruched mini dress with white high tops, and you did not in fact ‘just throw it on.’ it was the 5th outfit you’d tried on before deciding that was what you’d wear.

“i’m messing with you, dragotsennaya veshch. you look very beautiful,” she appraises you and you feel yourself blush at the attention. you remember the nickname from the last time she called you that, but you still had no idea what it meant.

she steps in front, reaching to open the door for you before you both step inside. you marvel at the interior, which was just as beautiful as the outside, however it was less bright. there were more dark tones in here mimicking that of the office at their law firm.

“wow…you guys have a beautiful home,” you muse, admiring the high ceiling in the entry way and the minimal decor.

“well, thank you. follow me.” she speaks warmly, stepping ahead of you to lead you through the house. you find yourself looking around as she walks in front of you, noticing that there weren’t very many personal touches, but they were there if you looked hard enough. in a way, their house almost look like a museum—free of dust and exceptionally organized.

she leads you into a huge open room which appeared to be a cozy living space and just a little past that, the kitchen. there were black pendant lights dangling from the ceiling above the island, which had a black and white marble countertop. you see mrs. romanoff with her back to you, pouring herself a glass of filtered water.

“natasha, our guest is here,” she announces, placing a hand on your back and gently nudging you forward closer to the counter top. natasha turns, an easy smile gracing her features.

even with just a brief glimpse, you couldn’t help but observe how she seemed to be much more at ease in her home. her usual more stiff posture relaxed and the air around her felt a little lighter than normal.

“hi there, pretty girl,” she looks you over, just as her wife did, only she does it even more obviously. “wearing another cute outfit i see,” she murmurs, but it seems like the observation was mostly meant for herself as her eyes continue skimming your figure.

“i thought the same thing! i told her she didn’t have to dress up for us,” mrs. maximoff chuckles, her wife joining in. for that moment, it was as if they were talking about you like weren’t even there, which brought back a now familiar feeling of being small in their presence.

you shrug, ducking your head forward so your hair falls into your face, covering your blush. you hear mrs. romanoff set her glass on the countertop before she rounds the kitchen island, walking until she was standing right next to you. you watch her through your peripheral vision until she’s close enough that you half turn to face her. her hand comes up to gently lift your chin, her finger curling underneath it.

“hey, we’re just teasing you. don’t hide your face from me.” her voice was gentle yet you could sense that she was being serious about you trying to hide your bashfulness from her. you nod your head very slowly, now captivated with her closeness and the air of dominance she carried over with her.

“good. i’d hate to miss seeing these cheeks blush. it’s very cute,” she adds, making your cheeks flame even hotter. she smiles at that, immediately noticing the difference in shade.

“wanda, look at her,” she muses and your eyes dart from hers to mrs. maximoff who steps over to her wife’s side, appraising your pink cheeks with a smile of her own.

“da—dragotsennaya veshch. i told you the name suits her perfectly,” mrs. romanoff hums at her wife’s comment. they both gaze at you, desire and sinful admiration gleaming behind their impossibly green eyes. you fight the urge to suck on your bottom lip, figuring it would only give them more fuel to embarrass you.

you were about to ruin their little moment and ask what name it was that wanda kept referring to you as, but mrs. romanoff suddenly drops her hand, the both of them stepping back away from you.

“do you want some water, (y/n)? are you thirsty?” mrs. romanoff asks, already rounding the counter to the cupboard to retrieve a glass.

“yeah sure,” you nod politely, reaching to grab the glass from her once she’s filled it with water. you take a swig, regardless of not actually being thirsty.

“here, come sit,” mrs. maximoff puts a hand on your elbow, guiding you into the living room area which was just a step down from the kitchen. there was a large sofa towards the center, facing a whole glass wall which stretched across the large open room and overlooked their beautiful backyard. it was so green; many trees, bushes and grass to marvel at.

mrs. maximoff sits on the couch, patting the spot next to her. you sit down, your glass in hand, which she gently takes from you and sets in a cup holder to your right. as she reaches over you, even for the brief moment, you smell a trace of her perfume which smelled something like pears, fig leaves and sandalwood. it was heavenly and somehow seemed to fit her perfectly.

“so, how was the rest of your week? how were your classes?” she asks, propping her elbow on the back couch cushion and resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. something about having her full attention on you in such close proximity made your heart stutter.

“it was good! i only go in person 3 days a week and the rest is online. the homework load was about a medium for this week, so i wasn’t too overwhelmed or anything.” as you speak, mrs. romanoff enters the living room, sitting next to her wife on the couch. she crosses her legs, leaning close to her wife so she can see you just as well.

“what does a ‘medium’ homework load look like to you?” mrs. romanoff asks with a smirk. she must’ve remembered what you’d said at the interview about loving homework.

you sigh amusedly, giving wanda a quick glance to see a touch of a knowing smile on her face. you two were fellow academic lovers it seemed like.

“2 short essays, 3 discussion boards and 1 little worksheet thing.. no big deal,” you giggle softly when mrs. romanoff rolls her eyes at your response.

“right - okay,” she mutters though there’s an affectionate smile curling at her lips.

there was a small bout of silence which was comfortable given the light-hearted tone of the conversation, but that didn’t last very long.

“so, have you thought any more about our conversation at the coffee shop?” mrs. romanoff asks. your tummy does a flip flop at the change in subject, but you knew this was ultimately what you were here for.

“a-a little yeah,” you say, not offering anything else just yet. you look down at your lap, your hands playing with the hem of your dress ending several inches above your knee.

“anything you’d like to share?” mrs. romanoff presses, her features etched with amused interest. she loved the way you instantly became more shy with the new topic of conversation.

“uhm.. well i found some stuff on the internet.. more pictures and some examples of the..um..contracts you mentioned,” you pause, your eyes flickering up from your lap to mrs. maximoff’s face and then her wife’s. mrs. maximoff nods encouragingly, wanting you to continue.

“the contracts largely consisted of rules? is that accurate—like something you guys want from me?” you ask slowly, fighting the urge to bury yourself in a hole and hide. you could feel your skin crawling from how out of your element you felt.

“yes, our contract would have rules. we only have a few set rules for each submissive, but the others we come up with will be personalized just for you once we begin our..relationship,” mrs. maximoff tucks some hair behind your ear, her hand resting just above your knee, trying to be reassuring.

you swallow, gathering up the courage to ask your new follow-up question. “what sort of rules?” your mind thinks back to the many drafted up contracts on the internet, wondering if any of the rules you saw there were ones they’d want for you.

“before we answer that—how do you feel about rules? just thinking about it right now, how would you feel if there were rules we asked you to follow?” mrs. romanoff asks, leaning forward as she rests her elbows on her blue-jean clad thighs. you ponder her question, playing out a scenario in your mind. you remember one “sample” rule you saw online: ‘always greet your dominant kneeling by the door upon their arrival.’ that one was more extreme. you thought of two others: no touching yourself without permission and always address your dominant by their honorific. those ones made your cheeks flush red again, a deep blush gracing your features that couldn’t be ignored.

“look at that blush.. now you have to tell us what you’re thinking,” mrs. maximoff gently nudges you with her shoulder, giving your thigh a little squeeze.

you clear your throat, your fingers drawing imaginary patters on the thigh mrs. maximoff wasn’t holding. “i was just remembering some of the rules..” you reply vaguely. mrs. maximoff hums, sounding unsatisfied with your concise answer. she gently lifts your chin as her wife did earlier, her pointer finger curled under your jaw and her thumb holding your chin in place.

“hey, listen to me. if talking about this truly makes you uncomfortable, we can stop right now. we don’t have to do this if it’s not something you want,” you look into her green eyes, reading the gentleness and sincerity there. your eyes flicker over to mrs. romanoff who had a similar expression, and she nodded at her wife, drawing your attention back to mrs. maximoff.

you hold eye contact with her for a few seconds, finding great comfort in the tenderness held in her green orbs. “that’s not what i want,” you manage to speak, pausing for a second to gather your thoughts. “i’m just not used to talking so openly about this kind of stuff…or having this much attention,” you admit softly, wanting to look down but wanda’s fingers hold you firmly in place.

“you don’t have to be so embarrassed, honey, though it is really cute. still.. this is a safe space. you can ask or tell us anything,” mrs. romanoff reaches her hand across her wife and affectionately traces down your nose, smiling as she does so.

“you think it’s cute?” you blurt the question aloud without really thinking to stop yourself. mrs. romanoff grins wider, a gleam twinkling in her eye.

“it is. i don’t know if i’ve ever met somebody so innocent. it’s equally as cute as it is sexy.” you smile shyly at her words, looking back from her to her wife. mrs. maximoff smiles, her eyes flicking down to your lip which you coyly sucked into your mouth. she uses her thumb to pull your lip free from your teeth, tsking gently as she does so. your breath hitches at the action which both mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff notice but don’t comment on.

“how about this, why don’t we start somewhere else? how about you tell us why you didn’t say no right away when we posed the question the other day?” mrs. maximoff asks. you don’t have to think about her question long before you have an answer.

“i guess i was just intrigued.. i mean i guess the thought of being able to submit in some ways is..appealing to me?” you say it as a question, unsure you’re using the correct words to communicate your feelings.

“that’s a good start, detka. tell us more along those lines. what about it appeals to you?” mrs. romanoff encourages you.

you inhale slowly, looking off to the side as you think of how to expand upon your answer. “i think similar to other people, i would like a space or time where i don’t have to have control over all aspects of my life. kinda like…like i want to be able to shut my mind off sometimes - if that makes sense?” you half shrug your shoulder, looking between the two women to see if it looks like they understood your explanation.

“that makes perfect sense, sweetheart. that’s exactly what submission does. when you turn yourself over to your dominant, there’s a sense of freedom that comes with it. knowing that there’s someone you trust that is going to take control and steer you in a certain direction—and you don’t have to think or worry about anything.” mrs. maximoff’s explanation was very appealing to you. you think back on moments when life was really stressful and realize how much more doable those moments would have been had you been able to silence your mind for a little bit.

“that does sound really nice,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but both of the lawyers noticed. the two of them chuckle softly at your admission, thoroughly entertained by your cuteness.

mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff continue educating you on the many beauties of being a submissive. they’d told you it wasn’t just about the sex, in fact, the sex was never really as good if the dynamic wasn’t always held firmly in place in other aspects of life as well. you listen intently to their words, becoming more and more intrigued by the idea of signing a contract with them by the minute.

“(y/n)?” mrs. romanoff asks after a little bit of her and her wife talking at you.

“hmm?” you look at her curiously, her tone making you slightly nervous to hear her question.

“what was it earlier that had you so embarrassed? something about some rules you found online?” you swallow thickly, remembering the two rules that made you blush so deeply. up until this point, the three of you had all managed not to make this conversation so much about the sexual aspects of bdsm, but rather more the dynamics. your answering the question would change that.

“well…there was one about always addressing your dominant using their honorific and then, um.. well the other said..” you trail off, pressing your lips together as you bounce your leg a bit anxiously.

“it said what, dragotsennaya veshch? come on, i can see it on the tip of your tongue,” mrs. romanoff encourages, a devious smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“nottotouchyourselfwithoutpermission,” you mumble quickly, the beginning of a blush coloring the apples of your cheeks.

“ah, what was that?” mrs. romanoff makes a show of cupping her ear and tilting her head to show you she was listening, that same wicked smile still plastered on her face. she’d heard exactly what you said.

“natalia, bud' s ney milym,” mrs. maximoff says in what sounds like a gentle scolding tone.

mrs. romanoff just laughs, reaching over and cupping your jaw with one hand. “i can’t help it, look at her!” you pout at what you now knew was her teasing.

“it really is hard not to tease you when you look like that..” mrs. maximoff murmurs in her wife’s defense, tapping your nose as she has her own more subtle version of a wicked smile.

“i can’t help it! when you guys talk to me like that, i have to blush!” you explain, a little exasperated.

“like what?? like you’re the most adorable thing ever? i could eat you up (y/n), i swear to the gods,” mrs. romanoff grins at her own words, seemingly high on the current air in the room which was very light and fuzzy. mrs. maximoff chuckles, purposely squeezing what she guessed would be a sensitive part of your thigh to get you to join in their light laughter. you shake off the ticklish sensation, stubbornly pressing your lips in a firm line as to not smile as they were openly teasing you without mercy.

“not funny..” you mutter, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting cutely.

“you’re right - we’re getting off topic. so, back to the rule about not touching yourself…” mrs. romanoff starts, her tone teasing.

“okay! we can go back to teasing me again,” you say a little too loudly, feeling less embarrassed about the topic now, but still a little nervous.

“sorry little girl, you’re not gonna wiggle your way out of this one for a third time,” mrs. maximoff pokes your side before reaching down and casually lifting your legs to drape across both her and her wife’s lap. the sudden change of sitting position and new physical contact made your tummy flutter, your attention suddenly fully locked in on the two of them.

“would you have a problem with that rule?” mrs. maximoff asks, the tone in the air quickly changing again.

“uhm..well i-“ you clear your throat, running your hand nervously through your hair. “is that one of your set rules?” you feel mrs. maximoff’s fingers begin to lightly trace a small line up and down your thigh. she and mrs. romanoff both looked so in their element and you were just here—a clueless little thing.

“yes, it is,” mrs. maximoff responds. you swallow thickly again, a dull ache beginning to settle in your lower tummy. just the thought alone was beginning to make your body heat up. what did they do if their submissive did touch themselves?

“oh…what would you do if your submissive broke that rule?” you ask curiously, unable to keep that question to yourself.

mrs. romanoff looks at her wife and you could see a brief silent conversation happening with their eyes. they both turn their attention back to you before mrs. romanoff speaks up.

“there are a few punishments we would most likely choose from: a spanking, edging or overstimulation. the punishment our submissive would receive would depend on who is delivering the punishment and also what the submissive is okay with and work within her limits.” she explains it so casually, but you find her words anything but casual. you were surprised that the thought of being spanked made you shamefully hot. it was starting to seem like they were awakening something in you you didn’t know existed.

“edging..? is that like an orgasm denial thing?” you ask the clarifying question, both of their ease and openness on the topic beginning to rub off on you a bit. it really did feel like a safe space.

“mhmm, that’s exactly right,” mrs. romanoff nods her head, giving you an encouraging smile.

“so…why that rule?” as you ask your question, the short lines mrs. maximoff was drawing on your leg turn to intricate circles. she seemed to be doing it absentmindedly.

mrs. romanoff purses her lips, her eyes gleaming with desire. “because, detka. if you agree to be our submissive, your pleasure will belong to us. every sound you make, every twitch, every thought we want to be apart of—to possess and control.” her facial expression turns a little harder as she speaks, an air of dominance surrounding the three of you like a little bubble. you feel your mouth go dry, your legs unconsciously pressing together at her words.

“are you alright, sweetheart?” mrs. maximoff asks, noticing your cheeks flush and your legs press together as they still lay across her and her wife’s lap. she knows exactly why you’re suddenly more restless, but she can’t help but tease you a bit with it.

“mhmm, i’m fine,” you squeak, your voice cracking which you try to cover up by clearing your throat. your mind scrambles to think of another question—anything to get the intense attention off of you, even for a moment.

“what do your submissives call you?” you ask, hoping their answer wouldn’t make your panties any wetter than they were already becoming.

mrs. maximoff raises a hand to the side of your face, curling some hair behind your ear as she simply replies, “mommy—they address me as mommy.” she then reaches blindly to the side, cupping under mrs. romanoff’s chin. “and they call natasha, daddy.”

you hear your own breathing hitch, their honorifics taking you back a bit. somehow, they encapsulated those names perfectly but hearing mrs. maximoff say them out loud was a different thing. you picture yourself addressing them as such, and you feel your panties becoming wetter. you mentally slap yourself. you needed to get a grip otherwise you were going to start dripping onto your thigh.

“you like that, don’t you, krasivaya devushka?” mrs. romanoff asks in a low voice, her eyes drinking in your thighs which were now noticeably pressed firmly together.

where your mouth once felt dry, it was now watering. your lips part as you exhale breathily. you look from mrs. romanoff to mrs. maximoff who was now leaning closer to you, glancing at your lips. you lick them subconsciously, leaning closer to her. you feel her hand come to cradle the back of your head, her other hand cupping under your jaw, gripping it more firmly than you’d expect. your breath is shaky as your heart begins to pound in your ears, the smell from mrs. maximoff filling your nose as she leans even closer to you until your faces are merely inches apart.

“do you want this, dragotsennaya veshch?” her voice is seductive and slow as she enunciates her words. her green eyes were hooded, her lips looking so very tempting.

you nod your head, not taking your eyes off of her lips. you see a hint of a smile there as she closes the small gap, her lips parting slightly before she presses them against yours. her lips tasted faintly of grapefruit and you instantly want more of it.

your arms reach up to wrap around her neck as she kisses you slowly but deeply. she hums into your mouth, one of her hands sliding down your arm to your hip and gripping there firmly. so caught up in the sensations of her lips on yours and her hands touching you so expertly, you let out a small whimper. mrs. maximoff gives your hip a squeeze after hearing that, her tongue tracing your bottom lip. just as you part your lips to give her access to your mouth, she pulls away, a pleased smirk on her face.

“a little eager, are we?” she chuckles and it’s only after her comment that you realize in the midst of your kiss, you’ve curled your legs up in her lap, your arms wrapping tightly around her as you cling to her body.

you loosen your hold, feeling a little shy at having so easily gotten carried away. “m’sorry,” you mumble, your legs stretching back out so they’re sprawled across mrs. romanoff’s legs again.

“oh sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize. it’s very cute,” she coos at the end of her sentence, her finger coming up to delicately trace your bottom lip. you look at her, your soft eyes full of wonder and adoration.

“i want to do this,” you announce, looking between mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff who had begun stroking your legs as they rest on her thighs.

they both chuckle softly at your pronouncement, finding your sudden enthusiasm amusing.

“patience, pretty girl. there’s still some things we need to discuss before we have you sign the contract,” mrs. romanoff says before continuing, “i think we’ve explored enough for today. why don’t we send you a copy of our contract, you can review it,,and then when we get together next—if you still want to—you can sign it.” she suggests and you readily agree, knowing how badly you already want to see them again and how anxiously eager you are to continue exploring this new world.

you decide to see each other again tomorrow, which was at mrs. maximoff’s suggestion, but they both seemed equally eager to spend more time with you.

they order you an uber, insisting on paying the fee. mrs. romanoff got all stern when you’d said you really didn’t expect them to pay and she told you that was nonsense and that she didn’t want to hear you say another word about them covering costs of things for you.

as they walk you to the door, you say your goodbye’s, excited at the prospect of seeing them tomorrow. you make your way over to the uber parked in the circular driveway, mrs. maximoff lingering the doorway as mrs. romanoff walks you to the car. just before you reach for the door handle, you turn to say something to her and gasp softly when you realize she’s standing very close to you. you could sense a switch had flipped in her—the one that causes her to exude so much more dominant energy.

your posture becomes less dignified, your bottom lip sucked into your mouth as you glance up at her. she leans down close to you, her finger tilting your chin up.

“don’t touch yourself tonight,” she says firmly, her eyes locking in on yours.

“wh-what?” you breath out, feeling a little disoriented with her closeness and the energy she was exuding.

“you heard me—i know you’ll want to. regardless of the contract not being signed, i don’t want you to pleasure yourself. do you understand?” her voice is sinfully sexy as she commands you in a way no one ever has before.

your cheeks blush as you glance from the front door where mrs. maximoff was still standing and then back to her wife. you slowly nod your head, swallowing harshly as your neck was still extended from your chin being lifted up.

“good girl,” she praises, closing the gap and placing a peck on your unsuspecting lips. she releases your face, stepping back and opening the door for you as if nothing had happened. you climb inside in a daze, your eyes fogged over as your mind feels a little fuzzy.

“see you tomorrow, (y/n),” she drags your name out in a slight teasing tone before shutting the door, the car driving off as you’re left sitting there stunned.

there was no way you weren’t going to sign that contract.

——————————

tag list: @poppyshuman @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123-blog @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha @rosekjsses @moon3thereal @reginassecretlover @flyleaffreak @vanessashands @tigerlillyruiz @noturlondonboy @remuslupinschocolat3 @ssasa-romanoff @eccaterina1 @wandanatskitten @chiar4anna @womenarehotsstuff @luvforbills @tatesarchivee @mackenziemonday13 @reginassweetheart @sxlfishbrokenheart @wandanatbabybear @hapuchika

[nereidprinc3ss]

early seasons spencer and bau reader undercover at a club and it’s just like. he is so flustered but also weirdly confident and do with this what you will

in which spencer reid and BAU fem!reader have to pose as a couple at a club. she's more than a little flirty. the conversation actually gets quite suggestive. he's cute when he gets flustered.

warnings/tags: discussions of sex, reader wears a tight dress and makeup and heels, discussions of blushing but r's skin color is not implied to be light, i just needed a reason to talk about sex flush LOL, if u don't visibly blush this will still read fine

a/n: I LOVE EARLY SEASONS SPENCER X FLIRTY READER OH MY GODDD thank you for this request angel from heaven I hope you all like this as much as I do teehee

The bass buzzes through the floor and vibrates your teeth. House music has never really been your thing. Neither have tight dresses and high heels while on the job—but you’re willing to objectify yourself just a little if it will lure yet another loser who likes to chop up young couples into the awaiting arms of the American correctional system. 

Or to the wrong end of Emily's Glock. Whatever comes first.  

You scan the club—it’s not your usual scene, and you can only imagine how Dr. Reid is faring. As far as you can tell this is essentially his nightmare. It’s sensory overload central even for you. 

Your eyes catch on him at the bar, tucked away from the writhing crowd. He’s standing near the end, one arm resting on the surface while the other hand is jammed in his pocket. He seems completely unaware of the several women circling closer and closer. The whole earnest and dorky but still handsome thing seems to work well for him. Or, it would, if he had any interest in utilizing it. He’s dressed a little sharper than usual—no doubt styled by Morgan and Prentiss. Hell, the earnest dorkiness and the well fitted dark suit is working for you if nobody else. 

Sometimes he just looks… edible. 

And self-discipline doesn't always come naturally to you. 

“Doctor,” you purr in greeting, grazing the forearm propped up on the bar with white-tipped nails as you insert yourself in front of him. His fingers twitch under your light touch. 

Spencer doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sink down your frame, sticking to every highlighted curve like you’re dripping honey. Or maybe he just doesn’t realize that you can see that’s what he’s doing. 

“Hi. You look nice.”

“Aw,” you smile, dulling the salacious edge to your voice, “you didn’t have to say that. Someone’s improvising.”

“I meant it. That dress looks nice on you,” he says, simply, and you hate his specific brand of charm because it’s not intentional. It’s not something he puts on. It comes out of nowhere and always knocks you on your ass when it hits—even in the smallest doses. His eyes narrow and he leans closer. You can feel the energy rippling around him like a force field as he examines you. “You’re wearing more makeup than you normally do.”

“Do you like it? Penelope ordered the wrong shade of blush and gave it to me. Supposedly it’s meant to make me look like I just had an orgasm. I don’t know if I believe it.”

Much to your disappointment, Spencer leans back, scanning the crowd for your target and speaking as if he’s only half-interested. 

“That’s not what you would look like. Sex flush deepens the color of your entire face and chest, not just your cheeks.”

Your brows knit as you contend with unwelcome butterflies. 

“Buy me a drink before you start telling me what I’ll look like after I orgasm.”

That catches his attention, and his suddenly wide eyes snap to you. If he had a drink, he’d be choking on it. 

“I wasn’t—it was a general you, I’d never—that would be inappropriate. It was. It was inappropriate. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You lean with your back to the bar, elbows propped on black granite, and swing your hair over your shoulder. Spencer’s eyes dart back down to your décolletage and then up to the ceiling like he regrets being born. You smile wickedly. Much better. This is the way God intended for you to interact with Spencer Reid. 

“I’ll consider forgiving you. And I don’t blush. Not when I orgasm, not ever.”

Admittedly, you just want to milk the whole talking about you orgasming thing to see how pink you can make him. It’s not often you’re gifted with an opportunity to be so candid about your sexuality or flirt this unabashedly. But you are supposed to be posing as a couple. Maybe you’re just feeling extra in character. 

Instead of stumbling over his words some more, Spencer smiles with a degree of bemusement like he’s caught you in a white lie. 

His smile is so nice. His teeth are perfect, and his lips—

“Yes you do.”

Always so convinced he’s right, this one. 

It’s annoying. And kind of hot. 

“Uh, I promise you I do not.”

“Everyone blushes. It's a sympathetic nervous system activation response wherein blood rushes to your face. Your blood vessels dilate when you get flustered or anxious. Your face gets hot and your undertone changes.”

You raise your brows. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was challenging you. 

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Actually, no,” he mutters, losing any bravado and casting his eyes downward subserviently. “You have a habit of proving me wrong.”

“That’s right,” you gloat, smiling wide. Someone bumps into you, and you turn around, highly unprofessional insult locked and loaded—but it’s just a drunk girl who apologizes and stumbles off. The encounter does, however, remind you that you’re supposed to be finding a killer. “Do you think this is the best positioning? He might not be able to find us way over here.”

“You think we should move?”

You look back at him and nod, holding your hand out. He looks at it uncertainly. You waggle your fingers and infuse your words with sugar. 

“Oh, come on. I don’t want to lose you. And we’re supposed to look like a couple, remember?”

Gingerly he accepts your hand. His is bigger than you’d have thought. Not nearly as freezing as your own perpetually are. It occurs to you as you grab his hand that his bone structure really is bigger than yours. He’s… tall. He is, at the end of the day, a real life adult man. His presence is palpable behind you and you enjoy the weight of his hand in yours as you tug him through the crowd, perhaps not taking the most direct route through the throng just so you can savor being able to touch him like this for a little longer. 

Miraculously you spot an empty booth and slide into it. It’s a deep alcove, shadowy and secluded at the back. That’s where you settle, against black vinyl, and where you wave at Spencer to join you. 

He lingers at the edge of the table, glancing around at the groups of dancing and drinking young adults. 

“I don’t know. Can you even see the dance floor from back there?”

“Part of it. But I’m sure he’ll be looking in the booths for couples. He’ll come to us.”

Spencer faces you again and sighs ruefully, a begrudging smirk playing at his lips as he slides into the booth and joins you against the back wall. His side is warm against yours. He smells nice. Clean. Almost herbal, like patchouli or vetiver. 

“What? You really hate sitting next to me that much?”

Spencer’s lips part wryly before he speaks, like he almost thought better of it but decided to anyway. 

“I think you just wanted a reason to get me alone and secluded so you can finally accost me.”

Your knees bump. You lean into it. 

“Accost you? That seems harsh,” you pout, leaning toward him clandestinely to undo his top button.

“I don’t see how. You are literally trying to take my clothing off as we speak.”

“I’m just increasing your sex appeal. It’ll be good, trust me. Maybe you’ll even end up taking one of those girls from the bar home. Or—back to the hotel, I should say.”

Spencer covers your fussy hands with his own sweetly, like he can sense the true jealousy simmering underneath the sarcasm, and places them in your lap. The touch lingers.

“Are you always like this?” He murmurs, voice lower than you can recall ever hearing it and twisted into the shape of a smile. 

“Only with you, Dr. Reid. Speaking of, how about you? Do you flirt with many other FBI agents on official business?”

“Just the one. She’s kind of a full-time job.”

“Shut up. I’m basically your babysitter. If anything, I should be paid extra for dealing with you.”

“Attempting to seduce your charge seems like a bad business model. There are definitely some ethical issues there.”

His hands still rest on yours. You lace your fingers with his and speak sweetly, meeting his eyes best you can in the dark. 

“I wasn’t aware I was seducing you. Do you feel seduced?”

He’s the first to look away after a few seconds pass—pulls your hands apart gently, politely arranging them back on your lap. 

“I think you’re incorrigible and a terrible influence. In all honesty, you terrify me and more often than not I walk away from our interactions a little confused.”

You clap a hand to your heart, the bare skin revealed by your low cut dress warm under your fingers. 

“Spencer… that kind of turned me on.”

He just looks at you for a moment, a hint of a smile on his pretty face, long enough to make you feel a bit nervous. 

Then he’s leaning forward, and unconsciously so are you, almost forgetting to breath when you’re practically pressed against him in this booth and he’s whispering so low and sweet into your ear. 

“He’s watching us. Right across the floor, next to the girl in the blue dress. White button up and a leather jacket.” His hand slides over yours, fingers skimming your collarbone in the process as he interlocks your grasp once more. “Keep your hand right here and lean closer. We need to maintain his interest.”

“I don’t think I can lean any closer,” you breathe, hoping it doesn’t register as nervous as it really is. You’re supposed to be the confident one who teases him. “But if you want me to sit on your lap, just ask. I won’t say no.”

He chuckles, too loud to be amorous. It’s clearly genuine. It sounds like the way his reddened cheeks always look. It almost does more for you than the bedroom voice.

“You… you are beyond help. I don’t think you could be appropriate if your life depended on it.”

Slowly you pull back so you can look into his eyes—much closer than you normally have an excuse to. They dart wildly over your face, partially obscured by the dark which cuts shadows deep into the dramatic hollows of his bone structure. He really is so pretty. 

You glance toward the man, who’s pretending not to watch you. When you focus your attention back on Spencer, sliding your hand up the curve of his jaw, you find yourself making a dangerous wish. You find yourself wishing that you didn’t have an audience. That this wasn’t all for show. That neither of you had earpieces in.

His pulse hammers under your little finger, and his lips part slightly as he doesn’t have the wherewithal to not glance at yours. He’s so unaware of how obvious he’s being. It’s cute. 

You run the tips of your fingers through the hair in front of his ear, the one sans bluetooth, pushing it back, before leaning in close once more to whisper. 

“Good thing we’re not going for appropriate. Actually—your hands could stand to wander a little more, Dr. Reid. Let me know if you need me to tell you where to put them.”

[minghaoes]

pouty cuddles [drabble]

mingyu comes home after a day of filming gose and everyone's been meaner to him than usually. what else could he need than being in your arms and dramatically complain about his members, who he loves dearly?

TAGS: kim mingyu x gn!reader, fluff, established relationship, the members are mean to mingyu but he's handling it like a champ (he isn't)

WORD COUNT: 800 words

a/n: my first seventeen fic !! i haven't written fanfics in a minute and i'm a bit rusty so it's shorter than what i will post in the future, but i hope that y'all will enjoy it nevertheless :) please let me know what you think and happy reading !!

Mingyu was pouting. His lower lip was slightly puffed, his cheeks looked a little rounder than they usually did, and his eyes, his eyes were big and brown as they looked right into yours. His head was resting on your chest close to your chin, and Mingyu could not stop staring at your face. His arms were wrapped around your waist, and he seemed comically small in that moment. 

Your left hand softly caressed the warm skin on his back, as the fingers on your right slowly played with his curls. Mingyu sighed quietly and leaned into your touch, not before exaggerating his pout just a little bit more. It was enough to make you coo at him and press a butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose.

“They were mean to me,” Mingyu said, the pout ever so evident in his voice. You suppressed a laugh and indulged in his behaviour. “Who was mean to you, baby?”

Mingyu closed his eyes at the pet name and pressed his body even closer to yours. His body felt heavy on yours, but still comfortable. The warmth radiating from his body was enough to keep you warm, to keep you happy. 

“The members,” he mumbled, and shuffled a bit further up. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he complained: “They said I’m always scared.”

It took you a lot of self restraint to not start laughing. Granted, Mingyu had not been telling you what today’s episode was about, but considering you know how your boyfriend behaved in certain situations, the members’ statement was not that far off from the truth. Yet, the pout on Mingyu’s face was enough to have you reconsider agreeing with them, even playfully. Instead, you opted for lightly scratching his head and pressing a kiss on top of his hair. “My poor baby.”

“Yes, I am,” Mingyu nodded. His lips grazed the skin of your neck and you smiled, hugging him closer to your chest. In response, Mingyu hummed and kissed the same spot softly. He kept kissing you over and over again, until he started speaking again.

“I’m not actually mad at them,” he confessed, and you hummed, “Who would have thought.”

“HOWEVER,” he interrupted you sassily, another pout already forming on his plush lips, “I’m not scared of everything.”

You smiled at him, but Mingyu only furrowed his eyebrows. Your right hand wandered further down from his hair to his forehead, to massage the worry line gently. 

“I’m not scared of being with you,” Mingyu confessed quietly. His eyes flickered back down, feeling less confident now that you reciprocated his gaze. “I’m not scared of committing to you. To give myself to you.”

It was your turn to furrow your eyebrows now. You tried to sit up straight, but Mingyu would not let you. Instead, you opted for hugging him with both of your arms around his neck. 

“Where’s that coming from, darling?”

Mingyu whined and put his head back into place right in the crease of your neck, right on top of your shoulder. 

“Just been thinking ‘bout marriage a lot lately, that’s all,” he replied casually, not knowing that the simple words made your heart beat just a little bit faster than it already did. 

“Yeah?” you replied breathlessly, trying your best to maintain your breathing. Mingyu nodded again, sounding a bit more insecure this time. “If that’s what you’re considering too. No pressure if you’re not interested. I mean, I would be hurt by it, but I respect any decision you might mak-” 

Giggling, you pulled Mingyu’s head up to press a kiss on his lips. Your hand was holding his cheek and caressing the soft skin below your fingertips. In turn, Mingyu’s eyes returned to your face, the same big and brown eyes you had grown to love. The pout was evident on his lips again, and in response, you kissed him over and over again, until the lovesick frown returned to his brows, his eyes softer than you have ever seen them.

“Of course I’ve been thinking about it too,” you admitted, pressing another kiss on the tip of his nose. Mingyu turned his head upwards, trying to catch your lips with his. He whined when you pulled away, his lips returning to his natural pout. 

“Baby,” he said, his eyes switching back and forth between your eyes and your lips, “that’s unfair. I’m still sad. Why are all of you always mean to me?”

You cooed and littered his entire face with kisses. Mingyu giggled at your antics and sighed contentedly. For now, you did not have to know that his members had been nagging him about proposing to you. The box he was hiding in his sock drawer was also completely unrelated to his theatrics. 

[beloveds-embrace]

I just read the poly 141 w/ past abuse reader and omg I love them all so much 😭. Would it be possible for a pt.2 (obviously you don't have to) but like how 141 reacts if they encounter readers family or something along those lines you know? (Ps. I love your writing. It's just *chefs kiss* you are amazing and I hope you have a wonderful day lovely!)

Thank you for your kind words!! I love compliments sorry i soak them up like sponge but ne ways here is part 2 (though it’s on the shorter side) and i hope you have an amazing day!

Part 1

CW: mentions of abusive and neglectful family

You knew it would happen, sooner or later. You knew this fragile peace you had been given wouldn’t last; it was only a matter of when that all of it would crumble apart and you’d be left-

“Calm down, love.” John’s hands settle on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the tenseness out. His eyes are warm and so is his voice, his face, only for you. He squeezes, the touch grounding. “Take some deep breaths for me. Everything’ll be fine. We’re right with you, remember?”

You do as he says, twisting the fabric of your clothes in your hands. Your lips are chapped- bitten raw even when you keep getting glossy kisses from Kyle and Johnny who have stolen your chapstick. Though you want to reply to him, you are far more focused on the that is parking right outside your shop.

You are being stupid, and you know it. Your parents are simply picking up a flower bouquet order. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less, but you know how they are. Nevermind the fact the bouquet is for your sister’s baby shower that you are not invited to anyways.

There is no reason for you to be so scared that all four of your boyfriends tagged along today for your sake (they would have tagged along anyways the second you mentioned your parents would be there).

You know, logically, that your parents are just here for the bouquet, but the familiar dread still claws at you, a reminder of all the ways they’ve made you feel small over the years. And yet, with John’s warm hands on your shoulders, Kyle’s steady presence, Johnny’s easy grin, the fond pecks, and Simon’s quiet strength surrounding you, it’s different this time. You’re… not alone.

Yet when the car door slams shut loudly, a shiver runs through you, but Kyle’s hand finds yours, grounding you along with John. “We got you, yeah, dove?” he murmurs, giving you a reassuring smile that brings a little calm to your nerves. You nod, drawing a deep breath just as the door chimes and your parents step inside already looking so unimpressed with your shop. They’d always thought your passion for flower and plants was useless.

But they pause, taken aback by the sight of you with these men. You can feel the judgment in their gaze, the thinly veiled disapproval that once would have made you shrink. But now, with your boyfriends beside you, you… don’t feel quite so afraid. You don’t feel like you need to bury every part of yourself and only show the smoothed out edges your parents forced on you.

Your mother’s eyes narrow as she looks at you, at the way you aren’t immediately bowing your head and making yourself smaller even if you remain as quiet as you’ve been taught, and then she looks at the men standing protectively around you. “We’re here for the bouquet,” she says, her tone clipped, as if even this brief interaction is an inconvenience. No greeting, not a single ounce of warmth. Typical, and by now the hurt has become far less sharp than it had ever been.

“Here it is, mother.” You say, your voice small but steady. Your hands only shake just a little as you show her the bouquet, thought it’s Johnny who gently takes it from your hands, all but shoves it towards your mother, and smiles at them.

Your father’s gaze shifts to you from Johnny, his mouth opening as if he’s about to say something scathing, but Simon steps forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes hard- and his mask makes him look even more intimidating. “Anything else you need?” he asks, his voice calm yet leaving no room for confrontation, or even any other request.

You don’t mind this attitude, you realize. You are just- so glad it’s not you on the receiving end.

Your father hesitates, clearly taken aback and unused to being addressed so rudely, and you watch as he realizes he has no power here. None of his usual tactics- snide remarks, dismissive gestures, cold silence- can reach you. Not with these men shielding you, grounding you, and reminding you that you are worth so much more than their disdain.

“…We are leaving.” He clears his throat instead, shooting you a scathing look that says they will definitely be calling you later and belittling you, but… you know you will not be alone to deal with that later. Not anymore. Your mother is shooting you displeased glares, her hands white around the bouquet. But she says nothing, and for that you are glad.

As they leave, at last, John chuckles softly, leaning down close to kiss your shoulder. “They didn’t expect that, did they?”

You shake your head, almost laughing, a strange, freeing sensation bubbling up in your chest. Kyle comes close and wraps his arms around your shoulders, an embrace so warm and gentle. “See, love? You don’t have to face them alone anymore.”

And you realize he’s right. You don’t have to hold up a crumbling wall on your own anymore. These men have become the family you never had- solid, unwavering, reminding you every day that you deserve love and peace.

For the first time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can truly let go of the fear they instilled in you. For the first time, you feel like you can simply be yourself and be loved all the same for it.

[mssorceressupreme]

You Belong With Me | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: it almost felt like unrequited love to you, until you agreed to go to the Yule ball with George, causing his twin brother to get jealous.

Warnings/tags: jealousy, arguing, dancing in the rain, kissing in the rain (when's it gonna be my turn), mutual pining, fred longs for you <3, ending is soo fluffy

———

The cool autumn breeze swept across the courtyard as you and Hermione lounged on a stone bench, basking in a rare moment of calm amidst the Yule Ball frenzy that had overtaken the castle. The two of you were deep in conversation, discussing something far removed from the glittering event.

Hermione was talking about her fascination with ancient runes, her voice animated.

“I just think it’s incredible,” she said, her fingers tracing an invisible symbol in the air. “Languages so old they’ve shaped magic itself. Imagine being able to read something no one else in the room understands.”

You smiled, leaning back against the bench. “I’ll stick to words I can actually pronounce, thanks. Besides, isn’t it enough that half the textbooks at this school might as well be in a foreign language?”

Hermione laughed softly. “Fair point. But honestly, there’s something thrilling about deciphering mysteries.”

You were about to respond when Cho Chang appeared, her face lit up like a thousand fairy lights. “Guess what?” she exclaimed, plopping down beside Hermione, who immediately brightened at her arrival.

“What?” Hermione asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

“Cedric asked me to the ball!” Cho squealed, clutching her hands together.

Your grin mirrored hers. “That’s amazing, Cho! He’s one of the most sought-after guys in school. Everyone’s going to be jealous.”

Cho flushed with delight, her excitement infectious. “I still can’t believe it. He just came up to me after Charms and asked. Like it was nothing!”

The three of you giggled, and soon the conversation shifted to the ball itself—who would ask whom, what dresses to wear, and how the hall might be decorated.

“Have you two thought about who you might ask?” Cho asked, leaning forward with a curious glint in her eyes.

Hermione glanced away, suddenly absorbed in adjusting the clasp of her cloak. “I—I don’t really know yet,” she mumbled.

Your stomach twisted slightly at the question, though you kept your face neutral. “No one in mind,” you said lightly, though your heart was screaming a different answer: Fred.

The thought of him filled your mind, as it often did lately. His quick wit, the sparkle in his eyes when he was planning a prank, the way his laughter could light up the darkest of days. You could barely imagine him asking you, but the hope lingered all the same.

Cho giggled, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Well, whoever you pick, you’ll have to tell me everything! It’s all anyone’s talking about in Ravenclaw Tower.”

The conversation drifted to Potions, which happened to be our next class, but your mind remained on Fred. Would he ask someone else?

___

The next afternoon, the library was quieter than usual, save for the occasional scratch of quills on parchment. You were deeply engrossed in your Potions notes when George slid into the seat beside you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a grin, tossing a book onto the table.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you be off plotting your next big prank with Fred?”

He clutched his chest with a dramatic gasp. “Ouch. I’m perfectly capable of studying, thank you very much.”

You chuckled, turning back to your notes as he whipped out his textbook.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm of studying, punctuated by George’s occasional quips and your amused replies. It was comfortable, even fun. Halfway through, he leaned closer, his tone suddenly earnest.

“So, the Yule Ball,” he started, tapping his quill against the table.

You looked up, curious. “What about it?”

He grinned, though there was something tentative about it. “Well, I was wondering if you’d go with me.”

Your heart stuttered. For a split second, you pictured Fred’s face instead of George’s, and disappointment flooded your chest.

But then you saw the hope in George’s eyes and felt a sense of guilt. He was lovely in his own right, and you couldn’t imagine saying no to someone so kind.

“Sure,” you said after a moment, offering a small smile. “I’d love to Georgie.”

He was one of your closest friends after all, how could you say no to George? Besides, at least you wouldn't be attending the ball alone. ___

Later that day, you found yourself in the Great Hall during study period. The long tables were packed with students working on essays and assignments, and the low hum of conversation filled the space. You sat with Hermione, Harry, and Ron, your quill scratching against the parchment as you tried to focus.

The doors swung open, and your heart skipped a beat as Fred entered, his presence commanding the room without even trying. His tie was slightly askew, his hair tousled in that effortlessly handsome way of his.

You quickly looked down at your parchment, forcing yourself to concentrate. But then Fred sat across from you, and ignoring him became impossible.

“Looking forward to the ball?” he asked casually, his eyes meeting yours.

You managed a nod. “Yeah, should be fun.” If you went with me.

George, seated beside you, grinned and announced loudly, “Right?We’re going together!”

The group erupted in congratulations. “So, you two, huh?” Ron teased, his eyebrows waggling.

You forced a smile as the attention turned to you and George. Across the table, Fred’s expression fell, though he quickly masked it with a laugh.

"You two? That'll be entertaining. Best put extra protection over your toes Y/N, George isn't exactly the best dancer."

The laughter around the table grew louder, students chiming in with their own quips and jokes about the Yule Ball. You tried to join in, but your focus kept slipping back to Fred.

Every time George leaned closer to you or made you laugh, Fred’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against the table in a steady, agitated rhythm.

George, oblivious to his twin’s mood, grinned and nudged you with his elbow. “You’ll see, Y/N. Fred might think he’s the charming one, but wait until you’re spinning across the dance floor with me. I’ll have you thinking I invented the waltz.”

Fred scoffed audibly, folding his arms. “Yeah, right. And she’ll probably need a Healer for her toes by the end of the night. Smooth moves, George.”

George chuckled, brushing off the jab. “Jealous much, Freddie?”

That struck a nerve. Fred’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. “Jealous? Of you? You’re dreaming, mate.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like it’s a crime for her to have a decent time at the ball.”

“Decent time? That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t even sit still during dinner without knocking something over.”

George’s grin faltered, his tone sharpening. “What’s your problem? You’ve been acting like this since I asked her.” He asked, loud enough for only him and Fred to hear. But George, knew exactly what was up.

“Maybe my problem is you jumping in when you knew—” Fred stopped abruptly, clenching his jaw as if he’d said too much.

The table grew quieter as Snape walked by, making sure students were doing work without chatting away, a few heads turning toward the brewing tension. Your heart raced as you glanced between them, unsure whether to step in.

“Knew what, Fred?” George pressed, his own temper starting to rise.

Fred opened his book, a little too harshly, his voice low but laced with frustration. “Forget it. Enjoy your ‘decent time,’ George.”

Not long after, you all found yourselves immersed in studying.

Moments later, Fred tossed a note to Ron, saying “Get a move on, or all the good ones will have gone.”

Ron groaned. “Who are you going with, then?”

Fred didn’t reply. Instead, he rolled another paper ball and lobbed it at Angelina, who turned to Fred, mouthing "What?"

He asked her to the ball. He asked her to the ball. When she nodded in response, your chest tightened painfully.

You felt your chest constrict as you watched the exchange. He asked Angelina. The words echoed in your mind, drowning out the noise around you.

You buried your face in your parchment, pretending to be absorbed in your work, but Hermione’s hand on your arm told you she saw right through you.

Fred glanced at you briefly, his gaze almost apologetic, but you refused to meet his eyes. Instead, you leaned closer to Hermione, trying to block him out.

Whatever, you were going with George anyway, why did Fred matter.

___

The night of the ball arrived, and you met George at the entrance. He was charming as ever, complimenting your dress with a sincere warmth that made you feel beautiful.

“You look stunning,” George said as he approached, his grin warm and genuine.

“Thanks, and you look very handsome” you replied, offering a small smile as he led you inside.

The Hall was breathtaking, transformed into a winter wonderland. But as your eyes scanned the room, they immediately found Fred, your heart faltered at the sight of him with Angelina. He looked devastatingly handsome in his dress robes, his hair neatly combed, though still with that familiar unruly edge.

Fred caught your eye for a fleeting moment, his lips curving into a faint smile, but he quickly turned away. You forced yourself to smile and focused on George, determined not to let your emotions show.

“Let’s say hi,” George suggested, steering you toward his twin.

Fred’s eyes met yours as you approached, and for a moment, everything else faded away. But then he turned to Angelina, jealousy flashing in his gaze before he quickly hid it.

The night went on, the music swelling and laughter filling the air. You danced with George, smiled for the photos, and laughed with friends, but your heart wasn’t in it. Fred was never far from your thoughts, and you couldn’t stop glancing his way.

You sat at the table with George, Lee and Oliver, having some punch to hydrate yourselves after all that dancing.

Across the room, Fred’s gaze kept finding you, a flicker of longing evident in his eyes, though you never noticed.

When he wasn't looking, your eyes found him, and when you glanced away, his gaze found you.

You watched as he laughed with Angelina, something stirred inside you, wishing that was you. Around the room, couples were dancing happily, laughter echoing throughout the room which you drowned out.

You always knew you liked Fred, but this was the first time your emotions felt stronger than ever. You'd never dare admit it, but your heart ached for him, and tonight was the tipping point.

Turning to George, you excused yourself for some air, slipping out into the courtyard as tears welled up.

The first raindrops began to fall as you sat on a bench, cold air biting against your skin as your tears slowly spilled over despite your efforts to hold them back.

You didn't care about the rain; you just sat there.

___

Back inside, Fred’s eyes followed you as you left, a slight frown played upon his lips as he watched you scurry out.

“Go,” Angelina said softly, nudging him.

“What?” Fred asked, startled.

“She likes you, Fred. And it’s obvious you like her too, I see the way you look at her. Stop being an idiot and do something about it.” She chuckled.

Realisation dawned on his face, and without another word, he ran after you.

The rain was pouring by the time he found you. Without thinking, he took off his blazer and held it over your head as he approached. You looked up seeing a tall figure tower over you, holding a blazer over you.

He got soaked, but didn't mind one bit, as long as it kept you dry.

“Mind some company?” he asked, sitting beside you, now extending the blazer over his head too, leaving the two of you huddled under his blazer together.

“Fred, just go,” you said, not looking at him.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Crying, no less.”

You turned to him, your heart breaking all over again. “Shouldn’t you be with Angelina?”

Fred shook his head. “There’s nothing between us." He continued, "You do know that she has a thing for George, right?”

“Then why didn’t you—” You stopped yourself, unable to finish the thought.

“Because I was too much of a coward to ask you,” Fred admitted, his voice raw. “George knew that, so he stepped in, he just needed to push my buttons that git. But it’s always been you. Only you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world stood still.

“Fred...”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “You’re the one I’ve wanted all along.”

Tears welled up again, but this time they were different. You laughed softly, shaking your head. “How did the wrong twin ask the wrong date to the ball?”

Fred chuckled, his hand reaching to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

You leaned closer, and Fred closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that made everything else fade away.

The kiss was as sweet as his words were, you tasted a linger of punch he drank from earlier, "Mhm, sweet." You giggled. He smiled into the kiss, before leaning back in for another kiss, removing the blazer from above so he could hold you closer to him.

Fred pulled you closer by the waist, holding you like he was going to lost you. "Merlin, you're the most beautiful girl to ever exist." He complimented sincerely.

You blushed, looking down, "Stop it..." you scoff but bit back a smile.

His inspected your face, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, smiling as he did so. The look of love. And you into his, those warm hazel eyes you always dreamed of, finally looking at you in this light.

The soft hum of music floated through the night air, carried from the Great Hall to the quiet courtyard. The sound of a slow, enchanting melody was muffled by the rain but still audible enough to make your heartpace increase.

“They’re playing a slow one now,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

His hazel eyes warmer than the rain, a playful yet nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Dance with me.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated, standing up and holding a hand out to you. Raindrops clung to his hair, the dim light from the castle casting a faint glow around him. “It’d be a shame to let a good song go to waste.”

You stared at his hand, your heart fluttering as you hesitated. “Fred, it’s raining.”

“All the better.” He grinned, his usual confidence creeping back into his voice. “Come on, Y/N. You’re already soaked, and we’re already out here. What’ve we got to lose?”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re absurd.”

“And yet, here you are, sitting next to me.” He wiggled his fingers, his hand still extended. “Now, are you going to make me stand here looking like a git, or are you going to dance with me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile spreading across your face. With a sigh of surrender, you placed your hand in his, letting him pull you to your feet.

The rain was cool against your skin as Fred tugged you closer, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other still holding your hand.

You hesitated, unsure of where to place your free hand, and he chuckled, guiding it to his shoulder.

“There,” he said softly. “Not so hard, is it?”

The music from the hall swirled around you both as he began to sway, leading you gently. You stumbled at first, unprepared for the sudden closeness, but Fred’s grip was steady, his steps smooth and sure.

“You’re not bad at this,” you teased, looking up at him.

He smirked. “Told you. Miles better than Georgie.”

That made you laugh, and the sound seemed to light up his whole face. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the music or the rain.

The world around you blurred, the rain and the music creating a cocoon of quiet intimacy. Fred twirled you unexpectedly, making you gasp before pulling you back against him, his grin wide and mischievous.

“Show-off,” you said breathlessly.

“Only for you,” he replied, his voice softer now, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere.

You looked up at him, rainwater dripping from your hair, and for a moment, you forgot about the ball, about Angelina, about anything else. It was just Fred—Fred with his warm eyes, his heartfelt grin, and his hands that held you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Fred…” you started, unsure of what you wanted to say.

But he stopped swaying, his hand gently brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “It’s always been you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in like the rain soaking through your clothes. “Fred, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I just…I needed you to know.”

For a moment, you stood there, staring at him, the music from the hall swelling in the background. Then, without thinking, you leaned up on your toes, closing the space between you.

The kiss was soft and slow, rain falling around you as if the world had stopped for just the two of you. Fred’s hand cupped your face gently, the other still resting on your waist, pulling you closer. When you finally pulled back, he was grinning, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, how’s this for a Yule Ball memory?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing.

You laughed, your cheeks flushing despite the cold. “It’s perfect.”

“Good,” he said, spinning you one last time before pulling you back into his arms. “Because I don’t think I’m letting you go anytime soon.”

And as the rain continued to fall and the music from the Great Hall drifted through the night, you realised that, for once, you didn’t mind getting soaked.