#endeavour admiring

[mywingsareonwheels]

On "Endeavour" series 9 (a critical/disappointed but affectionate post)

Cut for length, spoilers, and criticism :)

I've been thinking so much (too much ;-) ) about the ending of Endeavour since it came out. Sometimes joyfully, sometimes wistfully, mostly sadly. Occasionally angrily.

What series 9, and especially 9.3 really needed to do was a) wind up and honour the character arcs/plot arcs of Endeavour and b) set things up for Inspector Morse. And honestly, after months of pondering and thinking and hearing other people's views on it (both those I agree with and those I don't, the latter actually including Shaun Evans's ;-) )... I think it did at least partially fail in both those aims. But I think it failed ambitiously and lovingly. Which matters.

The Bad Stuff:-

The key problem Russell Lewis has said he had in writing s9 was the Thursday family and the fact that Morse never mentions any of them in IM, at least unless Joan really is the Mrs Strange of that period of time.

This problem was made worse by the fact that they are four of the most lovable characters in Endeavour, and that the relationship between Morse and Fred Thursday is the key one within it. So I can see the logic! Something awful has to happen. And given Morse's romantic interest in Joan, the Thursday family generational war trauma, and Fred's PTSD-ridden tendencies towards explosive violence when he's feeling protective of his loved ones or other vulnerable people... I can see why Lewis went with the solution he did.

The trouble is... solving the Problem of the Thursdays I think took over series 9 to such an extent that the writing managed to:-

a) honestly? fridge the character development and perceived quality of all four Thursdays (especially Fred and Joan, both of whom I think got a really rough deal tbh) in order to further Morse's long-term arc, which really is a bit bloody unfair after 9 seasons. Very very damn unfair in fact. And... uncompassionate, which is awful given that overall Endeavour is one of the most compassionate shows I've ever seen.

b) undermine Jakes's return by giving a necessary incompleteness to his search for Big Pete (and also massively underusing Jack Laskey, but honestly the fact that series 9 was only three episodes long did cause problems there).

c) turn Big Pete/Raymond Kennet into just a plot device for the aforementioned fridging of Fred's character development which... actually I admit didn't fully notice until I read a fic chapter today which did the opposite, but oof.

d) undermine Max's friendship with Morse in Inspector Morse by ignoring it completely and implying that Morse is Alone Forever after the events of Endeavour which just Isn't The Case (and again, James Bradshaw was shockingly underused). Gods could we have done with at least one scene where it was recognised that Max isn't going anywhere and they like each other so much. <3

e) actually? Undermine the complexity of the Morse of Inspector Morse too. Because DCI Morse? Is not constantly miserable and dour and closed off and unable to connect with people. He has friends, he has choir, he can make literary references in the station and have a random PC pick them up, he has a positively impish sense of humour at times, he still has his wonderful relationship with Joyce. His house is gorgeous and thoroughly well-loved. He immediately warms to Lewis who is a lot like Thursday at times, and he clearly rather enjoys Lewis teasing him so much. He is kind and compassionate, and sometimes his manner with witnesses is very like Thursday's avuncular best moments. Sure, DCI Morse is also difficult and grumpy and most definitely an alcoholic; he struggles to open up fully to people and never manages to pull off a long-term romantic relationship. But he's not a permanent ice king. He's actually a lot more like the earlier DC Morse at times than the Morse of the last few minutes of 9.3! The whole "I was betrayed by Thursday and now I will never trust anyone ever again ever" thing just wasn't necessary in order to set up Morse in his 40s and 50s. If anything, it leaves open the question of how he navigates what's actually a rather larger character jump than it would have been if Endeavour had ended earlier. Which just... ngyargh. (Also, I mean... I'm not aro, very emphatically not, but even I can see that there's something more than a bit problematic about the suggestion that Morse's life is tragic forever because he's usually single.)

Here's the other thing though: the one respect in which he is very closed-off even with Lewis in Inspector Morse is that he never tells Lewis about anyone important in his past unless he actually has to (usually because they die a violent death and his connection with the victim comes up). Never mentioning the Thursdays, Dorothea, Bright, Jakes? It didn't need that intense an explanation. At least, not a "he can't even bear to think about Fred or Joan again" explanation. It just means none of them died a violent death in Thames Valley during his time as DCI which, you know, I am extremely fricking glad about! ;-) He could press the still-beloved Thursday family to his heart like flowers, and that would be enough. He could still be getting postcards from all of them right up to the end (and I'm persisting in believing that he does ;-) ).

To unpack point a) a bit:- I mean where Joan's concerned I think a lot of us agree on this. I actually do like Strange! But it is horrible that we never hear anything about Joan's social work in series 9; it's implied that she's giving up her job in order to marry him. And Joan finding herself and moving towards saving the world one woman at a time was beautiful. I mean, there was no obligation to have everyone have a happy ending series 9! But the ending of that arc of Joan's without explanation and without comment. Not even a brief discussion where she says that she's regarding it as worth it, or is wondering about going back to work at some point... gah. That's harsh. Also, if she is the Mrs Strange of Inspector Morse? That isn't going to be a very happy marriage. :( So we're left I think hoping that they'll divorce, and that Joan will go back to social work one day, and perhaps go and find her family.

And Fred. Oh Gods, Fred. I mean, I have made so many posts about him on here. ;-) The thing is: with the context provided in series 9, him committing manslaughter (not murder! not under English/Welsh law! and he might even have a decent case for self-(and other) defense!) and perverting the course of justice (yeah okay that he definitely is guilty of) in order to save Sam... it makes sense. He has had his moments of violence, and I think it's crucial to not forget that he's killed two people to save Morse in the past. Which... is part of what frustrates me, because it feels like the narrative in 9.3 is that we should treat Fred killing to save Sam as somehow less morally okay than him killing to save Morse. Which is the kind of protagonist-centered morality (or indeed police-centered morality?) that the morseverse generally avoids, and I Do Not Like It.

But the precise circumstances that series 9 creates in order to make it convincing for Fred to a) do that, b) cover it up, c) snap that badly at Morse, d) try to justify what he's done to Morse... they were extreme. It takes one of the most intense piles of trauma laid on one character in one 3-episode season of anything I think I've ever seen. Fred is going through so much, he's so broken, he's so burnt out. And I mean... of course! It took all of that to make him make those mistakes! But in retrospect... if you need to set up that intense a situation in order to make a character fuck up enough to further the plot line of another character... yeah. Hence my comment about fridging his arc. The point of Morse and Fred's relationship until series 9 has always been that even though they are both very flawed and very fallible, their love for each other is a good and awesome thing (series 7 I think really brings that home <3 ). It feels to me that 9.3 makes the whole of the rest of the show less moving and good, and that's... oh that's sad. So sad. :( I mean, I'm very biased, the Morse & Fred relationship has always been my favourite thing about Endeavour! But if the ultimate message is "Morse should never have loved Fred that much, however kind Fred was and however often he saved Morse's life"... oh that's just... it makes the whole thing so much thinner. This is, apart from anything else, a man who explicitly puts his marriage at risk when his son is missing in order to save Morse at the end of s8! But now we're supposed to see everything a tragedy because Morse has to accept that he isn't that important to Fred and never has been because during a really intense few months he's not been Fred's number 1 priority and... gaaaah.

This is terribly rambly; I'm really not as articulate today as I should like. Apologies!

The thing is: I've been fighting actually-being-a-bit-disappointed-in-series 9 for months, but now I'm going "no actually they failed" I can be a bit more generous. :)

Because...

The Good Stuff:

a) Bright's arc is fantastic. 100/10, no criticisms. <3 Probably the only one I'm fully happy about but I am very happy about it.

b) There is not a split-second in the whole of series 9 (the whole of Endeavour in fact) in which the acting is other than superb, especially from the main cast. That farewell scene between Morse and Thursday? Fucking hell. I mean, Roger Allam is my favourite actor, he never disappoints, but he still astounded me! And Shaun was also just magnificent. <3 And why hasn't Anton Lesser played Prospero yet; his delivery of the speech was incredible! Also fucking hell Caroline O'Neill is an unsung hero of the whole show.

c) To do the Fred arc justice: Fred's morality wasn't thrown away over nothing. I do feel that the trauma-conga-line-to-enable-Fred-to-let-Morse-down-sufficiently bordered at least on the contrived and unkind, but my Gods it would have been so much worse if it wasn't there! <3

d) So much nuance. I mean the fact that a lot of us cheerfully disagree with each other over how forgiving or otherwise Morse was feeling towards Fred? Is based on microexpressions, and call-backs, and how much we can read into the layering of Fred's image over the reference to Lazarus "born a pauper" in the "In Paradisum" of the Faure Requiem, and what sounds like was more than one filmed version of the farewell scene. I mean, my Gods. Endeavour has always respected the intelligence of the viewer, but that was something else.

e) The nitty-gritty of the dialogue never stopped being wonderful. Some absolutely incredible lines, literary references, layered scenes... I know I talk about James Bradshaw and Jack Laskey being underused, but the lines that each of Max and Jakes got while actually onscreen? Phenomenal. Ditto Abigail Thaw/Dorothea, on all counts.

f) The cinematography bloody hell. <3 <3 <3 And the music! Aaah!

The failures of series 9 I see are in pacing, and in making flawed decisions that don't serve the characterisation. They aren't, not once, about the quality of filmmaking being anything other than fantastic. <3 Or the storyline being other than extremely ambitious. There's nothing lazy or cheap or shock-tactics-for-the-sake-of-shock-tactics or (grr) prioritising being unpredictable over being good. It's all earnest and loving and beautifully-realised.

So many times when a show ends disappointingly (or a show's current main actor's final series ending disappointingly *cough*Shetland*cough*) it's down to lack of care and attention and love. I can't possibly accuse Russell Lewis or anyone involved in Endeavour of that. <3

I just... I just wish, so much, that they'd made different choices for the Thursdays. But at least we still have fanfic. :-)

(Also, full love to those of you who disagree with me on part or all of this! I love that this is a fandom where we can agree to disagree, and avoid much in the way of ship wars/character wars etc.. <3 Long may it continue!)

[viniferas]

i have successfully converted my friend into a holostars fan mweheheheh

[sinwrote]

the urge to get into the gritty of hawk’s identity ? how twisted it is by the commission ? how much of it is part of who he always was and what they want him to portray ? What of him is genuine and what is a farce ????

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 16TH CLUELESS ━━ megumi fushiguro + step-cest !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. megumi fushiguro + step-cest. are you totally buggin’ or is your college-goer, goody two shoes step-brother kinda into messing around with you? (7.6K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, dark content, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, enemies to lovers (?), step-cest, photos, videos, fingering, choking, praise kink, panty sniffing, body worship, riding stuffed animals, daddy kink, soft sex, unprotected sex, bimbo-ish + fem!reader, step-brother!megumi fushiguro.

୨୧ — director’s note. lets gooo another kinktober installment! i actually haven't written for megumi in ages and this is kinda long so...i hope this is okay? sorry this is late btw, please enjoy! <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

let’s get one thing straight. 

not all daddy’s girls are dumb.

on the contrary, you’re actually highly intelligent and thoroughly educated — graduating at the top of every single one of your classes in high school, despite negotiating a fair portion of your grades with your teachers. after school, however, you couldn’t quite figure out what you wanted to do and everyone else you knew spent their time growing up around you. daddy wanted you to go to college, get your degree so you could find your footing in the world…he would even pay for it too.

but like every other twenty-something year old girl your age, you were completely and utterly clueless about the direction you wanted to take.

perhaps that was the reason as to why your step-brother, megumi, annoyed you so much. indoctrinated into your family unit of two (yourself and your father, of course) — megumi had joined you to play happily-family when his mother married your father. their fast-paced union didn’t last long, however, for your parents were quickly divorced by the new year…and apparently, you can only divorce people. not children. meaning that your older step sibling had decided he would much rather stick around for the long haul.

it could even be said that megumi fushiguro was an even bigger daddy’s boy (or kiss ass) than you were a daddy’s girl. he went to college on daddy’s money, ate on daddy’s money and got jobs using daddy’s money and power. now, he’s some big time hot shot at an environmental law firm and it irks you just how much your father is pushing for you to be just like megumi. in everybody’s eyes, your step brother was the picture perfect child, an example to follow, a fine gem.

and since your father liked that so much; likes how responsible and diligent megumi is — it would explain why your older step-brother could get away with sneaking up on you in your own house (favourite child privileges). “what are you all dressed up for?” the husky lilt to his deep voice sends shockwaves through your system and a shiver down your spine, making you jump away from the fridge you’re rummaging through.

“a party.” you say frigidly. the dark haired male makes a face and you roll your eyes at him in a disapproving manner. as if megumi was in any position to judge you for your plans and late night endeavours. he was a boring old college student clinging to his younger step sister whilst you were doing society a favour and helping your friend get together with the guy she liked. 

it’s what you do! helping the less fortunate instead of studying for some boring piece of paper and graduate degree. 

you were such a good person. 

turning away from the cool air and dull hum of the fridge freezer, you tuck a few juices to be used as mixers for the party into your bag — ignoring the heaviness of your step brother’s admiral blue gaze as it slips over the curve of your waist, the expanse of your thighs and the bounce of your chest peeking out from your skimpy little get up. it’s funny, how you’ve never liked the way boys have looked at you in the past — but something about the way he drinks you in as if you’re the last glass of water on the plant makes your legs shaky and your breath turn short and…

“can i come?” 

with his lips pressed into a thin line and his emotions hidden behind the perfect mask of his perfect face — megumi slams the fridge door shut, to make you squeak again. his brows raising expectantly while he waits for your answer. “a-as if fushiguro.” you huff in annoyance, jabbing the older step-sibling in his shoulder as he towers over you. “aren’t you too old for house parties? i wouldn’t want you to cramp my style.” 

“i’m not that much older than you.” he laughs, it’s melodious sound sending a warmth through your body.

rolling your eyes, you snap back. “you’re old enough.” 

you make yourself small as you pass by him, attempting to escape his suffocating presence. he makes you feel weird, and you don’t exactly hate it — sure megumi is annoying, snarky and a little mean but he’s… attractive, like next level attractive. he’s got those dreamy sea-storm eyes that make you feel as though you’ll die and go to heaven, a sexy smirk that gets you hot and bothered even if it’s not directed at you. all of your friends have had crushes on your step brother at some point, ones that cause jealousy to brim just under the surface of your skin, pricking you like a thousand tiny needles. your jealousy totally doesn’t have anything to do with you trying to hook your friend up tonight by the way (lying to yourself makes you feel better).

however, feeling this way about megumi is wrong, nowhere near normal. anybody could have told you that — it’s just that your family relationships make things complicated and you don’t want to make this weird between you both. you’d never admit it, but you do enjoy the back and forth sibling-like banter the two of you have. would ruining that be worth it? even if your step-brother was like…everything you’d ever wanted in a guy; not like those snot-nosed, unhygienic, monkey-brained losers you used to go to school with. 

instead, megumi was smart, established and with his future practically set in stone. maybe that’s why you picked on him, why you acted like a spoiled brat whenever he was around, why you pretended to despise his every existence and wish he’d never become a part of your family. because megumi  constantly reminds you of your failures or what your future could be if you put your mind to it and actually tried. 

“maybe, college guys like me wouldn’t seem like such losers if you actually gave furthering your education a shot,” your step brother cuts through your thoughts, stalking behind you with his hands in his pockets as you leave the kitchen and head towards the foyer — getting ready to head out for the party. “just do what your daddy wants, angel. go to college, get your degree so he can get off my back and you can be smart like me. yeah?” 

“and why would i listen to you?” there’s nothing you can do to shake him — your older step brother tailing you as if he’s your own personal guardian. he stops walking when you stop walking, bumping into your back, while a shocked whimper lays flat on the seam on your lips. 

megumi passes you a jacket (which you slide on by yourself) whilst he chuckles again, the sound rumbling in his chest and through your body pressed hotly against his. “‘cause i’m your big brother.” his voice is almost scolding, playfully so, holding a darker tone that you almost recognise as lust whole his larger-than yours hands force their way down to the fat at your waist. “now c’mere, let me fix your outfit. can’t have you goin’ out like this…” megumi squeezes your hips, using his grip on them to spin you around so that you can face him. 

you expect him to tell you to cover up more — that your pretty white dress is too short and that you’re too promiscuous. what you don’t  expect is for the dark haired male to sink to his knees before you, soft and attentive fingers sliding up your inner leg to fix your thigh-highs as that have slipped down. you barely manage to choke back a needy moan. 

he doesn’t let up on the eye contact either; only serving to fog up your pretty little head. “s-step brother,” you manage to remind him gently, finding your voice. 

fushiguro rolls his eyes, poking his tongue into his cheek. “that was your take away, pretty girl?” he doesn’t stop touching you, going as far to peek his head up your skirt — pretending to finish fixing your socks despite the subtle press of his nose against your panties and pinging them against your backside once done fondling you. “there we go, better.” 

he even goes as far to pat your bum in accomplishment too. 

you feel pathetic for letting your step brother touch you in such a taboo way, failing to push megumi off. but he’s never been so bold and you’ve never wanted him more — craving megumi through an insatiable burning in your chest. there’s always been a sexual tension brewing between you both, fuelled by your banter, your rage and mischievousness but how could you act on it? 

megumi was practically family. your family. it would be weird. you couldn’t be anything more without crossing the line of what’s deemed acceptable and what isn’t for step siblings. you have to remember who he is to you, an older brother, a menace to your friends who crush on him and someone who had called you selfish once upon a time. 

finally snapping back to reality, you force yourself away from the tendrils of your step-brother’s grip — swiping your purse from the entryway table and storming towards the door. “you’re buggin’ gumi!” you squeak from the porch. “stop being weird a-and stay out of my room!”  

the door slams harshly as you vacate the property in favour of the party, practically running down the steps with a rapid shake of your head. doing anything you can to rid yourself of all thoughts concerning the enigma that is your older step brother.

the party doesn’t help, and instead ends up a total disaster.

your plan to set your friends up completely falls apart when your ex-best guy friend decides to make a move on you on the way home and drops you off in the middle of nowhere after rejecting him. to top it off, some asshole robs you for your fendi purse at a gas station and makes you lie down on the ground in your matching designer dress! 

the whole ordeal nearly reduces you to tears and forces you to call the one person you’d been trying to forget about all night. megumi. 

he picks you up without a word of protest, but you swear that you can feel his disappointment radiating off of him in thick, asphyxiating waves. “please don’t tell daddy,” you had sniffed, eyes big and teary. and megumi can’t bring himself to blame you or to be mad at you because you’re so sweet and sensitive and a little too good for this world. that and you have no idea how much seeing you cry fucks with his head. 

“you’re a smart girl, baby.” he’d replied softly — though his eyes were hard and his grip on the steering wheel even harder, indicated by the white of his knuckles. “you shouldn’t be messing around in places like this. it’s exactly why you should be in college.” 

like the good big (step) brother he is, fushiguro sneaks you back into the house without a word to your watchful father. instead, he spends the rest of the night comforting you with silly cartoons to heal your inner child. deep down, it means a lot — usually the two of you would argue over control of the remote, and he would always win. this time, megumi lets you be. 

“i don’t think i’m cut out for college,” you sigh after a moment’s silence, ren and stimpy providing the backing track to your vocalised thoughts. “‘m not much aside from my pretty face.” 

fushiguro rolls over so that you lay side by side, nudging you with his elbow playfully. “what would you do instead?” 

“i dunno,” growing bashful, you tuck your face into your shoulder — afraid that he might laugh. “start a fashion business, give people make overs? i think i’m good at that.” 

“you’re good at a lot of things, angel. and making people feel god about themselves is one of them,” rather than belittling your dreams, tearing them down like you’d expect — megumi encourages you, flashing you a small yet supportive smile. “you take care of people.” 

flustered by his praise, you lean into megumi’s side — playing footsie with him at the end of your bed shyly. “you’re better at taking care of me, though.” you whisper, nearly missing the way his eyes drop to your lip-gloss smudged lips. 

“yeah? s’what big brothers are for, right?” he whispers back, a breath’s width away from your lips, nose inches away from nudging yours as if he’s going to kiss you. he wouldn’t be your step-brother if he wasn’t so full of annoying surprises, instead of pulling you into a lip lock — megumi grasps at the remote on your other side in an attempt to change the channel to something more boring and scholarly. 

you protest in the form of a sibling play fight causing you both to roll around in the sheets — fighting for the remote or perhaps dominance over the sexual tension that thickens the air. heat rises throughout the room and your wrestling turns to megumi pinning you to your babyish pink sheets, straddling your waist. he grips your wrists, clasping them together between his large, veiny hands and forces them above your head.

everything happens so quickly, yet so slowly and all at once. one moment you’re fighting like siblings do and the next — megumi fushiguro is finally kissing you, tongue lapping at the crack between your parted lips from where you’ve gasped in shock. tasting every ounce and every essence of the remainder of your gloss, breathing weightily into your mouth as if it’s a relief to have it pressed against his own. you swallow everything he gives you and drink up his saliva as it pools into your mouth to the point where your head spins and you feel like he’s spiked you with arousal. 

this is wrong, on so many levels. as if you would ever make out with your step brother. but this isn’t some kind of twisted dream, it’s a reality you find yourself basking in. you pull megumi onto you by the roots of his dark hair, mewling each time your lips slot together perfectly and whining when his hips start to jut down to meet the softness of your tummy. or when his large hands push and pull at sensitive parts of your body. 

“you’re nothin’ like those college girls.” he tells you once you break apart for air. megumi’s nose nudges your cheek and his kisses dive lower into the crook of your neck while he waits for you to catch your breath. “you’re softer, prettier, you’re—“

he lets go of your wrists.

tilting your head back into your plush pillows, your shaky fingers tangle in the dark, unruly curls of your step brother’s baby hairs. “i’m what?” you tease through a series of pretty little moans, like music to megumi’s ears. you feel him twitch against your inner thigh and the temperature of his body spikes to a sweltering degree. 

“perfect.” his rough tongue swipes over your prominent collarbones and over the fabric of your dress, slipping under the crevice where your breasts meets your rib cage. using his teeth, fushiguro pulls down your dress until it inches off of your shoulders, revealing more of your skin marked with scars, beauty and stretch marks. it comes off easily, exposing you to a pair of hungry, murky blue eyes. the dress remains bunched at your middle.

you must be tripping out — you’ve never seen this look in your step brother’s eyes before. he stares up at you, lips swollen and breath ragged, as if you’re the last meal on earth he’ll ever get to taste. the sexual tension was never obvious to you, and while you’ve always found megumi weird — it didn’t mean you disliked his company. 

“quit staring,” you whine, arching your back into megumi’s touch as it drags across your searing flesh. “it’s weird…you’re making it seem like it’s a bad thing…” 

he yanks down the front of your dress, smooths down the valley between your breasts and over your tummy as they rise and fall with each of your baited breaths. “you don’t like it when i look at you, pretty baby?” then suddenly, his thumb slips back over your naked nipple, curling your sensitive areola before applying a gentle pressure that makes you jolt up the bed. “there’s nothin’ bad about you.” 

fushiguro’s grip runs down to your sides like an easy stream of water, grasping at any flesh he can while simultaneously pulling your hips up to meet his — slotting perfectly against your body to make sure you can feel how hard he is for you. “i’m not like those college girls you’re usually into…” comes your shaky whisper. “‘m too dumb.”

it’s weird, megumi’s never made you nervous until now. 

“no. you’re smart, you’re perfect… you deserve more than the guys that you’re into. you shouldn’t waste your time.” 

his steady hands slide over the curve of your ass, dip beneath the hem of your dress to play with your doughy thighs and every note of his praise is sung over your quivering body.

“so what?” you go on, stepping into the dark to explore whatever the fuck this is with your step brother. “i should waste it on college boys like you?” 

the tail end of your words are lost in a gasped breath as megumi nudges a knuckle against the crotch of your underwear ��� chuckling softly at the wetness that pools in the seat of them. “you would be if you came with me.” a sort of sick and twisted expression, morphs on his handsome face. one that’s usually so stoic and unreactive to your whines and mewls. but this version of megumi seems to like watching you squirm, revels in the way your hips buck up on instinct the further he presses his fingers between your sticky, viscous folds. “god, sweetheart. your princess parts are already so wet for me.” 

heat flashes across your face, accompanied by the unfamiliar twinge of lust you for megumi you feel buzzing beneath your skin and swirling with the blood in your veins. the way he coos down at you, eyes hooded and tone condescending — it only serves to cloud your judgement and your mind. you shouldn’t be doing this. but you want to. so badly. 

“shut up.” you huff and look away, eyes threatening to roll back into your skull as megumi flicks at your clit from over your skimpy panties. the more he plays with you, rubs at his little sister’s cute pussy, the more your thighs twitch apart — revealing the treasure between them to his dirty-minded gaze. 

the groan that follows vibrates around in the cavity of megumi’s chest before shooting down to your glistening core as it convulses under his fingertips. “you’ll miss me when i go back, don’t deny it.” he tells you like he knows you, voice horse with growing desire. “you should really come with.” 

you scrunch your nose up at his request — of course he would choose now of all times to be annoying and tease you about college. “as if, megumi.” you warn, though it’s hard to stay mad at him when he presses two fingers against your spasming entrance, azure eyes darkening at a stream of your arousal dampens your panties — defining the shape of your puffy folds even more. 

“yeah, yeah. i know, baby. not the time, huh?” megumi hums in amusement, gaze flickering up to your face to watch it twist with euphoria as he continues to pinch and rub at your cunt until your chest is heaving. “you want it that bad. wanna be touched so bad. pretty girls like you can’t do anything without their big brothers...” while he rambles over the drool replacing logical words on his tongue, your step brother pulls his hand away from your sex briefly to push past the lace scalloping on your underwear and access your wetness. “all this, ‘cause of me?” 

“all ‘cause of you.” you breathe the words out like they’re air and nod shyly at your own admission despite the high pitched, babyish tone. to let your stupid older step brother know how much he affects you is embarrassing, borderline humiliating, but you can’t help but fall into him. megumi rewards you with two fingers stroking their way past the tight ring of your entrance, curling instantly to explore your gummy, oozing walls and locate the exact spots that make you tick.

he presses a chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek, body hunched over your shaky one as if to shield the scandalous sight from the world. his little sister split open on his fingers, drenching him in her scent and her slick as fushiguro scissors them and fucks you silly. “mhm, that’s my girl. so nice for me and my fingers. i like you better this way,” he slurs, long and dark lashes (ones that you’d die for) fluttering against your skin as his digits move faster and faster within your selfish, ribbed walls. “when all you can do is cry and make those pretty noises, instead of being a little brat to me all the time.” 

fushiguro pauses his ministrations, forcing you to wriggle and writhe and chase your pleasure for only a moment. “m-megumi!” your hips jut upwards in an attempt to coax some friction out of him, anything on your pulsing clit or against your pleasure spots dotted along your insides. “p-please. fuck, gumi— i need it.” 

he only smiles, his thumb finding your clit and his fingers pick up the pace — bearing down on your g-spot with every thrust into your tight heat. “that’s what i like to hear, none of that back talk. just your pretty voice, beggin’ for me.” he sweet talks you over the dirty, lewd and squishy sounds from your thoroughly fucked cunt as they ring out into the sex tainted air. they form a chorus with your hiccups and pathetic bleats for more — and if your body is a choir, megumi fushiguro is the conductor. he guides you to the gates of heaven, feeds you pieces of pleasure from the grapevine of sun and you let him. 

because he’s your big (step) brother, and you trust him after all. 

“fuck, you’re so pretty. could watch you make a mess of me all night.” 

the bricks bliss build up in your lower tummy, cemented together by megumi’s relentless fingers pumping in and out of your slick sex. you’re the perfect vision, a sight to behold — darling gem eyes shiny with tears, tongue tied to the roof of your mouth by strings of saliva and your body doused with a glimmer of perspiration. your step brother can’t help but create a copy of you grinding against his hand on his mind. filing it away for later. 

pulling his fingers from your selfish heat, megumi brings his hand down against it in a harsh slap — his entire body shuddering at the surprised wail you let out, and the stream of juices that fly up his arm as a result. “ooh, baby. what a pretty noise you just made.” he laments with a rough voice, soothing over the spank with soft flicks to your swollen clit. “can you do that again for me?” 

he doesn’t give you the chance to answer, spanking your pussy again, and again and again until his head is heavy with the sounds of your broken moans and your panties are soaked all the way through — darkened by the running two of your sweet honey nectar that allow his slender fingers to slip back inside you with ease. 

they tease at your stimulated walls and push and pull your tight little hole — and you swear you can practically see the stars that line the night sky with every new sensation. fushiguro is in no better state, cock painstakingly hard and straining against the insides of his sweats while his cool midnight eyes drink in the way your hips stutter and struggle to keep up with the pace of his digits inside of you. 

“‘gumi… i think i—“ your words escape you, drowned out by your own pussy as it squelches around megumi’s fingers. 

he kisses your forehead, contrasting my soft compared to the way he stretches you open and preps you for his cock. “i bet that feets good, huh? you feel like you’re gonna cum.” his tone turns into a mocking one, deep enough to send shivers down your spine and threaten to knock down the wall of mounting pleasure in your lower gut.

tears teeter over the edge of your waterline, streaking a hot path down the apples of your angelic cheeks as your hips lift off the bed — chasing the high only your big brother could give to you. “feels so good, p-please let me cum, ‘gumi.” 

you look to him for reassurance and permission, hiccuping as megumi pulls his fingers out of you to trace from your clit and down the length of your juicy slit. pride swirls in his blazing chest when your body jerks at the sensation, hips running after the source of pleasure. you’re such a good little thing, so pliant and naive — following after your step brother no matter what he does to you. maybe you’re right, maybe you’re a little too dumb for college. but it doesn’t matter right now, not with the way your creamy entrance clenched down on fushiguro lovingly, pleading with him to let you cum.

you’re so close and he knows it, he’d have given into you if he weren’t trying to make this last. 

“actually, i want you to do something for me.” he stops right before you’re about to burst, dragging his fingers out of your pulsating pussy to smear your wetness across your tummy and thighs. 

a babyish blubber bubbles up on the swell of your pouty lips, coated in a layer of salt from your free-flowing tears. “w-what? m-megumi! i was so close!” you say in a petulant manner, squishing your thigh together and trapping his hand between them as if to coax him back into making you cum.

“so spoilt, more like.” your step brother bites back, almost punishing you by removing his body from yours so that he can rid himself off all of his clothes. he tosses them off the bed, but not before pulling his phone from his sweatpants and setting it to the side.

you swallow thickly when his cock springs free and slaps against his washboard abs. megumi is lengthier than he has girth, his balls heavy with an incredulous amount of seed saved up just for you. his tip is pink, almost bright red but coated in a layer of pre that’s no doubtedly smeared along the inside of his sweats but it’s a delicious sight to see nonetheless. 

now you really must be bugging. you’re most certainly clueless to have never thought of megumi this way before today. 

your throat bobs when he grabs hold of his rock hard shaft, hissing at the first few lazy pumps he gives himself.  “i want you to do something for me. then i’ll make you cum.” fushiguro proposes gruffly, locking eyes with you carnally. “put on a show for me princess, ride one of your cute little stuffed animals over there so i can make a memory for when i go back to college.” 

his ask doesn’t register in your pretty little head, and megumi figures he might have left you dazed from withholding your orgasm. or maybe you’re distracted by the way in which he fists his cock, spreading webs of milky white up and down his shaft and over his mushroomed tip with each movement. you hardly notice the fact that he’s reached for his phone, setting it to record using his free hand. 

“you hear me, pretty… fuck…girl?” he curses in a low moan, squeezing himself. 

this time, your attention shoots to his face while your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “y-you want me to… fuck my stuffie?” 

you ask megumi so innocently, head tilted to the side like a sweet little puppy dog and he swears he might bust to you right then and there. 

“fuck…yes.” 

“and you won’t touch me?” 

“not until i’m satisfied, princess.” 

and like the bratty little sister you are, dress pushed down to your middle and makeup askew, you huff at your step-brother — all while grabbing your favourite and biggest stuffed bear to tuck against the ruined treasure between your thighs. 

“you’re so fuckin’ mean, ‘gumi,” you try to keep your cool, but you’re too sensitive — lowering your twitching sex onto the soft toy slowly. “o-oh…”

he angles the camera perfectly to record you, zooming in on your cute little cunt as it slips and slides over the bear with ease.

even beyond the camera, you’re a sight for megumi fushiguro’s sore eyes, each of your curves and dips illuminated by the glistening beads of sweat that roll over the expanse of your skin – catching the low, warm yellow light from up above. he always knew that his little step sister was pretty, practically an angel, but up until now he’d relied soley on his dirty imagination to picture the way you’d look fucking yourself for him. the stuffed toy easily disappears between the meat of your pudgy thighs as you rock back and forth over it, nudging your clit against the nose of the fluffy brown bear.

“feels good, right?” he mumbles lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest. megumi can’t help but be engrossed in your every move, the soft jut of your hips and the bite down on your plump and shiny lips, the way in which your fingers dare to dance up the salacious softness to your curves and skin. “my pretty little thing. i can see why your daddy loves you so much. you’re such a good girl, listening to everything i say.”

megumi’s words waft over your mind like a thick fog of lust, darkening every pure thought you’ve ever had. your whole body twitches at their patronising air, dopamine crackling about in your skull and shooting down to the heartbeat swirling around your fluttering hole. it gushes and gushes, like an endless stream of erotica and glazes over the apex of your thighs like the shin of a sugary treat.

one that makes your step brother’s mouth water with anticipation.

each of your sweet mewls and whistle-tone bleats run through his ears like thick honey, rotting him from the inside out. perhaps that’s what makes megumi so perverted and what makes him crush on his perfect and prim little sister, you’re a fool to have not noticed it before. how he looked at you then and how megumi looks at you now, midnight blue and stormy orbs drowning with lust. your gaze flutters down to his cock, standing tall and flushed against his creamy white skin, neglected as it leaks all over his stomach.

“oh you like that, huh? you shake so much when i talk to you like that.” fushiguro starts to fist his cock faster, matching the speed at which you shakily circle your hips over the poor stuffed animal — panting as it’s fabric darkens with your wetness. “a daddy’s girl through ‘n through.” he teases while you throw it back for his phone.

sure enough, the camera picks up his warm chocolate voice as it coos its praises to you. such a good girl. ride it out princess. all of it fills you to the brim with wanton and desire, makes you crumble before the glaring lense of fushiguro’s phone.

“s-shut up.” 

“uh-uh. and you were doing so well,” your step brother sounds almost cruel, reminding you of the reasons you didn’t get along before today. acting like a school boy picking on his crush, being mean to her because deep down he knows that she likes it. that you like it. “don’t be rude baby. put on a show for ‘gumi.” 

he takes to palming himself more, precum slinging across his knuckles and down his thighs the more turned on he gets. it clings to every vein on his shaft, spreads to the weight of his balls and no doubt can be heard through the camera since slick and lewd noises of the both of you touching yourselves echo throughout your bedroom. megumi does his best to keep the camera steady, but he can’t help himself — following your movements and thrusting up into his closed fist to mock your pussy while you ride your stuffie for dear life.

you’re still so sensitive, but your big brother can tell you’re trying so hard to keep up for him — fighting off your next orgasm as it builds up strong in your lower belly. you want to please megumi, at the end of the day. a smart girl like you knows  “that’s it, keep it movin’ for me…god, you make me wanna cum.” 

you pout at the praise, rutting over the face of your stuffed animal as you breath heavy. it feels way too good, you’re overwhelmed by too many senses and megumi watching you spill your juices about the place doesn’t seem to help. dragging a hand up to your bare chest, you tweak your nipples and tug them until  a needy squeal dancing on your wobbly bottom lip — doing your very best to please the dark haired college student.

you want him to cum, want him to memorise the way your eyes roll back and your moans and quivers — you feel so beautiful beneath his heavy, desire burdened stare. “m-megumi,” you say for the millionth time that night, squirming before his very eyes while you dream on the nose of your precious toy. “i-i’m close!” your hips burn holding back you release, exhaustion and just intertwining in your veins — combusting in your lungs. 

clueless. you were absolutely clueless as to how it would feel falling apart under the caring gaze of someone who loves you so much. 

“yeah, pretty girl?” fushiguro hums gently, giving his cock one last squeeze at the base — cutting off the stream of ore that he dribbles from the source. “c’mere, i gotcha.” he shuffles over to you on the bed, catching you before you fall with his lips pressed to your wet babyish cheeks. “i’ll let you cum, but only on my cock. you’ve got to stay good for me, okay?” 

nodding timidly, you accept a few more kisses from megumi — the ones that he peppers across your face, before he manoeuvres you onto your side and nestles in right behind you. “say you want me,” the words coast along the back of your neck and your body erupts in goosebumps. his voice will always be like a dragon breathing life into a fire. sure to be careful, megumi lifts one of your thighs and hooks it over his slender waist so that he can better access your sluice sex.

he tugs your underwear to the side with one hand and positions his cock at your entrance, sliding the length of his shaft through the strings of your arousal glueing your pussy lips together. both of you hiss in harmony when his bright red tip grinds messily against your pulsing pleasure bud. your unused hole clenches around nothing, pushing out juices as if to claim megumi. 

your head rolls back to rest on megumi’s broad shoulder and you reach a hand behind you to tangle in the dark mass of his sweaty locks — keeping him close. “i need you, ‘gumi. please.” you rasp weakly as his shaft breaches your silken walls, coating him in everything your body has to offer. you spoil megumi, giving him a moment to remember before he leaves for college again.

there’s a delicious residual burn from the way his girth stretches you out causing your cunt so selfishly squeezes down on every inch of your step brother’s milky cock. with a stuttered breath, fushiguro bottoms out until his balls are pressed hotly against your ass and his seedy mushroomed tip is just grazing your womb. 

“just what i wanted to hear,” he purrs into the shell of your ear — nipping it tenderly. you blubber softly into the satin pillows, prepped with a fresh set of tears as you push back onto megumi to meet the push and pull of his dick into your tight, creamy sex. “you’ve always needed me, pretty thing. my precious baby sister, relyin’ on me for everything. even this.”

your entire body burns bright with desire for megumi, you’re surprised you’ve gone this long without him before today. maybe you’ve always needed to feel his sticky tip grind against your juicy walls or his hot breath fanning against your shoulders and neck. you’ve always needed your step brother to guide you in the right direction. you’ve always needed megumi.

“f-fuck, g-gumi!” 

fushiguro fucks you slow and softly, pouring all of his affections into you — letting it buzz in the sex scented air between your salt slicked bodies. his fingertips leave their paw prints along your tiger striped thighs and soft tummy, he’ll kiss them better later, but for now he just wants you to know how much he’s always needed you.  “oh i know pretty girl, i know.” comes megumi’s low, bristling simper — adding to the stacks of pleasure cementing together in your lower tummy. “you’re so good, taking me just right. i’ve always known you’d be good for me.” 

your back arches away from the molten centre of your step brother’s chest but he refuses to let you run from him — wrapping a strong arm around your middle to anchor you and your pussy down on his throbbing cock. “i never wanted to ruin you.” he drawls hungrily, but that doesn’t stop the salacious buck of his hips upwards and the way his hands traverse over each of your perfect imperfections. “but you’re such a sweet thing… you always have been. god, baby, you drive me crazy.” 

fumbling around on the bed, megumi gasps at the phone and hits record once more — propping the device up on the nightstand opposite you so that he can remain hands free. “this body, this princess cunt… the way you grip my hair—“ as if on cue, your fingers tighten at his dark roots and tug him down for a sloppy, spit swapping kiss. “everything about you, s’perfect.” 

the room spins with ecstasy and your pathetic screams die in your throat at the feeling of megumi’s abs contacting against your back, his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you over and over again. you drip sweet nectar onto the sheets, his pelvis and his thighs — tainting him with your precious sin. everything burns with exertion and exhaustion, so you’re forced to slump against your big brother and rely on him to carry you to the high heavens of pleasure.

he doesn’t disappoint, cupping your swaying breasts as you jolt up the bed from the force of his pounding thrusts, flicking at your nipples while keeping himself tucked in your squishy insides. you’re pleasured from every possible angle and it’s all caught on grainy film for megumi to take to college when he leaves without you. 

“‘m so fucking happy… t-that our parents got divorced. s-so that i can…have you like this.” fushiguro tongues at the pulse point under your ear, giving you one hard thrust to emphasise the point, it makes you jump, pushing you that little bit closer to the edge. your step brother never stops pumping himself in and out of you, hardly giving you a second to breathe between sucking on your tongue and slapping a hand down on your slit. 

“aren’t you happy?” he goes on to ask, carving the shape of his dick into your raw sex. “take a deep breath for me, gorgeous.” 

megumi wraps a hand around your throat from behind, squeezing ever so slightly and your glistening doe eyes tear away from the camera to focus on him. you witness the stars align in his azure orbs, the adoration they hold for you and a cry-baby wail slips from between your cherry bitten lips in response. 

“look so pretty with my hand around your throat ‘n my cock in your pussy… look at that. it’s like your body was made for me.” he chimes up again, watching the drool deep from the corner of your mouth as it hangs open with dry moans, like a a cute puppy panting. “how lucky are we?”

“o-oh! gumi!” you sniff blearily, not caring that there isn’t enough air in your brain to think straight. you’re swallowing down his cock and he’s leaking fat droplets of precum against the ridges of your walls — only adding to your wetness. megumi can’t expect a single logical thought to escape you this way. “‘m s-so glad. s-so lucky! so happy! i-i love you.”

the stuttered admission brings out the worst in megumi, causing him to lose his shit. your panties are rubbing his shaft raw, your pussy’s so good that he feels like he’s fucking high, not to mention you sound so pretty he could die here and be the happiest man alive. a feral desire takes over your step brother, his snapping his hips into you so hard that your headboard repeatedly smashes against the wall.

your panties are completely soaked through at this point, equally as ruined as your cunt… but megumi doesn’t care. “love you too. my good girl, my good fucking girl.” he coos, his thrusts growing animalistic and erratic — your bodies dancing to the tune of desire as you chase release. “can you cum for me, pretty? wanna see it, bet you’re so gorgeous when you’re cumming for me little sis.” 

despite being fucked brainless, you still manage to do what you’re told — your hips back onto his from their own accord, puffy pussy locking down on megumi’s base to keep him inside. “i’m close… r-right there gumi!” you choke out.

“right here, baby?” is all he manages to respond with, moaning pornographically into your sweaty shoulder while he shifts the angle of his thrusts. “wanna feel you gush all fucking over me.” 

that’s all you need to hear before your toe curling orgasm comes crashing down on you like a large tidal wave. the knot in your tummy finally unravels and you break beneath the pressure of it all, waves of your juices splashing out onto the sheets and megumi’s pelvis — rewarding him for fucking you this good. you cum so hard that it’s enough to force megumi from your twitching hole, expelling a musky scent into the air.

“f-fucking shit, fuuuck me…” fushiguro stumbles off the edge not long after, using the seam of your panties to finish himself off while you twitch through the aftershocks of your high. he just barely makes it, fucking your underwear and nudging his sensitive cockhead against your abused mound until he’s filling the seat of your panties with fat globs of white hot seed. “jesus…’hmygod, baby. you’re such an angel...d-did so fucking well for me.” 

he peppers you with smooches until you’re calmed down enough to be rolled onto your back. megumi is careful to pull away from you, staying close while you sniffle and come back down to earth. he babies you throughout, lifting the rest of your dress over your head and waiting until you say he can move before grabbing you a spare shirt from your dresser.

“let me see you.” megumi whispers lovingly when he crawls back onto the bed to join you. he grabs his phone from the nightstand and ends its recording, pushing your thighs apart to snap pictures of your cum soaked undies and the thick white that clings to your fat pussy lips and clit. “perfect, you’re so perfect. 

“i am?” you whinge — camera shy. but you don’t tell him to stop, letting your older step brother rub his sensitive and overworked cock over your crotch, smearing the last evidence of your orgasms against you for a quick video. another one that’ll be added to his spank bank for later. “‘gumi…” you warn once you start to feel overstimulated.

he chuckles at how whiny you are, tugging your clean shirt over your head before he pulls you into his arms. “i got it, i’m sorry.” rocking you both back and forth, fushiguro kisses the crown of your head. “yanno… if you’re so serious about not joining me at college. i’ll try and convince your dad to let you stay in town. as long as you keep up your promise and try to start a business.” 

your heart skips a beat, and you cast a glance upwards at your step brother. “really?” 

“really. if it means that much to you.” 

sleep settles heavy in megumi’s bones and on his pretty face — one you didn’t realise you loved so much. “it does! thank you, ‘gumi,” you say quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “m-maybe you college boys aren’t so bad.” 

“oh come on now, didn’t me fucking you stupid literally just prove that?” 

“maybe.” 

“so you’ll come visit me at college then. since you like me so much.” fushiguro quips cheekily, narrowly missing your swat to his chest. 

you roll your eyes and try to unravel yourself from your step brother’s affectionate grip, but don’t hide your smile. “ugh! as if, don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

but teasing megumi further only gets you dragged back into the sheets — two sets of laughter echoing throughout the room in what appears to be another sibling fight. 

except this time, you’re not as clueless. 

you know that something like this, and with megumi, means something much, much more.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[fayes-fics]

A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.” 

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.” 

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic. 

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade. 

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision. 

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him. 

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction. 

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.” 

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman. 

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first. 

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?” 

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now…. 

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his. 

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together. 

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly. 

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk. 

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member. 

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip. 

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!” 

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense. 

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race. 

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss. 

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside. 

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently. 

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing. 

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body. 

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever. 

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

[soracities]

Do you have any recs for beginners who want to write poetry? I love your blog so much!

there's a list of starter poetry recommendations for reading poetry here. For writing poetry I would recommend essays and nonfiction by poets: Upstream by Mary Oliver, Still Life with Lemons by Mark Doty, Now and Then: The Poet's Choice Columns by Robert Hass. If there are specific poets you like and admire, I would read their interviews to see how they themselves approach poetry and writing. I would also subscribe to Devin Kelly's Ordinary Plots substack, Padraig Ó'Tuama's Poetry Unbound (substack and podcast), and the On Being podcast's interviews with poets. There's also this section on The Poetry Society of America which features poets and writers interacting with either their own work, other's work, or simply discussing different aspects of writing and experiencing poetry.

I would also recommend really familiarising yourself with the technical aspects of poetry: poetic structures, rhyming schemes, language and all its textures etc., because those are the essential building blocks more than anything else. Practice writing poems following established formats: try your hand at an abcderian poem, or a sonnet, or a tanka, or a villanelle--the structural limitations are a good way to force yourself to really think about what you want to say and how you want to say it.

At the end of the day, the most important thing if you want to write is to read widely, and read often--and practice and practice and practice again. Learning to write anything is like training a muscle and you have to train and work it consistently. Hope this helps and best of luck with your writing endeavours anon 🤍

[darkdemeter]

BY THEIR LEASH

— WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader x Natasha Romanoff

—- gifs/images found on pinterest, credit to original posters -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it?

────────────────

| M-LIST | TAGLIST

@alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98

────────────────┘

  An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

  Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

  That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

  At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

  Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

  Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

  The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

  Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

  You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

  Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

  “Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto. 

  “People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

  “He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

  You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

  Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

  In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

  You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

  In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

  The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

  For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

  When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. 

  “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

  “Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

  You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

  “Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

  “Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

  “Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

  She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

  Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

  Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

  But she never committed to joining forces. 

  You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

  Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

  For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

  Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

  She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

  “I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

  Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

  “Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

  “You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

  “Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

  “We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

  “No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

  She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

  “I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

  Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

  “And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

  “Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

  You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

  “Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

  At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

  “I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

  Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

  “I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

  This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

  Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy. 

  “Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat. 

  “You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos. 

  “No, I want something more.”

  “And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

  “And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

  She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha. 

  “E atât de bună?”

  The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods. 

  “Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

  Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed. 

  With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. “I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you. 

  “And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

  Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you. 

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

  “Animal magnetism, boys.”

  Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles. 

  “As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.” 

  You huff in reply, “And you?”

  Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

  Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

  She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest. 

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more. 

 She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

  She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail.  Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat. 

  Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

  “Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

  “Make us both cum.”

  You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

  “You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths. 

  Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow. 

  After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?” 

  “I think she’s been a girl.”

  Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below. 

  Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl. 

  “‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing. 

  They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for. 

  “Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you. 

  Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

  You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips. 

  She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

  You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it. 

  You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down. 

  Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt kitchen in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip. 

  “The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

  “Oh, she just needed some reassurance,”Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

  “Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect. 

  Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin. 

  “Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment. 

  “W-what thing?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out. 

  Thankfully and mostly dressed whenTony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

[lup-ines]

LUST AND ASTROLOGY: Part One (Observations)

*Just observations, take what’s applies leave what doesn’t*

1. Earth Mars natives are the secret freaks of the zodiac. In general, they are very seductive people, but they aren’t the types to outwardly speak about their sexual endeavours unless it has some anonymity to it or unless you are their close friends.

2. Venus Conjunct/Square Mars creates someone with an insatiable sex drive. They usually don’t have issues attracting sexual partners themselves.

3. Mars in the 1st house and/or Mars in Aries finish quick but can go for HOURS. They are the types to do multiple rounds. Also, they are not the types to have sex quietly, they do it loud and proud!

4. Those with Pluto in the 9th (especially if it’s in Sagittarius) may have a preference for doggy style.

5. Having sex with someone you have Mars in the 8th house synastry with is a life-changing experience. The type of sex that you still crosses your mind now and then even after they’ve left.

6. In my experience, Leo mars people and Libra mars people enjoy praise and admiration during sex (it makes them finish faster too!)

7. I’ve seen Saturn in the 8th manifest two ways in a chart in terms of sex; they either indulge in sex deeply or they are absolutely repulsed by it. This is not always the case, but this can mean losing your virginity a little later than most people.

8. My favourite synastry aspect for sexual attraction has be Mars in the 1st. In romantic synastry, the sexual tension is SO prevalent. The mars person physically can’t stop staring at the house person and the house person loves the attention. In my experience with this overlay (I was the house person) the mars person has always did something during our first meeting that made me dislike them LOL. Definitely a couple that has sex after fights or enjoys hate sex/agressive sex.

Like and follow for more!

[darlingbabyboo]

"Baby, you're my whore!"

♡ Tokyo Revengers characters and their bimbo girlfriends ♡

Ken Ryuguji (Draken)

It has been said before and I will be one of the people to say it again

Definition of dress slutty: I can fight

Growing up in a brothel (with women that made sure that he was drinking his respect women juice everyday) he lets you dress however you please

Your skirt might be too short for his comfort, but as long as you feel comfortable and satiated, he's gonna bite his tongue

Who is he, to mess with what the love of his life wants?

On your stupidity

He's been hanging out with dumbasses all his life, if his baby happens to be a bit of a dumb fuck, he won't say a thing

He also thinks that you're absolutely adorable when you look at him with question in your eyes and say the most idiotic things known to man

A bit exasperating

But moreso adorable

"Kenny." He hums to show you that he's listening and continues fixing up his motorcycle. "What's the matter angel?"

"Why doesn't hair grow at the side of your head." He blinks and looks back at you, genuine wonder in your eyes. He sighs, and presses his forehead against the cool of his bike.

"Kenny, are you okay!?" He feels your arms wrap around his shoulders and your weight begin to press against him. You're ridiculous, but he loves you so much it hurts. He couldn't imagine a life without you around.

"'s nothing angel, don't worry your pretty head about it."

Takemichi Hanagaki (Takemitchy)

He's weak to you okay, he loves your short skirts that barely cover up your panties and your tight shirts that show off your lace bra's (if you even wear one some days)

You can say the dumbest shit or do the stupidest things and he'll be nodding along like a little puppy dog

Is it so wrong to be completely in love with your girlfriend? He worships you like a god and how dare anyone have the nerve to blame him?

You see the world in a way that he could never imagine, and you open his eyes to a world of possibilities

He just believes that he's lucky that you two are even together, you're beautiful and kind and even if there's not a lot going on in your head, you're the best girl that he's ever known

He just wants to be with you forever

You jump into his open arms, your arms wrapping around his neck and his automatically enclose around your waist. "Sweetie, I got a 40% on my test?" You say, cheerfully.

"W-what? I'm sorry. I know you studied hard for that."

"What?" You crock your head to the side and look at him with confusion in your eyes, "no, all I need is another 40% and then I'll be at an 80% average!"

Takemichi opens his mouth to say something, mainly, what in the world would make you think that, and how the hell do you think averages work? Instead, he shakes his head and gives a soft smile. He loves how you see the world, no matter how ridiculous it is, though he's going to need to talk to you about how grades work. He squeezes your waist, "I believe in you Sweetheart."

Takashi Mitsuya

He supports your endeavours, he even encourages them!

You want to wear a skirt that shows off your panties, sure! Just let him make a few adjustments and- while we're at it, why doesn't he just bedazzle that top too!

He wants the best for his darling, which means that you're going to be wearing things fit for a queen

It's in his nature to spoil his girl, so don't worry your pretty little head about any of the gorgeous clothes that you want, he's already on it

Though, there's not a lot going in your pretty little head, which he doesn't necessarily mind

He doesn't care if you stay the stupidest shit imaginable

You look at him with so much love and admiration in your eyes that he can't find it in him to worry too much about you

"Taka! This is so cute!" You spin around in your skirt, which raises above the lace panties that he also handmade for you. "Too bad about the people living in olden times." You pout.

Mitsuya walks up to you with a raised brow at your words. He wraps his hands around your waist, trying to think about what you could possibly mean. "Why, my love?" He finally bites.

You go on your tiptoes and press a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a glittery mark. "They had to live in black and couldn't see all these pretty colours, like the clothes you make for me!"

Mitsuya nods along to your words, smile already pulling up at your words. He presses a kiss on your forehead. "That's not how it works my love."

You look at him with so much love and admiration in your eyes, expecting him to explain everything to you. He smiles, brushing his thumb against your cheek. He's so hopelessly in love with you.

Keisuke Baji

He adores harlots, whores, and anything else of the variety!

He loves the dumb, hazy look in your eyes when you come across something "complicated" (first time he's the smart one in a relationship)

Loves the things you dress up, encourages you to dress however you want, you know what, get even sluttier! He wants your skirt to be so short that your panties show when you stretch the tiniest bit, shirts so tight that you can't wear a bra

He loves his babygirl, and everyone's free to take a look at you

As long as they remember that you belong to him

"Babe, what's wrong?" You question as Baji grips his hands around yours and growls. You press a kiss to his lips as you try to calm him down. Greedily, he bites your bottom lip and deepens the kiss, hands on your ass.

"Asshole was flirting with my pretty girl. Hate when people try to touch what's mine."

You start to tear up, thinking he's angry with you, "sorry baby, I didn't know!"

"Nonono," He presses his lips against you harder, adoring the way that your red lipstick will leave behind marks on his lips, "not your fault- never your fault. Jus' means we gotta set his car on fire." You nod in understanding, not thinking twice of his act of violence. He gives you a wide, toothy grin, he doesn't think that he could love someone more.

Nahoya Kawata (Smiley)

Definition of a tease

He doesn't care how you dress (one of the people that really adores how you dress and would appreciate you to get even sluttier). You could wear a bra and a thong outside and he wouldn't bat an eye.

He just loves making fun for how naïve you can be.

"C'mon, one kiss!"

"No!" You huff, crossing your arms and facing your back to him, "'m 100% loyal to 'hoya."

He restrains his laugh, biting down on his lip. "Baby, I am Nahoya!" He manages to force out (though some giggles slip his lips).

"No! You said you were Souya! 'm not gonna fall for your tricks!"

You already are he desperately wants to say, but he's having too much fun messing with you. "Well, now I'm saying I'm Nahoya."

He doesn't need to look your way to know that your brows have furrowed deeper, trying to run through things in your small little head. "No! I'm not a cheater."

He sucks his teeth. His stomach's gonna hurt with how much he's gonna be laughing later. He turns you around and presses a quick kiss against your lips, you giving an indignant gasp at the action. You'll probably be whining about this later, when he explains what's going on, but this was worth it. God, you're a keeper.

Yasuhiro Muto (Mucho)

Not someone who loves the way you dress, wouldn't disapprove of it completely, he would never tell you how to do things or what clothes to wear, but he subtly encourages you to wear something else

It doesn't come from a bad place, he's just protective of you and doesn't want you to get harassed (he's also a bit traditional)

If you're determined to wear what you want, then he'll bend to your will. He would never let you be uncomfortable

He'll get used to things, just for you

Your intelligence, though...

He loves you through and through but he's always on the look-out around you. He has to make sure that no one is taking advantage of your innocence

"What's going on here?" The guys crowding you stutter away, looking at him with wide eyes. You don't notice the fear that has blanketed them and beam at him, running to wrap your arms around his waist.

"'hiro. These guys are asking if I want to hang out with them in, do you want to come with us?"

He purses his lips, yet another group of guys preying on your naivety. "No darling, I think we're going to go, I'm sure that these guys understand." He narrows his eyes at them so that they understand the consequences if they try to stay around you. They get the message, scurrying away like rats they are. You look at them with a pout on your lips, not aware of their dark intentions. He cups the side of your face and turns you towards him, "darling, why don't we see a movie at home." Your frown quickly disappears, a wide smile replacing it.

"That sounds great 'hiro!"

[theoccultz]

🥀How do you arouse one's curiousity?

In short what makes you intriguing? ((Short pac))

- apologies for any mistakes, i didn't checked through

- there are 17+ mentions so if you're a minor pls refrain from reading it

-pics not mine credits to their rightful owners respectfully

- all of my pacs are exclusive for everyone.

-your reblogs ,likes , comments are appreciated

Pls let me know which pile you selected (:

Paid readings x

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l. ll. III.

Vl. V. Vl.

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Pile l.

The emperor ,knight of wands x , death , pigeon

There's this authority to you that people cant shake off they feel like you're someone who's in a good position that you have made a name for yourself, others may see you having fun in different settings and its really surprising to them you may have a strong resting face or you're someone who's just there to get things done , people dont see you smile usually they feel like you dont like to waste your time onto stupid gossips and stuff .

People love how hard-working and dedicated you are , Its not hard for someone to have a crush on you , you are like a mystery, a dream fantasy which others want to have a piece of . Its really a fun energy . I feel in reality you are someone who's not afraid to be vulnerable, you give your all to others , you're not someone who just takes from others . You're helpful, kind and just what a person needs in a good companion.

Pile ll .

3 of wands , the fool , king of swords x , camel

Right of the bait , you guys exlude sexual energy , you have a desirable appeal , you have this energy of come correct or dont come at all , its like you have high standards you dont back down from things easily , you are not someone who overindulges in things you are someone who's changing at every point of life , people feel like you are made for success they feel like you'll succeed in life because you're doing whats necessary taking actions for your goals being out and about its really inspiring .

Others could also see that you stay in your head a lot , you're not necessarily very open about thibgs like others want to see more of you on things , they feel like you have potential,resources and power and you just need to use it correctly i feel like your energy and your drive about things could overwhelm you easily . People feel like you might need reassurance although you're very much about self and the next good things .i feel like people tend to rely on you or expect a lot from you , you look someone who's a provider, someone who can make things and lead others in the right direction,you could be an artist or a writer someone who's connected to their creative endeavours.

Pile lll.

The tower x , the high priest x , ace of cups , oyster.

Okay you guys this is so sweet , others find you intriguing because they feel like you have a lot of compassion and gifts that you can share with the world , they dont want to lose a person like you who's just so compassionate and loving you bring out the good in others the things they wanted to hear but never did , you could be someone who's an old soul a gentle spirit, others feel protective over you although you are someone who's very very strong you have been through stuff that others would've never been out of and its admirable.

People could see you worried and anxious most of the times and they feel like its not needed others can feel you're very deep and confident about their things you know your abilities and skills and you're the right person to decode signs for others. Yeah i feel like out of other piles you have a really powerful demeanor, you leave a lasting impression on people. People can see you leaving hurt and sadness behind and its really beautiful it takes a lot of strength to reach where you are now also i feel like you shine through no one can dim your light you really have an striking appearance it makes others look twice 🥹✨

lV .

The magician, 8 of wands ,2 of coins , stringray

Okay you guys are good at leaving stupid people behind , you dont dim your light because it took you long to get comfortable with it , you come off as sharp and authentic to people, there might be some negative assumptions or gossips that keeps surrounding you its cause the people are below you thats why they're doing it out of jealousy its like people wants to see you down or embarrassed on purpose. But it doesn't happen you see , you are not wrong gor choosing yourself , others may see you as selfish or impatient but its you who have finally learned to put yourself out there and change for the best . people find you really young or young at heart? But you're quite tough and you know witty nothing can get to you .

They keep wishing for the worst and you keep getting the best , i feel like yoir solar plexus is healed there's so much of good energy here on the table, people feel like you're reliable, honest and wouldn't do low energy shit like using others or deemning others . People also find you intriguing because you come off as financially stable or you could be very responsible and strong and it reflects in your decisions . They feel like you're your best self when you're being you , talking chatting interacting writing people would eat up whatever you say or do . I knrw this was my i'm almost there pile .

Pile V .

The moon x , king of cups , knight of cups x , king of swords x ,owl

You guys have a lot of admirers you should know , this pile have this energy of inspire and grow people want to be like you but you may not blend in with a lot of people, you're not someone who keep to yourself but you have a good sense of boundaries, i also feel like you have a good sense of humour,its delighting, people find you really peaceful yet Passionate ofc you have that fire but you carefully re-evaluate things and think things through, you have an analytical brain , you guys are compatible with a lot of people, others feel that chemistry with you . Others may not feel like you would know this much for whatever reasons it's surprising to find out infact you do know quite a things we dont know of or hobbies ,interests or issues that people wouldn't share their thoughts on because they're scared to say the wrong things or the truth itself, but you're quite bold and precise in saying what you have to say its impressive lol i could feel some reactions coming like did they really said that ?... Can we stop pretending that it wasn't fire ...

I also find you could have a lot of people with every kind of energy trying to get into your space , i also feel people can try to find dirt on you but its almost impossible to find something that makes sense and its not made up .i feel like you guys have this unattainable energy as well , you guys could be intelligent with your words yeah you could start a podcast or make a list of how to be that person , how to do this that ...and people would willingly listen because its helpful and its relatable and it contains the correct data . Or maybe you're really good at reserch , reading people you could be emotionally intelligent or you could be a lightworker yourself although i can see you're quite balanced in your material and physical world, you will not blindly follow things you'll question it , you could have strong 8th and 12th house placements that makes you find deeper values in things and lead you to the core , you learn from others , you don't have a fragile ego and you're not dismissive and you should recognise that pile 5,also you're intuiation is on point (:

Pile Vl.

2 of cups , 5of cups x, the strength x4 of pentacles. Scorpion , the bat.

Lmao ☠️ pile 6 ?

Okay you guys buckle up

So i feel like you're really handsome/pretty you naturally draw people in , others want to get to know you , they wanna hang out , they wanna fight they just wanna do something with you , i feel like you're a polite person but people you attract are mostly passionate and dedicated , they might get over protective of you i feel like a lot of people may realise that they exhibit behaviours that they never knew they had like aggression , jealousy etc , let me just say this a lot of people are tempted by you , mostly because you feel like the ideal person , people act up in your presence. You could be bisexual or you give off this free energy .

I feel like you guys give others a hard time you aren't really invested in others as they are towards you and its frustrating cause i feel like they do try hard and its not your fault you reject it unconsciously. Others feel you have a lot of options. I feel like others started to recognise your value as you started doing it yourself you may not have had good experiences growing up its like the attention you didn't get from your care givers ,your past friends ,now you get from others and you might feel overwhelm at times too you must have heard this too ...you have outgrown people who weren't meant to stay with you and i applaud you for that . For some reason i also see people could feel like you have multiple layers what you project is not how you always are like you could be really nice but you dont wanna hang out and they get salty ,you're not a people pleaser you are your own individual who makes decisions for themselve , people feel like you do the needed and leave but they dont want that like its the energy of people wanting you around I wont be surprised if you guys easily sway others attention .overall people find you intriguing because there's more to you than meets the eye its exciting yet idiotic to feel that way , you're familiar yet unfamiliar . I'd say you guys are seductive, there's a lot of emphasize on body parts there's a lot of sexual energy coming from others but i wouldn't go deep into it , others do masturbate to you ..your suspicions are correct . Ok i'll just say this muchh .

If someone is making you feel ashamed for owning your sexual nature than pls ignore and keep exploring, its your choice .

Thanks for reading!!

[qvrcll]

nsfw + exhibitionist

moments of reprieve with coriolanus snow are something intimate. stolen. he’s not thrilled with the idea of being found out, but he’s so enraptured with the scent, the company, the likes of you, that he really doesn’t think twice as hard when breaking the rules this once.

“hey, hey,” he breathes into your mouth, past your neck and the little patch of skin that catches his swill pant the moment you hurl him into a darkened corner of the academy. there’s not a lot of tight spaces to sneak around, so you’re always discriminating with your choices. but the price to pay is replete when you drink in the boy you love so much. still, he has his qualms about these secret endeavours, “we’ll get caught.”

“no we won’t, coryo,” you whine, already guessing the minute trice in time in which he concedes just a little, sighing in defeat when his body submits itself to you, unbidden. hopeless, even when he tries to quieten himself. when you drop your kisses to the little jut of bone against his neck, he’s swallowing hard around the ball hewing in his throat and making all sorts of noises, and his eyes crinkle towards a barely decent flutter and you figure, it’s not so bad… doing this so very discreetly, that is, “see? you’re making enough noises for the both of us.”

the comment had been in jest, but it sinks into the umbra of his mind, materialising as a mild panic as his body contorts further into the shadows that the old corner can offer, working more on containing his little noises. though not as loud, he doesn’t cease and fails to let up - and you’re grinning ear to ear when you’re palming a strict bulge forming in his pants with the flat of your palm. the air gets warmer, his breath a whim you seek to jeopardise.

“o-oh,” he quietly lets into your neck, desperately. pathetic really, when he curls his torso into the shear of your strokes to catch more pressure again his groin, his refrains rippling into some sick reprise of begging, “s… stop… please… don’t stop…”

and of course you’re giving but cruel, for you’re already catching his lips between your teeth, marring and breaking the skin softly, where the tinge of blood in your teeth is a repercussion. something small compared to how your hand floats beneath the band of his underwear, skulking against a thin accretion of pelvic hair and finding his dick pulsing hotly, wetly, in your disarranged grip.

but what do you care? a few tugs, and he’s convulsing against you. he’s almost clawing at you, lost to his own pleasures and forgetting what it was that had perturbed him so badly about the contingency of a release in a public domain, no longer a ghoul in the shadows but letting his whimpers swallow him proudly. too proudly, in fact, where you clamp a heavy hand across his mouth, feeling the warmness of his breath eventuate on the naked part of your palm.

“you need to be quiet, hm?” you all but whisper, pushing harder against the skin gathered down and tugging, where he follows aimlessly like a halfwit chasing for release. his resilience to the shadows is admirable, but his noises are prone to invite extrinsic company. no, too much, “be quiet, or i stop, coryo.”

his eyes will go wide, cobalt blue and coming apart within himself with your hands crammed into his dress-pants and bruising kisses that almost gnaw towards discomfort, but he simply weeps into your mouth and nods like it is a thing too great for him to think with his dick wet. instead, he lets your hands trail him to a choking release, as he cards the regret for a later opportunity, letting the blood rush towards a stranger place.

breaking one more rule should not hurt too much… right?

© 2023 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[stargazedwinchester]

Soft Sounds | Dean

Summary: Dean mocks you for listening to nature sounds/lo-fi music while you sleep.

Based off of this request here, thank you! <3

Word count: 996

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Sleeping with any sort of noise has always been so comforting for you, having to live with the loud sounds of the world, all of the trauma you've endeavoured keeps you awake at night, memories creeping back from the most horrific times in your life.

You bought yourself your own little white noise machine a week ago, it makes multiple different sounds, and your favourites are lo-fi music and rain/thunder sounds. It's not every night that you have to use this, though, but it really does help. Especially with sleeping alone, your brain loves to play tricks on you during your quietest hours.

Tonight, you turn on your machine, clicking the button on top to change which sound you'd prefer to hear tonight. Your door is slightly ajar, knowing that the brothers were in the kitchen sharing a couple of beers and catching up. You had already told them you're going to have an early night for once and try to catch up on a lot of sleep you've missed out on recently. Doing this could probably help your awful sleep schedule.

You change into your pyjamas, a t-shirt and shorts combo that you threw on from the night before. Trying to look good while you slept is never the first thought since you literally live with two men who couldn't give any less of a crap, also, you're not dating either of them. You climb into bed and throw the covers over you, moving your hair out of your face, and lay on your side. Scrolling through your phone, you try to focus on the sounds coming from your machine, and within minutes, you're knocked out.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

As Sam and Dean call it a night, Sam stays to watch a movie in the main room, whilst Dean makes his way down toward the bedrooms. He notices your bedroom door is still slightly open, and he assumes you're awake.

"Hey, Y/-" He pauses, seeing you're fast out with your phone screen lit up, the lights still on and some noise coming from a weird-looking radio. He frowns, not knowing what is going on. He very quietly makes his way into your bedroom, and locks your phone, placing it on your bedside table. He dims the lights as he pads on over to your radio. "What the Hell is this?" He asks himself, keeping his voice just above a whisper. He glances at the tiny screen that presents what's playing. "She sleeps to this?" He scoffs, and a small grin appears on his face. He looks back at you, huffing. "This is such a Y/N thing to have." He says, standing back up and glancing over at you. Why would she ever own something like this? He thought to himself. It's stupid.

Your positioning in bed makes Dean chuckle to himself. You quite literally take up the whole bed, sprawled out like a starfish. It's mostly funny to him because of how cute you look when you're completely conked out. Your hair in your face, your shirt slightly riding up your torso from the amount of times you've tried to get comfy. "Hold on, is that my shirt?" He laughs quietly, admiring how natural you are.

Dean usually goes for the typical blonde, blue-eyed type of girl. The ones that show that they know they're sexy, that they can get any man they desire, but you - you were different. You never gave a damn about how you looked. If someone liked you, you'd make sure they get every single side of you, every single flaw and weakness. Having Dean see you completely barefaced and look like you just collapsed on your bed was the least of your worries.

Dean's gaze hovers over you for another minute or so, he catches himself smiling, noticing how comfy you are. You shuffle, which scares him a little, panicking that you're going to wake up to him watching you sleep.

"Dean?"

"Y-yeah?" He whispers, taking his hands out of his pockets.

"What are you doing in here?" You groan, wiping your hair out of your face, barely opening your eyes. "I um, heard your little radio thing and... I got curious." He says, an awkward smile appearing on his full lips. He reaches up and scratches the back of his head. You hum quietly in agreement with what he said. Whether Dean understood or not, it didn't matter. "Are you staying?" You mumble, shuffling yourself to the side to make more room. You quietly pat the side of the bed, inviting Dean to join you.

His heart skipped a beat. Sharing a bed with the only girl who genuinely liked him for him? It's almost unbelievable.

"Are you sure? I can go back to my room-"

"Dean, just get in." You say, pulling the covers open for him. His eyes lit up and the smile on his face looked as if it had been slapped on. He takes off his flannel shirt revealing his dark grey t-shirt underneath, and also taking his jeans off down to his underwear. He gently sits down on your bed, ensuring there's still enough space for you. He keeps his space, though, not wanting to give any wrong ideas. "Why were you looking at my machine?" You say, and Dean grins. "It looks weird. Why do you sleep with it?"

"It's to help me sleep."

"It's to help me sleep," He mocks, shutting his eyes. "Just sleep in silence, it's not that hard." He adds, and you huff. "So funny." You grin, slowly moving closer toward him. "It's nice though, really nice..." He trails, his eyes are fully shut, and his body is relaxing. "Come here," He says, adjusting himself so he's lying slightly above you, and you move in to lay on his chest, your leg intertwined with his. He keeps his arm rested above his head, his other hand caressing your hair. "This is nice," He mumbles, almost instantly drifting to sleep.

[hisui-dreamer]

of scheming hearts

Pairing: Jade Leech x f!reader

Synopsis: if you're born into the enemy family, you suppose the best solution would be to simply switch sides

Tags: cliché isekai plots, reincarnation, enemies to lovers, female reader, historical setting, mentioned abuse and neglect, unhealthy mental states, arranged marriages, patriarchal society drama, angst with comfort, fluffy end, long fic

Word count: 2.7k+

Notes: this is my magnum opus omg i really loved writing this hahaha. happy birthday my most beloved adorable eel!

Floyd's Villainess ✧ Malleus' Villainess

✧Side Story✦Masterlist

There once lived a villainess who desired nothing more than to be wanted.

Her family, newcomers to the nobility, had ascended the social hierarchy due to their vital contributions to the kingdom. The baron, burdened by the weight of lineage, pined fervently for an heir, as the baroness had endured the heartache of multiple miscarriages, casting dark doubts upon her ability to provide a rightful successor to the barony.

In her heart, the villainess despised her ill-fated gender, for the world deemed her unworthy, and even her own mother rarely graced her presence, leaving her in the care of a faithful nanny.

But the villainess' destiny took a sinister turn when, at long last, the baroness bore a son. A grand celebration erupted throughout the barony, and slowly, the servants who had once watched over the young villainess began to shirk their duties, knowing the baroness's newfound obsession with her own offspring left no room in her heart for her daughter.

Now that the barony had secured its coveted heir, the young villainess was deemed nothing more than a pawn in the grand game of arranged marriages. It was hardly a shock when the baron agreed to a proposal from a prosperous merchant family, one that required no dowry for their daughter's hand in marriage.

The baroness recognized the potential of this union to solidify ties with the merchant family, and thus, at the tender age of fourteen, the young villainess was whisked away to the merchant family's opulent estate to meet her new family.

Life amidst the merchants was a vast improvement for the villainess. No longer was she subjected to neglect or mockery; the servants treated her with respect, and she embarked on a journey of education. Her heart was filled with a desire to repay her new family, particularly her fiancé, who had captured her affections. He was the first man to treat her as an equal, to make her heart dance with laughter, and to seek her companionship. She pledged her life to stand by his side.

The merchant family was locked in a fierce rivalry with another merchant clan, the Leeches, who hailed from the coastal regions. The eldest son of the merchant family, the villainess's betrothed, harboured an intense loathing for the Leech family, yearning to obliterate their family and monopolize the region.

With unwavering determination, the villainess sought to become an indispensable asset to her beloved, mastering the ways of a merchant and honing her intellectual prowess. Her aim was clear: sabotage the Leeches' endeavours, be ahead of their plans, and outwit them at every turn.

These actions did not go unnoticed by the second son of the Leech family, a man of keen intellect and a gift for persuasive speech. He was captivated by the villainess's cunning and sharp mind, and a rivalry was born. They vied to outsmart each other, exchanging backhanded compliments at public gatherings, while also skilfully anticipating and countering each other's moves.

However, the villainess's world crumbled when she discovered her beloved fiancé, the very man she had dedicated her life to was having an affair, and to a mere maid. Yet, her heart was not consumed by anger. She believed her inadequacy was the root of the problem, that she had not done enough to please him. Her efforts to ruin the Leech family became more direct, driven by the desire to earn her beloved's admiration.

Alas, the recognition she yearned for would never be hers. One momentous day, during a tea party she hosted to celebrate the success of her new business, an attempt was made on the life of the Leech family's heir, by a maid, the same one her fiancé was infatuated with, sought to poison him. Miraculously, the dosage of the poison was not lethal, but it left the heir bedridden for days.

The Leech family launched an intense investigation to unmask the culprit, and it did not take long for her lover to implore her to take the blame, to save his beloved.

Love, as it often does, clouded even the sharpest minds. The villainess, whose only desire was to please her beloved, agreed to shoulder the blame.

And so, she found herself imprisoned in a dark, desolate cell, wasting away the prime of her youth. But there was one person who would pay her a fateful visit, the man who had once been her rival.

"I didn't want you to end up like this," he began, shattering the eerie silence of the dungeon.

A faint smile graced her lips. "A place like this does not befit a gentleman like you," she replied.

He chuckled bitterly. "Please, my dear, you and I both know I am far from a gentleman."

She shook her head fondly, well aware of his misdeeds in the shadows. "Well, you always were a gentleman to me..."

The air grew thick with unsaid words, until he found the courage to break the silence once more. "Why did you take the blame?"

She sighed. "Whatever do you mean, Leech?""

He scoffed. "You had countless chances to harm my family before, and you never did. You always played fairly. If you had attempted such a thing, it wouldn't have been so sloppily done, and you certainly wouldn't be sitting here now." His intense gaze implored her to explain herself.

She cursed him in her mind for knowing her that well, but in the twisted life she's lived, maybe he was the only one who truly knew her.

"... Leech, you wouldn't know how it feels to be not wanted," she muttered, feeling tears well up in her eyes.

He stared at her in silence, unable to respond to the depths of her words.

"From one rival to another," she breathed, "may I ask for one last request?"

"Of course," he replied, his eyes cast down. "It would be cruel of me to deny my lady's request."

She huffed at his words. "I... I seem to have a craving for bitter almonds... They're my favourite snack, you see. Could you bring me some?"

She looked up to stare into his eyes, for perhaps the last time. His mismatched eyes were glossy, his eyebrows furrowed and it was the most emotion she had ever seen on his face.

"As you wish... I shall have them delivered before dawn," he replied hoarsely, his voice trembling as he turned to leave.

"Thank you... Jade."

The man froze in his steps, his heart heavy with the name you had never called, before resolutely walking away from the prison cell.

The next morning, the villainess was found to have passed away with a smile on her face, an empty box that still carried the faint scent of almonds cradled in her arms.

though Jade wasn't the main character, he and his twin brother grew largely popular for their interesting banter and chemistry with the main protagonist

the fans were particularly fascinated with his tragic love story, though they were only told bits and pieces of it, since the main plot was more focused on how the main protagonist would pull Jade out of his slump and get revenge for his love

we're told Jade fell in love with "a remarkable woman who was used as a mere pawn all her life"

the fanbase collectively agreed the villainess deserved a better ending, and more so for Jade who became so emotional for her despite always keeping up his appearances

the gap moe was just too strong to resist

and though you wished for him to get a better ending, you never imagined being the one to rewrite the ending, and especially not as the reincarnated villainess

by the time you entered the story, you had just gotten affianced to the scumbag of the merchant family

but even living in her birth family for a month was enough to make you realise how deep the villainess' trauma ran

even more so when you experienced the kind treatment in the merchant family, it was no wonder the villainess' detached mind threw away all reason to dedicate herself to her scumbag of a fiancé

perhaps she had never known companionship, but for you, the scumbag's attitude was an instant red flag

he would gift you cheap gifts he found on the street, constantly remind you what an honour it was to be his fiancée, but you suppose even these acts could warm the heart of a wounded child

you know that the Jade would eventually become your rival, and you would sacrifice yourself to protect the scumbag

buuut, you also know Jade fell in love with the villainess

so, if you were to side with Jade and help him put the merchants family under the Leech family's influence, there's a high likelihood he would spare you

and even if he doesn't fall in love with you, you would still be a skillful businesseswoman that could continue to work for the Leech family, or simply start your own business

basically just side with Jade and do not harm the Leech family!

only... the novel was far too vague about the "genius of the villainess", and you only know some of Jade's business plans

this means actually studying business and transforming yourself into a crafty businesswoman worthy of being the rival of Jade Leech (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠)

but you can do it!! the villainess managed to, so why can't you?

and soon you started working on the field, actively working in information guilds and business ventures so you could make a name for yourself for him to notice you

and it didn't take long before you had your first encounter at a ball

A velvety voice spoke from behind you, "I don't believe I've made your acquaintance, my lady."

You turned gracefully, offering an elegant smile as you dipped into a curtsey. "Indeed, I don't believe I have. May I have your name, sir?"

He reciprocated with a courteous smile. "My name is Jade Leech, it's a pleasure to meet you,"

"Mr. Leech," you nodded with a hint of intrigue. "I'm—" Before you could complete your introduction, he interjected.

"My dear, I already know who you are," he said, something sinister twinkling in his hypnotic eyes. "Let's skip the pleasantries, shall we?" he suggested, and you noticed that the other guests had discreetly departed, leaving only the two of you.

"It seems my lady is quite bold, your business endeavours are rather... striking," he hummed.

A chuckle escaped your lips. "I shall take that as a compliment." Your veins tingled with anticipation, for the game had begun, and you had no intention of losing. "I'm rather impressed by your family's ventures as well,"

"Oh?" he arched an elegant eyebrow. "Do elaborate."

Game set.

"Your family operates with remarkable efficiency, I suppose any business would only aspire to such!" You said. "Hmm... It's a miracle how swiftly you've gained the support of so many reliable allies..."

You noticed a slight falter in his composure, surprised that you possessed information about the Leech family's coercive tactics, how they had either threatened or bribed indebted families into compliance.

Match.

You inched closer to him, standing on slight tiptoes to whisper into his ear. "I think we can agree we can both hurt each other, but I'd much rather think about what we could accomplish together..."

Stepping back with a smug grin, you took in his expression, adorably dazed. "Now, if you'll excuse me," you curtsied once more before turning to take your leave.

But if you had looked back, you would have seen Jade Leech with his hand concealing a sly smile, a faint blush tingeing his ears.

from that meeting, you've basically become business partners with Jade

though you do so secretly in guild meetings so the scumbag doesn't find out

you offer Jade with your family's business plans and the two of you come up with ideas to make it seem like the Leech family naturally outshone them

of course, Jade was rather suspicious of you at first, after all, why would you be working against your future in laws??

but you explained to him that, in reality, they never saw you as family

you were just a pawn in their eyes, and particularly because the marriage wasn't official yet, you were the best person to discard in order to affect the family

you could have been wrong, but it felt as if there was a bubbling anger deep within Jade's eyes as you explained your situation to him

but he very quickly switched back to his typical closed eye smile, eagerly talking about another plan to thwart your family's business

what also came as a surprise was that the poisoning incident failed

somehow, floyd's fiancé realised his tea was poisoned

still you can't deny the glee you felt when Jade assured you that he knew you didn't do it

but now, the Leech family is adamant to make the merchant family, and particularly the maid suffer

so Jade devises a plan to simultaneously protect you, and set up the downfall of the family

rumours started to spread of what cruel and immoral woman you were, scandalous bribes made with the city guards, indecent behaviour spent with your colleagues, all painting the picture of a wicked woman

the scumbag very quick to fall into the trap, started accusing you of having affairs and illicit trading

you denied these accusations, but your words did little to calm him

and all it took was a little alcohol (courtesy of Jade) to make him declare an annulment of your engagement at a party

maybe jade set up more rumour spreaders to make him more anxious, but you'll never know for sure

so as planned, you accept the annulment

but of course, you've been well-prepared to fight back against these baseless accusations, so one by one, you refute them with your business logs and witnesses to prove your innocence

your fiancé is speechless at the end of it, and the whispers of the crowd seem to show you've successfully declared your innocence

you quickly excuse yourself to a balcony to "regain your composure" and asked everyone to continue the festivities

but it wasn't long before a familiar face joined you

You didn't need to turn around to know who the footsteps were from. "Leech, the curtains are drawn. Shouldn't a gentleman such as yourself know the balcony is occupied?"

You turned to face him, finding his eyebrows furrowed in an amused manner. "My apologies. I assumed my lady might welcome some company," he replied playfully. "What's the matter my lady, you don't seem happy with the annulment at all."

A wistful smile graced your lips. "I am happy, of course, this is what we've worked towards..." You turned your gaze skyward, your eyes glistening. "It's just... I won't have anywhere to return to now,"

"Whatever do you mean?"

You scoffed. "Please, as if you didn't investigate my background before we even met," you retorted, turning to him with incredulity. "...you know I have no place in that house," you murmured quietly into the night.

"My pearl," he reached to cup your cheek, directing your gaze towards him. "How would you find a place next to me?"

His suggestion left you wide-eyed. "But the dowry-"

"You know I have no need of that," he smiled. "In fact, I think I should prepare a gift for my in-laws,"

"I wouldn't want them benefiting from you-"

"Now, now my dear," he tenderly brushed away the stray tear that fell, "when have you ever know me to be so kind? I would of course make them... suffer, a little," he added with a mischievous grin.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his proposal. "Hahaha! I like the way you think, Leech,"

"Is that a yes, then?" he asked, his eyes tenderly focused on you.

You leaned up to him, pressing your lips to his. He initially froze at the contact, but then melted into your embrace.

"It's a yes, Jade."

within days, you had moved into the Leech estate, and the family very fervently welcomed you

floyd has mentioned several times how this was Jade's dream come true and how he's glad he doesn't have to spend hours moping in the library about not seeing you anymore

and as expected, the merchant family soon found itself crumbling into a financial crisis now that you left them

the leech family graciously saved the family from bankruptcy, leaving them in debt of them

and Jade scoured/fabricated enough evidence from the silver hairpin and the teacup to apprehend the maid, leaving the scumbag alone and heartbroken

and though your blood family received a large sum from the Leech family, started facing financial difficulties left and right due to unsuccessful investments

it seems your new fiancé isn't very forgiving towards anyone who wrongs you

but then again, you wouldn't forgive anyone for crossing your eel either

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[writesleah]

the way i loved you ౨ৎ m. riddle

౨ৎ mattheo riddle x fem!reader, brief cedric diggory x fem!reader

౨ৎ angst/fluff

౨ৎ after a hard breakup, you had finally moved on and found your perfect man. he was everything you could’ve asked for, but the lingering thoughts of your ex take a toll on you

౨ৎ swearing, mentions of blood and fighting, borderline betraying cedric :(

౨ৎ 1.8k words

౨ৎ if it’s not already completely obvious, i was listening to the way i loved you by taylor swift when i thought of this lmaooo i couldn’t fight the taylor references so there is a couple in here, it’s just my deep rooted swiftie mindset

“hey baby. you look beautiful today,” cedric smiled, sitting down at the slytherin table next to you, a bold move for a hufflepuff, but everybody thought he was far too good looking to say anything. well, some people.

mattheo riddle had the absolute nerve to speak up, as if he hadn’t completely ruined your life only months before.

“alright, diggory?” he snorted, looking your boyfriend up and down with disgust. he and cedric probably could’ve gotten along just fine if it wasn’t for the clashing common interest that seemed to have mattheo spitting as many nasty comments as he could - you, “i see you’re still pissing about with her.”

he didn’t even bother to say your name when he was talking about you. twat. you felt your anger starting to pool up in your stomach, a force threatening to take over until a soft hand placed itself on your hip.

“just ignore him, okay?” cedric smiled down at you, encouraging you to do exactly what he was doing. you nodded.

“it’s fine. he’s just… yeah,” you sighed, scrunching your eyes a couple times before continuing to eat, doing your best to ignore mattheo’s presence on just a couple seats down.

—

“he’s perfect,” pansy sighed, practically drooling over your relationship.

you had shown the girls the card he had made for valentines day, which was honestly the smallest thing he’d done for you on the day. he had a tendency to show his affection as much as he possibly could, making you experience every single love language at least once a week.

“that’s adorable, oh my god,” daphne gushed, reading the card over and over. it was a sweet message where he described his love for you, and it definitely warmed your heart, “i’m actually so jealous of what you guys have, it’s not even funny. astoria, come read this.”

astoria made her way over to the group and took the pale pink card from her sister’s hands, her eyes scanning the words that practically formed a letter with how many cedric had written. the three of you watched as her face contorted into an expression of admiration and light jealousy, her cheeks slightly pink.

“stop it, you’re going to make me cry knowing that i don’t have a man that loves me like this,” she whined, punctuating her words with a small laugh.

cedric was your ideal boyfriend. he was attractive, sensible, smart and kind. he got along with your parents and siblings, and always made sure to compliment you in some way every time he saw you. he said everything you ever wanted to hear, and was just perfect for you, so why couldn’t you get mattheo out of your head?

“i need to ask you all something,” you blurted out, a little annoyed at yourself for doing so, but also relieved that you could get it off your chest.

the trio looked over at you with raised eyebrows, waiting for you to continue.

“what is it?” pansy murmured, her head tilted just slightly as her eyes studied you.

"okay, let's just say... hypothetically, you have the most perfect, incredible boyfriend and could never ask for anything better, but… there’s this pesky little lingering thought about a certain past endeavour that you can’t get out of your head.”

the girls looked at you a little confused, though daphne’s expression quickly hardened. she knew exactly what you were talking about.

“please tell me you’re not still thinking about riddle,” she groaned in disappointment, shaking her head whilst running her hands over her face. the other two expressed disapproving noises and sighs, looking at you as if you’d just told them you were going to kill someone.

“it’s mattheo, what do you want me to do?” you mumbled defensively, helping it would support your case a little, but it just made them give you a glare.

“i don’t get what you see in him. he’s a boring, lazy prick who skips every class he possibly can to smoke weed and get plastered with his equally as boring and lazy roadman gang,” astoria huffed with a small shrug, looking at you with more concern than anything, “all you guys would do was scream at each other and cry about it all, and then go and make out in the rain or something, which i suppose is pretty hot, but it doesn’t make up for all the arguing.”

“you go insane when you’re with him. i didn’t even know it was possible to feel that much, but you definitely proved that it is,” pansy snorted, though it was clear her comment wasn’t really a joke.

you just sighed and brushed it off, promising that you wouldn’t do anything. it was just something on your mind, right?

—

you were walking in the corridor on your own, cedric just having left to get to his class, which was on the complete other side of the school to yours.

“rare to see you without prince charming these days. have you broken up already?”

you knew who it was when the first word was spoken, and after days of trying to get him out of your mind, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“do you have nothing better to do than terrorise me and my relationship, riddle?” you spat, turning around to face the boy, though your expression quickly dropped when you saw crimson blood spattered across his face, “why am i not surprised?”

“wow, last name basis now, princess?” he chuckled, brushing off your comment about his injuries with a small huff of either annoyance or amusement, you couldn’t really tell.

you tried to walk away, not wanting to involve yourself in his antics when you couldn’t trust yourself to not snap without somebody nearby to warn you not to. it was hard to control yourself around mattheo for some reason. probably all the pent up anger you had from the relationship and its ending.

“just piss off. i honestly can’t be bothered with you right now,” you sighed, shaking your head. his face dropped at that, seeming much less entertained now that you had say that you genuinely didn’t want to speak to him. he didn’t like that.

“no, absolutely not. what you’re not gonna do is act like a bitch because you’re in a mood about something,” mattheo scoffed, grabbing your wrist to pull you back, leaving a faint, bloody handprint on your skin, to which you groaned at.

“can you not?” you murmured, trying to wipe it off, but only smearing it across your arm further. at this, he sighed and pulled you into the prefect’s bathroom, the nearest place with a sink.

“here, since you apparently need everything done for you. i see some things haven’t changed,” he tugged your arm under the sink and lightly rinsed it away, rolling his eyes as he did so, and taking the chance to wash his own hands, “you’re a real piece of work, you know that? especially these last couple months. i don’t even know what’s happened, but it’s annoying.”

“what happened is we broke up. i’m not going to be your sweet little angel every single day, riddle,” you retorted, shaking your head and patting your arm dry with a paper towel.

“i still don’t get why we ended things,” the brunette shrugged, as if the comment he had just made meant absolutely nothing, “i mean, you’d probably be sat in my lap cleaning me up right now if we hadn’t.”

his words were a harsh reminder of how much things had changed. if he had come to you battered and bruised when you were together, which he had done multiple times before, you would end up sitting in his lap whilst cleaning off all the blood, reprimanding him for getting into fights again whilst trying to fight the incessant butterflies that flapped around so aggressively in your stomach. you were feeling those same butterflies now, too.

“well… we’re not, so you’ll have to settle for some water and a paper towel. maybe you’ll get a plaster if you can find one somewhere,” you scoffed, trying to act as nonchalant as he was.

“come on, princess, don’t be like that,” mattheo groaned, looking at you with a frustrated expression. you didn’t get why he was still calling you princess. he’d taken the pet name he loved using for you so much and turned it into a mocking insult. that hurt you, you had to admit, how he took something so precious and made it into a nickname only used for when he wanted to be rude.

you glanced over at him, meeting his eyes. those eyes. those perfect, dark eyes that, when in the sunlight, turned into a gorgeous, flowing blend of various chocolate shades that sparkled and told so many tales in such little space. you had to chastise yourself for thinking about him so fondly when you swore you disliked him so much.

“why are you doing this to me? acting as if everything’s just perfectly fine and like there isn’t so much shit between us?” you sighed, running your hands over your face out of pure annoyance. why was he acting like this? why were you okay with it?

“i know you. i know every single facial expression you make. every single word you say,” he muttered, studying your face rapidly, “and i know that half the smiles you show off when you’re with diggory are fake. he’s boring you, i can see that clear as day. at least when you were with me, it was fun.”

you shook your head at his words, a soft huff of disbelief forcing itself out of you. deep down inside of you, you know that everything he was saying was true, but you couldn’t admit that. cedric was your boyfriend, you loved him, didn’t you?

“stop it, mattheo,” you pleaded, looking up at the blood-drenched face of the boy you didn’t know whether you adored or despised.

“i was your first… everything, princess. you can’t just deny that what we had was special,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as if he was getting annoyed again, his soft facade crumbling.

“what do you want me to do? apologise?” you breathed out in disbelief, looking at him as if he was insane, “if that’s what you want, then this is me standing in front of you and saying that i’m sorry for what happened that night, and it hurts my pride to say this, but i sometimes find myself wishing i could change my mind. is that what you want from me? i’m sick of these games.”

mattheo seemed to pause at your words, each syllable playing over and over in his head as he registered what you had just admitted. it was as if his entire body just glitched, every muscle coming to a standstill, though his eyes flicked back and forth as if he was reading the words from a book. it took a moment, but he eventually cracked a small smile, his head tilting.

“did you just reference a taylor swift song in your apology, love?”

[qvnthesia]

in action. (a tbb hunter one-shot)

a hunter/jedi!reader (afab) fic.

the pitch: seeing hunter in action inspired a different flame in you, one that you wanted everything to do with.

a/n: okay look — i know i know i was supposed to update my tvd fic but IT’S HUNTER COME ON this man has captivated my heart my soul my body my legs—*ahem* anyways, i hope you enjoy this fic! dedicated to @/xajnie on tbbtwt, thank you for fuelling the hunter admiration <33 i’ve had to change the plot 4 times — FOUR TIMES (fuck writer's block) — so, once again, i hope you enjoy this fic!

word count: 1, 426

theme/warning: fluff, and references to smut. implied enemies to lovers dynamic. reader is an adrenaline junkie <33 (yes i’m projecting yes i’ve become a whore for this man yes i’m not ashamed) — putting an 18+ warning just to be on the safe side 💗

You were staring.

Here’s the thing—Jedi weren't supposed to stare like that. They were supposed to observe, analyse their environments and maintain peace and harmony accordingly.

Granted, you had spectacularly failed at that mindful endeavour when you had stormed through the Zygerrian stronghold. You cut through hordes of clankers with a brazen and bold strut, freed civilians fleeing behind you for cover as you advanced forward. You supposed your lightsaber would have yielded some ‘yielding’ results from the enemy, but your master’s warning about your thrill-seeking tendencies rang in your brain, and you were too late. Now enslaved to the cruel species, you didn't have much of a leeway, much to your amused chagrin, with a shock collar saddled around your neck, sharp electric cords having forced you on your knees with your bound wrists lying between your legs.

Now, however, you weren't regretting being bound at all.

There was a reason the clones had more advantages than the Separatists. They were men, they were alive, they were people who had thoughts and dreams of their own. Every trooper you had been graced with the privilege of serving alongside with had their own quirks, distinguished by their own art, moral and valour.

The sargeant was more.

As the de-facto commanding officer of the Bad Batch, Hunter had had his initial doubts about you. He was a man who wasn't used to deferring his leadership, especially not to someone who had gone from Captain to Commander to General within a span of months. But you were a Jedi, and he never voiced his doubts even though you could still feel the bitter edges of his annoyance and his purposefully positioned distance reduced to nothing but professionalism and workplace discipline.

You thought that being a Jedi, you’d stick to the military civility and get the job done.

But the Sargeant made it hard to be a stickler for the rules.

You centered yourself in the Force, ignoring the deep tug from your pulsing womanhood as Hunter battled a horde of Zygerrian slavers, hand-to-hand.

This wasn't the first time you’d watched him fight. Sure, he fought for the good of the Republic, but you’d be lying if you said watching him kick ass wasn't a scrumptious treat for your sore eyes.

Aside from the clankers begging for mercy, he spared none as he sank his knife into the droids. His pauldrons strained against his biceps as he wrapped his arms around the commando ones until their circuitry sparked and fizzled into haphazard disassembly. There were moments where it was just comfortable silence, you working on your lightsaber again while he kept twirling his knife until he sheathed it under his forearms and got up to receive the latest mission briefing. Your veins always swam with his every move, your gaze drinking every smug tug of his chapped lips as he gave a two-fingered salute and decimated battalions, his fingers curling in the exact way you’d imagined him inside you.

It was as if the war suddenly ceased to matter, your Code rendered obsolete within a span of seconds as he brgan filling your thoughts. His breath mixing with yours, fingers tangled in his hair, all resistance forgotten, his skin on yours, bodies joined, his light inside you, rendering you delirious and needy with pleasure. His smoky voice filling your ears with the filthiest of murmurs as he claimed every inch of you, gazing down upon you with a dark, heavy-lidded stare that he’d directed at you whenever he disagreed with you and your near-suicidal yet successful strategies.

You’d committed his every move to your memory. It wasn't hard to forget, being sensitive to everything down to the molecules around.

It was then you sensed it, panic flooding your limbs as a yellow whip cracked the air.

“HUNTER—”

Your warning died, lips parting in sharp, rippling surprise as the whip curled around Hunter’s arm. The electricity travelled up his body, and you struggled against the bonds, being hit with electricity tailored to make you kneel.

That’s when you heard it. A low growl. The strangled primal voice ripping out of Hunter’s throat as he stood up on his two feet. Your mind practically exploded as you stared openly, mental shields frayed from something between pain and admiration, the kind inspired by a promise of the forever you’d sworn not to chase.

Gripping the blazing whip, Hunter yanked the Zygerrian man towards him, stopping an imminent collision as he bent the slaver’s wrists with a painful wrench and delivered a sharp kick to his chest, careening the scum across the dark bridge of the facility until his body collided with the console and fell to the floor with a useless crumple.

You let out an exhale, relieved. Your legs were trembling from the exertion employed from resisting being beaten into submission. But you stood up on your two feet, shaky.

“Right on time, huh?”

You met his helmet, stark, and sighed again.

“Okay, I know you're mad and yes, I should’ve take the offer for backup—”

You’re cut off as his helmet hits the ground with a thud and he makes straight for you. Before you can say anything, his fingers rip off the collar your neck and undo your restraints.

“Hunter—”

Your confusion muffles into shock as he pulls you towards him and brings your lips into his.

Your heart nearly explodes, its pace picking up as your eyelids instantly droop shut, your palms pressing his chest plate, arms snaking around his neck until your fingers threaded through his dark locks. His fingers grip under your thigh, feet shuffling until he pins you against a wall, his solid body trapping yours under his heat. His mouth slants over yours, and he groans into the kiss as your tongue meets the hot wet of his mouth. Your back digs against his hands as they roamed across the expanse of your robes.

He was so close to you, so unbearably far away with the layers between as you snaked one leg around his waist and his length pressed against you. You arched your back at the contact, flames igniting up your body as you grinded against him, the lines between need and want blurring so intensely between your desires to be one with him and have him stay just like this.

His hands cupped your face and he flinched. Your brows stitched together as he drew back, hurt tautly woven on your face.

Hunter probably sensed your emotions, he always did, always on the lookout for something different, something hopefully not life-threatening. He simply held out a hand now coated with your blood. His eyes roved over to the bleeding gash from the side of your face, and he let out a weary sigh.

“When will you start listening to me?”

“Now where’s the fun in that, Sarge?” you grinned.

“Tsk,” his other hand traced the edge of your jaw until his thumb pressed your lower lip. “Don’t tempt me.”

Your grin grew wider and you let out a breathy laugh, your tongue flicking out to give his thumb a lick. A thrilling shiver ran down your spine, your mind hazy with your victory, once his intense brown-grey eyes refocused on you.

“Call it a favour, Hunter.”

He hummed, “What if I don't see it as a favour, Mesh’la?”

Your smile melted, the fire in your blown-out eyes sparking brighter, your gaze flickering between wonder at the use of that endearing term.

A handful of seconds passed between the two of you, and a smirk tugged at his lips.

Your scent had been on him the entire campaign, driving him into absolute overdrive everytime he watched you cut down enemies with your saber and decimate battalions as if you were cutting through butter and not fighting an intergalactic war. But today, he’d had trouble fighting against those slavers with the thoughts that were running in your head and driving him wild. He’d felt the weight of your gaze on his soul, the curiosity turning into animosity masking your passionate frenzy. And he would be a fucking fool if he didn’t admit not a day went by where he hadn’t thought of doing things to you that turned your bratty self into a whimpering, moaning mess all over him.

He noted your evidently aroused state, the warm blood rushing beneath your skin, and the wetness pooling your trousers.

This was going to take a while, and Hunter wasn't going to waste a single second of finally getting to have some action with you.

thank you so so much for reading! please do point out any grammatical mistakes if there are any. this is the first time i'm writing for hunter so i hope you enjoyed this fic!

if you'd like to be added to the hunter tag list (since i do have a shit ton of fics planned—this man has a chokehold on me as bad as hayden does), drop a comment below! reviews are extremely appreciated 💗✨

this fic has NOT been cross-posted to my ao3. any/all forms of plagiarism will not be tolerated.

[dellalyra]

𝐑𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

pixie says: i got him i got hydro daddy so here’s some celebration fluff ft my babies the Melusine’s.

Imagine Neuvillette coming to you, a small box in his hands and a Melusine skipping alongside.

You had been close to the Iudex for a very long time, two of the eldest beings in Fontaine. The Hydro Dragon and the leader of the remaining Naiads were bound together by fate - spirits and embodiments of the nation’s elements. Although he posed now as the Chief Justice, as you as a florist - you maintained that friendship from all that time ago.

However, his arrival at the beach you would always sit on after work with his small companion, Liath - you recognised - was unexpected. The fact he knew where to find you was enough to set your heart alight.

“Madame Y/N, please do excuse our interruption - I hope we are not intruding?” Neuvilette asks, poised as ever.

“Nonsense, Neuvilette. Come, sit. Hello Liath, how has your day been?” You say, patting the space your large cloak has been spread out on the sand.

Liath immediately pulls Neuvillette by the hand and they sit down beside you, the Melusine immediately climbing to sit on the man’s lap and the soft smile on his face makes your stomach feel warm and fluttery.

“I’m afraid I must ask for your assistance, it appears a skill of yours has eluded my talents. A skill in which Liath is currently searching for.” He says.

“Oh? How can I help?” You smile, turning to sit facing them.

“Liath came to me today, mentioning how much she admired the style you wore your hair in several days ago - however, I am not well versed in the art of braiding.” He says, face extraordinarily serious for a man asking for braiding advice.

“Oh well that is something I can help with! You want your hair to be like mine, Liath?” You ask, patting her small hand.

She nods and turns to Neuvillette who passes her the box on his right. Her small hands present the blue box tied with a blue ribbon to you and you unravel the bow to find a ridiculously excessive amount of hair clips, bows, ribbons and bands laying underneath a silver soft bristled hair brush.

“I was not entirely sure of what accoutrements you would need for this endeavour, Madame, so I collected everything I could think of. I do hope the brush will suffice, it is my own.” The man says, resting his cane against his leg as Liath crawls from his lap into yours.

“This is more than enough, I could braid the hair of every Melusine in Fontaine with all of this!” You smile.

“Can you do my hair like yours, please? The one long plait with a big ribbon at the end?” The darling on your lap asks.

“Of course, sweetling. Monsieur, sit closer - I will teach you how to do this in the event I’m ever occupied.” You say, patting the space beside you, to which obliges and shifts to sit at your side.

You pointedly ignore the hammering in your chest when the breeze wafts his scent toward you: sea salt, fresh air and something cool and calming.

You begin to brush the Melusine’s hair, soft gentle strokes removing any tangles and easing a path for the style.

“So you just gather hair as you go along, make sure you have three strands - and you overlap them like so, see? If it’s tighter, it will last longer - however I find if they’re too tight it tends to give me quite the headache so I’ll do it nice and loose for this little angel.”

Neuvillette watches your fingers weave through the silky strands and deftly manoeuvre it to your will - or rather - Liath’s will.

“And ta-da!” You say, securing the soft pink ribbon at the end.

Liath reaches up and feels her hair, before looking at the small compact mirror you produce from your bag and smiling.

“Oh thank you so much! I look almost as beautiful as you now! Papa - doesn’t it look pretty!” She spins toward the man beside you.

“Beautiful as a pluie lotus, dearest.” He responds.

“I’m going to show Sedene!” She scampers off toward the Palais, leaving you with the Iudex.

Somehow - this became routine. Every day, Neuvillette and Liath would show up to your spot on the beach, or your florist as it rains - and you would fix the hair of the Melusine. However, the second day - Sedene joined too. Then Aeife, then Elphane, then Blathine and soon you had a gaggle of giggling Melusines decorating each others hair in a chain of styling.

“Madame Y/N?” Liath asks about a month into this newfound tradition.

“Yes, sweetling?” You say, finishing up her hair as she turns to curl into you.

“Are you our mama?” She asks, yawning and nuzzling into you.

At this, the Iudex snaps his head from the newspaper he was reading across from you.

“Would you like me to be?” You ask the cuddled up bundle.

“Very much so. You do our hair, and take care of us if we’re not well and give us kisses. And since Monsieur Neuvillette is like our papa - and he thinks you’re beautiful and he feels a lot of love when he looks at you then that would make you our Mama!”

The Melusine has no idea what she’s said.

You snap your head to look at the hydro dragon.

His eyes are wide, newspaper held tighter in his grip as he looks between you and the little gossip.

“Does he now? Well, then - I suppose I am your mama, if you would allow me the pleasure.” You smile, settling a blanket on the sleepy child.

As she drifts off to a well deserved nap - the man turns to you.

“I do apologise, Madame. Liath - I did not expect her to be so free with her words. If my presence makes you uncomfortable I shall take my leave immediately.” His horns seem to droop slightly, and the sky turns a little bit greyer.

“Well - someone had to make a move. After all, I have been waiting for 700 years.” You smirk, shifting to stand and lay Liath on the armchair of your apartment above your shop.

Neuvillette snaps his head to you.

“I - 700 years? That was when -” The man stands up and walks toward you.

“When we met, yes.” You take his hand and pull him to your kitchen - where you can speak without volume concerns.

He looks at you as if you’ve grown another head.

“I have been in love with you since the moment I stormed into your old home with intention of befriending the mighty Sovereign of Hydro.” You laugh, taking your hand and placing it on his cheek to which he subconsciously leans in to - every touch starved ounce of his body singing in delight.

“A Melusine revealing my love for you wasn’t quite my intention, yet I fear my lack of romanticism would have impeded any attempts made by myself.” He says, and you huff a small laugh at him - never giving himself enough credit.

“Yet, as we are here now - I’ll do my utmost. You have enchanted me, body and soul, from the day a young Naiad flung open my doors. I’m sure you’re reasoning for keeping these feelings to yourself are similar to mine - you were far too precious and integral to my life to allow myself the risk of you no longer being a part of it.” He says, stroking a long finger across the rise of your cheek. You agree with him, voicing the same opinion that he was far too meaningful to you to potentially lose, yet you figured he felt for you about 50 years ago - but thought it best for him to figure it all out by himself rather than moulding things for him - given his nature and responsibilities. You can see a trail of shimmer on his lower lashes, this sweet, oh-so sensitive man. You wipe the beginnings of tears from his eyes.

“Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, please don’t cry.” You smile, seeing him grin down at you and the mirth in his eyes lights your heart.

You tilt your head up to him and he cups your face with his large hands.

“May I kiss you, my darling girl?” He asks in the gentlest voice imaginable.

“Please.”

His soft lips press to yours and you feel as if you’re floating in the purest, warmest most divine pool of water as the clarity of kissing your love sets in. The kiss is gentle, romantic and full of pent up longing - the soft swipe of your tongue across his lower lip makes his hand grip tighter on your waist as you wind your hand into the silky white hair cascading down his back.

He pulls away, both needing a reality check - he looks at you as if to ensure you’re real and you smile at him, pecking his lips once more.

“I love you, Neuvillette.”

“I love you, dearest Mate of the Hydro Dragon”

“And we love you both too!”

The cheerful, loud voices of 3 melusine’s make you both jump as they appear at your door - boxes of cakes and sweets in their arms.

“Liath! Wake up! Papa finally kissed Mama!”