#i told them I’ll make them a power point presentation

[sscrambledmeggss]

Slowly making my parents a blaine anti with the Tony audition scene

[starryhyuck]

pairing: alpha!soulmate!jeno x afab!omega!reader

words: 2.9k+

summary: your first meeting with the notorious lee jeno sends you spiraling into heat.

genre: smut

warnings: a/b/o dynamics, knotting, breeding kink, cunnilingus, degradation, mating, some public sex

“You’re coming with me to the Governor’s Ball tonight.”

Your eyebrow raises at Hyewon, who is eagerly sitting across from you, practically jumping out of her seat. The Beta in her is naturally timid, so she must be extremely excited to be acting this way.

“And why would I do that?” You ask, displaying no interest in the event. “It’s just going to be a room filled with rowdy Alphas.”

“That’s why we’re going, duh,” Hyewon says as if you’ve lost a few brain cells. “It won’t just be an event with any regular Alpha — these Alphas will be the most handsome and richest of all!”

Hyewon comes from an affluent family that has an expectation of her to marry wealthy. You know she has been trying for years to pair with any man who has millions in his bank account, yet none of them can match her standards.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about finding an Alpha to mate with. You’ve always envisioned yourself with a calmer Beta, someone who had realistic goals and expectations and wasn’t driven by the feral nature of their genetics. Alphas are known for being possessive and dominant, and it just doesn’t seem like an ideal relationship for you.

“Hyewon, I really don’t think that’s my scene.”

“Come on,” she pouts at you. “Do you know how lucky you are to be an Omega? I would kill to present like you and have every Alpha bend to my whim.”

The statement is slightly exaggerated but not entirely untrue. As an Omega, you do recognize that you have more of a leverage with Alphas as your scent is naturally more alluring to them than a Beta’s. However, you have always opposed the idea that Omegas are solely born to satisfy Alphas. They see you as nothing but a hole to fill and a neck to be marked.

Hyewon clutches to your wrist and pleads loudly, drawing looks from other students lingering in the cafe.

“Please, please, please-“

“Okay!” You huff, withdrawing your hand and looking down bashfully. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

She throws her arms up and cheers happily.

—

Hyewon wraps you in a stuffy, form fitting dress which is covered head to toe in expensive crystals. She insists you have to shine at the event in order to stand out from all the other Omegas in attendance tonight. Despite your indifference, you let her play dress up as she wants.

She tugs you into the lavish Governor’s Ball, where most of the political leaders of your town are gathered. Hyewon’s eyes lock into the Lee family, the most influential household in werewolf existence.

You don’t know much about the Lee family despite their powerful presence, but Hyewon is quick to fill in the gaps. “That’s Lee Taeyong,” she whispers to you as she points to the stoic man standing across the room. “He’s the oldest, and he’s actually nicer than he looks. The one next to him is the middle child, Lee Mark.” The man she points to has a similar bored expression painting his face, slowly swirling his champagne glass to find a source of amusement. You can tell from the lilt in Hyewon’s voice that he is the Alpha she has her sights set on for the night. “And that guy is the youngest, Lee Jeno. Don’t even try with him, he’s a waste of time.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the Alpha, who appears angrier than any other male in this ballroom. You can practically feel his disdain coursing through your veins.

“Why is he so… grumpy?”

She laughs at your question. “I told you, he’s a waste of time. He’s always pissed off at these events for no reason and hates it when any Beta or Omega tries to make conversation with him. He’s the worst Lee brother to mate with.”

Hyewon soon leaves you to your own devices, heading off to try and win Mark over. You awkwardly make conversation with a few other Omegas around you, but they seem more interested in gathering the attention of the Lee brothers than actually engaging with you.

Midway through the event, you head to the bathroom down the corridor to freshen up. You gasp when you turn the corner and suddenly ram straight into someone’s chest. Your champagne glass falls to the floor and shatters across the marble, but that is the last thing you’re concerned about.

Your body suddenly starts to feel like it’s on fire, heat spreading through your core rapidly. You choke and clutch your stomach, glancing up to see the reason behind your misery.

Jeno stands in front of you, eyes blooming red as he drinks you in. You pant and take a step back from him, recognizing the signs of your approaching heat.

But that can’t be possible — your heat isn’t due to come for another few weeks.

“W-What did y-you do-“ You wheeze, embarrassed by the slick dampening your panties.

“Omega,” Jeno says, stern glare painting his face as he reaches for you. “Calm down.”

His fingers brush by your mating gland and you gasp. His touch feels like someone rubbed a match and lit a fire against your skin. You turn and run as fast as you can, reentering the ballroom and darting straight for Hyewon’s figure. Every Alpha’s head turns at the scent of your growing heat, baring their teeth at your lewd display.

“Hyewon,” you beg, clutching her arm. “You need to take me home.”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

As a Beta, Hyewon can’t smell your growing arousal or detect the signs of you going into your heat. All she sees is her friend with a desperate look on her face. Mark, who is standing across from her, shifts his predatory gaze to you. Hyewon notices the change in him and she quickly pulls you behind her.

“A-Are you going into heat?” She asks quietly.

You nod and whimper. She asks no further questions, wrenching your figure close to hers and locating the nearest exit. She shoves you into the first limousine in the parking lot and shuts the door behind her, shouting your address at the driver.

You grasp her elbow and cry. “Hyewon, this is a strong one-“

A wave of arousal shoots down your spine, causing you to fall deeper and deeper into your subspace. If Hyewon doesn’t lock you in your bedroom soon, you’re afraid you might offer yourself to the first Alpha you see.

“Why didn’t you say you were about to go into heat?” She chastises, grabbing a tissue to dab at your sweltering forehead. “Let me call Jaemin.”

You stop her from taking her phone out of her purse. “N-No, don’t call him. I don’t want him.”

“What? You always use Jaemin for your heats.”

“No,” you shake your head, still unsure of why you’re denying her. She’s right — since your first heat, you have always asked Na Jaemin to come over and take care of you. He was a family friend and never took advantage of you at your worst. However, there’s a sinking feeling in your gut that’s telling you Jaemin is the last Alpha you want to see right now. “Just get me home.”

You barely register Hyewon helping you into your apartment, faintly remembering her guiding you to your bed.

“W-What should I-“

“Please leave,” you say, writhing and desperately pulling at the zipper of your dress to get it off you. “Trust me, you don’t want to see me like this.”

She frowns, her voice filled with concern. “But-“

“Please, Hyewon,” you plead. “Thank you for getting me here but you need to leave.”

You hear the front door close just as you fling your dress to the floor, quickly locating your vibrator in your nightstand. You pull your panties to the side and sigh in relief when you sink the toy into your heat. It only quenches your pain slightly, but it’s enough to simmer down the fire in your belly.

You’re unaware of how much time has passed when there’s another knock at your door. You’re writhing on the bed sheets, begging for another orgasm as your hand has grown tired of lazily pushing your vibrator in and out of your dripping pussy. Your fingers circle your clit slowly as you plead for the moon to end your misery.

You miss the sound of your door rattling off its hinges, mind overtaken by a cloud of fuzziness. Loud stomping echoes throughout your apartment and a large figure invades your room, growling when he sees the sight of you hopelessly twisting your hips to gain any sort of comfort.

A hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, forcing another gush of arousal to leak down your thighs.

“What do you think you’re doing, Omega?” His voice scarily questions, nearly spitting in your face. “How dare you touch what’s mine?”

They used to spread stories of true mates when you were in high school — stories of how when an Alpha meets the destined Omega they were born to be mated with, it would immediately send the Alpha and Omega into their corresponding ruts and heats. You always thought it was some odd wolf propaganda created centuries ago to carry on the belief that true mates still existed. However, as you look at Jeno hovering above you, there is no doubt in your mind that he is your true mate.

The fuzzy parts of your brain start to clear. “J-Jeno?”

He grins, leaning down to lick at the shell of your ear. “That’s Alpha to you. Present yourself.”

You scramble to follow his order, shoving your head into the pillow and arching your ass up in the air. He clicks his tongue mockingly.

“A pretty, submissive Omega. You know, I always wondered what cute little thing I was destined to end up with. I never thought the moon would grant me a beautiful mate like you,” he hums, digits collecting the remnants of your orgasm across your thighs. He groans as he licks the taste of you off his fingers. “You want your Alpha’s knot, baby?”

You nearly unravel at the thought of him filling you deep with his cum, giving you so much of it that it spills out of your tiny pussy.

“A-Alpha,” you whine. “Please Alpha, please knot me.”

You hear the clink of his belt buckle and your body thrums in excitement. He plants his knees down on the mattress, shrugging off his slacks and throwing his stuffy blazer to the side. He ducks his head to lick a stripe up your folds.

You shudder, bunching the sheets in your fists and practically sobbing at the need to have his cock inside of you. You’ve never felt this hopeless during your heat before, never craved another Alpha’s cock like this.

Jeno’s hands tighten around your hips as he laps at your cunt, groaning at the sweetness of your taste. It only takes a few seconds for you to gush into his waiting mouth, the sounds of him eagerly swallowing your release filling the room.

Your body slumps on the mattress at the weight of your orgasm. You barely have time to recover when you feel his tip prodding your entrance.

He growls. “Beg for my cock, Omega whore.”

“Please, Alpha, please fuck me. I want your knot to fill my pretty pussy, want you to mark me and make me yours-“

The thought of you being mated to him is what sends Jeno feral. He pushes his cock inside your waiting hole, slick dripping down your thighs and giving him easy access to slide in. You sigh in relief when he’s finally deep inside you, quelling the fire in your stomach that was pleading for him.

He doesn’t waste time — ramming into you at an inhuman speed, hands angrily digging into your sides and slapping your ass until his palm is imprinted on your backside. Your head lolls to the side, officially giving Jeno complete control to use you as you wish.

Just like with your other heats, your body throws you into climax after climax until the pleasure molds itself into your skin. Jeno is still spitting the most filthy, degrading words at you as his knot slowly approaches.

“Look at you, silly Omega. Offering yourself up to the first Alpha you see. Would you have given this cunt to someone else, hm? Let them take what’s rightfully mine?” At the shake of your head, he smirks. “That’s right. Pretty Omega’s pussy is made only for me. Designed for my knot, designed to breed for my future pups.”

The thought of him impregnating you with the future of the respected Lee line prompts you over the edge again. Jeno hisses and grabs the back of your neck, hoisting you up easily to his chest as you hear the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt forcefully.

“Gonna keep cumming around your Alpha’s cock? Never had a heat like this one before, have you, baby? That’s because the moon has finally brought you to your true mate, and you never have to spend another heat without me again.”

You cry in pleasure at the thought of being able to spend every heat with Jeno. You never minded Jaemin being your heat partner, but this satisfaction and connection is something you’ve never felt with anyone else. You genuinely think you’ll die if you go through another heat without Jeno beside you.

“A-Alpha,” you whimper, steadily holding onto his arm that’s securely wrapped around your middle. “Please knot me, Alpha. You’re the only one who can.”

“Yeah?” He groans at how desperate you sound for him. “Want your Alpha’s big knot? Want to be bred like a good little Omega?”

You nearly sob. “Y-Yes! Yes, please!”

He tilts your head and exposes your neck. His fingers carefully run over your mating gland, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“And this? Is this for me to mark, Omega?”

You frantically nod. “Yes, Alpha. Only for you.”

You know it’s a big step, a permanent marking that would tie Jeno’s Alpha to your Omega forever. Your mind screams at you to reconsider this decision when you have a clearer head, but your heart tells you that there’s nothing to mull over — Jeno is your Alpha and you need the whole world to know.

As his knot begins to swell inside you, his teeth sink into your mating gland, uniting your souls into one. Every feeling Jeno’s ever had courses through your veins, multiplying your pleasure tenfold. Your thighs begin to shake at the amount of gratification flowing through your body.

You almost pass out from the overwhelming sensation, and your body goes slack in Jeno’s hold. His cum shoots deep into your womb, filling you and marking you as his until his release is leaking down your thighs.

You both collapse on the mattress, with Jeno pulling you close to ensure his knot stays rooted deep inside you.

Your head starts to free from your subspace temporarily, and you carefully scan your room as he licks at the wound on your neck to clean you up.

“Did you- Did you break my door?”

Indeed, you can see your front door laying flat in the hallway, nearly shattered. Jeno hums softly.

“It was in my way.”

You think about how your apartment floor must’ve had to evacuate from the profound smell of your scent mixed with Jeno’s. You would feel guilty about it but considering Jeno has no shame over it, his emotions overpower yours.

“Want to fuck you again, Omega,” he hisses against your skin. “Love being mated to you.”

His honest confession forces another wave of arousal to spill from your pussy, leaking around his knot.

“Yeah, Alpha?”

He grunts and starts thrusting into you again, only being able to move a few inches as his knot is still plugging his cum into you. You gasp and pull him down to kiss you.

“My friend-“ you murmur in between moans. “My friend told me you hate Betas and Omegas.”

“Of course I do,” he hisses, propping your leg over his hip so he can push in deeper. “I hate every Beta and Omega who thinks they have a shot at being my mate.”

“You looked so grumpy when I first saw you.”

“I am grumpy,” he mumbles, hands darting to knead your breasts. “Grumpy for everyone except you.”

He grins when you squirt around his knot, your cunt sensitive from the constant rounds of fucking. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at your unexpected orgasm, body twitching in your Alpha’s hold.

Jeno fucks you until the sun rises to indicate the start of a new day. You two barely sleep, exploring various positions throughout your apartment and even the hallway of your complex, ushering more and more residents on the lower floors to evacuate from your scents. Their dirty looks are quickly changed when they see the notorious Lee brother claiming his new mate for all to see.

His cock doesn’t allow your pussy to rest until he’s sure you’ve been impregnated.

When you finally come to, you’re sprawled on your living room floor with a mix of your slick and Jeno’s cum surrounding you. He continues to lick at your skin as if he’ll die without fully receiving his taste of you.

It’s odd since despite only knowing him for less than a day, you feel like you’ve known him your whole life.

“I want-“ you pant, trying to regain your breath. “I want to fuck you forever.”

He chuckles. “Is that so, Omega?” He raises his head to see you, a predatory gaze lingering in his eyes. You wonder if you have it in you to go another few rounds.

“Lucky for you, we’re mated for life. I’m not going anywhere.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hii! How’s ur day?^_^

My request is, what if the reader is nervous to confess to Stanford, and Mabel helps them?

If ur able to do this thank you, and I love ur fanfics!

I decide to be a little mean here, whether it’ll be a misunderstanding on your part for Ford’s reaction or not, I’ll leave it up to fate. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2 right here

Mabel could tell immediately that you liked Ford but didn’t have the confidence to say anything to him in the slightest, and it disheartened the poor girl to see a potential romance that’ll never happen due to your fears of rejection.

So she decided that you needed the power of Mabel to gain the confidence to confess to Ford about how you truly felt because she knew deep down in her heart that Ford felt the same, he was just as awkward about as you were about his feelings.

(She may or may not have sneaked a peak inside his hours on his entry on you and felt as though she was reading a poem with how passionate he seemed to be about you, so much so it was enough to make her shed a tear)

‘But what if he meant all of that in a platonic way?’ You asked Mabel when she told you about the journal entry that she shouldn’t have read.

Mabel pouts and puts her bawled fists on her sides. ‘Is this the insecurities talking? You are amazing, fantastic, wonderful and a delight to have in someone’s life and Grunkle Ford would a stupid stupid head if he didn’t see the greatness you posses! Which he does and you should not let fear stand in the way of love!’ She exclaims as she dramatically posed, she really was Stanley’s grandniece that was for certain and undisputed.

‘Still, what would I even say to him?’ You asked as you sat down on the edge of your bed, holding your face in your hands. ‘I can’t just go up to him and say I like him, it’s too forward-‘

‘And totally not romantic nor memorable to tell your future descendants at all.’ Mabel adds which only made you flustered at the aspect that Mabel believed in your and Ford’s relationship that much, but Mabel always loved to look ahead to the future in an optimistic light, while taking great pride in having fun in the present with the people she cared about while she could before it was too late.

‘What if he finds me unbearable?’

‘Stop it with the what ifs!’ Mabel exclaimed as she walked over to you with a determined look in her eye, she had about enough of you looking down on yourself, and then using it as a scapegoat as to avoid confessing your burning feelings for her Grunkle Ford. ‘Ford likes you, I see it in his eyes when he looked at you, he looks at you as though you hung the stars in the sky! You take his breath away effortlessly and I see the way his cheeks get all pink when you compliment his turtleneck! What else could you probable want to be affirmed that he actually likes you!’

‘What’s going on in here, I could hear Mabel shouting from down the stairs, is everything okay?’ Ford asked when he opened the door to see you sat on the edge of your bed and Mabel looking as though her face couldn’t get any redder.

‘Yes every-‘ Mabel give you a pointed look and mouthed the words: tell him or I will.

You sighed and Ford only seems to grow more confused and worried about what he had walked in on by pure curiosity. ‘Y/n?’ He asked softly this time. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘I have something to tell you-‘ Mabel squeals ‘-alone.’ You finished all the while giving Mabel a pointed look as she pouted like a kicked puppy, she wanted to have a front row seat to the confession but she guessed outside the door would have to do for now as she shut the door behind her, leaving you and Ford alone like you wanted.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ford sat next to you, his beautiful eyes full of worry and concern as they flickered across your face as though he could see the things that were worrying you as though it was written across your forehead.

‘It’s nothing bad I promise it’s just that I…Ive been made aware of something that I fear might ruin our friendship.’ You said as you found yourself wanting to back away from actually confessing and leave it at that, but Mabel might as well have locked you both in the room for all you were aware until you actually did tell Ford that he tormented your heart in the best way possible.

‘I’m sure it won’t, there’s nothing that you could-‘

‘I really like you Ford, romantically.’ You blurted out as a silence befell the both of you that you swore you could hear a pin drop somewhere as you awaited the worst.

Ford looked at you for a prolonged period of time as though he was stuck in place and it only made your fears worsen when he had yet to say anything.

‘Ford? Say something please.’ You pleaded but what you weren’t expecting was for Ford to silently stand up and leave the room, closing the door behind him and soon enough you could hear your heart break as you heard him walk down the stairs, probably to go back to his lab for the rest of the day.

‘What happened.’ Mable asked as she walked back into the bedroom to see your broken state as you looked at her with a weak smile.

‘I lost him.’ You tell her before burrowing your head into your hands and for once Mabel didn’t know how to fix this…

[anyarose011]

Bah, Humbug! {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Realizing you are stuck over winter break in the school your father (with many nicknames such as: Rat Bastard, Colossal Asshole, or the most popular, Walleye) teaches at, you try to make the best of it. Or, at least the best you can make it with five other boys your age

Part 1 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, feminism (abandon all hope ye who enter if this has to be a warning), sarcastic reader, Teddy Kountze, and casual racism (a subsection to Teddy Kountze)

You've heard of "Paul Hunham being a father figure" now I present to you: "Paul Hunham being a girl-dad and an academic rivals to lovers with Angus Tully". I became obsessed with this movie, and decide to add my own spin onto it. It's also my first time writing for Tumblr, so I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4.8k

“You said we were going to Copenhagen this year.”

The first nine words you said to your father after he told you about the predicament the both of you were in.  He sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“I know.” You haven’t heard him trying to be this understanding since…you couldn’t recall. “I don’t want to be stuck here just as much as you-.”

“-So then just say no.”

He scoffed, yet still smiled. “It’s a stupid lottery, and my name got picked.”

“Bullshit-.”

“-Hey.” He warned.

Sighing, you glanced out your window. Thin specks of snow were falling onto the already pure as white ground, cascading down the roofs of houses. At least it was snowing and would resemble somewhat of a nice Christmas.

“Can we at least do something fun?” You questioned.

“I thought you said men don’t deserve to have fun the same way they think women don’t deserve rights?”

“Do the boys you teach think the same?” You looked at him.

He shrugged. “Not really in my field of work to get to know them.”

“Wonderful.” You rolled your eyes.

Your father squeezed your shoulder. “Yes, we can have little activities that children your age would consider fun. Still, I vow to enhance their intellect and schoolwork, considering that most of them are…lackluster.”

“Does this mean that I’ll get to drag their asses in mythology trivia?”

“In colloquial terms, yes.”

That brought a smile to your face, and you got up from your bed. “I think I’ll make dinner tonight if that’s alright?” You didn’t wait for him to answer as you left the room. “Maybe pie? I know Mary taught me-.”

“-Woah, woah, woah.” He followed you out into the hallway, stopping you. “We’re not eating here.”

You blinked, the only sound forming from your throat being. “Huh?”

He sighed as if going to tell you the worst news in the world (at the time, oh boy, was it). “They’re cutting the power to the faculty housing, so we’re going to be living at the school over winter break.”

Your face drops along with your heart, shock settling in. “Say that again?”

“We’re going to be living at the school-.”

“-No I heard you.”

“Then why did you ask me to repeat myself?”

“You’re telling me,” you bring on the drama, raising your voice. “I have to lodge with teenage boys?! The cursed sex?!”

He sighed. “You won’t be sleeping in the same room as them-.”

“-I can’t even look at you right now.” You pushed past him, going back into your room and tossing yourself onto your bed.

“Countess Natalya,” he taunts tiredly, knowing you hope your melodramatic attitude would wear him down. “we don’t have a choice.”

You point at him, not bringing your face up from your pillow. “Don’t you dare bring Natasha into this, she would react the same way!”

He laughed. “You get your stubbornness from your mother.”

“I get it from my father!” That’s what made you turn and bring your head up.

There’s a silence with tenseness lacing it like icing on a cake. Paul Hunham’s sigh of frustration broke it, approaching you. “Whether we like it or not, we’re stuck here. Whether we like it or not, we’re going to have to endure the attitude of pubescent boys who, I guarantee you, even when their frontal lobes form at twenty-five, will still be inconsiderate, full of themselves, and not know what true hard work is…We don’t get to do things we want all the time, that’s the reality of the situation.”

You still wore the same, spiteful look on your face as he told you this; as if you were a little girl being told, no, you can’t stay up until midnight tonight. Then, once he was finished, the look subsided only a little.

“I hate you.” Was your reply.

He ruffled your hair. “You’re the light of my life too, Jo March.” With that, he stood up with a pleasant smile. “But no worries, I don’t expect you to deal with the inadequacy of the male testosterone.” He then left the room, and you could hear his voice echo. “Now pack your things; clothes, toiletries, your books above everything, I know.”

He still continued to ramble, but in all honestly, it wasn’t important enough to this day for you to remember. All that was going through your head, was that you were going to spend almost a month in a musty, falling apart, preparatory school, with who knew how many musty teenage boys.

It was then you started planning how exactly you’d fly to Copenhagen by yourself.

That only lasted for about two minutes when you realized that your father had your passport locked in a safe with his, and you weren’t really in the mood to lockpick that day (or learn how to for that matter). So instead, you spent the majority of the time packing your suitcase, and your father was right; your books were the most important ones you’d pack.

You didn’t initially plan on socializing with the boys, so you nearly brought your entire library of books to entertain yourself; the only thing stopping you from bringing all of it was, besides your father, the copious amounts of clothing. You didn’t quite like planning out what outfit you’d wear for each day, so it was better to be safe and bring choices.

Your father had gone ahead of you to help the Boys Left Behind (a title you wouldn’t tell anyone for a few years), settle in. Settle in being him being your father and setting the ground rules whilst running that school like the damn Navy. So, there you were, walking through the ankle-deep snow with your backpack and suitcase that was meant for Copenhagen.

The school only had a few buildings; two dormitories for the boys, a small shack for the maintenance, the chapel, and one large building consisting of all the classrooms, dining hall, infirmary, and whatever else was needed for a rich, all American boy education system.

Perhaps you’d gotten a taste of what the American Revolutionists felt at Valley Forge when you heard a voice call.

“Hey!”

You looked up from where you stood and saw five boys near the courtyard by a pickup truck. Your blood, if not already freezing from the winter snow, ran cold at the sight. The same boy yelled again.

“Do you need help, are you lost?”

You shook your head, pitching our voice up a bit higher and shouting back.

“No, thank you!”

Trying to continue on your way, you looked up again to see one of them running towards you. Cursing to yourself, you tried to keep your head low and pick up the pace, but you got to see him one he was closer to you. His face was boyish, and you first thought he was a sophomore at first. His hair to his shoulders, something you didn’t expect to see for someone attending such a prestigious school. And…damn it all, he was attractive (for a boy your age).

“Hi,” he greeted you warmly with his hand out. “Jason Smith.”

You looked at it for a moment (still a bit blindsided how someone at this school could be so genuine) before shaking and giving him your name. He shook his head, chuckling as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket.

“You’re Hunham’s daughter?”

Oh…perhaps you shouldn’t have told him that. Still, you tried to let it roll off your back and played it cool, laughing along with him. “Yeah, I’m stuck over here with you guys.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t get on your nerves too badly. Do you want me to carry that for you?” He offered.

“Oh.” You looked down at your suitcase and handed it to him. “Go ahead, thank you.”

Jason took it, and the both of you began to make your trek up the small hill with the truck. He was being a gentleman, so you decided to keep the conversation going.

“So, why’re you here?”

He shrugged. “My family usually goes skiing for the holidays, but my old man won’t let me go until I cut my hair.”

“That’s really mean of him.” You stated.

Jason snorted “You should tell him that.”

“I will.”

“Oh yeah?”

“For sure.” You went ahead of him, turning around and walking backwards up the hill. “Give me his number and I’ll give him a stern talking to.”

That only made him laugh harder. “You should study to be a lawyer; you make a great case.”

“My father said the same thing once; I just personally have a theory that all parents tell their children they’d be good lawyers because they argue with them. As if it’s not a child’s right to argue.”

“You’re well-spoken too.”

“For a woman?”

You saw panic pale his face. “What?”

A smile couldn’t help but make its way to your mouth. “Only teasing.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Scared me for a moment.”

“Yeah?” You joked, turning back over your shoulder as you felt yourself at the top of the summit. “I usually get that a lot. That’s why my da-.”

Once your eyes drifted up to see the rest of the Boys Left Behind, your words fell silent. The youngest ones, who you assumed to be freshman, you did not recognize but knew immediately they would be kinder than the two whom you already knew.

Teddy ‘I only lost because I went easy on you’ Kountze, and Angus ‘I know more than you’ Tully.

These motherfuckers.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Angus groaned.

Teddy merely blinked, as if he couldn’t believe it. “What’re you doing here?”

“She’s Walleye’s kid, idiot.” Angus pointed out. “Of course she’d be here.”

Jason looked between the three of you. “You know each other?”

With whatever self-control you had (and you barely had any), you kept calm. “They’re just sore losers I met months ago.”

Teddy rolled his eyes. “Hunham wasn’t proud of us after one test, so he called in her one day, and we had to basically go up against her in some bullshit trivia match.”

“Wait,” Jason looked back at you. “so it was you versus the entire class?”

You stood proudly. “Uh huh.”

“Lost to this dickwad of all people.” Teddy slapped Angus’ back. “We couldn’t believe she met her match; she tore apart almost everyone else in class.”

 “So then why are you acting like you did any better?” You tried your best to sound as if you were joking but were also dead serious.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter if I did; you still lost.”

Rolling your eyes, they soon fell onto the youngest pair, staring up at you as if in study. You smiled, holding out your hand, introducing yourself. “What’re your names?”

The one with glasses and black hair shook yours first. “Ye-Joon.”

Then the boy paler than a lightbulb and cheeks turning red from the cold. “Alex.”

“And what’re you two doing here?”

Ye-Joon spoke first. “My family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken.” Teddy snickered.

“What’s a rickshaw?”

You shrugged, despite knowing what it was. “Not sure, I am sure that he’s an idiot though.”

Teddy acted as if you were flirting with him. “Highest compliment I’ve ever gotten from you.”

“What about you?” Jason questioned. “You’re Hunham’s kid, but do you go to school in town or…?”

“Homeschooled.” You weren’t the one who responded. All eyes went to Agnus Tully, still smoking a cigarette and averting his eyes from everyone. “Which checks out.”

You tilted your head, hiding your growing nerves with a surprised smile. “Aw, look at that; Frankenstein’s Monster does have the capacity to memorize things.”

The only one who laughed was Teddy, and you almost wanted to take it back.

Angus just shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what kind of schtick it is to be the angry girl, but it doesn’t look nice on you.”

“Hey, leave the lady alone.” Jason stepped in.

“Lady?” He said the word as if it was foreign to call you that.

“Yes,” you agreed with Jason despite how much you didn’t want to, but your desire to humble Angus Tully outweighed your morals (a reoccurring theme for the Winter of 1970). “I’m a lady.”

“For how much you start fights, I wouldn’t call you one.”

“Ladies do not start fights, but they can sure as hell finish them.”

He merely rolled his eyes and went back to smoking. Fair enough…him not engaging only made him look like the bigger person. Still, it wasn’t worth it for you to continue beating a tall, dead, dumb, horse with curly hair.

“What’s your story?” Jason asked Alex.

“Oh,” he sounded shocked. “my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS.”

“Mormons, right?”

Teddy asked before he could respond. “Do you guys wear some kind of magic underwear?”

You turned to Jason and whispered as Alex went into an explanation. “I’m going to slap him into next semester the next time some stupid shit leaves his mouth.”

He tried to hide his smile. “I don’t think any of us would mind, to be honest.”

“Hey,” Teddy interrupted. “what’s with the townies?”

Everyone turned to the chapel and saw two men carrying the Christmas tree out. Agnus yelled. “Excuse me! What are you doing with our Christmas tree?”

“The school sold it back to us!” He responded. “Scotch pine, still fresh.”

The other one added. “Yeah, we’re gonna put it back on the lot. Do it every year.”

“This is the most bullshit ever.” Angus shook his head, then looking at you. “Did you know about this?”

You couldn’t even respond right away, the question was so ludicrous. “I had no idea about being stuck here with you idiots until about an hour ago, so I naturally knew the townies would steal your Christmas tree.”

“Unbelievable.” He muttered under his breath, putting out the cigarette and heading towards the main building.

The rest of the boys’ gaze drifted to you, and all you said was. “Do you think he’d believe me if I told him they worked for the Grinch?”

You were more than halfway through A Christmas Carol when you were in the room you shared with your father in the infirmary. He was chatting with Mary, the head cook and the closest woman you would have to a mother figure, downstairs, leaving you by yourself.

Not exactly.

In the next room, you knew Alex, Ye-Joon, and Angus shared one, and then Teddy and Jason. They were quiet for the most part, save for Kountze tossing a tennis ball against the wall, but it stopped bothering you after a few minutes.

 You’d read the Charles Dickens’ tale a million times, but you couldn’t help and see how many similarities Angus Tully shared with Ebenezar Scrooge. It would be a lie if anyone were to ever claim you didn’t have hobbies; what would they call you assigning fictional characters to real people?

You found yourself beginning to pace around the room the more you read. Whilst voices raising in the background grew louder, you didn’t know exactly what had been happened until you wandered in on Tully and Kountze having a fight you could only summarize as it being straight out of Lord of the Flies.

You knew how that story ended, so with one look, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Finding a quiet corner outside of the infirmary, you thought you were safe when-.

Your father yelled your name. “Could you come here, please?”

Roling your eyes, you yelled back. “You told me not to deal with the inadequacy of the male testosterone, so that’s what I’m doing!”

He called for you again, and you groaned, bookmarking where you were and marching back to the infirmary. All five boys and your father stood before you, and you leaned against the doorframe, making it known you wanted to be anywhere but there.

Paul Hunham sighed. “You wouldn’t happen to know who started this ‘Not fight’ mister Ollerman described to me?”

Your eyes drifted to Tully (for reasons, you had no idea), who simply glared back at you. You could’ve done it…lied about him starting it even though you had no idea; it’s what he deserved for being an ass you to that day, and for winning months ago.

But, where you were a bitch, you were also just.

“No,” you stated. “I don’t know.”

He thinned his lips, turning back to everyone. “All right then, we’ll do it like the Roman Legions. Absent a confession, one man’s sin is every man’s suffering. For every minute the truth is withheld, you will all receive a detention.”

“And I thought all the Nazis were hiding in Argentina.” Angus mumbled.

“Stifle it, Tully.” Your father refuted.

You shrugged (this somehow being the first time you agreed with Angus Tully). “He’s got a point; you’re breaking the Geneva Convention if you do.”

“The what?” Teddy scrunched his nose.

“Well,” Your father sighed as he said your name. “if you want to have an opinion on the matter, you can join them as well.”

“I don’t even go here!”

“Well, you’re standing under the roof right now. Now in the first of said detentions, you will clean the library. Top to bottom. Scraping the underside of the desks, which are caked with snot and gum and all manner of ancient, unspeakable proteins. On your hands and knees, down in the dust, breathing in the dead skin of generations of students and desiccated cockroach assholes.”

“It was Kountze!” Little Alex pointed to him. “Kountze started it!”

While the guilty party in question’s face had dropped, you watched as your father’s brightened. “Bravo, Mister Ollerman. Bravo.”

It must’ve off put Mary how you were smiling in the kitchen when you picked up the pitcher of water and bread as she got the platters of chicken and potatoes and asparagus.

Still, she asked. “How bad of a day was it for you to be smiling as you serve the men at the table?”

“Eh,” you began. “I would rather be on a plane to Copenhagen right now, but being stuck at this hell hole with you makes it tolerable; better, even.

Mary smiled at that. “Feeling’s mutual, Jane Bennett.”

“I’m Lizzie.” You playfully whined.

“And I can’t be bothered to finish that book.” She teased, and the two of you were beginning to make your way to the dining hall.

“Speaking of books, do you have another one I could borrow?” You asked.

“Already?” Mary sounded surprised. “I gave you that book last week.”

“And I finished it in a few days, I just haven’t had the chance to ask you.”

She shook her head as you pushed through the door out into the dining hall, holding it for her. “I’ll recommend the Bible next time to keep you occupied for longer.”

“I think I’ll stick with James Baldwin, if that’s alright.” You jested, then seeing Jason’s lips move as he asked a question, Teddy responded, and then your father spoke quite loudly.

“Consider yourselves lucky. During the third Punic campaign, 149-146 B.C., the Romans laid siege to Carthage for three entire years. By the time it ended, the Carthaginians were reduced to eating sand and drinking their own urine. Hence the term punitive.”

You and Mary set down the food, and you scrunched your nose in disgust at your father’s ‘fun fact’ while sitting beside Jason and facing Angus. It took everything in your bones not to burst out in laughter to see Teddy Kountze sitting at the edge of the table like a toddler having a silent tantrum.

“Thank you, Mary.” Your father greeted as everyone began to serve themselves. “Would you maybe care to join us?”

Oh, the look of distaste on Teddy’s face nearly made you lose it. Mary took notice immediately, and she offered a meek smile. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

The same moment the door to the kitchen closed when she left was when Teddy turned to all of you, whispering as if it would help. “I mean…I know she’s sad about her son and everything, but still, she’s being paid to do a job. And she should be doing it well, right?”

If it weren’t for the fact you were chewing on a piece of chicken, and that your father was just two seats away from you, you would’ve given him a piece of your mind. The glare in your eyes would have to suffice.

Still, he opened his dumb mouth to continue. “But I guess, no matter how bad of a cook she is, they can never fire her.”

“Will you shut up?!” Your father hit the table so hard, silverware flew. You’d seen this rage from him before…but it still made you jump. “You have no idea what that woman has been through-!”

His gaze turned to you, and saw the look that could only belong to you in moments like that; where you stiffened yourself and hardened your eyes to look as if you did not know what fear meant. Yet, there was still an undeniable amount of terror even within those eyes you tried to have been the most fearless.

He reigned himself back in. “You know, Mr. Kountze, for most people, life is like a henhouse ladder; shitty and short. You were born lucky. Maybe someday you entitled little degenerates will appreciate that. If you don’t, I feel sorry for you, and we will not have done our jobs. Now eat.”

The boys obeyed, keeping their heads low. You felt your heart go back to itself, and as you were returning to eating, you heard an irritating voice mumble.

“Not our fault her kid was one of the poor bastards to be drafted.”

It took you three seconds to find Teddy’s foot under the table, and one for you to step on it with all your weight.

He jolted, cursing under his breath before looking at you. “The hell?!”

You feigned innocence, a potato on your fork. “Oh, was that your foot? I’m so sorry.”

Teddy’s eyes tried to burn through your skin as you continued to eat, but you barely felt them. The eyes you did feel on you were soon gone when you looked across from where you sat.

There was Angus Tully, keeping his head down as if he was a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

…Interesting…

What else were you supposed to think?

You finished A Christmas Carol by the time your father forced you to turn out the lights (and then confiscated your flashlight from under your bed…had to think of a better hiding spot). It always took you a while to go to sleep (still does, some nights).

As you laid in darkness, your mind would rush with the worlds you vowed to lose yourself in through the books you read. Frodo had Middle Earth, Emma had Highbury, and you had…Barton, Massachusetts.

Not even Concord like the March Sisters, just plain old Barton.

So, naturally, when your mind had tired itself from living these fantasies, and as you were about to drift off to sleep, your father’s snoring awoke you.

You hadn’t even noticed he came into the room, only when he started snoring to wake the dead. Sighing heavily, you tossed yourself out of bed, and used what moonlight coming in from the windows as your guide. Not long after, you saw that Angus and the freshmen boys drew the short end of the stick in their room choice; there were no curtains to the windows, causing the lamplights to bleed into the room, making it an unfavorable color of piss yellow.

That’s when your eyes drifted to where Jason and Teddy were; a little light peering in from their window facing the moon, and correspondingly, the other bedroom, but still quite dark. Closest to the door…a spare bed.

Yes, it was by Teddy, but your father’s snoring being fainter in that room was enough for you.

But again…it was by Teddy.

So, swallowing your pride, your eyes darted around for a solution, and they landed on Frankenstein’s Monster right behind you. Sighing to yourself, you turned back around into his room, and after thinking of what to say, you shook him awake.

He was somehow relaxed at first when he opened his eyes to see you; but that was just shock, he nearly fell out of bed when his vision adjusted.

“What the hell?!” He gasped, sitting up.

You shushed him, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I need a favor.”

He blinked, looking around to just double check where he was; nope, it wasn’t a bad dream, yep, he was still at Barton. “You appear like one of the fucking ghosts from A Christmas Carol, what could it possibly be?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, Ebenezar Scrooge, my dad snores like he’s trying to be the Giant from Jack and the Beanstalk, and I can’t sleep in there. So, I’m gonna go sleep in the other room, and you gotta wake me up or I’m dead.”

Angus Tully stared at you as if your head had grown horns. “I have no idea what you just said right now because you woke me up at,” he turned and looked at his watch. “oh look, 1am.”

Sighing you bit back a response only because you needed something from him. “Look; I want to actually be able to sleep, and I know I won’t at all if I’m stuck in a room with my dad all night. I’ll sleep in the extra bed in the other room, and you wake me up so that none of us will be killed if I oversleep in a room with teenage boys.”

It’s more than obvious he understood, but he then asked. “Why not just ask one of the guys in the room you’re sleeping in?”

“I don’t trust Kountze with anything and Jason…”

Damn your exhaustion for not being able to come up with a good explanation besides-.

“You like him.” Angus’ face lit up with a teasing glee that unnerved you somehow more than Teddy’s entire existence did that day.

“No!” You immediately deny. “I mean, yes, but in a way that of course I like him because he’s the only one of you assholes who are nice to me. So, I don’t like like him.”

You liar.

Angus scoffed, yet his shit eating grin was still on his face. “What are you, twelve?”

“I was about to ask the same thing since you’re so interested.” You rolled your eyes.

“So why me?” He asked. “You like the freshmen, don’t you trust them more?”

“I like them and actually want them to sleep.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Sighing you said. “I’ll give you whatever you want; not whatever you fucking perve but-.”

“-I never even thought of it like-.”

“-Sure, you didn’t.” You interrupted. “But I got a friend in town, so I can always go and get you stuff. What do you want?”

He took his time thinking; so much time you were tempted to wake Mary up and beg her to let you sleep in her room (you knew she would've let you, but you didn't want to disturb her. You also never questioned your father why he didn't initially have you sleep in Mary's room; more than likely just to give her her own space). Finally, he answered.

“Chocolate and cigarettes.” The look you gave him would’ve made you laugh if you could see it. It only made him scrunch his eyes. “What?"

“That’s it?”

“I'm running out of both, big deal." He scoffed. "Am I allowed to change my mind after each time you pay me? Besides, when will you?”

You shrugged. “I can’t go out every day. I’ll see if he’ll let me the day after tomorrow, so I can stock up then. How about…every three days you wake me up, that’s when I give you stuff. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Holding out your hand, you were surprised he shook it right away. You looked him dead in the eyes when you said. “If any of them try to do anything to me while I sleep, I’m using their own pillow to suffocate them; that goes for you too, clear?”

“Crystal.” He drew his hand away. “I won’t say anything either.”

You nodded in thanks, standing up. Before you could tiptoe to the other room, you looked back at him. “Wake me up at six-thirty; he’ll wake you all up at seven.”

When you turned your back again, he asked in an unsettled fashion. “How?”

You knew that he hated the light flooding the room for a different reason now; to see your smile of mischief before you left.

[wisteria-lodge]

I LOVE the version of Lucius in your fic Prison of the Phoenix. He's different from a lot of portrayals I've seen. Why did you decide to write him how you did?

A lot of the fun of writing a book-accurate fix-it fic comes from taking the events of the book, and removing JKRs (simplistic, misleading, sometimes just weird) narrative framing. Slytherins = baddies, Gryffindors = goodies, you know. 

This is especially fun with Lucius Malfoy, who just like… isn’t very evil? Chamber of Secrets is his most villainous book, and I’ll get to that, but otherwise? He tries (unsuccessfully) to get the animal that attacked his kid killed. He donates to hospitals (but in like, an evil way.) He is a hilariously incompetent Death Eater, and then he's Voldemort’s punching bag. 

That’s kind of the point of Lucius. He looks the part. He commits to the aesthetics of the thing, with the hair and the peacocks and the snake-wand-cane. He likes the mystique of walking into a room and knowing that you know (but can’t prove) he’s a dark wizard. It allows him to be… kinda lazy. He can coast on his family name, money, reputation, privilege. I really think that if you sat Lucius Malfoy down and asked him to walk you through all the wizard-supremacy talking points he wouldn’t be able to do it. He’ll toss around words like “mudblood” and “mudblood-lover” no problem, but in the end he doesn’t really care. Lucius is not a true believer. The way the world is set up benefits him tremendously and he doesn’t want Voldemort back. That’s just text:

“Use your brains, Ron,” said Bill. “If they really were Death Eaters… I bet they’d be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they’d ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives… I don’t reckon he’d be over-pleased with them, do you?”

Lucius and friends had too much to drink at a sporting event, put on the old outfits (again with the aesthetics) and started levitating muggles. Which obviously isn’t GOOD, but they’re not killing or torturing, or furthering any kind of agenda. It’s important that Barty is so insulted and pissed off by the way they’re basically playing Dark Wizard that he casts the Dark Mark to “show [them] what loyalty to the Dark Lord meant, and to punish them for their lack of it.” Which kicks off most of the events of the book. 

Prison of the Phoenix is going to have a companion, parallel fic told from Harry’s POV (tentatively titled Harry Potter and Malfoy’s Suspicious Interest in Werewolves.) Lucius does show up in that one, and I was honestly surprised by how much more frightening and intimidating he is when filtered through Harry’s perspective. Because with a Severus POV… when Severus is used to spending time around Voldemort, Greyback, Bellatrix, honestly Dumbledore and Sirius Black…. Lucius is not scary. Lucius wants to buy presents for his son, go to high-profile events with his beautiful wife, and wear a variety of snake-themed accessories and extravagant hats. 

I wanted a kind of college-roommates-who-stayed-friends feel for the Severus + Lucius relationship, because they are friends. Sirius calls Severus Lucius’ “lapdog,” and Narcissa calls him Lucius’ “oldest friend.” Lucius is also part of the welcoming committee when Severus is first sorted into Slytherin. He’s five years older (I think Jason Isaacs is the only Harry Potter adult the same age as the character he plays), which would have affected the dynamic between him and Severus a lot in school. Personally, I think it makes sense for Lucius to be a little protective of this brilliant half-blood kid with no money. And as an adult, there’s some guilt mixed in there as well. Severus probably would not have been sucked into the Voldemort thing nearly as deep or nearly as fast if it hadn’t been for Lucius, and the war kind of destroyed him. Lucius remembers a younger Severus who was modding potions, inventing spells, coming up with cheeky nicknames for himself, and that person is gone. That’s a big part of the reason he’s so invested in the Severus/Remus relationship in Prison of the Phoenix. Something about Remus has managed to wake up parts of that younger Severus, and Lucius thinks that’s fantastic.

I also think Lucius might be the character who knows Voldemort the best. He’s one of the only Death Eaters who Voldemort calls by their first name (Bellatrix, Severus, and Draco are the others) and he’s weirdly familiar with his “slippery friend” Lucius, addressing the whole speech about how/why he returned to him, for some reason? Anything that helps Voldemort make sense as a person I’ll take, and to me it makes sense that young Tom Riddle charmed Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius’ father, first. The dates are right, and he’s exactly Tom’s type - rich, pureblood, probably easily flattered (let’s be honest) and sitting on a pile of magical artifacts. It’s very Hepzibah Smith vibes, is what I’m saying. And rich, posh, popular seventeen year olds don’t join cults. But if Lucius’ father was already in a cult… 

It also makes sense to me that Tom Riddle got sort of stuck when he killed Marvolo Gaunt, and made his first horcrux at sixteen. He has this fascination with sixteen year old pureblood wizards (so Barty, Draco, and Lucius would have fit this profile.) He sort of wants to be them, but also sort of wants to break them? It’s messy, and complicated. It’s creepy and compelling, that Lucius is aging but this spectre that’s dominated his life isn’t. 

And so when Lucius gives Ginny the diary in Book 2… it makes sense that he’s just trying to get rid of it. He was just at Borgin and Burkes selling dark artifacts, but knows that the diary is worse. He needs to make sure it can’t possibly be traced back to him. So he gives it to the daughter of the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. (It is an enchanted muggle artifact, after all.) If Arthur Weasley finds it and deals with it, fine. If Ginny is discovered with it in a way that blows up in Arthur’s face, also fine. If it does get to Hogwarts and does open the Chamber of Secrets - well Draco is going to be fine, and it might undermine Dumbledore. If it was really important to Lucius that the diary rid the school of muggleborns… he would have given it to Draco had him use it. Or given it to Draco, and told him to leave it somewhere for an enemy to find. But Lucius doesn’t do that, because he doesn’t want Voldemort back and his politics just aren’t that important to him. 

The one trait I did give Lucius that doesn’t go back to the books is just being madly in love with Narcissa. Lucius is an unrepentant wife guy. (And I mean… it doesn’t contradict anything. There isn’t anything in the books to suggest that he isn’t a wife guy.)  I honestly did that for structural reasons. I’m writing a romance with Severus, who has the emotional awareness of a stack of roofing tiles. He just really, really needed a friend he could ask for relationship advice. 

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Run Away With Me Chapter 1

NEW SERIES BABY

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Named Female OC (Charlotte Ginger)

Summary: Big Mom's daughter, Charlotte Ginger is married off to Vinsmoke Sanji. What could possibly come of this?

WC: 2200

Run Away with Me Chapter 1

— —

The transponder snail rings. 

Big Mom waits a few tones until she answers.

The snail was presented to her on a silver platter from one of her many servants. She lounges in a giant bed and presses the phone up to her ear. 

“Yes?” She answers. 

“Madam Charlotte. It is a pleasure to speak to you directly. Thank you for taking my call.” A deep voice booms from the other end of the snail. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Judge. Did you make a decision from the papers I sent you?” Big mom asks, nibbling at a carrot cake slice she had left on her side table. 

There was a pregnant pause. 

“I’ve made a decision… but not from the options given to me.” Judge Vinsmoke says from the other end of the line. 

“You know how I feel about a change in terms, Vinsmoke… tread carefully.” 

“Your daughters are nothing less than spectacular, Madam Charlotte, but what I think would best serve our alliance is one of them I didn’t see in the file.” Judge replies. 

“Oh? And who would that be?” Big Mom inquires after wiping the cream cheese frosting from her lips. 

“The red haired one. The hunter. From the wanted posters. That’s the one I want for my son.”

Another silence. 

“So you want my Ginger, eh?” Big Mom indulges him. “Why?”

“She’s strong. Intelligent. Crafty. Good breeding stock for my boy. This legacy lives long after we’re gone, Linlin, am I correct? I have no interest in simply making an alliance. I want to build an empire.” Judge says grimly, with a smirk hidden not-so-plainly in his voice. 

“Hmm… you make an interesting point, Vinsmoke. I’ll consider it.” 

— —

*peck*

*peck*

*caw?*

Your eyelids flutter open. Your familiar raven, Nori, was gently prodding his beak at your nose, causing you to wake up and scrunch your face together. 

“What? Gods forbid a girl get a break around here.” You sigh and throw the blanket off your body. Nori flaps his wings and settles on your night table before cocking his head and giving you an urgent sounding coo. 

You throw your long, bright red hair into a ponytail quickly as you rise to your feet. You slip on your boots, still slightly dank from the long journey at sea. You were sent on a hunting expedition, as searching and destroying was always your area of expertise. Your mother, an emperor of the seas, had you go off to hunt down a pack of deserters and bring back some supplies along with the bodies of her betrayers. 

Always the good daughter, you obliged your mother’s every request. It was no easy feat, capturing and executing the deserters, but with your skills and prowess you were able to achieve your goal. You carried the men’s heads deep within the belly of your ship, carefully preserved to present to your Mama. Years ago you lost count of the heads of dead men you’ve offered to your mother for her shrewd approval. Marines, pirates, low brow bootleggers, high born nobles, no target was safe from your murderous grasp. 

You loved your position. A general of Big Mom’s army and Minister of Spice, you were her most powerful daughter and an essential member of her armada at the tender age of 24. As little love and care as your mother showed you growing up, you appeased her now to stay in her good graces. You knew if Mama got a single *whiff* of indignation, your status would be lost to one of the multitude of your other siblings…

Perhaps someone larger… one of Mama’s children with giants perhaps. Or one of her fishmen children, adept in the arts of karate and unmatched in the seas. Your father was a wood elf from a secluded island in the South Blue… or so your mother told you. Perished before he could meet you. She explained this only once when you asked why your ears were different… pointed so much that you were bullied in school. 

“Tell me who’s bothering you, cupcake. I’ll just have a nice talk with their parents..” Your mother would always say when you asked her why the other children made fun of your ears as a kid. When you were young you hid your ears with your long hair, but once you proved yourself as Big Mom’s strongest tracker and hunter, you no longer feared judgment and mostly wore your hair in a slicked, long ponytail. 

*squaaak!* Nori cawed louder, as if trying to urge you to hurry up getting ready. 

“Alright alright, I’m moving.” You hush the bird and throw the pink cloak emblazoned with your mother’s jolly roger over your shoulders. You slide your daggers into the holsters on your thighs and swing your bow and quiver across your back before making your way to the door of your captain’s quarters. 

You push the wooden door open and trudge out into the sunlight. You bring your palm to your brow in an attempt to shield your eyes from the sun’s brightness. Once your eyes adjusted to the light, you can see Whole Cake Island coming up fast on the horizon. You let out a deep sigh. 

Another mission over. Stuck at home until the next assignment… But what was home, really? You loved your ship, your crew, your job… being at the chateau depressed you. Stewards and maids waiting on you hand and foot… constant badgering from your underlings and younger siblings… you wished you could always be at sea. 

The sea awakened you. The battles filled you with vigor. The camaraderie of a crew on the ocean brought you to life… But you were cursed to always come home to Mama. 

“Men! Prepare for arrival!” You shout to your crew before beginning to take down the main sail yourself. 

— —

You stepped off the gangplank and your soggy boots met the worn wood of the dock at Whole Cake Island. 

“Alright men, bring my cargo up the chateau. Mama will be quite pleased to see her spoils from this trip.” You say as you wipe the sweat from your brow. You turn around and see an emissary with several guards approaching you on the dock. 

“I can’t say I’m used to a welcoming party. A special occasion?” You quip at the emissary as you straighten out your leathers. 

“Big Mom has requested your audience as soon as possible, Miss Ginger. You are to come with us.” The grey bearded emissary said with a blank expression. Your hunter’s intuitions can’t help but notice the way the guards grip on their spears tighten as he finished his sentence. You scan their faces. You can only see fear. 

“And if I don’t go with you?” You cock your head curiously.

“I am afraid that’s not an option.” The emissary purses his lips. “Miss Ginger.” 

You were exhausted and not prepared for a fight, your men were loyal to you, but wouldn’t risk their lives to Big Mom for anything. 

“Aye. I’ll come.” You resign. 

*caw! CAW!* Nori frantically called from your shoulder. 

The emissary clears his throat. 

“Your mother requests you alone.” He says as he eyes your bird. 

“I’ll be fine, Nori. I promise. Wait here.” You coo to your familiar. 

He grows disapprovingly before flying off. 

— — 

You follow the emissary and the guards up the the chateau through the winding, frosting lined corridors of the castle as your mind races. What could mother possible want with you so urgently? You had done everything she asked for… the heads of the deserters on a silver platter… a ship filled to the brim with sweets and supplies… you couldn’t think of anything you’e done recently she could even consider a transgression… unless it was about Lazora….

You eventually reach Big Mom’s chambers and the emissary holds the door open for you. You take a deep breath before crossing the threshold. 

Your mother was seated on her lavish, massively large loveseat indulging in several bowls of what you could only perceive as banana pudding. Her throat bobbed heinously as she shoveled more of the dessert down her enormous gullet. You stepped towards her softly as not to disturb her gorging. 

“Mama…” You say quietly. 

“Ginger!” Your mother exclaims as she righted herself and placed the empty dish on the coffee table. “I’m so glad you’re back, my sweet child. Something incredible has come up, and I just can’t wait to tell you about it!” 

“Yes, Mama?” You ask. 

“Come, come, my love. Sit down! I can even have the guards bring some of that red wine you like.” Your mother gestures towards the armchair across from her. 

“I’m quite alright, Mama, thank you.” You say as you sit down and place your hands in your lap. 

“Well, Ginge, I’ll get right to it. We’ve come into the opportunity for the strongest alliance the world has seen in decades.. and you’re the one in the middle of it! How exciting!” Your mom claps her massive hands together below her double chin. You were reminded at this point how easily it would be for her to crush you in those hands…

“I… I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mama…” You say, confused. 

“Germa 66… the most powerful technological agency in the entire world has offered to marry one of their sons off to the Charlotte family! It would prove greatly beneficial for both us and them. Isn’t that fantastic, my sweet cupcake? Your wedding will be in nearly a weeks time! I am so happy for you! And all of us!” Your mom grinned. 

“But… mother… You told me if I could rise to the ranks of general… or minister… I would be exempt from political marriage! I’ve managed to do both and you’ve still sold me off? I don’t understand…” You shake your head in a panicked manner as her words start to sink in. 

“Things change, darling. We all took an oath to protect and serve this family… and I’ve determined this is the best way you can do your duty.” Your mother reaches for another bowl of pudding from the table and you instinctively flinch, thinking she was lunging for you. 

“Mother I must protest.. I have no desire to marry, which is why I pursued the role that I did. I am your most elite hunter and assassin… the fleet will be left with a massive gap without me! I have done everything you’ve asked since the day I was born I-“ You stutter out through gritted teeth. 

“ENOUGH!”

You mouth is snapped closed by an unseen force. Your mother’s power was far, far greater than your own. 

“You will marry the Vinsmoke boy with no issue. You have been chosen for this task and should feel grateful.” Your mother scolds you. 

“M-m-my sh-shi-ship-!” You choke out through the invisible grasp that Big Mom has around your throat. 

“Silly girl. Cracker will take over your fleet. He may not be as productive, but he’s got you cornered in the strength department. I’m sure his results will be just as fine.” Your mother shoots you a cheeky glare. 

You sputter for breath as you struggle to breathe. 

“Ma.. Ma..” You croak out. 

The grasp on your throat releases and you clutch your neck, gasping deeply to regain oxygen. 

“The wedding is Sunday.” Your mother says casually as she gulps down a second bowl of dessert. “It’ll take that long to get you presentable.” She gestures to the guards. “Get her to the chambermaids. She needs a decent gown and to wash that vile sea-stench from her hair. The Germa Prince arrives tomorrow and she needs to be look like a lady for once.” She commands as you grasp at your own throat in relief. 

You feel strong arms encircle each of your shoulders 

Your body was too weakened to fight back, you simply had no choice but to allow the guards to shuffle you to your chambers. 

— —

You fall face first onto your plush comforter, your mind still swimming with thoughts of what your mother just told you… you can’t take it laying down.. there’s no way you’ll be married off… it was guaranteed to you…

“Wait! Stop!” You push yourself off the bed and rush towards the door, pulling desperately on the handles, only to find it locked already by your mothers devouts. “No!” You push your legs on the opposite door as you pull the handle with all your might. You pull one of your daggers from your thigh-holster and try to jam Ito between the double doors to unjam the lock mechanism. 

“Ah!” You screamed.

It was like a lightening bolt hit your body. You were shocked and blown backwards. Your mother must have put some enchantment on the door… you were trapped… 

— —

A/N HEY YALL NEW SERIES TIME! I PROMISE WE’LL GET SANJI IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! We’re just doing a lil world building, ya digg?  Also please send me inboxes or comments for ideas for this series or critiques! Love yall.

[aeoris4lovers]

when caleb is talking to the nein about his past before the dinner with trent, he tells them that in the time he spent under trent, astrid and wulf never wavered in their dedication or willingness. after rereading his origins comic, though, i think he’s wrong. i think there was a pretty significant period of time where eadwulf specifically was having doubts about what they were doing right in front of his eyes.

exhibit a: the bodies

this is the most subtle example of it, but it’s also the earliest and probably represents the very beginnings of whatever doubts were brewing in wulf’s mind.

in both of these instances, there’s a dead or unconscious body on the ground, and wulf is staring at it while bren talks to trent. it’s hard to tell where he’s looking in the second one, but a later frame makes it clear that he’s looking in the direction of a body.

in the first one particularly, he looks to me like he’s visibly upset — his face isn’t as stoic as the others, and his body language looks uncertain, not his usual crossed-arm stance.

these were the moments that first caught my eye. they brought up questions in my mind: what is he thinking? what’s going through his head as he looks at the people they just hurt?

exhibit b: the bath scene

this comes immediately after the second body, and is what confirmed in my mind that wulf definitely isn’t entirely on board with the things they’re being told to do.

he closes the door behind them and just stands with his fist against it. none of them look happy by any means, but it’s clear that he’s upset to a point where even bren and astrid, in the midst of their own feelings, look concerned and go to comfort him.

bren in particular takes a long moment with him before the two of them rejoin astrid. i’ll get into why that — and bren’s role in general — is significant in a moment.

exhibit c: the morning after

this is the most important point in all of this, and the significance of his reaction here really can’t be understated.

in this moment, trent has just drawn their attention to their “memories” of their parents defying the empire. these are, from their point of view, very real and undeniable memories. and yet, the reaction we see here from wulf is one of explicit and absolute rejection.

and he’s not just denying what trent wants him to believe — he’s angry. he’s standing up and slamming a hand on table and raising his voice. doubt has been simmering under the surface in him for a while now, and this is the moment that trent crosses a line. trent has presented something truly unthinkable to him and despite his own memories supporting it, he absolutely cannot believe it. on a very visceral level, he knows it can’t be right.

this moment is significant not only because it confirms beyond a shadow of a doubt that wulf is not completely sure of what they’re doing, but also because we literally never see another student of trent openly defy him like this, nor do we see any volstrucker do so.

let me repeat that: until caleb goes up against him with the nein, eadwulf is the only person we ever see look trent in the eye and say “you’re wrong.” even after all of campaign two, we never see someone actively working under him defy him that explicitly — it’s only caleb, who escaped his control, or people like the nein with no real connection to him. even when astrid acts against him, she does it very quietly and is clearly terrified of those actions being alluded to at the dinner. wulf is the only one we ever see who, while at trent’s mercy, dares to openly and completely reject him.

bringing his family into it was a step too far. at this point, wulf isn’t just struggling with what they’re being told — he’s absolutely not having it anymore.

so what gives?

we know that he ultimately believes trent enough to kill his parents, and is even the first of the three to do it, so how do we get to that level of agreement from such a powerful moment of anger and denial?

that’s where bren comes in.

looking back at that breakfast scene, we can also see how the other two react to their own memories coming to light.

astrid’s is one of betrayal. she’s confused and struggling to understand why they would do it, but she doesn’t deny it either.

bren’s, on the other hand, is one of defeat. he’s clearly upset, but he’s simultaneously totally certain that what they’re remembering is true. and of course he is — his memory has been impeccable his entire life. why would he start to question it now, even if he doesn’t want to believe what it’s telling him?

bottom line: while astrid clearly also struggles with it and may have her own doubts, though not as strong as wulf’s, bren takes it all in stride and never wavers.

and if there’s one thing we know about wulf, it’s that he trusts his people. throughout his scenes in campaign two, we see him looking to astrid for signs of what to do or say and deferring to her when he’s overwhelmed by or unsure of the situation at hand. when caleb takes his hand at the blooming grove, he follows, and when astrid takes his hand and leads him away, he follows her. where they go, he follows. he trusts them implicitly and he looks to them when he doesn’t know what the right call is.

so what is he going to do in that moment, when his own mind is telling him something that he absolutely can’t believe and he doesn’t know how to reconcile it? he looks to them for guidance.

astrid clearly isn’t in a place to offer much, and hasn’t been. she’s not as lost in doubt as he is, but she’s not certain enough to reassure him either. we can already see that in the bath scene — remember when i said it was significant that bren is the one to stay with wulf while astrid goes off on her own? she wants to comfort him and tries to because she cares about him, but it seems that her conviction isn’t quite strong enough to be a steady base for someone else. and in the breakfast scene, we see that again, with her not openly going against it but still struggling with it in a way bren doesn’t.

bren, on the other hand, is consistently certain that they’re doing the right thing, even when it feels bad. caleb says as much himself when he first tells beau and nott his story: “i was so sure, i was so sure, until i wasn’t.” hearing his parents scream as they die is genuinely the first time he ever has doubts. until that moment, he’s sure. he trusts his mind and he trusts trent and he believes in their cause.

so when he sees wulf struggling with it, what does he do? he offers that certainty, reminds him of why they’re doing what they do, assures him that they’re doing the right thing and he doesn’t have to feel guilty. he’s their rock, the one wulf and astrid can trust to be sure even when their faith is shaken.

and that’s exactly what i think happens in the time between that breakfast and the night they kill their parents: bren sees wulf angry and totally lost trying to make sense of the massive gulf between what he remembers and what he knows to be true, he sees astrid confused and not able to put the pieces together, and he reassures them because he trusts his mind and so do they and he doesn’t want to see them struggle.

and i think astrid needs less convincing, but once she’s sure too and it’s only wulf that can’t accept it, that’s when he starts to think that maybe the unthinkable could really be true. bren is certain of what he remembers and astrid is certain that bren is right, so how can wulf, who trusts and relies on them so much for guidance, not at least entertain the idea that his parents really are traitors? how can he deny it and, in doing so, deny them?

that’s how he can ultimately go and do what he’s told, with such a stern and certain look on his face as he does. because his people were sure that it was the right thing to do, and no matter how strongly he feels that something must be wrong, he trusts them even more than he trusts himself.

that’s not to say that his doubts are completely quelled, though, because there’s still more of this thread that we can follow.

exhibit d: the aftermath

wulf’s move to knock bren out and save astrid is a quick and decisive one in the moment, but it’s clear that he isn’t at all sure if he did the right thing. he talks to trent — explaining himself, maybe even apologizing because he thinks he was wrong — and trent has to stop him and say that no, he was right.

this is significant for two reasons. the first and more obvious of the two is that this shows he’s still in a headspace of questioning what he’s doing almost immediately after doing it. that doubt was quelled long enough to allow him to complete the “exercise”, but not by any means gone for good.

the second, which i think is the most important to the person he ultimately becomes, is that this is the first time he’s had to look to trent for reassurance.

before this moment, it’s bren and astrid who comfort and reassure him. but now, bren is lost to them and astrid is in no shape to offer any comfort, much less give him the reassurance bren might have. and she might not want to do so even if she could — she wanted to save bren, not leave him behind, and may very well be angry at wulf for the choice he made. so what choice does he have, with neither of them able to support him, but to look to his mentor for reassurance?

and what happens once he gets that reassurance from trent? before, he doubted trent and even openly defied him, but can he continue to do that now?

if he wants to be able to live with himself after, to live with the choice he made and sleep at night, he has to believe that the reassurance trent offered him that night was right — he has to believe that trent’s judgment is right. if trent is lying or just wrong, that means he did the wrong thing that night, and where can he go from there?

that night is a turning point for wulf not just because he took his parents out of the picture, but because he made a decision that ended up forcing him to trust trent to an extent that he really didn’t before.

the new eadwulf

the wulf that we meet in campaign two as an adult is a far cry from the wulf who stood up at that table and said “no, they would never.” he comes across as largely apathetic to and even comfortable with the things they do — it’s just a job for him, not something to overthink or get hung up on. as far as he’s concerned, the lives they take are unfortunate but still necessary sacrifices, just like trent always said.

and if you ask me, his journey to becoming that person, to the doubt and the fire in him being all but completely stomped out, starts with the night he was forced to give up his one source of constant reassurance and finally put his trust in trent instead. everything we see him do to separate himself from his actions, from his belief in fate and his “good soldier” attitude to the drink he has ready after spending time with trent, stems from that moment. he is the way he is when we meet him not because he simply doesn’t care, but because he can no longer afford to.

caleb says they never wavered while he was with them, but i think it’s only because his vision was clouded by his own certainty that he never saw it. he just couldn’t believe that they might not believe in their cause as much as he did because it seemed so right to him, and how could he believe that the people he loved would doubt something so important?

but they did doubt it, especially wulf, and even as an adult, little bits of that stick around in him — he immediately gravitates toward caduceus after caduceus stands up to trent, and as soon as trent isn’t a threat anymore, he’s perfectly content to just stay with caleb (and probably would have if astrid hadn’t pulled him away when she did).

i think, if bren hadn’t been selected for the volstrucker program or just hadn’t been as confident as he was in all of it, it may very well have been eadwulf who found himself standing against trent in the end.

[taranida]

What exactly happened in the 70’s

I’ll start with The Poet and The Muse. I’ve written about the real Thomas Zane being a poet already, but left out this piece of evidence (not at all on purpose, truth be told), but I want to discuss it here, since it goes well with the point I want to make.

In the song we learn the story of a Poet living happily with his Muse and telling her stories about treasures beneath the waves. Then one morning the Muse goes to the lake and drowns. The Poet at some point realises that something happened and comes to the lake, calling for the Muse, but to no avail. Whole day spent in search, and in his desperation, he swears to bring his love back. He writes a story and succeeds to some degree. The husk of the Muse comes to him in the night, possessed by some dark force. The Poet takes her in, but in trying to fix his mistake, vows them both to silence beneath the lake. The story concluded with the peculiar:

Now if its real or just a dream One mystery remains For it is said on moonless nights They may still haunt this place

Now, what exactly the boys of the Old Gods of Asgard are hinting at here (aside from the existence of the Dark and Bright Presences) I can’t tell for sure: they might just toy with all those who have that buzzing question of “who wrote whom”, but I will treat the story of Thomas Zane the Poet as a true story, that happened without any help of tortured writers. Although I will use the manuscripts as well as every other source of information.

Prepare for a long read, since firstly, I would like to present all the bits and pieces that I’ve managed to collect, and then tie them all up in a version of events, I believe, happened in July 1970.

First, the dialogs.

Tor and Odin (whom I cannot stop lovingly call “the boys”) say this:

“Tom’s just lost, is all. Baba Yaga got to him too, the damn witch!” “She used us all, taken from all of us. Took my thunder, the witch.” “And my ravens, what was...what were they? Memory and Thought! The hag.” “She took something from you too, didn’t she? That’s what she does.” “Oh, we’re better off. This place, the lake, it gives you power. If you’re a creator.... An artist, a god!” “Nightmares shifted in their sleep in the darkness of the lake...” “Heh heh, yeah, that’s the one. She makes sure it comes out twisted and wrong. Just ask the Lamp Lady. She knows what happened to that other writer.”

 Cynthia Weaver tells us:

“I knew them both. Tom and Barbara. I had such a crush on him...such a beautiful man. I was jealous. There was a part of me that was maybe a little glad when she had the accident. And then Tom started writing and woke the darkness up.... He tried to bring her back...but you can’t do that. There are no free rides like that.” […] “The witch looked like her, but it wasn’t. Barbara was sweet. He didn’t understand until it was too late. He tried to undo it, wrote himself, her, everything he’d ever written out of the world.”

We have Samantha’s dream in “This House of Dreams”, that gives us even more details:

“The diver told me that a dark presence had taken over his girlfriend (the woman in the photos). He’d tried everything he could think of to banish it from her, but everything had failed. In the end, he finally understood what he had to do, finally understood the true nature of the dark place that was hidden under the waves of the lake where they lived. The lake was an opening to dark place that was much bigger than the lake itself, in fact, much bigger than the whole universe we live in. He wrote one last poem, his masterpiece, a secret poem, a hidden poem, a poem that’s not among the poems I’ve found in the shoebox. And he took his girlfriend for one last dive. Together they sank down into the depths, far deeper than he had ever dived before.”

Then we have the manuscripts, that expand on the story:

More so, we have the dates and newspaper articles:

The last one is cut awkwardly, but, really, all I needed from it are the dates of publishing and of the seismic activity.

So, what really happened during this week? On the morning of 10th July Barbara went for a swim and drowned. As Cynthia notes in her article, Barbara was quite a swimmer and her death does seem odd. At the same time, we have another article (that I will put in the very end for those who are curious) about a writer visiting the area and encountering Taken — Robert “The Colonel” Hambleton dated 6th July 1970. Thomas even makes a snarky remark about not ever hearing about him and calling him “an uninvited guest”. All hints that with all the artists in the area: the boys of Old Gods of Asgard, Thomas Zane, Cynthia Weaver and Barbara Jagger, the Dark Presence still pounces on every other creator unfortunate enough to choose Bright Falls as a place to visit. Might’ve been because it could not make the gang mentioned above do its bidding?

The Dark Presence might be of a very different mind, alien to humans, but it’s cunning. As stated in one of the manuscripts, when it senses Alan, “all he'd need was a little incentive.” For Alan it had to drag Alice to the pier and into the lake; for Thomas it might’ve used the help of its ravens or some other means necessary to overwhelm Barbara long enough for her to drown, as at the time the Dark Presence had no physical body (but there might’ve been some other Taken swimmer around). And after Thomas spent the whole day searching for his lover, succumbing to desperation more and more, he got that incentive, the Dark Presence needed.

In the night Thomas wrote a poem to bring Jagger back. The Dark Presence plan worked and it was now in the world, almost free, wearing Barbara’s skin. But it was still constrained by the story Thomas wrote, and in his story he surely wrote something along the lines of them being together and in love again, therefore we see that the Dark Presence cannot do anything to Thomas as he ties it to the chair, carves its heart out and writes countless pieces to undo his mistake. It just couldn’t get out of the role of the loving Barbara, who would never hurt Zane. It had to go through the story in which, probably, Thomas and Barbara lived happily ever after and died on the same day, to be completely free. Which doesn’t mean that the very, pardon, presence of the Dark Presence in the world was not affecting Bright Falls at the time, the Taken might’ve been multiplying and awful things happening during this week. Yet, unlike Alan, Thomas didn’t go into the woods, fighting for his life, he searched for a solution at the cabin, armed with his typewriter and the (kitchen) knife.

The only solution he found in the end — one last dive. To bring this darkness back to where it came from.

There are still a few mysteries left:

in the guide for the first game we can read excerpts from the book “Taken by the Dark Presence” found in a shoebox that has no author, but has initials of T.Z. and J.Z. on some pages, apparently written in the late 1960’s. And, oh boy, I have lots of questions for this one!

the Bird Leg Cabin and the Diver’s Isle, that might or might not been retroactively removed by the eruption under the Cauldron Lake.

the extent of Thomas’ writing powers, since as much as it is stressed a lot that he wrote himself out of reality, Barry, with a little research, is still able to find out about his existence, yet Alan in one of the “Writer in the Cabin” TV’s claims “A story is a beast with a life of its own. You can create it, shape it, but as the story grows, it starts wanting things of its own. Change one thing, and you set off a chain reaction of events that spreads through the whole thing.” The chain reaction here never happens: we have hard evidence that both Thomas and Barbara existed.

But those are theories for another day. This is already a long enough read to throw those into the mix.

And here’s the article about Robert “The Colonel” Hambleton (spoiler alert: there is another one, confirming that he died):

[wisteriagoesvroom]

gax + corporate/law vibes + ‘The powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.’

gax?? gax!!

power (you make some points): a gax ficlet

rated m, ~1.2k words now also readable on ao3

author babble:

bear in mind i wrote this before i knew more about the Gax Lore i.e. karting together, actually being nice to each other blablabla. you could also just retrofit the vibes and hopefully they still work. anyways!

will throw this up on ao3 when i’m not sitting bleary eyed in an airport

————

If there was one thing that Max Verstappen wouldn’t tolerate, it was George Russell having the monopoly on good PowerPoint presentations. Max had won all four years of debate in College, as well as the dubious title of “most radical deployment of Google Slides templates” at his MBA, and he was not about to be usurped by the other guy in his department who actually knew how to use an animate transition.

“You missed an indent there.” Max says, pointing at the monitor. Yellow and red lights wink at them from the outside, as if to say: you’re both in your mid-twenties, quit wasting it on a computer screen at 11pm on a Wednesday, maybe?

Max is not staring, very determined not to look at his teammate’s facial expression. But George is almost certainly rolling his eyes right now.

“Was coming back to that, alright?” George huffs back. Max is very professional most of the time. But something about how wound up George is, how insanely pedantic he is about everything from semicolons to coffee cup placement for the Directors to taking insanely detailed minutes that nobody except Max reads after the meetings – well. What is it that Nietschze once said? We hate in others what we most identify with about ourselves. Or was that from Twitter? Max does not really use Twitter except to look at Bloomberg News updates and cat videos, so he does not know. And anyway Nietzsche never made a six figure salary.

“It would just be easier if you would let me do it.” Max says.

“Fuck right off, mate.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like me to.”

“Not now.”

“Just share the link to this. I’ll do it.”

“We agreed to take turns on this.”

“Yes, Russell. But sometimes, the rules are meant to be bent.”

George swivels his chair to Max, then. Fully attempts to pin him with his gaze, commencing an awkward stare-off that lasts way too many seconds and makes Max once again realise that George’s eyes remind him of the expensive fish tank he saw at the Partners’ sushi dinner once. Max doesn’t think those same fish were the ones they ended up eating. But he does remember that dinner because it was the one where the Partners had dangled the promise of a huge promotion if they could help carry the company merger across the line successfully. The problem is, there was only one spot.

George’s distracting aquatic orbitals aside, fortunately, Max (i) never backs down, and (ii) has been told that he has the dead-eyed emotional stare of a robot missing an empathy software upgrade sometimes.

And clearly, the powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.

Max leans back in his chair, stance all mock-relaxed. “Do you want to be out of here before midnight, or not?”

“We’re expensing the Ubers either way, so it doesn’t make a difference to me, mate.”

Fine. If George is so hyperfocused on The Tasks that he’s forgotten the fun part of being Questionably Close Coworkers, so be it.

Max deploys the nuclear option.

He sticks his leg out, nudging the toe of his Pradas onto George’s slacks. And strokes his foot halfway up to a sensitive point on George’s thigh. Max may even flutter his lashes a little.

To his credit, George does not react. Merely swings his eyes like a lamp to Max’s face again. His hand does, however, goes still on the mouse.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Max feigns. He knows that George hates, more than anything, anyone getting dirt on his precious Ralph Laurens. But at least he has his attention now. “Was hoping we could move onto the more fun part of the typical evening activities. Maybe.”

“We shouldn’t be doing that again anyway.”

“George.”

“What?”

“That is not what you said the last, hm, fourteen times that we have done this, eh?”

“Who’s counting?”

“I thought you were the most careful of rule followers and data analysis, knapperd.”

George is a human being, but Max is almost certain the other man shakes himself like he’s preening right now.

“Well. It’s what the team likes me for, and it’s what I’ll keep doing.”

“Oh yes. Surely we must keep in mind the team. And the shareholders. They are very important.”

“Quite.”

“But should we tell them that you like it so much, George. When I do this.” Max says. Rising up, fully crowding George in, hands gripping the cool handles of the computer chair. Leaning in to nibble the side of George’s neck.

George swallows. Max watches his throat move.

Next, Max mouths the words onto the side of George’s jaw, stubble prickling his mouth. “And this.”

The click of the mouse continues steadily as Max moves his mouth to the shell of George’s ear. “And let’s not forget. This.”

Max tilts George’s face up fully, then. George’s face is flushed, eyes sparkling, all surprise at the sudden change of pace, but eager, too.

When Max seals his lips over George’s, George groans, and his hands shoot up to Max’s waist immediately. It doesn’t feel quite like winning a deal or a pitch does for Max, but the completion comes pretty damn close.

Max sweeps his tongue into George’s mouth. George opens willingly, like he always does. In the back of Max’s logical brain, a warning sign blares that the computer chair may not be able to support the weight of them both – because they spend a lot of time pretending they don’t work out together at the gym but Max knows exactly what George’s deadlift PB is and it’s pretty damn high for a scrawny looking dude.

And despite the keening protest of said chair, the two of them are both lost to it now. Max jams one knee between George’s legs, George nibbles hungrily at Max’s lower lip, Max thrusts his hips all needy, and maybe if Max is nice about it George might suck him off under the table, and–

Outlook chimes again.

“Blasted piece of shit.” George says, breaking away. His hands go still at Max’s waist. “Why we’re using G-Suite and Microsoft Office at the same time I will never know.”

George squeezes his eyes shut, as if making himself stop this is causing him physical pain. Maybe it’s that or the workflow incompatibility when George tries to move his custom Excel-Trello gantts into a third party API.

And Max won’t lie. He kind of likes it when George gets so irritated about these things. When he cares a bit too much. Because what is Max but exactly like that, too.

“Hazards of a merger, I guess. But without that, I would never have met you, no?”

George makes a noise like he knows what Max means. The other man straightens his shirt collar, and Max runs a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, because George had made a passing comment at the bathroom sink once about it looking good.

Sleeping with the person competing for the same Chief of Staff position is possibly the worst decision he could’ve made, and Max once dyed his hair platinum blonde. But, they’re stuck here together. Hell is a slightly more tolerable place when Satan’s right hand man looks this good. And knows his coffee order without asking.

Besides. Max is not bothered. He knows that the promotion is his. This is just a minor plot inconvenience.

Later, they will expense the uber back to George’s place, where Max will put his mouth on George’s arse, and give him a practical demonstration of the three different ways he’s learned to elicit pleasure from the male prostate.

George will whimper and whine the whole way through it, and after they’re both sated, they’ll both roll over to check their emails, barely concealing their smiles. They will pretend that what’s happening between them could be as clean as their zero-email inboxes. As if their connection is not violently seeping through containment.

All in the name of team bonding. For the firm. Yes.

(Or this is what they tell themselves, to maintain the illusion, anyway.)

[holylulusworld]

Between a rock and a hard place (5)

Summary: You are in big trouble and in need of money. Two wolves are more than willing to help you. For a price…

Pairing: Mobster!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader x Mobster!August Walker

Warnings: angst, language, power imbalance, debts, scared reader, groping, gaslighting, darkfic, both brothers are not nice guys, mafia au, a tiny hint of fluff/aftercare, possessive Walter, jealousy?, cockwarming

Between a rock and a hard place (4)

Between a rock and a hard place masterlist

Shutting the world around you off, especially the two men using you to their liking, you fell asleep on the couch at the club.

You slept for almost two hours before Walter finally decided it was time to go home. He covered your body with his large shirt and picked you up in bridal style.

August was less aggressive and loud on your way toward the car. He grinned and talked about your perfect ass the whole time.

At least you got him off your back by letting him fuck your ass. A silver lining in the dark pit your world became.

“You’ve done so well for us. We made so much money,” Walter soothingly runs his big hand over your back as you try not to move too much.

You are in the largest bathtub you have ever seen. Walter insisted on running you a bath and on joining you. A trick, of course. You ended up impaled on his insatiable cock to keep him warm once again.

“Feels good keeping my big cock warm, doesn’t it?” He laughs when you hide your face in his chest. You’d love to tell him that you are sore and tired, but he wouldn’t listen to you. None of them does.

“You tricked me,” you murmur, afraid to speak louder. “You lied too.”

“Kinda,” he pats your head. “We let our customers fuck our employees but provide a different service too. I kept my word, didn’t I? I only shared you with August. No other man will touch you ever again, lamb.”

“We call it live-action porn,” August snickers as he joins you in the tub. He stretches his long legs out and you instinctively cling to his brother. “Don’t worry, I’m satisfied for tonight. The blowjob you gave me in the back of the car was mind-blowing. You’re a little minx.”

“She was such a good girl for me. I’m so proud of her for letting herself fall,” Walter’s praise, makes your heart flutter. “I rewatched the close-up and got hard again. My sweet little lamb is a star. I hate to say it, but I told you so.”

“Hmmm…you don’t hate to say it, brother.” You squeak when August leans forward to grope your ass. “As long as I can fuck her, you can keep her. I’ll figure out how to make her disappearance believable.”

You stiffen. “Relax, baby lamb. We only want to keep you to ourselves. Bad people are after your dead husband, and I can tell, they’d love to get their hands on you.”

“You’re ours now. No need to be officially alive, right?” August pinches your ass meaningly and snickers when you try to move away. But you are trapped, still impaled on his brother’s cock. “Right.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Walter slaps his brother’s hand away. “She made fifty thousand bucks in one night for us. I told you she’s going to be good for us.”

“Good for you,” you sniffle. “So good…”

Walter showed mercy after he filled your cunt up for one last time. He cleaned you and put you into a barely-not-there nightie to present you to his brother.

“I like the way you dress her,” August laughs as you lie on the bed, worn-out, and tired. “She’s a damn porn star with a mouth and a tight hole like that.”

“She has had enough for one night,” Walter points at the door. “You can fuck her with me at the club, but nowhere else. The blowjob at the car was a one-time thing. She’s mine.”

“Christ, you are obsessed with her,” you hide your face in the cushions when the brothers start fighting over you again. “I want her at the club again next week. I got some VIPs waiting for a good show.”

“Next week,” Walter jerks his head toward the door. “Now leave. She needs sleep and me too. I fucked her so many times I’m a little tired myself.”

August glances at you one last time. He can’t help but feel a little jealous as you immediately move closer to his brother the moment he lies on the bed next to you.

“Night,” he walks out of the door, slamming it shut with a loud thud. You flinch and sniffle, knowing he’s mad at you again.

“Let him sulk, lamb,” Walter moves closer to you. “Come here. I’ll keep you safe and warm.”

You don’t argue or fight Walter when he tells you to lie on his chest. It’s easier to be good for him and do as he says. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head.

“He’ll lose interest soon and then you are all mine,” he whispers. “I’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt you, my sweet lamb. You’re too good for me to go to waste.”

Walter runs his big hand over your back up to your shoulders and back down. Your eyes flutter shut, and you feel warm.

“I knew you were special when I saw you the other day. You smiled and giggled, but your husband didn’t pay attention to what you had to say. I think you came to the event to show off your pretty new dress, but he only had eyes for some other woman.”

Your eyes snap open again as he continues.

You remember that night. It was the last time you went out with your husband.

That was over a year ago. – He must have watched you for a long time if he saw you that night. How could this happen to you? Maybe he even had a hand in what happened to your husband.

“You looked so cute in that dress,” he nuzzles his face in your hair. “I would’ve loved to take you right there and then.” He chuckles. “August told me to not pay attention to some pussy but I watched you all night. Your smile faded and you hid in a corner as your useless husband flirted with some other woman.”

You don’t say a word, even if your heart is racing. Closing your eyes you try to pretend you are asleep. His words replay in your mind while you struggle to not freak out.

“I set my eyes on you that night,” he tickles your skin with his fingertips. “I knew you’d be a natural submissive - a little lamb.” Walter hums. “You enchanted me with your innocent smile and soft laughter. You didn’t dress to impress but looked like a goddess to me. August calls it an obsession. I call it fate…”

“Come with me,” Walter wraps his arm around your shoulders and guides you out of the safety of his bedroom. “I told you I got a surprise for you.”

You nod and let him lead the way. What else can you do? His admission from last night is still swirling in your mind. How could you not see that Walter knew you from the beginning?

“You’ll love it, lamb,” he murmurs and nuzzles his face in your neck.

“What is she doing here?” August grunts. He watches you like a hawk and squares his jaw. “I asked you a question, brother. We agreed on letting her stay in the guest room or your bedroom. The rest of this place is taboo.”

“Shut up,” Walter snaps at his brother. “After last night she has every right to be here. She let you fuck her ass and blew you off. We made fifty thousand bucks because of her. Now get out of my way.”

“What? I—”

It’s a small win, but watching August step out of his brother’s way makes you smirk for a second. At least he didn’t lie about protecting you from his brother.

“You heard me, brother. I bore your one-nighters and bimbos for years. If you don’t leave my lamb alone, you will not like my answer.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t live together if you always fight,” you murmur. With your eyes cast down, you can’t see the brothers turn their heads toward you to look down at you.

“Would you look at this cocky little bee,” August roughly cups your face, making you whimper as he forces you to look up at him. “What did you just say?”

“Fighting and arguing isn’t good for your well-being and blood pressure,” you recite one of the articles you read. “You are brothers and shouldn’t be mad at each other all the time.”

“Aw, she’s already worried about me,” Walter kisses your temple. “I knew she’d love me, brother. My sweet little lamb.”

August grunts. “She has a name. Maybe you should use it once in a while.” You glance at August, wondering if he’s as bad as you thought. He’s not wrong. You’d love hearing your name, not only a pet name.

“She likes it,” Walter bites back. “I can call her whatever I want. Maybe one day I’ll call her my wife!”

You suck in a breath.

“What?” August huffs. “You can’t be serious! Walter, you let me fuck her in front of dozens of guys jerking off while we destroyed her holes.”

“See, I share the most precious things with you, and you never appreciate it,” Walter possessively wraps his arm tighter around your shoulders. “Now, let me show Y/N my surprise.”

“Walter!” August calls after his brother. “This isn’t over!”

You follow Walter, stunned and speechless as he tells you how much you will love his surprise…

Part 6

Tags in reblog.

[maliciouslove]

𝕃𝕚𝕝𝕒𝕔

SFW, shopping district!AU, aged up characters (21+) 

pairing // todoroki shouto x reader

summary // a story you’ve never shared with anyone before is how you came to love flowers as much as you do. it’s simple really—it all started with him. it all started with the boy who brought you a single flower every day of the week when you scraped your knee riding his bike. your first love. but how long will it take for him to come to understand it?  

word count // 4.2k 

tags // CEO!shouto, florist!reader, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, (hurt) comfort, mutual pining (except shouto doesn’t know he’s pining), shouto with long hair, shouto is dense af, jealousy

Do you believe in soulmates?

You could understand why so many people thought of soulmates as some sort of far fetched, overly romanticized pipe dream, but honestly—you knew better. Because you had already met your soulmate. 

The evidence pointing to that?

You’ve known him since birth basically, being born less than a year after him. You grew up together, living two houses down from each other. You spent your entire youth together: from playing in the sandbox, making pretend meals out of mud and stones and using leaves as money, to being classmates throughout middle school and highschool, always walking home together and doing homework in your living room late into the night. 

The two of you were truly inseparable and shared everything—so when he got a bike at the age of six and you didn’t, of course he was more than willing to share. He wanted to teach you how to ride, put his little blue helmet on your head and fastened it under your chin, calming you down because you were nervous. 

“But what if I fall…”

“I’ll catch you.”

And the way his big heterochromatic eyes were fixed on you, full of promise and safety, gave you all the courage you needed for you to get on that bike. And he tried, he really did try to catch you when you lost control of the bike and swerved right into your front yard, trashing your mother’s flower garden and falling face first into the peonies. 

That little boy was so worried, mortified by the idea that you got hurt because of him, he simply could not stop apologizing. Even when you told him through tears that it doesn’t really hurt that much. I just scraped my knee a little, I’m okay!

But it wasn’t okay for him because he promised to keep you safe and failed. So he stood by your side, tightly holding your little hand in his as your mother was cleaning up your wounds and lecturing you about safety. And his tiny chest would feel tight every time he looks at your injury, eyes heavy with guilt and worry. 

For the next week until your scrapes were fully healed, every time he’d come to your house to play he would bring a small flower with him to give to you. 

The first day, he brought you a daffodil, clutching it in his hand as he nervously presented it to you. The second day, it was a tulip, most likely stolen from his mother's garden. On the third, he had a wild rose, a few cuts visible on his fingers, proof of his struggle to get the flower for you. On the fourth, he had three geraniums in hand that quite frankly looked bigger than him, but he smiled brightly as he gave them to you. On the fifth, he got you marigolds and taught you how to make a flower crown out of them, and on the sixth he got you peonies, bringing some for your mom as well as an apology for ruining her garden. And finally, on the seventh day, he got you lilacs. 

“To congratulate you on your recovery.”

“It was just a scrape, Shouto…”

“So?” He was then crouching down to inspect your knee, satisfied that the scrape wasn’t going to leave a scar. 

“Why flowers?”

“Because they’re pretty like you.” 

What a simple, yet powerful answer. Despite your young age, you thought long and hard about his answer as you tentatively took care of the lilacs. With every day that the flower wilted, a fondness bloomed in your heart, and you learned that you like flowers, that you very much like the boy that gave them to you. 

After that, there was nothing that could tear you two apart, not even college. True, you’d spend a lot more time apart, face timing every other night and texting on the daily, but you’d still hold onto old traditions. You’d always be at his door at exactly 00:00 on his birthday, singing (poorly) a birthday song holding out a dessert you made yourself—a muffin with a candle stuck in the middle, strawberry shortcake (his favourite), cheesecake, cherry pie, even some pudding once. 

He would always pick matching Halloween costumes, and he’d always walk you home every chance he could. He remembers all your favourite coffee orders and, without failure, texts you good morning and goodnight. He watches out for you and holds your hand when you cross the street, squeezing once before he lets you go. And without failure every year for your birthday he gives you a bouquet of lilacs that’s simply twice as big as you are. 

You always believed that with time, Shouto would notice the longing in your eyes. After all, you weren’t really hiding it. Quite frankly, your love for him was seeping out of you: far too large for your body to contain. Every word you spoke to him was harbouring feelings, but alas, they were feelings that never reached him, their fingertips millimetres away from his heart. So close, yet too far away. 

But that’s okay. You loved him just the way he was—kind, reliable, and just a tad clueless. What he lacked, you made up for, and the same was true the other way around. You fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. He just didn’t know what that puzzle was yet. But that’s okay. You loved him just the way he was. 

And before you knew it, college was over too. Shouto went off to become the CEO of a big company. He was brilliant at his job. But then again, he was brilliant at most things. He could play the piano at the age of four and the violin by the time he was six. He was an incredible athlete, and he always had the best grades. Valedictorian. Graduating summa cum laude. 

You? You stayed true to your heart and did the thing that brought you most joy. You opened your own little flower shop in the old shopping district where you grew up. You’ve wanted one since you were six, and you’ve held the vision of what your workplace will look like since you were ten. You studied hard and went on multiple internships to polish your skills as a florist so you could stand where you are now. 

Your dream was slowly coming to life. 

You had just finished furnishing the store and setting up for your grand opening the next day when you heard a soft knock on the door, and a familiar face smiling behind it. And there they were—lilacs. 

“Congratulations.” His voice is low, serene, but his eyes hold a sparkle of excitement, a glimmer of pride. “You always wanted to have your own little shop. I’m so proud of you.”

His smile is enough to silence all your worries. As you lead him up to your little apartment above the shop, you tell him all about how you almost weren't going to be ready on time for the opening, about the delivery service that brought you the wrong order and now there were no red roses in your store. What self-respecting florist doesn’t have red roses in their store?

He told you about his work as you were placing the bouquet of lilacs into a big marble vase. Something about the stock market that you didn’t really understand, but you nodded along and listened closely anyway. He loosens his tie and makes himself comfortable in your home as he always has, but he doesn’t notice how long you stare at his tie. How much you wish you could just… pull him in by the tie. Does this man even know how good he looks in a suit? 

It’s always the same: He comes when he can, stays for dinner, talks about everything and anything—or nothing at all. His presence is soothing, yet so large; it fills every nook and cranny in your apartment. He belongs. With you. After dinner he doesn’t stay long, his workdays are longer, harder, so he can’t stay as long as he wishes to. But that’s okay. Because he kisses your forehead every time, and it sets off fireworks in your chest. 

“I’ll come tomorrow too. For your opening.” 

He was so big now, he took up the entire doorway. How time had changed him. His childish round cheeks were now gone, instead, he had a defined jaw. His big round eyes now had laugh lines around them. His hair was also longer now, combed and tied in a ponytail. He didn’t wear short jeans anymore but rather an expensive suit and watch. But he was still your Shouto. The boy who has always been there for you. 

“You don’t have to, you know, your schedule is busy enough as it is.” You offer him a way out, but you secretly hope he comes anyway. You want to see him again. You want him to say he’s proud of you again. You want him.

“I insist.” He smiles reassuringly. “I want to see your dream come true.”

At this you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“I owe it all to you.”

“Nonsense. You got here all on your own.” 

You shake your head. It’s not what you meant. I fell in love with flowers the day I fell in love with you. But the words never come out. They become a part of the graveyard of unspoken words that rests on your lips. But that’s okay. This is all you need. 

It’s okay.

Once he leaves the apartment feels much colder and your arms ache. Your heart feels just a little heavier once again. Just a little though. You’ve become exceptionally good at keeping these thoughts to yourself and channelling them into your work instead. You let your flowers talk for you. 

Carnations—I miss you.

Forget-me-nots—Please remember me. Selfishly, I hope you never forget me.

Amaryllis—the pride that stops me from revealing my feelings. 

Pink camellias—I long for you. To hold you. To call you mine.

Yellow tulips—a symbol of my hopeless, unrequited love. 

And of course, lilacs—you are my first love.

This is the great thing about flowers. Like relationships, they require a lot of love and care, and like long-lasting friendships, they carry so much meaning. Friendships, just like flowers, carry countless memories hidden between each petal, they carry expectations—the sun will rise each morning, the flowers will bloom, and he will always be right by your side.

Flowers hold so much meaning—for every feeling blooming in your chest, there is a flower to symbolize it. 

The petals of unspoken words lie heavy in your chest, but perhaps one day those petals will get scattered, and at least one will reach his heart. 

But for now… this is okay. This is enough.

It’s already the end of May, but it’s extraordinarily cold tonight, and the wind is unkindly bending tree branches under its will. There is no moon, nor any stars, just clouds of uncertainty and doubt. Flowers cannot bloom in darkness, so they wait for morning light. The same applies to people—hope comes to us at dawn. 

Shouto wakes up promptly at 5:55AM, exactly five minutes before his alarm. He’s barely awake, but his mind drifts to you. Would you be able to take an hour off for lunch? Perhaps dinner would be better? He wants to celebrate the happy occasion. He wants to see you, even if it’s for 10 minutes only. Even if it’s less, he wants to be close to you, to feel the comfort of your presence, to see you smile and hear you laugh. 

He doesn’t think twice as he picks out his suit, a neat lavender coloured tie to match his little pocket square. He has four other ties like this one, something about the colour just feels right to him. The first half of his day goes by in a blur, practically working on autopilot as his mind just keeps going back to you. Are you smiling right now? Is the opening day going well? 

He imagines you happily buried under a pile of flowers and chuckles to himself—something Midoriya doesn’t fail to notice, but evidently chooses not to ask about anyway. The green-haired man had a pretty good idea what was on his boss’s mind anyway. Which is why around 11:30 he practically kicks Shouto out of their shared office and reassures him that he has things handled. 

“You have more important things to do now, go on.”

His heart is beating quite fast in his chest, so he deliberately slows his pace in an attempt to calm himself. But it appears that the closer he gets to your little shop, the faster his heart seems to race. He briefly considers consulting a cardiologist, but shoves the thought aside as soon as he can make out your silhouette behind the register. Your voice carries through the shop like a melody, and for a while he just stands by the entrance and listens. 

“It’s been sooo long, I’ve missed you Denks, you should swing by more often! I never see your face anymore.” 

Shouto can’t quite see your face from the broad shoulders of the blonde man in front of the register, but he can hear the little pout in your voice. He can vividly picture it. 

“You’re absolutely right, let me make it up to you! Let me take you out to dinner sometime? I’d love to catch up, spend some quality time with my favourite florist.” 

There is a pang in Shouto’s heart. Who is this? A friend of yours? But he knows all your friends? 

“You know what, I’d love that. How about sometime this weekend?”

“Perfect! I’ll text you the details, okay? I gotta run for now, but thank you for the beautiful flowers! Almost as pretty as you are!” 

The unknown man leans over the register and places a tiny kiss on your cheek, grinning widely at you and waving his hand goodbye. He doesn’t even look at Shouto as he passes him by at the door. 

“Shooo! You came!” He barely has time to compose himself and react to you throwing yourself on him and wrapping your hands around his neck. The moment you touch him all his previous thoughts fly out the window. Nothing else matters but you being in his arms. 

“Of course I came, it’s my girl’s big day today.” 

Once again, everything feels easy, natural. It feels like home, like you are a place he can return to whenever he needs to, a safe haven. The rest is easy—talk, have lunch, laugh, discuss visiting your parents soon, having a family dinner together since it’s been some time. But the question remains, gnawing at him. 

“Hey, um… who was that blonde man you were talking to right before I walked in? You two seemed familiar?” He hated how the word tastes in his mouth: bitter and unpleasant.

“Hm? Oh, Denki? Old college mate, but he quit his study midway because he moved away for a while. Apparently he kept my number, reached out to me the other day saying he’s back in town so I told him to stop by my shop!” You smile fondly, and it tugs at Shouto’s heart. It feels strange. His hands are sweating. 

It doesn’t feel easy anymore. 

It doesn’t feel natural. 

As usual, he walks you back home, wishes you luck with the rest of the day, and gives you a forehead kiss, yet it doesn’t give him the same feeling of calmness it usually does. It feels stiff. Rushed. Why are his legs carrying him out of your shop so quickly? Why is his mind racing without having any particular direction? Why? 

Once back in the office he thinks he could bury these feelings with work, he hoped it would be a sufficient distraction until he can schedule an appointment with a good doctor. But Midoriya beats him to it. 

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, just have a lot on my mind. Need to focus.”

“Uh, no. Spill. What’s on little Shouto’s mind?”

And Shouto knows better than to argue and evade. They have been friends for years, and Izuku Midoriya is known for his persistence and his need to help others. A good man, a man he trusted with half his company, so why shouldn’t he trust him with the mess of feelings in his head? 

So he does. He tells him about the other man, the conversation, the date plan for the weekend, the ugly feelings that it gave rise to, the struggle to understand them. The youngest Todoroki bared his heart to his friend, hoping that he would have some insight, an answer as to why he feels so strange. 

But he just laughs. An exasperated chuckle, and he buries his face in his hands, fingers running through green locks as some sort of ritual to help him remain calm.

“You cannot possibly be this oblivious, Sho…”

“What do you mean?” he replies in earnest. Izuku sighs once again. 

“Okay, uhm… is this the first time you feel like this?”

Shouto ponders for a moment and searches his memory. The answer comes quite fast, no, this wasn’t the first time. It has happened before—in middle school when you got paired to do a science project with another boy and you stayed with him after school. He felt a similar pang when you would laugh at that other boy’s jokes. When you would lend him a pen, or your notes.

And then again in high school, when all the other boys were raging with hormones and would stare at your legs a little too long. I made him frustrated, angry even. Why? When one of his classmates hinted he had a crush on you, it made his chest feel heavy. It made him green with envy, it made him lose sleep that night. Yet his heart felt as light as a feather as soon as he learned you rejected his advances. 

It had happened before. He had been jealous before. 

“And why do you think you were jealous?” Izuku pressed further, giving Shouto enough room to sort his own feelings out. 

“Because… I respect her, and I want the best for her?” He still sounds puzzled, so the green-haired man gives him another gentle nudge. 

“I’m sure that’s true, but is that all it is? Do you think anyone is ever going to be good enough for her?” Izuku raises his eyebrow, lips curling into a knowing smile.

“No.” Shouto shoots out immediately, eyebrows furrowed and chewing on his lower lip. 

“No. Nobody will ever be good enough, I… Fuck.” His foot was furiously bouncing under the table, his whole body felt tense, on edge. Like the eerie feeling that you’re forgetting something important. Like when a certain word or phrase is at the tip of your tongue, but refuses to roll off and come to reality. 

“So, you care for her, you respect her, you feel jealous when other men approach her with a romantic interest, and you think nobody will be good enough for her. Sho, you’re a brilliant man, so tell me, what do you think that means?” Izuku gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a little squeeze, giving him the courage to come to terms with reality. 

And surely, almost like a movie, all the memories of you play inside his head. The first time you tried coffee jelly and scrunched up your nose in disgust because it was too bitter for you. When you cut your hair short and ended up hating it, refusing to come out of your room for a week. When you got drunk for the first time at a karaoke bar and sang “My heart will go on” while on top of a table. You, in your prom dress, posing for photos as the sun sets behind you. It was probably a beautiful sunset, but he couldn’t care less for it at the time. He only had eyes for you. 

Everything you did was wonderful. 

He found the way you scrunch your nose at things you dislike to be adorable. He thought you looked as beautiful as always with short hair. He adored how happy you look whenever you sang. To him, you were perfect. To him, you were his entire world. 

It makes sense now. All the puzzle pieces fall together and the realization makes him feel like he could fly. 

“I’m… I love her.” He finally looks up at his friend only to find him smiling back at him. 

“Well, what are you standing there for? Go to her!”

The sky is dark. When had it gotten this late? His feet were carrying him through the narrow streets, lavender tie discarded a long time ago. As soon as Midoriya said those words his feet moved on their own. Didn’t even stop to get his car, he just ran out the office, sprinting like his whole life depended on it. 

He loves you. 

He has to run faster, God he needs to tell you. How can he be so blind? How could he miss that the colour of lilac reminds him of you? Or miss the fact that you’re always on his mind? How can he not see that you’re in every detail in his life? All the feelings that previously had no names are back, swallowing him whole. Longing. Jealousy. Regret.

His hair is no longer tied in a neat ponytail, it’s loose and wild from the wind, it’s as messy as his feelings are, but that doesn't matter right now. Two more blocks, and he’ll be at your apartment. What does he say? What is his plan? What if he’s too late? 

Heart hammering in his chest, he takes the stairs up to your apartment two at a time. God, his hands are shaking, his face feels warm. Wet. But his hand is already knocking on the door. It’s not soft like the usual, it’s urgent, it’s desperate. His mind is spinning, why is his face wet?

The door creaks open and there you are in your sunny yellow dress, perfect. Always been perfect. For him. 

“Shouto, what ar—”

“I love you.” It’s barely above a whisper, and the silence following these three words is deafening. 

The sound of the TV fades into the background, there are no birds, no cars outside. Just the two of you. The moment feels static, completely still, yet still buzzing with energy. It stretches longer than it should, as if time warps and stops to make way for love. The world feels small right now, it shrinks and the entirety of it fills the tiny hallway.   

You don’t say anything, you simply brush his tears away with your thumb, searching his eyes. His hair is dishevelled, chest heaving. He ran here?

“Again.” 

It takes a moment for Shouto to register what you’re asking of him. He takes a step closer, shortening the distance between you two. 

“I love you. I have for… for quite some time now.”

The words make you simultaneously feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and also as if there is an elephant sitting on your chest. It’s hard to breathe and your eyes feel prickly, even your voice quivers. 

“Again.”

He takes another step and he’s impossibly close to you now, his large warm hands cradling your face, heterochromatic eyes staring into yours. 

“I love you. You’re the only one for me, I’m… sorry it took me so long, I—”

Now it’s your turn to cut him off by pulling him by the collar of his white shirt and kissing him. His lips are soft, and a little wet from the tears, but so sweet. Gentle. Another step forward and then another, and you’re slowly being pushed back into your apartment, your back hits the wall as he deepens the kiss. When his own desire and impatience finally slip through the cracks he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing himself impossibly hard against you. 

“Sho.. m’not goin’ n..ywhere.” You try to mumble through the kiss, but it only elicits a smile in response. When he finally pulls away you can see his face is dusted with pink, eyes raking over you as if he’s seeing you for the very first time. 

“Please… please be mine?” 

There are many emotions in his tone—desire, fear, jealousy, pure excitement. Hope. They’re the words you’ve always wanted to hear, and now that you have, you can’t help but wonder if you’re hallucinating. If this is just a very vivid dream. If it is a dream, then surely, the next part won’t matter once you wake up. Right?

“You silly man, I’ve been yours since I was six. God… You made me wait so long.” 

You’re smiling, but there are tears streaming down your face. All the feelings that you had to express through flowers, all the unspoken words, the longing, it’s flooding your senses like a broken dam. 

You feel the rough pads of his fingers under your eyes, wiping the tears the same way you did for him. Once again, he kisses your forehead, after which he simply presses his own to yours. 

“Let me make it up to you. Please.” 

Your name sounds so sweet coming from his lips right now. A plea for consent, a plea to allow him to finally have you. Make you his own. Erase everyone else from your mind until there is only him. Permission for him to be selfish.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

[nana-ur]

Corruption: Intro.

Pairings: Yandere!Taehyung x Reader || Jimin x Reader

Genre: Yandere, Romance (?), Psychological, Angst, Smut

Disclaimer: I do not condone, nor support or encourage anything I write in this fanfiction. It is purely fiction, means of entertainment, and should be treated as such. I do not think any of the BTS members would act remotely anything like what is represented here, which is why it’s called fiction. Other than that, please enjoy, and read at your own discretion. 

Trigger warnings and Tags; +18, Yandere elements, Possessive and Obsessive behaviors, Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy idealization, Drug and Substance Abuse, Mommy/Daddy Issues, Slow Burn, Smut (in future chapters), Artist!Tae, Rich!Tae, Lowkey SugarDaddy!Tae, BDSM, Power Dynamics, Manipulation, Slight age difference, Naive!Reader, Easy to Manipulate!Reader, Virgin!Reader, Virginity Kink, Corruption kink.. (There’s gonna be a LOT of kinks in here for further chapters, so I’ll save the wall of text LOL.) 

Intro  Part. 1   Part. 2   Part. 3   Part. 4  Part. 5  

Boring, he thought.

Everything about this stupid fucking event was excruciatingly boring.

First off, he didn't even want to be here. His mother forced him to come, practically dragging him outside by his own ear. 

"If you still want me to sponsor your pathetic little project, it'd be smart of you to come along with me this evening." Ah yes, the typical threats of estranging him financially in hopes of him spending time with her. Typical Mrs. Kim. 

The outing was a simple event where selected students who had won his fathers Academic Scholarship were rewarded a ‘party’ for their hard work and efforts. The scholarship was offered to college students who managed to make the highest ranking grades throughout their entire university. Impressive, to say the least, which is why each student present was granted $45,000 USD straight towards their college funds.

That sort of funding was simply pocket change for a man like his father.

His father was the CEO of Kim’s Legal Law Firm. It happens to be the third largest law firm in the country. Taehyung’s father has a tender soft spot for college students, especially ones who attend the same school he graduated from. Which is why he did events like this yearly, specifically for them.

But Taehyung? He could give two shits about a "Scholarly Party". He wasn't in school, nor did he want to be tied down by the ropes of education ever again. High School was more than enough, and that was years ago. He barely graduated. Though, after having his parents ``talk" to the principal of his private school, he suddenly went from having a D grade point average, to being at the top of his class in under an hour. He remembers clearly how Kim Namjoon glared daggers in his skull when he walked up the stairs leading to the stage at their highschool graduation, accepting his honors award that rightfully belonged to him instead. Taehyung couldn't really blame him, either. He'd be pissed off too if someone's rich parents paid off a school to make their irresponsible child graduate, whilst stealing his honors award that would've surely benefited him if he tried to enroll in college. 

Taehyung wasn't stupid by all means, no. He was actually pretty fucking smart. It's just he hates doing work, and he hates being told what to do. So instead of attending classes, doing homework, and going to exam days; he skipped classes to smoke weed, do things he wasn't supposed to do, and fuck around. What was stopping him? Surely not his parents. They barely bat an eye when he stayed away from home for days on end when he was only 15 years old. He remembers walking in after being away for 5 days straight to his dad barely sparing him a glance, and his mother wrapping herself up in a scarf so she could go out for the night. She walked right past him, not saying a word. 

Easy to say that his parents had their priorities straightened out already, and Taehyung wasn't one of them. But he doesn't care. 

Or that's what he tries to tell himself when he has emotional outbursts, or when he gets arrested for DUIs, or when he gets questioned for being under the influence, and more outlandish things his parents had authorities shove under a rug. 

His parents had money and generational wealth. Taehyung could do anything, say anything, and be whatever he wanted. So who cares if his parents were a little emotionally unavailable? He didn't care. Nope. Not at all. Not one bit.

But sometimes, just, sometimes, he finds himself yearning for motherly love. He finds himself wishing he had a father to look up to, instead of the stone cold businessman his own father was.

He desperately wanted to be loved by someone.

And he hated that feeling. It made him feel weak.

The feeling that gnawed at the emptiness inside of his own chest. The empty void that hurts and caves into himself whenever he sees someone receive the unconditional love he could only wish for. 

Oh, how he wanted someone to love.

To hold, to cherish, to smother with affection, to be loyal to and never let go. 

Never let go. 

Taehyung has had his fair share of relationships, of course. He was pretty, tantalizing, rich, and he likes to think of himself as quite the charmer. 

Those relationships weren’t too serious or noteworthy, honestly. Most of the women he dated were trophy girlfriends his friends set him up with. Most just dated him for status, sex, and money. Surprisingly, he had no problem with this. 

It's just how the world works, isn't it?

No matter how pretty or sweet, though, he's never fallen in love with any of those women.

He's never been in love at all.

He’s felt the intense feelings of infatuation and lust, but none of those feelings lasted for more than 2 weeks. He often finds himself getting bored of the same repetitive types of women that came into his life. 

There were two categories of women that Kim Taehyung seems to attract. 

One being the typical spoiled woman with daddy’s black card. This type didn’t need him at all for financial reasons, they were set for life, and possibly even the afterlife. They always had a certain aura to them, that look in their eyes, that pep in the way they walk. All of which seems to remind him of his own mother. Yeah, he knows it’s weird. It’s weird to date women that remind you of your mother, but Taehyung was the farthest thing from normal. 

What did Sigmund Freud say? Taehyung would think about the little bit of psychology knowledge he gained when he used to half pay attention in class often. Something about how mommy issues can lead down an unhealthy path of romantic relationships if not addressed in therapy, and so on. He thought it was quite interesting how he felt called out at that moment, which is why psychology became one of his favorite subjects while he was still in school. He may have skipped a lot, but when he was there, he tried to pay attention to the lectures.

The second category of women who Taehyung attracts were models. Not the runway, nepo baby models everyone sees on social media. No, not those. 

The models who were oh so pretty, but also had that vacant lost look in their eyes. They were signed to agencies who barely let them on the runway. Not because of their looks, but because of their raging reliance on drugs and substances. The walking stereotype of a ‘The Weeknd’ song is how he would describe these women. 

These women were with him for a completely different reason than the others. 

Taehyung was a bit guilty when it came to having a “hero complex”. He isn’t a saint by any means; he’s done his fair share of substances. He was peer pressured to do a lot of things when he was younger. 

Though, whenever he gets with these women, his goal is to “fix” them by giving them endless attention, affection, and care. He was always there when they went through withdrawals, when they were puking into plastic bags because they failed to eat prior to drowning themselves in narcotics and powder. He would rub their backs, help them take a cold shower, fix them soup, and hold them until they fell asleep. 

Taehyung had a soft spot for these women. Because he understands.

He understood the pain. The desperation to feel nothing. 

To fill that empty void with something. Something. 

These women were crying for help, so why not help them?

It filled him with a sense of importance after helping these women get clean. It was like he was healing his inner child in a sick, twisted way. Though, like most things, those relationships came to an end.

Although it was never really his fault these relationships would end. 

He was too “demanding”, “controlling”, “possessive”, he’s been told by most, if not all, of the women he’s been involved with.

They never truly accepted him for who he was. They were the foolish ones, not him. 

If they just understood him, if they would just understand.

Which is why he’s never fallen in love before. 

That was the ‘love’ life of Kim Taehyung. It was sad and depressing, but it’s something he had to get used to. It was all he was ever exposed to growing up. It was all he knew.

Maybe one day, things would be different. Happen differently.

Perhaps, authentically, unlike his past.

Perhaps he could fall in love.

He dreamed about such things. It would keep him up at night with a beating heart.

He was a disgusting hopeless romantic. 

“Are you paying attention?” Taehyung quickly blinked out of his short-lived daze and cocked his head down towards the voice. It was his mother, looking at him with those judgemental eyes he once used to hide from. Now, it doesn’t scare him anymore. 

But it made him feel significantly small nonetheless. 

God, he hated being here. It was so tacky.

Everyone was instructed to wear white. Though Taehyung, obviously, chose to be a little shit to piss off his mom and wore a black turtleneck, with a black blazer and even blacker slacks. His black hair was styled to where his fringe was covering most of his forehead, and slightly his eyes which were a light gray today, due to his contacts. Black on black.

He nodded his head towards his mother, ushering her to continue on with what she was saying even though he dissociated for most of it. 

Something he learned how to do at a very young age with ease.

“As I was saying,” she snapped, “your father wants you to greet some of the students. It would be beneficial for you to ask questions about college life, possibly even make some new friends tonight," Taehyung groaned internally, rolling his eyes in a way that his mother wouldn’t catch on. Here comes the “you need to go to school and study” talk. He would always shut it down. He’s 27 years old, too old to even be considered a senior at this point. 

To please his mother and to make her stop talking, he walked away from the railing he was leaning on and looked down into his wine glass, swirling it around to watch the red liquid create ripples. 

Looking up, he immediately spots his father speaking to what he presumes to be a student. The student was dressed in a plain, silky short back-out white gown with spaghetti straps. 

With her rear side facing his direction, it was hard to make out what the conversation was about. Maybe his father was being the creep he always was when it came to hanging around girls decades younger than him.

He can usually tell by the look in his fathers eyes, which seemed innocent to others, but Taehyung knew better than that. He knew his father well, even if he had no desire to. 

But all he could think about was how enticing she looked, even from behind where her face was hidden. The curve of her torso allowed the silky dress to hug her body perfectly, creating a silhouette that would give any Greek sculpture a run for its money. Dragging his eyes up and down her figure, he finds himself absentmindedly outlining the perimeter of her body with his irises, imprinting it into his own memory. 

Taehyung had an excellent photographic memory. 

It was strange, really. He was never someone to be enticed by “energy”, and he was never one to approach women. Not that he didn’t want to, it’s just that he didn’t have to. Any woman he was interested in came to him first without fail. But something was pulling him forward, beckoning him to approach the mysterious girl.

Which is exactly what he did.

His steps were calculated, precise. Making good first impressions was a piece of cake for Kim Taehyung, something he was often praised for from time to time. Which is probably the reason why his parents forced him to come to this tedious event. They used him as the token golden boy, utilizing his charms and making him talk to perverted, older guests that came to their events, hoping that he’d win their favor in exchange that his father gets to strengthen his connections. They started doing this when he turned 18, making use of his good looks and people skills.

Earning his parents' respect as their son isn’t easy. Especially a son who belonged to the Kim family. He had to attend the same university as his father, and to not make a mockery out of the family name. In which, he failed to do both. Saying he has their respect now is a stretch, but they found him to be useful when it came to winning over disgusting old CEOs and Chaebols. 

His brother, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He graduated from university with high honors, even went ahead and attended graduate school as well, then he went to law school. He completed all of this by the time he turned 30. 

Taehyung appreciates that his brother took up all the responsibility, and the burden of expectations off of his shoulders.

However,

Deep inside, real deep inside, he could only dream of being the center of his parents' life the way Seokjin was. They loved him. Doted on him. Spoiled him. Gave him all the extra love and affection that should’ve gone to Taehyung instead. 

As a teenager, he was resentful towards his brother for the obvious showcase of favoritism his parents did. They didn’t even try to hide it. They would compare the two any chance they got; rubbing in the accomplishments of his elder brother in his face, reminding him that he will amount to nothing in life. 

Nothing but a burnt out artist, is what his father says. 

But whatever, Taehyung didn’t care. Not one bit.

“Hello, son,” His father greeted him once he noticed Taehyung's formidable figure saunter over, the tone of his voice evidently curt and strict in contrast to the lighthearted conversation he was having with the young lady. 

Ah, great. It was just as he guessed. His father was being a creep, and was actively flirting with this poor girl. Good thing Taehyung was here to save her from his fathers inappropriate stares and invasive questions.

Sparing his father a tight lipped smile, he walks past the young lady to align himself right next to his father, finally.

Finally, he could see her face.

And wow.

Everything around him became blurred, every sound that tried to meet his ears became all jumbled together, like indecipherable radio signals.

All he could focus on was you.

You.

You.

With his unexpected appearance, you instinctively looked up at him, his gray eyes meeting your own. He tilted his head to the side and gave you a cheeky grin, in which you reciprocated with your own, skittish smile.

That smile. 

He’ll never forget a smile like that, that’s for sure. 

The apples of your cheeks were rosy with dew and the afterglow of being in such a warm venue. Taehyung thought the sight of it was absolutely breathtaking. 

His gray eyes stayed on yours, unwavering. He intensely scanned your face, jotting down each little detail into his mind. 

Noticing the fervor of his gaze, you tore your eyes away from the fervent unwarranted stare-off and looked down at your feet, your face flushing with heat.

Aw.

He wanted to look into your eyes for a little bit longer. 

But that’s okay, he’ll get your attention one way or another.

After all, he just couldn’t help himself. 

Your face was just his type.

Would it be a stretch for him to say everything about the way you look was just his type? Perhaps, but Taehyung was known for moving extremely fast.

In more ways than one. 

“I’d like for you to meet Ms.____,” his father uttered out your first name. It sounded like a symphony to Taehyung's ears. A pretty face and a pretty name, huh.

How unfair. 

Your name began to replay like a broken record inside of his head. Sounding out each syllable internally, his tongue dragged across the side of his cheek before testing the name out loud in a hushed whisper.

The way your name began to reiterate persistently in his head – It would drive any sane person crazy.

Good thing Taehyung was the latter. 

“Well, Ms.___,” Taehyung scooped up your hand into his own, hoping the abrupt swift action will bless him with your soft gaze once again.

And it did.

With wide eyes, your neck nearly snapped as you rose your head from its previous position of looking down. You stared at him with big doe eyes, confusion swirling in your irises. 

That expression on your face was dangerous.

Especially for a man like him.

He brought your delicate hand up towards his red tinted lips, all while maintaining eye contact. He could feel you trembling in the palm of his hand.

What were you doing to him?

He felt slightly bewitched by you. He’s met his fair share of gorgeous women. Hell, he’s even met some of the world's most infamous models. 

But none of them compared to you. 

None of them had this effect on him. 

None of them took his breath away like this.

None of them at all.

He placed a soft kiss onto the back of your hand, a mellow smile spreading across his face when his lips met your soft, warm skin. 

“It’s a pleasure, pretty girl,” He whispered loud enough for you to hear, his breath fanning onto the skin of your hand. 

He slowly backed away, not letting your hand go just yet, leading it downwards but still holding it firm in his grip. He had to savor your reaction before he retracts completely.

He could tell you were wary with the sudden public display of affection, especially right in front of his own father. But truly, Taehyung didn’t give a fuck. He was someone who didn’t care if anyone was watching, especially his own father. Social anxiety or upholding social status wasn’t something for him to worry about.

And you’ll come to find that out very soon. 

Sooner than you think. 

Your eyes glossy, blown out, and your mouth was slightly gaped open from shock; it sent a concealed chill down his spine. Was a pretty girl like you not used to such things? The thought alone baffled him. 

Impossible, he thought. 

“U-uh–,” you stammered out incohesive words, your eyes darting between him and his father, worry, confusion, and conflicting attraction clear in your eyes. It was cute, how worried you got over something as small as a hand kiss. 

“Nice… to meet you too? Mister…” you were dodging every attempt at eye contact Taehyung was throwing your way, but he wasn’t having it. Wherever you looked, his head would follow with a tilt and a smirk, teasing you in a playful way you weren’t used to. 

“Taehyung, but for you? My name can be whatever your heart desires.” 

He’s used that cringy pick-up line many times. Most of the time it was just to please the other person, give them something they want to hear. Usually never what he wanted.

But he meant it when he said it to you. 

That same, irresistible nervous smile crept back onto your face at his words. Your neck once again flushing hot. This time, though, your eyes were focused on how his hand was still grasping yours. 

Taehyung took this as an opportunity to grab another reaction out of you, he began rubbing soft circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

At this, you jumped softly, clearly not used to someone touching you like this.

Or touching you at all.

And for some reason, that thought alone excited him like nothing else. 

Suddenly, Taehyung felt his fathers hand creep onto his shoulder.

Unexpectedly this annoyed him.

More than it usually does. 

“It seems like you are already acquainting yourself with Miss.___,” his father spoke in a way that seemed placate to others, but Taehyung knew better. He was being a passive aggressive shithead. 

“Oh you know, just doing what you wanted me to, Father,” Taehyung quickly retorted back, a tight smile forming on his lips. 

His father had the nerve to get pissy as if he didn’t force him to attend this mundane event in the first place? Yeah, sure, Taehyung was grabbing the attention of the girl his father was openly flirting with, but didn’t he see how uncomfortable you were? 

He could tell how tense the mood was when he got closer to the two of you earlier. The way you were holding your left arm with your right hand, folding into yourself as his father got closer and closer to your personal bubble. 

You clearly weren’t interested.

At Taehyung’s smart aleck comment, his father shot him a look that only he caught, and walked away slowly after retracting his hand from his shoulder. 

It was better to not make a scene where people were watching. His father was extremely anal on how he was perceived; he wanted others to see him in a specific type of light. He was probably on his way to bother some other college student, anyway. Either way, Taehyung was glad he left.

Finally, old fuck. 

It’s about damn time he developed erectile dysfunction or something, how old is he again?

Regrouping himself, he finally let it sink in that you two were finally alone. 

Finally,

“Oh god, did I,” you stammered, “did I just make it really awkward? Oh my god.”

How peculiar. It was obvious that his father was the one who ruined the mood to begin with, but you resorted to blaming yourself instead. 

How peculiar. 

“Sorry I’m just not, you know… used to this,” you gestured your free hand around the venue you two were currently in the middle of. Everything was glistening with marble, glitter, blinding shades of white, and overly priced furniture. To anyone not used to such a lifestyle, it would of course be overwhelming. 

But to Taehyung, it just seemed tacky. 

Tacky and distasteful. 

If it were up to him, the whole idea of everything being white would be thrown out the window.

What’s up with rich people and their odd obsession with things white and marbley?

“Not used to try-hard rich people and their shitty interior designing?” Taehyung quipped, a smirk present on his lips as he raised his wine glass for a sip.

“What?! No! No. I, well… no!” the screws in your head were visibly malfunctioning, fighting with each other, trying to decide whether or not you should directly insult the interior of the venue right in front of him. Given the fact that he was the son of the man who invited you to such an event, and granted you a scholarship.

And possibly the son of the man who came up with the interior design of everything you’re looking at.

A chuckle rumbled in Taehyung's chest as he watched your internal and outward struggle. He could tell by the quick glint in your eyes that you agreed with him, but were too afraid to say something that would cause conflict. Tilting his head to the side, he raised his wine glass once again to his lips, taking a swig of it while he looked you up and down over the rim.

To his surprise, you still haven’t retracted your hand from his.

Lowering his drink, his tongue pressed to the side of his cheek once again out of habit. 

You still weren’t looking at him. 

“You know, it’s rude to refuse eye contact, pretty girl,” he said matter-of- factly in a teasing tone, fauxing disappointment.

“Oh,” you breathed out, clearly flustered at the recurring pet name and with the fact that he just called out your inability to maintain eye contact. 

With hesitancy, you looked up at him, your eyes shifting left and right a few times before settling on his intense gray orbs. 

It seemed to have surprised you that he was staring at you intensely this whole time because the moment your eyes connected with his, your body shifted. To his disappointment, you slowly retracted your hand from his, putting it back to your side. 

With his now free hand, Taehyung lifted it towards your face. And like any normal person, you flinched and moved backwards a bit. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

Cute.

But, he couldn’t hold himself back.

He had to do something. 

He tested the waters first, nudging his fingers against your jaw, caressing the outline of the bone before cupping your right cheek. His hand gently melts onto your warm, soft skin. He looks at you intently, deep in thought.

You were so beautiful.

Dangerously so. Taehyung wasn’t the type to be bewitched like this. 

His fingers caressed your warm face, your wide eyes trembling at him with uncertainty, confusion. He dragged his thumb from your cheek down to the supple lumps of your lips. He began gliding the digit left and right on your bottom lip before slowly pulling down on the muscle, revealing just a peak of your bottom teeth and the soft wet flesh on the inside, your gums a pretty pink. 

Even with all of this going on, he still maintained eye contact with you. His gaze never wavering. 

And his mind began to wander. 

It began to wander to menacing thoughts. 

Taehyung was known for having… an acquired taste, when it came to certain things. He’s been told so by many women in his life. It’s not like he wanted to like those things, it just happened by default. Things that excite him, that shouldn’t excite him. Things that he likes to do to others, to the people he’s interested in. Things such as bending and twisting them at his will, pulling a leg here, doing a thing there, just to pull a reaction out of them. He knew such things were red flags, concerning even. But if it was between two consenting adults, what was the problem?

Which is why he began to envision this woman he just met a few minutes ago sucking on his thumb. He imagined the look you would have in your eyes; innocent, glossy, excited, scared, unsure. He imagined the soft, spongy texture of your tongue, slick on his finger, how you’d open up for him like a good girl. And those eyes. They were dangerous, Taehyung decided. Looking at them for too long already had him spiraling with these thoughts.

You knew what you were doing, didn’t you?

Like a twig, he snapped out of his daze. His eyes finally focusing on you quickly taking a step back, wiping away the inkling of spit that dripped out of your mouth as a result of your bottom lip being pried open. With a red face, you looked at him, completely disoriented and confused.

Taehyung didn’t even notice the wetness on his thumb, or the spittle that trickled down the digit onto his knuckle.

Ah, oops.

“W-what was that-,” you stuttered out, your hand clasping against your mouth in shock, eyes frantically looking around, relief sagging on your shoulders when you noticed no one was looking. But there was a cloud hanging over your head, weighing down on you. 

A cloud you didn’t quite understand.

Just yet.

“Become my muse.”

“What-,” You blinked at him, completely caught off guard.

“Let me paint you. Be my muse.” He cut you off before you could question him any further. 

Taehyung had already made up his mind the moment he set eyes on you. Even when your back was facing him; he already knew what he wanted.

And Taehyung was a man known for getting exactly what he wanted. 

[starsreminisce]

Every once in a while, there is some comment that suggests Elain and Lucien's mating bond is off or fake. I actually argue quite the opposite, and I think Lucien is intuitively attuned to Elain's emotions, and their bond is the strongest between the three sisters. I also think that when Elain is not doing well, Lucien starts showing up more.

This makes his appearance during ACOSF solstice even more interesting to me, given that he was absent for ACOSAF's solstice, both of them declaring that they can't stand to be around each other.

Feysand's bond is mental, Nessian's bond is physical, and Elucien's bond is emotional. I also think this manifests in how each of the sisters pushed away from their mate: Feyre thinking she should still be with Tamlin, Nesta randomly hooking up with random males. I also think it's how their mate helped their respective partner heal. Feyre and Nesta are similar in that both don't want to be weak or helpless anymore, but the end of their healing was marked differently. Feyre's was marked when she secured the Ouroboros with a message that suggests the mental power needed with a statement like "Only you can decide what breaks you," and Nesta's was marked by the Blood Rite.

We can go through the end of ACOMAF and the parts in ACOWAR where Lucien has been the only one advocating for Elain and just knowing what she needs while giving enough distance to prevent overwhelming her.

The part that sticks out to me was when Lucien decided to find Vassa, and he specifically said that "I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to." They were left alone for the first time, Elain wanted to stop him but she didn't, and he left to fulfill her prophecy.

The next scenes we had Elain enjoying herself to make bread (an act associated with accepting the bond, just saying), Elain speaking up to use her to convince Graysen to do something for the humans, we find out that Lucien is the heir to the Day Court (fulfilling Elain's need for sunshine), Elain's “His name is Lucien."

When was the next time we saw Lucien and Elain together? After Hybern had been defeated, and he came running to her, spying the blood on her hands and asking if she was okay, then offering his condolences and then his praise. I also have to remind y'all that Azriel saw her first and said nothing when she forced Truth-Teller back to him. In his bonus chapter, he didn't have a thought in regards to this either.

In ACOSAF, people also ignore that Lucien tried to be there for Elain, and she was "too polite" to turn him away until he got the hint and left. What stood out to me, though, was during the Solstice, it was Lucien who told Elain not to be troubled because he wouldn't be staying for long, and it was Lucien who turned down Feyre's invitation to both stay for the festivities and stay in Velaris for two weeks to "get to know Elain" before announcing that he would be moving in with Jurian and Vassa. Elain was in a pretty good place at this point in time.

However, in ACOSF, we get this little nugget:

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

On top of that, Elain and Nesta became estranged, Azriel pulling back his interactions with her, her being denied to search for the trove or being prevented from doing more than just tending to her little garden.

Is it a coincidence that Elain insisted on attending the Hewn City Solstice, knowing that its cruelty bothered her, was described as wearing pearl barrettes, and then the following day, Lucien was at the Inner Circle solstice, seemingly recanting his stance of not being able to stand to be around her for two minutes and his present of pearl earrings.

I don't think it's meant to be cruel on his behalf, considering he tried to hide his disappointment from her reaction upon receiving his present, but I do wonder if it's meant to be a statement that he sees what she's trying to do and trying to be as supportive as he could while still allowing her to dictate how their interactions would go.

Some people demand two extremities: either he is around too much or he doesn't care enough to try, but they fail to see how perfectly middle-ground Lucien is being. He is still accessible for her while allowing her to choose if she wants to interact with him.

ACOSAF Solstice = Elain happy and excited over cooking for everyone = Lucien saying he is not staying.

ACOSF Solstice = Elain pushing back on attending Hewn City, a place that brings her discomfort = Lucien staying for that Solstice.

Elain and Lucien are both capable of voicing out when things bother them, especially towards each other, as seen in ACOSAF, but I don't think if Lucien knew he was not wanted by her in ACOSAF solstice, he wouldn't have attended ACOSF solstice. He also would not have attended the Starfall in the later months, especially if there had been secret progress between her and Azriel.

Rhys came to Feyre's aid when she called for help mentally as she walked down the aisle, Cassian came to Nesta's aid when she was physically at her weakest, so it makes me wonder if Elain is approaching an emotional tipping point where she can't keep pretending that everything is fine when she sees both her sisters successfully moved on from their trauma because of help from their mates, Nesta especially.

We also have to acknowledge that the scent of their bond is strong a year later. I wonder if this manifested with Cassian asking Lucien where Elain was when he visited their training and Nesta calling Elain a wrench for staying far away from him as confirmation they too smell it. I would go so far as to wonder if that's why Rhys specifically brought up that Lucien has a right to the blood duel to Azriel because he smelled their bond. The only person that smell mattered to is Azriel.

So yeah, all in all, if SJM wanted to continue the train that Elain would reject the bond, she would have made other choices in ACOSF, starting with Vassa's development, Cassian's observations that Lucien is adamant about not being in Velaris, Elain trying to get closer to Azriel, Nesta flat out saying that it was Elain that Azriel was pining over by the fire, and it would have continued after Solstice where Azriel and Elain nearly kissed.

Instead, SJM chose to make their only interaction with that Lucien still looks at Elain with longing and Elain's bravado disappearing when he did.

[thedrarrylibrarian]

I know I always say this, but it’s always true - I am so excited for this month’s guest reccer! To say that Grace, who writes as @mintawasalreadytaken, has excellent taste would be an understatement - she is a tastemaker. I realized as I was looking through a server that we’re both in that I read Coyote Ugly (which I recced a few weeks ago) based on her recommendation first! She’s also an accomplished writer herself, so if you like her rec, be sure to check out her works.

I leave the format of the rec up to the guest reccer - sometimes people use emojis, sometimes they give the rec as bullet points, and sometimes people prefer to write paragraphs. Grace asked if we could have a conversation about this fic together, and I eagerly agreed! I’ll be TDL below, and she’ll be Grace. Just as a heads up, there are minor spoilers for the fic below the cut.

Without further ado, I present the May Happy Hour Recommendation - in conversation with @mintawasalreadytaken!

I Do Not Love You by @writandromance (228,290 words, Rated M)

In 2013, a carefully-designed Obliviation leaves Harry reconfiguring his life and identity without any memories of true love; an act that's essentially erased Draco Malfoy from his mind despite a wedding band and shared home.

In 2000, Draco had expected Pansy's relationship with Luna to bring the Gryffindors a bit closer to his orbit of quiet, carefully pacifistic existence, but he never expected to navigate such a transparent embrace into a unit of family, friendship, and love.

A mystery, two love stories, and a reminder that learning to love never has an end date.

TDL: You picked I Do Not Love You for this month's rec. Would you start by telling people who have never read it why they should give it a try?

Grace: I think I speak for a lot of us in the world of fanfiction, specifically Drarry fanfic, that we're not generally known for being chill about our obsessions. So, as someone who's read a lot of hurt/comfort and angst, I Do Not Love You stands out to me because it does a number of interesting things with its key trope, amnesia. It's a love story told backwards, and a love story that's as much about hate and how hate destroys as it is about love and how love builds.

TDL: I appreciate that you brought up the love story told backwards - I think that's one of the best parts of this story. The way, especially at the beginning, that the two plot-lines contrast makes it stand out to the reader about what Harry's lost, even when Harry himself doesn't realize.

Grace: Mmhmm, agreed. We start very firmly rooted in Harry's POV, with an eventual back and forth POVs between Harry and Draco, at opposite ends of the timeline of their relationship. So there's this wonderful tension there, right from go.

TDL: I think that's something very smart and enjoyable about Writ's writing. She's very good at creating that tension and then trusting the reader with it. She’s excellent at showing one perspective, and letting the reader infer the other perspective. It would've been easy to write from Draco's POV and get all of his angsty heartbreak firsthand, but instead she writes it from Harry's POV and we get his anger and are left to come to our own conclusions about Draco's hurt. It makes the conclusions more powerful to the reader.

Grace: Trusting the reader is certainly one of her strengths. Part of my deep enjoyment of this fic is how it begs to be re-read. It's only on the re-read that certain details, "tells" in Draco's behaviour, for example, become clear indicators of what will happen. But you need to learn them from Harry's POV first. It makes for a very fun circular read, in that way. Another way that trust is established masterfully is the contrast between Harry's anger in the present and the vignettes of his empathetic, whole-hearted earnestness in the flashback scenes. The distance between the two Harry's emotional states is enough for the reader to draw their own conclusions of how much it must pain Draco to go through this experience.

Though I will say, the angsty heartbreak moment we do get to see firsthand gets me every time. It's the most delicious stab in the heart!

TDL: I know it’s a spoiler, but will you be specific? What part exactly are you thinking of?

Grace: “I lost my husband.”

TDL: I put that quote down in my notes too - and "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Grace: It gets to the heart of the worst part of a beautiful relationship: the fear of loss.

TDL: So we've done our favorite angsty moments. This fic, while angsty, is also really full of fun and funny moments. Does anything stick out to you along those lines?

Grace: Two stick out to me immediately. One is a callback to the Pablo Neruda quote off the top, from which the fic takes its title. "Your hand on my chest is my hand,” only Harry adds his own sexy twist to it, lol. The second is this incredibly tense moment mid-fight where Harry snaps about how long it would take to fall back in love with Draco and Draco's deadpan response of "You said 'when'" which is peak Drarry to me. That stubbornness in the face of literally anything, even the other avowing their supposed hatred.

What's your favourite funny moment?

TDL: Oh it’s got to be when we find out later that Pansy laughed at the toothbrush incident. It's just such a best friend thing to do. It felt like something I'd do to my sister or that she'd do to me and I think it added a realness to their friendship. They’re ride or die for each other, but they also laugh at each other, even in the hard times. I also love any scene Jules is in!

Grace: Agreed! The toothbrush moment was hilarious. And Jules is one of my favourite of Harry's familiars/pets-with-speaking-roles, ever.

TDL: I'm obsessed with the idea of a chameleon speaking Parseltongue! I also feel like Jules' character had a lot of thought put into it - what would be important to a chameleon? What would a chameleon notice and think in this situation?

Grace: Yes, his take on death and his sense of humour about it – that bonds Harry to him. The lens of his understanding of the relationship between Harry and his "ice queen" and the purpose of molting. It was all so well done. The fact that Jules can infer Harry's emotional state and then decides on whether and to what degree to argue about what kind of feed he requests is so spot on. Amazing characterization work.

TDL: With all of Harry and Draco’s friends and family, this fic had an ensemble of characters. Were there any other favorites?

Grace: My two favourites live on opposite sides of the spectrum. Ron, for his stoic, constant style of quiet and level-headed support. And Blaise, a true wild-card, who is ruled enough by ego to do things that endanger his relationships with both Harry and Draco, just never too much. They love him for it, even though he can be a chaos monster.

TDL: Blaise was on my list too! I thought his shenanigans brought a lot to the fic and I thought it was cool to see him portrayed as an equally important friend to both Harry and Draco that Harry saw him as someone to turn to for help, not just “Draco’s friend” but “my friend.”

Grace: The melding of friend groups, as most often happens when you're in a long term relationship, was done masterfully here. and the lines drawn in the sand becoming murky in places and crystal clear in others when a break-up looms, too.

TDL: Which brings us back to that relatable fear of loss - this loss is not just one person but friendships, community, a life and a future.

Something else that I want to mention is how immersive this fic is, even in a re-read. I knew what was coming and was still hooked.

Grace: True! It begins with a focus on interiority. We get the emotional punches first, and then the plot to underpin it. But in my view, the plot comes second to the feelings. It's a fic that invites you as the reader to put yourself into Draco's shoes. We all experience loss and so when we get thrown into this situation of experiencing what, for both of them, they consider a world-ending loss, we relate. The troubles only begin there, because after that there's still waking up every day and trying, again and again.

TDL: For a fic whose title refuses love, what better description is there for love than waking up every day and trying, again and again.

Is there anything else you’d like to add before we end this rec?

Grace: Just to say thank you for entertaining this, and for your thoughtful questions! And to thank Writ for writing this masterpiece of a painful, quietly beautiful love story. And to end on a quote – one of the ones I come back to constantly, as a reminder to self of the usefulness in trying at the things we find the most difficult: 

"Aw, don't get smart to wash off all the vulnerability, you wore it so well," he replied, eyes sparkling. As he backed towards the doorway, his arms opened wide. "Bask in the beauty of a difficult, emotional conversation." 

xoxo minta / grace

❤️ As always, if you enjoy this rec, please bookmark abd leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Lots of Love and Happy Friday!

PS - If you're interested in knowing what Grace and I are reading next, @writandromance just started posting a new Pride and Prejudice based fic. It's not complete, but chapter one went up today and we are so excited!

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 30 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Hello, it's me! And here's to him! I have a few more chapters ready to go, so let me know when you want the next one. It's getting intense again. We aren't close to the end either, I have a few things planned for the future. Excited for you all hopefully to stick around and find out. Love you all!!

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, not hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut , @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls else please let me know.

“Why are we running?” I panted trying to keep pace with the men who easily flew up the side of the mountain. 

“I’m gonna walk!” I tried to yell at them but they had gone so far away hooting and hollering they wouldn’t have heard me. I keeled over trying to catch my breath, I had already done my cardio for the day, kinda. 

“Yeah no worries, I’ll just walk by myself, assholes!” I shouted the last bit, flicking the bird to no one in particular; they had all disappeared out of sight.  

I turned to face the view. We had climbed to the top of the mountain, where the famed Eagle’s Nest perched. The scene was so different to all the other places we had been. It was untouched. Like the war hadn’t even happened. 

I glanced from side to side, checking the coast was clear, before pulling out my phone and powering it on. It flashed to life, somehow still having charge. I opened the camera pointing it at the landscape in front of me. I took a couple of photos of the view, before turning the camera round to stare at myself. 

My hair was a mess, my curls flew everywhere. But I looked the same. I don’t know what I thought I was going to look like, but I was still the same. Maybe I looked more tired and weary, but it was as if nothing had happened. 

I smiled into the lens, holding up the camera to get a better angle. I snapped the picture of me standing on the side of the mountain in the Alps, in full army uniform. The crunch of gravel underfoot ceased my screen time, I quickly powered down the device and shoved it to the bottom of my bag, where it had been since I had arrived. 

“You coming or what?” Don asked me. He stood in the middle of the path with his hands on his hips, one foot leant against a boulder that jutted out into the walkway. 

I laughed, shaking my head at him. Don reached out his hand for mine. I slipped my hand into his as we continued our walk up the mountain. 

***********************************

“Jesus why is it so high up?” I got vertigo looking down the steep cliff face. I stepped back from the edge, not liking how high we were. 

“Did you know he was scared of heights.” Grant said in amusement. 

“What?!” I was shocked.

“He got it as a birthday present.” Speirs added as we approached the lone building. 

“Oh just casual, ‘hey buddy we got you a house for your birthday, and surprise, it’s on the highest fucking mountain!!’ Wish my friends were that nice. You guys wanna pitch in or something, get me a house for my birthday?” I nudged Grant and Malarkey, giving them a cheeky smile. 

“It’s in September, that’s enough time to save right?” I laughed, finding myself hilarious. 

“Wait, your birthday is in September?” Grant asked as he and Malarkey stared at me. 

“Yeah, 23rd of September.” I nodded. 

“We missed your birthday?” Malarkey looked sad.

“Oh well, I had just arrived. I mean, I think I didn’t even know what day it was, I was busy.” I tried to make them feel better. It was only a week or so after I had come through the shimmer, I was so turned around I missed it myself. 

“But you didn’t tell us!” Grant huffed. 

“I didn’t think it was important information.” I patted their backs. “We can celebrate it this year.” I smiled trying to cheer them up. 

“Enough birthday chatter. Guns up, get ready. Em stay behind me, you’re unarmed.” Speirs halted the men before we walked up the steps to the Nest. I did as I was told, slipping to the back of the group behind all of the men.  

We swept the inside of the building. The men went from room to room with their guns at the ready clearing each space before we moved onto the next. 

We came to the last room. The biggest one. It had two large wooden doors that were closed. 

Grant and Malarkey positioned themselves on a handle each, as More stood in the middle with his gun raised. Speirs and I stood either side of him. We collectively held our breaths.  

Grant and Don nodded at each other pushing open the doors at the same time. I gasped seeing the grand room we entered into. 

It wasn’t pretty, not like the hotel. The walls were grey exposed brick. It didn’t feel homey. Cold and abrasive. In the centre of the room sat large tables with patterned chairs around them. 

In the centre of the wall sat a hearth. With logs piled high in front of it. In front of the fire was a coffee table with loungey chairs that sported the same pattern as the seats around the tables. 

On every table there was a singular silver bucket that had a bottle of champagne. The men spread out in the room, checking it was clear. 

I walked to the window peering down at the steep drop below. A shiver ran up my spine as I stepped back. 

I casted my eyes around the room, I tilted my head in confusion, trying to assess what I was looking at on the ground. Grey long tubes lay on the ground near one of the couches. 

The picture finally became clear as I got closer. They were legs. Speirs was behind me, slowly approaching the lifeless body as well. 

We both peered down at the man who lay face first on the carpet. Speirs bent down hauling the man over to his front. There was a clear gunshot wound to the head and the rug underneath him was smeared with his blood. Speirs picked up the gun that was under the body. 

I looked over Ron’s shoulder, glancing at the gun that he held in his hands, and down at the man’s body. 

A loud bang sounded, echoing around the room. 

I screamed in fright clinging onto Speirs, burying my face into his back. Speirs flinched at the sound as well.

One of the men had popped open one of the champagne bottles that had been sitting on the table. My heart raced in my chest. I glared over my shoulder to find Malarkey grinning at us. 

“Here’s to him.” He raised the bottle to his lips, chugging down the liquor. 

Ron and I shook our heads, as I let go of his jacket. Speirs smiled down at me, tucking me into his side and giving me a loving squeeze. 

“Malarkey, you almost killed her!” Ron scolded Don. 

“Look, she's shaking.” He said, picking up one of my hands and wiggling it around in front of Malarkey’s face. 

“Oh my love I’m so sorry.” Don teased pulling me from Ron’s grip and pressing kisses around my face. 

“Get a room!” We heard from across the hall, Grant and More were pretending to gag at us. 

I fought off Don’s attack, he wasn’t showing me love he was trying to tickle me. I tucked my chin down into my chest, fending him away. 

Every time I broke free from his grip and made two steps towards escape, somehow he had a hold of me again. 

“Don!” I squealed, his fingers dug into my sides and under my armpits. 

I couldn’t stop laughing, which was making it harder for me to fight. I lost all my strength as soon as I started to laugh, making my attempts to be free from his attack impossible.  

“I’m gonna pee! Please! Don!” Was all I could manage to get out through fits of giggles and gasps of air. 

Finally, after what felt like years, Don let me get to my feet again. 

“Malarkey, come here!” Grant yelled for his friend. Don kissed me sweetly on the cheek before running off to see what Chuck wanted. I noticed More standing over one of the tables looking very intrigued with something he had. 

I walked over to stand beside him. I peeked down at what he was looking at. There on the table was a photo album. But not just any old album. It seemed to be Hitler’s personal pictures. He was each photo, standing with people, shaking hands, at tables drinking and smoking with what I assume were other important men. 

“Is this his?” I whispered. 

More nodded as he flicked through the pages. “Can’t tell anyone we found this.” 

“Why?” I asked, looking over my shoulder to see if anyone else had noticed us. 

“This is very valuable.” More sent me a wicked grin and a wink. I nodded understanding his request. 

“What album? I never heard of such a thing.” I said, pretending to look around confused. 

“Atta girl.” More chirped patting me on the back. 

****************************************

“George, would you share!” I groaned at the man as he hogged the bottle of champagne we were supposed to be sharing. 

Everyone else had made it up to the Eagles nest soon after we declared it to be safe. With nothing to do and the war seemingly coming to a close, since the German army had officially announced their surrender, it caused celebration.

Someone seemed to find an endless supply of champagne and other alcoholic beverages. There were no glasses, so we opted for sharing a bottle between a few people passing it backwards and forwards between us all. 

However Luz wasn’t handing over the bottle. 

“Luz!” I whined as the man pretended to ignore me, giggling as he took more swigs from the champagne. 

“It’s not lady-like to be drunk.” He slurred grinning at me. 

“Oh yeah? Well thank god I’m no lady.” I reached across the man trying to yank the beverage from his hands but he held tight. 

“George. Let! Go!” I pulled with all my might, trying to wrestle it out of his hands. But for some reason, today was the day that Luz decided he was going to be strong. Normally I could beat him in a fight, when we would tussle on the ground. Was he letting me win all this time? 

I gave up, loosening my grip on the bottle and sighing in defeat. 

“Fine! I will find someone else to share with.” I huffed marching away to find another soldier who would share their drink.  

Webster and Lieb talked animatedly to each other, so much so, their drinks had been left unattended. I casually walked past, bending down and pretending to tie my shoe, as I swiped both of the men’s bottles. 

I tucked the champagne under my shirt and scurried off, out of view from everyone.  

There was a more secluded balcony around the back side of the building. I snuck out, scouting the area for anyone else before making myself comfortable. 

I plonked down on one of the lounge chairs that lined the wall of the balcony. I kicked my feet up and settled back into a relaxed position, enjoying the view as I sipped away on my champagne. 

Back in my own reality I wasn’t much of a drinker, it was lonely drinking by yourself, with nothing to celebrate. I remember after my mum died I turned to alcohol to numb the pain, but all I got instead were nasty hangovers the next morning. So the drinking never stuck.  

It felt different now though. Being up here in the Alps after the long hard battle we had. So many ups and downs, having bad times outweigh the good most days. It felt as if it was a treat for all of those times when we thought we weren’t going to make it out alive and where most of us didn’t. 

I raised my bottle into the sky, cheersing with the men who couldn’t celebrate with us after it all. 

“Here’s to you.” I whispered looking up at the beautiful blue sky. With tears brimming in my eyes I sipped away at the alcohol, thanking my lucky stars I was still here and with people that I love. 

Before I knew it I was drunk. Somehow I had become a lightweight, maybe it was all the years of not drinking that did it. But I didn’t even make it through the first bottle before everything was swaying in front of my face. Each time I closed my eyes the room spun and tilted as if I was on my own personal roller coaster. 

I took a deep breath, opening my eyes again, trying to steady myself to get up and go back into the hall. I planted my feet on the ground, focussing on evening out my breathing and preparing to get up. 

“Ok, on the count of three.” I slurred, tipping slightly. “One, two, three!” Pushing out of the very low lounge chair, I managed to get to my feet. But that didn’t stop the floor from moving under me. 

I clung to the walls, trying my best to find the exit of the balcony. “How the fuck am I so drunk.” I mumbled to myself as I wobbled along. 

“EMMMMMMM!” The loud voice yelled at me, sounding just as drunk as I was. Chuck appeared in front of me, grinning from ear to ear. 

“We’ve been looking for ya!” Grant swayed as he stood. I couldn’t tell if it was because of my eyesight that he tilted back and forth, or if he was doing it himself.      

“You have?” I asked, looking around the room through blurry vision. 

The rest of the men lounged in the arm chairs and around the tables. The fire had been lit and warmed the entire room. Cards were strewn across the table, same with empty bottles of booze. 

“I’m all in baby!” Luz cheered as he pushed his chips into the middle of the table, the other men groaning, throwing their heads back.

“Come on!” Grant didn’t even give me a chance to say anything, he plucked me off of the step I was standing on as if I was weightless. Chuck threw me over his shoulder as I screamed, his arms wrapped around my legs as I gripped onto the back of his shirt. I tried to hold my head up as we moved so I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up everywhere. 

“Look who I caught!” Grant yelled as he spun us in a circle. 

“Grant, omg, stop spinning!” I begged the man, but he didn’t listen, in fact he did the opposite, spinning even faster. 

“Chuck!” I yelled, gripping onto his shirt for dear life. 

“Would you put her down.” Babe tried his best to get his friend to unhand me, but more chaos ensued when Luz leaped up from his seat. 

“Give her.” I watched as George extended his arms gesturing for Chuck to hand me over. 

“No.” My voice wasn’t as stern as I needed it to be, my giggles ruining my mad facade. 

Grant’s hands found my waist lifting me from his shoulder to pass me over to George. I gripped onto Chuck, my hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt to try and prevent the exchange. But Lieb appeared out of nowhere helping Grant loosen my grasp.

I was pulled backwards, Luz’s pair of hands found my sides. I didn’t realise he was so strong and he lifted me to perch on his shoulder like a parrot. My hands were in a frenzy trying to find anything to hold onto beside’s George’s hair. Being so unbalanced I tipped back, flying towards the ground with my arms outstretched. I squeezed my eyes shut waiting for the impact of the floor, but it never came. I peeked out of one eye, I was still mid-air. Luz gripped firmly onto my legs as I swung behind him like an inflatable tube man that’s always outside of car dealerships.      

“George Luz, if you don’t put me down! So help me god, I will end you!” I screeched as all the blood in my body rushed to my head. With how drunk I was, the swinging motion as Luz pranced around the room, and the dangling upside down. I was only seconds away from hurling all over the room, and I didn’t particularly want to throw up the wrong way round. It would be messy and the thought of it coming out of my mouth and back into my nose made me want to vomit even more. 

“Luz put me down. I’m going to kill you! Do you want to die a virgin?” The men burst out laughing at my threats. George turned red shaking his head as the men asked if he truly was a virgin. 

“Oh there’s no shame in that Georgie boy!” Lieb slapped him on the shoulder. 

Though my threats were hilarious, they had totally changed the subject of the matter at hand. Now instead of letting me down, George was trying to furiously plead his case that he was in fact not a virgin, and quite frankly a ladies man. 

The men seemingly forgot I was literally hanging by my legs down George’s back. They gave me no choice. 

“Donald. Don. Help me!” I yelled. I hadn’t seen the man as I entered the room, not that Chuck had given me much time to do so. 

I watched Don run into the room looking concerned. His features morphed into confusion and then anger as he took in the predicament I was in. 

“Don, help!” I begged again as he approached.

Don didn’t utter a word as he approached, the men too caught up in teasing Luz, they didn’t see him coming. His hands found their way under my arms, bringing me upright. My legs were still hung over Luz’s shoulder, so now I was like a weird human hammock slung between the two men. 

George noticed that my weight had been shifted, he glanced over his shoulder to find a scowling Don holding me up, I gave a drunken smirk at the man, ha you’re in big trouble now. 

He sheepishly lowered my legs to the ground and then backed away slowly before hiding behind Bull. 

Don stood me on my feet properly, but still everything swayed in my drunken state. I grasped onto his shoulders trying to steady myself.

“Can we go outside for a second?” I asked, leaning into Don while wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“Of course.” Don sweeped my legs into his arms gently picking me up bridal style. I nestled my face into the crook of his neck and squeezed my eyes shut. He walked out of the room as the rest of the men ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at his sweet gesture. 

Don returned back to the balcony I had started on. He sat down on the chair, keeping me in his lap. I pulled back after he had settled back into the lounger. I smiled lovingly at the man I stared at, my hands finding their way into Don’s hair and running my fingers through it. It had gotten long while we were in the midst of war, but now with more free time, Lieb had cut it short again. 

“What are you smiling at?” He asked, his hands absentmindedly running up and down my thighs. 

“You.” I blushed at my cheesy words, but it was true. 

Don chuckled trying to look elsewhere to hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. My hands didn’t let him get far, cupping his cheeks to face me, so I could stare at him more. 

“Gosh you’re so handsome.” I’m sure the wine had gotten to my head, but I couldn’t believe this man loved me like I loved him.  

“You’re drunk.” Don smiled, shaking his head. 

“You know what they say. Drunk words, sober thoughts.” That made him stop, he looked up at me. 

“You’re so beautiful.” I leaned forward, placing a kiss on his lips.

“It’s funny, I didn’t know I could love someone so much. I love everything about you, all your scars and imperfections, the parts you could care less for. I love them all. I think I have loved you for a while, I know I told you I loved you ages ago, but that wasn’t the first time I felt it.” I gazed into Don’s eyes, spilling all of my secrets to him. I could bare my soul. 

“I have a secret.” I paused trying to catch my words before they ran away with me. 

“And that secret is that, um, I love you. But ha ha, that’s no secret, cause I have told you so many times.” I spoke quickly, flustered by my confession, trying to cover up the truth that almost blurted from my lips. Damn my drunk brain. 

“Em!” Don laughed heartily as his hands steadied me. “You’re a funny drunk, you know that.” 

“But I’m telling the truth, everything I said, all true!”

“I know.” He smiled up at me, brushing a curl out of my face and tucking it behind my ear. He leaned in closer, his eyes only focussed on me. A smirk tugged at his lips as he pressed a kiss to my temple, he let his touch linger against my skin. He pulled back his lids heavy as he watched me. 

“You know I love all of you as well.” Don whispered, he didn’t need to raise his voice, we were so close. Only inches between us. His hand raised to cup my cheek, I lent into his palm, as his thumb brushed over my lips. Don’s fingers pulled me forward, closing the distance between us, our foreheads pressed together as our breaths mingled. 

“What if we get caught? Again.” I added, since the last time we narrowly escaped being walked in on right in the middle of it all.  

“I’m allowed to kiss you. If they want to complain, let them.”

He didn’t wait for my answer, hungrily pulling me into him. Don’s lips pressed to mine in a deep and hungry kiss, as if we had been deprived of oxygen. I needed him like water, the thought alone scared me to my core, but his mouth over mine drove the fear to the back of my mind. 

Don kissed me, his soft lips moving over mine. I opened my mouth for him, moaning as his hands roamed around my body. His fingers skimmed over my soft skin sending shivers up my spine. Somehow with every touch, his hands have a power and passion that sets me ablaze and sends my heart racing.  

His hands pulled me closer to him, fingers tangling in my hair, trailing over every inch of my skin. 

My head tilted back as his lips assaulted my throat, nipping and sucking. Don hummed in approval at all the small gasps and moans that escaped my mouth. 

Don’s hands continued to trail down my body, touching and caressing my flesh as if to memorise every dip and curve of me. His lips roamed over my neck and collarbone, finding all the sensitive spots to draw out more sighs and gasps of pleasure.

My touch and kisses became more desperate as I pulled Don back up to kiss me. I needed to have him, feel him consuming every part of me. With every breath and moan that left his lips, I became more obsessed, more in love, more certain that he was the one I wanted to love forever.

“You’re the only one for me.” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could comprehend what I was saying. 

“Promise?” Don asked, panting, as he smirked.  

I hid my face in his neck, embarrassed of the confession I had just made. “Promise.” 

Giggles burst from my lips as he tickled my sides. I laughed so hard I threw my head back, that’s when the attack ceased. I focussed back on the man in front of me. Don was staring at me, a lazy smile spread across his face. 

“What?” I asked shyly, I had been caught mid-laugh I’m sure it wasn’t attractive. 

“Nothing.” He says in an amused tone, “You’re just beautiful when you’re happy. I love your laugh, your smile. You’re even more stunning when you’re laughing.” 

“You’re drunk.” I smacked his chest, hiding my goofy smile that was plastered all over my face. 

“Not even a little.” Don grinned at me. I turned over, sitting in between his legs and laying back against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close. We sat in silence, enjoying the view quietly.

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

Chapter 31

[realistically-shifting]

Scripting Remus to ✨mutually pine✨

Non-exhaustive list of things I script

When he was a teenager, he started to have dreams of me. In his dreams, I appeared as the same age as him.

I was always present in his dreams. Either he noticed me somewhere in the background, or the dream revolved around me. I was just always there, especially during rough times.

The dreams never exaggerated my virtues or vices (Don’t want to set up a pedestal to fall from).

There’s always something missing in the dreams that makes him feel that he’s only experiencing a shadow of who I actually am. Meeting me and spending time with me in person fixes this issue; my voice finally comes through to him clearly, he gets to see my quirks and habits, things I do when I think nobody is looking. How I can be clumsy and forgetful and I constantly bump into things, yet also pay attention to details, etc. Basically, I become reality, not just the person of his dreams.

I appear to age throughout the years with him, but I stop at the age I’ll be when I meet him.

The dreams brought him comfort and he started to get eager to see my face in them. He had warm, intimate dreams, fun dreams, comforting dreams, erotic, etc.

In realities where I sang in an anonymous college band with a small fanbase - Felix, Remus’ younger brother who is my age, heard a song from my band in passing online and showed it to Remus. While Felix lost interest, Remus became our most loyal fan. We didn’t show our names or faces, but he fell in love with the lyrics we wrote and my voice brought him warmth/comfort/ease/etc.

He learned to draw to draw my face. This is how Felix, Cyrus, and Alaina know I’m from his dreams too. (They kinda thought he was crazy. May just about lose their minds when he presents me to them)

When he’d go on dates or sleep around, he found himself looking for me within the people he went out with.

He preferred erotic dreams of me to actually having sex with other people.

Whenever he was stressed or pissed, he formed a habit of imagining talking to me to talk through his problem or to calm down

Foreplay and aftercare expert

Whenever I’m in the room, his eyes are on me

After hearing and briefly spotting me in the apartment sub-level, Remus cleared his entire calendar to dedicate his time to looking for me.

Because he spotted me in the apartment sub-level with a car, he knew I was a resident of the building. So, he bought the entire building. I scripted this as an action he’s already taken.

He’s spent the past week trying to figure out how to approach me without scaring me off.

He’s already arranged a prenuptial agreement to mitigate power imbalances. The agreement is heavily favored towards me.

He doesn’t expect me to date him, per se, but he’s decided that I’m the one he wants and he’s going to pursue that.

If I got married to someone else, he would be of the mindset that he still can’t entrust my livelihood to anyone and will still provide for me, even if I’m not with him. (Not the plan, just for an idea of his personality)

This.

He regularly gets art of me commissioned (even after finding me)

Touch and physical affection is his love language sadistic pleasure dom

Hentai anatomy

Confident and Secure-attachment

He has a habit of buying things if I come to mind when he sees it.

Doesn’t care about publicly displaying his affection for me, does so shamelessly (nearly to the point of exhibitionism)

He believes that our relationship was written into the stars by the gods themselves

*Thinks buying an entire apartment building and scouring security footage will scare me off because he’s intense, doesn’t realize I learned to travel the multiverse for him*

Which leads me to: If I ever told him about shifting, he would take that as further proof of our relationship being destined.

He might cry if he found out I learned to shift for him

He likes to leave marks

He “jokes” that for a first date, we should visit the courthouse. We’ll probably laugh, but it wasn’t really a joke.

Love at first sight

He doesn’t get jealous of other men around me because he knows I will choose him in the end, one way or another.

He listens attentively when I speak, genuinely interested to learn all the little details he thought he’d never get to hear about me

Three days before he sees me, the dreams abruptly end. In his last one, it ended with me with my back turned to him and saying something he couldn’t hear, then motioning for him to follow me. After that, I no longer showed up in his dreams even if he tried.

The disappearance of dream Me stressed him tf out

When he first comes to my apartment to speak to me, it’s obvious he’s constantly holding himself back from touching me