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#is the 19th century man okay
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hello! i’m looking into adopted yet another 19th century man. i’ve owned several others, and am looking for something unique. are there any unique and peculiar breeds you recommend?
Sure! These heritage and unique 19th century men may not be for everyone, but I want them to get more love.
French soldier left behind on the field of battle during the 1870 Franco-Prussian War.
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Poor sweetheart!! True story: the model for this 1872 painting, real French soldier Théodore Larran, met the artist Émile Betsellère many times because Betsellère was so touched by his story. Absolutely the type of 19th century man you want to rescue and love.
A jolly flatboatman.
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From The Jolly Flatboatmen by artist George Caleb Bingham, 1846.
A good 19th century man doesn't have to be wealthy or formal, as these charming working class fellows attest. Perfect for the aficionado of lively, active 19th century men.
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British Army 41st Regiment of Foot Soldier, c. 1800-1815.
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Who doesn't have "a passion for a scarlet coat," as Jonathan Swift phrased it! Your soldier needs a lot of exercise and structure, but he's not picky about his food or bedding. Comes with his own blanket and water bottle! He's a lover, he's a fighter, I recommend delousing him before you bring him into your home.
Cossack Trowsers King.
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Strutting his stuff in 1827, he has an insouciant attitude and a bold, fashion-forward look. You may want to address the fact that he's also a major source of air pollution.
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greendomine · 6 months
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her: wyd
me: theres just this LEVEL of codependency that i love in relationships like to the point where absolute despair is the only choice if they dont have one another. i think clark ALSO was somewhat dependent on lewis despite most interpretations, but i think he was able to lean into more traditional life during his time of society bcuz he was generally more well-liked than lewis and had less of an incline to depression and addiction. i truly believe that lewis wouldve been okay if he had more support and wasnt left to fend for himself like a wounded animal. clark had PLANS for what would happen after the expedition (a wife, children, a successful job) while its clear that lewis never knew what he wanted outside of the freedom to wander. his intelligence both encouraged him and trapped him, and he was cracking under the pressure of everything with no help. anyway do u want my nudes
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thebaffledcaptain · 7 months
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The Smoker, the Drummer of the Jersey Blues, oil on panel, 1900, by Theophile Marie Francois Lybaert (1848–1927).
Not an accurate depiction by any means, but I resonate with him. Sometimes all that drumming will wear you out.
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ricketysticks · 4 months
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the idea that 200 years is too long of a span of time for a fictional world to have "not invented any new technology" is kind of a weird take imo
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doriangrayanswers · 1 year
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𝑨 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 💛
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Rating - 10/10
The novels follows Des Essientes, an aristocrat that’s fled to a countryside villa. Here he lives in a whirlwind fever dream (literally! He’s sick half the time.) of decadence and classical literature.
𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈
I admit it was somewhat difficult getting through the first part of the prologue. It was all too easy to put myself in Des Essientes’ shoes.
We begin with a lengthy description of Des Esseintes’ family tree (it’s noted that he looks eerily similar to an older, now deceased relative) and it’s downfall, before moving onto Des Esseintes’ lonely bookish childhood.
Unfortunately this ends up morphing him into a bitter cynic, which is why he makes his decision to leave to the countryside villa. I don’t understand his thought process in this decision— surely more isolation would only contribute to his terrible health? I know I hate to be left alone for too long, how can anyone stand it?
I cannot properly share my thoughts on the next two chapters, as a dreamy sigh doesn’t translate well into writing. Anyway- I’m not much of a church goer, but this is how I imagine religious reverie must feel! It shouldn’t be possible for ink on a page to stir the senses so, and yet here we are. I can’t even bring myself to focus on what’s happened, I get so lost in the scene— his disdain for Mother Nature is secondary to the beautiful picture Huysmans’ paints!
Aaaah this post has gotten too long already, hasn’t it? I think I’ll post the rest of this review in segments, depending on how much happens in each chapter. I cannot wait to share the rest of this book with you all, and I cannot thank Henry enough for introducing it to me! It holds a special place in my heart and only seems to get better with each re-read.
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I've had the Vaudeville travelling circus for 30 minutes, but if anything were to happen to it I'd kill everybody in this room and then myself
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writingwithcolor · 3 months
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How can non-Jewish writers include Jewish characters in supernatural stories without erasing their religion in the process?
Anonymous asked:
I have a short story planned revolving around the supernatural with a Jewish character named Danielle (who uses they/them pronouns). Danielle will be one of a trio who will be solving the mystery of two brides' deaths on the day of their wedding. My concern with this is the possibility of accidentally invalidating Danielle's religion by focusing on a secular view of the afterlife. At the same time, I don't want to assume that Jewish people can't exist in paranormal stories, nor do I want to use cultural elements that don't belong to me. So, how do I make sure that Danielle is included in the plot without erasing their Jewishness?
Okay so to start with I think we need to ask a question about the premise: what is a secular afterlife? I’m not asking this to nitpick or be petty, but to offer you expanded ways of thinking through this issue and maybe others as well.
A Secular Afterlife
What is a secular afterlife? To begin with, I get what you mean. The idea of an afterlife we see in pop culture entities like ghost media owes more to a mixture of 19th-century spiritualist tropes drawn from titillating gothic novels than to anything preached from the pulpit of an organized house of worship. Yet those tropes--the ominous knocking noises from beyond, the spectral presences on daguerrotype prints, the sudden chill and the eerie glow, all of those rely on the idea of there being something beyond this life, some continuation of the spirit when the body has ceased to breathe. For that, you need to discount the ideas that the consciousness has moved on to another physical body and is currently living elsewhere, and that it was never separate from the body and has now ceased to exist. Can we say that this is secular?
More so: Gothic literature, as the name suggests, draws heavily on Catholic imagery, even when it avoids explicit references to Catholicism. Aside from the architectural imagery, Catholic religious symbols permeate the genre, as well as the larger horror and supernatural media genres that grew from it: Dracula flinches from a crucifix, priests expel demons from human bodies, Marley’s Ghost haunts Ebenezer Scrooge in chains. The concepts of heaven and hell, and nonhuman beings who dwell in those places, are critical to making the narratives work. 
The basis also draws from a biblical story, that of the Witch of Endor. The main tropes of Victorian spiritualism are present: Saul never sees the ghost of Samuel, only the Witch of Endor is able to see “A divine being rising” from wherever he rises from, and her vague description, “I see an old man rising, wearing a robe,” evokes the cold readings of charlatan mediums into the present (Indeed, some rabbinic sources commenting on this assert that this is exactly what was going on).
While neither of these views of its origin define the genre as the sole property of Catholicism--or of Judaism for that matter--it would be hard exactly to categorize them as secular.
A Jewish Perspective on ghosts
However, it’s not the case that ghost media is incompatible with Jewishness, assuming that it doesn’t commit to a view of heaven and hell duality that specifically embraces a Christian spiritual framework. 
Jewish theology is noncommittal on the subject of the afterlife. The idea of a division between body and soul in the first place is found in ancient Egypt, for instance, earlier than the earliest Jewish texts. In Jewish text it’s present in narratives like the creation story, in which God crafts a human body out of earth and then breathes life into it once it’s complete. It also appears in our liturgy: the blessings prescribed to be recited at the beginning of the day juxtapose Elohai Neshama, a blessing for the soul, with Asher Yatzar, expressing gratitude for the body, recited by many after successfully using the bathroom. 
Yet it’s not clear that this life-force is something separate than the body that lives beyond it, until the apparition of the Witch of Endor. The words we use to describe it, whatever it is, evoke the process of breathing rather than that of eternal life: either ruach (spirit, or wind) or neshama (soul, or breath): neither is a commitment to the idea that it does--or that it doesn’t--go somewhere else when the body returns to the earth. 
Jewish folklore, however, leans into the idea of ghosts and other spiritual beings inhabiting the earthly plane (and others). Perhaps most famous is the 1937 movie The Dybbuk, in which a young scholar engaging in kabbalistic practices calls upon dark forces to unite him and his fated love, only to find himself possessing her body as a dybbuk. It appears that he is about to be successfully exorcized, but ultimately when his soul leaves her body, hers does as well. 
More relevantly to your story, a Jewish folktale inspired the movie The Corpse Bride. In the folktale version, a newly-engaged man jokingly recites the legal formula he will soon recite at his wedding, and places his ring on the finger of a nearby corpse--a reference to a time when antisemitic violence is said to have gotten worse not only at Jewish and Christian holidays as it does still to this day, but around Jewish weddings as well. The murdered bride stands up, a corpse reanimated complete with consciousness, and demands that the bridegroom honor his legal obligation. 
In the movie, the bride gives up her demand willingly: her claim on him is emotional rather than legal, and she finally accepts that he has an emotional connection with another person, that he doesn’t love her. In the folk tale, the dead woman takes him to court to decide whether their marriage is legal, since he spoke the legal words to her in front of witnesses as is required, and the court rules that the dead do not have the right to make legal demands on the living. In this version, the moral of the story is that a legal formula is an obligation; that when he jokingly bound himself to the corpse, he not only disrespected the dead but also the legal framework that structures society, and by so doing risked being obligated to keep his side of a contract he never intended to enact. 
This speaks to the ways that a Jewish outlook can differ from a Christian-influenced “secular” one. Christian-influenced cultural ideas can often focus around feeling the right thing, while Jewish stories will often center on doing the right thing. Does the Corpse Bride leave because she realizes she is not the one he loves? Because she--or he--learned a valuable lesson? Or because she loses her court case? It’s not that the boy’s emotions are irrelevant to the story--the tension, the suspense, the horror of the story takes place primarily within the boy’s emotional landscape--but emotions on their own are not a solution. The question “should he marry her” can be answered emotionally, but “has he married her” can only be answered by a legal expert, and once it has been the deceased bride may not have changed her emotional attachment to him, but she no longer has legal standing to pursue her claim. 
Centering legal rectitude over emotional catharsis isn’t a requirement for having Jewish characters in your story, but it’s worth thinking about what is and isn’t universal, what is and isn’t actually all that secular. 
Meanwhile, back at the topic:
Where does any of this place Danielle?
Well, unless you’re positing a universe in which Christian or other deities or cosmologies are confirmed to exist (See Jewish characters in a universe with author-created fictional pantheons for more on that topic), there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be perfectly fine interacting with whatever the setting you’re building throws at them. 
My wishlist for this character and setting runs more to the general things to consider when writing fantasy settings with Jewish characters: 
Don’t confirm or imply that Jesus is a divine being. That means no supernatural items like splinters of the cross, grails, nails, veils, etc. There’s nothing particularly powerful or empowering about this one guy who lived and died like so many others.
Don’t show God’s body and especially not God’s face, or confirm that any other gods or deities exist, whether that’s Jesus, Aphrodite, or Anubis, or someone you made up for the context. 
Don’t put Danielle in a position where they’re going to play into an antisemitic trope like child murder, blood drinking, world domination, or financial greed. If you have to, name it and let Danielle express discomfort with or distaste for those actions both because Jewish values explicitly oppose all of those things but also because Danielle as a Jewish character would be painfully aware of these stereotypes as present and historical excuses for antisemitic violence. 
Do consider what Danielle’s personal practice might look like. What does Danielle do on Shabbat? What do they eat or refrain from eating? What are their memories of Jewish holidays and how is their current holiday observance different than their childhood? I know I say “Jewishness is diverse” on every ask, but it is, and these questions--which also underscore how very much Judaism is rooted in one’s actions during this life--will help you develop how Judaism actually functions to inform Danielle’s character, even if you don’t spell out the answers to each of these questions in text. 
Do let Danielle find joy, comfort, and identity in their Jewishness not just in contrast with Christianity but simply because it’s part of the wholeness of their character. I know the primary representation of Jewishness is a snappy one-liner in a Christmas episode followed by the Jewish character joining in the Christmas spirit, blue edition, but make room for Jewishness to inform how Danielle approaches the events of your story, or why they decide to get or stay involved.  
-Meir
Hi it’s Shira with some Jewish ghost story recs written from inside–
When The Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb (deliriously good queer YA Jewish paranormal, mainstream enough that it’s got a good chance of being at your local library and won all kinds of awards)
The Dyke and the Dybbuk by Ellen Galford (sorry for the slur, warning for a paragraph of biphobia in the book but it’s an older book. I read this right before my divorce so my memories are super fuzzy but it’s about this modern day lesbian who gets possessed by the ghost of a different lesbian from hundreds of years earlier in Jewish history.) Nine of Swords Reversed by Xan West z’L of blessed memory - another queer Jewish paranormal.
The general plot is that two partners are struggling with how to be honest with each other about the effect disability is having on them. It’s got a very warm and fuzzy cozy vibe but kink culture is central to the worldbuilding so if that isn’t your vibe I didn’t want you to go in unaware.
The Dybbuk in Love by Sonya Taaffe. I don’t remember the details but I remember loving it, it’s m/f and romance between possessor and possessed.
I wrote a really short one called A Man of Taste where a gentile vampire woman and a Jewish ghost/dybbuk get together.
~S
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nyimasu · 8 months
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CONTENT WARNING! — eyes wide shut au, orgy, unprotected sex, voyeurism, pet names (love, sugar, baby), reader and geto have tattoos and you're a bit shy at first, praises, hair pulling, poly dynamics with gojo (what's new), lingerie kink, biting, secret pining, slight corruption kink, fingering, oral (reader receiving), cum eating, double penetration, all three of you get unhinged towards the end and break the orgy grandmaster's rules / WORD COUNT — 5.5k (pure brainrot)
ANYA'S CORNER — aesthetical hedonism to its finest, this work has been clearly inspired by stanley kubrick's last masterpiece, "eyes wide shut". also big shoutout to my love, @nagumoan for helping me throughout the various phases I had to come up with to finish this lmao love you dearly, loni!
P.S. : this fic is not proofread but I still hope you enjoy it! see you soon 🦋
REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED!
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“What’s on your mind, Suguru?”
When you ask Suguru to do something different tonight, you realize your words backfire immediately because your dark-haired partner scoots closer to you on the sofa, his pupils dilating when you press a kiss to his lower lip. Then you wait for his response.
But the man is thinking so hard about your implicit request that his mind drifts away. Your sultry laugh brings him back to reality, though.
The man chuckles, amused by the hint of confusion in your question. "Nothing too wicked or extreme, my love. But what I have in mind for us might require you to get out of your comfort zone for a while. Are you still okay with it?"
You nod without hesitation, and your hand on his thigh brings Geto to smile, luring you closer to kiss you. Always so respectful and caring, your lover.
So, a couple of conceited phone calls from his part and a quick run to your wardrobe later, here you are, waiting in front of a wooden door to open to a villa— no, to a mansion probably built in the 19th century.
Tonight it’s shrouded in darkness and lush nuances of deep green, probably trees caressed by the capricious hand of the wind.
What a perfect night to find beauty and grace in you again, Geto thinks to himself. His eyes brim with mischief, his lips stretched in a smile under the white and golden mask he has on, while your gaze reflects the stardust coating the sky.
You are clothed in nothing more than a Venetian mask, a black coat, silvery high heels, and a set of lace lingerie your boyfriend is really fond of.
The aforementioned has your arm linked with his, and you both look at each other when the gates creak open.
Oblivious to his thoughts, you look up at him, and Suguru tilts his head towards the other masked couples before you.
“Let me introduce you to a whole new world. You haven’t seen anything like this before, not even in your wildest dreams. Come with me, love.”
Curious, you follow the rest of the guests and enter into the perfectly curated garden preceding the main body of the mansion, which soon welcomes you all with a cascade of candles covering every inch of the walls, starting from the corridor.  
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I wouldn’t even think of putting you in harm’s way if I wasn’t sure you were going to be alright. You’re safe with me.”
You search for Geto’s eyes for reassurance, and he feels your gaze on him. He squeezes your hand oh-so lightly first, then stops right before you walk past the living room’s frame door.
The noise in the background doesn’t act as a distraction to either of you, so your partner simply shifts his grip from your arm to your lower back while he puts you at ease by saying:
“I know, of course. I’m not questioning that.” you reply right away, fidgeting with some of the rings of his dominant hand, the one wrapped around your waist.
Then you step forward to take in the smell of fresh flowers, tobacco, and other scents in the living room.  The staccato pace your heels set as you walk around to look at the candleholders scattered across the immense living room goes unnoticed, but not the swirls of ink on your body when the cloak slips to the side to reveal the tiniest sliver of skin.
“It’s just that this,” you punctuate the last word with a sigh, pointing at the opulence surrounding you. “I’m a bit intimidated by all of this. Everything screams expensive. I mean, look at these chandeliers! They’re magnificent, and I can bet my entire lingerie drawer that they're gold. Like, gold gold. Whoever owns the place is filthy rich.”
Now, that catches the attention of some of the guests, but you pass by them without noticing their stares on you. But your partner does, and he’s not the only one.
Your eyes are set on him only as you make your way back to Geto once more. Once you’re within reach, you feel his hand snaking up the cloak’s slit, and you giggle at the feeling of his feather-like touches on your thigh.
Do not get distracted, you reprimand yourself and gently take Suguru’s hand in yours to finish your sentence.
A muffled smirk follows your theory, probably because someone has made their presence known behind you. Alarmed, you turn and stare at the stranger. Somehow, the way they carry themselves is familiar to you, as if you’ve already met this person before.
And they’re tall.
Like, really tall.
On second thought, even their way of speaking sounds too much like the one used by another person you practically see every day.  
“Oh, sugar. Is this a legitimate bet? You know, I would love to have all your panties and bras in my bedroom. And to answer your question: yes, they’re gold gold. I’ve personally commissioned them to be made by the finest Italian craftsmen alive. They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?”
Before you can speak your mind, however, the masked person in front of you stops laughing after taking a look at your and Suguru’s intertwined hands; when they do, the stranger leans against the wall, an inch away from another candleholder. “Cuties.”
He only speaks that way with you and his closest friends.
Geto scoffs, his walk steady as he takes his place next to you. His arm links with yours again before shifting attention to the stranger.
Well, you two are not such strangers to them after all, because the lightness in your lover’s voice when he answers the stranger rings a bell.
“Do not change the subject, you freak. So, panties and bras, huh? You’ve never told me about this peculiarity of yours before. You want to wear, sniff, or jerk off with it?”
The masked one laughs again, this time while they clasp one hand around Geto’s forearm. It's big, all spidery fingers and gorgeous veins standing proud against their porcelain-like skin as the figure adjusts the cloak around their broad shoulders.
Girl, get a grip on yourself.
Shaking your head to push your horniness into a corner of your mind, you come to realize that you know them, and they seem to be quite intimate with you and Geto as well.
God, you have their name on the tip of your tongue, but it escapes you the moment you look at their attire. All your focus goes to their shiny patent leather shoes, and then up to their cloak.
Strangely enough, their robe is not pitch-black like yours. It's magenta-hued. And the mask? Oh, it’s almost as if it’s been dipped into liquid gold because the shimmer of it is just too bright and too real to be fake.
“Ah, Suguru. I would rather not say. A man keeps his secret stash of the finest food close to his chest. You of all people should know it, considering you keep the most delicious Zunda a breadth away from you.”
The stranger’s hood is down, and your eyes land on pure snow-white hair framed by the mask. But then, the person shifts closer to you and Suguru, and the lights shine on their entire figure. 
On their inhumane eyes.
Also, no one calls you “delicious Zunda” but him, a man with a terrible sweet tooth who happens to devour every single sweetery he finds in your house whenever he swings by to see his best friend.
No way.
Baffled, you sharply exhale and whisper: "You've got to be kidding me.”
The relationship between you and Geto is exclusive. Nevertheless, you both agreed to expand your horizons when the time and people involved felt right. And Suguru thinks tonight might be the night. Jealousy never pertained to him, especially when it comes to you.
You shove a hand under the person’s mask and lift it up by the chin. Behind the mask, there’s a pair of bright, light blue eyes staring right back at you, while plump lips curled in a shit-eating grin match Suguru’s hidden delight.
He let you take off his best friend’s mask because your lover knows that, deep down, you and the other man have some sexual tension you both need to work through.
You’ve never admitted it out loud, partially because you don’t want to hurt Suguru, but you’ve always found Gojo attractive, and the white-haired man has been doting on you ever since you and Geto started to date five years ago.
You’re so deeply in love with him —and he with you—that to have a stranger come between you is unthinkable. But a man Geto trusts with his life?
That’s another story.
He does feel, however, that the spark between you and his best friend is ready to ignite.
 “Gojo Satoru. I was hoping to spare myself the sight of your ugly face tonight; that’s why I asked Suguru to go out. But I didn’t think he would take me to your fucking place.”
Gojo stoops closer, his eyes boring holes in your face as he bends his knees to meet your fuming gaze. It brings him immense joy to see you in distress because of him, and you hate when either he or Geto get to your eye level. It makes you feel smaller, and you are already much shorter than them. Ugh.
If looks could kill, he’d be in a pool of blood at your feet by now.
My guests?
“Aw, is my little dove bothered by my presence? You didn’t tell her everything, did you, Suguru? Because if you did, she wouldn’t have come to us this easily. Well, enjoy your last moments of tranquillity while I help the rest of my guests get comfortable.”
The air whistles as Satoru puts on his mask again and walks towards the centre of the living room, his cloak floating behind him, akin to a king’s. And somewhat, he really is of royal blood, considering he’s one of the richest and most influential member of the Gojo clan.
Upon his arrival, the others wandering in the living room halt on the spot, and so does their chit-chat. The silence following Gojo’s entrance makes your blood evaporate.
What did you just walk yourself into?
“Before we start, I’d like to repeat some ground rules some of you may not be aware of.”
“Greetings, dear guests of mine. Thank you for coming to my abode. So, as you can see, I’ll be your grandmaster tonight.” he points at his golden mask and red cloak before continuing.
Contrary to your partner, modesty really isn’t Gojo’s strongest suit.
That last bit is directed at you, and you fight the instinct to give him the finger.
The snow-haired man raises a hand and puts down his thumb. “Rule number one: we never take off our masks. It’s mandatory, for it helps us conceal our identities. No one must try to pry out information about others. Whoever breaks this important rule will be kicked out.”
He’s going to drive you insane alongside Suguru, you can feel it in your bones. What are you saying? No need to fool yourself by feigning ignorance, at this point.
They always do.
Everyone nods to his words, and you roll your eyes, much to Geto’s amusement. Well, you have broken that rule, already.
“There’s no number limit of participants in the encounters, but I do warn you: I will be keeping an eye on each and every single one of you, so don’t do anything that will prevent the other parties involved to enjoy themselves. If you dare to do anything against your partners’ desires or act without explicit consent, you will be taken and kicked out.
His index finger is the second one to curl. “Rule number two: everyone keeps their cloaks on until I say so. As grandmaster of the evening, I have the right to decide whenever the fun begins,”
His eyes beam with unhidden delight under the golden mask, enhancing the ethereal hue, and they’re so breathtaking to look at that a few women close to him audibly gasp.
Have I been clear?”
A collective ‘yes’ follows the second rule, and you are beginning to understand this is not your normal Friday night. Once again, you look at Suguru, and he leans over you to hear you whisper,
“You brought me to an orgy.”
He sighs, ready to get you both out of here if he hears even the slightest amount of doubt in your voice. His voice is feeble when he asks: “Will you stay?”
You don’t respond right away, rather you rest your head against his shoulder as Gojo declares the third and final rule of the evening. He’s watching you and Geto like a hawk as his voice reaches everyone in the room, and the snarly remarks after he’s done confirms your hunch.
“Rule number three: as your grandmaster, I have the right to accept or deny your requests to partake in your liaisons. You cannot, however, refuse me. Especially you two.”
Your whole body freezes, and so does Suguru.
Gojo is pointing at you and your partner from across the room and, useless to say, many eyes are on the both of you as Satoru concludes his speech.
“The Sun Dragon and the Moon Lover are mine. No one will have them but me.”
Your spirit is on fire, enraged by Satoru’s claim, and when you finally answer Suguru, you work your jaw so hard that your muscles start to protest.
“I will stay. I want to smash his head against the wall. I hate him.”
Suguru kisses your hair. “You’re so bloodthirsty, my love, but no, you don’t hate him. In fact, I think you fancy him enough you might give yourself up to him tonight.”
“What are you talking abo-”
“Tsk-tsk”, he tuts. “Your mind and body hold no secrets to me. I know you better than you know yourself. Promise me this.”
He lifts his mask enough to let his lips rest in the crook of your exposed neck, right where your vein quivers under his touch.
“Smother him the same way you do with me. He's as crazy about you as you are of him and me. Do not hold back.”
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“Go, my guests. Search for beauty and grace.”
An hour has gone by since the orgy officially started and apparently, Gojo isn’t the only person you know at the party/orgy.
And your surprise knows no limits as you walk by yet another room, and a glimpse of sandy hair tells you the man who’s pounding a very pleased girl is someone you’re acquainted with.
Turns out that some of the guests are close friends of yours, as well. You can’t see their faces, of course, but their movements and voices are unmistakable, including the ones of a man you never thought you’d see there.
The same could be said about you, since you’re not the typical regular at orgiastic festivals.
“My love.” Geto gently urges you to stay quiet, because the others guests are watching you and who you know for sure to be Nanami Kento stare at each other while his hips stutter and his deep voice bounces off the walls in a long, “Fuck”.
Sensing your eyes on him, the man cocks his head towards you and the girl beneath him mewls in need.
Oh, my God.
His partner’s pathetic attempts to gain his attention fail again and you eventually walk away from the scene with Suguru by your side. You and your friend will have time to catch up later.
For now, you just need to get through the night in one piece.
Many guests keep staring at you and Geto, mainly because of the tattoos both of you display with such ease. Out of everyone, you and him are the most tattooed people in the mansion.
Suguru’s white dragon on his back and right arm compliments the black snakes wrapped around your thighs and part of the hips while the argent, celestial constellations starting from the base of your neck then falling onto the forearms like shooting stars balances out the vivid streaks of fiery dahlias that bloom across the entirety of Geto’s left arm.
The moment they come too close, the grandmaster is already there to confront them, sneaking an arm around your bare waist, or by standing so close to Suguru that the teeth of jealousy sink into your flesh over and over again.
Together, you make one hell of an attractive couple, and because of this, a couple of men and a woman tried to approach you and Geto.
All to no avail.
First, he called dibs on you and Geto. Then he chickens out, leaving your mental sanity to hang by a thread.
“It seems you’ve forgotten what I said earlier. They’re mine. Find someone else to have fun with”, and the moment the guests disappear, so does Gojo.
Now that your most sordid desires have been discovered by your lover— and the man still wants you despite everything, for God’s sake—, you’re just waiting for him to act upon his demand. Will you keep pouting like a little girl when he leaves over and over again?
No fucking way. Time to take the matter ibto your own hands.
“Suguru.”
The man whips his head around to look at you. You often call him by his first name, but not with that sultry tone. When you do, it is always for one reason only.
To edge and tease him is your biggest delight, and the tent in his tuxedo pants is already painfully tight around his girth when he replies, “Yes?”
“There’s something we should do.” the sentence tumbles off your lips slowly, every syllable dragging into the other when you finally reach the east wing of the mansion, right beside a huge pool table. Geto is unsure if you realised it, but you’ve been following around Gojo the entire night, and now you’re a few metres away from him.
The orgy grandmaster in the middle of a conversation with a brunette and her rather bulky companion, and your heart stops. The two guests are Shoko Ieiri and Fushiguro Toji.
To say you’re wet would be an understatement.
Goddammit, how many of our friends come to these orgies?
You quickly set aside the question. You’ll deal with everyone else later, for your mind is set on the goal at hand. Also, to think that they’re about to witness what you’re about to do has you squeeze your thighs together as something warm leaks through you.
Geto doesn’t miss a single beat and comes closer to you, his taut chest colliding with yours as his height consumes the air around him. Any sense of shyness or shame is long gone from your body, so you rest your back against the pool table like a languid cat when a sudden gasp leaves your lips.
“We have something to do, you say. What is it, my love?”, Suguru taunts under his breath. His gorgeous fingers are stroking the damp spot at the front of your panties while his thumb flicks patterns around your clothed clit.
“Go on. I want to hear you say it.”  
Good. The almighty Gojo Satoru is not as detached as he prides himself to be.
Without warning, his other hand flies to your hair. The pin that holds it slips off and vanishes in Geto’s pocket, and your strands fall around your face. You stare at him, until he turns to glare at Gojo.
You follow his lead, and you both find the grandmaster with his arms crossed on the chest, laboured breath and foot tapping furiously against the marble floor.
“Fuck me on this pool table while everyone’s watching. Come on, I know it’s to die for.” you say that so nonchalantly that Suguru falters, taken aback, while a low grunt rumbles in Gojo’s throat. He’s close enough to hear you purr such lewd words just fine.
Little do they know, the request is aimed at them both.
The room has fallen silent, Shoko and Toji as amazed as the rest of the guests, but the first to break the ice is the grandmaster himself. He’s regained some self-composure by the time he sidles up to Geto, but you’re one step ahead.
Lost in the haze of lust, they don’t notice you’ve hopped onto the pool table until you press a heel onto Suguru’s crotch, the other on Gojo’s. They both snap back to reality at the feeling, and you giggle when they get harder under the stilettos.
“Shit. You’re soaking wet, love. You’re clenching around the fucking air.”
“You didn’t think I had it in me, did you?” you let go of their groins to spread your legs further on the table. Suguru is the first to grab your thigh, rings digging into the flesh while Gojo’s hand brushes against the other, his approach softer but needy all the same.
Veins pop out of their hands as they both keep you in place, and Satoru glances at you for consent, to make sure you’re fine with him touching you. You nod, then you throw back your head the moment Geto pushes aside your panties with two fingers. He yanks at your roots and you moan as a string of curses at the sight of your puffy cunt echoes between you three.
“B-both.” talking is getting harder by the second, and despite the mask, you can still feel Satoru’s breath fanning on your wet folds. The slit where the mouth is channels the warm air, so you’re really fucked.
“Let me see,” Satoru falls to his knees to take a good look at your pussy, to feel his mouth water with each bead of arousal escaping you, your muscles clamping to have some kind of relief no one can give you but them.
He gulps and whistles to try to ignore how hard he’s got in seconds. “What a sight. So drenched and ready to be filled, uhm? Is this for me, sugar? Or Suguru?”
The mask is definitely not helping.
“What do you want us to do? Use your words.” Suguru coats index and middle finger in your juices and gently prods at your entrance, so ready to pull him in, and they both wait patiently for you to speak.
“Don’t stop. Your fingers-”, your eyes roll back as you lift your hips up to motion for Geto to continue. “I need them in me. Please.”
He obliges with a sigh, because he loves to finger you as much as you adore to sense his fingertips poking your insides.
Your partner buries two fingers in you altogether and you nearly lurch backward at the intrusion, but Satoru is quick to ground your hips on the pool table with his other hand as Suguru starts to massage your inner walls, curling and scissoring his digits apart. 
They both have such nice hands, your mind is spiralling into an endless vortex. But before you can do so, a tap on your thigh brings you to look down.
Satoru is waiting for you.
Power must have gotten to your head, it has to, because your fingers yank down his hood to glide among his pure, soft hair as you breathe out:
“Your mouth, Satoru. Y-your tongue. I want everything.”
Then you remember. No one is allowed to take off their masks, not even the grandmaster.
“I’ve been waiting for so long for this”, Gojo whispers to you, eyes skittering all over your lower abdomen and breasts. Too bad he can’t see your face. “You taste so fucking good.”
A gentle kiss close to your knee shakes you to the core.
Eyes widening in surprise, you ogle shamelessly at Gojo, at his mask slightly tilted up only for his lips to be free of any hindrance. You have no time to react because they immediately latch onto your lower lips, taking half of your pussy in his mouth with a satisfied growl.
Suguru has shifted his attention on your bundle of nerves, focusing on it to let Gojo devour the rest of you.
If it wasn't for the mask, both men would see how much their ministrations are affecting you, but fret not. Your body is showing them plenty to compensate.
Geto laughs and his hand still in your hair descends to your tits. He circles, pinches your nipples through the lace, mimicking the same motion on your clit — you won’t last long, not when he’s hitting all the right spots and his best friend is eating you out the way you like it in front of a bunch of people.
Geto has shared intimate tips on how to pleasure you, and Gojo is following them by the book. Those two had agreed on doing this way before tonight.
How does he know- Oh. Oh.
And you do so with a shared moan from you and them, because you rest your head against Suguru’s chest while your eyes fix on Gojo.
Suddenly all too self-aware of everything, you try to back down from the men, but they both hold you in place. The coil in your stomach tightens even more when Geto’s hoarse voice reaches you.
“Look at us.”
And at that moment, you see Suguru’s inked arm coming between you and the grandmaster, more specifically his hand. It rests on Satoru’s nape and pushes his face into your cunt, almost as if he wants to suffocate him between your legs, but the snow-haired man chuckles at that and tongues your entrance straight away.
The pace set allows him to nose your clit, but when he draws back it's Geto's turn to circle it with his thumb. You can’t escape them.
They’re both right.
“That’s so hot.” you hear someone say, probably Toji.
“It’s too much.” adds Shoko.
“Too fast”, you don’t even know who you’re talking to at this point and you raise yourself on your elbows, back arched on its own. Even the heat emanating from Geto is too much, and you do babble something along the lines of, “N-no, ’s too much. I can’t-”
Satoru stops briefly to kiss your inner thigh, his and Geto’s heart-shaped eyes tunnelling on your heaving chest. Your cleavage is sticky with sweat and Suguru plants his forehead against it as Gojo growls.
“You can.”
And the orgasm comes quicker than expected. The coil cracks, your legs try to snap shut around Satoru’s head but Geto helps him to keep them open as you come with a strangled sob. Breath stuck in your lungs, you feel Suguru come closer to let you moan on his collarbone.
Pleasure clouds your mind as Gojo runs his tongue through your folds to lap up your release and you protest meekly, on the edge of overstimulation.
Gojo wails, keens at your feet when you pull his hair while your inner walls clench around his wet muscle, but he catches on quickly and wets three of his long fingers with your juices as you still fuck yourself on his tongue. Suguru helps you ride through the orgasm, caressing every sliver of your skin he can reach.
“Ssh, that's it, love. Come on his tongue. Look at how needy he is to please you. Give him every droplet of you.” is what cuts through the noise in your ears.
Tears have pooled under your eyes yet you don’t give in to them, rather your hands find harbour in both men’s locks as the last moments of blissful release wash over you.
“Thank you.” you say, voice veiled with a bit of tiredness. Geto strokes you gently around the neck and Satoru pecks you on the leg affectionately before pulling away to allow you and your lover to gawk at him and his fingers, slick with your cum, and he licks them clean with a low whimper.
It’s so painful, the wanton need you have to kiss them both after they gave you a bone-shattering orgasm. But you can’t.
Not here, not now.
Your eyes flash black, pupils dilating beyond normal sense. Suddenly you’re not so spent, anymore. And neither are they.
Suguru doesn’t need to be told twice. You’re still a tiny bit out of it, but suddenly you’re in Geto’s arms, and he’s walking so fast amongst the little crowd that had gathered around you that you almost miss Shoko and Toji. With whatever strength you have left, you simply yell:
Satoru grabs his best friend by the tuxedo’s collar and he grunts, out of breath: “My room. Now.”
Toji’s deep chuckles rattle against your bones, and you hear faintly the grandmaster encouraging his guests to enjoy themselves while he’s gone, because he needs to “step back for a while”.
“Guys, we need to talk. My place, tomorrow morning. Bring the mimosa!”
Since he’s spent uncountable days there, it doesn’t take long for Suguru to get to his best friend’s suite. You’ve completely recovered by now, still you wait until your partner has laid you down on the queen-sized bed before acting.
“Hey, slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”
Once within arm’s reach, Suguru lets out a snort when your arms circle his waist and you push him on the bed. Now he’s on his back while you straddle him, and your eyes land on his groin. He’s so stiff with need that the moment you unzip his pants, his cock slaps against his stomach.
“Easy, my love.” Geto laughs amidst pants, for your hands are everywhere on him. You practically tear his shirt apart to feel the familiar scent of him fill your nostrils, but when you pull aside your panties to sink on his girth, your lover places his hands on your hips, stopping you.
You pout, defeated. “I just want you inside me. Don’t you want to be inside me, Suguru?” in saying so you pout in faux defeat, all while stroking his cock.
The man grabs your waist. Hard.
“Just wait a minut-”
Of course he wants— hell, he needs to fuck you into the ground until you cream around his dick. You always look so pretty when you do, all loose limbs, glassy eyes and bitten lips.
But he promised a certain person to wait for him.
“No. I’m done waiting.” you shake your head, his pleas falling on deaf ears. You’re about to pull his hands away from you and have your way. Well, just before the lock clicks.
Having your back turned, you don’t see who’s locked the door until Satoru’s abs graze your shoulders. And his erection is pressed against your back, causing you to short-circuit.
When did he have time to undress? Why is he so huge?
But these are the last things you need to worry about, because as soon as his lips are on your neck, you realise his mask isn’t where it’s supposed to be.
His angelic features, twisted in desire, are a sight to see.
And yours fall on the bed once Gojo takes it off of you. The dim lights in the bedroom are easy on the eyes, and much easier is to be eye-fucked but not one, but two men.
“So am I, baby. So am I. '' Satoru peels off your panties without hesitation and once they’re past your hip bones, he gives them a pull and ball them up in his fist. Geto watches his best friend pump himself with your panties acting as a fleshlight, grunting and moaning.
I’m such a lucky girl, your mind is going in circles as you get rid of Geto’s mask. I have them both all for myself.
Now that you’re all face to face, you cave in. First, you drag Suguru in a kiss, violent and brimming with passion he reciprocates just as strongly as Gojo, with his face perched on your shoulder, awaits for him.
“Sa- ngh, I can’t. ‘T-‘toru.” 
“Now you can ride me, love.” Geto assists you as you sink on his cock. Inch by inch, you impale yourself on his girth until you bottom out, all while Satoru keeps your lips prisoners of his. His moans are yours and yours his, even when you break away to inhale some fresh air.
The name has Gojo’s blood go straight to his lower abdomen and once Geto lets you go with a final bite on your lower lip, the snow-haired man hauls you flush against him, and you’re welcomed with an open-mouthed kiss. You sigh in it and unconsciously peck at his lips, making him growl.
He’s about to explode, amd Suguru with him.
The moment doesn’t last long because the angry tip of Gojo’s cock, smeared in spit and your arousal that still coated the panties, is breaching past your folds to sit inside your full pussy.
You’ve broken every rule set by the orgy grandmaster, and he and his best friend lured you to participate to an orgy culminating in a dissolute threesome.
“Be a good girl and take me. We know you can, right, Suguru?” Satoru abruptly lurches towards Geto to give him a quick kiss to which your partner responds by cradling his face with a hand. The moment is so intimate, so special that your heart flutters.
You look at them tenderly for what it feels for an eternity, but they don’t let you feel left out for long, because their lips, their teeth mark your skin as Satoru eases himself in you, chomping down on your neck to restrain himself from coming already. You nearly do the same.
Feeling so full, stretched in any way possible now that his shaft rests upon Geto’s is truly divine.
It is worth the risk, since you grind on Suguru’s abs and raise your arms to lock them around Gojo’s neck to whisper,
“Give me more. More, more, more... ”
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© nyimasu — do not copy, translate, repost and modify my works.
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hells-wasabii · 2 months
Note
Hello! Can I request Adam with an angel reader from the 1800s? :)
A/N: This was a pretty interesting one, I got to do a little deep dive on the 1900s, listen to some of the music from the time period, edit: and forgot to finish my authors note properly. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!
Character: Adam
Type: Headcanons (Adam x angel!reader from the 19th century, Fluff)
Adam was the first man and one of the first occupants of heaven. He's watched humanity grow, he's watched civilizations rise and fall You on the other hand? Not so much. While he's had almost all of eternity to keep up with the changes, you only had a couple of centuries. For you, it was still mind-boggling.
If you don't understand something new that just came out, he'll be right there to offer a crash course, he's always been pretty good at adapting, so it's okay if you're not. Now, that doesn't mean he'd be a great teacher. So if you're both stumped, you with learning and him with teaching, Adam would call in Lute and a couple of the other exorcists to help.
He just doesn't really get it, but you also don't really get his rock band. So if you support him in his passion for rock music, then he'll support you in keeping things old-fashioned around the abode.
Now when it comes to heaven as a whole, I firmly believe that there are little shops or even districts for specific time periods to cater to souls should they have any want for something that was around when they were alive. Whether it's food or trades, it'll be there. The rest of heaven stays relatively modern. Expect to have the occasional date there. He might not be particularly into
You were from a time that laid the foundation for the way things are now, and that's something you take pride in, so you bet that Adam would be there with you at any events centered around the 19th century.
When the two of you were just starting out, he might've decided it was a good idea to try to serenade you, only problem was he had no clue where to start when it came to playing that sort of stuff, so he might've had a little help in that department.
That's something that he'll continue to do as your relationship progresses. Sometimes, he'll be messing around with his guitar and just play a little bit of chamber music, or as much as he can of it by himself. If you tell him what your favorite song had been he'd go out of his way to learn it if only to watch your face light up. He was pretty great, wasn't he?
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mangoshorthand · 7 months
Note
oh, and it was a guy who decided to tell me that as soon as all my clothes were off
Original request:
I have a really personal request of thats ok w u. my first time having sex i was called ugly and obese, and it still sticks with me nowadays so i shy away from being fully exposed/on top/having the lights on bc im scared they were right and its gonna happen again - so how would 5 deal w this in a partner? if this is too weird 4 u then just ignore
Thanks to @kaybreezy3000 for reading through this before I posted and making me sound less like a wildly-masturbating 19th century nobleman. Note for you at the end, anon.
Venus and Cupid | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 4k words, Rated E
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Five was an observant man: he had to be. If he hadn’t learned to pick up on the details then it's doubtful he could have even made it to adulthood.  
So he noticed that you had quite specific tendencies very early on, back when you were first seeing one another. The first time you had sex, he thought you leaving your clothes on was pretty hot - it seemed as if you were so desperate to have him inside you that you couldn’t delay it even the short time it would take to get undressed - but it quickly became apparent to him that this was something more.
You always seemed to leave as many clothes on as humanly possible, or else turn off the lights before undressing shyly, almost reluctantly, always keeping something clutched around you. 
His first reaction was to feel frustrated, (okay, frustrated and insecure, if you insisted on wheedling that out of him). Were you even into it? 
He loved the sex you had, and you certainly seemed to get something out of it, but all the while you were covering yourself from his lustful gaze like he was a lecherous drunk eyeing you from down an alley. 
He just didn’t understand it. Things were great outside the bedroom: you laughed together, you had intelligent, lively conversations…you even romanced him in a way nothing had taught him to expect. You anticipated his wants, you surprised him with dates and the occasional gift. You made him feel special and wanted in every way except this one way.
And he needed it that way too.
Maybe there was something about sex that brought home to you that he was old enough to be your father. Maybe you saw his hungry gaze as the leer of a dirty, predatory old man...and that thought hurt because it held too much truth.
He finally asked you about it after a session of sex in which you looked distinctly uncomfortable riding him, avoiding his gaze and keeping the bed sheets wrapped around you. 
He brought it up in a way typical to him: blunt antagonism as defense, masking his real insecurities. “Question: why are you with me?”
“Because I like you,” you replied, confused by his tone.
“Sure,” he said, the smallest trace of sarcasm in his voice, “but there’s a problem here, isn’t there?”
You turned to him on the pillow, and you were greeted by his expectant, irritated smile. He raised a brow, clearly prompting you to state this so-called ‘problem’. When you seemed none the wiser, he continued. 
“The problem seems to be that you hate having sex with me.” 
You looked at him, nonplussed.
“No I don’t. Why would you say that?”
He shook his head with the trace of a bitter laugh. 
“So you just hate me looking at you, is that it? You know, nobody’s forcing you to sleep with me. We could just end it if you can’t stand me ogling you.”
You turned away from him, folding your arms across your chest protectively, hugging yourself. You tried not to cry, but tears were already welling in your eyes, threatening to overspill and roll down your face. You could feel him slipping away; sense the rejection coming on the breeze.
At the sound of a sniffle, Five softened slightly 
“Why do you always cover yourself?” he said, finally.
You choked back the tears.
“B-because I’m self-conscious about my body, okay?”
Five sounded incredulous.
“You’re self-conscious about your body?”
You nodded, still not looking at him.
“Don’t bullshit me,” he said, suddenly irritated again, “You expect me to believe someone who looks like you is self conscious about her body? You’re beautiful, what the hell do you got to be self conscious about?”
His words, though spoken in a tone of irritated disbelief, gave you a warm feeling in your chest. In fact, it was his irritation that assured you of his honesty. That feeling of affirmation brought more tears at first, and it took a few moments to recover.
Five waited for you to begin patiently, able to tell by now that you’d been holding something back, and realizing for the first time that perhaps this wasn’t all about him.
You told him everything.
Your first sexual experience was with somebody who called you ‘ugly’ and ‘obese’ as soon as your clothes were removed. The first man to touch you in that way had used that privilege, not to lift you up and make you feel beautiful, but to tear you down, destroying your confidence in the process. Now, being in full view when having sex was almost unbearable to you, so you avoided Five seeing you completely naked and you avoided being on top as far as you could, lest it break the illusion and he see you for what you really were. 
You stopped occasionally to cry, unable to meet Five’s eyes. It was partially the memories, and partly the fact that you were bearing your soul to him in this way: totally vulnerable. You were giving power to him now; knowledge of how to hurt you worse than almost anything if he chose. 
As he listened, Five’s heavy brows lowered further and further, his lips becoming thinner and thinner, occasionally shaking his head as you unfolded the tale.
“Shit.” he said, after you finished your story, and then fell into silence. After almost a full minute, he spoke in a low, serious tone.
“What was his name?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you said, wiping your eyes.
“What was his name?”
You told him.
“Well he’s a fucking idiot, you know that right? A nasty little…you know where he lives?”
“No.”
“No problem, I can find him.”
“Five-”
“First I’ll pull out his fucking fingernails.”
“Five, no.”
“I’ll kill that cunt slow. Ignorant-”
“Five!” 
Your raised voice finally made him turn his head.
“What good would killing him do?”
He blinked. 
“It would make me feel better,” he said, though the murderous fantasies seemed to be fading from behind his eyes. 
Then, he shook his head, casting the thoughts away like a dog shaking off water. 
“....I  admit that making me feel better is low on our priority list right now.”
He held out his arms to you. When you didn’t immediately enter his embrace, he spoke in a voice so soft, and so caring that you couldn’t deny him. 
“Please, my love.” 
My love?
That was new. 
You leaned up against him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, one around your shoulders, the other around your waist. 
“You don’t have to feel self-conscious or…ashamed around me. You know I would never - you know that I…I worship you, for Chist’s sake. I’m desperate to see all of you. That guy was an ignorant, tasteless bastard. You don’t - surely you know that?”
You nodded uncertainly, another tear running down the side of your nose. 
“I guess,” you said, mouth against his firm pectoral, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart, “but I always get scared. Like you might…like one day you might see me and...get grossed out. Because…I know, I know I’m not sexy. I know I’m -”
“You think you aren’t sexy?” he said, speaking as if you’d just claimed that you were an organic cucumber, “are you crazy?” 
He pulled away from you, a hand on each shoulder so he could look you dead in the eye.
“Jesus, you think I’d be ‘grossed out’ if I saw you? I’m not blind, y'know; a bedsheet or a light switch can’t really hide your body from me. You’re so sexy, I can barely think straight sometimes - how in the hell can you not see that? I’d choose you for looks over any girl, every damn time. The other day when you were wearing that tight black dress- god, I pitched a tent big enough to sleep eight.”
And the way he looked down at your silhouette had you almost believing him.
You smiled, nevertheless self conscious of the idea of your black dress being more form-hugging than you’d thought. Five continued, sweeping his hair carelessly out of his eyes. 
“And it’s not just your face or your body, it’s the way you carry yourself. The way your hair falls, your smile, the color of your skin. It’s just attractive. It’s hot. End of story.”
The vehemence in his face made you smile a little more. He looked the way he did when he’d just completed a complex mathematical proof: buzzing with the knowledge of pure, objective truth. From his perspective, he had just conclusively proved an undeniable fact. 
“I know I’m biased because I love you, but anyone would say that you’re beautiful. When you met Klaus, he took me aside and told me I was punching way over my weight. I didn’t even argue-”
But you interrupted him.
“You love me?”
He fell silent abruptly, playing back his last words in his mind.
Yup, he’d definitely said it. 
He swallowed. He was an idiot.
“Well yes. Actually, I do.” 
Before you had time to do anything except gape, he rushed to fill the silence:
“I know it’s not been too long, and I don’t expect you to feel the same-”
“But I do.”
He fell silent again, his eyes on yours. 
They were strange eyes. Their shape and color, although beautiful, were normal enough, but there was a little something in their expression that always took you firmly by the throat. One might fall into those eyes and drown, yet his hand, coming to take yours, tethered you to the water’s edge. 
“You sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything,” you breathed.
His lips gave a spasm and, for a moment, you both thought he was going to cry too, but instead, he just smiled. He smiled for you a lot, but the clear, open love in this one was like being bathed in warm sunlight, and you luxuriated in it.
Then, he laughed. He giggled, in fact. It bubbled up his throat and out of his mouth before he could temper it into anything that sounded more sophisticated.
“We love each other,” he said, grinning in a dopey, infectious way.
When you smiled back, he cupped your chin gently, those eyes keeping your face upturned to his just as firmly as his hand did. He leaned into you.
At first, his kiss was tender, and your lips slid past and around one another like an embrace. But when he leaned forward, forcing you back onto your pillows, his tongue entered your mouth, and the kiss took on a more amorous character. He made a low noise as he deepened his tongue’s quest into your mouth, and you reciprocated with a soft bite to his lower lip. 
He growled, and heat spread through you as his kiss became rough and firm, pressing you into the pillows now with the weight of his body. All the tenderness had transferred from his lips to his hands, one stroking reassuringly through your hair, and the other at your waist, giving you feather-light, electric touches through the bedsheets.
Your hands came to his subtly muscled back, and cinched him closer to you. The heat was concentrating now, pooling in your lower stomach and swirling there as his unyielding lips let you know that resistance was futile. Your skin was alight with every gentle, loving touch from his fingers, now starting to work their way beneath the bedsheets.
He broke the kiss just long enough to speak. His voice matched the kiss: deep, rough and feral.
“Let me see you.”
Though it was a command, it had the sound of a request, so you took it as such.
Despite the desire now aching in your guts, your fears were still there: perhaps irrational in this situation, but no less real. Beneath the sheets, Five’s hand squeezed and massaged the flesh just above your hip. The touch spoke of his renewed need, but it spoke also of his restraint: his hand had stopped just shy of the area you’d usually hide.
“Please.”
And the word, in that husky voice, broke you. 
“Okay,” you said, arousal threatening to be overcome by nerves, “just…take it slowly.”
He nodded distractedly. His eyes were roaming your skin as he came to kneel between your legs. Both of his hands were now inching the bedsheets down, from your waist to the swell of your hips.
He made a low noise in his throat, and his soft hair fell onto the newly-exposed torso as he bent to kiss it, hot presses of his lips against sensitive skin. His hands skimmed you, feeling out your flesh.
“So beautiful,” he growled, looking up at you, fingers worming their way beneath the sheets again, “is this okay?”
You nodded as he pulled the sheets down another few inches, exposing your stomach to just below the navel. As the air met the newly-exposed skin, you felt gooseflesh prickle across your arms, your stomach tightening with the feeling of exposure. “Pretty girl.” Five cooed, running his hands across your tummy, his pressure gentle, but proprietary. 
With another slow shift of the sheets, and you were exposed to your pubic bone. He let out a breath and squeezed the skin of your hips, smiling at you broadly. It was the dangerous, toothy smile.
“I’m sorry, my love, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to get you over this. I’m going to have to make you realize how fucking hot you are, because I’m going to need to hold onto you just like this while you bounce on my cock. I need to watch these tits bounce while you ride me.”
He squeezed your flank harshly, making you gasp, and you arched your back into him as he leaned forward to take each nipple into his mouth. There was a low rumble in his throat as he first nibbled, and then soothed each tortured bud with his tongue. Your whines tailed off into moans, as arousal and the intensity of his desire once again overcame your fears. 
You felt his satisfied smile around your nipples, and then his hands left your hips to paw and knead your breasts, weighing and bouncing them in each hand. 
He gave you another kiss on the lips before straightening up, so that he was kneeling over you again, head tilted as he looked down on you, almost speculatively. The position made it obvious that he was hard again, his bulge stretching the fabric of his white boxer-briefs, leaning up against his stomach and beginning to put pressure on the elastic of his waistband. His pretty, curved cock was perfectly outlined by the material: 
“I’m going to make you feel so confident that you’ll push me onto the bed, trap me between your thighs and ride me so hard I get a concussion against the headboard.”
Though the idea made you feel another squirm of discomfort, the humor combined with the lust behind his eyes made you give a small smile.
“Not today,” you said, in a small voice.
The memories were still too close…the hurt from recalling them was only just over the horizon. 
“Not today.” he confirmed, eyes roving down to where the bedsheets still covered your sex, “but can I see your pussy, beautiful?”
“Yes.” you said, barely more than a whisper.
“Mm. Good girl,” he groaned, and pulled the bedsheets down to your knees. 
There you were, fully exposed to him…totally bared. Internally, you were fighting between the urge to cover up, and the urge to please him. You still felt exposed, like a turtle without its shell, vulnerable laid out in front of him. 
He was still taking it all in, eyes lingering on where your thighs were as close together as they could be with his body between your calves.
Part of you was still terrified it was coming. Perhaps he wouldn’t be cruel -  he’d probably try to be polite about it - but he was still about to reject you now that he’d finally got a real look. Perhaps it was okay when his imagination could fill in the blanks, but now he’d actually seen you - 
“Oh,” he said.
And in that syllable, all your fears were proved baseless. The sound was a moan of pure, wanton appreciation.
His tongue slid out to wet his lips, still pink and swollen from his hard kisses. His dominant left hand slid immediately into his underwear, and he began to pump himself vigorously. Apparently, he was more than ready for this evening’s second round. 
“Oh my god,” he groaned, speeding his strokes as his eyes roamed your exposed flesh, “you’re so hot.”
As his eyes came to your thighs and pussy again, he increased the frequency of his strokes, fist still out of sight down his underwear. 
“Five,” you said, anxiously, still feeling slightly uncomfortable. 
“Just a few minutes, baby.” he said, desperately, “Look what you’re doing to me.”
Beneath the material, he retracted his foreskin and pressed the head of his cock against the small, wet patch that had appeared there. The pink of his deeply-flushed cock tip was just visible through the fabric, rendered semi-transparent by his precome.
“I’m already leaking.” he said, agony creeping into his rough voice, “Just a few more minutes. Just until I finish.”
His eyes looked hazy, far away somehow, transported to a place where his body’s need ruled him with an iron fist. It was enchanting to behold, impossibly arousing: Five Hargreeves (the man of impeccably starched, pressed and tightly-buttoned dress shirts), was keening in front of you, totally undone with his hips gyrating into his own fist as he visually devoured your body.
“Let me eat you,” he said, begging now, “I want to jack myself off with my head between those thighs.”
And he groaned at the idea, throwing his head back and speeding his pumps.
Your body didn’t give you the opportunity to turn him down. Your pussy throbbed and slick wetness drooled onto your thighs as you looked up at him, all pale skin, latent strength and desperation.
You gave a small nod, and he bent, first to kiss your lips and then to press small pecks onto each thigh.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, “open your legs for me. Show me that pretty pussy.”
And that way, with small kisses progressively further up your thighs, he coaxed your legs wide.
“Good girl,” he crooned, his hand leaving his leaking cock only for the minute it would take to run his index finger up and down your slit. 
You shivered at the contact, too sensitive. He’d already fingered and fucked you to two orgasms tonight, and the feeling of his mouth replacing his finger made you buck immediately. 
“Nngh - Five.”
In response to your moan, he tasted you with a flat tongue. 
Your flavor, a potent honey, made his cock twitch in his hand, and he wrapped his free arm around your leg, drawing you even closer to him. Your soft folds soaked his lips, serving to excite him more.
“Fuck,” he whispered, still in that low growl. His exhale sent warm air dancing across your swollen clit, “you’re so perfect. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
You had no time to glow with his praise, because he was sucking your clit too hard for you to do anything but gasp. As his mouth worked you, his tongue moved rapidly inside his mouth, flicking deliberately across your aching, needy nub. His tongue pulsed to the same beat as his hand inside his underwear, unconsciously matching the rhythm of your pleasure to his.
“God, Five!”
All the shame and discomfort was gone, washed away by the tide of swirling heat. The pleasure curled inside you, winding tighter and tighter. All that mattered now was Five’s clever mouth, pushing you inexorably towards another orgasm. 
Your conscious brain let go, and your hand gripped his hair tightly, not aware that you were pulling him even closer to you, forcing his nose into your mound. 
He grunted like a wounded bear, surprise causing his hand to falter around his cock. It was hard to concentrate, so preoccupied was he by the fact that you were taking control, pressing his face deeper into your folds. It was quite possibly the hottest thing he had ever experienced.
Recovering, he gripped himself even tighter, veins and tendons standing out in his left forearm as he worked himself almost violently. 
He was too close now, and it made him clumsy, completely losing the rhythm of his suckles and tonguing. 
“Nooo!” you whined, thighs tightening around his head, “Like before!”
Though lightheaded with the knowledge that your thighs were crushing his ears, (he was wrong earlier, this was definitely the hottest thing he had ever experienced), Five reluctantly let up on his protesting manhood and concentrated his efforts on your pussy. 
Soon, you were gasping and moaning, writhing, and taking him with you with the power of your thighs. 
“F-Five. Fuuuck. Oh fuck, that’s it!” 
Your cunt gushed onto his face as he brought you to orgasm. He groaned again as his chin and cheeks were soaked with sweet slickness. He strained to hear you scream his name, your thighs rendering him deaf as they clutched around his ears. While he couldn’t hear the individual words, he certainly heard enough to flatter his ego. 
Wave after wave of ecstasy was crashing through you, and you babbled meaninglessly: unconnected, incomprehensible syllables. Behind closed eyes, you were seeing stars, completely unaware of everything but the explosion going on in your lower body.
He withdrew, finally, when your thighs relaxed and your climax abated to spasms down your limbs. As you were still catching your breath, he rose to his knees, wiped his sodden mouth, and took himself in hand again, looking at you splayed, completely on display and too drunk on his sex to care.
It took him fewer than ten pumps to bring himself to orgasm. 
“Fucking gorgeous - cunt tastes so good. Mm - fucking perfect, so fucking hot. Oh shit!”
Eyebrows raised, mouth wide in a perfect ‘o’, he exploded into his underwear.
You could see his first shots of come soaking through the material before he was even finished painting their insides with spurts of his thick seed: an impressive load given the fact it was his second in under an hour. 
His throat ground out a low whine as he slowed his hand. 
He took four or five seconds to catch his breath, and in that time your conscious mind took a firmer hold. Though you pulled the bedsheets up and over you, it was more for physical comfort rather than mental. 
Five crawled beneath the sheets beside you, still breathing hard. When he collapsed on the pillow, he turned to you.
“Believe me now?” he asked, “you think I’d wank myself raw over someone I thought was ugly?”
You smiled and let out a small puff of air; a shy little laugh.
He propped himself up on one elbow while his other hand caressed your body beneath the sheets.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, firmly, “To me, you’re a renaissance painting, and I was there when Titian finished Venus and Cupid, okay?”
“Okay,” you murmured, eyes already heavy, “I’m sorry that I squeezed your head with my legs.”
“You kidding me?” he said, amused, “You could break my neck with your thighs and I’d die happy…what a way to go.”
“Well,” you said, a little discomfort returning, “I still feel bad.”
“Baby steps,” he said, voice as soft as his hand now stroking hair away from your eyes, “soon I’ll have you riding me fast and rough.”
You smiled and let his caresses close your tired eyes. After a few minutes, in which he looked lovingly down at your gentle doze, his voice sounded again.
“Can I at least beat the living shit out of that guy?”
You considered.
“...Maybe.”
Request masterlist >> HERE
NOTE: Dear sweet, anonymous girl, I see you. You did not deserve this, and this was never your problem. These formative experiences really do hurt us, and yours was such an extreme version that I'm not surprised it's given you these insecurities. I can promise you, it does get better. Feminism and loving yourself is at least half the battle, but nothing quite cements the truth like this: One day, you will be naked in front of a guy you trust completely. He'll look at you with that lustful, testosterone-fuelled glower and you'll know without a shadow of a doubt that, to him, you are venus. I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.
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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year
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König Headcanons
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Warnings: Implications/mentions of smut, mention of pegging, König is a sub/bottom, FLUFF, implications/mentions of masturbation, no pronouns used for reader except for 'you'.
This man is W H I P P E D for you.
Regardless of whether he met you in a civilian setting or on the battlefield, you have captured his interest immediately.
And every time König sees you, hears you, his mental image of you grows, his daydreams become more vivid.
Over the course of a month, König’s light daydreams, wonderments of the type of person you were, what you’d be like as friends, became more frequent.
And, as a romantic at heart, the daydreams became gradually…well, romantic.
König didn’t mean to! The slip into an alternate universe wherein you and him lived happily together, holding hands, sharing secrets, laying close together felt natural and easy.
He was ashamed of himself, to say the least.
He felt awful that he’d even dared think of such quite frankly wholesome scenarios about the two of you without you ever having even met him.
Though, König had to admit that the more loving his daydreams because, the more he felt satiated.
After all, the life of a soldier in his position was a lonely one, especially considering he could tell practically no-one about it.
As the weeks trundled on, König tried putting you out of his mind. Tried focusing on hobbies instead.
He’s a big fan of crochet.
It calms him down.
Though, he struggles sometimes due to his anxiety making his hands shake.
He's also a big fan of literature, particularly 19th century romantic.
His favourite book is definitely Pride and Prejudice.
But alas, even his hobbies fell just short of fulfilling him.
And, luckily, he didn’t have to suffer for much longer.
Your meeting was purely accidental.
König had dropped his almost withered, well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice and you, appearing out of nowhere, picked it up for him.
“Here, sweetie,” you said, passing it to him.
König’s heart dropped into his stomach.
His face blew up into flames yet his body felt as if it were encased in ice, frozen and stiff.
He could scarcely hold his book in his hands, shaking.
“Th-th-“
Speak, you fool!
You smiled up at him, your tone as sweet as your face.
“Hey, are you okay?” You tilted your head, body contorted in an air of concern König had never experienced first-hand before.
He’d seen it in romance movies and novels, but never this close and never in real life.
Don’t get ahead of yourself; say something, god damn you!
“Th-ank you!”
Nailed it!
You kept smiling. König’s heart skipped a beat.
And thus König’s liking-from-afar grew into a night full-blown obsession.
You had quite a lot in common!
Your love of books, appreciation of art - things of that nature.
After your initial encounter and your bonding over the book he dropped, you gave him your number.
Given that you didn’t have König’s number, he had to make the first move and call you.
He sat by his phone, shaking, poised over the ‘Call’ button with your number typed in.
After much deliberation and thorough consideration of every conceivable way he could get rejected by you, he clicked ‘Call’.
The phone rang.
Once. Twice. Thrice-
“Hello?”
König’s heart skipped at the sound of your voice.
“H-hey,” he said, voice thin and wavering. Watery.
You chuckled on your end of the line. “Hey, sweetie. Thought you weren’t going to call me for a hot minute!”
Never, König wanted to say. Oh, all the things he wanted to say.
His daydreams could not compare to the anxious joy he was experiencing in this moment.
And every moment together you shared after.
The two of you began to hang around together, more and more frequently as the months progressed.
And all the while, König could feel his heart swell with nothing short of euphoria whenever you were near.
He watched you more than he read his book whenever you got together for library visits.
He studied you as a writer would literature, committing your every quirk and preference to memory.
On days when you weren’t together, König would spend every spare waking moment thinking of you, fantasising about you.
His daydreams grew more and more vivid, almost seeming to bleed into his real life.
And König absolutely believed he was hallucinating one day when you asked him out on a date.
He couldn’t say no. Every fibre of his being urged him, screamed “Yes!”
König had never been more anxious in his life.
He was terrified he’d mess the date up, arrive in the wrong attire, say the wrong thing (or nothing at all).
But when he arrived and saw you, saw how wonderful you were with him, holding his hands in yours as you recounted stories, how you looked him in the eyes whenever he spoke, his anxiety just seemed to melt away.
Though you may not have known it yet, König loved you.
He’d fallen for you long before, yet he never expected you to feel for him even a fraction of that which he felt for you.
Your relationship began not long after.
He worships you.
Can’t stand to be without you.
And when he returns from his post and you’re together.
Oh boy.
He’s nervous to ask at first at if you’d like to do the deed.
Would try and transition into it.
Do the classic yawning-arm-around-the-shoulder trick.
You clocked what he was doing, and, wanting to spare him the torture, cut straight to the chase.
“König, are you too shy to say you want to sleep with me, or are you just a terrible, unintentional flirt?”
König froze. His kind went blank.
Long story short, you ended up sleeping together.
And König had never known anything like it.
Man has absolutely zero rizz, zero experience.
He was quite insecure about that, but you made it difficult for him to think about anything else when you got started.
König loves being topped, btw.
Likes feeling vulnerable when you peg him.
Definitely cries because you make him feel so good.
Your pleasure is his top priority, though.
He's absolutely massive so it's not difficult for him to fill you.
You can see the outline of his cock when he's inside you.
And if you poke him or clench while he's buried, oh my god-
This man's a moaner. No arguments.
König could hardly see by the end of the experience, convinced he could see smells and taste colours.
And there you were, beside him, panting, smiling.
And it only confirmed what König already knew.
He wanted to be nowhere else but with you.
After that, he’s basically horny 24/7, brought in solely by the thought of you.
Nothing else can get him off (not that he’s tried; he’s too loyal for that; more on this later ;-) ).
You share and partake in hobbies together.
König teaches you how to crochet. Or, if you already know how to, he’ll just crochet beside you.
Makes you things 🥺.
You try and help him with his brain freezes whenever in a social situation by getting him to read his favourite literature to you out loud whenever you're at his apartment.
You make it bearable to just be in public, reassuring him or speaking on his behalf when he’s overwhelmed.
He loves holding hands.
Lives for your soft touches.
Forehead kisses send him absolutely silly.
He goes feral whenever you rake your fingers through his hair.
Will start muttering in German, probably moans too tbh.
Loves laying his head in your lap/on your chest.
Is fully aware of how large he is, though. So he tries to hold back some of his weight so he doesn’t crush you.
You tell him to relax, that he doesn’t need to withhold anything from you.
And that’s why he loves you,
You love him for him for who he is.
You’ve never teased him for his height, or his stutter when he’s nervous, or his social anxiety.
He tells you how much he loves you daily.
“I can’t live without you, maus,” he’d say while you played with his hair.
“And I you,” you’d say, pressing a kiss to his temple.
Power couple.
König uses his sheer mass to protect you from people who even look as if they want to hurt you.
He may be socially anxious, but he has absolutely no qualms about killing someone for you.
Considering that death is part of his job description, he’s accustomed to it. Kind of enjoys it, to be honest.
It would take a while for him to come clean about his occupation, afraid he’d scare you off.
He loves and trusts you, but he doesn't want to lose you.
He ended up admitting his occupation to you after he’d been called back into action.
Knowing he couldn’t just up and leave without telling you where he was going, he confessed.
You didn’t even blink an eye.
“Alright, cool. Now, do you want pie or curry for dinner?”
Whenever he’s away, he’s always thinking about you.
Calls you whenever he gets the chance.
Thinks of you in...compromising ways when you’re apart for long periods of time.
The first time he did so, he ended up admitting it because he felt so guilty.
You just laughed on your end of the call, a delightful habit of yours.
“Don’t worry,” you reassured. “I do the same.”
He spent a lot more time in his room after that.
The thought of you keeps him going, gives him a reason to live rather than survive.
Whenever he's in a tight situation, he imagines you there with him, telling him everything will be fine.
Btw, please validate him.
Call him a good boy, tell him you're the love if his life - anything.
Makes him feel like his efforts are being rewarded.
König can’t imagine his life without you.
He loves you, you love him.
And he’ll do anything to keep you.
Please reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself out tremendously :-)
Masterlist
Masterpost
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At left, the type of 1840s man that many people want, looking dashing in his evening costume and with the fashionable barrel chest and defined waist of his breed.
At right, a more typical example of the 1840s man that you will find at discount prices: note the striped trousers, huge paletot coat, and cigar.
This is the difference that proper vetting of your 19th century man can make! Of course, many people are happy with the Gent on the right and will gladly indulge his fashion habits and smoking.
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greendomine · 8 months
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forever mad at william clark for getting married and having kids instead of being gay w his best friend. like what is wrong w you? why are you straight? stop that...
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sugaimhome · 1 year
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country house setting - kth - part one
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pairing: 19th century taehyung x reader
minors do not interact!!!
warnings (this part): age gap (10 years, readers 18, he’s 28), masturbation (v brief), loads of smut in the next chapter hold ye horses, yandere (? he’s very obsessed with her and her innocence lol), hints towards previous abuse, distant father figure, the messed up society of 19th century britain, biscuits.
part summary: taehyung wasn't looking forward to the isolation of his fathers manor, when you knock his door, that isolation is shattered, he has a new obsession. When taehyung visits your father to introduce himself as his a new neighbor, he makes you an offer you just can not decline.
words: 4.4k
series summary: your isolated manor house has nothing interesting going on. but when the abandoned manor near to yours has a new occupant, things change. taehyung is obsessed with you from the day you first knock his door. he’d do anything for you, even if it meant going against your father’s wishes, even if it meant you losing something very important to your future marriage on the way, something that would force your fathers hand.
part one  part two  part three  masterlist 
explanation of the title: a literacy genre where fictional characters are often isolated and alone living in a country house.
A/N: i’ve been so excited to post this, then suddenly, min yoongi decides to post a picture with the same vibes... least to say I changed some names around to better suit next chapters 😫😫 he will be appearing more than once in this story. this hasn’t been proof read by anyone but me so sorry about that 😶‍🌫️ i love reader so much i just want to protect her 🥺 also the writing on the banner is jane austens writing, what a queen. I did try and copy the speaking of the time a little but I think I failed 😀
“A ball?” you ask, hope filling every inch of your heart, you’d never been to a ball, you were dying to go “Oh, father, we must go” It had been over two months since you’d properly left the house, and that had only been to the local market. You could only paint the garden so many times before going mad.
“We won’t be going to Min Yoongi’s ball” he replies, not looking up from the letter he’s holding. He sounds so resigned you wonder if he even heard you. 
“But father-” you begin, hoping to say your piece to him.
“No Y/N” his answer is blunt, you know it was final; there's no point arguing with him when he’s in one of these moods, it will only end with you getting hurt. 
“Okay”. This had been the third ball invitation this week and the third rejection from your father. You sigh. How were you ever to find a husband if you didn’t socialise? All the rich men would have found young brides now, and you, at the age of 18 would be seen as too old. The two of you stand in awkward silence for a while as he flips through his letters. 
“Someone is making residence in the manor beyond the brook.” he tells you, licking his finger to separate two pieces of paper from each other. 
“Really?” you ask. “I hope it’s a family, I would love a friend so close!”
“It’s a single man, according to the Park family, they are acquaintances with him in London.”
“London!?” you exclaim, you had been disappointed by the lack of friends the move in would bring but a new excitement had begun with the aspect of the man being from London. You had so many questions about the place. It was another world to you. “When does he move in?”
“You must not bombard him with your incessant questions.” he complains, wiggling a finger at you without looking up at you.
“I only wish to make him a cake, or maybe some biscuits�� you admit, trying to lace honesty into your voice.
Your father sighs, putting down his papers and turning to you. “The 10th”
“But father, that is today!” you think he’s playing with you. “Don’t be mean”
“Read the letter if you do not believe your own father.”
The letter did in fact say the 10th. You’re almost jumping on your feet, but that would be impolite so instead you pull the letter, signed by the park jimin your father had always spoken about to your chest. “What great news” you say, trying to hide the excitement in your voice. “If you don’t mind, father, I will begin to make biscuits for him now”
“Do as you please” he replies, not really listening, still flicking through the pages in front of him. Curtsying you leave the room, the letter balled up in your fist. You make a bee-line for the kitchen, you’d get Annie to put the oven on straight away.
*** 
Taehyung had been hesitant to move back to the country. When his father had died 4 years ago he’d left his childhood home in his inheritance. Taehyung had decided that after so long it was time to return home after nearly 10 years in London. Home was a loose term. The manor had been miss kept, the garden overgrown, the surfaces dusty. Upon his early morning entrance to the house he had been ushered in by an elderly maid, Victoria was her name, he only vaguely remembered her. Apparently, he'd been paying her a monthly wage to maintain the place since his father had died. She hadn't been doing a too-great job. Though he was grateful that the house wasn't entirely empty when he arrived. Victoria had made him tea, lit his fire and explained to him that she was happy someone was living in the house again. She left, explaining she lived in the town across and had a family now. He granted her a smile as she went.
With the door locked shut and Victoria gone the only sound the house offered was the low snapping and crackling of the flames. It was so different to London, there was always something going on, someone coming to visit him, a servant cleaning or, even in the silent moments, the sound of the street at the end of his carriage-way. He missed it already. 
Yet the quiet of the house offered an odd privacy and an odd tranquility that he had missed. It dawned on him that he could do anything here and the only witness would be the flames of this fire and the wildflowers that had overtaken the garden. It gave him a sense of freedom.
Leaning back in his chair, cup of tea in one hand the other lying across his thigh. He relaxed in the blissful, slightly creepy, silence until the door knocked. He sighs. Maybe he wasn't as isolated as he thought. Nearly forgetting that no one is here to open the door for him as he had been so used to in London he quickly shoots from his chair. For a moment he struggled to open the front door, Victoria had locked him in it seemed. 
"Give me a moment!" he shouts, hoping his visitor hasn't already left.
He finds a key hanging from one of the plant pots. What an odd place. The door unlocks with relative ease and as he pulls it open he peeks his head around the door.
A teenager. He has opened the door to an unaccompanied female teenager who seems to have a box of biscuits. "Good Evening" she curtsies, the too small corset she's wearing almost over spilling her breasts. He gulps. "I live in the manor across the brook" she explains to him, he can hear the unease in her voice. The naivety and innocence. "I brought you biscuits."
She extends the box to him at arms length, squeezing her breasts together in the process. Was she doing this on purpose? "Thank you," he smiles, taking the box from her. "Would you like to come in?" When she nods he pulls the door open entirely, displaying the very dusty entryway. "Do excuse the disorder, as you can imagine it hasn't been well looked after" 
"I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't said" she admits, purposely keeping her eyes away from the dust. He appreciates the small action. She scans the reception hall, obviously waiting for him to lead her through to a social area. "My name is Y/N" she tells him as he leads her into the living area. When he doesn’t immediately reply she asks, "Would it be impolite to ask yours?"
She's oddly quiet, he probably wouldn't have heard her voice if he were in the hustle of London "Taehyung" he replies. "My father used to own this manor. He died four years ago, would you have known him?" 
"I would have been 14 then, with little consideration of what was going on around me" Y/N replies. "I am sorry for your loss"
She was 18. Many questions filled his head. "Is your father a respectable man?" He asks her. "Is that whom you live with?"
"Oh, yes, as respectable as yours once was I should imagine" she replies, he turns to look at her, a little blush covers her cheeks.
"Then you would have been in London for the season this year" he asks, wondering if he had ever crossed paths with her.
"I have never been to London," she replies. "Though, I have heard it is exquisite."
An Eighteen year-old who has never seen London. "Then you must have an arranged marriage with a local man. I hope that is going well for you"
There is a pause between his statement and her reply. "My father does not have time to threat over my marital arrangements"
He is shocked, he had not heard of such a scandalous thing in his life. He feels sorry for her. Puzzled, he leads her into the living room where she gently sits down on a sofa he desperately hopes is not dusty. When no little particles rise to meet the sun he assumes he is safe. "I assume you'd like one of these biscuits" he asks her, turning around to place them on the small, delicately decorated table. When he turned around she'd moved, as quietly as a mouse, to the fireplace. Her dress was so close to the flames. Y/N's attention does not seem to be upon the fire though but more towards the painting placed above him. 
"This is not an appropriate place for such a lovely painting." she turns to him. Instinctively he walks up beside her, looking at the painting. "The heat will ruin the watercolour" 
There's a pout on her lips, this was obviously something she was very passionate about. "This is Thomas Girtin" she comments, reaching out and ghosting the frame of the painting with her fingers, above her finger is the signature of this Thomas Girtin. "It is a rare and expensive piece."
Taehyung is no longer staring at the painting but rather at her. He was surprised at her confidence to come into a strangers house and advise them on both the placement of their paintings and the stupidly of it. He smirks. "I'll have it moved at soon as possible, Miss Y/N. I am sure it will look a lot nicer in your premises"
"No, sir" she exclaims, stepping back from the painting and turning to look at him. "That is not what my intentions were when telling you about this piece."
"Perhaps it will persuade you to bring me more of those biscuits," Taehyung replies. He thought of his moment on the chair earlier, when he had the small epiphany of the freedom this house would bring him, how he could get away with anything. He places a hand on the small of her back and leads her back towards the front door. Grabbing two biscuits on his way past and passing one to her. With the hand on her back, she seems to have silenced a bit. "It's nearly dark, I would like to walk you back across the brook." 
"You do too much, Sir. I grew up here. I know quite well my way across the brook" Y/N defends. Taehyung is adamant as he places his boots on, and his overcoat. 
"So did I. I insist" he replies. "I left only 10 years ago, at your age. I'm sure I will find my way back quite safely." She doesn't reply, just stands in front of him with her arms crossed. "If you'd had a season in London you'd know well this is what a true gentleman is supposed to do." 
She blushes at the mention of a season in London. It only gives Taehyung an inflated feeling of power. It is clear that this young woman had no idea how to navigate herself around men, or perhaps other humans. She was as isolated as he was when he had lived in this place. He felt an unwelcome feeling of wanting to show her everything.
*** 
Taehyung had, clearly, known his way around the grounds of both his and your land. As he left you at the bottom of the steps to your mansion, offering you a little smile and a wave as you climbed the steps, he had mentioned something about the biscuits running out soon, his maid had family and once he had shared with them, he'd need more in at least two days' time. You reached the top, turning to see if he'd moved away, he had not. He bows and you curtsy before you slip into the warmth of your home.
As soon as you close the door you place your back against it, as if to block him out. That was not what you had imagined him to look like, you had expected a man in his early forties, perhaps a similar age to your father. You had not expected a young man, a man who's waistcoat fit snugly around his figure, a man who had beautiful fluffy hair. With eyes as dark as the chocolate you so rarely had. Your heart had been beating too fast the whole time you were there, that's what happened to all the women in the books you read when they loved someone, but surely that was over dramatic? Too soon? You wished you had someone to ask but it was just you and your father here now and you doubted he had the answer to this. 
The real problem did not lie in your beating heart, nor in the new strange emotion you felt but rather in the fact that when he had asked you if you'd bring more biscuits, you'd said you could bring some the very next day. And after all of that, you hadn't asked him a single question about London. Sighing, you make sure your door is locked before heading up to your chamber. The rest of the house is dead quiet, you can’t bring yourself to care anyways. You didn’t particularly want to see your father. You'd get up early in the morning and make more biscuits.
***
When Taehyung woke up the next morning he realised two things.
that it would be rude of him to not go introduce himself to Y/N's father, they were neighbors now after all.
that he had some very interesting dreams last night and the majority of them involved Y/N. He had woken up with a very prominent erection. He would need to see her again and soon.
He sat up in bed, having disregarded the bedclothes last night. He was alone, it wasn't like there was a risk of being indecent, plus he'd needed to touch himself. Taehyung could see his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed. Whilst looking at himself he wonders if she'd be able to handle the size of him. He places his hand around his dick, dragging it up and down in a loose grip- pretending his hand is Y/N. He assumes she is a virgin - only tightening his grip with this thought. He tries to imagine how she'd sound, but that's something he won't be able to tell until the moment comes, he would make that moment happen, he'd do anything to insure it. What would he have to do, and to what extent, to make Y/N his? The movement of his hand along his dick is almost painful now. Balls tightening more and more with every thrust his hips make into his hand. He cums, shooting white liquid up his stomach. It runs through the valley of his abdominal muscles like a river between two mountains. He would never look at Y/N the same again. In less than an hour he would be introducing himself to her father with the traces of his cum on his stomach the thought of it oddly turned him on. Instead, he headed for the bathroom where he would wash it off. There were times for such things and they weren't for when he was introducing himself to an elder.
***  
An hour after you'd baked the biscuits you were standing in your chamber, paintbrush between your teeth, painting a figure into one of your old landscape photos of the house across the brook. You hated to admit that the figure was Taehyung, but it only made sense, you hadn't stopped thinking of him.
You step back from the painting, wondering what it was that was missing exactly. There was Taehyung in his blue overcoat as he had been yesterday. It doesn’t seem enough. You can hardly tell it's him in the picture but if you had studied his figure, as you had plenty of times in the hour you had with him, you would know it was him.
There's a knocking at the door downstairs, it echoes around the whole mansion like the chiming of bells. Climbing over the pots and brushes you have thrown across your room, you hang your head from the open window. From this angle you can't see the front door but you can see the carriage drive. It's empty. Who would visit who didn't have a carriage?
Not caring much about your paint splattered dress you step from your room. Vaguely aware of the paint on your face, you choose to ignore it as you race down the stairs. At the door is your father, who is just opening it as you make it to the landing. However you're much more interested in what's behind the door. Your father obviously doesn't connect the dots as he sees the young man standing at the top of your steps. You, however, become much more worried about the current state of your appearance. "Good morning sir, I'm Kim Taehyung" 
Your father stares at him blankly as Taehyung offers his hand to shake. "The new gentleman across the brook?" He asks. Nodding Taehyung smiles at your father, perfectly white teeth on show. From where you're standing he can't seem to see you. You debate running back upstairs before your father lets him in. But you're too late, your father's shaking his hand and pulling him through the door at the same time. There's no hiding now. "My God Y/N!" your father exclaims at seeing you. "I told you not to wear such disgraceful garments out of your room! you'll have to excuse her" he turns to Taehyung, "she's not very well socialised."
You blush, Taehyung must notice you backing away. "It's really not a worry sir, I am already acquaintances with your daughter, she brought me biscuits yesterday evening, I suppose under your instructions"
If your father was to take credit for your ideas, you would have cried, instead your father explodes "I did not advise such an act! I apologise for her rogue mannerisms." You knew he had not been listening to you yesterday. As the pair walk past the bottom of the stairs, therefore past you, Taehyung rolls his eyes and then winks at you. 
"I very much enjoyed the biscuits" he announces, it's a response to your father, but he's looking at you as he says it. Tickling erupts on the inside of your stomach. You place a hand on it, having never felt this feeling before. Taehyung watches your hand as it lands on your abdomen. You don't understand why but he's smirking as he follows your father into the study. It dawns upon you that you do not have a great understanding of the outside world nor the feelings that Taehyung has brung with it. The two men disappear behind the study door, and you run over to place your ear to the key-hole.
“Does she paint?” he asks your father, why this isn’t a question he can just ask you is unbeknownst to you.
“I believe so” your father mumbles, the topic of his daughter seems to put him in a foul mood.
“You believe so?” Taehyung sounds upset, as if the response he had received wasn’t enough.
“There becomes a stage in a man's life when he stops caring about the women around him. He stops caring about silly things like paintings. You understand me don’t you.”
“I don’t believe I do, sir,” Taehyung replies. There's a harshness to his voice you had yet to have heard. You bring a hand up to cover the huff of surprise your mouth admits. If you were to talk back to your father like that you’d be slapped and denied food for a day. When your father doesn’t reply Taehyung continues. “I would like to view her paintings if you would permit it.”
“Of course,” Your father replies, annoyed. Then he asks Taehyung a question using so many business words you give up trying to listen to their conversation and focus more, or panic more, on the fact Taehyung was coming to view your paintings. There seems to be no other option than to sprint up the stairs and at least try to tidy it up a little. 
You’re in the middle of stuffing an old awful painting under your bed when the door knocks. “Give me a moment father and I’ll be out!” you shout, trying to be oblivious after eavesdropping.
“It’s Taehyung,” he replies. “May I come in”
You pause before answering. You could probably tell him to go away and he would. “Oh! Come in!” You’re up from under your bed now. Currently the main painting on display was the one with him in, you figured that he wouldn’t have looked in a mirror long enough to tell that it was his figure anyway. It was still slightly embarrassing. The door knob twisted and he filled the doorway with his figure.
“This is your chamber and workroom?!” was the first thing he asked, you blush, embarrassed both with the fact he was in the only place you stood naked each night, and that he was judging your way of life.
“It’s not ideal.” you reply, deciding to go for the truth. “I tried painting in the parlor but father was not best pleased.”
He nods his head but doesn’t reply to you, beginning to walk around your room of paintings. Wildflowers. Your father at his desk. A deer in snow. The view of the fields beyond from your window. You're shaking. Stopping at the painting you were most dreading, he tilts his head.
“Are they...” he pauses and his lip curves to the side, “kissing?”
"Um" you begin. "Is it off?" no longer caring that it's him and more concerned with your painting. "Her neck is at the wrong angle isn't it!" you exclaim, you're next to him now contemplating the painting together, as you had done with the portrait over his fireplace. This had been one of your very first paintings of people, you’d read from a men's guide to kissing that you had brought from one of the second hand stores in the town. It was the best you could do, you’d never seen two people kiss before. 
Taehyung moves on from that painting to the next, your most recent painting, the one with him in it. You daren’t look at him to see his reaction, instead you wipe a little paint off the bottom of the frame, hoping to distract him from, well, himself.
“I like this one” he smiles, “though I think it's missing something”
You’re too scared to reply to him so instead you just nod your head. It’s funny how he thought the same as you. “You capture the house really well, and the blue of my coat.”
Hands shaking you go to apologise to him. It wasn’t fair of you to paint him without his permission, but he’s moving back to the kissing scene again. Following behind him like a shadow you both end up staring at the painting. You’re aware of him looking at you from the corner of his eye. Your breath catches in your throat. Down the stairs you can hear your father moving about in his study. The rest of the house seems to be in an anxious science, holding its breath, as if it expects something to happen. Do you expect something to happen? He fully turns to you, his focus no longer on the painting, placing one of his hands on your shoulder. Your body freezes, though warmth spreads down your arm and into your body where his hand touches your dress. “Taehyung?” you're aware that your voice sounds so quiet in the greatness of the room. 
He pushes your shoulder slightly so you’re facing him. The whole room blurs and it's only him that you can see. He's like an angel sent from God, his bright light blinds you. “I could show you, Y/N”
Show you what? There's so much in this world that you want to see, want to experience. “Show me what?” you ask him, your brain is too innocent, too behind to pick up on what Taehyung really means. 
“How to kiss, then after that” he pauses, looking at his small figure in the picture behind you. “I could show you anything” lessening the grip he has on your shoulders. You feel no pressure in your answer, you could say no, he’s so close to you. 
“I’d like that” you reply, your mouth staying slightly agape at the eagerness in your tone, you hadn’t realised you were so keen. Smiling, Taehyung brings his thumb up to his mouth, he runs it between his lips, as if to wet them with his spit, then he’s bringing it to your face. This wasn’t how you imagined a kiss to be and, instinctively, step back. 
“Don’t worry Y/N, this isn’t a kiss, I am wiping paint off your cheek” his thumb makes contact with your skin and a blush rushes up to your cheeks. Why were you so responsive to his touch? “I won’t kiss you today”
Your lip sticks out in immediate disappointment, “I want you to think on it more” he admits. “You only get one first kiss.” 
“How long do I have to think about it?” you ask, you were hit by the insufferable feeling of being so naïve, so behind where you should be in the experience of your life, that it was embarrassing. You’re sure a kiss will solve this. You’re sure Taehyung will solve this.
“Tomorrow” he has removed his thumb from your cheek now, but his other hand is caressing your face. He runs slow circles between your eye and your hair and, nature guiding you, you lean into his touch further. This, you realise, is what intimacy was. You had once read the definition in a dictionary
close familiarity or friendship.
When you had first read it, you had realised that you had never had any intimacy with anyone. It was as foreign to you as flying was to a dog, or walking was to a baby. Your eyes are wide in shock, your legs only just holding your weight up. Taehyung is smiling at you softly when he removes his hand. Your body is as attached to this area of your floor as a tree to soil. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow” he steps over a paint brush and pot, you want to stop him but your tongue has been stolen from you. He’s at your door now, pulling it shut behind him. He’s hidden behind the near closed door when he softly says “I’ll show you everything, Y/N”
Then he’s gone. 
You hear the front door shut. 
Without his biscuits. 
thank you for reading!
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blackmadness · 2 months
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do you have any jegulus fic recs, i feel like i’ve read all the popular ones already.
i love the crime/heist au’s so preferably ones like that but i’m fine with anything you have honestly. just no main characters death please
if you don’t have anything that’s fine too, i’m just asking a lot of jegulus blogs so i can find more stuff to read
thank you!
I don't read much heist/crime Au's, so my current top 10 Jegulus Recommendations:
Finished
I adored you Madly, Extravagantly, Absurdly. by MiriamMT "The Blacks want to marry off their youngest child. He begs Sirius for help and tells him a secret: He is a man and would rather die than be forced to be anyone's wife. Panicked, Sirius arranges a marriage between his brother and his friend James Potter, knowing that Regulus can be the man he is in the English countryside on James' estate. James wants to ensure Regulus' happiness, even at the expense of putting his life on hold for a while. Regulus wants to ensure James doesn't fall into societal ruin because of him. Sirius wants to be loved. Barty must decide whether he wants to keep causing destruction or choose redemption. And Remus is just a very tired butler who watches James and Regulus dance around their actual feelings (literally)." - Trans Regulus - 19th Century AU - Arranged Marriage
On the ice (there's warmth between us) by hallyticket "Regulus is just trying to get through school so he can move on to be the best figure skater ever, he doesn't want or need any type of relationships besides the friendship he has with his roommate Remus Lupin, but when his instructor recommends him for a job teaching figure skating basics to the hockey team, Regulus has to deal with a bunch of stupid puckers messing up the perfect system that is his life. He never expected to see his brother again after he ran away from home, or to have to teach a brother who doesn't even recognise him, much less fall for his brother's best friend." - Trans Regulus - Figure Skater Regulus / Hockey Player James
To the boy who... by Ibbsterkisster "Climbing into his head was easy. When pleasure reached its peak, all walls crumbled down, allowing him a glimpse inside. Another trinket, another location. It was worth the pain. The blood. The numbness. War was made for sacrifices, and Regulus Black had given his own body, his sense of sanity, his life, up for the Greater Good. It was okay. It was fine. Everything was fine. But when a certain green-eyed boy gets thrusted into Regulus’s arms, and he’s given the responsibility to care for him until it’s time for the butcher to come out, Regulus is forced to decide whether the end of this war is worth setting aside his morals, his soul, and possibly his life. — Or; the one where Regulus gets forced out of hiding to face the world, make the right but painful decisions, and fights with more than just one Dark Lord." - Dark & SA - Regulus needs a hug
Mastermind (Love Made Me Crazy) by MiriamMT "Regulus is consumed by bitterness and pain after his brother Sirius ran away from home, and he blames James Potter for taking him away. Seeking revenge, he plots to take James away from Sirius. But what starts as a means of vengeance quickly turns into a tumultuous affair, and Regulus finds himself falling in love. Passion and desire turn into feelings and the wish to do and be better for James. But, as he navigates his complex feelings for James, a dark wizard rises to power, seeking to gain followers among the Hogwarts students. Trapped between duty and love, Regulus is forced to confront his fears, as he tries to protect those he cares about." - Secret Relationship - Pureblood Culture
Aim for my heart (go for blood) by calamitoustide "Regulus and James have been divorced co-parents for seven years... and let's just say Harry is sick of it" - Forced Proximity - Exes to Lovers - Divorced Regulus and James
Not finished
Sweet tea and energy drinks by catboy "They did it. The Marauders signed a recording contract. And the first people they wanted to tell were their friends and families. So, they flew home, disrupted Christmas, and made it a holiday worth remembering for everyone! There was dancing, drinks were being shared, and mistletoe was being passed around for inappropriate snogs that would be cheered on by adoring friends and families. Almost six years later, the Marauders are a household name. But the only household they're banned from is the Black family. Its just not the Blacks that you would expect." - Trans Regulus - Single Parent AU - Enemies to Lovers
PS. I hate you by @lucy-andreas "Reg: You’re… adequate. James: You have a typo in ‘the most beautiful person I’ve ever had the fortune to lay my humble eyes upon.’ Reg: Shame your humongous ego utterly ruins the impression. James: My ego’s the perfect size for my body, thank you very much. --- Sometimes, life doesn’t go your way, but James Potter wouldn’t say he’s struggling. Not exactly. But after having his heart broken—no, not broken, shattered into a million pieces—by the woman he intended to marry, he swears off dating, determined to overcome the terrible writer’s block that’s been plaguing him ever since he finished the trilogy that earned him international fame and the status of a writing superstar. The problem is, his muse has taped her mouth shut, moved to The Maldives, and refuses to answer his calls. So, when he messages the wrong number by accident, he’s more than happy to distract himself by trading barbed remarks with the mysterious person on the other side. All the better when he learns his new acquaintance is a man. No danger of falling in love. Unfortunately, the stranger hides secrets of his own. Secrets that will force James to re-examine his feelings and put his poor abused heart on the line." - Text fic - Singer Regulus / Writer James - Fluff
Keep in Touch by Daylilight "James accidentally curses himself while in potions and he has to keep contact with Regulus at all time for three weeks. Regulus asked, "Why can't I cut off a finger and let him carry it around all month?" James almost laughed before he realized that Regulus was completely serious, and his growing grin dropped. "You would rather cut off your limb than touch me?!" James exclaimed. Regulus responded with a half-hearted shrug." - Enemies to Lovers - Forced Proximity - Secret Relationship
Complementary Colors by @callmegodorvega "“How much do you wanna bet one of us will be involved in a sex scandal before the end of the second term?” Or, the story of how James tries to fix America’s European Relationships and falls in love with his proclaimed arch-nemesis (who happens to be the prince of England) in the process" - Red White & Royal Blue AU
Papa Mia! by chasingthestar "James Potter has lived on a small Island for the past three years, renovating an old Hostel where his parents fell in love. When he goes to pick up the rest of the Marauders from the docks, he meets a strange boy who looks just like him. The boy gives James a picture and tells him that he traveled all the way here to look for his dad. The picture is of James from nearly twenty years go. Now he has to figure out just who might be this boys other parent, and how he never knew about his son." - Mamma Mia AU - Fake Character Death
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simply-whump · 3 months
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The Story of Park's Marriage Contract (열녀 박씨 계약 결혼뎐) - Whump List
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Whumpee : Kang Tae Ha played by Bae In Hyuk
Synopsis : In the 19th century, on the night of her wedding day, Park Yeon Woo's husband died after revealing that he had suffered from a heart condition for a long time. She is devastated, but before she can even mourn her husband, a man kidnaps her and throws her in a well. She is now in present-day Seoul, South Korea, and the man who saves her from the swimming pool is Kang Tae Ha, who looks a lot like her dead husband from the 19th century. He is the successor of SH Seoul Corporation. He does not like opening himself up to others due to his heart disease and the trauma that he endured in his childhood. (MDL)
Genres : Historical, Mystery, Romance, Fantasy
Warning! Possible spoilers below!
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Kang Tae Ha
Ep 1 : (Past Life) Suddenly in pain, holding his chest, coughing up blood, collapses, concern for him, dies
Ep 2 : (Present Life) (42:00) Wakes up from a nightmare (comedic) — (48:52) Headbutted, puts some ice on his chin — (58:18) Scared, passes out, concern for him, slapped (comedic) — (01:06:18) Something in his car breaks, has a car accident
Ep 3 : (00:38) Ha a car accident, bleeding slightly from his forehead, stumbling — (14:40) Pushed down underwater (comedic) — (25:22) Taking pills — (27:34) Getting tested at the hospital, scar on his chest — (36:01) Trips, falls to the floor (comedic) — (01:03:40) Falls to the ground, wincing
Ep 4 : (16:20) Remembering traumatic memories, panic attack, heavy breathing, concern for him, slides down to the ground — (23:16) Having a nightmare, sweating, calmed down — (01:01:45) Worried for someone, holding his chest, falls down a hill, unconscious
Ep 5 : (01:25) Wakes up, wincing in pain, worried for someone, small cut on his face — (07:30) Cut treated — (25:49) Falls — (01:02:20) Heart condition acting up, in pain, holding his chest, collapses
Ep 6 : (04:01) Repeat of the previous scene, in pain, has to pretend he is okay, collapses, concern for him, heavy breathing — (01:04:37) Going to a place linked to his trauma, anxious, worried for someone, holding his chest, heavy breathing, panic attack, concern for him, scar on his chest revealed
Ep 7 : (Previous scene continues) (01:33) Panic attack, heavy breathing, scar reveal — (02:26) Sleeping in bed — (04:35) Teary-eyed, hugged, crying — (58:55) Heart disease acting up, holding his chest, groaning in pain — (19:52) Heart disease acting up, groaning in pain, holding his chest, taking medication — (23:02) Distancing himself from his loved one because of his heart condition, crying — (25:04) Told his pacemaker is not working and that he will experience heart failure 
Ep 8 : None
Ep 9 : (18:34) Hit with a cane — (01:01:08) Learns a shocking truth, remembering painful memories, crying
Ep 10 : (03:28) Shocked, panicked, crying, heavy breathing, held — (22:36) Slapped, crying — (23:52) Heart disease acting up, holding his chest, concern for him, heavy breathing — (24:56) Sleeping, examined — (01:04:56) In a dangerous situation, pushed
Ep 11 : (01:43) Pushed out of harms way, worried for someone, emotional, crying, hugged — (24:45) Teary-eyed — (27:15) Begging the doctor to fix his heart, emotional — (01:07:29) (Past life) Suddenly in pain, holding his chest, coughing up blood, collapses, concern for him, dies
Ep 12 : (Repeat of previous scene) — (Present Life) (03:10) Crying — (Past Life) (43:29) Heart condition acting up, in pain, concern for him, in bed, pulse taken
>> More Whump List
>> Another Whump List with Bae In Hyuk
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