#my motivation always runs low

[slippery-minghus]

gah i think the appetite suppression from my adderall is getting worse. i had to talk myself into eating lunch today. and even then didn't have much.... and breakfast was just coffee.

and it wasn't even for ED reasons! i just. wasn't hungry. we had a potluck at work today and everything there looked about as appetizing as it would have if i'd just eaten a full meal. like grocery shopping on a full stomach. a few bites of fruit was a nice treat, but i had no desire to actually eat any of it. i was at a gas station but my fuel gauge still said the tank was full (even though it wasn't)

and all of this. was at like. 1pm? even the coffee had worn off by then.

(.....maybe i should weigh myself tomorrow. keep track of the unintentional weight loss, if it comes to that. i was lighter than i expected last time i checked.) (i see my psych next week... and i trust her not to make this into yay the fat person is losing weight!)

i just wish i knew what to do to reliably get food into my body in the mornings. my dietary restrictions limit my options for meal replacements, and i cringe at the thought of protein shakes. meal prepping breakfast is not on the table right now—i'm barely able to manage lunch and dinner. anything messy, like cereal, isn't a good fit for work. plus, i can't handle the added dirty dishes.

i just don't know what to do. i know it's a problem that i'm going nearly 20hrs between meals almost every day. i haven't started to acutely feel it yet, from this round, but it's not good. and i know in the background it's contributing to what's wearing me down. but i just. can't. fix it.

[k-hotchoisan]

body language

<yunho x fem!reader>

well, pining after your brother’s fucking attractive best friend isn’t a sin if he doesn’t know right? nobody has to know.

nobody has to know that you're lodged in his fantasies when the nights deepen.

nobody has to know what happens when you're forced to share a room with Yunho.

Genre/Warnings: smut, big dick! X Perverted! Yunho, unprotected sex, low key corruption kink, mutual pining, cream pies, fingering, orgasms, overstimulation, oh no they are forced to share a room!, sexual tension, dirty talk

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee

🩷 back to staying perverted

A/N: send me to jail for being so inactive TT I know life happens and I shouldn't apologise for going mia for a bit but I still feel so bad! Nonetheless, please continue giving my works as much love as you all always do, and that ya'll are my source of motivation. Thank you for waiting ❤️

Undoubtedly, it’s either your brother has good taste in making friends, or you just have interesting taste in men, because out of all men you had a crush on, it had to be the one closest to your brother—Jeong Yunho. Something about him made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Maybe it was the way he would lean in towards you when he wanted to whisper something in your ear, keeping your brother an arm’s length while his voice tickled perfectly as it reverberates in your brain. Maybe it was the way he would hold your stare for a couple of seconds before his pretty smiles spreads across his lips, as if he was keeping a secret that he wants to tell you. Maybe it was the way he would bump his arm against yours when he wants to ally with you to piss your brother off. 

Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that the feelings you had for him were growing exponentially. How you managed to keep said feelings in bay was a mystery. You could attribute it to knowing Yunho for as long as you did. Maybe he treated everyone nice and politely like that. It was hard not to keep your hopes up sometimes and it really made you frustrated. 

“A chalet?” You repeat. “What’s the occasion?” 

“Just a weekend out”, your brother replies. “A couple of friends will be coming. You know them, including Yunho.”

“Are you going?” Yunho suddenly asks. 

You break eye contact with Yunho, going back to your phone. “No. I’m going on a date.”

Yunho’s eyes widen. There is a flash of panic that flickers in his eyes. His words spill out of him before he realises it. 

“With who? How come I didn’t know?” 

You cast a confused glance at him. “Why would you need to know?”

That was when Yunho realises, and he simmers down, going back to hiding behind his phone screen. He bites his tongue, hoping you nor your brother ha caught on. But thankfully, no one else questions him. In fact, your brother doubles down.

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me?” Your brother echos. 

“As if you’re interested in my love life”, you playfully retort, rolling your eyes before you disappear into your room, before Yunho starts to hear your heartbeat right in your ears again. 

Yunho stares blankly at his phone, still processing that you’ll be going on a date. Something sits uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He’s running his brain, thinking of a million ways to make you cancel the date, half of it under the pretence of your brother. How could he do it without making it obvious? 

“And why would I cancel my date, Jeong Yunho?” You ask, your arms crossed. For some reason, your brother and Yunho were suddenly way too interested in your date. Especially Yunho. He would not get off your back about it. 

“It’s dangerous? Who knows he might be a serial killer!” He was really dramatic about too, might you add. 

You scoff, and an amused smile tugs the corner of your lips, as your hand reaches out to pat his cheek. “I’ll be fine, Yun. You’re on my speed dial if anything happens okay?” 

For a moment, you feel his gaze piercing right into you, as if time didn’t exist—the both of you caught in between each other’s gazes, Yunho looking like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. You quickly break the eye contact, remembering that he’s your brother’s best friend, and that Yunho is just being as worried as your brother. Nothing more than that. Yunho wants to hold the gaze longer. He almost wants to break the imaginary boundaries then both of you set, but he snaps into to reality when he watches you leave, his voice trapped in his throat. 

Fuck. Looks like he’s the one losing now. 

It doesn’t help that during that night, you slip into his dreams, and instead of you leaving, he has your face in his hands, and your lips are on his. He feels you in your entirety, and you feel so fucking good pressed against him. Yunho wants so badly to mark every part of you, to remind you he could do so much better than whoever you’re supposedly going out with. He could kiss you better, fuck you better. Then it switches—to you in front of him, your ass bouncing off his cock, loud smacks echoing from the walls as he sinks into your pussy with a broken sigh.

That’s when he fucking jolts awake, warm fluids streaming down his thighs, as he swallows an imaginary mass in his throat because what the fuck just happened? He stares blankly at the white ceiling of his room, mind as blank. 

How fucked is he?

Yunho reaches to the doorstep of the chalet, almost close to midnight. Dance practice had bleed past the time, later than he thought. He greets his friends at the barbecue pit, still grilling chicken and seafood, stealing a stick and getting playfully hit before he enters the chalet itself. 

Your brother sat there, comfortable with his girlfriend’s legs crossed over his lap as they had joycons in their hands, playing some kind of co-op game together. His friend turns to him, before his eye dart back to the screen once he acknowledges Yunho, much too engrossed with the level he and his girlfriend was at. 

“Your room’s to the left of the stairs. I hung your lanyard there”, your brother says, before his attention goes right back to the game. For a spilt second, he suddenly remembers that he wanted to tell Yunho something, something important, but when his girlfriend squeals at clearing the level, the thought is completely erased from his memory.

Yunho climbs up the stairs, pushes the door open, and completely stops in his tracks as his gaze locks with yours. You’re seated on the bed, relaxed and on your phone until the door suddenly pushes open, and Yunho stands there, looking as bewildered as you. 

There is a long moment of silence between the both of you. 

“Can I help you, Yunho?” You break it. 

“No…isn’t this my room?” Yunho clarifies. You glance around and shrug. 

Yunho drops his bag, his heart beating loudly in his chest. 

His eyebrows furrow, confusion sprawled across his face. 

“Hold on. Weren’t you suppose to be on a date?” 

You shrug again. “Yeah. It ended early. I thought of finding my brother and he asked me to use this room since it was vacant. I supposed he forgot to tell you? I could leave if-“

“N-no. You can stay, since you’re already here”, Yunho cuts you off. No fucking way is he wasting this chance. Somehow the thought of you within the same, close proximity is making his head dizzy. “You’re okay with sharing the bed? I can sleep downstairs.”

Your face starts to heat up. As much as it was the elephant in the room, for Yunho to bring up so straightforwardly like that was making your mind wander a little too close to the sun. 

You force a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.” Well, not a lie, the only thing was that the both of you were blacked out drunk when it happened that one time. 

Yunho’s signature smile appears. He looks comforted, at least. “Right. Then I’ll use the bathroom to wash up.” He grabs a spare towel on the rack, then walks back to dig for his clothes in his duffle before he disappears into the bathroom, leaving you with your messy thoughts. Your hand is over your heart, and you feel it beating a little too wildly. 

Nothing’s gonna happen. Two people of the opposite sex can share a bed just fine, is what you tell yourself. Yeah, that would have been the case, if the opposite gender wasn’t Jeon Yunho. 

Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years in all honesty. The anxiety wouldn’t simmer down, so you end up burying yourself underneath the cold sheets, hoping that you’d end up falling asleep. 

And by some miracle, you did. That is, until you feel the mattress weigh down, and shuffling on the sheets, then something bumping against your leg. You stir slightly from the disruption.

“Sorry. The bed’s a little…cramped”, you hear Yunho’s voice tickling your ears as his legs press against yours. 

You stay silent, the only things that you hear are the whirling of the air conditioning and the sound of your heart about to fucking burst from your rib cage. 

“It’s fine”, you finally reply, your body completely still, unsure how actually close the male is against you, only his legs pressed up against the back of your knees and his arms are barely touching your back as a gauge. Well, you weren’t in the mood to find out. The myriad amount of assurances you repeat to yourself that he’s just a friend, that he’s just Jeon Yunho, does nothing to comfort you to say the least. 

You hear his voice ring a little to close to your ears again. “How was your date?”

You don’t want to answer, your eyes are focused onto the darkness of the door in front of you. You fear that he might hear your thoughts if you speak, even though that’s literally impossible. 

“It was fine”, you curtly reply, squeezing the spare pillow in your arms. 

“What did you think of him?” 

“I think he’s okay. He’s quite a decent guy. Then again, it’s just the first date”.

The mattress shifts suddenly and you freeze when you feel him inch even closer to you. You have no clue what expression he’s making but from the way he suddenly shifts rather dramatically, you would assume that he seemed shocked? 

Oh, you were definitely about to find out. 

“You’re planning to see him again?” He’s closer now. You feel his chest almost pressing against your spine. You feel his gaze piercing daggers into the back of your head. You feel his agitation. But over what?

“I haven’t decided on that yet”, you reply. But you cut him before he says anything, “but what’s it to you? You usually don’t care about the things I do. Let alone my dates.”

This time, it’s Yunho’s turn to fall silent. The weight of the mattress beneath you shifts once more it stills. For a moment, you assume that he’d shifted away from you, and maybe he’d let the matter die off.

“Who said I didn’t?”

Now he’s completely pressing his body against you—you feel his lips just a hair’s length from the back of your neck, his chest completely flat against your back. 

His crotch right against your ass. 

“Yunho-“, you try turning to face him before the both of your start making any mistakes, but his hand presses your waist down, halting any movements you were about to make. Heat is flushing your cheeks.

“I’ll stop if you don’t want to, and I’ll turn away, and sleep downstairs. I won’t force you if you don’t want to.”

Shit, shit, shit. The more words Yunho speak, the more they aren’t registering in your damn head. His voice is melting in your ears, low and dangerous. The consequences that once rang like alarm bells in your head slowly grow muted, and now it’s just your carnal desire to let Yunho do whatever he wanted to you.

“I’m not doing this without your consent, my dear”, he reminds , and his hand is slowly trailing off your body. 

All the repercussions, completely wiped off when your feelings that you once tried to fucking hard to suppress behind to bubble up to the surface, and for Yunho to just summon them so easily when he says it so gently and with such  temptation.

But you should still probably stop this-

From the way you’re staying quiet, Yunho is ready to just cut his advances. After all, he’s not interested in making you feel uncomfortable, as much as he wants to just ruin you all for himself. He keeps his breathing light, but his heart is still beating loudly in his chest, bracing himself for the rejection, his hand gradually lifting from your waist, very much reluctantly-

Until he feels your hand cup his. 

“I wanna feel you, Yunho”, you answer him, loud enough for him to hear, even though it was only the two of you within the confines of the room. 

Yunho feels like he’s not close enough to you, even though the both of you are squeezed together, and his erection is evident—pressing shamelessly against the curve of your ass. It’s driving up the wall. 

Another thing he doesn’t expect is the way your fingers curl around his wrist, and you bring him to your braless tits, and he short-circuits when his fingers press against your hard nipples. You curse softly when he rolls them gently against his fingertips, and you lean back against his chest. Yunho takes the chance to kiss your neck down to your shoulders, making you melt all over again. 

But he doesn’t want to stay there for long. His cock is just throbbing and it’s overtaking his rationale. 

You always offhandedly complimented that Yunho had such long, slender and pretty fingers, and that he made mundane actions—writing, typing—look so attractive.

And now, his fingers are prying your legs to spread open for him.

His fingers dip into the wetness of your soaked folds, and his mind almost completely blanks out for the second time at the way you’re drenched for him. 

“Fuck. All of this for me?” He asks rhetorically, as he easily sinks two fingers in, hearing you choke from how his fingers are filling you up so well. The tip of his fingertips press against a spongy spot, and your head tilts back, face so flushed from the pleasure when he begins curl his fingers while in you and while he fucks your wet cunt. 

He’s not letting you form any coherent thoughts in your head, not while he’s finger fucking the thoughts right out your poor brain.

“You’re so fucking soft. Shit. I really want to fuck you so fucking bad”, he grunts in your ear, his hips grinding against your ass like a natural instinct to. 

“Your cock”, you mutter, struggling to keep your eyes open and mind clear. “Fuck. Need you to fuck me so good.”

Yunho inhales the scent of your hair wash as he peppers bites and kisses down the nape of your neck, smiling when he feels goosebumps spread across your skin.

He’s so tempted. But not yet. He desperate—desperate to see you fucking fall apart just with his fingers.

So he pulls his soaked fingers out, and for a moment, you whine at how empty your cunt feels, just ready to fucking beg him to fuck you with his fingers, his cock, whatever. 

He sits up, pushing the thick and heavy blankets aside, tugging your wet bottoms and panties off, giving himself a mental reminder to pocket your panties when he’s done with you. 

You’re spread open and perfectly wide for him to admire and drool over. By now, his eyes are pretty much adjusted the darkness, and the both of you are lazy to switch on the nightlight, so he’s definitely able to see your pussy in full view.

“Y-yu-“, your words completely cut off when he plunges two fingers right into your pussy again, filling you up completely. And this time, his other hand is on your clit, fingers rubbing, sending sparks flying beneath your eyelids. 

The pleasure makes you buck your hips, and it builds so dangerously quick in your abdomen. The sounds of your pussy growing so fucking wet only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, catching a rhythm of fucking and rubbing your clit so perfectly that you realise the feeling is growing way too funny. 

“Y-Yunho-“ you try again. “Oh god. Feels weird.” Nonetheless, you don’t say it without your eyes rolling back and your abdomen flexing. 

“That’s it. Let it go for me, baby. It’ll feel so fucking good.”

Oh fuck. You don’t even register it before it happens—it totally washes over you, and you’re just helplessly submitting to how fucking good this feels as you squirt all over Yunho, your mind swimming in the depths of ecstasy, your moans drowned when Yunho seals your lips shut with his, greedy to just keep them all to himself, and well, also not trying to wake the whole chalet up. 

When Yunho pulls back and sees how flushed spent your face looks, he can’t help but sink deeper into his feelings for you. He goes in for another kiss, this time with your mind slowly clearing from the mind-blowing orgasm. Your arms wrap around his neck instantly, pulling him as close as you could, soft moans in between kisses only making him impossibly harder than he already was. 

He shifts to lie down on the bed with you again, this time the both of you facing each other. He tugs the hem of your shirt and lugs it over your head, before lowering himself slightly to face your chest. You don’t know how but his pants are somehow kicked off, somewhere on the bed, and he’s bare and so fucking hard when he presses his cock on your pussy. 

“Lift your leg for me, babe”, he says, palm sliding on the underside of your thigh as he feels you spread your legs open for him once more. 

Yunho rubs his cockhead along your wet fucking folds, before he pushes himself in, a whimper leaving his lips as he bites on your shoulder to stop any loud noises from slipping past his lips. 

He pushes himself in even more, and your arms are around his neck once more, light red imprints from your fingernails dig into his skin.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Feels like fucking heaven. So fucking tight and soft”, he mutters, eyes so glazed, and arms so tight around you when he finally buries himself into the hilt. 

Your mind is complete mush by then—combined with Yunho’s cock that’s stuffed in you and the scent of his hair wash, you swear you were gonna cum for the second time. You knew he probably packed something, but holy fucking shit, you just never thought it would fill you up this fucking good. The rest of your senses slowly start to dull, the feeling of Yunho’s cock almost taking them  all away. 

“Shit. You’re fucking squeezing me-fuck!-here,” Yunho says, but it comes off as a broken moan. His head is buried into the crook of your neck, and you hear him trying to steady his breath through a slew of curses. 

“You wanna move now?” You ask, your fingers combing through his messy locks. Yunho thinks he might have some sort of hair combing fetish with you now. 

“Fuck, yes, please,” is all he replies before he pulls out slightly, then thrusting right back in, projecting fucking stars into your eyelids when he fills you up again and again. 

You press your head against the pillow, eyes shut from the pleasure. When you find the strength to open them, Yunho’s glazed out expression is what comes into view. He’s looking at you like you’re his fucking treasure. 

“Does it feel good? You feel so fucking amazing, y/n.”

“You can’t be asking me that when you’re fucking the thoughts right out of me”, and you squeal when he thrusts into you once more, filling you up to the brim.

“Even better. So my cock will be only the cock you know, right?” He smiles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when your walls clench around him again.

And when you don’t answer, his hand slithers to your neck, and he squeezes, making you gasp. 

“Answer me, pretty.”

“Yes, fuck yes. Don’t need anyone else’s when you’re fucking me so good”, you cry, relishing in the way he’s gradually cutting off your oxygen supply. 

His thrusts grow harder and faster, his hands slowly letting go of your throat.

“That’s my good girl.”

And that makes your cunt flutter and pulsate uncontrollably for the second time, only now it’s on his cock this time. 

“F-fuck. Oh, that’s it. That’s a good fucking girl, cumming all over my cock like that”, his voice ups a pitch when you fall apart again. “I’m gonna cum. Make sure you’re full and dripping when I’m fucking done with you.”

And when he does, he leaves a whole garden of bites on your chest and shoulders on top of filling your pussy up with his thick and warm cum. You never thought his face would get anymore attractive, but when he cums? You could get addicted to pulling that expression out of him, that’s for sure. 

The both of you are panting as your highs wear off, hands still not off each other despite the shared warmth. He’s the first to let go, and you’re about to say something until he turns you around, and it’s then when his cock starts to harden in you. Your heart is beating rapidly again when his cock is filling you up once more, as it slowly displaces his cum that leaks past your sopping hole.

Your hand grabs onto his arm that’s snaking around your waist. 

“W-wait. We need to talk about my broth-“, and he hears you whimper when he pushes himself deeper into you, throbbing in you. The way he’s littering kisses down your neck is sending you into a spiral, and now you’re nothing but weak against him, and his fat cock.

“That can wait to tomorrow, babe. I promised that I’ll make sure you’re full and dripping once I’m fucking done with you right? Well, I’m not done fucking you yet.”

[pyrrhiccomedy]

A DM’s Fair Play Guide To Plot Twists

I love running a game with a lot of surprises. The challenge to pulling this off well is that, unless you’re playing a one on one game, your players outnumber you: and between them, they have a good chance of figuring out what’s going to happen, no matter how sneaky and clever you are.

The first way of dealing with this - which I’ll just call the bullshit way - is to not give your players the information they need to solve the mystery. Don’t let them find out about the secret society until it’s too late. Don’t give them any reason to suspect that their NPC ally is planning to kill them. Don’t let them find the murder weapon, don’t let them locate the witnesses, don’t give them the chance to skip to the end of their investigation.

This sucks, and if you run your games like this, you’re going to piss off your players. Because it isn’t fair.

In mystery literature, a “fair play mystery” is one where the reader is given all of the information they need in order to figure out the solution before the Big Reveal. It’s what makes the reveal good: that GASP, the “oh shit, the knife! the knife from the party! that was hers! I forgot!”

Pulling off a twist in a fair play game is an incredible feeling. Your players will think you’re a genius (or an absolute dick bastard, which is just as good) and they’ll respect it more when they land in hot water that they plausibly could have avoided. So how do you run a fair play game without your players figuring out the twists ahead of time, given that you’re definitely not smarter than all of your players put together?

By fucking with their expectations.

Here are some things that I keep in mind, to keep my players guessing. And it’s important, with all of this, that if your players see through something, let them have it. They should figure out a lot of things on their own! But if you’re regularly seeding your stories with all of this stuff, eventually your players will miss something. Those are somethings you can build on. The same way that a low level enemy who gets away once can keep coming back again and again until they become an important antagonist, a misapprehension your party proves to have a blindspot for can grow and develop until they get smacked with a breathtaking twist. 

What’s a twist if not the sudden overturning of an assumption you never thought to question?

1: Make your powerful friendly NPCs know a lot...but not as much as the players think they do.

Player characters often end up with powerful allies. It would be very convenient for the party if those allies always had accurate information. Make sure they don’t always enjoy that convenience.

It’s a balancing act: you want your powerful NPCs to be powerful. You want this alliance to be meaningful and beneficial to your players. But give your NPC an Achilles heel of some kind, when it comes to the information at their disposal. The Noble General commands powerful forces and knows the lay of the enemy’s land well...but that doesn’t mean he knows what every squadron and scouting party is up to. The Political Mastermind may know the ins and outs of the court, and have keen insight into the motivations of others: but he has an enemy who pisses him off so much that he loses all objectivity around her. The Powerful Wizard can call upon great magic to aid the party: but his divinations aren’t as accurate as he thinks they are, and he’s prone to finding, in his signs and omens, what he wants to see, more than what’s actually there.

Most of the time, their information should be good! That will make it more likely that your players will trust them the one time when it isn’t.

2. Let (apparently) less powerful NPCs sometimes know more than the players think they do. 

Most NPCs aren’t the Noble General or the Powerful Wizard. Most NPCs are Daves, designed to get the players from place to place. Most of those Daves know about as much as you’d expect them to. But some Daves have plans of their own.

You don’t always have to signpost with big blinking lights which of your NPCs are ‘important,’ and which ones are ‘unimportant.’ Sneak in a crafty Dave from time to time. That assistant they talk to, every time they go to see the prince? That bitch knows everything, and she’s almost ready to make her move. 

3: There is no such thing as a completely reliable witness. 

If the players only get information from one person, that information should be flawed in at least one, potentially small, but important way. Smart players will seek a second opinion, or at least allow for the possibility that their information may be incomplete. But even smart players get out over their skis sometimes.

4: Let your NPCs be aware of the power of a first impression. 

If an NPC gives a strong first impression of being a particular kind of person, it’s because they’re comfortable giving that impression. That might be because it’s who they are. But maybe not.

One of the first characters the PCs met in a VtM campaign I ran was Gawaine. Gawaine was a good old pine-scented man’s man, with salt and pepper stubble and a blue Ford truck. He listened to AC/DC, and talked about the war. He was affable and honest and willing to lend a hand. You already know Gawaine. Everybody knows a Gawaine. Gawaines are trustworthy, salt of the earth types. You don’t necessarily think to question a Gawaine.

That’s exactly why Gawaine was such a useful persona for Krystiyan, the Tzimisce Voivode, a cruel and alien sculptor of flesh who “never left his haven.” There were plenty of clues that they were the same person, but that campaign was in its endgame before the players put them all together.

5: Sometimes, dangerous and villainous NPCs should be helpful and cooperative. 

Not even necessarily because they’re manipulating the players, or even deceiving them about their true natures, but because their interests and the players’ interests genuinely align...for the moment. 

One of the easiest levers in your players’ brains to exploit is the expectation that people who help you are your friends. Even if your players know, consciously, that they shouldn’t trust this person, most of the time they kind of can’t help it, if the NPC is genuinely helpful to them and at least a little charismatic. 

6: Sometimes, good and valuable NPCs should be unhelpful and uncooperative. 

No matter how mature your players are, there’s a natural tendency to react to uncooperative NPCs with a reflexive, “Hey, fuck you! We’re the protagonists! This guy is an asshole!” so from time to time have a helpful, honest, good-aligned NPC have a wholly justified but as-yet-unknown-to-the-party reason to flatly refuse to deal with them.

7: Every NPC should have a secret. 

Not necessarily a bad secret. Were it to be revealed, it might even make the party like them more! But for their own reasons, the NPC does not want their secret to come out, and they will lie to the party to protect it. Players go crazy when they realize they’re being lied to, and often jump to some wild assumptions about your NPC’s motivations. I’ve had an NPC lie about the opening hours of a shop, and had the PCs assume that they were black market dealers for the villain when the dude just wanted to be able to close early so he could go smoke weed in the park.

8. As a DM, it’s polite to remind your players of the common knowledge their characters would possess...even when it doesn’t reflect the truth.

We all know it’s tedious when the DM calls for a roll when you’re just asking for common knowledge. I shouldn’t have to make a roll to know the dumb space word for plastic in a Star Wars game. I shouldn’t have to make a roll to know who the Holy Roman Emperor is in a game about medieval vampires. The DM should supply common knowledge for free, whenever it comes up.

That doesn’t mean common knowledge is true.

This is different from just lying to your players, because you don’t put the weight of DM word-of-God behind it. It’s not “You would know this guy is a Ventrue, based on XYZ.” It’s “it would be a common assumption that this guy is a Ventrue, based on XYZ.” He might not be a Ventrue. It might in fact be extremely important that he is not a Ventrue. But if it is commonly assumed that he’s a Ventrue, that is - word for word - something you can share with your players. If they don’t look any deeper than common knowledge, that’s on them.

9. Obviously untrustworthy NPCs provide great air coverage for less obviously untrustworthy NPCs.

The obviously untrustworthy NPC might or might not be planning to betray the party. But if you introduce two untrustworthy NPCs in the same storyline, and one of them seems normal and cool and has a genuine plot-related reason to be there, and the other one is Jaffar, Jaffar’s gonna get clocked, but Susan over there will probably slip under the radar, and might even get tapped to help out with the whole Jaffar situation. They might get Susan’s number, by the end of the session. Susan might become an ‘ally.’ Susan might even get romanced by a party member. Play your cards right, and Jaffar might just end up a footnote in the introduction of Susan, Scourge of Worlds and most hated NPC in the entire campaign.

10. Your villains should always have a secret plan B.

Your villain isn’t stupid, right? And your villain probably isn’t so arrogant that it is inconceivable to them that their plan might fail. They’ve been planning this ritual for ten thousand years, after all. It’s always possible that some plucky band of heroes could show up at the last minute and murder your high priest, or steal your amulet, or seduce your second in command. So what does your villain have in his back pocket to make the players go, “Oh, shit - he planned for this!”

This may mean that there is a whole separate plot happening, running alongside the main story. This is great, because when weird things happen, the players have to figure out whether this is part of Plot A or Plot B, and working out who did what and why gets a lot more interesting. If they end up foiling Plot A, great - your villain was also secretly behind Plot B the whole time, and will transfer all of his resources over to that. 

Sometimes your players will figure out that Plots A and B were both the same plot the whole time, with the same villain at the head, and they’ll feel like the smartest people on the planet, and it will be their favorite moment of the entire game. That’s great! You gave them that!

Sometimes, they won’t. And when the villain of Plot A, apparently defeated, starts laughing and reveals that he was also the mastermind behind Plot B, which is now too late to be stopped, that will probably be your favorite moment of the entire game.

[rissouu]

could you do a plug! eren x reader where eren gets super overprotective 🩷

yesss ofc! im sorry this took a while i just had to get some damn motivation 😭 i been slacking.. my bad pookies!

his hands stayed wrapped around your waist as you walked through the mall, he promised to take you on a shopping spree. and right now the only thing you really needed were shoes— so foot locker it was.

it was like eren could sense all the stares you were getting, in his eyes those tiny ass the shorts you wore barely covered up anything.. (he was just being dramatic, the shorts weren’t that tiny but he still hated them.) he made a mental note to toss the shorts out as soon as you two made it home.

he tried getting you to change before you guys even arrived at the mall, but of course you weren’t going to listen to him— you never did. that’s one of the characteristics he loved about you but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

when you finally reached the famous shoe store, you couldn’t hide your excitement. you’d always been a sneaker head after all, always having the newest pair of dunks or jordan’s, a lot of people envied you because of it honestly, but oh well.

you couldn’t resist snatching out of eren’s hold and practically running towards the shoes on display. the dunks that you’d been wanting for months finally dropped, and you just had to get them before they sold out.

“ma you know how i feel ‘bout you walkin’ off on your own,” he made his way back over to you, annoyance evident on his face. eren hated when you did this, he wanted(needed) to be by your side at all times. why couldn’t you understand that?

“im sorry babyyy, i just really need to check if they have my size!” you bent over to take the shoe off the rack— completely forgetting that your shorts were the type to rise up when you did so.

you didn’t think too much about it and stayed in your current position— throughly inspecting the shoe. the color looked better online but shit, it was still cute.

eren eventually got tired of standing, he knew how you got when it came to shoes. he’d be standing there for a whole damn hour fucking with you, so he just sat down on one of the benches used to try on shoes.

he always got so bored coming to stores with you because you always tuned him out and wandered off on your own. you were addicting to shopping and even more addicted to shoes.. the only thing he could do was sit down and go on his phone, since you’d clearly be taking forever.

you were so focused on the baby blue shoes that you hardly even noticed anyone’s presence behind you, turns out one of the workers had been eyeing you for quite a while now.. waiting for his chance to make a move. your beauty caught him off guard and he knew he couldn’t let a fine thing like you just walk away.

“hello welcome, did you need help with- oh god damn..”

that was enough to finally get eren’s attention off his phone as his eyes snapped towards the scrawny dude licking his lips— enjoying the sight of your shorts working against you.

with a low chuckle your man stood from his seat, slowly inching towards you to make his presence known. he snatched you by your waist— easily causing your form to straighten out. he took his eyes off you for one second and you’re bent over with them little ass shorts on?

he had half a mind to just fuck you right here and now to let all these muh’ fucka’s know who you belong to, but luckily he had enough self restraint.

“i’ll kill you right now man, ion even play like that. better walk yo’ ass on somewhere,” eren slightly lifted his black tee— flashing his gun that was strapped on his waist. he roughly yanked you behind him so the fucker wouldn’t dare to look at you again, and the only thing you could do was let him.

not that you would’ve resited anyway, you loved when eren got aggressive like this (not that you’d ever admit it).

“o-oh that’s you? i apologize i didn’t-“

“’fuck up talkin’ to me yo, you got five seconds to walk away before i put a bullet in you.” one death glare from eren was enough to send the worker running off in fear.

you stayed silent because you knew better than to say anything when he got like this, you were in for it once you got back home.. that’s for sure.

“fuck those shoes, we’re leaving. and as soon as we get in the car i want them shorts off,”

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU ; — you can’t help but feel a little upset thinking that your boyfriend has forgotten your anniversary.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, none, fluff! although it gets a tiny bit hawt at the end! ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! an anon suggested this drabble idea literally like sometime last year + the new szn finally gave me some motivation to write it! i hope u see this!

3 years.. 3 years and gojo didn’t leave you with so much as a “happy anniversary” as he left this morning. you’d have even taken an extra smack on the ass during your usual morning makeout session, the taste of his two sugar’s too sweet coffee on his tongue as it twists with yours and his hands on your waist.. but that’s it, that’s all???

so now you’re here, angrily stomping back to your shared apartment after the few errands you had to run today because you took the day off to celebrate. but your dumb, stupidly handsome boyfriend doesn’t even know what for as he rambles on the other side of the phone.

“can feel you poutin’, what’s gotten into my sweet girl? hm?” gojo hums like hes thinking about something, his same sickly sweet tone dripping through you like honey despite the way you want to be mad at him right now— you would’ve ignored the call all together, just to be petty if you didn’t know he’d turn up at the door a second later.

“nothing. i’m just almost home that’s all.” you’re lying and you know he can tell, he always could. he could pick up every slight, little change in your attitude like he seen right through you.

“oh yeah? nothing at all on your mind?” gojo drawls again, there’s a teasing lull to his voice and it makes your pout puff out even more before he breathes out a low chuckle and sighs. “and here i thought you were mad at me. you almost made me cry at work— who would take me seriously then, huh?”

“you’re not funny.” you huff out, short and a little clipped as you finally come to a stop infront of your apartment door — fiddling with your keys in your hand while your pout still rests on your features.

“you sure?”

you really can’t be bothered playing gojo’s games right now and as amusing as he seems to find himself, it’s only making you burn hotter — making your stomach twist with the lump in your throat that you’ve been fighting to keep down all day. you don’t want to get upset, but it meant a lot to you.

you just wanted him to maybe put in a little effort on the one day that you guys really get to celebrate eachother.

“positive. so i’m gonna g—“ you can barely finish your own spiralling, upsetting thoughts before your snapped response through your phone fades on your tongue. but suddenly, the tears youd been fighting to hold back all day seem to come so ruthlessly, gathering along your lashes as you gaze onto the ocean of red that greets you as you open the door.

you’re not sure how many bouquets there are waiting for you there. hundreds? thousands? sitting pretty along the floor, decorating the shared space so beautifully that you don’t even realise that you’ve gone quiet. ofcourse gojo would do something like this, and suddenly you feel a little silly for even doubting him.

“ah, fine. i guess i’ll get the guy to come pick all of those back up then, huh, sweet thing?”

but the smooth tone that sounds from your phone speaker sounds a little louder, closer when it’s accompanied by a long arm wrapping around your waist from behind as kisses are pressed up the side of your neck.

“but, you—“ you try but you feel so overwhelmed, so full of love as gojo’s large figure drapes over you from behind. his face is stuffed into the crook of your neck and you can feel the way his crooked smile sits on his features as it presses against your skin. he feels warm, although you’re sure he’s more than smug right now when he pulls away with an exaggerated gasp that cuts off your sentence.

“as if you’re perfect, good looking boyfriend would ever forget. what do you take me for, hm?” you giggle at that despite the way he’s teasing you again, squeezing at your sides until you’re meeting his gaze and you’re sure you must look so in love when you notice the way his features soften slightly.

“happy anniversary, princess.” gojo grins as he leans into kiss you breathless, twisting into your mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips and you almost rock back with how dizzy he makes you feel. but his hands are on your hips, keeping you close against his chest with a stability that you’d always found in him.

another long press of his lips with yours and you whimper sweetly as he pulls away to look at you, pretty gaze glowing slightly from under the snowy peaks of his hair before he’s smirking again, maybe a little wider this time.

“you gonna laugh f’ me when i tell jokes again? i can feel the tears threatening to start again.” he’s like a professional when his cheeky grin twists into an exaggerated pout, making you laugh again— a little harder this time before you’re pinching at his cheeks playfully and bringing him in for another quick kiss.

“you’re such a dork.” you tease and gojo groans against your lips like he’s offended.

“mmm, no thank you? oh i’m hurt, sweet girl. what’ll i do with you now, hm?” the look he gives you as he pulls away is suspicious, a raised brow as his head falls to the side and he really looks like he’s considering it. until the next moment his large palm is coming down heavy on your ass before his next handful squeezes.

“satoru!” you squeal but that only seems to make him chuckle as he leans down to kiss you again, rougher this time despite the way you’re both smiling giddily into the shared, messy press of eachother. almost too quickly finding yourself pressed up against the wall in the hallway as he melts into you.

“let’s see! oh, i’ve got a few ideas.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[xxspringmelodyxx]

"𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊"

┗━━⊱ 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 ⊰━━┛

⊱ 𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐, 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐, 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑵𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝑻𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝑭𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒐, 𝑺𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝑹𝒚𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏 ⊰

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Warnings: Swearing ⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 @𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓9 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 <3333

─═✧✧═─ 𝕊𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕦 𝔾𝕠𝕛𝕠 ─═✧✧═─

It had been an unusually quiet afternoon when your sister showed up at your apartment unannounced. You were out running errands, leaving Satoru alone at home. He was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone, when the doorbell rang. Expecting it to be you, he opened the door with a bright smile, only for it to falter slightly upon seeing your sister standing there.

"Satoru," she greeted, a hint of something unreadable in her eyes. "Can I come in? I need to talk to you about something important."

Though slightly wary, Satoru stepped aside, allowing her entry. She walked in, clutching a folder tightly against her chest. They settled in the living room, your sister on the edge of the couch and Satoru casually reclining in an armchair.

"What's this about?" Satoru asked, his tone polite but guarded.

Your sister took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for what she was about to do. "Satoru, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but you deserve to know the truth about your wife."

His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of unease passing through them. "Go on," he said, gesturing for her to continue.

With a dramatic sigh, she opened the folder and pulled out a stack of photos and printed text messages. "I found these. I thought you should see them."

Satoru leaned forward, taking the photos from her. He began to flip through them, his expression shifting from curiosity to mild amusement. The photos showed you with another man, and the text messages painted a picture of a secret affair. However, Satoru immediately noticed the inconsistencies: the poor quality of the photoshopping, the time stamps that didn’t add up, and the way the text messages sounded nothing like you.

"Is this supposed to be evidence?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Your sister nodded earnestly. "Yes. I know it’s hard to believe, but Y/N has been cheating on you. I just thought you should know the truth before things got any worse."

Satoru couldn’t help but laugh out loud, shaking his head. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

She blinked, clearly taken aback by his reaction. "What do you mean? This is serious, Satoru!"

"Oh, I’m taking it seriously," he said, his tone suddenly sharp. "I’m seriously considering how someone could think I’d fall for such a poorly executed lie. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the obvious signs of fakery?"

Your sister’s face turned red, a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "I just thought—"

"You thought wrong," Satoru interrupted, his voice firm. "I know my girl better than anyone. This? This is nothing but a desperate attempt to create doubt."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Satoru cut her off with a raised hand. "Look, I don’t know what your motives are, and frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is your sister. And I trust her completely. So whatever you’re trying to pull here, it won’t work."

Standing up, he walked to the door and opened it. "I think it’s best if you leave now."

She hesitated for a moment, then stood up, her expression a mix of anger and defeat. "You’ll regret this, Satoru," she hissed before storming out.

Satoru closed the door behind her, letting out a sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. He knew your sister had always been a bit jealous of your relationship, but this was a new low.

When you returned home a short while later, you immediately sensed that something was off. Satoru’s usual cheerful demeanor was slightly subdued, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"Hey, everything okay?" you asked, setting your bags down and walking over to him.

Satoru pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly. "Yeah, just had an interesting visit from your sister."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with concern. "What happened?"

He sighed, leading you to the couch. "She came over with some fake evidence, trying to convince me that you were cheating on me."

Your eyes widened in shock and anger. "What? Why would she do that?"

"I don’t know," Satoru said, gently cupping your face in his hands. "But what matters is that I didn’t believe her for a second. I trust you, princess. I love you more than anything, and nothing she could say or do would ever change that."

You nodded, feeling your heart swell with love. "Thank you for believing in me."

"Always," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you, baby girl, and I always will."

─═✧✧═─ 𝕊𝕦𝕘𝕦𝕣𝕦 𝔾𝕖𝕥𝕠 ─═✧✧═─

Suguru sat at a cozy corner table in a quaint café, his favorite book lying open in front of him. He glanced at his watch, noting that you should be arriving soon. The café, with its warm ambiance and the soft hum of conversations, was one of your favorite places to meet.

Just as he was about to take another sip of his green tea, the door swung open, and to his surprise, your sister walked in. She scanned the room until her eyes landed on Suguru. With a determined look, she walked over to his table.

"Suguru, do you have a moment?" she asked, her voice urgent.

Suguru raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled. "Sure, have a seat. What's going on?"

She sat down quickly, pulled out her phone and began scrolling through it, finally landing on a series of photos and messages. She placed the phone on the table and pushed it towards Suguru. "Look at these."

Suguru picked up the phone and started scrolling through the images and messages. They depicted you with another man and conversations suggesting an affair. However, Suguru quickly noticed the watermark on the bottom of the text messages and the photos, making it clear that these were all fabricated.

He set the phone down and looked at your sister with a calm but firm expression. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she replied, her voice rising. "She’s been cheating on you, and you deserve to know!"

Suguru leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her face. "Do you honestly expect me to believe this?"

"Why wouldn't you?" she shot back, frustration evident in her tone. "I’m trying to help you!"

Suguru sighed, shaking his head. "Help me, how? By giving false information to me?”

Your sister's face turned red, anger and embarrassment mixing in her expression. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," she muttered.

"I think you do," Suguru said softly, leaning forward. "You’ve always been a bit jealous of our relationship. But this… this is too far. I trust your sister completely. I know her, and I know she would never do something like this."

Tears of frustration welled up in your sister’s eyes. "You’re making a mistake, Suguru."

Suguru's eyes hardened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Listen carefully. I don't take kindly to deceit, especially when it revolves around my partner. If you ever try something like this again, you'll regret it. Do you understand?"

Your sister recoiled slightly, fear flickering in her eyes. She nodded quickly, gathering her things and leaving the café without another word.

At that moment, you walked into the café, your face lighting up as you spotted Suguru. You waved, making your way over to the table. "Hey, what’s going on?" you asked, sensing the tension.

Suguru took your hand, pulling you into the seat your sister had vacated. “Nothing you need to worry about, my love~”

Your eyes flickered with concern, but you trusted Suguru implicitly. "Are you sure? You seem a bit tense."

He smiled, the warmth returning to his eyes. "Just a minor inconvenience. It's all sorted now."

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Okay, as long as you're sure."

Suguru lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "I'm sure. Let's enjoy our time together."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "I love you, Suguru."

"I love you too," he replied, his voice full of conviction. "And nothing will ever change that."

─═✧✧═─ 𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠 ℕ𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕚 ─═✧✧═─

Kento Nanami was in the midst of a busy day at the office. Papers were scattered across his desk, and the hum of conversation and ringing phones filled the room. He glanced at the clock, noting it was almost time for his lunch break. He had planned to meet you at a nearby restaurant for a quick bite.

As he was about to leave, he received a call from the receptionist. "Mr. Nanami, there's someone here to see you. She says it's urgent."

Nanami frowned, slightly irritated by the interruption. "Send her up," he replied, deciding to deal with this quickly before meeting you.

A few minutes later, your sister walked into his office, looking visibly distressed. "Kento, I need to talk to you. It's about my sister," she said, her voice shaky.

Nanami motioned for her to sit down, his expression calm but inquisitive. "What's this about?" he asked, folding his hands on the desk.

She took a deep breath and pulled out a small box from her bag. "I found something, and I think you need to see it."

Nanami took the box, feeling a bit puzzled. He opened it to find a necklace he had given you, along with a letter. The letter was a handwritten note that appeared to be from you, detailing an affair with a colleague. His heart sank momentarily as he read the words, but he noticed subtle differences in the handwriting that didn’t match yours.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his tone neutral but with an edge of suspicion.

"I found it in her things," she replied quickly. 

Nanami leaned back in his chair, studying your sister intently. "You expect me to believe this because of a necklace and a note? Do you think I don’t know her handwriting?"

Your sister’s face flushed with embarrassment and frustration. "It’s not just that," she said, pulling out her phone. "I have texts, too."

She handed him her phone, showing a series of messages supposedly from you, confessing to an affair. Nanami read through them carefully, noting the odd phrasing and the timing that didn’t align with your usual schedule.

Nanami sighed, his expression darkening as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a cold, intimidating tone. "I see right through you, you know. And frankly, I don’t like what I'm seeing. If you ever try something like this again, you'll regret it. Do you understand me?"

Her eyes widened in fear, and she nodded quickly. "W-What? I don’t–"

"I know what you’re trying to do.," Nanami interrupted, his gaze piercing. "But our relationship is built on trust. This—" he gestured to the box and the phone, "—won’t change that. Don't test me again."

She gathered her things and left the office, clearly shaken. Nanami took a deep breath, trying to dispel the frustration before heading to the restaurant. He knew you would be waiting for him, and he didn’t want to bring any negativity into your time together.

When he arrived, you were already seated, a bright smile lighting up your face as you spotted him. "Hey, how was your morning?" you asked, sensing a hint of tension in his demeanor.

Nanami took your hand, pulling you into a gentle kiss before sitting down. "It was... eventful," he began, his voice softening slightly.

Your eyes flickered with concern, but you trusted Nanami implicitly. "What happened? You seem a bit tense."

He sighed, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "Your sister came to my office today. She brought some... fabricated evidence, trying to convince me that you were cheating on me."

Nanami's expression softened as he looked into your eyes. "I saw right through it immediately. The handwriting didn't match, the texts were out of character for you, and the timing didn't add up. I confronted her and made it clear that if she ever tries something like this again, there will be serious consequences."

You smiled at him and kissed him on the lips. “I love you so much, do you know that?”

He smiled back, his eyes full of warmth and love. "I love you too. More than you can imagine."

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. "Thank you for believing in me, Kento. I'm so sorry you had to deal with that."

“Ah, don’t worry about it, honey. It's done and over with now, and I know for sure it won’t happen again. So, lets just put it behind us for now and enjoy our lunch together, hm? We can go deal with your sister later.” He said, making you smile.

“Of course. There's nothing I would want more~”

─═✧✧═─ ℂ𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕠 𝕂𝕒𝕞𝕠 ─═✧✧═─

Choso was always a bit nervous at family gatherings, despite how much your family loved him. He often felt like he didn't quite belong, even though everyone went out of their way to make him feel welcome. Today was no different. The backyard was filled with the sound of laughter and the aroma of barbecue. He was standing near the grill, chatting with some of your relatives, when your sister approached him, a serious look on her face.

"Choso, can we talk in private?" she asked, her voice low.

Choso nodded, excusing himself from the conversation and following her to a quieter corner of the yard. "What's going on?" he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

Your sister pulled out a small photo album from her bag. "I found something, and I thought you should see it."

Choso took the album, feeling a knot form in his stomach. He opened it and flipped through the pages. The album contained photos of you with another man, appearing close and affectionate. Some pages even had handwritten notes that hinted at an affair. Choso's heart clenched as he looked at them, but something felt off. The lighting in the photos was inconsistent, and the handwriting didn't match yours.

“Im sorry, Choso. You deserve better.” She spoke

Choso studied the photos and notes again, his suspicion growing. "I appreciate your concern, but I need to investigate this myself."

Your sister's face showed a flicker of irritation, but she quickly masked it with a worried look. "Why? Isn’t this proof enough for you? What more could you possibly need?!"

He ignored her, his mind already working to piece together the truth. "Give me a moment.," he said before walking away to find you.

He found you in the kitchen, helping to prepare some dishes. As soon as you saw him, you smiled brightly. "Hey, are you having a good time?"

Choso managed a small smile, but his mind was still racing. "Can we talk for a sec?"

Your smile faded slightly as you nodded, leading him to a more private area of the house. "What's wrong?"

He took a deep breath, pulling out the photo album. "Your sister gave me this. It suggests you're having an affair."

You looked at the album, shock and confusion clear on your face. "What? Let me see."

He handed you the album, watching your reaction closely. As you examined the photos and notes, your eyes widened in disbelief. "This isn't real. The photos are doctored, and this handwriting isn’t even mine."

Choso nodded, his initial suspicion confirmed. "I thought as much. The inconsistencies in the photos and the notes... it doesn't fit."

Your eyes filled with tears of frustration. "I can’t believe she would do this."

Choso wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. "I trust you. I just wanted to make sure you knew what she was trying to do."

"Thank you for believing in me," you whispered against his chest.

He kissed the top of your head, his voice gentle but firm. "Always, baby. Our relationship is stronger than any lies she tries to spread."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a grateful smile. "What should we do now?"

"We'll confront her together, later," Choso said. "For now, let’s enjoy the rest of the gathering. We won’t let her ruin our day."

As you returned to the gathering, hand in hand, Choso felt the need to love all over you. He constantly was giving you little kisses all over your face when he could. He stayed by your side the entire time, his presence a comforting reassurance. He helped you with the dishes, playfully splashing water on you and making you giggle. You fed each other bites of food, sharing secret smiles and stolen kisses. At one point, you found yourselves dancing to the music playing in the background, swaying together under the warm sunlight. Choso twirled you around, and you laughed, feeling happier than ever. The love and trust between you felt unbreakable, a fortress that no one could breach.

He squeezed your hand gently and whispered, "You know, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Your heart melted at his words, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. "And you're mine."

─═✧✧═─ 𝕋𝕠𝕛𝕚 𝔽𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕦𝕣𝕠 ─═✧✧═─

Toji Fushiguro was in the middle of an intense workout at the gym. The sound of weights clanking and people chatting filled the air, but he was focused on his routine. He enjoyed these moments of solitude and exertion, pushing his limits while thinking about you. Just as he was finishing a set, he noticed your sister entering the gym. She spotted him and made her way over, a determined look on her face.

"Hey Toji…got a second?" she asked, her tone serious.

Toji wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded, leading her to a quieter corner of the gym. "What's up?" he asked, slightly annoyed by the interruption.

She took a deep breath and pulled out a stack of printed papers from her bag. "I found something that you need to see. It's about her." she said, talking about you.

Toji raised an eyebrow but took the papers. He began to skim through them, his expression growing more serious. The papers were printed screenshots of messages, supposedly between you and another man, discussing intimate details and plans to meet. As he read, Toji's eyes narrowed. Something felt off—the language was formal, not at all like the way you talked, and the dates and times didn't align with your usual schedule.

"I knew she was unfaithful. She always gave me that vibe.” Your sister continued. Toji stared at the papers for a moment longer before crumpling them in his fist. "This is bullshit," he said bluntly. "I know her, and this isn't her."

Toji took a step closer to your sister, his eyes cold and hard. "Listen closely. I'm only giving you this warning because you're her sister. If you ever try to sabotage our relationship again, you'll wish you hadn't. I don't take kindly to deceit, and I won't hesitate to make you regret it. Do you understand me?"

Fear flickered in her eyes as she nodded quickly, not daring to say another word. She quickly gathered her things and left the gym, clearly shaken. Toji watched her go, his expression remaining stern until she was out of sight. He then took a deep breath, trying to dispel his anger before heading home. He knew you would be there, and he didn't want to bring any negativity into your time together.

Toji managed a small smile, though his mind was still on the earlier confrontation. "It was good. Feeling strong," he replied, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, making you giggle.

"You seem a bit tense," you observed, turning to face him. "Everything okay?"

Toji nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "Yeah, just had a bit of a situation at the gym, but it's taken care of."

You raised an eyebrow, curious but trusting his words. "Well, I'm glad it's all sorted out."

"Me too," he said, pulling you into a deeper kiss. "So what's for dinner?"

You smiled, looking up at him, "Your favorite—steak and roasted vegetables."

Toji's eyes lit up with genuine happiness, his lips trailing down your neck. "Sounds perfect, doll~."

─═✧✧═─ 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 ─═✧✧═─

Sukuna's palace was as grand and imposing as ever, with its vast halls and ornate decorations. The air was thick with a sense of power and mystery. Sukuna was in his private chamber, reviewing some ancient scrolls, when he noticed a commotion outside his door. Your sister was being escorted into the room, looking both nervous and determined.

"State your business," Sukuna demanded, his eyes narrowing as he observed her.

"I have something you need to see, my king," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she handed him a small, ornate box.

He didn’t even bother to look, he could tell what your sister was trying to do. He instantly burned them up

“W-What are you doing?!” She asked with widened eyes.

Sukuna stood up, towering over her. "You think I would be so easily deceived? Do you really believe I wouldn't recognize a poorly executed plan?" His voice was low and dangerous, sending a shiver down her spine.

She took a step back, her confidence quickly fading. "I...I–"

Sukuna's patience snapped. In an instant, he was in front of her, his hand around her throat, lifting her off the ground effortlessly. "You thought wrong. And now, you'll pay for your insolence."

Your sister's eyes widened in terror as she struggled to breathe, her hands clawing at his grip. "P-please... I won’t do it again..."

"You dare try to undermine my trust in her? You dare think you can deceive me?" His grip tightened, his eyes glowing with a murderous intent. "Know your place."

She gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. "I'm s-sorry... please..."

Sukuna sneered, his face inches from hers. "I should end you right here. But for her sake, I'll spare your pathetic life this once." He released her, letting her fall to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath. "But if you ever try something like this again, there will be no mercy."

Your sister scrambled to her feet, nodding frantically before fleeing the room. Sukuna watched her go, his expression remaining stern until she was out of sight. He then took a deep breath, calming himself before heading to find you.

When he found you, you were in one of the palace's beautiful gardens, tending to the flowers. As soon as you saw him, you smiled brightly. "Hey, how was your day?"

Sukuna managed a small smile, though his mind was still on the earlier confrontation. "Fine. What are you doing out here?” He asked

“Helping the flowers~” I say as I look back at all of the various flowers surrounding us.

Sukuna's eyes softened slightly as he watched you tend to the garden. "They look good," he remarked, stepping closer but keeping his distance.

"Thank you," you replied with a smile. "I thought it would be nice to have some fresh flowers for the palace."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. 

You kissed his cheek before continuing your work. "So how was your day?"

"Fine," he replied, his voice steady and reserved.

You sensed there was more to it but decided not to press him. "Well, now that you’re here, shall we spend the rest of the evening together?"

Sukuna nodded, another small smile playing on his lips. "Yes, let's."

[peachysunrize]

The Ballad of a Dragon ⥃ Modern!Aemond Targaryen

Summary: after an argument with your husband, you find him playing his frustration away and eventually apologizes to you on top of his piano.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, angst, fluff, p in v, oral(F!receiving) fingering, Aemond eats pussy like a champ, both parties are so petty, post argument/make up sex, hand kink, body worship, Aemond knows how to work with those fingers, he plays piano👀 tell me if I’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3 no beta...

Word count: 3.15k+

A/n: so this pure filth is based on this post, and @barbieaemond motivated me to write it! So thank you, my love, and thanks to Aemond’s long fingers for being a great inspiration to write a hand kink fic. I’m also taking a little break from writing for a month or so<3

“You just came home, Aemond! We had a reservation for tonight that you missed, you arrived at midnight from work and now you are taking a call to go and fix Rhaenyra’s stupid mistakes again?” You groan, pacing around your bedroom with Aemond burying his face in his hands, sitting on the bed in front of you.

“I can’t just turn a blind eye to them when they need help!” He explains, raising his voice a little. He is frustrated beyond words; work has been hectic lately and the company’s responsibility has fallen on his shoulders, forcing him to carry the weight alone.

“You’re already half blind, it wouldn’t hurt to close your other eye and ignore them for once!” You know you shouldn’t have said that, but you’re fed up with all the negligence, nights staying up just for him to either sleep in his office or crawl into bed at four in the morning.

It isn’t his fault mostly, it’s the pressure his father, siblings, and Otto put on him, but you wish he would say something and stand up for himself.

“That was a very low blow, wife,” he says through gritted teeth, glaring at you as he puts his elbows on his knees, “I can’t let her mess up everything we have worked so hard for! This company will be ruined if I don’t fix Rhaenyra’s fuck ups!”

“It’s not your responsibility, Aemond! It’s hers! It’s her mistake, it’s her fucking fault! I shouldn’t be begging my husband to make time for me, his wife, and spend some time home! You reserved the table, you told me to get ready because you wanted to take me out on a date! I’m just glad I didn’t go to the restaurant myself or tomorrow’s headlines would have been worse for your reputation than Rhaenyra’s mistake can ever be.”

“My work is my priority! This is my family’s business, do you know what that is? Family? Because by the way you’re acting, I’m not quite sure you have the slightest idea.” He stands up as well, running his fingers through his hair as each word falls from his lips and you feel the sting of each one in your chest.

“I can’t believe you, Aemond. How can your work be any more important than your wife?! How? I get it, you’re this tough guy, knight in shining armor always trying to get on your father’s good side and want his praises. I get it, you’re desperate for his affection. But what about me? I spent hours getting ready for my husband, just for you to treat me like trash! I left my family because of you, Aemond, and I would do it a thousand times more because I love you. Although I can’t say the same about you.” You know it was a pathetic move to get a rise out of him, but after what he said, it’s only fair to treat him just as he is treating you. 

Tears sting your eyes as you look at how red he has gotten, knowing that you’ve woken up the hot-tempered dragon inside him. Good, he needs to feel ashamed and angry for how small he made you feel with each mean word that he said.

“You think I don’t love you anymore?” He asks, his voice barely above whispering, but you hear him perfectly and see how rapidly his chest is moving with the deep breaths he is trying to take.

“No, but I can’t deny that I’m doubting it. You put work over the family we created together, over your wife, and you want me to accept it without complaining, without telling you how much I miss you and how it hurts to be apart from you while you constantly choose your work over me!” You sob, putting your hands on your hips as you turn away from him. Even the sight of him makes your heart clench.

“I’m working my ass off for you to be content with your life, to have enough money to waste on petty and unnecessary stuff—“

“Don’t you dare guilt trap me, Aemond Targaryen! Don’t you fucking dare make me feel bad for wanting to spend time with my husband!” You nearly scream at him, tears now falling freely from your eyes as you turn around to look at him.

Even at this moment, he looks so beautiful — silver hair shining under the dim light of the room, his white shirt unbuttoned a little and his sleeves rolled up, showing off his toned forearms. If you weren’t so mad at him, you would have jumped on him the second he walked through that door.

“I can not control my siblings! They are idiots, sure but do you have any idea how bad their actions can destroy everything we have worked so hard for? I need to go because my father called.” he tries to reach for you, but you pull your hand away from him, taking a step back because you can’t bear him trying to sweet talk his way out of this like he always does. You shouldn’t let him minimize your feelings.

“Your father or Otto? Did he say if you save Rhaenyra’s ass, you would become Viserys Targaryen’s favorite child? It looks as if his affection is worth more than our marriage.”

“Stop with this nonsense, you know it’s not!” he glares at you, his pupil blown with rage. How could you ever think like that? Did he truly drive himself away from you to the point that you doubted his love for you?

“Do I, Aemond? Do I? Because instead of apologizing to me you are telling me how your work was more important than not showing up for a date you organized! I felt so beautiful, Aemond, so happy that after such a long time my husband was going to come to pick me up and spend the night with me! Now I just… I just feel so fucking stupid for getting my hopes high.” 

You watch him take a deep breath, shaking his head as he marches out of the room swiftly, not bothering to spare a glance at you. He is frustrated, you get it, but to leave in the middle of an important argument like a child being denied a candy is pretty immature of him.

You sigh and wipe your tears, walking towards your wardrobe to pull out one of your sheer nightgowns, changing into it to sleep in something comfortable while your husband's side of the bed gets colder by the second.

The sound of music fills the house gradually, taking you by surprise. The last thing you expect is to hear your husband’s favorite classical piano piece echoing within the walls, and you halt in your steps, guilt creeping inside your chest as you listen to the distant sound of the piano before you grab your robe and walk toward the playroom.

You find the door open already — the orange hue of the lights illuminates his silver hair and sharp jawline, his eye is closed while his fingers move in rhythm, each finger pressing the right note on the tempo, and you can see the frustration and tension leaving his shoulders the longer he plays.

Nocturne in C-sharp minor fills the air around you, and you remember how he played this the first time the two of you met; it was filled with so much laughter and excitement as he gushed about his love for classical pieces, how hard he tried to regain his posture and strength while he lost half of his eyesight. You guess you fell in love with him at that very second he sat behind the piano in the instrumental shop.

Your gaze falls on his hand, long denty fingers moving with grace, pressing the keys one by one, and you lean on the doorframe, fidgeting with the hem of your robe while you rub your thighs together, the images of how those same fingers have given you the most blissful orgasms ever flooding your mind.

You watch him pushing the pedals down, his eye following the path of the notes he has memorized on the keys, and you keep admiring his ethereal form. Sometimes it feels unbelievable to be the wife of such a beautiful and otherworldly man, to be this lucky to call yourself Mrs. Targaryen, yet, there are moments you recall how everyone told you that the same name comes with a curse, that Targaryen men are ambitious and cunning. They are right on both matters.

The slickness between your thighs gets worse the more you stare at him and his skillful fingers move as if this is the easiest piece known to mankind with how smoothly he is playing it.

He plays the last note, sighing softly as he retrieves his fingers from the keys, turning around to look at you with an easy smile on his thin lips.

“Thought you had left before I heard you playing,” you say, matching his smile, growing a bit nervous with how his eye drinks the sight of your exposed thighs.

“I had half a mind to do so,” he replies, extending his hand to show he wants you close, “C’mere,”

You push away from the doorframe, walking to where he is sitting before trailing your hand over his extended arm, his large palms coming to rest on your waist. He looks up at you, fingers gently massaging your back.

“I’m sorry, I…” 

He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your stomach before placing his chin on the soft flesh, “I should apologize. I didn’t realize how terrible I was treating you. You are my priority, I should have treated you much better.”

“I…I was in the wrong too. It was very pathetic of me to act so desperately, I know how much your work means to you—“

“No, no,” he stands up, caging you between his body and the piano, forcing you to sit a bit on the keys, a not-so-great sound coming out of the instrument, “You aren’t desperate, and even if you are, you do have a great excuse for it. I neglected you for a job that can be done by anyone.”

“It was a petty argument anyway, I’m sorry for being mean. I miss you so much, that’s all,” you say, gasping when he picks you up so effortlessly by the back of your thighs, putting you on top of his royal piano before he takes home between your legs.

“I miss you too, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning down to peck the corner of your lips, “I could see how truly desperate you were when you rubbed your pretty thighs together.”

“Y-you saw that?” You exhale, craning your neck to give him more space to attack the skin of your neck, littering his little bruises and bites all over you.

“I know my wife, I know her weaknesses. I could smell you from here, and I’m sure if I were to touch you down there…” he locks his eye with yours, one of his hands traveling down towards your panties, chuckling darkly, “my my, so wet and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking your essence off them while he holds eye contact, watching how your lips part in desire as you keep your gaze fixed on his lips and tongue.

“Lay down, I need to apologize to my wife properly,” he pulls the strings of your robe, dropping the fabric on the floor, revealing the sheer fabric to his hungry eye, “I’m an idiot for taking you for granted. Fuck, baby, you look so delicious.”

You pant as his words go straight to your core, heat filling your belly and your wetness oozing out of you slowly. He puts his palm on your chest, gently pushing you back on the cold surface of the piano before he spreads your legs properly, humming as his good eye finds your glistening cunt.

He kisses your knee before pulling his chair closer and sit on it, his tall body giving him the advantage of coming to the same height as your body. Aemond preps your inner thighs with kisses, marking his territory with each nibble and bite which are rewarded by gasps and whimpers from you ever here and there. 

He kisses your navel sweetly, nuzzling his head into your hand when you reach down to smooth a few wandering strands of his hair out of his face. You keep him close when he finally, after who knows how long, gives into his urges and attaches his lips to your buzzing clit, moaning as your sweet nectar finally roots its taste onto his tongue.

He is starved, and you realize soon with how he keeps his face buried into your cunt, tongue flickering over the bundle of nerves, teeth sinking into your flesh a little. He doesn’t seem to care about how messy he is eating you out, he has set his goal of making you at least come on his tongue twice tonight. 

“Aemond!” your moans fill the room, back arching off the piano as he keeps you down by his hands on your hips, the tip of his tongue collecting your wetness happily while you writhe beneath him, feeling the knot in your belly tightening by the second.

He knows you like the back of his hand, so he speeds up a little, focusing on sucking and licking your clit while you buck your hips to his face. He loves how desperate you are for him, all laid out and pretty and ready to come just for him.

“Fuck, love, I’m—” You throw your head back, tangling your fingers through his hair before you explode on his tongue, whines of pleasure making him dizzy. He keeps flickering his tongue until you stop twitching and push his face away from your swollen pussy.

He grins at your breathless form, caressing your thighs as he stands up and kisses a path from your lower belly up to your lips over your nightgown before he pulls you in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his pink bruised lips.

“I could feast on you all day, sweetheart. I should write a ballad in honor of your pretty cunt,” “You are unbelievable!” You giggle, leaning on your elbows to kiss him again, moving until you are at the edge with your husband between your legs, “You said twice, why are you still up here?” You whisper against his lips.

“I saw how you looked at my hands earlier. I think it would be only fair to make sure you forgive me if I fuck you with my fingers, hmm? You love them, I’m sure they can be convincing enough.”

You nod, words failing to come out of your mouth when he pushes the strands of your nightgown down your shoulders, the chilly air of the room hitting your bare breasts. He leans down to kiss the top of your chest, writing the ballad he promised with his lips over your skin.

His hand moves down where he was a few minutes ago, long digits rubbing between your soaked folds slowly. He makes sure you aren’t as sensitive as you were before he pushes one finger in, keeping you close to him with a hand on your back while the other works his finger in and out of you, drowning your moans with passionate kisses.

He adds another one, curving his fingers inside you slightly as he pushes them deeper, reaching your sweet spots effortlessly with how skilled and long his fingers are — courtesy of practicing piano from a young age.

“Aemond, fuck—please!” your desperate whine adds fuel to the fire starting inside him, and he compiles, fucking you faster with his hand while the rock of his palm rubs your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

You fall apart again easily, gasping as your thighs start shaking with how good he makes you come, lips forming into an O-shape while he keeps his pace up, making sure that you ride your high gracefully before he pulls you in for another rough kiss, his tongue invading your mouth quickly.

“I need you so much, sweetheart,” he says, unbuckling his belt before he pushes his pants and boxers down enough to pull out his weeping cock, “let me have you, baby, please.” “Yes, yes I need you too. It’s been so so long, Aem,” you reach to stroke him gently, scooting closer to him so he can pull you down a little, keeping you tucked between his firm body and piano while somehow holding you up by his large palms under your ass.

You guide him toward your entrance, gasping in union as soon as the fat tip of his cock breaches past your ring of muscles before he pushes himself deep inside you until there is none to take.

You cling to his shoulders as soon as he settles inside your cunt, his hot breath fanning on your face as he gets adjusted to your warmth. It’s been too long for both of you, but he makes a promise to not make the same mistake again, ever.

“Fuck, love, I missed you so much,” he groans in your ear as he starts thrusting up into you, the angle making him reach the deepest part of your pussy easily. 

“Me too, baby…” you gasp, hips snapping into his as he goes faster, less patient and ready to devour you thoroughly. You take what he gives you, deep hard strokes that rock your world and leave you breathless and a moaning mess. He relishes every sound that falls from your lips, thinking to himself how no classical piece can ever come close to how beautiful you sound when he pleasures you, and he silently beats himself for neglecting you so much.

He is close, embarrassingly fast and he can feel you tightening around his girth with each thrust. Aemond hides his face in your neck, quickening his pace as he fucks you roughly, pulling screams of ecstasy out of you with ease.

“Come inside me,” you bite his earlobe, your breasts rubbing against his covered chest as you lean upward a little, “I need you, please, husband.”

“Then come with me, come now so I can give my girl what she wants,” he replies, snapping his hips faster into yours until you crumble in his arms, gushing around his cock a few seconds before he follows you, keeping his hips still as he pumps you full of his warm cum, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

“Don’t you dare put us through that again, Aem, do you hear me?” you ask him, kissing the side of his face lovingly.

“I’d rather die than upset you again, beloved.”

[after-witch]

Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Title: Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Synopsis: You've made a lot of mistakes in Hell, but this one has to be the worst.

Birthday fic for @absolute-flaming-trash who is absolutely awesome!

word count: 1899ish

notes: yandere, abuse, obsessive behavior, humiliation, I'm joining the 'alastor yanks reader by a chain' club

Hell was full of mistakes, and you figured that yours amounted to a sizable chunk--particularly since meeting Alastor. Of the countless mistakes within that particular bucket, there were at least seven distinct mistakes that led you to this very moment. 

One. It was a mistake to thank Alastor for holding the door open for you, the day you entered some run-down market in search of a book. Your voice had been surprised and sweet and ever-so-thankful.

Two. It was a mistake to let him strike up a conversation with you a few minutes later, and not pay attention to the horrified looks that even the most hardened patrons in the shop gave you.

Three. It was a mistake, later on, to think he was your friend; to believe that the shared meals, the late night discussions about music and books and little topics you’d forgotten you enjoyed, were a sign of pleasant companionship. 

Four. It was a mistake to sell your soul to Alastor, after his honeyed offers of protection from the seedier elements of Hell, his casual assurance that your friendship would go unaltered. 

Five. It was a mistake to move into the Hotel when Alastor asked, and not think there was some ulterior motive behind it all. 

Six. It was a mistake to think Alastor was actually kind, just because he was helping Charlie with her hotel, and seemingly protected those within it. 

Seven. It was a mistake to, on this day, ask Alastor if he would give your soul back, now that you’d decided to aim for heaven. Because you were friends, and he cared about you, and therefore, he should want what’s best for you--which is to get (you pardon yourself the phrase) the hell out of Hell. 

Every one of these seven mistakes--the last, you must admit, being the most significant--led you to here. 

To you, trembling on the floor, the tangy copper of blood in your mouth from where your teeth rattled against the end of your tongue when Alastor’s palpable anger made your knees literally buckle. 

“I… I don’t understand,” you spit out, voice trembling as much as your body. “I thought--I thought you…” The words don’t need to be spoken for Alastor to know them.

I thought you liked me, I thought you were my friend, I thought you would be happy to do it.

“You thought what, exactly, my dear?” 

A low electric current buzzed in the air, making the lights flicker once, twice, and again before he continued.

“That I would simply let you go?” He laughed, but there was nothing pleasant about the sound. It was full of mockery and something else, something metal and cold. 

Your stomach squirmed awfully. It was not a feeling you’d ever experienced around Alastor, despite some other’s trepidation around him. He’d never given you a reason to feel that way.

Until today.

Until you asked Alastor to let your soul go, and the room seemed to fizz with electrical interference that left the lights sparking and 

Your eyes went wide. And your brain, stupid thing that it was, pieced things together that you had been all too naively eager to ignore until now. 

The stories of Alastor’s past that you’d heard in snatches and dismissed as jealous fantasy, probably all deriving from Vox and his ilk. The way people who knew Alastor from before his sabbatical tended to steer as clear of him as possible. 

Or how Alastor always insisted you try the things he liked--clothes he left in your room (even before you told him where you lived, before the Hotel); music he insisted you’d admire more than your current collection of alt-rock CDs; foods that were tastier, he said, than your favorites. 

“I didn’t think--” The words stuck to your mouth until you forced them out. “I didn’t think you’d be mad that I wanted to get better, repent and--and get out of here.”

Alastor, despite his smile, did not look impressed.

You didn’t have time to flinch as he swung his microphone down and out, pressing it against your throat.

“Don’t act surprised now. After all,” The microphone dug into the flesh of your neck, lifting your chin until you were looking at him through blurs of oncoming tears. He continued, voice softer, missing most of its usual radio sound. “You made me like this.” 

You wanted to shake your head, but the microphone kept you only capable of looking up and straight at him. His smile made you sick. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, voice light, but not quite naive anymore; you didn’t fully believe the words now, and your voice wavered. 

Even if you didn’t mean to do anything to draw the attention of the radio demon, that didn’t mean Alastor wasn’t clearly--wasn’t clearly… affected by you. In some way that you didn’t understand; moreover, you didn’t want to understand it. 

What you thought had been a surprising friendship made in the bowels of hell was something else entirely, and you hated the newfound knowledge. 

Whatever it was that Alastor actually felt for you, it was dark and awful, like sprinkles of mold you find underneath the bathroom sink. Damp and rotting and unwanted. 

“You,” he said, pressing the microphone harder into your throat for emphasis, “have been quite the busy bee when it comes to me, my dear.” He sighed in a way you’d heard him do a hundred times before. But now it feels wrong; sticky, oozing. “I’d never given much thought to… certain endeavors before you. And now I find myself distracted.”

His neck turned again, cracking, and a song began to play from somewhere. 

“Distracted?” You asked, feeling sicker and sicker. 

“Oh, yes,” he answered, dragging out the word. “Quite unlike me, if I must admit it. And yet there’s something about you that’s been making me…”

He didn’t finish. The song got louder, mingling in with the ambience of the room. It was almost soft and wistful, except for the lyrics that made your skin feel cold, repeating on a loop.

And you’re mine… mine… mine…

“And you thought…” His voice continued, each word punctuated by an awful radio crackle that made goosebumps blossom up your arms. “That you would get to simply leave me after all I’ve put into you?”

All he’s put into you.

The dresses, the food, the guidance on what to listen to and how to dance; who to talk to and who to avoid. Advice from a friend, you thought. Advice from someone stronger and maybe smarter.

“Well,” he said, almost cheery now, pulling the microphone away from your sore and probably bruising throat. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson and we can avoid this…” A crackle, short and low. “Unpleasantness in the future.”

You should have said that yes, you learned your lesson; yes, you won’t ask again. But you didn’t. Instead you swallowed hard, feeling the ache from where his microphone pressed in, and added an eighth mistake to your list.

“We can avoid it if you release me from my contract--if you give me back my soul.” 

“Well,” he repeated. And this time, his voice was muffled by a brief, shrieking radio frequency. “Perhaps a reminder is in order.”

The reminder came with cold metal choking your throat; a vivid green chain led straight from your imprisoned neck to Alastor’s hand. 

One trembling hand came up to feel the collar. It was real. It was there. And the chain, too, was solid and unbreakable. 

It was a shocking sight. 

You’d seen the chains of other owned souls before. Angel’s, in particular, when you’d accidentally witnessed an argument between him and Valentino. But there had never been a singular thought given to the fact that you, too, must have had chains. Alastor never showed them to you and until now, had never seen fit to remind you about your lack of freedom.

Until today.

Your surprise and fear made you stupid, and you tried to yank yourself away from him; he held fast to the chain and began to wind it around his hand, forcing you to look upwards, speaking all the while.

“You are never to ask me to release your contract again. And you are certainly never to even entertain the silly notion of leaving me, now or in the future. Do you understand?”

An awful, slimy feeling overtook your gut. He owned you, and he had owned you for some time. You just had been closing your eyes to that reality.

A reality that was now choking you.

“Well?”

You nodded. You didn’t think you could speak, not now. Not to him. 

But it wasn’t good enough. He yanked on the chain, choking you. 

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

“Yes.” The word was spoken through gritted teeth. It tasted like tears. 

“Yes what?”  The grin on his smile widened deceptively as he yanked against the chain, jerking your head upward. It hurt inside and out. 

It was so unfair, that your heart could hurt like this, even after you were dead. 

“Yes, sir.”

That should have been the end of it. He should have let go of the chain and let you slink off in fear and shame, off to sob in your bedroom over the sudden turn of events. 

Instead, he leaned down, and for a moment, his eyes glowed in a painful flash. 

“You can do better than that, my dear, can’t you, to the person that owns your very soul?” 

His hand wrapped around the chain, shortening it even further as he leaned in so close you could smell the rot around him. But it didn’t matter that you wanted to pull away from it, because he held you--literally, held the chains that kept you bound to him. Forever. 

Yes, he owned your soul. He owned you.

“Yes, boss?” you murmured, copying what Husker sometimes said; you were unable to look at him anymore as humiliated, hot tears spilled down your cheeks. 

In an instant, the chain was gone, and you fell to the ground with a clumsy thud. Your chin hit the hard floor before you could brace yourself with your hands. 

“Wonderful,” he said, praising, almost cooing. His neck cracked to the side and you imagined his bones shifting in impossible ways to achieve it. “I suppose I should remind you who you belong to when you get out of sorts like this, my dear.” His smile widened. “A healthy reminder now and then is good for the soul!” 

He laughed. Whether he thought it was a joke or not was unclear. 

“Although, I hope I won’t have to remind you too soon. I do so enjoy your company more when you’re not being…” He waved his hand in the air, glancing up at the ceiling for effect. “Stubborn.” His eyes darted to you, accompanied by the faint sound of a radio hum. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathed out without hesitation, unable to stop shaking from your position on the floor.

“Good girl,” he said, patting the air above your head. You watched his footsteps until he paused at the threshold of the door. You heard his neck snap as he turned it back around--you didn’t dare look up to see. 

“Don’t forget to tidy up before dinner.  I’ve left a dress in your bedroom that I’m sure will look lovely on you.”

[luna-azzurra]

do you have any tips for writing arguments/fights?

Before you write an argument, know why each character is upset. Understanding their motivations will make the conflict feel authentic.

What are their personal stakes? What do they stand to lose or gain?

What are their emotional buttons? What specifically sets them off?

Keep Dialogue Realistic, Arguments often involve interrupted sentences, raised voices, and heightened emotions.

People often cut each other off in heated arguments. Use dashes or ellipses to show interruptions.

Use short, sharp sentences to convey anger or frustration.

Don’t be afraid to use exclamation points sparingly to show yelling or intense emotions.

Example:"I can't believe you did that!" she shouted. "I had no choice!" he interrupted, throwing up his hands. "You never listen to me!"

Show, Don’t Just Tell, Body language and physical actions can add a lot to an argument. Show how characters are feeling through their actions:

Clenched fists, crossed arms, pacing, or avoiding eye contact can show tension.

A character might slam a door, throw something, or storm out.

Flushed cheeks, narrowed eyes, or a furrowed brow can convey anger or frustration.

Build Tension Gradually, Arguments often escalate rather than start at full intensity. Build the tension step by step.

Start with a minor disagreement or a tense conversation.

Let the argument build as each character becomes more invested and emotional.

Reach a peak where the characters are at their most heated and emotional.

Decide whether the argument resolves or leaves characters estranged.

Use Emotional Beats, Incorporate moments of realization, regret, or empathy within the argument. These emotional beats can add depth:

A character might have a sudden realization in the middle of the argument.

Show a character feeling immediate regret after saying something hurtful.

A character might momentarily see the other’s point of view, even if they don’t fully agree.

Reflect the Stakes, Make sure the argument reflects the stakes of the story. The higher the stakes, the more intense the argument should be. If it’s a minor disagreement, keep it low-key. If it’s a life-changing issue, let the emotions and tension run high.

Vary the Pacing Not all arguments need to be fast and furious. Vary the pacing to reflect the ebb and flow of real conversations, Use quick back-and-forth dialogue for intense moments. Allow for pauses where characters collect their thoughts or calm down slightly before the next surge of emotion.

Consider the Aftermath, Think about the consequences of the argument. How does it affect the characters and their relationships moving forward?

Are characters feeling guilty, relieved, or still angry?

Does the argument bring characters closer, or does it drive a wedge between them?

Example of a Written Argument

"You never take my side!" Luana shouted, her voice echoing in the small apartment. "That's not true," Jamil replied, his tone defensive. "I just don't think you’re being reasonable." "Reasonable?" She laughed bitterly, crossing her arms. "You call ignoring my feelings reasonable?" "I'm not ignoring your feelings!" Jamil snapped, taking a step closer. "I just think you're overreacting." "Overreacting?" Luana's face flushed with anger. "You always say that! Every single time I bring up something important!" "Well, maybe if you didn't blow things out of proportion—" "Don't you dare say that!" she interrupted, her voice trembling. "I can't talk to you when you're like this." "Fine," he muttered, turning away. "Maybe we shouldn’t talk at all."

[elexuscal]

So just over a year ago, I made a resolution to myself to get better at Fitness, since I was getting older and i knew if i didn't, the Consequences would begin to manifest. One problem? Historically i have always hated working out.

i knew there were two main reasons why: 1. lingering trauma from the usual Fat/Neurodivergent Kid Mistreated In PE Class Experience 2. oh my god it's so so so boring i would rather do anything more entertaining.

So. I'm not an expert, and i'm definitely not a professional fitness instructor, BUT i have genuinely come to not just tolerate but actually enjoy exercise this past year. So if these are any problems you personally have contended with, these strategies May Help.

One: Remove Barriers

a lot of flavours of neurodivergence struggle with switching between tasks and executive function generally, especially towards something you don't find fun. So first you gotta identify any barriers keeping you from exercising, and removing or mitigating them.

For me, a hurdle i recognised is that if I could not easily access the equipment, I was unlikely to use it. honestly if i couldn't see it i would probably forget it was there. So my first order of business was making a Work Out Zone. I unrolled my yoga mat and gave it a near-permanent place in my room. my weights came out of the closet and placed on a low shelf where i could easily access them, as did my resistance band. now they were always Right there.

I also realised something I detested was the general feeling of sweaty clothes, and in particular, having to change out of them. So Gross. so i started scheduling my work outs for in the the morning after breakfast or right before my nightly showers, aka: when I am changing in and out of my PJs. I'll do my routine (mostly) naked and not have to contend with the extra steps and laundry that sweaty clothes bring.

two: secondary entertainment

like i said: i found exercise very boring. and while i've gotten better over the past year, and can find it meditative, i still prefer having something else to catch my attention.

i used to like to put on video essays. but then i realised i was so often pausing my work outs because the particular video ended, or the pace got slow, or the topic turned to something dark and depressing out of nowhere and killed the vibe, so then i had to stop to find something else--

No. You need something that will keep you in the zone, and won't knock you out of it. I didn't used to listen to music much, but this year i took advantage of a Spotify subscription my sister gifted me (😔) and started just putting on upbeat rock, hip-hop, and pop mixes. it doesn't need to be my favouirte music ever it just needs to Keep Going.

i do find the loud, rhythmic music is really good for keeping my pace up, but if music doesn't do it for you, you might find audiobooks or autoplaying favourite old tv shows/sitcoms might scratch that itch.

Three: Find Other Motivators

Or, "if you can't make your own motivation, store bought is fine"

Gameification is really good here. You might be someone who'll benefit from a pedometer or step-counter app. I have a friend who swears by the Switch Ring-Fit, and I've also heard of folks who use games like Just Dance, Zombies, Run! and Beat Saber to rely on the sweet sweet endorphins generated by hitting a high score.

(BUT: do beware the dark side of gameification, which is the risk of demotivation if you don't hit your goals. For example, after doing GREAT on exceeding my step goal for a month, I got hit with COVID. For about a week and a half I was barely moving beyond the kitchen and back. My step counts plummeted, there was no way to edit the record out, and that made it harder to get back into the groove. Be mindful relying too much on gameification!)

Even outside of literal games, there are ways to scratch this itch. I used secondary objectives as a way to encourage me to keep up with my daily walks. Walking my roommate's dog when he was working long days is an obvious one, but we don't always have a furry friend at our disposal. Then I would rely on mini-challenges like, "pick up 10 cool rocks to paint", "fill this bag with wood for the fireplace", "take 10 pretty pictures", or "get to the corner store to get more milk".

And of course, consider team sports! Many folks I've talked to feel having set training/play times with a team that relies on them crucial to keep them on track!

Four: Don't Measure Success By Weight Loss

I know. I know. Easier said than done. It does not help that like 80% of workout resources online are going to mention this. but above all else, you must resist the beast. (and while not as dicey, measuring success by visible muscle gain can fall into a similar trap).

The biggest benefits to exercise are invisible. it improves cardiovascular health, brain function, tissue regeneration, immune system function, lung capacity, energy levels, literally our whole body. no matter what external changes your body does or doesn't go through, you're still going to be benefitting from exercise, and you do not want to get demotivated chasing unrealistic/irrelevant goals.

Instead, to track your progress, focus on questions like these:

How is exercise impacting my mood? Do I feel less stressed or anxious?

Am I sleeping better?

Is my balance improving?

Is my stamina increasing?

Am I becoming more flexible?

Can I lift/carry heavier weights?

Is my breath control improving?

Over the last year, I've seen marked improvements in all of these. My joints don't hurt as much; it's easier for me to to get up and move; I don't get winded as easily; I generally feel more relaxed and cheerful. Those are all amazing outcomes, and I hope that everyone on their own fitness journey can find the same joy there as I have.

[darylbae]

never again — daryl dixon 🩰

in which you reunite with daryl after him being taken by the Saviours

note: i had to get this off my brain before i forgot about it & also it's not 100% story accurate as season 7 was so long ago for me lmao

You were a crack shot with a gun. You were quick, reliable, efficient. But nothing prepared you for this.

Negan.

Being on your knees, Lucille being swung around recklessly by the psychopath you'd met only moments ago, you were holding it together. You'd seen a lot since the world had ended, done a lot, lost a lot. Something just felt worse about this, the not knowing, the complete and utter defeat plastered on every face around you. You looked over to Daryl, who you'd only just seen again, being dragged out of a vehicle by one of the many ruffians. The two of you locked eyes for just a moment, hoping to not give anything away between the two of you. His eyes were desperate, helpless, full of every ounce of love his body could carry. Hoping he could give it to you in person soon. You tried to be strong, for the group, for yourself, but this was a loss. There's no trying to be tough here, they had the upper hand. Negan was playing with everyone, playing a party game to choose who dies, laughing maniacally at the tears and shivers you all shared. You lost your breath when the bat clocked Abraham's skull, diverting your eyes away out of pure fear. Fear. At one point that was only reserved for the dead, but you'd come to realize humans were way worse. Everything blurred together after that. Daryl having a moment of courage and clipping Negan before being held down once more. Glenn being hit. Your eyes burning and jaw hurting from clenching your teeth so hard. It had taken every last bit of humanity out of you. You'd lost two parts of the family keeping you glued together. And there was nothing you could do. Your once bright demeanor swapped for one moodier, angrier, emptier. Daryl had been taken by Negan, to be kept. Like a pet. Your mouth dried as you saw him thrown into the back of a vehicle, like an animal, like he meant nothing to nobody. But he meant something to you. The love of your life. The reason to want to survive this mess daily. He meant everything to you. Even from before, you'd never had a connection like this with anyone. Daryl understood you, knew you, cared so deeply for you, and you him. You spoke about marrying, about finding a nice place to yourselves one day, about making a beautiful family to devote your time to.

You stayed in Alexandria, out of fear. You wanted to leave, you wanted to tell Negan to shove it, you wanted to side with Rosita and stand up for yourselves, like you always had. But Negan having Daryl changed everything for you. You didn't want to do anything to put him in harm's way, you wanted him back. Negan and his group would occasionally come in, take whatever they wanted, and leave. You'd see Daryl, all dirty with his head low. And you'd tell yourself it wasn't him. That wasn't your Daryl. He'd look at you, and you could still see him in there, but the looks were always fleeting. So you'd sit in your house, parts of your furniture gone, waiting for your turn with Lucille. You'd sit on your porch, a blank stare cast over your face as you think about him. You'd sit out here together, reading a book to him as he massaged your legs that were propped up on his lap. You'd join him out here for a smoke, not to smoke but for company, and you'd talk to him about a cute thing Judith did that day, or what you thought your own kids would look like. Nobody was happy living like this, trembling at the sound of the whistling, or the men just wandering around the streets and homes. But Rick was submitting, he had to. There was no other way. You'd lost all motivation for anything, you'd force yourself on runs, finding resources for Negan. Then you'd come back, sometimes eat, but mostly sleep and think about Daryl.

There were small talks of a fight back, like Maggie had spoken about the morning after Negan. She was on Death's door last time you saw her, but you had hoped and prayed her and Sasha were okay. Rick had shut down every idea of fighting back, saying this is how to survive now. You'd even gone over to him, pleading to do something.

"Please, Rick," you cried, stood at his door with tears sliding down your cheeks, "I need him back." "I know." Was all he said, pulling you into his arms. The comfort was nice, but these arms weren't the ones you wanted around you.

Then you'd lost Spencer, Eugene, and almost Rosita. Your emotions were burning inside of you, you felt like a spectator in this sick, twisted game. Enough was enough.

"I'm fighting, Rick," you spoke, your voice low. Broken but determined. Michonne stood by you; you needed to go to war. There's no more lying down and taking it. "We've lost so much, too much, for this to be our lives now." You cried, "I'm not losing anything else. Anyone else."

You were headed to Hilltop, where Maggie and Sasha were. You were hopeful for their health, and survival, and to see them both on the other side of those gates, was a sight for sore eyes. "You were right," Rick said to Maggie, but you couldn't hear the rest. Your eyes had drowned out everything around you. Your eyes, you thought, were playing tricks on you. There he was. You'd walked over to him, unsure if this was just another nightmare like the previous nights, or if this was him. Daryl. Standing in front of you. The two of you just looked at each other, unable to comprehend what you were seeing. Until Daryl had opened his arms for you, crying into your shoulder as you were his. The two of you a sobbing mess in each other's limbs. "I got ya back," he whispered, for only you to hear, "I've been thinking about ya every day. I couldn't stop." "I'm here." You cried, holding him tighter against your body. "I'm not going anywhere, you're never leaving me again." "I know, baby, I know."

[justwannabeskinnii]

motivation to lose weight

skinny girls always look good in pics

wont have to suck in

prettier

less insecure

fit into old clothes

wont have to buy new clothes

fit into brandy better

bf can throw me around

not be the biggest in my friend group

when i eat ppl think its cute and not fat

no chafing

ppl turning their heads to look at me

hearing "you lost so much"

proving everyone wrong

being skinnier then girls i hate

thin hands

to be able to say " i did it"

to look cute and not fat in baggy clothes

not being embrassed of my weight

excited to clothes shop

skin tight tops

LOW WAISTED JEANS

to hear "how did u do it"

my belly button peircing will look cuter

trophy wife/ rich guys like skinny girls

sit on someones shoulders

the cute insta pics

lower BMI

thigh gap

not have to worry about my arms/legs doubling in size when i sit/press my arms to my body

be able to wear my skinny friends clothes

before and after pics

nice ass

tighter body

run without everything jiggling

CROP TOPS

to look cute in workout sets

to see my hourglass waist

skinny face

how i look in certain angles

fat rolls showing when i sit down

ppl will believe im actually struggling and no one will think im a wannarexic

bf clothes to be oversized on me

collar bones

skinny thighs

less sweaty

to look slutty

to wear whatever i want

[pickingupmymercedes]

It always points South - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Around 6 requests have come through with that cardigan and compass tattoo. I love it that you guys know what that tattoo does to me.

It's not a sequel/prequeal but it has the very same motivation I want South

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, (p in v)

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +1K

a/n: It's not proofread. I don't think I've ever written a smut that fast, but it had to be done, blame Eric and Lewis.

a/n.2: Thanks anon that suggested Y/n using his cardigan for everyone to see, it's chef's kiss at the end.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

You stretched your back as you sat up on the edge of the king-sized bed, careful not to wake Lewis. The Monaco Grand Prix weekend was always a whirlwind of activity, and today was no different, but normal life was still happening, and you still had meetings to attend and errands to run, leaving Lewis to enjoy a few extra hours of sleep before his media obligations.

You kissed his forehead softly, whispered a quick "I love you" as you watched he stir and hug your pillow before tiptoeing out of the bedroom. Hours passed in a blur of meetings and phone calls. It wasn't until you had a moment to breathe that you checked your phone.

Notifications flooded your screen, all centered around one particular post.

There it was: a photo of Lewis, looking effortlessly cool and undeniably sexy in a sheer blue Dior cardigan, his chiseled chest, familiar compass tattoo on full display and a nostalgic caption that seemingly looked like had been written for any other post.

You couldn't help but laugh. Leave it to Lewis to try and deflect with heartfelt nostalgia and high fashion his own touch of cheekiness.

Without much thoughts, you shot him a quick message: “Babe, that paragraph on your Instagram doesn’t excuse how you’re showing your goodies to everyone in that Dior see-through.”

His reply came almost instantly: “What goodies?”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you changed the possessive pronouns to tease him. “My compass tattoo”.

The rest of the day passed by in a series of meetings and errands, but your mind kept drifting back to Lewis’s tattoo. You always had a soft spot for it, especially given how you often found yourself choosing "south". You wondered if he thought about it as much as you did.

Later that evening, you were back at the apartment, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out your hair. You had just slipped into a robe, preparing to shower before the sponsor's party you were both attending.

The door creaked open, and you saw Lewis's reflection in the mirror, leaning against the doorway with a smug grin plastered on his face. “So” he began, his voice low and teasing “your compass tattoo, huh?”

You turned to face him, feeling a flicker of desire in your eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you were doing with that outfit” you teased back, your voice sultry. “You’ve got half the internet drooling over you”

Lewis chuckled, crossing the distance between you in a few strides. “And the other half wondering how I managed to land you” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You laughed, playfully pushing at his chest. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Hamilton.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. “Is that so?” he murmured; his breath warm against your skin.

You pulled back slightly, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook. That cardigan was basically nothing”

Lewis’s grin widened. “It’s fashion, love.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your smile gave you away. “You did look incredible.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you melted against him, the day’s stress evaporating in his embrace.

“You know” he said thoughtfully, in between kisses “we don’t have much time until the party.”

You glanced at him, a playful glint in your eye. “I guess it’s a good thing those motorhome quickies have made us pros at time management”

You sneaked out of his embrace, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and fall to the floor as you made your way to the shower. The sight of you, completely naked and inviting, had him mesmerized. He quickly shrugged off his clothes, his eyes never leaving yours.

As you stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading down your body, you gestured for him to join you. “Aren’t you coming?” your voice a sultry whisper. “We’re going to have to multitask.”

Lewis didn’t need another invitation. He stepped into the shower, the heat from the water mingling with the heat between you two. He reached for you, pulling you close against his body, his hands trailing down your back, savoring the feel of your wet skin under his fingertips. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down your spine, despite the warmth surrounding you.

“Missed you today,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

He kissed you, deeply and hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth with a mix of urgency and passion. Your hands roamed over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles and the familiar compass tattoo that had occupied your thoughts all day.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing as he kissed along your jawline.

“All day,” you admitted, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he nipped at your neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you and that tattoo.”

“Yeah?” He grinned against your skin, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he lifted you slightly, pinning you against the shower wall “What about it?”

“How it always points south” you said with a smirk, wrapping one of your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Lewis chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire. “Good thing south’s my favorite direction.”

He adjusted his position, one hand braced against the wall, the other guiding himself to you. When he entered you, the stretch was as overwhelming as ever, a mix of pleasure and urgency that left you breathless. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move.

“Love, you feel amazing” he groaned, setting a fast, intense rhythm. “So tight, so perfect.”

“Just like that, Lewis.” you breathed, your voice hitching with every thrust.

He kissed you again, swallowing your moans as his pace increased, each movement driving deeper, harder. The water pounded against your skin, mingling with the heat of your bodies, creating your own sauna in the shower cabin.

“Do you like it when I wear things like that?” he asked, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “Showing off for everyone?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your hands tangling in his wet muscles. “But only because I know you’re mine at the end of the day.”

“Always” he murmured, his voice full of promise. “Only yours.”

You clung to him, your body arching into his with every movement. You moaned in tandem with his thrusts, your sounds a desperate plea as you felt yourself nearing the edge. He growled in response; his pace relentless. “Come for me, babe” he urged, his voice rough with desire. “Let me feel you.”

The tension coiled tightly within you finally snapped with his pleas and you came undone around him. “Lew” you cried out, your nails digging into any skin you could find.

“That’s my girl” he groaned, following moments later, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself inside you. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”

Breathless and sated, you stayed wrapped around each other for a few moments, savoring the closeness, breathing into each other. The water raining down on you, washing away the evidence of your passion, but never the memory.

When Lewis finally set you down gently, his hands lingered on your hips. “We really are pros at time management” he said with a breathless laugh. You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “We should get ready before we’re late.”

He nodded, stepping back to give you space, though his eyes remained locked on you, filled with admiration and desire as you finished showering. “Can’t wait to see you in that dress,” he murmured, his voice full of promise.

As you stepped out, you caught sight of Lewis toweling off, his muscles flexing with each movement. The sight giving you a renewed wave of desire, suffocated on the knowledge that there wasn’t time for another round.

As you finished your hair and makeup, you started to apply lotion to your skin, aware you got that Lewis watched you from the corner of his eye, his gaze appreciative and heated. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’ll never make it to the party,” you teased, slipping into your dress.

He chuckled, fastening the buttons of his shirt. “Trust me, I’m tempted.”

The white linen dress you’d chosen clung to your curves in all the right places, you turned to Lewis, giving him a twirl. “What do you think?” His eyes darkened with lust and admiration. “You look absolutely stunning”

As you looked at yourself in the mirror a thought popped up, and the glint in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed as he watched you reached for his bags by the bed.

“Would you mind if I borrowed that?” You muttered already adjusting the blue see-through cardigan over your dress, his eyes sparkling with lust at seeing you wearing his clothes for the world to see.

“Love, everyone’s going to be looking at you tonight and I’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you.” He whispered as he checked your reflection in the mirror, arms wrapping around your waist.

You turned into his embrace, placing a hand on his chest. “We’ll just have to be patient, won’t we?” He held your gaze, a ghost of a smirk on his lips as he kissed just below your ears “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[st4rrth0ughts]

Aventurine character study that I spewed at my friend posted here bc I despise whoever portrays him as a useless blonde 24/7 horny twink as his canon self (i will throttle you through the fuckin screen)

A/n: I think the 2.1 trailer is helping me regain my writing motivation, expect inbox asks from Jan- Feb to be coming out soon :)

WRITTEN BEFORE 2.1 This post will contain leaks, 2.0 Trailblaze quest spoilers, world quest spoilers, Aven's slave life in canon, disgusting people saying Aven's a sex slave, under the cut! Please proceed with caution if any of these trigger you. Thank you, and enjoy my yap session on one of the best characters in this game.

Aventurine's story is much more than just looking and acting like the typical rich blonde playboy, as much as he gives off those vibes. Looking at his child self in the 2.1 trailer compared to all of his current models, its very obvious that many, many things happened that caused all the light to poof from his eyes.

First, his homeland, Sigonia. Aventurine's home planet's is uninhabited, and perhaps even destroyed completely. Aventurine is the last of his kind left. His parents, his sister, his possible friends and relatives, hell, even all the people he doesn't know have all perished. The IPC took him in, I presume, but most definitely not out of kindness. In fact, it may not matter that Aventurine is one of the Ten Stonehearts, he is not a person to the company. He is just a asset, a piece for them to dispose if he fucks up.

In the 1.4? Belobog quest where Topaz goes to Bronya about Belobog's massive debt to the IPC, and at the end, we get our first crumbs of Aventurine's character. A important thing to note in this dialogue between the two of them is that he asks Topaz to the project manager on his project in Penacony, because if he knows better than everyone that if he fails to get Penacony back into the IPC's grasp, he'll die. There's no way around it, unless he gets someone he has a somewhat close bond with, Topaz, to lighten his fall.

The tattoo on his neck, is a symbol of his slavery to the IPC. How he's bound to them. How no matter how hard he runs or hides, he will never escape their grasp. In fact, he knows damn well, if anyone gets wind of this alongside his Sigonian history (Sigonians are notorious for being wolves in sheep's clothing, bad people in most eyes'), it is very well possible that his rivals and enemies will use his past to their advantage. Thats why he freely shows it to the world. So that no one can dig it up and use it against him, because how do you use something that he so freely proclaims to everyone he meets?

Aventurine is a man who gambles as well. Not just simply gambling for the thrill of it or his earnings. He says it himself, he sees the world, life itself, as a gamble. High reward, high stakes. Even going back to his conversation with Topaz, its only shown on how he tells her he warned her about taking Belobog as her project because it was high risk, but low return. Aventurine wants the best outcome not just for himself, but because if he doesn't get a good outcome, the IPC has no use for him.

Aventurine is a man who knows how to get what he wants. he knows how to take risks, get out of high stake scenarios with him being the winner. Its obvious in his lightcone, 'Final Victor', his conversation with Dr. ratio in the Penacony 2.0 Trailblaze quest, and his conversation with Himeko and Welt about giving up his room for the Trailblazer. He's confident, cocky, if you will. But for good reason.

In the lightcone, its implied it doesn't matter for Aventurine dies or lives. He will always be the winner. Every move is calculated, precise, carried out with clockwork precision and most importantly, planned so well that whether you like it or not, you're letting him win. He manages to get the Nameless, the widely regarded faction, in his debt. He knows damn well how to play his cards. It is extremely impressive. But he is the Aventurine of Stratagems. He knows what he wants and needs, and he will go any length to get it.

The lightcone, again, also shows just how far Aventurine risks, just for him to gain Dr. Ratio as a asset for him to benefit from. He could have gone any route, but what does he go for? Thats right, Russian goddamn roulette. Just for the (I assume) slim chance of Dr. Ratio's trust, or at the very least, cooperation. "I will always be the final victor." I am repeating, but just bear with me here, this just solidifies the fact he is confident in his skills. He doesn't flinch at all when he shoots 3 blank rounds right into his heart, even though there's the 1/6 chance he'll die. He takes risks. Its his character. He doesn't have anything or anyone, much less his own life, left to loose.

The lightcone is also not 'haha funny gay story', as much as it is funny, i wont lie, the memes are fun to look at, but it is not that. Its a story where Aventurine's suicidal tendency shows through, perhaps not so clearly, but its very much there if you look past the story and read into it. Again, Russian roulette, he could have gone for anything else, like a contract or smth, but he knows he has to go through extremes, and this just solidifies the fact of how Aventurine will do anything for assets and trust in him, so his plans can come to fruition.

Aventurine's personality is complicated, like a intricate, deceiving web of lies and emotional barriers to keep him safe. He hides behind the facade of smiles and is unreadable, and his past is all but cheery. A slave, (not a sex slave, twitter+Tiktok users need their brain fucking reworked i will cry) a man branded by the IPC, bound to the till his death is what Aventurine is. The IPC is ruthless, evident from multiple world quests, such as the Aurum Street Alley quest, Belobog's debt quest, Chadwick's quest in Penacony, paints them as bad people, a bad organization in general. Hell, even though Topaz isnt like the assholes we've seen, she's far from an angel herself.

Aventurine has gone through many things to have lost the sparkle in his eyes. Take Childe/Tartaglia from Genshin Impact for example, whom fell into the abyss for months, seen all the horrors of it, had to learn to fend for himself because I'm very sure Skirk did not care for him in a healthy sense. We can either assume Aventurine been through something on the same level during his younger days or perhaps, worse.

And no, he is not Dr. Ratio or Sunday's sex slave, I'm looking at a certain artist on Twitter (fuck off I'm not calling it X), its disgusting. Whoever genuinely enjoys sex slave Aventurine is sick in the damn head, no he would not enjoy that kind of Roleplay, as much as i am downbad and indeed filthy with some of my fics with him.

Aventurine doesn't have anyone he can truly call a friend, ship him with Dr. ratio, Sunday, Boothill (yes, its a thing), Caelus/ Stelle, whoever, but in the end, you cannot say he (as of 2.0, this may change) has any true friends he can trust, not even just a bit. Bonds he forms are transactional, maybe not too much on Dr. Ratio (as evidenced by his dejected his looks after Ratio leaves, either from the insult or bc he truly though Ratio cared) and perhaps on the Astral Express's part, but his bond with Sunday? Yeah, its transactional, 101% unless it changes in 2.1.

All in all, Aventurine is my favourite character, i have never wanted to read, write, understand, watch, hell, I've never wanted to farm and pull for a character as much as him. He is a complex, heavy and deep character that I do not believe many can grasp upon properly when writing stories, headcannons or even smut/nsfw works with him in it (shoutout to those who does tho, I love y'all <3).

Draw or write his fanon self, make him a himbo, tsundere, a rich man who's just a playboy, or a blonde with a pretty face, but you cannot say that is him in canon. I may despise some fanon interpretations, but fuck those who merge fanon and canon. He will never be any of the fanon interpretations i mentioned above, and he never will be in canon. Hoyoverse put their whole soul into this man, i can see it, and its brain damaging on how so many people fetishize his past and water him down.

In speculation of 2.1 and 2.2, if Aventurine does live (he prob will, its unlikely he'll be killed before release, Tingyun is a exception because she released before her death), maybe he'll learn how to start to open himself up again, start to fully trust, starting with Trailblazer as his first true friend. Its cliche, typical protag power bullshit, but it will no doubt, be a huge step in shaping Aventurine back into the man he could have been if his planet wasn't enslaved.

Conclusion: He deserves better, both in- game and how the fandom treats him. I love him, he's my adorable pookie wookie shmookie <33

[inbabylontheywept]

The Condom Bomber

The crux of the story is Brother Dean. Brother Dean was…is…a hate preacher. Red or blue, everyone agreed on that. His origins and his motivations, those were a little more mysterious. Different groups had their own legends. I had a class with a guy that was part of the campus pro-life movement, and the tale he gave me is the one that I give the most credence to. According to him, Brother Dean had started out as a “normal” pro-life preacher. He’d gone around campus, led parades, given speeches… And then he’d gotten punched in the face.

This led to a lawsuit against the school. Something about failing to provide adequate protection? The main result was that he got something like half a mil. Half a mil is an incredible amount if you’re still working, but he’d tried to use the money to fund a sort of pro-life career, and it had just… trickled down. Ten years later he was running dead low on funds, and had taken to the particularly dumb strategy of trying to get punched in the face again. You know. For economic reasons. It had become kind of a vicious cycle: He’d started off saying some objectionable shit to try and goad someone into taking the punch. The worse the shit he said was, the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, and the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, the less he had to lose by saying really objectionable shit. Throw in two years of living on ramen, and he was so desperate to get punched that he was quoting the Westboro Baptists. If you know, you know. The pro-life group, to their credit, hated him the most out of anyone. They viewed him as the ultimate sellout, someone who was actively making their positions and beliefs look worse by the day, solely for his own enrichment. The other conservative groups held him in the same regard. The rest of the campus hated him for simpler reasons. It would be difficult to find anyone more detested anywhere else on site. Brother Dean’s antithesis was the Trojan Warrior. TW was a normal student by day, but maybe once a month or so he’d don his hoplite armor and roam around, handing out free condoms. Trojan condoms. It was kind of his shtick. Between the costume, and the whole character that he had going on, most people didn’t really recognize his alter ego. I myself am pretty good with faces, so one day I noticed he was behind me in the foodcourt and decided to thank him by paying for his smoothie. Small tangent, but if you’re looking to get good stories, buying lunches for interesting people works like magic. TW decided that he was going to thank me for thanking him by giving me something like 10 feet of condom roll. I was mortified, aggressively single, and on SSRI’s. He was not sure how many of those were permanent. I wasn’t either. He wound up giving me just a handful, and said that if nothing else, they could probably be used as water balloons. I accepted. Who doesn’t like water balloons?

I finished my lunch with the warrior and left, considering targets for the "balloons". I passed by Brother Dean near the main commons and had my lightbulb moment. I spent a few minutes watching him from a distance, trying to find the optimal angle to get him without getting caught on camera (he always had someone filing in the background, it was a necessary thing for his hopeful future lawsuit). The time delay was useful for helping me realize that it really wasn't worth it. The sun had been bearing down so hard that the glue in my shoes had melted, and getting him wet would be a favor that day. 

So, mildly disappointed, I shelved my dream and left. 

A week later the monsoons hit. I left one class and ran to a campus computer commons to try and get some shelter and study between classes. Just before I got through the door, I saw Brother Dean, umbrella in hand, setting up his speaker and mic. He wasn't technically allowed this far into campus (the commons were owned by the city) but he'd gone to where his audience was and security was probably holed up somewhere cozy. I could hardly blame them. 

I made it up to the second floor and started studying when the mic picked up. All glass buildings are not very soundproof. He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was outside a library, under a balcony, and-

And I had condoms. Water balloon condoms. 

And he was under a balcony. 

I put my laptop away, pulled out my condom roll, and went to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how big a condom could actually stretch, so I just kept filling it until it was about the size of basketball. Maybe a smaller watermelon? And thus armed, I waddled my way out into the halls. I cannot emphasize enough just how unsubtle this was. I was cradling this big, overfilled condom like some sort of phallic ghost baby, and it was so heavy that I sort of had to squat as I went. People saw me. Lots of people saw me. I passed by one room full of computer science students, all learning C++, and three of them waved at me. And I waved back in that my-arms-are-full-but-I’m-excited-to-see-you-too way, where you jut your wrist up a little bit and flap your hand around excitedly. I did, eventually, make it to the balcony. The building’s high ceilings made the second-floor thing kind of a misnomer: I was easily forty feet up. I scooched my way to the edge, and the view I had… it was perfect. Brother Dean was directly underneath, thank God. If he’d been even seven or eight feet out, I’m not sure if I could’ve shotput the condom-bomb far enough to hit him directly. Better yet his cameraman was only a few feet away from him, far too close to catch any action going up 40 feet above. I managed to wrestle the payload onto the balcony, and with a gentle push, I sent it and Dean to destiny. I realized that I’d made a mistake almost as soon as the condom began to fall. You know that sound that bombs make in cartoons, that long drawn out whistle? The condom made that sound. I had a second education in the seriousness of my mistake when the condom hit Dean’s umbrella. It did not pop. Of course it didn’t pop. I had no experience with condoms, I swear to you, I promise, I did not know how much they could stretch. You can fit your whole leg into them. You can fit them over whole park benches. A gallon and a half of water was nothing compared to that. It broke Dean’s umbrella. It hit the top, and it snapped the stem like a twig, and then-

Violence. Unspeakable violence. It clipped Dean’s shoulder and stretched down to his knees before recoiling back to its original shoulder height. It did not bounce. It floated in space, no wasted energy in the collision. One hundred percent of the kinetic energy, all 3300 Joules of it, were discharged into this sad wretch of a man. He did not collapse. There was no time for that. He rotated on his axis. It was as if the hand of God had reached down and grabbed him about his waist, only to twist. In a fraction of a second, his head filled the space where his ass had been and his ass filled the space where his head had been, and then his cheek, carried by the shuriken motion of his body, slammed into the pavement with a noise like Shaq slam dunking a porkchop. Maybe wetter.

He did not move.

I panicked.

I want to make it clear: I did not mean to assault this man. I meant to get him wet and embarrassed. But I also have to confess that this was a beating. Mike Tyson himself can only put about 1600 Joules into one of his punches, and if he hit me I would bounce off five walls before I fell. I would not wish 3300 Joules upon anyone.

I walked into the building and sat myself in the back of the C++ class. The people next to, to my immense and eternal gratitude, did not question why I was wet.

A minute later, Brother Dean stormed into the building with his microphone.

He yelled. He screamed. He hollered. He informed the entire world that he had been assaulted, with a condom, by someone on the second floor. I was ecstatic that he was alive. 

Every person in that class knew who had brought this hell upon them. Every single one of them knew it was me. And if I’d done this to someone else, some Steven Crowder, some Ben Shapiro, someone would’ve thrown me to the wolves. It would have only taken one person in that room of sixty. But Brother Dean was hated by everyone, literally everyone, and so the entire class sat in silence.

Some of that silence was gleeful, and some of it was bored, and some of it, a very small amount, was directly disapproving, but even the disapproving silence carried an understanding. A note of, “Yes, yes, that was very irresponsible, and you should not do that again, but who could blame you? Something needed to happen. Not that something, but…something.”

Security could be given grace to ignore the man when it was raining, and he was just outside the building, but they were not given such grace when he was inside with a microphone. Just a few short minutes later, a golfcart pulled up, and he was summarily marched out. There was maybe a minute of silence after that before the professor announced that his class was not open to visitors.

I left. He’d made his point.

It was a few weeks before I saw Brother Dean again, and his black eye still hadn’t healed all the way when I did. He was, however, still preaching the same old things as always. Percussive maintenance works better on vacuum tubes than human brains. I will say that he definitely made a point to stay away from balconies after that. And the next time it rained, I actually went out to watch him put his speaker and his mic into the back of a wagon and wheel it off the campus.

It appeared that he’d developed some opinions about the kind of weather he was willing to preach hate in.

[dunebrat]

THE PEOPLES PRINCESS

Reader x feyd rautha smut

Summary: you get married off by your father to secure alliances. Despite you knowing your new husbands reputation, you finds yourself drawn to him.

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As you stepped onto the arid planet of Arrakis, the sun beat down relentlessly, casting harsh shadows across the shifting dunes. You, a princess, were escorted by your father, the ruler of your home planet, to marry the infamous Feyd Rautha. Your first encounter with Feyd was chilling. He stood tall and imposing, his eyes cold as they met yours. You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze.

Throughout the preparations for the wedding, Feyd remained distant, barely acknowledging your presence. Amidst the bustling preparations, your father sought you out, his regal bearing softened by a look of paternal concern. He approached you with a tenderness that belied his stoic exterior, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sadness.

"My dear," he began, his voice gentle yet tinged with gravity, "today, you embark on a new journey, one that will shape the course of your destiny."

You met his gaze, a swirl of emotions churning within you. "Father," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, "I know not what the future holds, but I will face it with courage and grace."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he reached out to grasp your hand. "You are a beacon of strength and resilience, my child," he said, his voice filled with pride. "No matter what lies ahead, remember that you are never alone."

Tears welled in your eyes as you embraced him.

Your wedding gown, made from the finest silks and embellished with gorgeous lace and brilliant gems, was a vision of grandeur and elegance. Its flowing procession, glistening in the intense desert sun, followed you like a moonlit river. As you stood in the grand hall, waiting for the wedding ceremony to begin you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, knowing that once the ceremony commenced, there would be no turning back.

But amidst the fear, there was a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, against all odds, this union with Feyd would bring you the happiness and fulfillment you had always longed for. But you know the man that will soon be your husband is no kind man. But as you stood before him at the altar, his eyes locked onto yours with a fierce determination. When he leaned in to kiss you, you felt a rush of lust.

On your wedding night, as the grandeur of the ceremony faded into the intimacy of the chambers, you found yourself alone with Feyd. The flickering candlelight casting shadows across the room, adding to your senses heightened.

Feyd, with his usual air of confidence, approached you. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, seemed to pierce through the facade you tried so desperately to maintain. He noticed the tremble in your hands, the uneasiness that lingered in your of your gaze.

"You're scared," he observed, his voice a low, rumbling growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, unable to deny the truth of his words. "I am," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Feyd closed the distance between you, his presence startling in its intensity, his lips twisted into a knowing smile. He said, "Fear can be a powerful motivator," with an a hint of humor in his voice. "But it can also be mastered."

With a swift yet gentle motion, he reached out to cup your face, his touch surprisingly tender against your skin. His eyes bore into yours with an unwavering gaze, as if daring you to challenge him, to defy the inevitable.

Feyd's eyes raked over your body, his gaze lingering on the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts.

His voice was low and husky, his words a command.

"Strip." The word hung in the air like an order, leaving no room for negotiation or hesitation. You hesitated briefly before complying with Feyd's demand. You unbuttoned your dress, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of fabric. Underneath you wore nothing but lace underwear and stockings that accentuated every curve on your body.

Feyd's eyes roamed over your body, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I want you to know that I am not a man who will be gentle with you," he said in an even tone as if it were simply stating the obvious.

"I will take what I want, and you are to do as I say." The words hung in the air like a threat.

His gaze was intense, his voice commanding. You couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the way he spoke to you. The words were harsh and demanding, leaving no room for negotiation or compromise.

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to process what he had just said. The weight of his words hung heavy on the air between us and for a moment | felt trapped by them.

"I understand," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I will do as you say." The words were barely out of your mouth before Feyd's hand was on the back of your neck, his grip firm and unyielding.

He pulled you closer to him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both demanding and possessive. His tongue invaded your mouth with an almost brutal forcefulness as he claimed it for himself.

His other hand found its way to your breast, his fingers pinching and twisting the nipple until you gasped in pain.

The pain was sharp and intense, but it also sent a strange rush of pleasure through you. You found yourself responding to his touch in ways that surprised even you.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and crevice as if he were mapping out a territory. He pulled you closer to him until his hardness was pressed against the soft folds of your sex.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his desire for you palpable. His hands moved down to your hips and he lifted you up so that only the tip of his cock was inside you.

He held you there, teasingly close to the edge of pleasure. "Do you want this?" he asked in a low voice that sent shivers down your spine.

"Do you want me to take what I need from you?" The words were a command, not a question. The words were barely out of your mouth before Feyd's grip on you tightened and he thrust into you with a force that left you gasping for air. He fucks you hard and fast, his hips slamming into you with a force that left your body trembling. The pain was intense but it only seemed to fuel the fire of desire burning within him as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

You could feel the wetness between your legs, a testament to how turned on you were by his rough treatment.

His hands roamed over your body, leaving bruises and marks that would be a reminder of this night for days to come.

Days passed after the wedding night, and you found yourself adjusting to life as the wife of Feyd Rautha. One evening, as you sat alone in the grand hall of the palace, Feyd approached you with a quietly. His usual stoic demeanor softened slightly as he took a seat beside you, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting.

“May I join you?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface.

You nodded, surprised by his sudden display of openness. "Of course," you replied, unable to hide the shyness in your voice.

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and the distant hum of activity within the palace walls. And then, with a hesitant sigh, Feyd spoke, his words measured yet tinged with emotion. "I know I am not what you expected," he began, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. "I am not known for my warmth or compassion, but know that I will do everything in my power to protect you, to keep you safe from harm."

"I believe you husband," you replied softly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm.