#sneaking bad humor into fics part ?/?

[frownyalfred]

[vagabond-umlaut]

two shots of ristretto, please!

One must have heard of espresso, but ristretto? No?

Well, translated to 'restricted' in Italian, ristretto is another version of espresso, but of a sweeter and more intense quality than the latter— though, you reckon, there's no entity in this world, sweeter and more intense than that white-haired, blue-eyed enigma-turned-menace of yours.

▸ yakuza heir! gojo satoru x uni classmate! fem! reader; TIMESKIP; dad! gojo satoru x mom! reader; FLUFF AND HUMOR GALORE; popularising the headcanon that gojo is so terrifyingly gojo for everyone, except his crush; the said crush's smart & not dense, for the first time in my stories; there is yakuza so there's a gun and there's a tiny bit of violence; brief appearance of utahime, shoko, suguru & nanami; POST-TIMESKIP: the most adorable twins ever, sachiko and sachiro, are back, with tons and tons of fluff!!!!!

▸ belongs to the series 'tang!' — same universe as the work 'every rose and its 'twin prickles'' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i know i described the reader to be smart and stuff, but the thing is: she is smart, of sorts, that is. and the post-timeskip portion is tooth-rottingly fluffy but not for satoru; sachiko & sachiro will never let their papa get some loving from their dearest mama... AND this is 4.4k wc long— idk how i wrote so freaking much! anyways, whatever it is–

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Gojo Satoru was born with three things.  

His name. 

His looks.  

And, of course– the baggage certain to tag along with the above two. 

Cup of coffee languishing in the frost of your ignorance, you lock gaze, the first time, with the famous infamous scion of the Gojo’s, an awfully stormy morning at the café your friend works at.  

Said friend looks halfway on the path to sweet, sweet dreams, resting her head on folded arms on your table — smiling, you tuck a wayward strand of hair behind the shell of her ear, and return to your sly spying on the group seated couple of feet away. You think you see Gojo look at you yet another time — it must be an error of your eye, you reckon, given how he's giving a sharp grin to the man across from him, in the very next instant.  

Yeah, that's what it is. No one can possibly switch from shooting that level of thoughtful gaze to that level of feral grin in that short span of time. Yeah, it must have been a mistake of your silly eye.  

Anyways, whatever it is, to say you hate drawing attention to yourself will be the greatest understatement of the century— so you decide to look away for a beat, to avoid even the faintest hint of suspicion, eyes going back to the chemical reactions strewn across the mess you call notes— only to snap back to the white-haired boy, widening in horror from the click! then the scene crashing onto your brain.  

Gojo chuckles, eyes flitting from the gun aimed at the space between his eyebrows to the man holding it. "Aww," you register him croon, that self-sabotaging dumbass, "resorting to such cheap violence so quickly, Zenin-san? Grew tired of a civil conversation already? Tsk. What a pity." 

Another time and you think you'll consider this precise moment to be when you wake your friend up and slowly sneak away into the kitchen then out, via the back door. Another day and you know you'll consider this very second to be when you return your focus to your assignment on carbohydrates, all the while hoping you or your friend won't be cast into a brawl none of you are a part of— 

Too bad it isn't another time or another day, though.  

Biting back a grimace, you shut your laptop and rise from your chair with a loud clatter. 

"Forcing someone isn't really a nice way to make a deal, y'know," you hum, walking over to their table and plopping down onto the free seat next to Gojo, "what is better is to explain the pros and cons to the one opposite to you and try to convince them. Gently. And if that doesn't work, manipulate the hell out of them. But this?" you shoot the metal gun a disappointed glance, shaking your head, "this is a method even I know I shouldn't use to get my rival to agree to something, though I'm not from a criminal background." 

The man– Zenin, you correct yourself; the second largest yakuza clan right after Gojo's family, your memory supplies after a beat – gives a slow look from the weapon to you, a scowl appearing on his features. And barks – voice, a disgusting grating noise to your sleep-deprived self.  

"Who the fuck are you, girl? And why the fuck are you interfering in this?"  

You pause. Okay, this wasn't what you were expecting when you first strolled out here. You were expecting a yell, a scuffle; worst case, the gun aimed at your precious brain. But this? One question about your identity, and the other about your reason for approaching them? You haven't prepared yourself for this! 

Frowning, you cast a glance to your left, only to find the white-haired boy stare at you, staggered, with wide eyes and flushed cheeks; then at your friend who's snoring away like she doesn't give a damn about napping at work; then at the man glowering at you.  

You sigh, rubbing your temples. 

"Who the fuck I am... that's for me to know and for you to find out,” you answer, smirking, before growing serious again as you rush to explain, upon catching a murderous glint in the man’s eyes, “I mean, c'mon, y'all are the yakuza. This should be a piece of cake for you, shouldn’t it?"  

The man's glare only worsens in result; stamping down the apprehension in your mind, you continue, "And as for why the fuck I'm interfering in this—"  

You abruptly fall silent.  

Offering the boy beside you a panicky glance.  

Wondering what the hell you can say in reply. 

Should you say, "I've been listening to you threaten the poor boy for a good thirty minutes now, saying he's gonna face dire consequences, or some shit like that, if he doesn't share the area in the east with the Zenin's or refuses to marry their third daughter— who I'm pretty sure, y'all have made into nothing but a maid, a cook and a broodmare. Poor girl, being spoken of by her own family member to a stranger boy, as if she isn't a human being but something with no life or ambition. But, hey, how you raise your kids is honestly your own problem and I’m not here to drill some lesson into your head– though I guess, folks like you could really use some. Anyways, whatever the fuck it is, I'm here because I JUST CAN'T SEE ANOTHER BEING FORCED TO DO SOMETHING AGAINST THEIR WILL. AND I’M GONNA PROTEST AGAINST IT AS LONG AS I’VE A BREATH LEFT IN MY LUNGS." 

The inner-you tsks at the outer-you.  

You groan inwardly, shifting to the next plan already.  

So, must you say, "Gojo's my classmate, who has been sitting behind me since the first class of the year, and very weird to say, but I have also been finding him here at this coffee shop, every day I visit since that day, sitting at this specific table and scribbling in a notebook for hours at end— and, yeah, way weirder to admit out loud, but I guess I have also formed some kind of attachment to him? 'Cause of which, I feel, I get worried when I see him being actively threatened? And, yes, of course– all the while I totally ignore that he's next in line to a notorious criminal family or the fact that he's never even noticed me once before today." 

Another click! bounces off the walls into your ears, making you draw away from your mind back to the situation at hand. You settle for offering a shrug.  

"Why I'm here is because Gojo is one of my acquaintances and I just can't seem to stand someone being forced to do something against their will." 

Your statement earns a mocking laugh from the man, but before you rush to defend yourself and the fact you spoke the truth, a calloused palm rests on your forearm. Gojo's gaze flits from you to the gun still pointed at him then back to you. You feel a mild tremor in his fingers when they meet your skin. Good heavens, Gojo must be really scared, huh? 

His careful voice reaches you, a far cry from the haughty tone he was employing with the Zenin fellow earlier, "It's best if you leave now. Go take your friend and go away. And don't come back here. At least not until sometime later, yeah? Things are gonna get a hell lot messy and I don't want you to see that." 

For the first time in many days, the buzz of caffeine in your veins weakens, giving way to the thrum of worry you feel at Gojo’s words. Has this bastard already accepted his fate!? Hell no! Not if you can help it!!  

You give his arm a light pat. 

"While I leave you here, all alone, huh?" Shaking your head, you click your tongue. "Nope! Not gonna happen, mister. My parents raised me way better than that. Besides, you might not be knowing me but I've been knowing you for a while now, and despite what everyone says of you being the crown prince, or whatever, in the underworld — I ain't leaving you here, with your life at the mercy of a person who doesn't even have a shred of respect for others' freedom of choice and stuff." 

A noisy yawn sounds in the background, soon followed by a noisier series of snores. Gojo's mouth opens and closes a few times, like a funny fish, before he inquires, voice brimming with disbelief, "You... have noticed me? Since when?" 

You blink, then chuckle. "Of course, I have. Since the first day, if I'm being honest here," you reply, then add as a hasty after-thought, so that he doesn't see you as a weirdo, "I mean, it's tough not to notice you, y'know? Not when you're—" 

A deafening crash interrupts you in the middle of your sentence. You look away from the boy to find the man standing now, face contorted in a mix of fury and desperation while he shifts the gun's muzzle from Gojo to you, then back to Gojo, words leaving him in a harsh yell. 

"THE GIRL NOTICED YOU 'CAUSE YOU'RE THE GOJO SATORU AND YOU'RE HANDSOME AS FUCK. NOW, CAN YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH? AND YOU — YOU SICK, SPOILT GOJO BRAT– YOU SAID YOU DON'T HAVE A MINUTE TO SPARE? BUT HERE YOU ARE, CHATTING YOUR LIFE AWAY WITH THAT GIRL—" 

A second deafening crash reverberates through the small shop– and you think you see your life flash before your eyes– but not before the man drops to the ground, most probably unconscious and hopefully not too damaged to lead a functional life, and very earnestly not dead. The gun clatters to the ground beside him. You turn to your classmate, eyes wide. Gojo returns your gaze, unblinking and slack jawed. 

Heart thundering in your ears, you hurry to explain yourself, "I–" 

"You smashed that plate on that guy's head." 

Gojo’s blunt words bring you to a still, making your eyes drift to the fragments of the unlucky glass plate, to the unluckier but-totally-deserved-it Zenin, then back to your classmate. A little more awe on the boy’s face and you think his jaw might hit the floor.  

You nod slowly. 

"Yeah, but as self-defence. I mean, you saw how eccentric that man was acting, right? I had to do something to protect both of us," you explain, looking away from the pair of blue eyes watching you closely, to your friend who still seems to be lost in the land of sleep (how much exactly did she drink last night, huh?) to your grey sneakers, voice growing mumbled with every other syllable you utter.  

"But that doesn't mean you've to feel some sort of debt towards me or anything. I too was kind of at mistake then, I guess... what with me rambling so fucking much when there was a literal gun at your head. I should have acted with more tact then – if I had done so, then maybe this mess could've been avoided. I mean, I've never seen these things before in my life, y'know? Except in TV shows, that is. Yet, this foolish me here thought she could just swoop in and save you like some sort of a hero..." 

Sullen, you trail off, face growing warm from embarrassment whilst your mind devises a plan on how to clear up the mess you created, many thanks to your foolhardy nature, when a muffled laugh reaches you. Gojo's eyes twinkle in enjoyment at the bewildered huff you give him.  

"You did save me like a real hero back then, y'know," he says, grinning a wide grin – before it disappears, making way for a much reserved, much shyer(??) version. A giggly voice within you whispers he looks just as sweet as he did with his cute dimples. The boy continues, carding a hand through his mess of white hair, with a casual glance at the man, "And, as for the mess you keep mentioning, don't you worry. Gun shots create more mess than a plate smashed on the head. And if I can clear that within a minute– this won't even take me a full second, Miss Hero. Don't you worry for this at all. But, yeah, thank you." 

Now, you don't really know if it was the sincerity in his voice as Gojo thanked you, or the fact that he has to clean up the mess you made in the first place, or the stunned feeling so clearly visible in the blue colour of his irises when you admitted to noticing him— whatever it is, you find yourself not wanting to leave anything unsaid between you both.  

Moreover, the realization that lives are considered extremely low-on-value in the world of crime, so much that guns are whipped out at the tiny disagreements or boasts are made on how quick a gunshot mess can be cleared by them — this realization doesn't make things any easier for you. 

Giving the injured man and your napping friend a momentary glance, you return your focus to Gojo, whose eyes are now narrowed at his mobile, and speak those words weighing heavy on your mind right now.  

"I really noticed you since the first day, Gojo," you say. The boy pauses his typing, confused gaze darting to you. "But not just 'cause you're the Gojo Satoru, or 'cause you're really pretty — which you totally are, by the way— but mainly because you had ambled into our first class, on the first day, a magnificent hour late, with your two friends— and my first thought seeing you was, what sort of a fucking entitled brat is this guy, sauntering in as if he owns the entire place." 

A beat passes before the boy erupts into chuckles, though the tense quality of them doesn't escape your notice. Pocketing his mobile, he shoots you a small smile. "And what about noticing me after that? It was just my name and looks which kept your attention hooked onto me, wasn't it?" 

The question– the mumbled way it was asked, more so– sends you into a brief bout of musing silence. Gojo's eyes remain trained on you the entire while — quite contrary to the innumerable adjectives you've heard to describe them: oceanic blue, sparkling blue, mesmerising blue, kind-of-startling blue– you think they're just... blue. So blue, you wonder if there's anything as blue as that gaze peering down at you.  

Perhaps not. 

Lips curving into a smile, you hum, "Yes and no. Yes, 'cause that was the main reason why my eyes kept trailing you whenever we were in the same place. No, 'cause they were the reasons only until I realised what kind of person you are, and how very different you're from what I first thought of you. I got new reasons after those." 

"Mind telling me those new reasons?" 

Gojo's nervous question widens the smile on your face. Casting your friend a glance — goodness, how many drinks did she really have at the party she went to last night — you reply, making your voice light and friendly, "Your personality made me curious. You are old money, with good looks to boot— you're literally the heartthrob of every girl on campus! Still, I've never seen you with anyone from them— never with anyone outside your group of three friends — though, I got to admit, the blond boy looks nothing less than constipated for a week, when he talks to you." 

That last comment draws a chuckle from the white-haired boy. The tightness in his shoulders seems to relax a bit, you note with relief. Face still carrying the same smile as before, you continue speaking.  

"And the second point which made me curious was how different you behave in different places. Your voice rings across the cafeteria every day during lunch yet you stay so quiet here for hours at end. You once said you've never been much of a book person, yet I always see you in this shop, immersed in your notebooks. And– what has struck me the most of all is the way you tend to go out of you way to annoy others – I've been sitting in front of you in class for a good three months now, yet you've never ever irritated me in the slightest. Kind of strange, ain’t it?" 

Stunned silence comes as the answer to your question, what with the addressed classmate of yours, rooted to his spot on the ground, blue eyes as round as the plate you had smashed on the man's head some time ago and the expression on Gojo's face, almost as if you've grown a couple of heads in the while you have been chatting with him.  

Or more like monologuing, now that you think about it.  

This guy is always so chatty with others: he was even then with that gun cocked to take his life — then why the fuck is he so unspeaking right now, eh? 

"Oh God, Satoru, I can't believe your plan of lurking in the places she goes to, to catch her eye, worked out!!" "Are you asking her out right now, bro?" "Can you all please move? It's raining like hell outside and I'm not really keen to get my leather jacket wet, thank you." 

The noisy rumbles of rain and thunder stream in through the opened door, before the latter is closed again, snapping you out of your internal monologue, a bit too sudden and harsh for your liking. Three pairs of eyes regard you with an utmost curiosity — you return them a blink before dragging your eyes away and looking at the boy a good foot away, only to find him resolutely staring at the overhead lights. Two pretty long (and pretty weird) seconds pass before you finally decide to tear your gaze away from him to the rain-soaked glass window of the eatery.  

A face with creased brows and warmed cheeks greets you from your reflection.  

Screwing your eyes tight shut in an attempt to ward off an annoying headache you can feel build up, slowly yet steadily, you let out a sigh.  

Friendship with the Gojo Satoru seems good enough but romance with the Gojo Satoru... that doesn’t seem half-as-good, right? 

Right? 

"Wrong." 

Your son's insistent voice, coupled by the tiny fist he slams down on the table, breaks you out of your reverie and you turn to find Sachiro wearing a frown, tears brimming in his eyes– eyes which move away from his father and sister to you, pinning your drowsy form beneath the weight of their moisture.  

Stifling a weary sigh, you place the menu card back on the table and coo, "Aw, Sachiro! What's wrong, baby? Are Papa and Sachiko saying mean things to you again? Are they still teasing you regarding today's incident?" 

Although, you suppose to yourself, catastrophe might suit what happened today, way more than the word 'incident'— what with the shrieks, cries and yells resounding through your flat in the short time you took to get ready for your Sunday lunch at a restaurant. Rubbing his eyes a little, the little boy scoots closer to you and nods weakly, wrapping his tiny arms round you. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, you direct a stern look at the two sitting across from you.  

Sipping on the welcome drink, Sachiko just shrugs back at you.  

"I'm not the wrong person here, Mom. He is," your daughter explains, pointing a finger at her brother, then retracting it at your frown. Your husband snickers from beside her. “Yeah, sweetness, it’s Sachiro who’s wrong. Getting confused on when’s your birthday is no small mistake. Besides, our darling little munchkins taunt me the entire time if I ever make a mistake, no? Can’t see why they can’t stand a taste of their own medicine, then.” 

The sobs muffled into the cotton of your dress grow in intensity and misery. Sending her father a vicious stink eye, your daughter moves to observe you and her brother, a cute little frown on her face.  

"Okay, fine," she relents after a short beat, returning the lemonade to the table, "Guess I was a little wrong. Maybe I shouldn't have teased him so much, along with Papa, for messing up the date of your birthday. I also should not have said, he doesn't love you, some time back."  

A very weighted moment passes. The little girl jumps off her seat and reaches your side of the table, tiny arms reaching out to wrap around her brother. It takes a minute, and a small nudge from your side but soon enough, your two kids are hugging each other; Sachiro, a wailing mess, whilst Sachiko, being the older of the twins that she is, keeps saying 'sorry's' and patting his head, the exact same way their father does to them in times of their grave distress — when they throw a tantrum and get a nice long lecture from you, that is.  

Fond smile creeping onto your lips, you tear your gaze away from the two adorable angels of your life to your husband.  

Relieved to find him sans any teasing smile, you receive a gentle look from him, his hand reaching out to interweave his fingers through yours. You let him with a content hum, basking in the simple domestic joy seeping in through the sweetly scented air of the restaurant. A pair of plush lips press to your palm; biting back a giddy giggle, you throw the owner of said luscious lips a meaningful wink.  

Though... you doubt how much of your meaning could be conveyed to him... given how the two of you jerk back from each other a mere instant later, at the loud clearing of a throat from Sachiko and an angry 'Papa! Go away!' from Sachiro.  

Stomping back to her chair and settling into it with some effort and a huff, you watch an extremely pissed shadow form over the little girl's face, worsening as she twists and cranes her neck up to face her father. You really, really think your husband must not chuckle in this way in the face of such a thunderstorm— not when your daughter is shooting daggers with her gaze; and certainly not when your son is shooting that gloating smirk at him.  

Another time and you think you’ll look at that glare and at that smirk, then proceed to be on cloud-nine, realizing your children, despite being xerox copies of their father (both in looks and manners), did inherit certain features from you as well— something which a terribly competitive voice inside your head claims, is a great win— now, however, is decidedly no such time.  

Not when the person you’ve loved for these many years and know, will continue to do so for an eternity, looks one step away from being tormented to death– by none but the two milk-toothed lights of both of your lives.  

You watch Sachiko’s frown deepen, more than should be possible for someone her age, then begin. 

"Papa, I'm sorry but I have to break our deal. Sachiro is right. We two are the strongest duo of twins in the multiverse — we can't let you break our team this way. So, what if my brother makes a mistake? He's a young baby and babies are allowed to make mistakes, aren't they?"  

You wonder if she truly understands she was born a mere six minutes prior than her brother... and not six whole years, as appears to be the case right now. Holding back chuckles, you spare the person, addressed in the ‘not-really-apology' apology, an amused glance, then nod your head solemnly at her words.  

"They are, baby. They so are," you agree in the very next instant, then ask, a genuine inquiring inflection to your tone, "But what deal did Papa make you agree to, baby? Sounds pretty serious to me, to be honest." 

"Oh, it wasn't anything, sweet cheeks," your husband begins with an awfully nervous-sounding chortle; too bad, your daughter is quick to beat him to it. Throwing him a smirk, you can only describe to be devious, she looks back at you and grins. "Two weeks back, Papa found me in the living room, late at night, staring at shooting stars through the windows. And I found him walking away from the kitchen, eating a giant chocolate bar. Papa said you’ll be very mad because we didn’t listen to what you said, so, we should make a deal and become a team to keep this a secret from you." 

"Papa made that deal– only to divide us. So, our strong team can be destroyed and he can easily defeat us and keep you all for himself, Mama," your son chips in, puffy eyes narrowed into a very hard glare. Your daughter agrees vehemently from the opposite side.  

Your eyes drop to the glass of lemonade before you; you try your best to stifle the yawn.  

This fight over your affection has been going on since the time your children turned four or so... and despite them nearing an age of six in few months, no end can be seen in the horizon, to this war raging within your home...  

And as for the matter of Sachiko being awake way past her bedtime? You reckon you can't really do much on this, other than repeating the rules and the reasons behind each one of them– especially of punctuality and an adequate sleep– to her, like you did the last time... though, you think of toning your lecture down a little this time, considering it wasn't a video game but a meteor show she had stayed awake for... besides you too used to be — okay, no, wait, what??? 

Your husband's sheepish grin collides with the incensed glare you aim his way over the table. Letting out a frustrated huff of an exhale, your face turns away from his, choosing to stare at itself in the clean glass windows instead — too, too mad to acknowledge that white-haired, blue-eyed menace of yours, whining apologies with a pitiful gaze.  

You screw your eyes shut and let out a sigh. 

Being married to the yakuza king, Gojo Satoru, is a story, you deem, it couldn’t have been better, but being married to the sweet fiend, Gojo Satoru?  

Oh, sweet– no, strike that, you fucking hate that word—  

Oh, sour heavens above.  

That's a different story altogether. 

▸ if you've reached this point and still love me and/or my writing, istg I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH. writing something inspired by one's self-ship is so satisfying but so difficult, ngl. A BIG TYYY TO YOU WHO IS READING THIS LINE RN AFTER READING THIS MONSTROSITY OF A ONESHOT *sniffles*

▸ masterlist

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [5] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings:  cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 9k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 4 >> Part 5 >> Part 6

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

Beomgyu has certainly said this before, but he actually means it this time when he says he would rather be anywhere than where he is now. Even the Smythe-Smith musicale. 

It would be hilarious, the fact that he’d rather have his ears tortured for an hour and a half than be here at an objectively much better performance, except he’s been walking through a fog of annoyance, anger, and misery for three days, and during that time he hasn’t been able to find much humor in anything. 

The worst thing is that it’s all his fault. 

He was the one who suggested ending the courtship, after all. He was the one who said it would be best. And, objectively, it is the logical course of action. You have a suitor—several, in fact—and while beginning this farce might have been what drew them to you, continuing it for too long might actually drive them away. It was logical. Rational. 

Too bad emotions have nothing to do with logic. 

Beomgyu sneaks a glance at you where you sit next to him, eyes fixed on the scene in front of you. You look to be the perfect model of attention, your gaze riveted on the two dancers as they sweep across the floor almost as one entity of eight limbs. You were completely unfazed earlier, too. When you met, you at least had seemed unperturbed by anything that happened during the last promenade. If Beomgyu hadn’t already known you were a superb actor, he’d have been entirely convinced of your performance. 

He wonders if you are truly so engrossed in the ballet now, or if you are acting just as well as before. 

Not that it matters. He pinches himself. The courtship is over, or at least it will be soon. And at that point he won’t see you again—not on purpose, at least. He has no business trying to figure out what your emotions are about this change of events. What reason would you have to be anything other than pleased, anyway? This whole agreement was just for your mutual benefit. Nothing more, nothing less. 

But you didn’t look pleased when he said it. Granted, he wasn’t looking at you for most of the conversation but from the few glances he snuck at you when he was sure you wouldn’t return his gaze, you looked more shocked than anything. Maybe not shocked, but at least surprised, and not in a way that screamed excitement. Though to be fair, your expression didn’t really scream anything then. You seemed mostly blank up until you asked to end the walk early. 

Briefly he entertains the thought that you might also be unreasonably upset by the end of this courtship. Just like every other time he’s done this, he shoves the thought away. It’s no use wondering. You wouldn’t tell him, anyway. 

Sighing quietly, Beomgyu turns his attention back to the performance, where the dancers have since separated to opposite corners of the floor. He watches, momentarily dazzled, as they twist and weave their way back to each other sinuously, sensually, until finger by finger, arm by arm, they find themselves entangled in each other’s embrace once more. A collective gasp rises from the room as they come toward each other so suddenly that Beomgyu almost thinks they will collide—

But they don’t. They stop quietly, foreheads coming to touch, faces so close that if one leaned forward even slightly, they would kiss. 

Tiny whispers permeate the room, and Beomgyu sees more than a few glances being directed at the queen, who sits, stone faced, in the seat of honor. This is perhaps the most sensual performance the ton has ever seen. He thinks it was beautiful, a lovely display of human emotion in its rawest form, but some of the more conservative members of the ton might not think so. The queen leads the social scene in London and her reaction will dictate what the papers say of this—he wonders what she might be thinking behind her usual blank mask. 

The queen’s blank mask reminds him of another and without thinking, he looks over at you. He expects much the same reaction—you are good at keeping most of your emotions off your face, after all. But instead of the politely entertained expression he expected, you look somewhat startled by the scene before you. Surprised. 

Flustered, even. 

Beomgyu turns away to hide a twitch of his lips. He hadn’t thought about how you would react to the blatant sensuality of the piece, but it’s more amusing than he expected. Your eyes wide, your lips slightly parted, your gaze riveted on the scene like you aren’t sure whether to be enraptured or disgusted…

It’s cute, in a way. He might even say adorable. 

Someone begins applauding and you jump. Beomgyu has to hide his smile as his own dutiful claps join those of the crowd. From where he sits he can see the queen stand, a smile coloring her features as she leads the applause, and he breathes a short sigh of relief. The Rosenburys are a good family. He would have hated to see them shunned if the queen disapproved of this performance. 

The crowd begins to disperse after that, filtering off into different rooms for refreshment and chatter. Later there will be some dancing, but for now he leads you towards a table filled with small glasses. They need some time to set up the ballroom floor before he can join you in your perfunctory one dance of the evening. 

…He shouldn’t have thought of that. Now his earlier ugly mood has just returned. He allows himself one grimace before schooling his features back into careful pleasantry. “How did you enjoy the performance?” he asks with practiced neutrality, handing you a glass of water. God, he really hadn’t noticed just how much levity you two could share before he shattered it with just a few words. “I have never seen the like.”

“Neither have I.” You stare at your glass, but to his surprise, Beomgyu doesn’t think you’re purposely trying to avoid his gaze—at least not now. You still look somewhat in awe of what you just saw. “It was…something else, truly. I think I enjoyed it.”

“I think I did too,” Beomgyu replies truthfully. Then he smiles, hiding a little smirk. “You looked rather flustered. I gather you haven’t seen something so romantic before.”

You scowl. Beomgyu welcomes the sight—at least it’s far more familiar than the calm neutrality you showed him earlier in the evening. “I wasn’t—flustered,” you snap. “I just…”

One second passes. Then another. You still seem to be floundering for words so Beomgyu takes the lead—to tease, of course. “You just what?” he asks, unable now to hold back his smirk. 

“Well—in the end, they were about to kiss.” Beomgyu bites his lip to hide a real smile at how flustered you look now. “I mean, I know people kiss—”

“I should certainly hope you did.”

“—but—oh, be quiet—but they don’t do it in public.” You shake your head as you and Beomgyu walk over to a quieter room, leaving the noise of the main hall behind. “You can’t tell me you see people kissing everywhere. Of course I would have been flustered.”

Beomgyu has perhaps seen more of it than he should, but he is a man and you are a lady. He cedes your point. “I tease, my lady,” he says, taking a sip of his own glass. “But beyond the near kiss, I thought the rest of the piece was beautifully done, and honestly quite tasteful.”

“So did I.” The two of you stop by a tall table and place your drinks down for a rest. A few others are in the room, mostly minding their own conversation and business. For a moment, Beomgyu thinks about the fact that no one even bats an eye at the two of you holding civil conversation in the same room anymore. Then his sour mood from earlier threatens to return and he abandons that train of thought completely, because this sort of scene won’t be happening anymore in a few weeks. 

God, what does it say about him that he would rather be arguing with you for the entire ton to hear than be absent of your company from now on and forever?

You’re speaking again, so Beomgyu drags himself out of his thoughts and back to the present in time so that he might actually respond to your words instead of making a massive fool of himself. “Even the near kiss,” you’re saying. “It was all part of the story. I’ve read books and been to the opera, of course, but that was the first time I’d seen anyone express a story with such love without words and just through…the body.” 

You look almost shy when your words are done and over, but Beomgyu can’t find it in himself to tease you this time. Maybe because you were so earnest when you said it, because it is more touching than you realize that you would allow him to hear your thoughts in this moment and he doesn’t want to embarrass you for it. Maybe because he’s just glad that the stilted pleasantry of earlier seems to be gone and you are speaking like normal acquaintances again. “I agree,” he says quietly. “It is rather beautiful to see the different ways people use art to express themselves.”

You glance at him sidelong. “You are a true appreciator of art, then.” It isn’t a question, and he can’t really read the look in your eyes. 

“I’m not really,” Beomgyu admits. “At least I wasn’t before. But the duchess is a connoisseur of the classics and music, Lord Kang’s wife is quite literally a world renowned pianist, and Mr. Huening is an accomplished painter, so between the three of them it is now somewhat difficult to escape the influence of different arts around me. Not that I would truly want to, though.” He pauses. “Art is interesting because it captures the pieces of the world in a perspective unique to the artist. As I grow older, I think I find myself appreciating those new perspectives more and more.”

You look at him, a glint in your eye. “You talk of your age like you are an old man, Mr. Choi.”

He scowls, but relents at the softness on your face hidden behind that glint. “I am no old man,” he sniffs. “But I cannot deny that I age by the day.”

“So you cannot.” You laugh a little. “I jest, Mr. Choi. I agree very much with your perspective.” Your eyes take on a faraway look. “I sometimes wish I could experience such a story in my own lifetime,” you say, almost to yourself. 

Beomgyu peers at you. “Everyone has their own story, Miss L/N. Just because it is not immortalized in some art form does not mean it does not impact the world in some way.”

“Oh, I know.” You wave a hand. “It’s just—watching the dancers, I felt so taken by the scene in a way that I have never felt in real life. I suppose the only times I have felt such deep emotion are when I care for Delia and Henry. Or if I am angry.” You snort a little. “That seems to happen more often than it should. I just wonder what it would be like to love as deeply as the dancers seemed to.”

“You have never been in love before?” Beomgyu asks softly. 

“Well, I have loved.” You shrug. “I love Henry. I love Delia. But romantic love…no. I have not. And I honestly do not know if I will ever have the chance to pursue it.” Your laugh turns self-deprecating. “Likely I will not.”

Beomgyu feels a little sick inside. He’s not really sure why. There’s a measure of guilt, he thinks, for having played a part in your somewhat shattered reputation over the past two seasons, as well as a fair amount of sympathy and anger for your situation at home. But there’s another feeling, something fluttery and sticky all at once in the pit of his stomach that he really does not understand. And he doesn’t have time to sort it through—not that he really wants to—because you’re talking again. 

“It just seems so beautiful, the way other people tell of it. True love, I mean.” You stare deep into your glass and Beomgyu isn’t sure you know that you’re talking to him anymore. “I don’t know if I will ever experience it. I mean, sometimes I wonder if I will ever even be kissed.”

Beomgyu blinks. And blinks again. 

You clearly notice his silence because embarrassment floods your features and you look away. “Apologies, Mr. Choi. I did not mean to say that out loud.”

“No need to apologize,” Beomgyu gets out. “But…Miss L/N, I am sure you will be kissed. You will have a husband. Surely he will kiss you.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, looking somewhat depressed. “I certainly hope so. But I assume that would only happen if my husband loved me enough to do it.”

His head is spinning. “Would your husband not love you?”

“I have no idea,” you snap, voice lowering to a quiet hiss. “Mr. Choi, you of all people know very well that I would marry a man even if he did not love me.”

Right. Evil stepmother, and all that. “Of course. I apologize.” He pauses, trying to sort through everything that you’re talking about and all the thoughts he’s having. “But one does not have to love someone to kiss someone,” is all he points out in the end, because his brain is just not working right now. He can’t even blame it on the alcohol because he hasn’t drunk at all today or this week. 

“Yes, but—” You groan before muttering, “This is so embarrassing.”

“What is embarrassing?”

You groan again. “I don’t want to say it in front of you.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “If I may, Miss L/N, I’m certain Lady Whistledown has immortalized far more embarrassing things that you have said to me in her gossip column. Besides—” He cuts himself off before he can say more, hoping you won’t notice. 

Unfortunately, you do notice. “Besides what?”

He’s a damn idiot for saying anything at all, because you certainly won’t let him off without getting the answer out of him now. “We aren’t going to be seeing each other in a few weeks,” he says quietly. “So whatever you say now, you wouldn’t have to face it after a month from now.”

A short silence fills the air, along with a vague tension that isn’t as sharp as the one he felt in the park, but still makes him feel somewhat will. You break it first. “Well, when you put it that way…” Your smile looks more like a smirk and there’s something brittle to it that Beomgyu doesn’t quite know what to make of, but you continue before he can try to figure it out. “You aren’t wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” he says, trying for his usual casual air. It doesn’t quite work but you take the bait with some seeming relief in your eyes. “I could count probably a hundred times you were wrong, and at least half of them are printed in Whistledown,” you snipe. 

“Well, if I’m not wrong this time, then tell me.” Beomgyu gestures to you. “What is so embarrassing that you couldn’t want me to hear it out of your own lips now?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Well, if you truly must know…” You sigh again. You won’t quite meet your eyes and against his will, Beomgyu finds your embarrassment somewhat endearing. “It would simply be nice to be kissed by someone who loves me, and whom I love back. It is the stuff of romantic dreams, is it not?”

“…I don’t really know, Miss L/N.”

You scoff. “Of course not. You haven’t a romantic bone in your body.”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes in affront. “Who brought you those gloves, hm?”

You open your mouth to reply. Then you close it. “Point taken,” you finally admit. “But my previous point still stands. I’m sure it is the dream of half the ladies of the ton—or more—to be kissed in a moment as emotional as the performance we saw earlier. Half of the men, too.” 

“…I take your point as well,” Beomgyu says. 

You shrug halfheartedly, embarrassment still coating your every movement. “It’s a stupid dream. Nothing much of it.”

He wants to say something to take the despondence out of your voice, but for a person who prides himself on always having a witty comeback, Beomgyu finds himself at a loss for words now. You don’t seem like you really want help with this, anyway. There isn’t much he could do to help with your plight even if you did. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in the end. “I wish I…” He trails off, then decides to try for some levity. “I wish I could help, though I’m not sure what I could do beyond kissing you.” He expects you to laugh.

You do not laugh. Instead, you look at him with a gaze oddly blank but also full of something he can’t discern, and ask, “Are you offering?”

Dead silence falls between you two. And in that silence, Beomgyu realizes now that you are the only two left in the room. Everyone else has gone. The door is open slightly for propriety’s sake, but this room is somewhat removed from the rest of the party, and—

Why is he even thinking about any of that? It’s not as if this would happen. It’s not as if you are really asking him to kiss you. 

Kiss you. 

All of a sudden Beomgyu can’t look at anything but your lips. Can’t think of anything beyond what it would feel like to have them against his—to hold you by the waist, pressing you closer to him as your arms wrap around his neck, his mouth swallowing any sounds you might make as he pulls you as close to his chest as he can. 

Dear God. Beomgyu feels somewhat faint. This is very dangerous territory. The logical part of his brain is screaming for him to disengage, to laugh it off and get out of the room as soon as possible because if he says the wrong thing (or the right thing? Is there even a right or wrong in this situation?) there will be no going back. But a deeper, more insistent part of him that isn’t lodged just in his brain but also in the beating of his heart urges him to rise to your challenge. To take the chance to have your lips and body against his. 

He's never felt this way before. He’s only been to a brothel once and he left before anything could happen because the idea of having intercourse with someone he barely knew repulsed him more than he ever expected it would. But even beyond that, even with his female friends and acquaintances, he has never felt this way. Never wanted anyone like this. Not once. 

“Do you want me to offer?” he asks quietly, and something in his chest sends a burst of warmth rippling throughout his body. 

You swallow, but your gaze remains steady. “I asked you a question first.”

And so you did. Beomgyu wonders if he should press his own suit, but something in the set of your features tells him he won’t receive a single answer until you’re satisfied with his reply. Warmth burns in his chest. “I cannot offer you the love you seek,” he says frankly. “But, if you would like…”

You hold yourself very still. Even the air seems to await his sentence to finish.

“…I could help you with a kiss.”

Silence drops between you two. You swallow again and Beomgyu follows the movement of your throat with his eyes, trailing it down from your lips as he cocks his head. “So I ask again,” he says quietly, “do you want me to offer, Miss L/N?”

For a long moment, you stay quiet. Long enough for the air to become stifling, long enough for the rational part of Beomgyu’s brain to regain some more control, long enough for him to come back to his damn senses and realize that this is going in a direction he won’t be able to control for long. Or maybe he’s already lost control. Either way, this can’t continue or you’ll both end up doing something you regret. “I apologize. I forgot myself.” He turns away, ready to flee. “I know our courtship is going to be over soon and I should not have suggested such a thing—even on my honor, I should not have—”

“Yes.”

Beomgyu blinks. A very unflattering noise that sounds like “what?” comes out of his mouth but he barely hears it, blurry, like he’s been submerged underwater. 

You swallow hard. “You asked if I wanted you to offer,” you say quietly. Something tremors in your voice but you meet his eyes. “And I said yes.”

He gapes in a way that is likely extremely unflattering, but you don’t seem to notice. “So?” you say, jaw set with what looks like determination, but Beomgyu can see the slight embarrassment tingeing your features the longer he says nothing. He’d tease you if he had the presence of mind to but he doesn’t, so he only extends a hand. 

“Come here.”

You shuffle forward, steps uncertain. “This means nothing,” you say quietly, more to yourself than him. 

He doesn’t understand why that deepens the sick feeling in his stomach. Of course this means nothing. It could never mean anything even if he wanted it to, which he definitely doesn’t. It’s not as if it’ll matter in a month anyway. “This means nothing,” he echoes, ignoring the pit in his gut in favor of taking your hand. 

The first thing he notices is that you are warm. He’s warm, probably too warm with the feeling in his chest, but when your palm touches his it’s as though a spark travels through his skin, up his spine. “Tell me what to do,” you mumble. 

Your words, for some reason, bring a smile to his face. “There’s not much to it,” he says. “It’s just kissing.”

“I know,” you snap, looking adorably embarrassed. “But I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or anything.”

Beomgyu smiles harder. “Put your arms around my neck,” he says. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

You take a breath. Beomgyu wonders for a moment if you’ll do what he said, but then your arms creep up, cautiously looping around his neck. “Like this?” you whisper, not looking at him. 

He can hardly answer around the sensation of your hands at his neck, palms flush against his skin. Warmth creeps up his face and it isn’t just from your hands, but he laughs, at himself and at you, a little bit. “Yes,” he says, curling one arm around your waist. You make a slight noise when your body hits his and Beomgyu might be delirious, but he swears that sound will be burned into his mind forever. 

You’re still not looking at him. Beomgyu chuckles slightly. “Miss L/N,” he says softly, tapping your chin with his free hand. “You’ll have to look at me to make this work.”

It takes an eternity for you to meet his eyes. When you do, though, Beomgyu finds himself mesmerized by them. Frozen in place by the heat of your gaze in the moment. His hand creeps up from your chin to cup your cheek. “Let me know,” he whispers, “if you ever want to stop.” He pauses for you to nod.

And then he kisses you. 

Your lips are soft against his. Warm, and impossibly sweet—not in taste, not exactly, but like candy, the longer he kisses you, the more he wants. He barely stops himself from letting a soft moan leave his lips but then you make a noise, soft and whiny and wanting, and almost reflexively he pulls you even closer than before. Your arms wrap tighter around his neck and you don’t protest. 

The rolling heat in his gut just flares brighter.

Beomgyu kisses you for seconds. He kisses you for hours. He kisses you until the sun sets and the moon rises, and then the moon sets and the sun rises. None of this is true but all of it is because that’s how he feels, kissing you now—like he could kiss you forever and never once tire of your lips. 

One of your hands creeps up into his hair, tugging it slightly, and he groans against your mouth. Nothing exists except you, now. Nothing but you and him. 

Air forces you to break apart in the end. If Beomgyu had his way he would just stop breathing rather than stop kissing you, but his body has other plans and forces him to pull away. His eyes had closed at some point. He doesn’t know when. He opens them now and when he sees your face, eyes wide, features slack, lips kiss-swollen and dark, he nearly crushes you against him again. 

He watches as you blink once, twice. Your expression stills and you seem to come back to earth. He watches your throat bob as you swallow hard, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “So,” you say, voice cracking slightly. “That’s a kiss.”

Beomgyu nods. “That’s a kiss,” he says, words lower than usual. 

Your eyes flicker around the room like you’d rather look anywhere than at him. Beomgyu doesn’t feel too bad about it because he thinks if you looked him in the eyes right now, he might combust. “We should probably go,” you say haltingly. “We’ve been gone for too long.”

He blinks. He’d almost forgotten just where you are and how compromising this position is. Then it really hits him—what he just did. Kissed you. Compromised you. At a party, a public event full of people when your courtship isn’t even real and is in fact supposed to end soon. Granted, no one saw, but someone very easily could have. The door is open, for heaven’s sake—he didn’t even close it—what is wrong with him—

“Yes.” The word comes out breathless, more air than sound. “Yes, we should…we should go.”

Slowly, you unwrap your arms from his neck. His arm slides off of your waist. And as the two of you leave the room, determinedly not looking at each other, Beomgyu can’t feel much else but the absence of your warmth against him. 

He feels a bit cold for the rest of the night.

. . . . .

It is a beautiful day out. The afternoon sun shines brightly through the windows, making the old curtains look almost cheerful, and when you and Sabine go outside to hang the linens to dry, the fresh but cold air stings your cheeks in the best way. Delia is playing in the small garden with Soyoung, and Henry hasn’t had a tantrum all day. In fact, he’s sleeping right now, and your stepmother has gone to call on some of her friends in town. By all definitions, it’s a wonderful day. 

Meanwhile, you are going insane. 

It’s been three days since the performance and ball at the Rosenbury house. It was supposed to be just another night out. You knew Lord Cho wouldn’t be there so even he couldn’t distract you from the specter of Mr. Choi looming over you, the knowledge that your contract courtship would end in just a few weeks. For all you thought about it, you couldn’t understand why you were so upset, and that just made you even more restless when you entered the estate and almost immediately locked eyes with him across the room. 

You remember polite but cool conversation. You remember feeling awful, having to keep a pleasant expression on your face all the while looking at the person you wanted to think about the least. You remember the performance being beautiful and romantic and lovely, so much so that you almost forgot your troubles, and you remember talking with Mr. Choi after and feeling a little better about it. At least, talking about the performance, you could forget about why you felt so wary speaking to him earlier. 

But you got carried away. You started talking about things you had only ever admitted to yourself, in your head—things you never thought you’d speak in front of someone else, much less Mr. Choi. You still don’t know why you said anything. Maybe it was just that once you started, you couldn’t really stop. Maybe it was because you knew you wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Choi in a month anyway, so you threw caution to the wind. You threw it much too far, though. 

You should never have let it get to the kiss. 

The kiss. You squeeze your eyes shut in the middle of tossing a sheet over the drying line. Even now you can’t stop the heat from rushing immediately to your face when you remember Mr. Choi’s eyes looking into yours, his voice low and soft, his arm around your waist and his hand against your cheek as he pressed his lips to yours. You felt so weak, then. But not in a bad way. There was a heat burning in your stomach that turned your legs to jelly and if it weren’t for Mr. Choi supporting you, you’re sure you would have melted into a heap on the floor. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of that day. You can’t stop thinking about it even now. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything—you said that, and so did he. But you’re beginning to realize that just because you might say something, that doesn’t mean it will be true. 

You resist the urge to scream. You really thought the kiss would be a one and done thing. Mr. Choi obviously doesn’t see you romantically and you were sure the same went for you. So why, even now, can you not think badly of the moment? As if it wasn’t enough to be ruined once? If anyone finds out that you two were left alone in a room, much less that you shared a kiss, you’ll be done for. You almost certain no one saw but you’ll have to be incredibly careful now not to let anyone suspect anything happened. In the wake of that moment, you’re not certain you can trust your acting skills to save you as much as you could before. 

God, why do you want him with you now? Why do you want him to kiss you again?

Sabine has gone back inside but you stay outside for a moment longer, sitting on the grass beneath one of the draped sheets. You would love to move and continue on with the day but your mind won’t shut up. The thoughts that you had been carefully keeping locked away in their little boxes in your mind are unraveling and if you don’t try to sort through them right now you’ll be a gibbering mess for the rest of the day—even more so than you already are—so you bury your face in your hands behind the fluttering white sheets and try to think. 

Mr. Choi can be an annoying pest. You have over a decade’s worth of arguments you can pull out immediately to prove this point. Mr. Choi, however, is not only an annoying pest, as unfortunate as that is. He can be very kind. Gentle. He loves children, as you saw with the duchess’s baby and with Delia—who still asks about him sometimes, and delights whenever he calls and she is allowed to see him. No one who adores children so much can be bad all the time. Not even he. And when he is kind, you can truly see the handsomeness for which he is so well known by the ton. It isn’t just an outward beauty, which you could admit even when you hated him. Physical beauty means nothing. But when you saw that Mr. Choi was truly a good person on the inside, too, he became that much more handsome to you. 

Focus. You pinch your wrist hard and the sharp sting clears your mind beyond Mr. Choi’s handsome face. He knows about your situation at home but did not press you to tell—instead, you were the one who felt comfortable with him enough, somehow, that you told him voluntarily. He did not laugh. He did not look upon you with shame or even pity. He only helped you clean your wounds, and then came calling when you didn’t expect it to give you new gloves because he knew then why hiding your hands was so important to you that you’d wear the same pair over and over for years when you couldn’t afford a new one. He even gave you salve for your hands. You weren’t lying when you told him your hands hadn’t felt so soft in years. 

He knows all of this. You were comfortable enough to tell him things you have never told anyone before, not even your closest friends. That scares you, and it brings back an old thought, one you used to view with irony but do now with a healthy dose of trepidation—that perhaps, because you have shown him the worst parts of yourself for so long, you have nothing else you need to hide. That perhaps, even before this season, Mr. Choi knew you better than many others did, even those with whom you are closest.

You trusted him to kiss you and not to take advantage of you. You trusted him not to say anything to anyone about it. You didn’t even think about it then—you were afraid your reputation might be unrecoverable if someone else saw, but never once did the idea that Mr. Choi would spread the news of your unintentional tryst even cross your mind. Because he wouldn’t, you are sure. He wouldn’t. For all the things that confuse you about him, his honor was never in question for you. He would never hold that moment over your head for anything. 

God, do you really like him? It seems like you do. You were unduly upset when he suggested ending the courtship soon, even though you knew it had to have been coming. You never wanted to think about it but maybe you really did feel that Mr. Choi had become more of a friend than you’d ever admit out loud. You pull your knees up to your chest and swallow hard, trying to digest your mental confession. It would explain a lot of things, at least. 

But would a friend think about another this much? All the time? And more importantly, would a friend want to kiss another this badly? Again?

Maybe you want him as something other than a friend. Something closer to a lover. 

Oh God. You scream silently into your knees. No. You’re not in love with Mr. Choi, you are certain of that. Absolutely certain. It wouldn’t happen—besides, it’s too fast. You couldn’t have fallen in love with someone you hated so much just months ago. Months. It doesn’t make any sense. There is no reasonable way that could have happened. 

Love doesn’t make sense, the traitorous part of your mind whispers. 

Against your will you remember the performance, the dancers and their strange, wild, beautiful movements that took them away from and towards each other. It didn’t make sense, but you knew the story was love, all the same. 

It doesn’t matter. You stand up suddenly, barely avoiding the wet end of a sheet about to slap you in the face. None of this matters. Because you are not in love with Mr. Choi, you know that for a fact. You would know if you loved him. You’re certain you would. Right now, you know that you don’t. And that is that. 

God, this is terrible. One temporary lapse of judgement and already you are such a mess. You have other things you need to be thinking about—namely the suitors who might still ask for your hand. Lord Kim called the day after the Rosenbury performance. Mr. Winslow came just yesterday. Lord Cho himself has come to call twice in the past week. Twice. Mr. Choi hasn’t even come once. 

Yet he’s the one your mind won’t shut up about.

Several hours later, as you descend from your carriage in front of the Bridgertons’ grand London townhouse, your mind still won’t shut up about him. If anything, you’re thinking about him even more because he’s also supposed to be in attendance tonight. You don’t really know how you’ll face him. You hope he isn’t here yet. 

You start walking up the front path, trailing slightly behind your stepmother who has already spotted one of her friends and is clearly eager to get away. Your fingers fiddle with your gloves—a bad habit that you’ve only noticed this season, but you can’t stop yourself right now. The gloves are the silk pair Mr. Choi gifted you. You really didn’t want to wear them today, not when your mind is already in shambles, but the Bridgertons are an esteemed family in town and you’re honestly surprised that you received an invite to their ball. This pair of silk gloves with the careful gold stitching is perhaps the only thing grand enough in your wardrobe for this event. Even your gown, which you had been refurbishing during the nights with new embroidery and patterns you’d gotten from older dresses, can’t quite live up to the elegance of the white silk Mr. Choi chose for you. 

You’ve been to the Bridgerton estate only once before, and the sight of the inside nearly takes your breath away. The viscountess has clearly outdone herself with the decorations—so tasteful and elegant, but never understated. You’re not the only one gawking, which makes you feel a little better as the crowd pushes you inside. Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself to be herded toward the ballroom. 

It’s a crush tonight. No one in their right mind would turn down an invitation from the Bridgertons except in an emergency and it shows. You lose your stepmother easily, which isn’t such a bad thing, but what you’re more worried about is the fact that you can’t seem to find anyone that really know. Mr. Choi is supposed to be here. So is Lady Choi and probably her husband, too, but you can’t see any of them yet. You wander the edge of the ballroom as people continue filtering inside, trying to seek out any familiar face, until someone calls your name and you turn around. 

Your initial hope at hearing your name crumbles into dust as you come face to face with someone you usually try to avoid at all costs, even more so than Mr. Choi. “Lady Trombley,” you say flatly, staring right into those narrowed snake eyes. 

“Miss L/N! What a lovely surprise.” She flashes you a bright smile that doesn’t fool you one bit. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Nor did I,” you say, curving your lips in the barest imitation of a smile. You hate her and she knows it, so you see no point in hiding your feelings. Honestly you wonder at the Bridgertons for inviting her tonight, but she is a titled member of society. Perhaps they had to for propriety’s sake. “I don’t exactly plan to see you anywhere, Lady Trombley. You just seem to be there.” Your smile turns sharp. “Hovering, you know. Like a fly on the wall. Or a snake.”

Lady Trombley covers her mouth with a hand, all dramatic shock, but your face remains politely neutral. When you promised yourself you’d be married this year, you only swore off arguing with Mr. Choi. Lady Trombley is a completely other story—she is just mean. Nasty. She slithers around society like a little snake, spitting venomous words into everyone’s ears like no one’s business. You may have a personal feud with Mr. Choi, but if you were to choose who you loathed more, it would be Lady Trombley by far. 

“Well, I only wanted to be kind,” she sniffs, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “After all, I truly thought you would have been married by now. You are quite a beautiful lady, Miss L/N…or at least, so society says.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I might say the same for you, Lady Trombley.”

“Is this not your third season?” she continues as though you hadn’t said a word. “Goodness, how time flies. I suppose beauty doesn’t matter much, then—at least, not compared to money.” Her eyes flash with triumph. “Isn’t it so upsetting when a lack of dowry prevents a beautiful lady from finding the match she deserves?”

“Truly,” another voice pipes up. Lord Grimson sidles up to her side, his eyes glinting with the same malice you saw in hers. “After all, it is one thing to bring in a beautiful girl with money. It is another thing entirely to bring in a beautiful girl with no money at all.”

“Your insults lack all imagination.” You huff out a laugh, keeping the fact that their words really do hurt you close to your chest. “Talking to you is like talking to a tree. Actually, a tree might possess slightly more intelligence than you—not to mention, more beauty, too.”

“Oh, I do not insult.” Lady Trombley holds her fan close to her chest as though surprised at your statement. “I only state what I see, Miss L/N. And what I see...hm.” She leans closer to you, her face suddenly appearing right in front of yours. Her voice turns into a hiss. “I see a lady with a pinprick of beauty and nothing else to show for it. No husband. No dowry.” A smile slithers over her lips. “No worth.”

Your smile drops completely. “Be careful, Lady Trombley,” you say evenly. “How many seasons were you out before you found your husband? Two? Three?” You smirk. “Perhaps, my lady, you and I are not so different after all. Though I’d fancy myself at least a pinch wittier than you.”

Her eyes narrow, and you can see her mouth opening to say something back. Not that it matters much to you, because you’re ready to bow out of this conversation without a goodbye, but then her eye catches on something or someone behind you and suddenly her whole face changes. “Mr. Choi!” she exclaims, and you freeze. Her gaze turns simpering, her eyelashes fluttering quickly. If you weren’t frozen at the mention of Mr. Choi’s name, you’d have half a mind to gag. 

You manage to turn just slightly to allow Mr. Choi into the small circle of conversation, but he doesn’t even look at Lady Trombley even when she addresses him directly. “I didn’t know you would be here, Mr. Choi,” she murmurs, voice a pitch higher than before. “Surely—”

“Miss L/N.” Mr. Choi dips his head to you without acknowledging Lady Trombley at all, very deliberately ignoring her and Lord Grimson. You blink once, twice—he’s given them the cut direct!—and only just manage mumble out his name in greeting. 

“I’m glad I was able to find you in this crowd. It is quite a crush tonight, is it not?” His smile, now that his face is no longer directed at Lady Trombley, has turned much softer. Sweeter. And all of a sudden you want to cry a little. You’ve managed to avoid enough direct confrontations with Lady Trombley and her crowd this season that you’d almost forgotten how terrible it feels to be insulted in public, and you know you can defend yourself, but it feels better than it should to have someone in your corner who might help you when you need it. “Might I escort you to the dance floor?”

Lady Trombley’s high voice cuts in before you can answer. “Surely the rumors are not true, Mr. Choi,” she titters. “You cannot possibly be courting Miss L/N!”

“I apologize,” Mr. Choi says, voice hard as he looks her directly in the eye. “Were you included in our conversation?” He offers his arm and you take it dazedly, letting him lead you away. 

A few steps in, you realize he isn’t leading you to the dance floor, but to a less crowded space at the edge of the ballroom. You’re grateful—you don’t really feel like dancing right now. “Thank you,” you mumble.

“Don’t thank me,” he says brusquely. “Lady Trombley is one of the worst kinds of people. I can’t abide her.” He shakes his head. “It was worth it just to knock her down a peg or two, though it seems like you had it handled before I arrived.”

“Well, it’s old news that I have no dowry. You would think they’d have come up with new insults in the meantime.” You shrug halfheartedly, trying to smile. It’s more difficult than you thought it would be. “Unfortunately, calling someone poor triumphs over everything. Even a terrible personality.”

“Your personality isn’t terrible,” Mr. Choi says sharply. 

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you admit it, Mr. Choi.”

He flushes a little. The sight makes it easier to smile—he looks rather cute. “Well, I’m saying it now,” he finally declares. “And it is—idiotic, to put someone down for a lack of wealth. Especially a dowry.” He snorts. 

You blink. “What do you mean by that?”

Mr. Choi scoffs. “Dowries are idiotic,” he says, loud enough for you to hear but not quite loud enough to carry. “It is incredible that the bride’s family should have to pay the husband’s to accept her, especially if the husband already has enough wealth to spare.” He shakes his head. “A stupid concept.”

You look at him for a long moment, trying to think of what to say. There are a lot of emotions spinning about your head and you’re not sure what to make of them. In the end, you give him a half smile and say, “You know, if we hadn’t hated each other for so long, we might have made a perfect match.”

Mr. Choi looks at you for a long moment, gaze inscrutable. You can’t read his expression but he seems to be looking for something in your eyes, though you’re not really sure what. In the end you don’t know if he finds it or not because he just gives you a little smile, pleasant and natural, and nods. “It’s a shame we got off on the wrong foot so badly,” he says, voice light. He looks away but you gaze at him a moment longer. If you didn’t know better, you’d say you saw a hint of disappointment, or something akin to it, in his eyes. 

But you do know better, so you ignore that thought and paste a smile of your own onto your face. “You said I didn’t need to thank you,” you say quietly, and he turns back. A wave of…something, you’re not sure what, passes over you, but it’s definitely not bad and feels more like gratitude and relief and maybe that earlier urge to cry, so you continue. “But I do. You…you are not the person I thought you were just a few months ago.” 

Mr. Choi stares at you so intently you almost lose your nerve, but you force yourself to say what needs to be said. It isn’t fair, after all, to allow him to keep thinking that you still believe him to be a terrible person all for the sake of your own pride. “Thank you for helping me just now. Thank you for the gloves. Thank you for not pitying me. And…” You take a deep breath. “I would like to apologize for my part in our childhood feud. I should not have thrown dirt at you, as angry as I was.” It’s too hard to look at him right now so you turn your gaze away, but you continue. “If I may, I’d like to really put that part of our childhood behind us. Not just for the sake of the deal, but in reality, too.”

For a long moment, Mr. Choi says nothing. His eyes rove over your face with an intensity you’ve never seen from him before. You remain still, letting him search for whatever it is he wants to find. “Then I must apologize as well,” he says finally, his voice quiet, though something brims in his words that you can’t quite figure out. “I should have apologized when I ruined your shoes. I should not have let it get to the point that you felt you needed to throw dirt at me to get your revenge.” One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile. “And thank you, Miss L/N, for being the first of us to put aside their pride to resolve this years-long feud. You are braver than I am.” He sighs, and it sounds a little like relief. “For what it is worth, you are not the person I thought you were before, either. I should like to move past our old feuds as well, for real this time.”

You feel like crying a little. You’re not sure which emotion is responsible for it—relief, happiness, gratefulness, or some mixture of all three?—but it doesn’t really matter. You can’t hide the smile blooming on your lips and you don’t have much desire to, either. You feel happier right now than you have in days. 

…Right. Now you’re remembering why you felt so moody over the past week. 

You tear your eyes from Mr. Choi’s face, and more importantly, from his lips. Your cheeks feel warm but with luck he won’t notice anything, as long as you keep your voice steady. “Mr. Choi, it is hard for me to admit, but I think…”

“Hm?” He blinks, suddenly looking very alert. You almost lose your confidence but you force yourself to continue. You’ve made it this far and he hasn’t rebuffed you yet.

“I don’t want to stop talking to you after a month,” you say all in a rush. He opens his mouth to speak but you barrel on, embarrassment flaring in your cheeks. “We don’t need to continue this courtship. I agree that we’ve both met our own conditions. But…we could be friends, could we not?” You’re too afraid to look at him for fear of seeing derision in his face, so you stay turned away. “The—the kiss—” you mumble the word so softly you can hardly hear it yourself—“we said it wouldn’t mean anything. It won’t—it doesn’t mean anything. But I would like to be friends. If you agree.”

This silence is even more unbearable than the one before. “Miss L/N,” Mr. Choi says eventually, very quietly. “Will you look at me?”

Slowly, you turn back to him. There is no derision in his eyes. In fact, he is smiling. 

“You are far braver than I,” he says, seemingly more to himself than you. “I should like to be friends. I was…too scared to bring it up on my own.” His smile widens. “Thank you for asking in place of me.”

Bravery. You nearly snort. If only he knew how selfish this desire was—that your desperation to see him again, even after the aforementioned month was over, was what drove you to this madness. Still, relief pools in your chest and you nearly sag as all of your emotions hit you at once. “Thank God,” you mutter. “I was terrified you would laugh at me.”

He looks at you with mock affront. “I would never laugh at you.”

You raise one deadpan eyebrow. “Yes, you would.”

He does laugh, then. And it’s a beautiful sound. You wonder how you never noticed how lovely it was before. “Touché,” he says, eyes twinkling like stars in a dark sky. 

You sniff, barely repressing your own smile. “I’m always right, Mr. Choi.”

“Beomgyu.”

“…What?” Did you hear him right?

“Beomgyu.” For the first time this night, Mr. Choi looks a little uncertain, but he meets your eyes with a steadiness that keeps you rooted to where you stand. “If we are to be friends, you must call me by my name, no?”

You open your mouth. Close it. To allow one to call you by your given name is an honor typically only bestowed upon family and the closest of friends. You know Mr. Choi—Beomgyu—is friendlier than most in the ton, but to you? Now? “Are you certain?” you ask, blinking fast. 

“Of course I am.” He smirks, but it isn’t even infuriating anymore. “I always am.”

“Tch.” You laugh. “In that case, you must call me Y/N. As a fair trade between friends, of course.”

“Well, if you say so…” He holds out a hand, smiling brightly. “Then might I ask you to dance, Y/N? As friends?”

You smile back. “As friends,” you echo, and as he leads you onto the dance floor, you wonder why, despite all of your relief and joy in this moment, you still feel like there is something missing behind your chest.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[sturniolodreamz]

NSFW Alphabet - Chris Sturniolo

a/n - these are my personal opinions, you can respectfully disagree!

tags - @sturniol0z @ethereal-lovers @its-jennarose @angelic-sturniolos111

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He isn't always the best at aftercare, so he usually won't do things like run you a bath, but he makes sure you are okay, and then lots of cuddles.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Let's be real, this man loves his dick. He's also a huge ass guy, so he loves sneaking looks and grabbing your ass as he walks by.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This man would love to cum inside you, but neither of you are ready for babies. Instead, he cums on your face or in your mouth, he loves to watch you swallow his load.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Long before you started dating, he was jerking off to your pictures, or even just the thoughts of what he wanted to do to you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's got a couple bodies on him. Nothing crazy, but he definitely knows what he's doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

DOGGY! We've all been saying this, he loved doggy, because he also loves your ass. He likes it even more if you are in front of a mirror, and he forces you to watch yourself getting fucked (and so he can still see your face.)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Some days he definitely likes to have fun with it, other days he means business and needs to get the job done.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it trimmed short, both yours and his preference.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He makes sure you know how loved and special you are to him, even during the most rough sex. He doesn't want you to think he is using you just for sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't jerk off often, he'd rather you do it for him. But during desperate times, he jerks off to photos or thoughts of you. He refuses to watch porn and get pleasure from seeing another girl.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He even said it himself, he loves it when you call him daddy. He also likes choking you (with your consent). Other than that, he's not really a kinky guy unless there are things you want to try.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He loves the classic bedroom, but if he gets the chance in the shower, car, or even a public bathroom he won't say no.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

This man is always horny, so it doesn't take much to get him turned on. Just a little teasing from you and hes ready to do some very unholy things to you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything involving bodily fluids grosses him out, or anything involving hurting you (so no impact play or degradation).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes giving just as much as receiving. He definitely knows his way around the vagina if you know what I'm saying.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He strongly prefers sex on the faster/rougher side, but if you are having a bad day and just need some love he will go slow and gentle (ps, I have a fic ab this here !!)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's always down for a quickie if it means another round later where he can take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If there's something you want to try and it's not super out there he will give it a shot, but for the most part he likes to stick with what he knows.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go at least 2 rounds if you're up for it, but usually you guys stick to just one longer one.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He let's you use a vibrator on him every once in a while, but he prefers himself to make you feel good instead of a vibrator or dildo.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is the king of teasing, especially if you guys are in a public setting where you can't exactly sneak off together.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's actual more on the quiet side in terms of sounds, but he dirty talks in your ear constantly.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves to smoke weed with you (oops) before having sex, he says it makes the orgasm better.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is on the bigger side, long but not super girthy, just enough to fill you up in all the right ways.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As I said before, he is pretty much always shamelessly horny and will never say no to sex or a blowjob/handjob.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He gets pretty tired after he cums, which is why he prefers to have sex at night.

[cloudlessly-light]

Hey bestie! I love your works! I was wondering maybe you could write a fic where Emily is cockwarming Aaron while he’s cleaning his gun and she cums very quick because it’s too sexy for her ☺️

A/N: I’ll give an extra warning for this chapter, it contains gun kink, you have been warned!

I would also like to add that I wrote most of this either on the way to or from @sequinsmile-x, as well as in her apartment.

Title: Love like mine (3/11) Chapter title: But don’t worry I’ll make sure you don’t forget it Summary: He wasn’t a cheater. Until her. Word count: 3,7k Rating: Explicit Warnings (for this chapter): Smut, cock warming, gun kink, dirty talk, cheating, hinting at abortion

They spend the day mostly naked, starting off with breakfast until Emily casually strips herself from his shirt and he ends up taking her on her dining room table. It’s hours spent together in between sex and jokes and conversation and Emily finds herself liking the way he’s relaxing in her company, the difference between Aaron and Hotch slowly sneaking through in a way he hadn’t let it before.

He’s funny, a dry sense of humor that she finds that she enjoys and she can tell that he likes the way she challenges him. It had been part of his attraction to her from the start, the fact that he can’t really figure her out.

“Where did you get this?” He asks as he traces the tattoo on her hipbone, faded and old on her skin.

“In Italy.” She doesn’t want to tell him the whole story, doesn’t want him to tell him that after one of the worst experiences of her life she wanted something beautiful to come from it. The daffodil tattoo that she at 15 thought was a good idea, the flower meaning change and new beginnings, something she now rarely paid much attention to. “It was a new start for me.” She tells him simply and he seems to understand that she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s pretty.” He says instead and kisses her hipbone before moving slowly up her body, his tongue tasting her skin until he’s face to face with her. “Like you.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She smiles into a kiss and when she hears his sated groan she can’t help the way satisfaction tingles down her spine. She knew he wasn’t hers, she knew that part of why she was attracted to him was because he was taken. Him being married meant that she was safe. She wouldn’t get hurt this way, and that was comforting.

Aaron tries not to think about the repercussions of what they were doing, how this could end. He didn’t want to leave Haley, didn’t really know what he was doing spending his weekend with another woman. But as Emily moaned his name in his ear, he didn’t want to stop.

He gets home early on Sunday morning to an empty house and he tries to ignore the guilt that’s creeping up his spine. He had spent the entire weekend with Emily, his mistress, and the thought of Haley had barely crossed his mind. The clothes he wears smell like her and he quickly puts them in the washing machine, needing to hide every trace of Emily before Haley walks through their front door with his son.

It’s wrong, so wrong, this wasn’t the man he had imagined himself to be. But Emily was addictive, something he hadn’t known he needed but now didn’t know how to be without. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that he should come clean, that doing this to Haley was close to evil. But he loved his wife, loved the life they had built and he didn’t want to give that up.

He realizes that it can’t last, not in the long run but then dark eyes and a teasing smile flashes in his mind and for some reason he finds that he’s not ready to give her up.

Being with Emily was something new, something he’d never had before, pleasures and urges he had always forced deep down finally seeming to have room to breathe. She didn’t judge him for wanting what he did, in fact, she seemed to revel in it. Reveled in the way he let go like he hadn’t before, seemed to love the power it gave her.

He hears Haley call for him just as he’s getting out of the shower, only minutes after he had washed the sin off his skin.

“Hi honey.” She greets him with a soft kiss and a smile, gentle and loving and home and he kisses her back. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He tells her, the lie sliding off his tongue almost too easily as he takes Jack from her, the toddler babbling happily in his arms. “How were your parents?”

“They’re good. Maybe next time you can come too.” Haley watches as he tickles Jack with a fond smile. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew something had changed between them in the last few months, knew that he was hiding something from her but as she stood there in the home where they had picked out the color of the wallpaper and argued about what couch to buy and listened to the sounds of their sons laugh, she forced those thoughts away.

*

“Is this a bad time?” She knocks on his office door and lingers in the doorway. It’s late, everyone’s gone home and she had every intention to do the same, but then he had given her that look, the look that meant he wanted her to stay late. So she had told a lie to Derek and JJ when they asked why she didn’t go home, blaming paperwork that she didn’t actually have but it seemed to be enough for them to leave the office.

It had been a strange day, a restlessness in her that she wasn’t sure where it came from. She needed something, but didn’t know what. Felt the need for something thrilling, for the restlessness to go away. She must have walked into his office right as he was about to clean his gun, the weapon disassembled on his desk and for some reason her eyes fastens on it.

“Not at all.” He said as he stood from behind his desk. He looked through the window and saw that the bullpen was empty and he closed the blinds swiftly. When he looked back at her he could see how her eyes lingered on his gun that he had just been about to clean, thinking that it would still be a while before she would have been able to join him. “Emily?”

Her eyes snap to his and she licked over her suddenly dry lips. She didn’t know why the thought of his gun suddenly made want stir in her belly, didn’t know why she suddenly thought about how his gun looked small in his large hands and the precision in which he used it. But she did know that the restlessness she felt made her feel something she never had before as she looked at the weapon in front of her.

“Yeah?” For some reason her voice comes out low and breathy, so familiar to him in the throes of passion that he feels a tugging in his groin.

“What are you thinking about?” He husks as he circles her slowly until he’s standing behind her, lets his lips trail teasingly along the back of her neck as his hands grip her hips to pull her back against his chest. The adrenaline that suddenly rushed through his veins was intense, because he knew this was new, something neither of them had done before.

“N-nothing.” She swallows hard but cranes her neck to give him easier access to her skin.

“Tsk, you shouldn’t lie.” He nips at her neck and she gasps in response. “You’re still looking at it.” The way her body tenses slightly as she looks back at him with wide eyes makes him hum knowingly.

She tore her eyes from the gun, felt his lips turn into a smirk against her neck and when her eyes meet his there’s something dark reflecting in his brown orbs, something feral and new, something that sends a thrill through her body. And she knew she was caught.

He lets go of her and goes to sit down at his desk, a small smile tugging on his lips that he bites the inside of his cheek to keep at bay.

“You like my gun?” He beckons her closer and she walks around the desk to stand at his side. “Answer me.”

“I don’t know why.” She mumbles, shy in a way she usually never was with him and the way her cheeks heat up makes him sit back in chair.

“I’ll tell you what.” He pushes back slowly from his desk, one hand hovering over his fly. “You can sit here and watch me clean my gun, and if you’re quiet, I’ll give you a reward.”

She looks at him questionably, not understanding where he’s going with this. Her eyes shift from his gun to his hand as he slowly reaches for her, his fingers expertly popping the button of her pants.

“What are you doing?” She barely recognizes her voice, so thick with want that it comes out low and raspy.

“I’m undressing you.” He tells her matter-of-factly before pulling her pants and underwear down her hips. When they’re a puddle around her feet he stands to help her out of her shirt, her bra soon following as she stands completely naked in front of him. He tugged on the piercing, a nipple ring that she’d started wearing only a few days ago. “You’re going to sit here and keep my cock comfortable while I clean my gun.”

The whimper that escapes her comes without warning, suddenly so aroused that it feels like her entire body was set on fire. He’s barely even touched her, and yet she knows her slick are shining on her thighs already, her skin flushing as he looks at her with dark eyes.

“Aaron-“ she starts but is quickly cut off as he presses a finger against her lips.

“Quiet, sweetheart.” The nickname falls from his lips without hesitation and if he wasn’t so ridiculously turned on himself he would have corrected himself. But instead he simply drags the zipper of his slacks down, gets his hard cock out and sits back down on his chair.

Emily waits only a second before she straddles his legs, her hand around his shaft as she lines him up with her center. She runs the tip of him through her folds, lets him feel her wetness before slowly sinking down on him with a strangled moan. His hands spread her thighs wider apart, as wide as possible as he holds her tight against his chest, his breathing coming out of hot, short puffs against the back of her shoulder. She slowly starts to grind but his hands tighten and he bites down on her neck.

“No no, sit still, just like this.” He smirks when she forces herself to still on his lap, knows that she more than anything wants to move, to create friction for them both. “Rub your clit for me”

His low voice in her ear caused her to shiver and she squeezed around him return. Her fingers trembled as she does as he says, using two fingers to gently circle the bundle of nerves as Aaron hummed, pleased with her obedience.

“Fuck…” she gasped as she clenched around him again and she heard his low groan against her ear.

“Now watch.” He let go of her hips only to reach for his gun. When he held it up Emily bit back a moan, eyes fastened on it. “Dirty girl, you probably want me to fuck you with my gun.” He cleaned the muzzle as he talked.

She didn’t respond, but her hips buckling slightly and her fingers speeding up against her clit was more than enough of an answer. The danger of his words made her head spin, images of what he was saying flashing in her mind.

“Mhmm, you want me to fuck you with my gun like I fuck you with my cock, hard and deep. You want to drench it, want to ruin it with the mess you’d make.” He continues conversationally as he continues to clean gunpowder out of the barrel.

”Aaron, Jesus Christ.” Her eyes rolled back as heat spread through her, slowly building her orgasm up. The heightened situation made the familiar heat she now associated with him spread quicker than ever before. All she wanted was to move, but she stayed still even as her thighs shook, afraid to break whatever spell he’d managed to put her under.

“You want to clench around the barrel of my gun just like you’re clenching me right now.” Aaron growled at the way her tight walls were trembling around him. He didn’t know what kind of primal desire had set off for her, all he knew that the brutality of it was making it hard for him to control himself. He licked over her fluttering pulse, tasted the vibration of her moan as she trembled hard enough for him to stop what he was doing to keep her on his lap.

“C-can I?” She panted through dizzying pleasure, her fingers moving in quicker and quicker circles against her clit.

“Good girl.” He praised her with a low groan. “Come for me.” He let go of the grip and put down the rag he had used and wrapped one arm around her middle to keep her still, let the other move to tug gently on her nipple ring and then she was coming, a loud cry that he knew would have been heard through the door leaving her as she rocked on his lap, unable to keep from buckling as pleasure spread through her body in powerful waves.

Once she had calmed and he was sure that she wouldn’t fall off his lap he let go of her only to pick his gun up again. He could see how her eyes, heavy lidded and dark followed his movements as he reassembled his gun, slowly, deliberately.

“Did I tell you to stop?” He asked then, his hand wrapping around her wrist to place it back against her clit. “Keep clenching around me baby, make me feel good.”

She whimpered, her clit sensitive to the touch but she did what he said, rubbing slowly over it as Aaron simply held the gun out in front of her again.

“My filthy girl.” He licked a stripe up her neck, her skin tasting of sweat and adrenaline. “You’re enjoying yourself almost too much.” His hand gripped the gun tighter, making sure her eyes stayed on it as he slowly trailed it down her body. The muzzle grazed one of her nipples, the cold steel making her gasp before slowly moving it down her body, letting her feel it gently press against her stomach.

“Aaron I don’t-” Her words were cut off by him nudging her hand away from her clit, only to graze the gun against it, the muzzle scraping it gently. It was cold and hard, the feeling new and she whimpered.

“You’re soaking me.” He let the metal slide over her clit slowly, up and down, up and down, until she was clenching around him again. The barrel was shiny with her slick as he kept moving it against her clit, glinting in the low lights in his office and he grunted against her ear.

“I’m close.” Her hands were gripping his desk, her body trembling as she tried desperately not to move. The sight of his hand, large and strong, holding the gun, something dangerous and risky between her legs was something she knew she’d never forget. It was maddening, the excitement she felt as he brought her closer to the edge. She knew he was getting closer too, his low groans against her ear deep and raspy, the hand not holding the gun gripping her hard enough to leave bruises.

Then he pressed the barrel of the gun a little harder against her clit and she was coming with a guttural whine, her head thrown back against his shoulder and body trembling as she spasmed around him. The feeling of her clenching walls around him was enough for him to come as well, his release hard enough to knock the air out of him as he jerked up against her.

She was still coming down when she heard the thump of the gun hitting the floor and then his hand on her jaw, pulling her face towards his to kiss her deeply. He tastes like Aaron and adrenaline, almost metallic.

“You really will be the death of me.” He whispers once they pulled apart and she smiles lazily, a low hum leaving her.

“Let’s hope not. This is too much fun.” She kisses him again, kisses him until the need for air becomes too much.

When she gets home that night she can still feel him, can smell his cologne on her body, feel his warm hands on her skin. She pretends that thinking about him isn’t something she should see as a warning, that pressing on the bruises on her hips was only to remember the way he had felt as he grabbed at her and not thinking about the way he’d kissed each one after they were done.

She pretends because he’s married. He was a father. He was something fun to pass the time, to use as a way to get frustrations out. Wasn’t he?

*

It’s been three weeks since that night in his office, three weeks of things seemingly falling into chaos. The cases they worked were grueling, somehow worse than ever it felt like. They didn’t get much time to rest, flying to and from DC in a way they usually didn’t. It made Aaron want to be home as much as possible, because he missed Jack, missed Haley. But he also missed Emily.

They never spend the night together while on cases, knew that it was too risky. But as the days passed on, he could feel the tension build, pressure slowly making him close to agitated. He was too mad at the world, the cases they worked, the victims he met somehow getting under his skin in a way they usually didn’t.

And then it’s like something snaps, a local case, an unsub telling him in detail about his victims, all of them children, all of them dead. And Aaron can’t handle it.

She can tell, can tell the second her eyes meet his and she is quick to find him alone.

“What can I do?” She asks and he looks relieved to see her standing in the doorway of his office.

“Can I come over tonight?”

She can tell everything he doesn’t say, sees the anger and the way he wants nothing more than to scream his frustrations out at the world.

“Of course.” When his shoulders lower the tiniest bit she smiles. “I’ll take care of you.”

He calls Haley on the way, lies about an emergency meeting as he knocks on the door to Emily’s apartment door. She opens it with a filthy smile and nothing else and the second he’s hung up she’s on him, clawing at his clothes and kissing him like her life depended on it.

He lets her take charge, lets him get him undressed and up the stairs without question and then she’s pushing him back on the bed, quickly following him as she straddles him. It’s not often he does this, but tonight he feels like he needs it and Emily being her, already knew that even without being told. He sits up to kiss her, hands on her naked waist but she pushes him back against the bed again, hands flat on his chest as she slowly grinds on top of him, a smirk on her lips when he hisses at the heat of her along his shaft.

“I know you like this, having a dirty little secret.” Her lips ghosts over his and when he tries to kiss her she pulls back. “I know you come to my apartment to get out all that tension you can’t with her.” She licks across one of his nipples and when she tugs it between her teeth his jaw clenches as he swallows down a groan. “You use me, but it’s okay because I use you too.”

She’s sinking down on him and rides him until he’s groaning and swearing, her body dragging pleasure from his. When he comes it’s with her name hissed from between clenched teeth, his body sweaty and heavy with pleasure as she lets him enjoy the release he really needed as he relaxes back against her bed.

After, he cleans himself off in her bathroom and when he comes back to the bedroom, he finds it empty. He dresses, buttons every button and ties his tie before combing his hair quickly. When he walks downstairs he looks like Hotch again and Emily smiles at the sight.

She’s standing in the kitchen, leaning back against the same kitchen counter that he’s fucked her on more times than he’d like to admit, looking so effortlessly gorgeous and he has a hard time looking away from her.

“What?” She asks, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“Nothing, I’ll see you at the office.” His hand gently grasps the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss.

“I never thought I’d do this.” She admits once he’s pulled away and he looks at her questionably. “Help a man cheat, I mean.”

“I never thought I would cheat, but here I am.” He stays close and she lets her arms wrap around his neck loosely. ”Do you want to stop?”

“No.” She says softly and for the first time Aaron finds himself wondering if maybe they’re getting in too deep.

“I don’t either.” He tells her honestly as he rests his forehead against hers for a brief second.

The moment is interrupted by his phone, loud and obnoxious to his ears and when he looks at the screen he sees Haley’s name flashing on it.

“Hi honey.” He steps away from Emily and she gives him a gentle nod. “No, I’m heading home now, sorry the meeting ran long.”

Emily watches him go, his hand squeezing hers quickly before he heads to the door. Once he’s closed it behind him she finds herself not liking the silence of her apartment. It’s the first time she had ever come close to regret

[cowboyfromh3ll]

I LOVED what you wrote for the dutch's daughter!reader fic. I know you said you wanted a bit of variety in the requests, so you can ignore this one for a little while if you want. Would you be able to expand on their relationship a bit more, and maybe do a scenario where the reader is washing up away from camp, perhaps at Flat Iron Lake (when they moved camp to Clemen's Point) in the evening, and Arthur "stumbles" upon her (he was lowkey watching her), joins her, and fucks her whilst suspended in the water. After they finish, he has to duck down behind her because Dutch walks up to check on her since she was taking a long time, and they nearly get caught.

Getting caught stirred Arthur on more, and after Dutch walks off, he has to take her again because he has such an adrenaline rush :)'''

The Passion Of Lovers (Part 2)

(Arthur Morgan x Dutch’s Daughter!Reader Smut)

Warnings: smut

In spite of your father’s imperiousness, you sought cracked pleasures. There was only so much contentment money could bring, and your other needs began to come into question. Being surveilled in camp 24/7 turned you into quite the sly individual, that combined with the fact that you were Dutch’s daughter, and you could witness firsthand his own connivingness. You in turn became very skilled at sneaking and lying; an inherited sixth sense that would backfire on Dutch time and time again. Your humor attracted the lucky bad type, never quite breaking your heart in the process. You were meticulously careful in all your sordid affairs, making sure your father knew not too much; and knew exactly what you wanted him to know. Though you never did view your relationship with Arthur as something to be ashamed of or worth hiding; in fact, the chances of anyone else in camp besides your father finding your relationship to be disreputable were extremely low. But the two of you were smart enough to know that if you had decided to confide in your most trusted peers, it would somehow, inevitably get back to Dutch. 

You didn’t even want to ponder on the possibility of what would happen if your father found out. There’d be a strange rift in camp; like a burdensome wrinkle that you can’t quite iron out no matter how many times you go over it, no matter how much heat you apply. The tension would be palpable; would Dutch argue with Arthur? Would he force him to break up with you? If so, would he change his mind once he saw how ruined you were because of it? Part of you felt a sick satisfaction out of imagining your father’s guilty face once he saw how heartbroken you were. A pleasure in pain. 

Your mornings begun fairly early; you’d awake at around 5 AM, a feverish anticipation for the day stirring in your joints as you became restless, giggling quietly to yourself as to not wake your father, as you imagined yourself venturing off into town with Arthur in an impromptu date, or sneaking a kiss or two just outside camp out of the view of any watch guards. Subtly pushing up against one another, blowing each other's circuitry while disguising it with the confusion of blithe laughter and small talk funneled into each other's ears with moist, anticipatory lips. Of course, before drawing any suspicion to yourselves, you’d look off to the side with an idle stare that suggested nothing was happening between you two, that this was entirely casual, that neither of you had meant to have you press your ass up against Arthur’s eager crotch while hurriedly passing each other in a cramped area. 

Perhaps your flirtations over time had become imprudent. Caring less and less about keeping them away from camp, finding some sort of exhilaration in the risk that came with doing so in such a widely observable area. Your coquetry bordering on the edge of just enough to keep it safe and fun, and pushing the boundaries of what would fly under Dutch’s radar. 

Though like many of your mornings, you began your day by heading towards the campfire to eat some stew. You’d then indulge in a cup of coffee, sipping the drink with an eerie smile on your face while you stared off over Flatiron Lake, something no one would comment on out of politeness. If chance allowed it, you’d sneak over to Arthur’s tent and share a few hurried kisses before anyone else awoke. Though whilst the morning was still breaking in from night, you’d venture into the lake for a quick bath in preparation for the day’s events. You used only the most expensive shampoos and fragrances which you’d use modestly; the scents potent enough for them to last throughout the day. You had hoped the fragrance would absorb into your skin, wanting to smell as though you were some readily edible treat. A treat that Arthur could merely observe behind a viewing glass as long as the two of you were in camp; and if he so much as dared to reach for the confection, his wrist would be slapped away hastily. 

You dressed yourself with some of the finest clothing you had picked out yourself provided your father’s money, and by the time you returned to camp from the lake, more than half the camp was bustling with life. You’d greet each member in passing, careful not to put too much interest in your greeting towards Arthur as you stood next to him by the campfire.

“I’m going into town today? Ride with me?” Your question was innocent enough, but the corners of your mouth twitched at the innuendos underlining it. ‘Of course, I ALWAYS wanna ride.’ seemed to be a shared thought between the two of you as you both took a moment to clear your throats. 

“Of course, (Name). What errands you running today?” He’d ask. 

You’d shrug nonchalantly, unsure of what tribute to your sizable allowance you’d buy this time. “Was thinking of some clothes. Nothing specific in mind but I just wanna look around.” You disguised your burgeoning smile by sipping another mug of coffee you had poured yourself. Arthur nodded before looking off pensively, as if he were going through some mental archive he had of all the clothes he wanted to see you in. 

It was routine to walk towards your father’s tent, to inform him of your departure from camp for a few hours to do some errands, and without looking up from whatever book he was engrossed in, unable to see your excitement, he’d beckon Arthur forth, instructing him to accompany you into town. It was only then that he’d look up at Arthur with a threatening gaze, telling him to take good care of you.

And good care he took of you. You weren’t made aware of any leering gazes, as Arthur had effectively scared any men off. He held your arm as you walked, whispering the occasional compliment about how amazing you looked. He’d bury his head in your hair, taking in deep inhales as he reveled in the fragrant scent and softness of your hair. 

The occasional stray touch would indicate your excitement; a hand sliding too far up one another’s thighs as if in search of the pulsing heat the other longed for. You and Arthur appraised how well a clothing piece would compliment you. A sensually inquisitive hand would adjust your collar, lingering on your pulse before pulling away, a small brushing of your breast preceding a more firm squeeze, a hand on your back that would impishly slide down to the curve of your ass before delivering a playful spank or clutch. 

By the time you two returned to camp, you were concupiscent, at the boiling points of your arousal. Before entering the path towards camp the two of you would swap saliva, hungry tongues exploring as you groped each other ardently. Sometimes coitus was not an option on the table, restrained by the limits of time and curfews. You two would adopt the facade of friends well acquainted simply returning from a day out on the town; walking into camp while your bodies were still in stages of lingering arousal. From where you stood next to Arthur, you’d be able to watch as Arthur gingerly ran his exposed palm over himself and adjusted his pants, his shame and caution taking control over his half-inflated genitals. 

You’d continue the rest of your day with chronic arousal, briefly glancing over towards Arthur and granting him a knowing gaze. It said ‘I know you’re dying to touch me right now, and you’ll be able to soon.’ 

You’d set down whatever book you were reading, gathering your night garbs and expensive soaps and lotions before heading off towards an isolated part of the lake for your second bath of the day; an inviting air surrounding you. Arthur would perk up in his cot, as if someone had suddenly called his name with unbridled urgency. Before long he’d feel excitement stirring in his loins at the thought of watching you bathe, and would feign composure as he sat up in his cot, accentuating just how ‘non-excited’ he was by stretching out his limbs and sighing, before hurriedly walking off towards the woods bordering the lake. He’d loop around the path to make sure no one was watching him, whistling for his horse so no one would question his whereabouts without his horse to follow. He’d tie his steed to a tree trunk, before venturing into the trees himself. 

He saw the horizon over the lake, the sky tinged with lavender and dark purple as day transitioned to night. His eyes scanned the lake desperately for signs of your body. He walked along the edge of the woods, eventually spotting your pile of clothes left on a boulder. He traced his eyes up from the pile and towards the lake, where he saw your naked body contrasting against the darkness of the water and the sky. The water blocked him from viewing your pelvis or legs, but your breasts and hardened nipples were in full view, gleaming from the moonlight shining on them. Arthur leaned his back on a nearby tree, as if he were getting comfortable for a show he had traveled various lengths for, finally able to enjoy what he came for. 

He watched as you clutched the slippery bar of pink soap in your hand, lathing it over your skin with careful precision as to not drop the bar. As if you were reading Arthur’s mind, you smeared the bar over and in between your breasts, glazing your skin in a soapy film before taking your hands and frothing the suds. You ran your hands down your sides sensually, lifting your legs from the water to lather the skin there too. As you did so, your crotch came into view. Arthur’s chest heaved in excitement, and he began palming his cock through the front of his jeans. The applied pressure caused him to groan silently, and his hands gained a mind of their own as he began unbuckling his belt and undoing the front of his jeans. 

Before he could pull his cock out, he made eye contact with you; and rather than being chastised and branded a creep for watching you, you giggled and turned to face him fully from the water. 

“Hey, Arthur!” You called from the water. You waved your hands towards you, motioning for him to come to you. “Get in! Water feels real nice!” You waved the soap bar in the air now, suggesting you could give him a cleaning of his own; a cleaning that would more than likely turn into something more. 

He held the demeanor of a kid flying down the stairs of his two story home on christmas morning, bee lining towards the gifts under the tree. He stood next to the boulder where your clothes lay, depositing the fabrics hastily behind the rock out of view in the possibility that someone stumbles across you two. You licked your lips in excitement as you watched him undress, drinking in every detail of his body and making a special note of his half erect cock. He dipped his body below the water’s surface to begin soaking his body in preparation for your cleaning. You took him in with open arms, feeling the way his chest vibrated in a satisfied hum as he felt your soapy breasts up against his torso.

“Were you watching meee?” You drew out the syllable playfully, playing with the hair on his chest as you looked up at him. His arms slid under yours and around your waist with ease, pulling you impossibly closer against him. He reveled in the way your breasts pressed and slid against him, and you felt his cock twitch against your thigh. 

“Maybe.” He responded humorously. 

“Do you want me to clean you?” You raised the bar into view again, waving it. 

“As long as you’re touching me, I don’t care what you do woman.” He gave your ass a playful spank as you dipped the bar into the lake water, rubbing your hand on it in a way that made Arthur’s cock twitch once again. Once you produced enough suds, you began rubbing it all over Arthur’s chest and shoulders, working the foam into his skin in hopes he’d smell as good as you. Arthur hummed in delight, thinking nonchalantly about what excuse he’d use when asked why he smelled like you, and he’d claim he had treated himself to some soap, and in his ignorance for what was best, trusted your judgment and ended up buying the same one as you. 

You arms massaged his firm muscles in the process, squeezing before moving onto the next fiber group. Your hands moved around towards his back, in awe of the expansive size of his wide set shoulders and formed rhomboid, which you took extra care in massaging. He groaned in satisfaction as your lithe hands pressed against him, and before long you dropped all innocent pretenses, handing the bar of soap to him before gripping the base of his cock, giving it a firm squeeze before stroking it vigorously. Arthur released a sigh of satisfaction, tipping his head back as a string of moans and curses followed. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” You confessed, eyes trained on the way the tip of his cock bobbed with each movement. Your right arm rose and fell in repetitive motions, tugging against his crotch. 

"Fuck… what if your dad catches us?" Arthur groaned, leaning his pelvis towards you as if you were pulling him along by his cock. Your dad. The way Arthur referred to him not by Dutch but as your dad added a layer of scandalousness to the situation that made it all the more better. 

"Well then, you hide." You answered bluntly, stopping to smother his tip with your thumb. Arthur discarded the thought, lathering up his hands before cupping your breasts and rubbing them thoroughly. The suds sat on your breasts irresistibly, some of them sliding down over the curves and onto the rest of your body. The skin became equally as slippery, and made the movement of your breasts against one another effortless as Arthur pressed them against one another. He ran his thumbs over your nipples in fascination, delivering the occasional slap before going back to squeezing them. 

The display was theatrical for Arthur, but you soon grew far too needy. Not to mention the growing urgency of time restraints; your father's apprehensiveness over your well being when you took too long to do certain things drove him to look for you, and even during something as intimate as a bath, he found more reason to search for you given your vulnerable state. 

Reaching down you used your fingers to guide his cock into you, making it past the awkward rubbery stage of submerged penetration. All your worries melted away as Arthur speared you on his cock, wrapping your arms around his neck as he bounced you on his pelvis. You threw your heard back in a wanton moan, noticing the beginning of a smattering of stars, but your whole world was soon reduced to hisses and moans, the water of the lake responsive to each thrust, lapping away at your thighs.

You opted to wrapping your legs around Arthur's torso, his hands coming to instinctively cup your ass as he held you up. The movements were hurried, desperate; as though some worldly force would come and ruin this moment for you. You dragged your nails along Arthur back, thin ribbons of blood blossoming forth and leaving a stinging sensation behind for Arthur to revel in. With Arthur supporting your whole weight within his hands and firearms, it allowed you to unwrap your arms from around him and theatrically play with your breasts, making a show of the slippery wet mounds of flesh. 

Before long, you came on Arthur's cock, your juices mixing with the lake water. You had to bite down on your thumb to contain any squeals or moans, bracing yourself for Arthur's own release. He gave you a warning grunt, stilling as he emptied himself inside you in a few deep thrusts. As Arthur slid you off and helped you onto your feet, you groaned in satisfaction. Your crotch was a pool of spent pleasure; the slow drip of Arthur's fluid leaving your body feeling like a deep ache inside you that had finally been remedied. 

"That was fun." You giggled, leaning up to kiss him. The two of you remained there, bathed in moonlight, sharing a few tender kisses and forgetting yourselves; and the time. 

"(Name)!" 

"Shit." You whispered between teeth. You allowed each other a moment of shared disbelief; Arthur looking down at you in horror before jumping into action. You dunked him beneath the water behind you, the increasingly nearing sound of leaves and sticks crunching urging you on. You hoped to God Arthur's lung capacity would be in your favor. You yourself had to lower yourself to neck level to avoid having your father look at you stark naked. Thankfully, as he emerged from the woods, he allowed you the decency of shielding his eyes, only daring occasionally to look between the cracks in his fingers to ensure you were okay. 

"(Name)! There you are! Are you okay? You've uh.. certainly been taking your time today." He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the ground. You followed his eyes down to where they were on the floor, and a cold sense of panic rattled within your rib cage as you realized some of Arthur's clothes were peeking out from around the boulder where your clothes lay. 

"I'm okay, Daddy." You said reassuringly, hoping that would be enough for him to leave you alone. You felt a small tap on your calve, indicating Arthur's breath was running out. A sense of anxiety prickled at your skin in a way that made you restlessly snappy. 

"Alright well, stews ready. And I left a small gift for you by your tent, and—"

"Okay! Thank you Daddy! Now please let me finish." Your eye twitched in aggravation, thanking the Lord your father couldn't see your face. He bid you farewell, and you watched as his back disappeared into the woods. You waited a few more seconds until he was out of earshot, Arthur's tapping on your leg had now turned into a firm squeeze. You pulled Arthur up by the shoulders, feeling as though Arthur were sucking in a deep breath for the both of you. You both caught your breath, reveling in the success of your veiled debauchery. 

“I can’t believe we pulled that off!” You laughed breathlessly, slapping one of Arthur’s pectorals. He nodded and laughed along.

“If Dutch spoke any longer I would’ve drowned.” He took one last deep breath before evening out his breathing. “And uh… it was quite exciting.” 

You nodded, tracing your eyes down and noticing he was no longer flaccid, he was hard once again. The two of you exchanged sensuous glances, before Arthur gingerly slid his hands beneath your armpits and picked you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting out a kittenish moan at being penetrated again. The silence of the lake was loud again.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The Passion Of Lovers - Bauhaus

[stervrucht]

● AO3 ● My fics ● My art ● Rambling ● Asks ● Previews & Snippets ● Kofi ●

Hi, I'm Ster -- grad student by day, writer by night. Suffering from a severe case of Steddie brainrot. Drawing backgrounds? Never heard of her. MDNI

✨match my clown, and we'll be friends✨

Proud supporter of the Loser Steddie Agenda💜

Links to pairing I write for: Steddie (Stranger Things) | Harringrove (Stranger Things)

Steddie Angsty August [2024] Eddie Munson Big Bang [2024-2025]

The Graveyard Shift Steddie | Rated E | 12.3K words | Ongoing | Tags: Vampire!Eddie, Hotel clerck!Steve, Horror Local rockstar Eddie Munson — enigmatic, mysterious, never photographed in daylight — stays at the Indianapolis Sweetwater Hotel during a gig. Steve Harrington is just a simple guy trying to earn a living working the graveyard shift at a hotel desk.  ● Tag ● Sneak Preview ● Part 1 ● AO3 ●

Ask me about my WIPs and I'll post snippets!

📗Eddie Munson Big Bang - TBA [7.0K] 🩸The Graveyard Shift - Chapter 4 [1.0k] ❓Secret project with @sleepy-steve - Canon divergence Steddie [3.4k] 💀Blood crawls where it can't go - Vampire!Eddie [3.0K] 🔬Scifi-Steddie canon-divergence [3.7k]

Proximity | Steddie | Rated E | 52K words | Completed Eddie POV - Slow burn - Mutual Pining - Sharing a bed - Fluff and angst Eddie enjoys invading people’s personal space, just to mess with them. Steve's complete disregard for boundaries makes him the ultimate challenge. ● Part 1 ● AO3 ●

Drumstick | Steddie | Rated E | 2.8k words | Complete Steve POV - Fluff & smut & humor Eddie is bad at dirty talk and gets a little offended when Steve points it out.. ● Tumblr ● AO3 ●

Encore | Steddie | Rated M | 8.3k words | Complete Steve POV - Bisexual Awakening - Fluff Steve runs an errand for Dustin and has a bisexual awakening at the hands of Eddie Munson. ● Tumblr ● AO3 ●

Grass | Steddie | Rated E | 3K words | Complete Steve POV - Drugs made them do it - Shotgunning When Steve doesn’t go to college, he can stay at his parents’ house under one condition: every week he has to mow the lawn. Eddie has some tips when it comes to grass. And by grass, he means weed, of course. [AO3]

Gravitational | Steddie | Rated M | 1.5K words | Complete Eddie POV - Vampire!Eddie - Bloodsucking - Horror Eddie arrives at Steve's doorstep, drenched in blood, after having been presumed dead for a considerable time. ● Tumblr ● AO3 ●

Ficlets

Last updated: 18th of September, 2024

[chainsaw-trash]

beat it upright

College!AU Chainsaw Man, second part to a previous fic (lose my heart on the burning sands), once again a bit of Denji x reader but mostly Yoshida. Pairing: Yoshida x reader (some Denji x reader implied) Word count: 2670 Warning: nsfw, voyeurism, public(ish) sex

The loud sound of drums rang muffled through the gray concrete walls of the storage room. It was trashy music - even by garage punk standards - but Denji still liked it. And judging by how busy the bar was today, and how fast the beer was flowing, he wasn’t the only one. There is, definitely, taste for everything.

Bobbing his head in time with the song, Denji wished he could be enjoying it on the other side. Alas, someone had to keep the alcohol going from the storage to the bar freezers, and that someone happened to be him. It wasn’t a bad gig, working at the Devilock. He was paid well enough for someone whose job was emptying boxes and cleaning floors - with the occasional serving beers. And he wasn’t treated like shit. 

Well, most of the time, it depended on Aki’s humor.

But he wasn’t about to complain of the occasional bad day, he’d had worse managers. Hell, Denji was in no way going to complain about the one job where he got benefits and the boss let him eat there for free. For a student in the first year of college, this was good enough. Honestly, he’d even had settled for less.

Setting the last empty crate to the side, Denji took count of how many were full before heading back out to the door. When he pulled it open, noise flooded the room, the bass heavy music not much louder than the crowd itself. The air outside made the storage seem cold by comparison, the AC units being overwhelmed by the sheer heat of all the bodies. Fuck, there really were a lot of people who liked trashy music.

Closing the door behind him, Denji whipped his head around, eyes still adjusting to the darkness as he tried to spot Aki. A task made worse both by the constantly moving about of the other bartenders and by the fucking topknot wearing full black in a dark room. Guy was almost a fucking shadow.

“Denji.”

Fuck. Denji felt a shiver climb through his body. Damn dude was a ghost, sneaking up on him like in a fucking horror movie. Get yourself together, Denji.

“Storage is at the half point,” Denji turned around, voice louder to talk over all the noise as he pointed to the yellow door behind him. “But I think it’s good for the next few hours at least.”

“Good,” Aki responded, his breath smelt like cigarettes, Denji was sure he’d just come back from a smoke break. “You can go mop the upstairs storage now, take account of the beer while you are there. Just so I know.”

Responding with a nod of his head, Denji moved from the bar, taking the stairs to the mezzanine. Surprisingly, it  wasn’t that full today, despite how many people were downstairs. Most people liked to be on the ground floor, near the stage, but he enjoyed being able to watch things from above. Moving away from the main area, Denji made his way to the darker corners of the mezzanine and to the staff only parts. Here, back out of the guest zones, the music felt far away. Still audible, but no longer strong enough to silence everything else. 

Picking up the mop along the way, he fast tracked to the storage as he fished for the key set in his pockets. When he approached, though, he saw the familiar yellow light peering into the hall. Shit, he’d left the fucking door open, hadn’t him? The last thing he needed was Aki going on another tirade about locking all the damn doors. The first two were annoying enough. The fears of hearing a third monologue were purged from his mind, however, when Denji heard movement coming from the door. Just his fucking luck.

God help him it wasn’t a rat, or he’d never hear the end of it.

Unfreezing himself from his spot - which he hadn’t even noticed he’d frozen into - Denji moved towards the door cautiously. If it was a rat, he’d need to catch and kill it, so he had to be sneaky. Resting his mop and bucket along the wall, he stopped by the open door, but out of sight. With a deep breath - and a silenced, internal groan - Denji peeked his head into the storage room, ready to come face to face with his new rodent nemesis.

Well, what he saw was definitely not a rat.

Ducking his head away from the door fast, Denji felt his back hit the wall with force as he stood in the hallway wide eyed. He could feel his heart rate racing up in a matter of seconds as his cheeks flushed a deep red. Fucking hell, yeah it was not a rat, but it wasn’t something he was expecting to see either. Gathering himself, he tried to take a peek again, with extra caution now.

Yep. It was you and Yoshida just going at it.

Denji swallowed hard, ducking his head away from the wall again. This was getting ridiculous, honestly. It hadn’t even been a full month since that goddamn night at the beach, and this was happening again. If there was a god above, he really had a sick sense of humor. That damn night had been haunting him in his every free moment for weeks. He’d just gotten back the ability to think of something other than your moaning and now, here he was, back at spot zero yet again.

Maybe, he’d have preferred the rat.

Your moans brought him back to the real word, mind reeling to the present as he felt his cock twitch in his pants. He really didn’t need this kind of situation all again, but his body clearly didn’t care. Denji hears you whimper, a strangled sound that has a shudder running through his spine. He can feel his dick hardening in his pants, blood rushing to his face as he suddenly started feeling hot. 

Fuck, he really should just stop the two of you. He knew that, but he didn’t have the guts to do it. You moan again, and Denji curses under his breath, sweaty hands glued to the wall as he braces for what he is about to do. Slowly, he slides his head to the side, careful not to make any noise. When it touches the edge of the doorway, he turns, trying to sneakily catch a glimpse of the scene happening inside. 

From the corner of his eye he can see you, back turned to him, one sleeve from your dress slipping down your arm as you move up and down on Yoshida’s lap. Your skirt had ridden all the way up your hips, gathering at your waist and leaving your bare ass exposed. Denji could even see Yoshida’s cock entering you as you rode him like a fucking horse. However, he couldn’t really see much more of the guy. His torso and face were hidden by your body, all that was visible were his legs under you and his arms, hands sunk deep into your ass, gripping tight onto your flesh.

Before Denji could get caught, he returned to his spot, resting his head against the wall as he felt his cock throb under his clothes. With a ragged breath, he closed his eyes, but shutting them tight did nothing for his case. The sight of you bobbing up and down on Yoshida’s dick just wouldn’t fucking leave his mind. This was worse than the fucking beach incident, at least then he didn’t get to see shit. Now he was being taunted not only by the noises you made, but by the image that just refused to leave his head.

Shaky hands reached for the bulge in his pants as Denji swallowed dry. When his fingers made contact with his cock, he felt his whole body twitch. Shit, he was already so fucking hard and even more sensitive. He gripped his dick hard through his pants, tugging at it as he heard your moans once again, this time followed by a distinctive masculine growl. Denji had not even properly seen Yoshida, his torso and face being hidden by your body. He was thankful for that, less a chance that his spying would be spotted.

You whined and Denji was sure he could hear the wet sounds of your fucking. Although, he was pretty sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Tugging harder at his cock now, he bit back a moan, eyes rolling back at the sensation of the fabric rubbing against his sensitive erection. Shit, he knew he should put an end to this, but he really didn’t want to. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but a sick part of him clearly got off on the situation.

“Fuck, your pussy feels so damn good,” Yoshida’s voice was raspy and low, a dark whisper that Denji wasn’t expecting but thrilled him all the more.

He could only imagine what your pussy would feel like. How wet you’d be around his cock. The fantasies making him tug harder at his erection as he heard you whimpering in response to Yoshida’s words. His mind wandering back to the images of you, how the tight dress hugged your curves as you moved, ass looking so soft under the warm light. What he wouldn’t give to have you.

Moving his head to the side again, Denji tried to take a peek once more. He was rewarded with the sight of your body bouncing on top of Yoshida’s legs as his hips started thrusting up, hands spreading your ass and pulling you down deeper. Shit, Denji could see your pussy spreading around his cock, wet lips glistening, even your asshole was exposed from his point of view. Fuck, he could feel his own dick twitch in his pants, fingers squeezing hard through the fabric as his eyes stayed glued to the image before he remembered to duck his head back behind cover.

Fuck, this was insane. Completely insane. Just the fact that it was happening a second time was insane enough. And that Denji was rolling with it yet again was downright sick. He was a sick fuck for this, he was sure, and by this point he was beyond denying it, a hand pulling his cock out of his pants and giving it a long stroke. Shit, he was sure that if Aki saw this, he’d be out of a fucking job.

But that didn’t stop him, not when he heard you moaning out Yoshida’s name in the sweetest, most sinful voice. It made a shiver run down Denji’s back, a feeling somewhere between jealousy and desire. He knew he shouldn’t be that into his friend - especially when she was his other friend’s girlfriend - but damn, the universe clearly wasn’t helping him here. 

“Shit, you are gripping on my cock so fucking hard,” it was Yoshida’s voice again, deep and almost groggy with lust.

Denji shuddered, hand starting to fist his cock in a hard pace, his free hand coming to cover his mouth as he rolled his eyes back. He was already leaking pre cum, body reacting fast, even as guilt still fought inside of him. He couldn’t help himself. The last time he didn’t manage to actually jerk off, but now he just couldn’t stop, fist rolling down his length.

You moaned again and Denji bucked his hips into his hand, the flowing pre cum making his movements faster and easier. Shit, he was completely fucked, getting worked up so fast at just the mental image of Yoshida fucking you and the downright pornographic sounds of your moaning. His back laid flush against the wall as Denji breathed hard, jerking his length and imagining himself being the one buried balls deep in you.

He is grunting himself now, feeling sweat begin to pool at his forehead from both the imminent sense of danger and the fast, desperate movements of his body. You give one specially broken cry, and Denji can’t help but whip his head back to look into the door once again. The image before him has Denji’s body tensing, cock throbbing violently. He sees Yoshida thrusting fast and hard into you as his middle finger slides inside your tight asshole. God, what Denji wouldn’t give for a chance at just that, his breath faltering at the sight, mouth open and almost drooling.

Denji is captivated by what he is seeing, Yoshida’s entire finger entering your puckered hole as you moan in ecstasy. Just from the sounds, he could tell you were close - and from the speed of Denji’s movements and the tightness in his core, he was getting pretty damn close himself. Reluctantly, he pulls his head back behind the wall, mouth still slightly open as he closes his eyes, letting your sounds take him in.

His mind is replaying what he has seen, imagining what you feel like as he fists himself violently, all shame having left him by this point, Denji being stripped down to nothing but an animal. You are moaning and Yoshida is grunting and god fucking damn it’s all going straight to his hard cock. His fingers move faster and faster, pumping up and down as he held tight to his throbbing length.

The pace of your moans quicken and Denji’s movements follow along, like a shameful dance to an erotic song. Pre cum is leaking wildly as his cock throbs and twitches, the tight coil in his body tensing more and more. His hips are bucking into his hands freely, Denji no longer caring about even pretending to be rational. The most he is doing is fighting hard not to make any sound, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he seeks his pleasure.

You give out one high pitched cry and Denji is pretty sure you’ve just hit your orgasm, the thought of your pulsing walls pushing him past the edge and into his own release. He gasps silently, fists still moving as he cums, milking his climax for all that it’s worth. His thick white seed spills to the floor in long ropes, leaving a sticky mark on the dark concrete below. He cums for what feels like an eternity, lungs burning as his entire body shakes. In the back of his mind, he can hear Yoshida grunt loudly, cumming inside you.

Damn, what wouldn’t Denji give to be in his place.

When he starts coming down from his high, it’s like everything hits Denji all at once. He looks around, quickly tucking himself back into his pants. His eyes fall to the floor, shit, he’d have to clean this up - though, it wouldn’t be the first cum stain he has to clean in this damn bar. Holy fuck, what had he done? He really shouldn’t have done this, and now that the post nut clarity hit him, he was feeling like utter shit. Fucking hell, he really was fucked up, wasn’t him?

“Did you enjoy the show, Denji?”

Denji’s heart was still thundering inside his chest when he heard Yoshida’s voice, his eyes going wide. His hands were trembling, body shaking as he looked at the cum stain below him - the clear evidence of his crime. He had been found out? This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be real, it was a nightmare, for sure.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Yoshida’s voice sounded again, sly as a fox and twice as dangerous.

Denji slowly turned around, peeking into the door again, eyes still wide as he found you sitting on Yoshida’s leg, both of your clothes now fixed back to a more proper state. He held onto the door frame, hand shaking as his eyes found Yoshida’s. Now it was clear. It’s not so much that he had been found out, Yoshida certainly knew from the beginning. His eyes then found yours, and you only smiled, a dangerously sweet gesture.

Fuck, Denji had walked straight into a trap, hadn’t him?

[midnightpink]

The Road Not Taken Looks Real Good Now (you know, you'll always know me)

read it here on ao3

“Please, Katsuki,” Izuku says quieter now, sinking back against the car door, “I cannot do this with you right now. I just can’t. We can’t change what’s already happened and, frankly, I wouldn’t want to. I’m glad you’re able to live your dream and-”

“But what if I’m not?” Katsuki interrupts him, a grim look on his face, “What if I’m fucking tired of this shit? What if I’m tired of people picking and prodding at me all day? What if I’m tired of reading shit about me online? I love acting, don’t get me wrong. The damn thing’s my passion but what if I love you more?”

“Katsuki…” The word comes out slowly and carefully from Izuku’s mouth, just barely sneaking past his lips.

Katsuki replies, a bit more confident than Izuku himself, “Izuku.”

They stare into each other’s eyes for a little while, neither of them breaking eye contact and neither of them really wanting to.

***

OR, Katsuki comes back to Japan for the holidays every year and makes sure to spend as much of it as possible with Izuku but, this time, something changes.

by: Icantthinkofagoodusername7

Words: 18,265, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English 

Series: Part 17 of BakuDeku Oneshots :), Part 10 of MHA Fanfics (Taylor's Version), Part 12 of Fics inspired by music :)

Collection: Favs, BakuDeku AO3 Collection (Shin), They hold me by my neck, All water left my body through tears

Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Mitsuki, Bakugou Masaru, Midoriya Inko

Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, (Mentioned) Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, (Mentioned) Midoriya Izuku/Uraraka Ochako

Additional Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Arguing, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Aged-Up Character(s), Smut, Kissing, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Midoriya Izuku is Bad at Feelings, but theyre working on it, and they figure it out, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Song: 'tis the damn season (Taylor Swift), Song: dorothea (Taylor Swift), Getting Back Together, yet also somehow, Established Relationship, In a way, Confessions, Idiots in Love, they're actually so in love its not even funny atp, THAT BEING SAID, Attempt at Humor, Interviews, Actor Bakugou Katsuki, Dancer Midoriya Izuku, Dance Teacher Midoriya Izuku, Injury, but only mentioned, Happy Ending, Flashbacks

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Negotiations

Summary: Max doesn’t want to turn you into a vampire because he loves drinking from you too much. Especially when you’re on your period. Okay and he wants you to stay human because of the ✨experience✨. But you’re in pain very single month so you make him a deal. You shut up about becoming a vampire when he manages to get through the menstrual pain simulator.

Pairing: Max Phillips x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Rating: T

Warnings: established relationship, fluff, implied sex, talks about becoming a vampire, lots of talks about menstrual pain, humor?

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics an turn notifications on to get notified when I post a new fic 🙃

It was dark when Max entered his penthouse. Which was… weird? You should be cooking or reading or rearranging the living room. Again. 

It was quiet, it smelled of candy and caramel and… blood. 

A smirk sneaked to his lips. 

Getting out of his shoes and his jacket he loosened his tie as he walked towards the bedroom, where he knew he would find you cuddled under every blanket you owned. 

“Sugarbabe I’m hoooome,” he sang as he walked into the bedroom, finding you indeed under at least four blankets, candy wrappers on the bed next to you. There was a bottle of painkillers on the bedside table and he could hear the hum of your heating blanket.

Pride and Prejudice was on, the Matthew Macfadyen version and he didn’t question that he recognized just from one look on the tv hanging across the bed.

“Hi,” you mumbled and he pouted at you before he carefully climbed into the little nest you made for yourself. 

“How bad is it?” he asked, pulling you into his arms, kissing your forehead. 

“Like a demon is fighting itself out of my uterus,” you took a deep breath. 

“I’m so sorry,” and he was. He hated to see you in pain. And he knew there was a solution to seeing you like this. A solution you argued at least once every month about. 

“You know I wouldn’t be in pain if you’d turn me,” you groaned and he sighed, kissing your nose. 

“I know, baby. But… You have to understand… You just… taste so fucking delicous. Especially around that time of the month… And you know… the whole human stuff is important too. Chocolate will never taste as good and don’t even get me started on pasta. Let me make you feel better?”

“You’re disgusting,” you said.

“Tell me something new,” he chuckled and you rolled your eyes. 

“No seriously. You claim you love me, yet you don’t do the one thing that keeps me from being in pain every single month. I can go without tasting chocolate. I… think.”

“I do love you. So very much that I want you to stay human as long as possible.”

“You mean stay a happy meal you can snack on whenever you feel like it?” you pouted.

He began to kiss your neck, his usual tactic to distract you. Sadly it was working every single time. 

“You’re just so damn delicious,” he hummed, his teeth scratching over your neck before he kissed himself down. You sighed, turning to lay on your back as he got closer, his cold hands trying to get under the five blankets you were under. 

“We’re not finished talking about this,” you mumbled, helping him get the blankets off.

“Ahhh there she is,” he grinned, a wicked smile on his lips as he finally found your body in just a shirt of his lying beneath him. 

“Gonna help make you feel good sugarbabe,” he wiggled his eyebrows, pulling his shirt off. 

Against your better judgement you smiled up at him as you parted your legs. 

“This discussion is not finished, Max,” you reminded him as he kissed down your body. He looked up at you, his fingers pulling at your panties. 

“Oh I know,” he grinned before he settled down between your legs, 

“But maybe my tongue can make you forget about it for a little longer.”

A week later he found you sitting in your living room, a smile on your lips that was somehow off and slightly unsettling. And not in a good way. 

“Hi baby!”, you grinned sweetly at him and every instinct within him screamed danger at him but it was you. The love of his life. What bad could happen?

“I want to make a deal with you,” you said, standing up and walking over to him, your arms crossing behind his neck, blinking your beautiful eyes up at him. 

“A deal?” he asked, a little interested. 

You nodded. 

“You keep saying no to turning me,” you said and he nodded.

“Because you deserve to stay human,” he said.

“Right. Let’s say that’s the reason. We both know you love to eat my pussy when I’m on my period.”

“What can I say? It’s…. It’s like sex ketchup. Ya know?”

“I am…. Going to pretend you did not just say that. Anyway, I am in pain. Every single month, for at least two days. Sometimes so bad that I can’t get out of bed, and yet you refuse to turn me. So I’m gonna make you a deal.”

“I am… listening,” he hummed. 

“You get to experience the same pain I go through every month. And if you still think I should suffer through this I will shut up about you turning me,” you said with the sweetest smile. 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“Just like that?” he asked. 

“Just like that. I will be complaining though. Maybe even more than before. And I expect more gifts. And cuddles. But maybe you can understand why after a little better.”

“How?” he asked. 

“There’s a machine that simulates menstrual pain. I’m gonna go first, and then you’ll go. I expect you’re not even gonna make it to Level five,” you shrugged and he huffed. Insulted.

“How many Levels are there?”

“10.”

“Will you suck my cock?”

You looked confused at him

“Orgasms seem to help you with the pain. Maybe it’ll help me too,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. 

“You know you can just ask for me to suck your cock. I’ll never say no to that.”

He looked at you. 

“And if I can make it to level 10 you’re never gonna ask me to turn you again?” he asked.

You nodded. 

“I will demand more orgasms though. If you make me live in pain. And we should talk about it again in the future cause I'm not getting younger and I do want to spend eternity with you,” you said and he grinned. 

“I’ll even take time off to make you feel good,” he kissed you and you hummed against his lips. 

“So what do you say?” you raised your eyebrow.

“Deal.”

Max had spent an hour reading the manual of the simulator you rented, making sure everything was working fine (and you weren’t cheating) before he put it on your stomach exactly as shown in the manual. 

“Gonna turn it on now,” he said, looking at you. You nodded as he turned it on, almost not feeling anything. 

“Turn it up?” you said and he frowned at you. 

“You sure? It’s already on Level 4,” he said and you chuckled. 

“Babe, I’m sure. This is nothing,” you squeezed his hand. 

“How are we sure this is even working?” he asked, turning it up. At Level 8 you felt some cramping, but still not as bad as on the worst days of your period. 

“I can feel it. It’s just not that bad? I definitely get worse pain.”

He hummed, his lips pursed, looking at you as he turned it to the upper level and you groaned, closing your eyes. 

“You felt that,” he said and you nodded. 

“It feels like in the beginning? My pain still gets worse though,” you shrugged. 

Max checked the machine but he could hear it working. The hum of it reaching his sensitive ears. After seeing you he felt more than confident that he’d make it through this little challenge you put on. 

As if this could be that bad? Not that he’d say you weren’t in pain. But you were human. Maybe you just… had a low pain tolerance?

And he’d even fuck you all night as a reward for staying his little human blood bag. A blood bag he loved very much. The best blood bag. Okay he should maybe stop calling you blood bag even if it was just in his mind. 

He shook his head to himself as he turned the machine off and you smiled at him. 

“Your turn,” you leaned in to kiss him and he nodded. 

“I hope you’re ready to stay human sugarbabe,” he hummed as he unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest. 

You just smiled, looking at him as you pulled the machine off your stomach to put it on him.

He giggled as you brushed your fingers over his stomach and you grinned at him. 

“Am ticklish,” he said and you kissed him again.

“I know,” you winked as you sat back. 

Max looked at the remote in his hand and then at you, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He checked if everything was how it was supposed to be before he took a deep breath.

He died.

He literally died to become a vampire. 

So why was he feeling so hesitant about this? He looked at you, your eyes looking expectantly at him. 

“You good to go? You don’t have to. You can just turn me,” you shrugged and he shook his head. 

“You know it’s not the easy blood access, why I want you to stay human right? Cause I really love you and all your little cute human traits,” he said and your eyes softened. 

“I know, babe. And I really appreciate it,” you kissed him and he pulled one of his hands to your cheek, humming against your lips.

“But you’re still doing this,” you whispered against his lips and he sighed. 

“Okay. Turn it on,” he said, giving you the remote.

He was dying. 

He was dying again and it was all his ego and this fucking machine’s fault.

“Fuck,” he threw his head back, taking deep breaths his lungs did not even need oxygen to breathe through the pain, yet he was panting like he was in labour. It felt like someone was squeezing his insides slowly. He felt your hand in his and he opened his eyes, looking at you, seeing you try not to laugh. 

“Fuck you did not have to turn it on on the highest level???” he groaned loudly.

“It’s level three babe,” you said, trying to keep a straight face and he looked at you with wide eyes. 

“You're shitting me?” he said, pulling the remote from your hands, seeing that indeed he was on level three.

“Fuck me,” he got up, walking through the room, turning it up to level four by himself, his hands grabbing a chair as he bend over in pain. 

“You want me to suck your cock to find out if it makes it better?” he heard you ask.

“Fuck you,” he said with a laugh.

You hadn’t even reacted until level eight and he was ready to give up at level four? You were in pain worse than this every single month?

He turned it up once more, grunting in pain before he decided to give up, turning it off. 

“Fuck this,” he said, ripping the machine off, finding you grinning at him from your spot on the couch. 

“Women are fucked if they are in this much pain just because of fucking evolution or some shit,” he opened the fridge, the one with his blood, to get some A negative into his body. 

You watched him drink, his eyes still on you. 

He sighed, a little pout on his face. 

“I’m gonna miss your warm body at night,” he licked his lips as he set the blood down, walking over to you. You raised your eyebrow. 

“You want to do it now, or wait?” he asked, kneeling down in front of you. He inhaled your scent deeply. 

“Just like that?” you asked. He nodded. 

“If I had known, I would have done it years ago, sugarbabe,” he said, his teeth springing out. 

You smiled, your hand brushing over his cheek. 

“What if… we wait for three weeks and make the most of me being your warm tasty human until then? I just got off my period, so we’re good?”

He smirked at you, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“You should take time off work,” he said, before you shrieked as he picked you up in his arms. 

“Why?” you laughed. 

“Cause I will enjoy marking your whole body before I’ll turn you to spend eternity with me,” he said, kissing you deeply as he carried you to your bedroom. 

[cyberrat]

67th Batch Of Fics: 3rd Fill

Hanzo/Cole – Rough And Tumble – Part 5 – cont B65F8 – Hanzo and his new boy toy :)

---

“Oh wow, oh… d-damn-”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. It’s the only vocabulary left floating around Mister Cassidy’s head it seems, as he’s allowed to fuck him. His hips keep slapping loud against Hanzo’s ass, the sound quite lewd in and off itself.

For a while Hanzo had been humoring him, humming in lieu of a fake moan and arching his back into the dicking but the longer Mister Cassidy goes, the more irregular his thrusts become. He has no rhythm to it, no finesse… which yes, Hanzo had thought would be the case. He hadn’t really anticipated this mess, though.

He’s got a nice big cock at least. One that is almost good enough on its own, which says plenty about how bad Cole is at using it.

Oh, virgins… Hanzo remembers why he usually prefers the experienced ones. But there’s definitely also something to be said about training this one up to his liking.

“Damn, baby…”

Hanzo rolls his eyes again. Cassidy got a nice deep voice but just like with his dick, it’s about how he should use it.

He’s overwhelmed the mutt probably. He had been able to see in his big-eyed, gaping mouth face that he’s never stepped foot into a place like Hanzo’s. Maybe he should have let him settle in for a night before letting him mount up… kind of like with a new puppy.

Though he doubts his performance would have been any better tomorrow. Goodness, but his cock is nice and long. It’s got a curve to it that drags his crown against his prostate every now and then when he manages to pull out far enough to instead of awkwardly rabbit humping into him.

He’s got so much to learn…

.o.

Sweat is dripping from Cole’s nose and itching all over his body. He has been clenching his eyes shut for a while now, just focusing on the mantra in his head about not coming pre-maturely yet again.

It’s damn near impossible given the feeling around his dick. Hanzo is clenching down on him like he really doesn’t want to let him go which is super hot but also makes it even harder to keep a hold on himself. He’s promised to him he would’t shoot off again that quickly but damn… Hanzo’s insides cling to him like wet silk.

He can feel the drag along his cock right down to his toes. He’s been imagining that it’d feel good, but this… fuck he could really get used to it. Especially dicking a gentleman like Hanzo. He’s so hot… and he’s got a pair of great tits.

It had taken all of Cassidy’s willpower not to try and motorboat them. He’s pretty sure Hanzo would have kicked him back out. He did only let him sneak in through the back entrance, after all.

Haha that’s kind of funny.

He opens his eyes at that thought, proud that it had helped him calm down enough to have his impending orgasm recede to the base of his spine where it is hot as magma and ready to explode… though not as much as just moments prior.

Cole wants to ask Mister Shimada if he’s about to come from Cole’s dicking, but his words never make it out because he now sees that Mister Shimada is, in fact, on his phone and… answering emails or something.

He’s at least definitely not the simpering needy ball of mess that Cole had thought he would be by now because he’s getting railed so hard by him.

He stops in his tracks, brain warring with his libido as he tries to figure out what to say… or if to say anything. What’s the… like… etiquette? He’s balls deep inside this uppity business man/politician – Cole isn’t too sure what he is, he was too eager to get here once he got the booty call – and yet Hanzo is just idly tapping away on his phone as if this were some kind of… doctor’s visit.

Which is hot in and off itself, he might have a medical kink or something, but damn if his ego isn’t hitting rock bottom just about now.

“What are…”

.o.

“...you doin’?”

Hanzo pauses when he hears the voice. Actually, he kind of forgot about the young stud for a moment as he had thought about how to best word his reply to get his ire across.

He peers over his shoulder. Cole is looking at him like a kicked puppy, red faced and sweaty. It’s kind of cute. His big dick inside him flexing is definitely cute.

“What does it look like?” he answers mildly, slipping his phone back beneath the pillow where he’d pulled it out from.

Cole looks gobsmacked. He probably thought he was being the best stud Hanzo has ever had… he can be. With a bit more guidance.

“Go and fetch me something to drink. We can… restart afterwards.”

“Wait what? But I’m…” He looks down, staring at the point he’s spearing into Hanzo. Hanzo can feel him flex; that young stud cock knowing better what to do than the body attached to it, it seems.

Oh, he can get addicted to the shape and strength of it… Hanzo can already feel that. It’s heavy and thick and warming him from the inside out.

“Do what you’re told,” he purrs and stretches his back some. “Or I’ll have security kick you out so you can finish taking care of that yourself.”

He squeezes down on Cole’s to get his meaning across. The motion elicits a whiny little noise and the reluctant pull backwards by his new boy toy. How very obedient he is… he still looks a bit embarrassed walking around naked, his ruddy red dick bouncing in front of him, guiding the way out of the bedroom toward the kitchen of Hanzo’s big, nice house.

He watches him go, staring at the long legs and coltish, slim hips. His shoulders are almost disproportionately broad but very promising as to what he’s going to look like with the proper guidance. Oh yes… he’ll fill up nicely. Hanzo will keep him on a tight leash. Maybe he’ll get a personal trainer for him. A bit of money slipped into his pocket will surely keep him nice and eager to do anything Mister Shimada wants of him.

Hanzo shouldn’t go overboard with his training, though. He likes that… unpolished gem feel that Cole has going on. Hell, he arrived here with that idiotic hat on his uncombed hair and the sight alone had gotten Hanzo desperately horny for that big ruddy dick of his.

By the time Cole comes back, docile as a schoolboy with a glass of water in his hand, Hanzo has turned on his back and is playing with himself; fingers idly pinching his nipples and twisting them just enough to make it hurt the way he likes it.

Cole pauses at the door to just stare with his face going slack. He looks youthful and virile. Hanzo wants him back between his legs so badly that it aches, but he plays it cool, looking him slowly up and down.

He’s lost a bit of his desperate flush but his cock is still hard and the tip glistening wet since he must have taken off his condom.

Hanzo must get him tested as soon as possible. He needs to get raw dogged by him.

[golden--doodler]

Bob's Burgers AU Fic Sneak Peek

Okay so I can't keep it to myself anymore so here's a sneak peek at this AU, it's a full chapter yay! Seriously, thank you for the support on this AU idea, it's given me so much confidence (especially @drawthething, that comment was everything). I have another one written too, but I just really like this one, Tina and Linda need more interactions.

I think I might post more on here, but I also want to figure out when this is gonna go on AO3.

Tina Belcher and the Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Ear Infection

The moment Tina’s eyes fluttered open, still bleary from sleep, she felt a strange sense of unease. Aside from the fact a headache was beginning, the ache permeating through her forehead, her right ear was throbbing. Not wanting to deal with the pain, every part of her desired to slip back into the dark recesses of sleep. Maybe then she would continue her dream where it left off. She could feel the zombies’ interest in her as they shuffled closer, leaving her trembling with excitement. 

That sounded like the most appealing plan to her, so she allowed her eyes to squeeze shut once more, welcoming the unconsciousness soon to arrive. However, she felt herself being roused from sleep again, much earlier than she’d desire. She felt a light tapping on her shoulder and the sensation of someone close to her urging her to wake up—a faint smell of coffee wafted from them to her nose. She rolled over in her bed, trying to ignore who it was. But the shaking became more violent, and she had no choice but to acknowledge it. She cracked open an eye, hoping the dark circles under her eyes and her unkempt hair would be enough to deter anyone from approaching.

The person who brought her back to reality revealed themselves to be some other than her mother. Tina was familiar with Linda’s penchant for getting out of bed at the crack of dawn, so this revelation was nothing unexpected. Then something strange occurred. Linda’s mouth opened, as if she was attempting communication. That sight wasn’t out of the ordinary—one of Linda’s favorite pastimes was practicing her speaking skills in front of the family. No, the strange thing was, Tina found herself not comprehending what her mother was telling her. She caught around every third word, but the rest sounded muffled, as if someone had stuck cotton balls in her ears. She then felt the familiar sensation of her ear discomfort again, which added to her already dismal mood.

“Tina... Family... Breakfast,” was what she could make out. She nodded, but couldn’t keep up the illusion that everything was all right. She summoned the strength to point at her ear and shrug, praying Linda would get the message. Some deity answered her prayers, which made sense, considering how long Linda had to decipher body language cues from people. Linda let out a dramatic gasp, which sounded like someone was sucking in air through their teeth. Tina then gained a new idea and summoned the will to move. She made her way to her desk and opened her journal, the pages of which were creased from the night before when she was too tired to put it away. She grabbed a pen and wrote out her entire situation, and presented it to Linda.

Linda nodded, and wrote a response: Based on everything, this must be some sort of freak ear infection. Spooky. I’ll take you to the hospital after you have some breakfast. You better move fast—I think Gene’s already enter most of the bacon. 

She appreciated the fact her mother could always diffuse situations like this with humor. She also had no doubt this statement was factual. Dragging herself out the door, she followed Linda to the kitchen, where the entire situation had to be explained to everyone. When Linda began to communicate with Bob through sign language, the graceful, fluid movements of her hands mesmerized Tina, as they always did.

As Bob relayed the news to Gene and Louise, it gave Tina some amusement to see her siblings’ eyes grow so wide. Gene gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, but then attempted to steal the bacon off her plate. She felt a sense of relief knowing that all the other aspects of her life remained unchanged.

Then she realized her bad ear was letting out some sort of fluid. That visit to the hospital couldn’t come soon enough.

********

Linda had been very correct. Tina now had an ear infection diagnosis (quite a severe one, at that) and some medicine, which wouldn’t show results for a few days, at least. With Gene and Louise joining her, she attempted to keep her day normal by sitting in a restaurant booth, the warmth of the metal benches embracing her. The sun shot its powerful ray beams on the table, revealing several specks of dust dancing in the air. This caused Gene to sneeze, vibrating the entire table, and Louise snickered. His face turned a darker shade because of how violent it was as he continued pouring some mustard into a ketchup bottle. 

Then Tina felt Bob tap her on the shoulder, and she noticed he’d written a request for her on a sheet of paper. To illustrate his point, he handed her the Burger of the Day: The “Say Kim-Cheese” burger. The sight of the steaming, fire-truck red Kimchi and melted gruyere cheese was enough to make her mouth water. The aroma of the two mixing in harmony was tantalizing as well. She gave Bob a confident nod and made her way to the customer Bob had described on the paper. She placed the burger on the table in front of them and let herself give a satisfied smile. Another content customer for the restaurant.

Or not.

The customer began speaking to her in a manner that was so rapid fire it was impossible to understand. This was also heightened by the fact they had some sort of thick accent. She wasn’t even able to discern every third word. The one thing she could discern, though, was that they were upset. Very upset. She had to act, or they might love this customer’s business. She slid her hand under the one fluid motion so she could return it to Bob, who would fix the order in no time.

But this action just seemed to further agitate the customer, who made desperate, flailing grabs for the food.

What does this person want? She thought, exhaling through her nose.

She could make out the muffled noise of Bob asking what was going on. She ignored it, though, in favor of trying to solve the problem herself (again). Steadying herself, she began the trek back to the customer’s table, but disaster struck. Her foot slipped on nothing, and she realized she was hurtling towards the floor in a quick, unforgiving descent.

She cursed whatever deity she could as she felt her elbows and knees sting. There was more muffled conversation reaching her ears, this time shouting. She could feel the tension in the air as her father’s voice tried to diffuse the situation. Nobody could calm them down, though.

As Tina felt the sticky remains of cheese, sauce, and kimchi all over her arms and legs. Her heartbeat quickened like a drum, and she felt her hands become an unsavory combination of sauce and perspiration. She had failed a customer. A customer who might not pay for their food now. But they would’ve, if Tina had been able to hear them. 

The emotions become too overwhelming, and Tina yanked herself off the floor as fast as possible and scrambled to her room upstairs. She thought someone called her name as she left, but she didn’t care. She collapsed her weary limbs on her bed, the place she wished she’d just stayed in all day. Her incoming tears left trails on her cheeks as she heard a sob escape her lips.

One simple request. She couldn’t even fulfill one simple request. Was this how it would be until she recovered? Was she going to continue to be useless?

Before she could spiral further, she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder. She forced herself to look up, and there was Linda, her features softened by the late-afternoon light.

“I’m sorry that happened, honey.” Tina recognized her mother’s signing. It helped that she was also mouthing the words. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tina summoned the energy to grab her journal again and wrote: I made a complete fool of myself, mom. I thought dealing with Tammy and Jocelyn was hard, but this was even worse. I couldn’t even help one customer.

Linda read over her words, her pen scratching the paper with each stroke, and the sound of her sigh punctuating the silence as she wrote: You’re right, it was one customer. Just one. Don’t punish yourself by dwelling on a mistake. Lord knows I’ve made plenty.

That’s just it, though. Tina wrote in a furious scribble. What if this mistake turns into more? I already made us lose a customer. God, why is it so difficult to live like this? I wish it could be simple and I could hear.

Linda scrutinized the paper, her features pulled tight in a pinched expression that was impossible to decipher: Well, welcome to the world of not being able to hear.

She snapped her head up to look her mother in the eyes as reality set in. She wasn’t the sole person in her family feeling the effects of this difficulty. This was her mother’s every day, and it would be her every day for the rest of her life. And not once had she complained about it, like Tina had.

In a few days, Tina would have restored hearing and might even forget what having this ear infection was like. Linda didn’t have that luxury.

“Holy crap.” She found herself saying out loud. “Sorry for cursing.”

She then wrote: And I’m also sorry for saying all that. I can’t believe you do this every day. I wouldn’t be able to. 

You’re capable of more than you think, Tina. And don’t be sorry. I know this must’ve been difficult for you. And hey, even though you failed, you tried your best, given the circumstances. That’s all anyone can do. 

How do you do it? Get through every day like this?

Me? Linda let out a snort. Well, I was lucky enough to meet your father. But I don’t think of myself as having to “get through” every day. To me, it’s more like I get to experience every day with your father and you and your siblings. Is it hard? Hell yeah, it can be. You’re not alone in not being able to understand customers. If you could see a few mistakes I’ve made, you’d feel a lot letter about yourself. But that just comes with the territory of everyone communicating in a different way than you.

You’ve made more mistakes than me?

To the point where I’ve lost count. Just be kinder to yourself. You’ll do better next time. I know it.

In a fit of emotion, Tina embraced her mother with a ferocity, hoping that her love and appreciation were unmistakable. Linda's sheer power and capability were palpable, and Tina had failed to recognize it until now. 

Would you mind maybe teaching me some more sign language?

Wow, you want to learn more? Well, there’s one thing I can teach you right now. 

Tina was enthusiastic about brushing up on her sign language skills. Her finger-spelling needed work, and it was an on excellent opportunity to practice. She kept repeating the sign Linda taught her, the motions feeling quite comforting long after her mother had gone. She heard the same four letters echoing in her head over again, like a never ending refrain.

As she mouthed the letters to herself one last time, a realization struck her like a bolt of electricity. Linda had taken extra care to make sure the sign was more meaningful than Tina understood at first glance.

It was, in fact, her name.

She felt the weight of her name on her tongue as she whispered it in awe, something she hadn’t done in years, or perhaps ever. 

The low, muffled sound wrapped around her, giving her a feeling of protection. It reminded her of her mother’s love, which felt like a comforting blanket of warmth, cozy and everlasting.

[ladysunamireads]

A Comparative Study in Redemption Arcs

A Comparative Study in Redemption Arcs by theprincessofdenial

“You don't trust me,” he says matter-of-factly and apropos nothing. They're both on the dishwashing duty. Actually, for some reason the Golden Guard is always on the dishwashing duty, and it's the rest of them who take turns drying the plates. It doesn't make much sense, it would be much more time-saving to just let the abominations take care of it, but apparently the Golden Guard needs to feel useful to such an extent that they've just collectively decided to humor him. “I don't.” She admits. They both know it, and it's not like there's any point in pretending they don't.

(Or: Hunter's showing a lot of symptoms, and Amity's really bad at interpreting them. But there's also a really cool, really round potato Hunter presents to Willow).

Words: 7696, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of Bad but sad fics

Fandoms: The Owl House (Cartoon)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen

Characters: Hunter | The Golden Guard, Amity Blight, Luz Noceda, Willow Park, Gus Porter, Camila Noceda, Vee

Relationships: Amity Blight & Hunter | The Golden Guard, Hunter | The Golden Guard/Willow Park, Amity Blight/Luz Noceda, Hunter | The Golden Guard & Vee, Hunter | The Golden Guard & Luz Noceda, Hunter | The Golden Guard & Gus Porter

Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, well sort of, past trauma, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Hunter's a Trekkie and it's canon and it's the best thing to ever happen to me, which means Hunter writes Star Trek fanfic, and it's really bad, Comedy, Huntlow, Lumity, playing fast and loose with canon, mostly because the sneak peeks and the promo have dropped while I was writing this

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42316629

[callsignspark]

anything for you | part one - sneak peek

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Rebecca Hermann (fem!OC)

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, implied violence against women/children, discussions of murder (nothing explicit/gorey), inaccuracies about hotel ownership, eventual smut, warnings to be added as needed 

note: A little sneak peek of the full fic that’s coming tomorrow at 1500 EST! The fic will be 18+ for the adult themes that it will contain. Some friends and moots are tagged at the end!

“Yeah, well, gotta know your family history, right?” He stifles a laugh at her sarcastic tone. Her father warned of an attitude, but he didn’t mention her sense of humor. “How did you get in?”

“If I untie you, you gonna try to run?” He avoids the question, lips quirking when she squirms at his eyes running up and down her body, trying to assess if she’ll fight him when she’s untied. “Or kick Javy in the crotch again? His wife really is hoping to get a few kids out of him.”

“I won’t run.” She confirms, then mutters to herself, “It’s not like I would get very far anyway…”

He hums in agreement as he moves to free her legs first. “You’re a smart one.”

“I do alright.”

“Rebecca, I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. A bachelor’s degree in mathematics and two master's degrees? Seem pretty damn smart to me.” He moves behind her chair to unite her hands. “How are your wrists, sweetheart? Did Bradshaw do it too tight? I’ll let you take a shot at him if it was too much.”

She forces herself to ignore how her stomach flips at the term of endearment and the way his hand gently rubs her shoulder on his way back to his chair. She examines her wrists and rotates them to check for injury, reminding herself of the games men like him play. It’s not real. He brought up Delilah as a threat. It’s not real. He’s being kind, so you’ll trust him, and that’s when bad things happen. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not- 

“Do your wrists hurt?”

“They’re fine, thank you.” Her voice sharper than she means it to be. Calm down. Don’t give him a reason to make them hurt. 

“You sure? They look a little red.”

“It’s fine; I’m sure it’ll go away soon.” His eyebrows lift in doubt as she rubs her wrists, trying to soothe the slight rope burn she got from struggling.

Play him back, don’t give him the upper hand. “I was sorry to hear about your dad; he was always kind to me.”

“Drink some more Gatorade.” His voice is stiffer than before.

Bullseye.

tagging: @bussyslayer333 | @callsignvalley | @gretagerwigsmuse | @hangmanapologist | @hangmanbrainrot | @mothdruid | @mouseymagines | @notroosterbradshaw | @princessphilly | @rhettabbotts | @roleycoleyreccenter | @roosterbruiser | @ryebecca | @theharddeck | @withahappyrefrain

credit for dividers from here

[maya-matlin]

How would you compare Sean and Zig?! I feel like they’re similar in someways and yet have a few major differences too :-)

Oh yeah, definitely! The thing about Zig vs Sean is that Zig kind of inherited the role of the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks thing from Sean while also taking up the clueless himbo role that was passed from Spinner to Drew and then finally to Zig. So there are definitely differences there.

The first thing that jumps out to me is their personalities. Sean is extremely serious and introverted. He's not a goofy guy. He has a sense of humor, but it's not seen all that often and sometimes can be more sarcastic than anything. Zig is different. While he has sarcastic moments, he's more expressive? Zig can be very silly and feels comfortable making a fool of himself or just breaking out into a dance move if the mood strikes him. Zig's much more the type to lighten the mood than Sean is. That being said, a lot of what they do stems from a similar place. Both Sean and Zig had rocky relationships with their parents. Based on what Sean says, his parents were alcoholics for a good part of his childhood if not his entire life. He grew up very quickly and become somewhat stoic to protect himself from getting hurt or feeling rejection. Zig's childhood is assumed to be pretty "normal" other than the fact his family has very little money. Whereas Sean grew up earlier in life and matured sooner, Zig was kind of unexpectedly forced to grow up quickly after having a fairly typical (we assume) upbringing after joining a gang and then losing the support of his family. As a result, Zig is independent in some ways while also extremely reliant on the validation he gets from other people. He's never entirely comfortable with the loss of his parents and seems to take them never 100% accepting him back into their lives extremely hard. It's not that Sean doesn't care, but in his eyes it's his parents/family who let him down and so his walls mostly stay up. Even though Sean eventually moves back in with his family for a year and a half, practically nothing is ever said about how things went or how Sean felt about it. Sadly, Sean was taken over by fan fic Sean at the beginning of season 6. His entire existence revolved around Emma, robbing Sean of sharing much of anything related to his personal life or past trauma. The Matlins took Zig in while Snake and Spike took Sean in. The difference is that Semma were casually allowed to date and live together while Zig basically lost his most stable home the second he and Maya hooked up. Once again, we didn't hear a lot about what these living situations meant to the guys. Sean and Snake had a history of bonding with Snake kind of being Sean's mentor during early seasons while we were told rather than shown that Zig had been "like family" to the Matlins during season 12. There's a semblance of Zig and Mrs. Matlin having a bond with him clearly having deep respect for her. Once the truth is out about Zaya, Zig refuses to sneak around while acknowledging that Mrs. Matlin had been so good to him. At the end of Sean's and Zig's runs on Degrassi, it's implied that their former girlfriends' families have essentially become their family as well.

Other similarities between the two include persistent anger problems and the need to step in to protect those they care about.

These aren't perfect parallels and Rick and Tiny are not similar characters, but I honestly feel like this was a deliberate callback to Sean and Emma.

Zig and Sean frequently make it clear how lowly they think of themselves, struggling to convince themselves they're worthy of having good things or will find any success. It's not really something that ends or gets properly resolved? Sean joins the army in the hopes that he'll get his life together and make something of himself. Zig isn't accepted into college and has no real plans, but does end up following Maya to California. But, the ways they deal with their low self esteem differentiate. While both are prone to self destruction and occasionally lashing out, Sean has a tendency to run away when he encounters a problem. Zig is more likely to stick around and attempt to figure things out, even if he does end up making things worse. Both underwent pretty drastic makeovers during their third seasons with their characters essentially being rebranded. Sean went from being the somewhat reluctant, gentle, misunderstood bad boy to kind of embracing his reputation and finding solidarity with people like Jay. He initially seemed to take pleasure in stealing and running with a "bad" crowd until he got in over his head and recognized the qualities within himself that made him different from Jay. Seasons 11 and 12 Zig wasn't even that. He came from a poor neighborhood and grew up with people like Damon, but was mostly perceived as being one of the good kids and relatively harmless. Once again, we don't get very many details regarding Zig's transformation or the specifics of how he became involved with the gang, but we know he did it for protection and it altered his persona. Zig was in much deeper than Sean, being forced to sell drugs and do whatever other shady things the writers never bothered to clarify. So while Sean seemed to make a deliberate choice to change without any force, Zig made his out of desperation. That's honestly all I have because the way his arc plays out, he appears to be one character at the end of season 12 and another when he see him again in season 13. The gap ends up being bridged as season 13 continues, but we still missed out on seeing a very crucial part of Zig's journey. Still, like Sean, Zig finds his core group of friends when he meets and befriends Tiny and Grace. It sure would have been nice to see how that all happened, but it was much more paramount to show us half of the younger cast competing over Miles in Paris. Interestingly, while Sean's transformation played a role in tearing him away from Emma, Zig's change brought him closer to Maya. To Emma's credit, it's Sean's choice to end the relationship. Regardless, some of Sean's most significant development happens without Emma in spite of their relationship being presented as one where Emma "saves" Sean, something Sean himself believes more often than not. That's another thing that Sean and Zig have in common. Both have complex relationships with their main love interests and more than once insist that their girlfriends are too good for them. I almost hate to bring up season 6 Sean because it's such a poorly written season for him, but his backwards, black and white view of Emma is pretty terrible and shows how poor of a grasp he has on Emma (at least at that point in his life) and how much of her life he's missed. Even though Zig thinks much more highly of Maya than he does himself, I feel like he's more aware of her flaws and comfortable with the idea of her making mistakes.

Other miscellaneous differences/similarities: Sean is consistently faithful to his girlfriends, always choosing to break up with them before another girl enters the picture. Zig cheats twice on two different girlfriends, albeit in different contexts and for a different reason each time. Thankfully, Zig pulling away from Maya and choosing to stay loyal to Esme implies he won't make the same mistake again. That being said, both have no qualms about homewrecking other people's relationships. Sean was just more successful at it.

That's about it? I tried LOL

[josiebelladonna]

happy birthday, green druidess.

i hope today is good, because... oh, boy, is it a good day for me.

in fact, this is the first january in years that’s been genuinely kind to me! been making tons of art and planning stuff for my fics, planning on moving house sometime this year...

i’m writing all of this as thunder and lightning is rolling through my area. if you don’t mind, i’m going to turn into nikolai tesla here for a second. or robert oppenheimer. electricity is everywhere, and if you’re not careful, it can burn you and vaporize you, sweetheart.

now hold onto me, pretty baby, if you wanna fly. i’m gonna melt the fever, sugar, rolling back your eyes.

*lights up a bong*

are y’all with me now?

her: “hey, how come you never have anything nice to say about me?”

she asks, completely oblivious to the fact that i was never a serious critic, but someone with a sense of humor and i had every right to stand up for myself.

want me to say something nice about her?

she knows how to appeal to people.

there. happy? am i even being serious right now?

who knows, and who cares. besides, her and her army of nimrods have something new to bicker about when using my name in junction again.

*alex skolnick, eric peterson, joey belladonna, and rob cavestany have entered the chat*

*receives, but whatever. and...

pfffff, what?

“Or maybe it was the ice cream man.”

i shouldn’t have laughed as hard as i did at that, but i did, anyway. god.

man, and i thought i had awkward syntax. there’s a lot. trust me: from how state of euphoria sits in my mind, she’s known for her awkward sentences, among other things. such that even the teachers of the most entry-level, special ed. english classes would hit the roof.

...edgy strawberry shortcake? but, you know, if it exists, there’s an edgy version of it. it’s like an offshoot of rule 34 (if it exists, there’s porn of it). by the way, “seafoam”. back up, i thought you weren’t an artist.

u mad, bro? also, paranoia is not a good look for you, liz. trust me.

ahahahahahahahahaha *fart*

oh, yeah, that’s... that’s real important. thx for that really important info. you know, there’s building tension and then there’s farting around like this, and you, my dear, fart more than i do (and i have digestive issues so that’s saying something)

in all seriousness, though, she has gotten bad with the filler lately, like... how many times can you show me this. how many more times can you show me this.

“i rubbed my chiny-chin-chin and said, ‘my, my, my, what sort of this thing might this lady get high upon?’ i checked out her sister who was holding the bed, and i wondered what sort of thing the young lady was on.”

“snap yo’ fingers, snap yo’ neck!”

i haven’t heard about strippers wearing thongs in like... what, 15+ years? britney spears and paris hilton even stopped wearing them even in the era of low-rise jeans, they’re so uncomfortable and so gross, too, like there’s nothing sexy about having a string between your ass cheeks and your coochie.

“slid off the bed” made me think of homer simpson sliding off the bed and sneaking out in the middle of the night with bart to scour the barrels of booze in the prohibition episode (there’s a bit in the second part of this fic where vince acts like bart reading notes from his palm 😂)

firm tits? if she’s got firm tits, she’s probably got cancer, bro. or she has pcos, just gave birth, or she’s the three-breasted martian from total recall, like it’s not natural to have rock-hard boobs and a soft body, especially in that situation.

“so i pulled on her hair, got her legs in the air, and asked if she had any cooties in there. ‘what do you mean, cooties? no cooties on me!’ she was buns up, kneeling. i was wheelin’ and dealin’, she surrendered to the feelin’, and she started with the squealin’. dyna-moe watched from the edge of the bed, with her upper lip twitching and her face gone red, some drool rolling down from the edge of her chin, while she spied the condition her sister was in.”

...this is the woman who made fun of me in 2020 for writing the word “butt” in an otherwise erotic fic. the same one.

good god.

did you have a stroke and lose your sense of hearing, nick? she’s obviously in pain. knock that shit off.

“melted water and her juices”

man alive, that conjures an image.

also, why am i under the impression that she sat down with eclipse open in another tab whilst writing, specifically to angel’s trumpet and summer in the city, and wrote this alongside those chapters, like this whole time i’m just thinking of vampire!alex and his icy cold body... but minus his sensuality and sweetness, and made a lot more disgusting. and it’s kinda creepy, too, like at least i try to make people look like they’re having a good time in my erotica. i also didn’t screenshot it, but there’s a line in here where nick says “i’d like to lick something” and i was almost immediately reminded of magic stick.

after everything, she is still ripping me off, and badly this time around no less: the first time was actually kind of innocuous in comparison to this, like this is borderline psychopathic behavior.

and it’s so ironic, too. everything i do is all supposed to be fun. you gently rib at someone because you like them. has she or anyone who supports her never heard of “dramatic readings” or “drunk readings”? or watched a bad movie and made wise cracks all the way through? if my mental breakdown after all this went down in summer 2020 wasn’t enough proof for you, i don’t know what to tell you.

really, i can forgive spelling errors and awkward sentences and unintentional hilarity, i really can (there’s a trope for that, too, it’s called “so bad, it’s good”), but if you still insist on doing the nefarious behavior i initially called you out on?

she’s insane. she is completely and totally out of her goddamn mind.

and she looks at me and tells me to get over it? that’s justifying your own horrible behavior in hopes to make me submit. there’s a word for that, too. you may have heard of it, you may have seen her use it, too. it’s called “bullying”. look at it this way: if someone hits you and you’re crying, and they tell you to get over it, it’s abuse. bonus points if they’re like “i didn’t do it!” (given bullying is a form of abuse).

when i posted the apple shed back on the 9th, it had pure intentions. sure, when i posted dead man walking, it had the intent of standing up for myself. but that was it, though: i was standing up for myself while writing something that i had wanted to write for a long time, so two birds with one stone there. when she starts something in response to fics like those, it’s solely to cover her ass, never to contribute to fandom. i promise i’m not trying to be like one of the cool kids, either. so, i don’t know what her logic is because i’m not trying to prove anything. i stopped caring about popularity a long time ago. i grew up in nevada and california: we don’t give a shit if we’re popular or not. it’s nice when it happens, but we don’t expect it.

coming from her, she may as well be telling us we’re all fools. really, this is erotic? this is unpleasant, even for her (and i’ve avoided her like the ‘rona). a little pain goes a long way, but this left me genuinely uncomfortable. in fact, this happens a lot in her so-called erotic writings. and like, you can’t cover it up with “don’t like, don’t read”, either, because it’s all at the expense of growing and changing.

it’s like she tries way too hard to be sexy and winds up writing some of the most “cannot... unsee” things i’ve ever read. i feel like i’ve actually grown as a writer since i joined ao3. i can tell right away that she hasn’t, not one bit (and she’s been on there longer than i have, too).

in fact, she’s actually the reason why i’m so picky about reading things that are erotic: i don’t ever mean to shame anyone for what turns them on, that’s never my intention. i’ve been shamed for my sexual feelings pretty much my entire life, so you couldn’t pay me enough money to shame someone for their preferences and their kinks, but way too often, i’ll read something that’s kinda hot, kinda sensual, and then something will happen that’s off-putting and it’s immediately gross, or it’s unintentionally funny. i don’t blame you for it one bit, though: writing is hard, and erotic writing is even harder (no pun intended). you want proof? it took me almost four years to overcome my hang-ups on my own kinks and be comfortable enough to write about them, and yet, i still have a long way to go. i still feel guilt and shame with what gets me going, and though my art is about what i like and who i like, i still am reluctant to talk about my crushes and my sexuality. it’s a continuous process.

what i don’t understand is... what the hell makes her so special? her writing is not sexy. at all. and i’ve given myself shit for being unsexy multiple times in the past. but i don’t think i’ve ever written anything that’s uncomfortable, disturbing, and stomach-churning at worst, and unintentionally funny at best like with her. (and that’s not even touching the plagiarism aspect, either).

there’s someone who comes to mind now that i write this out and really put the pieces together. so many of you are too young to remember tila tequila: i was 12 when she was the queen of myspace and i barely had a finger in the world of music then. if i was too young to remember tila, i know you all are. but i recommend you read about her. i can’t really explain it, but i keep seeing this weirdly similar arc between these two women: overly sexual to the point it’s obnoxious and squicky, loud and boisterous, big ego, went nuts after a traumatic event (in tila’s case, it was losing her girlfriend and then od’ing on pills during an aneurysm; in the green druidess’ case, it was losing her grandmother and then the rendezvous with me in quarantine). if she starts whipping out the prejudices and really problematic behavior, don’t say i didn’t try to warn you.

“you hurt my feelings” i thought people got sick of this trope like... six years ago. sick of the trope. six years ago. nikki sixx. seems kinda weird…

it’s like watching two people have sex with rubber gloves and soapy water.

okay, i want y’all to take a shot every time she writes the word “butt” from now on. i actually came up with a few drinking games with her. for example, take a shot every time someone “hums” during an intercourse scene. take a shot every time she uses a flowery synonym for red hair. take a shot every time there’s a sex scene and you’re more grossed out than turned on.

again, this is the “hot, erotic romance” that readers of bandfic want in 2022/2023? this is torture. like... dude. have you tried just talking to her? why do you insist on spinning in circles every which way: this shit is hard to watch.

this is the scene from tiny bubbles:

Alex didn’t hesitate to take off his jeans right there in the front part of the apartment: he swiped the cordless phone from the kitchen in the instance of someone calling him in the meantime, and he ambled across the carpet to the hallway. He stepped into that large, spacious bathroom and already began to feel completely at ease. The white tile that made up the floor felt like cold stones on the very bottoms of his feet; the white and gray marble on the countertop next to him shimmered and twinkled under the soft light that filtered through the window over the bathtub before him. He peeled off his shirt and lay it on the counter next to him and the edge of the sink. He stood right next to the toilet for a second with his eye on the big silvery shower head on the wall over his head.

A shower wouldn’t suffice. Too quick, especially for his tense muscles in his back and in his legs. He glanced down at the big bathtub before him, the big pearly white tub that provided enough for him to lay down flat on his back.

That would do the trick. He took the bath mat off of the rim of the tub and lay it on the tiles right next to the tub, and then he reached over to the dials on the wall and switched on the water. A bit too cold at first and then he turned the hot dial a bit. He then reached behind him to the cabinets under the sink for the bottle of bubble bath: what was a boy who wanted to relax without soft-smelling tiny bubbles. Down on one knee, he unscrewed the lid from the top and poured in a slender little trickle of that deep blue liquid in: he watched it bleed through the water for a moment, and then he reached down and stirred the water with a shake of his hand so the bubbles would flurry up and collect throughout the water. He put the bubble bath back into the cabinet and he watched the bubbles form and pile upon themselves.

Every so often, he reached down for a stir of the water with his hands so those little stacks of tiny bubbles collected and formed upon themselves even more.

Once the water reached a certain level on the bathtub, he switched off the water, and then he peeled his underwear off and he let it fall onto the bath mat, around his feet. He ran his hand down his stomach before he stuck one foot into the water: nice and warm, almost perfect. It was a bit colder than he usually liked, but the tub had enough water in it already; he set the other foot into the water next, and then he took his seat on the floor of the tub. He leaned back against the wall opposite to the faucet and stretched out his long, lanky legs to where his feet reached the faucet. Though he remained close to the wall on the left, there was plenty of room in that tub for two people.

it’s directly from tiny bubbles. she still has not gotten tired of this. as i said, it’s like she had eclipse open in one tab and used it as a base. it’s like when you’re taking notes from a textbook and you paraphrase as “best” as you can... “best” in that it’s actually not coming from you.

god, where’s miss rocco, my english teacher in junior year of high school. that woman had eyes like a hawk: she knew if you plagiarized or read cliff notes from a mile away. she was tough but she wanted us to do well, and that was my original intent with the green druidess. but since she’s way too egotistical, stubborn, and dumb to figure it out (as bullies usually are), i had to leave the “love” part out of “tough love”.

by the way, “non-erogenous zone”? what are you, my therapist?

*projectile vomits*

“oh. my. GAWD. chand-lah bing! chand-lah bing-a-ling!” (this part actually deserves two jokes)

“are you eating a t-bone? why don’t we call you.. t-bone?” “can i be g-bone?” “there is no ‘g-bone’, george.” “T-BONE! T-BONE! T-BONE! T-BONE!” 

*later*

“you’re like that monkey that can do sign language.” “cocoa?” “yeah! COCOA! COCOA! COCOA! COCOA!”

she also ripped off covalent bonds, i see. not surprised at all, either: it had “easy target” written all over it.

“when you walk in the bar, and you feel like a star, rockin’ your fuck-me pumps.  and a man notice you with your gucci bag (crue), can’t tell who he's lookin' to, ‘cause you all look the same, everyone knows your name, and that's your whole claim to fame. never miss a night 'cause your dream in life is to be a footballer's wife. you don't like players, that's what you say- but you really wouldn't mind a millionaire. you don't like ballers, they don't do nothing for ya, but you'd love a rich man six-foot-two or taller.”

vanessa: “we also received your other gift.” austin powers: “yes, basel! nice rack!”

“you’re being a peñis... colada, that is.” -liz phair

i swear, i used “i want you”... by bob dylan, in either fever or now it’s dark. may have been fever, i remember seeing it in the notes when i was putting volume one on wattpad last week.

speaking of notes, here’s another drinking game: take a shot every time you read her author’s note and they’re like this. when i write author’s notes, i try to be fun and friendly because we’re all fans here, but istg, the last couple of times i poked my head into her fics out of morbid curiosity, i saw her author’s notes and they were... i want to say “businesslike”. most recently, she hasn’t put any. it’s like when you have that one mutual on here: you were friends at one point, and something happens, and they end up moving away from their original content, like they got involved in social justice or something, and they start getting hostile and belligerent about it, and they end up deviating away from the original purpose of social justice and turn into someone full of hate, the very thing they were initially up against, and they reach a crisis point where it completely breaks them, and they turn into hipster blogs who don’t bother tag anything or even talk anymore, and then at some point, they leave tumblr. (tells you how long i’ve been on here, too: i’ve actually watched blogs venture through that very pipeline, whereas it’s rare now).

but here, i’m trying really hard to understand her point, or why she’s so bent on making things difficult for me when she just winds up making things difficult for herself as well as everyone who follows her, but she can’t come out front like this. when this whole situation started, and then continued, i really was alone in the whole thing (another key trait that should tell you that i’m not the bully here as bullies usually travel in packs and their prey tend to be loners). some people who had blocked me lifted the barrier and i apologized to them straight up because i knew it was upsetting for them. add to this, i had people left and right blocking me on the pretense of my supposedly running my mouth. incredibly petty and rude (unless someone’s opinion is actually hurting you, i can’t even tell you how messed up it is to block someone for being themselves: and at that point, it stops being opinion anyway) and it really gave me some insight into this new generation of tumblrs, many of whom are a lot like her: she happens to be a prototype of sorts, a codifier for what tumblr has become. but if there’s anything that this current tumblr is not, it’s that i know you guys don’t cheat.

as much as i dislike the ____ x reader trope and stranger things, the air of “oh my gosh, look what i found!” laced with captain obvious that’s in literally everything you guys do, and as much as i wish tiktok would just go away already, gen z and a lot of her readership do have a lot of charm to them because it comes down to ego.

the pen can’t be mightier than the sword if you let your ego get in the way. fic should be fun, it shouldn’t be about cancelling or getting all defensive when someone notices that you’re fucking up and wants you to stop but you instead double down and continue to do it and play possum afterwards at the expense of everyone in the room. karma is a bitch, man, and a bigger one than i ever will be. what goes up must come down.

speaking of coming down, there’s...

there’s...

there’s...

*snicker* sorry.

ladies and gentlemen. boys and girls. everyone in between. damen und herren. madames et monsieurs.

the crown jewel. the trinity test:

BIT HER BOTTOM

BIT

HER

BOTTOM

WHAT

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEX

YOU’RE NOT HERE! YOU’RE NOT HERE! A DIRTY WORD! HE SAID A DIRTY WORD!

WHAT IN GOD’S NAME HAVE YOU DONE STICK YOUR ARM FOR SOME REAL FUN SO YOUR SICKNESS WEIGHS A TON AND GOD’S NAME HAS SMACK THE SUN!

U

G

L

Y

YOU UGLY YOU, YOU UGLY YOU UGLY YOU, YOU UGLY

YOU AIN’T GOT NO ALIBI YOU AIN’T GOT NO ALIBI YOU AIN’T GOT NO ALIBI YOU AIN’T GOT NO ALIBI

YOU UGLY YOU, YOU UGLY

I AM NOW CHOPPING OFF PHYLLIS’ HEAD WITH A CHAINSAW 

I SAID A BOOM-CHICK-A-BOOM!

I SAID A BOOM-CHICK-A-BOOM!

I SAID A BOOM-CHICK-A-ROCK-A-CHICK-A-ROCK-A-CHICK-A-BOOM!

IT IS OVER! IT IS ALL OVER!

FUCK

okay, never mind the image that just conjured up. it reminds me of that eminem song where he’s rapping in an eric cartman voice, and there’s a line where he goes: “that bitch can twist like a contortionist!”

she bit her bottom and ate her own shit 🤣

it’s like, “what do you want for lunch?” “could you make me a sandwich?” “sure!”

SPLAT.

oh, my god, i cannot think of a better allegory to her fics, like seriously. between the hyper obsession with ghoulish topics to the point of not doing them right (yeah, i don’t get it either) to the juvenile humor, it fits beautifully and perfectly. i also feel like it’s foreshadowing like KARMA IS A BITCH, BABY! 😂😂😂

and that’s another thing that’s common in her fics, too, especially as of recently. she’ll omit words (which is a typo i’m often guilty of, this is getting weird) and she’ll put in a shitload of filler to pad out the word count and then shove it out the door so no one can question it.

it’s like she wants to... beat me to the punchline or something.

but guess fucking what? i have the punchline now, hahahahaha!

god, that is a terrible error, and i cannot believe no one pointed it out, either. but i also can, though, because when i make an error like that, i usually notice after the fact or when i’m editing; the fact no one’s said anything after a month confirms she’s surrounded by yes men. or at the very least, people who don’t know, or don’t care, what a con job looks like (i’ll explain that in a second).

that’s right up there with “angry balls” from twilight (with apologies to stephenie meyer, of course).

and it doesn’t really matter at this point, but it came from this:

george: “you can’t break up with me! i had hand!” AND YOU’RE GONNA NEED IT.

besides... the only taut belt I ever want to think about

is his

yeah, i’d like to see him tighten that belt of his, making that little belly poke out even more and bring more attention to his crotch 👀  swish his long beautiful hair 👀👀👀

actually, all the testament guys can tighten their belts for me any time 😏 and joey, too! he likes his belts, too. the man whom she betrayed and left behind in the dirt along with pete apparently. yeah, she threw not one, not two, but three subcultures, thrashers, grungers, and the goths, under the bus for quite literally no reason: she pretty much gave up anthrax fic after the incident with me and then her eddie vedder/grunge fic and her megadeth fic respectively in 2021, and her updates of like loving the dead since chapter 37 have been hollow and kind of boring, which tells me she’s not putting effort into them, and it’s weird because there are a few people who’ve bookmarked it saying it’s their dream peter fic. she left these fandoms, whole-ass subcultures, hanging for literally no reason other than to be petty and spiteful towards someone who stopped caring in january 2021.

what makes me different? very simple: i don’t cheat. i also genuinely like stuff.

i was thinking about this when i said it’s like she’s not even a fan of these things and she just writes because she thinks it’s what’s cool, too: she’s a grifter. she doesn’t swindle people out of their money, sure, but her behavior is parasitic enough, though.

she writes fic that appeals to a wide array of people while she keeps a straight face on (”she’ll stab you in the back with a smile on her face”, if you will) and also leeches off them under the pretense of “don’t like, don’t read”, thereby abusing fandom rules and then the very second she comes across someone who doesn’t kiss her ass or is bit of a threat to her or better yet annoys her, she turns hostile, covers her ass and gaslights everyone, and drags everyone down with her, declaring it’s “because they made do it!” lol, no. you chose to do it. i didn’t point a gun to your head and told you to ditch your fics: you did it because you have a victim complex and frankly, you suck at writing, too. there’s no money involved but you’re a grifter.

i pray for the mötley crüe fandom. really, take this from a girl who’s into alt rock and thrash and death metal, three genres that are notoriously the antitheses of glam: they don’t need the run-around like that, her building up a base only to watch her suddenly leave down the line because she can’t handle some girl being herself. instead of hitching up her bootstraps and accepting responsibility like any person with a spine and common sense, she plays the blame game and goes “look what she made me do”. who the hell does she think she is, taylor swift? (say what you want about her, but at least taylor has the decency to learn from her mistakes and has a healthy sense of self-awareness. and she’s actually a nice person, too: regina george is more charming than the green druidess) like i said, i’ve grown as a writer and a person. from the looks of it, the green druidess, formerly known as daveighmustaine, formerly known as fromthewasteland, has not one bit. the only thing that’s different is username and pettiness level.

by the way, alex likes to wear a lot of black and red (and green, oddly enough), too, so before i get called out for double standards: no, context is important.

and speaking of context, there’s also a line in this fic where nick runs his fingers down liz’s bare body to her (’scuse me) “abdomen” and she has a belly button piercing. it’s insufficient to say, but i feel like she had the hanukkah chapter of black moon open, too (fits the time frame: that was posted on the 18th and her fic on the 27th). and maybe disciples of the watch from eclipse, too, and blood & chocolate, and really anything i wrote that’s a bit sexual because i have a belly kink, specifically “little round bellies that look like they’d be fun to kiss, cuddle with, playfully poke, gently pat, tickle, admire from afar with the right fabrics and colors, and maybe fill them up until they’re very full and give them lots of gentle rubs”.

so, she not only copies from me, but she can’t even do kinks right. 

how is that possible? 

when you write kink, there’s this unspoken commitment behind it, like... you know. commit. shit or get off the pot. dude, i have written bdsm scenes where they were enjoying themselves. i wrote temperature play, and elemental play (pyrophilia and aquaphilia), and not once did i inject some painful bullshit.

and i thought we learned from 50 shades, too. there’s literally a right way to do it all and she isn’t doing it. “it makes it more believable and enjoyable!” no, it doesn’t. take this from a virgin: if you’re in pain while having sex, stop. extreme pain is not empowering or sexy: it’s quite the opposite. don’t keep going until one of you is crying and then you call the guy a fuckhead and he’s reveling in your verbal abuse. you’re treating not just him like shit, but yourself, too.

how do you people following her sleep at night knowing your precious fic writer, your “gorgeous queen”, is glorifying abuse across the board and is grifting everyone right in front of their faces, not once apologizing or being levelheaded about anything. she has shown to me, since 2020, that she cannot handle people who are different. hell, it looks like she can’t even handle fandom, period, because i have seen, time and time again, people in fandom far worse than me and i can tell she’s not okay with it. always wanting more attention, more sympathy, just like ol’ tila nguyen who preceded her by 20 years.

i’m just... i’m gonna y’all this right now.

it’s only a matter of time before she says something really problematic, and she loses control of everything. and you’re going to wish you believed me when it all first happened.