#they also ignore their importance to each other entirely

[colduncrustable]

the martin antis working so hard to make waves is so funny. like, you are very much allowed to like/dislike any character you please! but making it your whole personality or acting like you’re cooler for it is a little bit silly. you are not morally or intellectually superior for hating on a fiction character.

not to mention all of the characters in tma are very nuanced and complicated, just like real people (!), and erasing all of that to serve a certain narrative is a complete disservice to the entire body of work. jon and martin’s relationship was never meant to be easy, they first and foremost worked closely together as boss/employee, and in a workplace that was actively putting them in dangerous and horrible situations. the whole point is that they’re both super fucked up but they have each other anyway. they both have flaws, they both have gone through a great deal both with and without each other, but they found love anyway. the idea that the dynamic change in s5 is due to martin just being this villain is so wild? like he’s not a doormat anymore but he also loves jon so fiercely and stands by him over and over again?

jon hated him, jon ignored him, was verbally horrible to him again and again, literally sent him on a dangerous investigation and said if anyone had to die might as well be him, jon accused him of murder, screamed at him, jon was on the run, jon died. martin was his number one defender through everything, even when honestly? he didn’t do a lot to prove he deserved it. but martin was strong in his loyalty and did his best to be a supporter anyway. he picked up extra work, he thought of him kindly when no one else did, he mourned him, and he put himself directly in the line of fire for jon. for everyone, yes, but especially for jon, he says that. because after everything, protecting jon is still his number one priority.

it’s so important to his character that he isn’t s1 martin anymore—that he learns to be a real person who has thoughts and feelings and a backbone. jon wanted that, and does it not say something that they don’t work out until martin learns to have a little bite? there’s a difference between being a real complicated traumatized human person, and just straight up being evil, or an asshole. jon had to learn how to be a lot of softer things but martin had to learn how to square his shoulders and stick out his chin. they had different arcs, and that doesn’t make either of them inherently evil or bad. it makes them real and not perfect and very multilayered, yeah.

martin didn’t handle every choice or action perfectly, he made a lot of mistakes, and he never claims to be the best person ever. but jon also fucked up, a lot. it isn’t a competition or a comparison, that’s really not how that works. but they work because of their flaws. that’s a big part of them fitting together. martin represented the humanity they were saving, with all his good and bad. jon was well beyond that, and while that doesn’t inherently compromise his character, it does mean he’s viewed in a much different light.

(meaning i think jon’s sins are seen very very different to martin’s.) (to be clear i think both deserve to be looked at critically, but hating either of them devoutly seems sort of silly.)

i’m not sure how you can listen to tma and all the ways it dissects and reflects on humanity and turn around and run blogs or make posts in the fandom about how you hate one of the main characters for being all of that.

jon never would’ve made it through without martin, even if martin wasn’t the key to everything, he was the reason to push through and not give up. martin is why jon didn’t go full monster mode, why he held onto who he was and his humanity, even with the whole ‘kill bill’ thing. martin gave him a reason to keep going, to try, to care so deeply. obviously there were other factors but jon says it himself, martin you are my reason.

if you can’t handle the fact that martin isn’t a grade a soft boy by the end of the show that’s a lot more about you than it is about him. he grew and maybe not always for the better but he could be a real person for jon instead of some kind of mirror or blank slate to be reflected on. i genuinely don’t understand how he can be misunderstood so deeply.

they’re both fucked up ! and if they are alive Somewhere Else you bet your ass they’re having long talks and going to therapy and fighting and making up and pacing the floors and figuring it all out together. it isn’t clean or easy or necessarily enjoyable all the time, but humanity isn’t either, love isn’t either. they went through unimaginable trauma, and expecting either of them to be holding it together any better than they already are is wild. context, it’s important. but let’s not turn multi-dimensional characters into flat one word answers.

it’s very human to like and dislike, love and hate based off of bias and experiences and perspective. but also opinion does not make fact. everything is relative, everything is subjective, everything everything everything. it’s an open discussion yada yada idk i’m just screaming into the wall about all the nonsense.

and beyond all of that, discourse is so useless. criticism and constructive conversations are really really important but discourse is pointless! oh you ship these people? well that inherently threatens my ship! oh you like this character that i hate? well that makes me feel invalid for hating them. like what you like, hate what you hate, have your feelings. but if you post shit on the internet you will get people who disagree, sorry, that’s how it is. partaking in little arguments over who is right or wrong when it doesn’t actually have to do with anything harmful or unhealthy makes no sense though. posting on the internet about all the hate you have in your heart when the world is already so full of it doesn’t actually do anything but add more bad to an already very large pile of bad.

things can be discussions not arguments sometimes, i promise. it’s not always tooth and nail, and let’s not forget, most of it is over things that never need to be fought over.

[flowerflamestars]

Another alternative Effloresce pov. Azriel, as the slow moving shitshow train wreck his life is is quickly becoming a fast moving shit show train wreck.

I cannot tell you how much I love this one!

So, I would say across all my fics Azriel is a character who is the most consistent? Especially since almost all of them were written before acosf TERRIBLY let us in his actually creepy little headspace, and I've additionally chosen to keep my made up shadowman as he is.

Effloresce Az is basically Starlight Az but SADDER. He's Daylight Az without a kiddo and husband, Shoreless Sea Az without the absolutely beneficial retirement, and man is he TIRED.

You're Azriel, and your job sucks. Your inborn skillset leaves you zero other options, and you know this. It's better to be the left hand of power than in a cell for life, but you know what? Sometimes you can only do so goddamn much.

You're Azriel and that's kind of all you've got. You're one of a kind, literally. Alone forever in that. But you love Cassian. You play the little games with Mor for harmony. You respect- alien, ancient, different, probably what you'll feel like in a thousand goddamn years if you live that long- Amren.

You see the good in Rhysand, limited as it is to personal things, but you also see the vast potential for failure.

You see him listening to this CHILD OF A GIRL- who seems nice, yeah. You're worried about her, frankly. The Courts of Prythian revived her and will not just let that go- but that doesn't mean you think she has, shall we say, good ideas.

You watch Cassian spend days arguing against this.

You rock up over the wall and realize these two mortal, innocent women have probably been taken captive by Spring. Your orders are a mistake, you have a war to fight that has nothing to do with these people, but you're here, and you might as well do some good.

You move to neutralize the threat.

Lucien Vanserra does not act like a vassal of Spring. No, not even at Autumn prince. You can drown fire in the dark, but you can't swallow the sun or an ocean of flame without end.

That doesn't matter either, because this determined little slip of blond sunshine just fucking stabbed you. And for the first time in maybe decades, you just want to laugh. You've fucked up, clearly, but you're okay. (You can live through so much worse than letting a human woman stab you to feel safe.)

You hear Cassian coming, and you know.

It doesn't matter what Feyre is saying. Has said. You're Azriel and you can't not know or not hear- she's wrong or she lied. You have a High Lord sweating blood to protect a stunningly, dangerously charming woman and you have her sister, who feels less like delight and more like a dream.

You're a shadowsinger, whose providence is secrets and these two woman are shrouded.

You're fucked, essentially.

You know they're not really human.

You know they're hiding, and Feyre is going to break that right open if Rhysand has his way, no matter how many times you point out that the Queens want nothing to do with Prythian's fae.

You're Azriel, and you've always been smart enough to stay quiet when you have no orders forcing you to do otherwise. You're polite. You're frankly, horrified. You have no idea what to do with the Archeron sisters acting like you're nothing to be afraid of.

You know, before Cassian knows, that every wind that has ever carried him had lead him right here.

(You remember what that felt like. The fear, the euphoria. You were young and stupid enough to consider it simple rightness, your extra senses on your side, pulling you toward the correct choice in fealty. You didn't know what it was until too late. You didn't know and you never even got to know or got to mourn. You didn't have the right to mourn a girl dead too soon, who would have never been anything but your queen had she grown old enough to wear a crown.)

(Dead before the start, just like you.)

You decide, immediately, you cannot let what happened to you happen to Cassian. Nesta Archeron might be a compelling power, might be a fighter with ash in her hair and a cunning mind, but Shahar was a High Lady born. Not even that could save her.

You understand the instant way you like Elain is magic, whether she knows it or not. (She does not). Real affection follows quickly, you are, despite all magic to the contrary, as Illyrian as Cassian. You cannot not know. You like Nesta too- if only for her ferocity. Her bleeding, present fury.

They treat you like a person.

Fearlessly.

Easily.

You watch as their sister breaks their hearts, cracks already laid. You watch Rhysand act more and more territorial, and of course you know why too. You watch Lucien Vanserra safeguard the lives and livelihoods of hundreds of humans and you understand this, here, is a Court too.

A better one.

You quietly, a secret, kill their father.

You bind yourself in blood to a favor, and use it to unshackle the Archeron bloodline and their vassals from the Queens.

You watch Nesta Archeron kneel in the snow, watch Elain Archeron pull a knife on a High Lord of Prythian over human lives, and think, with dread and barren exhaustion, you're making the right choice.

The hard choice.

(How many noncombatants died in Sangravah? In every city Amarantha occupied? How many servants in the Hewn City every year? How many Illyrian children in the starving north? How many deaths were Azriel's fault, because Rhysand didn't care?)

(The Archerons would rather die with their people than live. Were educating their maids. Sending their kitchen boys to university. Taking in the orphans of other estates, having never forgotten what it was to be forgotten, hungry and alone.)

You're Azriel, and you can't not know how badly this is going to hurt.

[kenobihater]

just saw a fic tagged both as a #fix-it fic (for the noncanon gay pair) and as #widowed character (implying the character's beloved canonical wife died somehow). motherfucker, spousal death is NOT a fix-it! STOP fridging women just bc you find them inconvenient for their husbands' relationship statuses!! give me lavender marriages, infidelity, miscommunication, polycules, or any other form of complex dynamic but for the love of GOD stop killing them off for the combined benefit of avoiding unconventional and/or uncomfortable dynamics and also allowing you to focus on that sweet sweet man pain in your shitty fic. the next person to do this owes every wife on earth $500

[menlove]

being a ✨historian✨ on the internet is hearing the worst most god awful fucking takes you have ever seen by ppl that have never actually studied history beyond youtube videos and tiktoks and maybe some trending half fiction half conspiracy book and just want to say smth they think is like earth shattering and edgy but is really just completely ahistorical and vaguely offensive but you can't even say anything bc you will get called an elitist and you kind of just

[shorthaltsjester]

imodna to me is c3 widojest (i am not a fan of widojest)

[apas-95]

How do you not realize your Marxist ideology is false when it says shit like a trans black woman small business owner is oppressing her cis white man employees?

I don't think you're, like, genuinely asking, or are curious, here, but I'll answer anyways, for everyone else who might be confused on issues like this: it's intersectionality.

You could make this argument about essentialy any axis of oppression - 'how do you not realise your LGBT ideology is false when it says shit like a cishet black person is oppressing their white trans gay employees', or, conversely, 'how do you not realise your racial ideology is false when it says shit like a white trans gay person is oppressing their cishet black employees'.

The point here isn't to have a rock-paper-scissors, Pokémon type-effectiveness ranking of which axes of oppression 'outrank' which others, it's to understand that each axis of oppression is an entirely distinct social system that overlaps with the other. A black business owner suffers from the social system of antiblackness, and benefits from the social system of capitalism. The specific overlap of their blackness and their class character also gives them an entirely unique character with regards to their segment of society. If they are USAmerican, for example, in their specific case the state and progress of the national liberation movement in the US means that they make up the rear of the revolutionary movement, despite being themselves petit-bourgeois. These systems of oppression are qualitatively different, and cannot be simply, quantitatively, summed up against each other.

With this in mind, it should be understood that the Marxist understanding of class as the principal contradiction does not mean that class is the most important, overruling factor, and that other axes should be ignored. Class is considered the principal contradiction because it is the contradiction that all other axes of oppression, genuine in their own rights, grew out of. Antiblackness was created by the slave trade (not vice-versa), and the slave trade was created by the growing European bourgeoisie's need to extract surplus-value, in the collapse of the Feudal economy. In the example you gave, the petit-bourgeois business owner exploits the labour of her workers, and is supported in doing so by an entire legal, political, and philosophical system based on the expropriation of the proletariat. She is also herself repressed and exploited on the basis of race, gender, and transness. These do not cancel each other out. However, given the ultimate source of racial, patriarchal, and cissexist oppress is political-economic class, her ability to genuinely fight for her interests in those fields will be hamstrung by her class position - just as her ability to attain and maintain that class position in the first place is itself hamstrung by her oppression in other fields.

Ultimately, there are no simple rules that society can be flattened down by. Each and every instance and scenario must be investigated in its own right. The idea that people are driven to Marxism because it provides an easy or simplified way of looking at the world is (perhaps unfortunately!) wrong, it actually means a lot more work!

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 6

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Being alone with Damian after so many years didn't lead to the ideal conversation you two should have had, but every little word seemed to have helped you two get closer at least a little bit. However, the chaotic turbulence of the night returned when your mother decided to leave.

Warnings: Family discussion; mention of kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4k

Note: I wanted to post this and part 7 together, because they are the last two, but it didn't turn out as planned. I hope you like it.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Damian walked to the end of the hallway and turned right, heading toward the living room. His only goal at the moment was to find you and try to prepare you for the catastrophic revelation he knew would come at some point. He was already tired of seeing you so unaware of everything; you weren’t an idiot and didn’t deserve to be treated like one.

But it seemed he didn’t have to try too hard because as soon as he turned the corner and walked a few meters, he abruptly stopped upon seeing that you hadn’t disappeared. In fact, you were there, sitting on the floor next to an old portrait of Martha, your grandmother, curled up as if just waiting for someone to come and get you. Someone who wasn’t your brother, apparently.

“There you are.” He took a few steps back and made no effort to crouch to your level; instead, he stood staring at you with a reproachful look that made you pull your legs even tighter to your chest. “Get up, quickly. The floor is for rats.”

He was trying to ignore the tension, but you were giving him the silent treatment, which made him uncomfortable, though he would never admit it to himself. You had done this to him many times before, but it was always over silly reasons, so he never minded.

You also could never hold a grudge for long, and when you were younger, within an hour, you would have forgotten any disagreement between the two of you and would then come to annoy him again. But now you were older, it wasn’t a tantrum anymore, and the reason was much more complex than any other. You weren’t ignoring him because you were simply irritated, and he feared it was different now.

Damian couldn’t ignore the irritation he felt seeing how ashamed of yourself you seemed since he first saw you. He hated that trait of your personality, always very aware of everything and everyone around you, though it was contradictory to your incredible ability to do unthinkable nonsense.

From where you both were, he still had a view of the bedroom door. The boy couldn’t help but glance over there, curious about what kind of discussion your parents were having. At the same time, he was contemplating various ways to say something or maybe try to fix the awkwardness between you two now, but your guilty voice caught him off guard:

“I didn’t mean to cause harm.” You sounded hoarse, and you two stared at each other, and unlike his sharp eyes, yours were wavering. He gave you a hard expression, but not because of the aversion you thought he had for you, but out of confusion.

It was a pity that Damian’s feelings weren’t easy to read, so you thought he was angry because that night you found out Bruce was someone very important to your brother now. “I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Wayne. I really don’t know what I did to make him like this. I’m sorry.”

So you thought you had done something wrong to make your father that way, Damian concluded. He hadn’t reflected on how you might feel that way, and fighting against his own callous nature, he made an effort to relax his posture and crouched down in front of you. Damian didn’t dare sit the same way you were, balancing on his toes and leaning his torso forward.

“It wasn’t anything you did.” You’re not sure, but you risk saying this was the first time you heard your brother so soft in your entire life. Damian had always been very loud and was almost always yelling or offending someone, but now, combined with the gravity his voice had gained with puberty, it was tender.

He was going to say something else, but suddenly a strange noise sounded. It was muffled, but it seemed like something had fallen, and you both could feel the ground vibrate. It came from the bedroom, which made you become alert. You started to get up, worried, but your brother’s firm hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“It must have been nothing. Don’t worry about them.” The tenderness had been replaced by harshness, but it wasn’t directed at you.

Sliding your back against the wall again, you rested your chin on your knees while admiring your own shoes, and just like always, you couldn’t maintain your silent treatment with Damian for long:

“I think I bothered Mr. Wayne by coming here. Mom will be mad at me for this later, I know she will.” You were obviously nervous, seeking refuge in Damian as you always did when you had to face her. Your mother didn’t have a good relationship with Batman, and now having to deal with you for disturbing his evening would make her furious. The little relief you felt earlier had vanished, suspecting she had only been affectionate before not to show Bruce.

“Mom is mad all the time.” He tried to calm you down. It would be unbelievable for someone who knows Talia only through her assassin image to hear such a thing. She was a cold and calculating woman, but you both knew when she was upset. She didn’t express it in a conventional way, and Damian had already gotten used to it. Your mother’s mood didn’t concern him much, but it was still scary for you.

“You were mad…” Your statement made him sigh because it was true. A few minutes ago, he had reacted that way, but there was context he couldn’t immediately explain to you. “Maybe I can apologize to him? If he forgives me, I promise I won’t do it again, and then mom-”

“Y/n.” Your brother cut off your frantic speech sharply; you were almost hyperventilating. “No one is mad at you.” He said it as a statement, leaving no room for you to contest him.

“He was calm.” you started to ramble, picking at the fabric of your clothes with your nail. “He read something he took out of his pocket and started feeling sick, I was trying to help…”

Damian frowned. He had seen Dick give a small piece of paper to his father downstairs. That idiot wouldn’t have been stupid enough to write on it that you were his daughter, right? What a wonderful way to tell something like that.

“Idiot.” Your brother muttered aloud without meaning to, feeling immense anger at the thought that Dick had done that. And only after he blurted out the word did he realize you were still beside him, listening. “Not you.” He tried to explain hastily, still with a furious expression on his face.

It was strange for him to talk to you that way. He had called you an idiot many times during childhood, and you used to call each other much worse things, as siblings do. But your relationship now was delicate, like a strand of cotton candy, since that intimacy you once had was lost.

“By the way, Bruce is just stressed about Strange.” Damian analyzed your reaction at the mention of the name. To you, Strange was just another enemy of Batman, never suspecting that the man who appeared at your house years ago could somehow be him.

The League of Assassins had many enemies scattered across the globe; at that time, you thought it was just another one of them. You also never asked or wanted to talk about it, which was unusual for how chatty you could be sometimes. For you, Hugo Strange and the person who kidnapped you back then had no connection.

“There must have been something about our investigation there. I’m sure it was Dick who gave him that card. You didn’t do anything.” He said.

Your heart returned to its normal rhythm, but it grew heavy again as you understood the facts. Damian was blaming Dick for that thing Bruce was holding onto, but it was you who had given it to him in the first place. Bruce became distressed when you mentioned the gift and quickly pulled it out of his pocket. That must have been the object Strange gave you.

“Dami.” He heard the nickname leave your lips, and a flicker of hope hit him. There was still a certain closeness between you there. “I was the one who brought the card here; it’s not Dick’s fault. Strange gave it to me to give to Mr. Wayne.”

Damian abruptly stood up, returning to an upright posture. “Strange did what?” Neither Tim, Dick, nor Jason had mentioned this. They said they were telling the whole story, but none of them mentioned any kind of message. Was that why Tim had been acting so strange when he arrived? He remembers seeing him throw a box in the trash and getting all nervous when Damian got irritated and asked what it was. “Was it a small gift box, by any chance?”

“Yes, the same size as the card.” You made a square with your thumbs and index fingers, trying to show the shape of the object. “Just like this. But Mr. Wayne didn’t let me read it; I acted badly by trying to see what was in there too. I shouldn’t have been nosy.”

So Bruce didn’t let you know on purpose? Maybe he just didn’t want you to find out this way. He should have told you. Damian was about to open his lips to take the initiative, but the sound of someone approaching stopped him.

Alfred paused for a moment, finding it odd to see the two of you here. He had returned to make sure you were okay once more and then leave you alone until later in the day. “Master Damian,” He said the boy’s name as a form of acknowledgment, “I thought you were asleep.” The butler added, addressing both of you.

“Alfred!” You got up and walked over to him, who rested a hand on your head expectantly. He saw the way you looked hesitantly at your brother, seeking some kind of approval before returning your attention to him once more. “Something bad happened to Mr. Wayne; he wasn’t well.”

Alfred's eyes widened, looking at Damian for an explanation or just confirmation that it was true. He was obviously tense and speechless for a moment but quickly composed himself.

“What happened, dear?” He asked, and once again you sought your brother’s approval, who took the initiative to explain in your place.

“He…” Damian began, trying to find a way to say it. “Bruce discovered something about Strange.” He said with a suspicious tone and the butler quickly understood the underlying implications.

“Where is he?” Alfred asked, worried.

Damian wasn’t planning to answer, knowing Alfred’s aversion to Talia, but you jumped in: “He and my Mom are talking.”

The butler was obviously displeased and furrowed his brow. He had planned to tell Bruce privately about his supposed daughter, but apparently, things had moved ahead of him. But Alfred knew Bruce well and understood that despite his instability, he would handle things as rationally as possible. Or at least he hoped so.

It was unsettling how a simple night so suddenly turned into yet another Wayne family drama.

“Well,” he sighed, “It seems it’s too early for breakfast, but also too late to go back to sleep.” He gave your hair a gentle tousle with the hand that still rested there, and you appreciated it. Indeed, the sky was already beginning to lighten. “How about some tea to start the day, miss? Or maybe coffee?”

“That’s fine.” You said, accepting that he would guide you through the mansion once more, but stopped when you realized your brother wasn’t making an effort to follow. “Damian, aren’t you coming?”

Your hopeful tone made him huff and approach to follow you. “Let’s go then.” He joined you, heading downstairs.

Damian was deeply irritated by how easily you let your emotions come and go. To him, it was inconceivable that you weren’t resentful, even hating him, as he had presumed you would be just moments ago. The way you let your emotions dissipate so easily bothered him, and he couldn’t understand how you could forgive so simply.

This behavior had always been the target of Damian’s criticism, as he didn’t have the same ease with forgiveness. What ate him up inside, however, was the certainty that even if you found out everything he and Talia had done, you would still be able to forgive them.

Damian suspected that this readiness to forgive came from a lack of options. Throughout your life, you had only him and your mother, and breaking away from either of them would be devastating. Perhaps that was Talia’s greatest fear; even if she tried to convince herself that she kept you hidden for your own good, away from the League and Batman, Damian knew that deep down, she wanted to ensure a safe harbor, someone who would always be emotionally supportive.

Although you might appear to be an very naive girl, your morals were unwavering. And incredibly, Talia managed to keep you loyal to her. Both of them knew that you secretly hated criminals and dreamed of a perfect justice that would never exist, at least not in Gotham City.

Damian knew that his mother’s real fear was that you would find someone else beyond her, people with whom you could connect, not out of obligation or lack of other options, but because you genuinely wanted to. This emotional dependency, nurtured by Talia, made you more spoiled than Damian, who in turn always confronted Talia with stubbornness and resistance.

“Do you like any fruit?” Pennyworth asked you, who were with your arms crossed on the counter, while your brother sat at the end of the table, just keeping watch over your figure.

“All of them.” You replied, and Alfred laughed contentedly. It was nice to hear something like that, especially as he opened the kitchen cupboard and saw the colorful cereals inside, all from Tim’s never-ending stash of treats.

“Master Damian?” The butler asked the boy.

“No, thank you.” He declined with a grimace.

You watched with curiosity as Alfred grabbed a bunch of colorful fruits and began cutting them. There was some kind of dough resting in a container nearby, which you noticed when he moved a cloth to check, and it smelled so good. It was comforting to see him there in the kitchen, even doing something as simple as cutting fruits.

Talia was a very busy woman, and cooking definitely didn’t suit her elegant demeanor. Housework was not part of her routine, so you often ended up eating at expensive restaurants. That’s why every move Alfred made captured your attention, and he noticed.

“Do you want to help me, miss?” He asked, intrigued.

“Can I?” You asked back, already moving to stand next to him with excitement. The butler nodded and instructed you to wash your hands in the sink on the other side of the kitchen.

You were distractedly scrubbing soap on your hands and far enough not to hear Damian whisper: “Bruce isn’t going to let Mom take her home.”

Alfred looked up, not at all surprised by the news. “Does your sister know, Master Damian?” He kept his voice at the same low tone as the boy’s.

“No, Pennyworth. That’s why I’m telling you.” Damian checked to see if you were still far, seeing you drying your hands and hurrying: “When they both come out of that room and Mom leaves, she’s going to make a fuss.”

“What should I do?” You came back, interrupting their conversation and asking for instructions.

Alfred set you the task of removing the stems from the strawberries until a noise from upstairs alerted all three of you. It sounded like glass, and it didn’t take long to hear Talia’s voice calling for the butler, who moved to go to her.

“I’m leaving,” Talia said with a firmness that disguised well the inner turmoil she was facing behind her attitude.

You were stunned, and a rising panic took hold of you. Alfred hadn’t noticed you had followed him until you heard: “I’m going to get my shoes and coat.” You declared. Your mind was spinning with the idea that your mother was angry with you, seeing how she was acting.

Talia turned slightly to you, but the look she gave was impassive. “You’re not coming,” she said. The coldness in her voice wasn’t unfamiliar but struck deep in your chest. “You’re going to stay here with your brother.”

“But…” You tried to process what was happening, needing to look at Damian next to you for a moment until reality hit you back. “Why?” You asked with a trembling breath, already approaching her and grabbing your mother’s hand in desperation.

“For heaven’s sake, Y/n. Isn’t this what you wanted?” She rolled her eyes and looked at you with impatience. “You and Damian will get to spend time together again.”

“But what about you, Mom? Why can’t we all be together?” You clung to her hand even tighter, trying to keep her there forever, but all you received in return was the look she gave when you upset her.

“I’ll send your things with someone. Be obedient.” She said, but her real desire was for you to be rebellious, especially towards Bruce. Your mother crouched to your height and pinched your cheeks with her hands while whispering so the other two wouldn’t hear: “But remember, you’re mine daughter, understand? Your mother will always be here for you. I’ll get in touch.” She gave you a strong kiss, leaving a perfect lipstick mark, and grabbed the coat that was already in Alfred’s hands with haste.

“I want to go with you!” Talia felt your arms around her waist and sighed.

“You're old enough to be acting like this, Y/n. Let go.” She tried to wriggle free on her own, but your grip was so strong that her fingers barely moved. “Y/n, enough!” She shouted genuinely furious, and you jumped back in fear. The sight made her wilt, but she still suppressed it and opened the door.

You were in shock, never imagining that your actions could have led to this. It was as if she hated you for it, and you felt a pressure on your forehead, unsure if it was from the anger you felt at how your mother treated you or from the desperation.

“Don’t go after her,” Damian ordered, knowing you would do it anyway, which is why he held you in place.

You couldn’t accept it. The idea of being left behind, the feeling of being rejected by the only family you knew, was overwhelming. “Mom!” You shouted, struggling to free yourself from Damian’s grip in fury, the sadness totaly replaced by a burning rage. “Don’t leave! I’m sorry for disobeying! I didn’t mean to do anything wrong!” you screamed. “Why are you like this with me?!” You shouted louder, not caring about making a scene.

Talia’s feet were already buried in the snow, trying to hide the pain she felt, but your muffled voice didn’t help. The sound of the door closing was like a final blow, and her heart sank even further. She didn’t care whether Bruce was right or not; she hated him like hell now.

You were sobbing and gasping, the pain of rejection still present in your chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t want you to leave…” You murmured lower, feeling your throat ache.

As she took more steps towards her own car, her thoughts raced. She knew that sooner or later you would need to know the truth, and deep down, she wished the news had come from her.

She tried to keep her mind clear during the brief walk to the car, passing by a snow-covered tree where ravens had gathered to rest. She was so distracted for a few seconds that when she felt an arm pull her back, she instinctively threw the stranger away, who hit the trunk and caused the birds to start flying erratically while cawing discordantly.

“What the hell is this!” She shouted furiously, shocking the boy who immediately began to apologize while getting up, feeling pain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare me?!” She was outraged by his assumption. As if she would be scared by a kid like him. “And which of Bruce’s little pests are you?”

“My name is Tim.” The boy assumed a serious tone now, abandoning the polite courtesy he had before.

“And are you going to stand there like an idiot, or are you going to tell me what you want?”

Despite her hurry, Tim stared at her and looked back, checking if there was anyone outside the mansion and taking a few seconds to do so. Talia’s arrogant look didn’t intimidate him, and he spoke firmly:

“A few years ago, in that alley…” The phrase made her eyes widen, but she still took a deep breath to compose herself. “It was you.”

Talia never thought she would have the opportunity to face that boy again after that day. When Strange fled, she followed him and caught up with him. She remembers how she grabbed the man by the collar when she didn’t see you there. After wringing the truth out of that pathetic man, Talia had to let him go as she rushed desperately to where you were, but not before leaving a beaten face as a gift. But that night, that boy... Tim, had heard your call for help.

“So, you were the Robin.” She let out a curious laugh, looking Tim up and down. “And so what if it was me?”

“You tricked me. Pretended to be a helpless person.” He frowned while narrowing his eyes at her. “I remember the little girl I saved; it was her.” Tim turned his face towards the mansion again, as if to point at you.

“You just had the luck of arriving before me. And what did you expect me to do? Tell you who I was?” She took her gloves out of her pocket and began putting them on. “Do you think you could have caught me, kid?” She laughed sarcastically this time, belittling him.

“You could have told me the truth. You had the opportunity to tell Bruce about Hugo Strange all this time. We could have protected her.” Tim’s eyes moved around, trying to process. “After I left there, Bruce and I continued on patrol and found him passed out. If we had known who he really was, he might be in jail now.”

“Spare me your laments, kid. She’s going to stay here, isn’t she? So what else do you want?” Talia said, and Tim wasn’t surprised by the information. He had already assessed the scene while waiting to approach her outside. He had jumped through the bedroom window, having not been able to sleep after recognizing your face.

Tim remained silent. It seemed that Talia had a very concrete idea about everything, and it made no sense to try to circle her with assumptions about how things could have been. He couldn’t help but feel foolish, realizing that you had been so close to him at some point, and he couldn’t do anything for Bruce since he didn’t know.

“Listen.” Talia’s surprisingly soft voice caught him off guard. “Thank you for helping, even though I didn’t exactly need it.” Despite trying to be understanding, she couldn’t help but emphasize. “She means everything to me, you understand? Put some sense into your father, or I’ll find a way to take her back, and I promise you’ll never see her again.”

Tim swallowed hard at the mention of Bruce but snorted indifferently soon after. “He’s not as bad as he seems.”

“I noticed.” She murmured with irony and turned to walk away, with Tim not interrupting her this time. The boy watched her go to the car, but suddenly she stopped at the gate. She ran her fingers over the electronic lock, and suddenly some loose wires became visible. Tim found it strange, and Talia looked at him with a smile, which even from a distance, he could see.

“I think you’re going to need someone to fix this.” She shouted for him to hear, and for a moment, Tim thought if she had done it, but only now did he wonder how you had gotten past the front gate. It seems that your innocent face hid some skills. “Don’t pamper her, and tell your father and Pennyworth not to let her eat too much sugar.” She let the wires go while grumbling, slamming the car door, and driving away.

Tag list:

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@m4chine-girl @kellyyn02 @urminebutidontwantyou

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 1.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The Bridgerton girlies have got me. Congratulations to you all. So before you read this, please read: I Hate Accidents by @i-hate-accidents AND Over The Garden Wall by @homeofthepeculiar AND The Ultimate Deception by @maximoff-pan. These stories are some of my favorites and really inspired this fic.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: To those who have read my other works, you'll notice that the author Mercutio's stories are something special

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I am pleased to welcome you all to the start of another social season. Of course, people love and look for love all year round but each year the season just seems to invite love to blossom. I hope all of you find the match to your souls. Marriage is a business but can it not have love as well? A business built with love surely must be a business that tries to last. I ask our respectful citizens and subjects of the United Kingdom to make love a part of their search. 

I would also like to ask about businesses that do not involve marriage or love. How are you? In the business of health, is everyone safe from all sickness? In the business of finance, does everyone have enough to eat and clothe themselves without falling into poverty? Are businesses afloat even if only by a small margin? How are you? Truly, I want to know. If you would like to write to me, please do so. The royal mailboxes should still be in perfect condition. 

Of course, if you have something urgent then I am sorry but you must come to the palace and request an audience. My valets hold all letters for a day or a few out of safety for everyone. But rest assured, I read every letter once received. 

I would also like to say that I can feel the winds of the ton calling me to grace their presence and to stop being rude by ignoring them. Naturally, the wind is very rude to say this and then cut through my dress and chill my bones even when it is snowing. But I digress, the wind is right. The time for introduction must be soon. And a lovely time that will be. I cannot wait to meet you all. 

Yours truly, 

A Not So Young Anymore Youngest Princess Y/N Hanover (Truly, I need a proper surname and not just the name of my father’s house)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

Would you like to know what I have learned yesterday? I know the Americas are still a touchy subject for some but I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, just to share my studies. Philadelphia is the center of American debate. So many great men (and women that have probably gone unnamed but aided their counterparts in their quest of education) have lived and are currently still living there. 

Going to America simply for a debate sounds terribly dreadful. But what if we had one here that wasn’t relegated to just the universities. An entire city becoming a center of debate seems incredibly foolish, not to mention disruptive to its current residents, but buildings of debate do not seem like a bad idea. 

Even if some feel like they aren’t smart enough, they should participate. Ideas are nurtured by sharing them. May some debates lead to great compromise and understanding and maybe even propositions for laws. 

I, for one, debate with my father every day on which science is the most important to teach to young children and which science can wait until university should they like to pursue that path. He believes all of it. I believe that medicinal science is too much for a young mind and they only need to be taught how to mind their health until they can understand better. What do you think? I am delighted to hear your opinions. Maybe mine will be swayed. 

Yours Truly,

Youngest Princess Y/N Buckingham (I am trying out new surnames until one I like sticks)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I apologize if my stance may be radical but nothing in society ever got done if the start wasn’t a little radical. I believe that young women should be properly taught about relations… let me just say it, sex. Not when they are children, no, but when they are about to debut. Consider it. You all know that as a royal, despite being a woman, I have been taught all things. Everyone is aware that I know what sex is. But if I and my sisters were taught sex so that we may be aware of malicious advances and be able to protect our virtue first rather than waiting for our virtues to be saved by someone and risk them being too late, then others should as well. Therefore, I implore all mothers and governesses to teach their young ladies about to debut what sex is. And to fathers who may be without wives, please find any woman to teach your daughters.

I shall return with more radical ideas for a better and more prosperous United Kingdom. 

Yours truly, 

Youngest Princes Y/N Kew 

The printed letters delivered to London, had everyone enthralled in the early morning. Some people that lived close enough to the central town square didn’t bother with the prints and went straight to the wooden pin board there to look at the princess’ handwriting on the original letters. Whenever the Young Princess or the author Mercutio Quick wrote, people stopped and paid attention. 

Princess Y/N was the people’s princess. The one who listened to their complaints and wasn’t cheap on her charitable acts. She was so much like her father, Farmer George. Even with his illness he still ran a good country… when he was in charge. So much better than her eldest brother, George IV. Then again, any royal sibling was better than their eldest brother, even if only by a very small percentage. Everyday the public hoped another child would challenge George the Younger. They would rally their support behind them. 

They were hoping that any day George IV’s daughter, Charlotte, would have an heir. If she was pregnant then it would be so easy for the public to support her and convince either George IV to step down or convince Parliament to present a motion to King George. They would have a ruler and an heir. Charlotte the Younger would be the easiest transition for George IV to understand.

But neither her father nor husband seemed to care about the lack of heir. But the thought of succession and coups and duels was forgotten for a moment to read the Young Princess’ letters welcoming them to the new social season with new balls, debutantes, and drama. 

In the Bridgerton house, the family ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. They were trying to get ready to present Daphne to the Queen while also trying to read the Young Princess’ letters. Benedict laughed as he slapped his copy of the letters. 

“Mother would have a fit if she had to speak with Daphne about sex.” 

“I’m surprised she would even suggest such a thing,” Colin said as he returned to reading the first letter, thinking he might actually write to the Young Princess about his familial concerns and wanting to travel desperately but being unsure about leaving them. 

Eloise finally smiled as she came downstairs with the rest of her siblings. “I for one think it’s rather refreshing. She is right. Our mamas should be teaching us more than just how to meet the Queen… Daphne! You must make haste! Do you think she heard me?” 

Colin rolled his eyes. “She most certainly did. But on the matter of the princess, what is wrong with a woman’s husband teaching her about sex?” 

“Everything is wrong with that.” 

“Hmm.” 

He looked down to reread the paper, wondering if he could understand what the princess actually meant. Even though the letters were left at home, talk of the princess never ceased. How could it? The monarchy’s youngest princess might actually be joining them. Everyone wanted to know what she would look like, not in the face of course. Even her fourth brother didn’t take off his mask until after five months of being introduced to society and he was the shortest time it took to see the royal children’s face. 

“Do you think she will be tall like her eldest sister or short? Plump?” Eloise asked as their carriages started their way towards the palace. “I’d imagine I’d be very lovely and plump if I could be stuck in a palace all day with the most wonderful food imaginable. Not that anyone should ever value a woman based on her body but Penelope has stated that her sisters are terribly upset because all the dress makers have started saying that plump is going to be in fashion once again in only a few years time and by the time they become plump it’ll be out of fashion again.” 

Daphne looked out the window. “I wonder if she’ll look like the Queen or the King. Oh, what makeup do you think she’ll wear? What mask did she have created for herself? When do you think we’ll actually see her face?” 

Violet touched the knees of all her girls. “Whatever she is like, do not be rude and gawk. The poor thing will already have the vultures’ eyes on her all night. If she even comes out tonight. Perhaps it will be at a ball this week. That would be quite a fantastic introduction. I do hope she at least meets us this season.” 

Francesca smiled. “I imagine her dance card would be quite full.” 

“She’d have bracelets of dance cards going up to her arm,” Daphne agreed.  

“But she isn’t coming into society yet. She’s just introducing herself to us,” Eloise said. 

“She’s still a princess royal. A very well-known one at that. There’s no way the men would pass on an opportunity to dance with her. They’d want to start making their intentions known now, get ahead of everyone else.” 

The boys’ carriage was speaking of a different matter entirely. The princess and Mercutio had written to the ton at the same time. With the presentation to the Queen taking up so much of the day, most people wouldn’t be able to read his work until later that evening. Colin and Benedict simply couldn’t wait. Colin sat with his brother as he drove the carriage and read the story out loud: 

“Arsehole,” Cecilia muttered. 

Ignoring the sharp stinging of her backside, she hopped off the bed to find something to put on. All she needed to accomplish was getting back to her room, clothed. She knew there must have been some spare clothes in their dressers. It was just a matter of sorting through which garments were hers and which belonged to the others. She had been sorely mistaken to ignore the three members of nobility behind her, thinking they hadn’t heard her. 

Lovell scrunched up his face, resembling a rat. “Is receiving another punishment something you really care for? Because this attitude you’ve acquired is going to earn you one.” 

“Piss off.” 

“Is that any way to talk to your dominants?” Madison asked, adjusting herself in Tommy’s arms. 

Cecilia scoffed as she walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob. “Lavender.” 

The other three faces fell at the use of that forbidden word. Cecilia’s hand reached up ever so gently and wiped away tears. She wondered if the tears were for her former lovers or for finally realizing her mind was deluded to think she would be with anyone above her station such as Lovell. 

“I don’t want this anymore.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“You never believe that I don’t enjoy breaking our established rules. You only listen to Madison.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“It is clear you both like her more than you desire me. I am down.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“You shall see me around this manor, doing my job as I always have. But that is the extent of our relationship.” 

“Please, just give u—” 

“Good day, Lord Parham. Lord Newall, Lady Wilcher.” 

“Riveting,” Colin said as he finished reading. “Mr. Mercutio has done it again.” 

Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has. I was a bit worried when he announced that he wanted to dabble in the themes of erotic pleasures in his stories but this was just as enjoyable as all the others.”

“Agree… Oh, it says here that they have earned a publishing deal. The penny stories will still come out once a week, chapter by chapter but readers can also purchase a book if they would like to keep the story properly or are in a rush to read it. I for one will be buying the books.” 

“I second that.” 

“I wonder what his next story will be about. Actually, no, I wonder what our dear sisters and mothers can be talking about.” 

“The princess, no doubt.”

”Do you think any of our brothers will approach?” Eloise asked in the women’s carriage, more to herself than anything. 

That made Hyacinth’s face light up. “If one of them marries the princess does that mean we get to be princesses too?” 

“As if any of our brothers even could or want to.” Francesca pulled her face away from the window.

“If anyone is going to bring them to the marriage mart,” Daphne started as she fanned herself. “It would be the princess. Anthony would be a good match for her.” 

Violet laughed, thinking of the idea. “A viscount and a princess are a perfect match.” 

All talk of the princess stopped as they approached. The worst thing that could happen could be a footman overhearing them and mistaking their speech for malicious gossip rather than light-natured and report it to the princess or the queen or even worse, King George himself. They would forever be ostracized from society. 

From upstairs, you watched from a window where you knew no one could see you even if they looked up. How you desperately wanted to be down there. All the men were dressed up and looking like penguins. Handsome they were but still penguin-like in silhouette. And the women’s dresses. Some, while upper class, were of a lower social standing and wore older dresses that looked just as gorgeous as the empire and rather shapeless dresses of today. 

But today was not your day. You actually weren’t sure when your day would be. Your mother and father let their children choose when they would be introduced to society. Of course you all had to wait for a certain age and it had to be a date at the start of the social season but you could pick the day. And unlike your last sibling, you wanted it to be at a ball instead of the selection of the Diamonds. You didn’t even care which ball it would be. Perhaps it was selfish but you did want a day all to yourself or at least a day with you as the main focus. But that wasn’t this year. Or any year perhaps. 

You were excited to finally leave the walls of the palace if you were allowed, having proven yourself capable of not causing an incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say you had proven yourself without illness. You weren’t that lucky. You and all your siblings were locked inside until the royal physicians could observe and confirm that you weren’t sick with whatever madness your father had. They didn’t have to observe you. That was also why you picked a ball instead of today. You wanted to prove you didn’t need a chaperone literally holding your elbow. You wanted freedom like your siblings. Freedom to explore that you weren’t sure would get because of your illness. 

After a nearly fatal drowning in the lake — an event your siblings still get chewed out for at least once a month — you started showing symptoms like George did. For you it wasn’t about if you would be as sick like your father. It was about how bad and how quickly the illness would get. 

You didn’t get to see George as often as the others. The doctors thought you shouldn’t be around him for prolonged periods of time unless it was after an episode. They thought that too much exposure would make you more like him instead of better. They wanted to send him to Kew but you promised that you wouldn’t go to his quarters as long as he got to stay at Buckingham. 

Charlotte, silly as it may have been, had hope. They caught your sickness early. Nine was a very young age to almost go mad. Maybe you could be saved from a cruel fate unlike George. They were too late for him but not for you. Of course this only brought jealousy from your siblings who didn’t feel like they got as much affection anymore. Every time you even twitched, it became about you. They could never hate you. It wasn’t like you asked to be sick. But it was hard to be around you. Everyday visits became once a week. Still, you cherished those visits. Like the one yesterday. They expressed their sympathies and hopefulness that you would get to introduce yourself and maybe it could even be this year or maybe this month. 

You could have scoffed. After what you did just two days ago, you were unsure. The daylight came into your room before you were prepared for it and you had been convinced that Buckingham was on fire. You couldn’t be calmed down until you jumped into the water fully clothed. Immediately, you pulled yourself out of the trance but no one really cared. The royal physician had been called anyway and you had ruined all chances of attending the presentation to the Queen. 

“Your Highness!” a voice disturbed your thoughts and your eyes from looking at your siblings’ carriages leave in the morning. Your lady-in-waiting approached you with a paper, an entire pamphlet. “It’s already spread through the ton like a fire. We haven’t read it yet. We figured new literature would be a treat for you.” 

“Thank you, Pandora. Shall we read it in the kitchens this morning when we return home?” 

“Not your room?” 

“I’m so terribly sick of my room and the washroom and the balcony and the bedroom.” 

“You are getting restless.” 

“It’s only a matter of time. Maybe even tomorrow it’ll happen. And soon it will only be a couple of years at most before the mask is gone. By the way,” you said as the two started to leave. “Did you hear about the Feather girl that fainted? Is she alright?” 

“Oh yes, she’s fine.” 

“Good. Have someone send flowers to her tomorrow with an inquiry about her wellbeing after taking such a tumble. Oh and no flowers to the Diamond. I want to meet her myself one day. Now, let’s read about this… Lady Whistledown. She already sounds like an interesting woman.” 

Interesting it was indeed. The maids and kitchen staff hung onto your every word as you read the pamphlet. You weren’t exactly sure how you felt about the pamphlet yet but Pandora was right about one thing. It was literature. Lady Whistledown seemed bold enough to list subjects by name. By their entire name as if she wasn’t afraid of any repercussions. You supposed she wouldn’t be since Whistledown was obviously not her real name. 

It wasn’t the subject of what she published that bothered you. A lot of it was standard gossip that goes around during the social season but it was her personal opinion. She almost seemed to want the ladies she wrote about to have miserable ends like inquiring about Daphne Bridergton’s flame burning out quickly. The lady must know that what she published could ruin a reputation. Gossip is no longer gossip when publicly written down. It has the potential to become fact. 

You slapped the pamphlet against your hand. “Well, I suppose Mercutio Quick from York will no longer be the entertainment of the ton. Sad, and right as I earned a publishing deal too. Perhaps, I should take up a different art. Like making dresses for all my days or learning to play the harp and cello properly so it sounds better than a dying whale according to my brothers.” 

The cook shook his head. “Your stories are very entertaining. Even Lady Whistledown couldn’t stop that.” 

“Thank you for saying that. I am rather jealous that she is penning under a woman.” 

“But you have chosen a name based on your favorite characters, have you not?” 

“I have but maybe I should’ve chosen better. This Lady Whistledown might be making more change for women then I hope to accomplish.” 

At this, the staff scoffed. Pandora cleaned up your dishes from the kitchen island in front of you. 

“Your Highness, with the utmost respect, you are the one who is going to do more for women than this Whistledown. Everybody already wants someone other than your kind brother on the throne. They’re all praying your niece gives them any child so they may protest for her with the added benefit of an heir. They love her and what you write about in your letters make her seem even better. Hell, they love you and they don’t even know you. They listen to you. And with your words, Princess Charlotte the Younger will be on the throne and you will prove women are more than capable of whatever and we might have real change. Is she still on board?” 

“Yes. She hates her father as much as anyone else does. George is nice once you get to know him… sort of. But Lettie approves as long as I agree to be in her court. I said yes of course.” 

“Then it is settled. Thank God we might actually get change in our wretched lives. Now you must wash up and oversee the Bridgerton gowns before they are sent off. Shall we pick certain ones from your wardrobe?” 

“Give the Diamond the one with lace and her family’s colors. Pick whatever you want for the rest of them. Oh and patterns must be on the Feather mother’s dress. I noticed she wears the most ill-favored ornamented dresses but she seems to like them. And put in an order with the modiste, I should like to do this often if this first gesture goes well and the gift wardrobe will need more clothes than it has at present. Clothes for the lower classes as well, nothing that could get them attacked and the clothes stolen off their bodies.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.”  

“And, by the way, I already washed up.” 

“Yes, but now you’ve been sitting amongst smoke and smells.” 

You gave up your fight and nodded as you jumped down from your stool and began the walk to your room. No one was around today. They wouldn’t be for most of the social season as they had other duties, including watching your siblings. Despite your madness, you weren’t the biggest concern at all. It was your rakish brothers in brothels, your sisters constantly leaving their husbands or suitors, and all of them sneaking away. You paused for a moment before walking quicker until you reached your room. 

Why couldn’t you sneak out? Now would be the perfect opportunity. And no one was looking for you. It would be so easy to scale the vines up the garden wall and just have fun for a moment. You washed up quickly and put on a very simple dress — one more like the style of today rather than your father’s time. Grabbing a cloak and your mask, you put them down on the bed before sitting down at your writing desk to pen a letter. The slam of the door nearly made you jump out of your skin. You calmed as you realized it was just Pandora. 

“Oh, good. It is just you.” 

“I have the Bridgerton and Featherington dresses but what do you mean it is just me, Y/N?” 

You stood up, abandoning the letter now that someone was around. “I am going out to see the ton.” 

“What?” 

“It is still dark. I have a map, my cloak, and the mask. And I have a very clear destination with vehicles that will get me back in the most discreet of ways should I need to use them.” 

“Your Highness.” 

“Pandora. I am nearing my introduction to society. You will all have to let me go at some point. I know everyone cares for my wellbeing but my happiness is gone. I am seen as nothing but my illness. Before I have an episode in public like the king, let me meet the ton. Let me not be Farmer Y/N for a brief moment of my life before I am a farmer forever, before I stay in that garden just like Father.” 

Pandora’s mouth shut. She simply locked the door and unlocked the window. “You must return before your midmorning promenade and snack. Since you ate downstairs, I can convince them to overlook your absence of a breakfast request. And don’t take your mask. It’s better if they don’t know who you are at all.” 

She gasped as you hugged her. 

“Thank you, Pandora! Thank you! You are truly the bestest friend a woman could have.” 

“Just go so you can come back quickly and I can have my sanity back.” 

You closed the window, shocking Pandora as you pulled a picture frame off the wall to reveal a staircase that led outside. The door was hidden behind the trellis covered in vines and flowers. You pulled the hood over the cloak over you. The last thing you did was check for your bracelet and if your papers were inside. Until you were introduced to society, all the royal children had bracelets that couldn’t come off unless cut off. There were just in case measures with the eldest two but became necessary after so many nights sneaking out. The bracelet wasn’t going anywhere but you didn’t want to lose your birth certificate. It was your first safety measure. Even if you were kidnapped or harmed, you’d be returned to the palace for a pretty penny. You did pull your sleeves down so your bracelet wouldn’t be noticed.  

You couldn’t contain your smile at the excitement of being out. London was so different without all the noise. The brothels and pubs were starting to close down for their few hours of rest and relaxation. You stuck to streets where you could see all the action but wouldn’t be easily spotted. No one bothered you until you arrived at your destination. 

The footman stood to attention. “May I help you?” 

“Yes, hello. I bring a package from Buckingham House for the Bridgertons, courtesy of Princess Y/N.” You handed him a letter with your official stamp at the end of it. 

The footman’s eyes went wide as he handed you back the letter and ran inside. The Bridgertons looked up at the frantic knocking, pulling slips over Hyacinth and Daphne before telling the footman he could enter. The Bridgerton boys came upstairs after hearing the heavy pounding of their employee’s footsteps running up the multiple stairs. 

“Is there a problem, Marshall?” 

He panted before taking in a deep breath. “The Young Princess’ lady-in-waiting is here, bearing gifts.” 

“WHAT?!” 

The Bridgertons collectively yelled before the scramble happened. You tilted your head when you saw the windows open and a maid shake out some bedsheets. She squeaked when she looked down to see you. You laughed as she ran back inside. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you were escorted into the house by a very out of breath footman. The Bridgertons stood on the steps at the end of their entrance hall in chronological order with their mother starting the line at the very bottom step. Nervous smiles graced their faces when you finally reached them. You curtsied to which they curtsied or bowed back. 

You gave them a second to assess you before speaking. Even though it wasn’t true in the slightest, everyone thought the ladies-in-waiting and manservants were reflections of the royals themselves. Not in character or value but in appearance. They figured they could form some sort of picture as to what the young masked royals looked like. If you were ugly then surely the princess was too. You hoped they at least found you to be average looking in appearance. 

Anthony Bridgerton — the new head of house from what you remembered of your studies — stepped from behind his mother to greet you formally. He bowed once again, deeper, before offering up his hand. You settled yours in it to receive a chaste kiss. 

“To what do we owe this sudden pleasure, Mrs…” 

“Beckett,” you lied, just using Pandora’s last name. 

“Mrs. Beckett?” He didn’t recognize the name as one belonging to an upper class member of the ton. He wasn’t sure he recognized the name at all. 

“Apologies, I should explain. The princess doesn’t distinguish in her court, we are all there to work. All women are ladies-in-waitings, all men are valets. Regardless of station, regardless of marriage.” 

“So, I am to take it that my earlier statement was incorrect.” 

You nodded. “Simply Miss Beckett.” 

“Well that sounds like very forward thinking actually. All the same, it is our pleasure to meet anyone in her highness’ court.” 

Violet smiled as she watched the interaction. If her son was close to anyone in the princess’ court, especially someone that seemed so close to the princess as to be sent here, then he would be able to meet the princess with good graces. He’d be ahead of any man by leagues. 

“Princess Y/N has sent me on her behalf. She extends warm greetings to the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons whom I will meet after our encounter. The princess congratulates Miss Daphne Bridgerton for earning Diamond of the Season as well as congratulations to the Dowager Viscountess for raising such a fine woman and to Viscount Bridgerton for chaperoning and keeping the family together therefore allowing his sister to shine.” 

He cleared his throat and started to smile. “Please give the princess all of our thanks for the most kind of compliments.” 

“And she would like to assure Miss Bridgerton that I have not been sent on behalf of any princes. Her brothers will not be bothering you today.” 

They all chuckled when you laughed. 

You set the first box down on the table next to you and opened it. “The princess has brought new dresses for the ball. The Diamond and the rest of her family should have the opportunity to shine with the utmost and wholehearted respect and support of the Crown. Please, enjoy them.” 

The family ran to the table, picking out dresses and suits and matching them to the person’s name on the paper pinned to each garment. They kept singing praises and admiring the outfits. Violet turned back to you. 

“When are you planning on visiting the Featheringtons?” 

“In an hour or so, I must be back before the princess’ morning promenade. She has a very busy day afterwards.” 

“Will the princess be introducing herself this season?” 

“Hyacinth!” Anthony and Violet yelled at the same time. 

You laughed. “It is no trouble. I’m at liberty to answer as the princess’ head valet.” 

“Valet? I thought you said they were all men. They are usually all men.” 

“If the princess should become heir to the throne then she will receive a male valet alongside me. For now, it is just me. The Crown believes someone of the same gender should always be with her should she need to confide in someone about very personal matters.” You took a breath before testing the waters. “Such as affections of the heart.” 

It had dawned on you in that moment that you could spy on the ton. When the time came, you would still have to dance with all the bachelors of the United Kingdom but you at least you would have a better picture of them. You’d have to apologize to Pandora for the countless strokes she was about to earn from you but you couldn’t make this your only time sneaking out.  

Violet smiled, knowing she was right. “Well, would you like to stay for breakfast?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“It would be no trouble at all. We have more than enough room. Eloise, dear, if Penelope is to come over please request that she do so now.”

(part 2)

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CATACLYSMIC ☾

INFO: 5252 words..... dr ratio x fem! reader SYNOPSIS: You hate him, of that you're certain. You hate the man behind the alabaster figurehead, and you want to see him unravelled, but you don't know exactly what you do to him. WARNINGS: um alcohol and one kiss. also some swearing but mostly fine AUTHOR'S NOTE: rising from the grave to bring to you this thing i found this in my drafts from who knows how long when I was obsessed with this man (still am). someone help. i can no longer write this much for one fic. what was i on.

Veritas Ratio made it no secret that he despised those who lived in ignorance. He openly shunned those who were stupid enough to turn their eyes from knowledge – they’d be beggars in due time. They didn’t know how the world was governed, and ignorant fools would play victim to fate’s cruel touch.

With this philosophy of his, you often wondered whether or not his ivory figurehead would soon burst with the tumultuous storm of the man’s self importance. You wondered what would lie underneath. Surely, the divine makers would’ve allowed balance in his creation – surely, his face was horribly disfigured in exchange for such otherworldly intelligence. 

He was both delightfully astute and horrendously ill mannered at once. Brighter than your entire class combined – your entire university combined, no doubt – but his pretentiousness was overflowing, and you believed he was in dire need of being put in his place.

Arrogant and pretentious were two of the words that came to mind when someone mentioned Dr. Ratio, and you were sure you weren’t the only one who refused to worship his word like the gospel. In turn, he seemed to despise your very existence, as if you were merely a faded annotation in the footnotes of an ancient epic. Vandalising a work of art. A moustache on the Mona Lisa. Circe in the Odyssey, if she’d welcomed sailors with open arms, allowing them to degrade her as they would a common concubine, not a descendant of the gods.

Yet instead of sharing the witch’s beguiling, seductive nature, you only shared her mortal voice. Thin, reedy, quiet, compared to the booming voices of gods. The voice of Veritas Ratio. Your achievements could only pale in comparison to his, and it took everything within you to clap politely as he received his third – fourth? (you weren’t intent on keeping track) – diploma.

God you hated that man. You’d muttered as much under your breath countless times.

“Dr. Ratio is fine. No need to worship me.” he’d once corrected. But the attempt at humour was lost on you as your classmates began to laugh. The divine makers likely brought him into existence just to spite you. Oftentimes, you fought your urges to hurl the nearest textbook at his caricature head and watch the plaster crack, fall to the floor, and reveal his disfigured face. 

Not that you’d seen it before – lingered around him enough to see it disappear.

His scorn held no favourites, and certainly not when it came to you. He’d openly dragged your work through the dirt a couple of times before, and it was only a matter of time before he did it again. His words were scalding, leaving burns across your thin skin and leaving your mouth tasting of ash. Your voice, faint and human, fell quiet at his ‘gospel’. 

If it weren’t obvious, the hatred was mutual. He’d never admit it outright – he was far beyond these meaningless, trivial things such as immature hatred – but you felt his scathing glare in your soul, even through that perturbing headpiece, and that was enough. 

“Have you found it?” 

You turn around, meeting the cold, blank, unseeing gaze of his caricature head behind you. It was disconcerting to say the very least, but no one else had asked him about it, so you never pushed him further. None wanted to invoke his wrath, no matter what circumstance. It was a miracle neither of you had exploded at each other yet, but you suspected that he’d gladly put aside any type of loathing he harboured for you so that this project would get done faster. 

You were happy to oblige as he took the lead. A free credit was a free credit. But you did have your limits.

“Nope. The text is ancient. I doubt this library has it.”

“Nonsense.” he clicked his tongue, glancing to the side. “I’m asking the professor. Go work on your part.”

Patience is a virtue, as you keep reminding yourself. 

“Sure. Let me know if you find anything.” you say instead of the retort that sits on your tongue. False niceties and biting, underhanded remarks. This charade was entertaining, at the very least.

How did everyone love him? There had to be people like you who shared your dislike towards that conceited scholar. With a long suffering groan, you took a seat at one of the plethora of tables in the university’s library, clicked your pen and began to write. 

Maybe the reason he despised you so was because of your ideas, arguably the opposite of his own way of thinking. Where his twisted logic, rearranged rationality and pulled apart natural reasoning to formulate new material, you cut and stitched the work of others together to create your own emulations. (Frankenstein's monster. Was that a cliche? For Ratio, it probably was.)

He’d likely scrap what you’d written as soon as he returned, but that didn’t stop you from trying to spite him anyway. You hoped your readings wouldn’t go to waste as you recorded your findings, then started to draft an outline for your project. 

The scratch of paper became white nose, your hand struggling to keep up with the pace of your mind – was it even worth it? He’d likely call it worthless, snatch it from you and throw it into the recycling bin, then start writing his own outline. It only angered you further as you frowned at the page, wondering how he’d approach the project. 

The thump of a heavy tome on the wooden desk snapped you out of your sombre thoughts. 

“Here.” Ratio took a seat at the chair opposite of yours, brushing the dust off the thick text, leafing through its yellowed pages. “I told you they’d have it. You just need to search better.”

You offer him a tight smile. “Noted.” More false niceties, more flat remarks.

Then the figurehead disappears in a blink, and you nearly drop your pen. He barely pays you any mind as he runs a hand through his hair, flipping through the text. You’d heard the rumours of the handsome face beneath the statue, but you’d never have imagined him to be so disgustingly perfect. 

Statuesque. 

His deep violet locks looked unbelievably soft. His crimson eyes showed laser focus as he scanned the text in front of him, ignoring you completely as he noted something down. After a brief silence where you skim over your outline and he presumably attempts to decipher the undeniably unreadable and ancient text which you were opposed to reading in the first place, he turns to you with a sigh. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“I wrote an outline.” you hand the papers to him begrudgingly, fidgeting with the pen in your hand. You don’t meet his gaze, afraid that his calculating gaze might see too far into your soul. 

“This?” his distaste seeps through his tone. You don’t need to look at his face to know that he’s frowning. 

You say nothing as he skims through your work, twirling your pen between your fingers.

“...It’s not the worst thing I've ever read.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. 

“It’s not good, either.”

You scowl at him. 

“I can salvage it.” he nonchalantly throws it back onto the table, returning to the text at hand. 

You want to shove his grotesquely perfect face into the book. He really was put on this earth to spite you.

“Don’t just sit there. Go look for texts on criticism of our stance.”

You don’t know how you’re going to find the patience to survive this project. If anything, it irked you further to find that there wasn’t some monstrosity hidden behind that figurehead. In everything he did, he seemed to be inventing new ways to get on your nerves. However, unbeknownst to you, Veritas Ratio held you higher than you gave yourself credit for. He believed your ideas to be invigorating. Refreshing, almost. A welcome reprieve from the same reiterated, chewed, swallowed and regurgitated approaches that your other classmates had. 

You weren’t like the rest of the mindless, studying machines at the university. You could be brilliant, and it annoyed him that you didn’t know this. He’d admitted as much to himself before, but he’d never tell you. But it was still not good enough for his standards – far better than what the imbeciles in your class could’ve come up with – but still far behind him. Or so he kept telling himself. 

Days passed by without a word from either of you. You were content to write your part in the solitude of your dorm, and he seemed perfectly content mulling over whatever he’d found in that indecipherable ancient text. By the time you’d nearly finished your part, he decided to meet with you once again to share your findings. 

His definition of deciding to meet with you meant simply cornering you after class and asking you to follow him. 

You started to protest, but he’d already turned and briskly walked out of the classroom, so you groaned and followed after him, winding up in the library again. This time, in a secluded corner with the late afternoon sun pouring through the window, illuminating the small table and workspace with a warm glow. 

You wondered how he wasn’t winded after trekking across the entire campus. You certainly were. His muscled build suggested that a mere leisurely walk couldn’t possibly have tired him out. What did he eat? Was he what Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote of the Superman? 

“What are you doing? Sit.” he gestures to the seat across from him, and you sink into the armchair, taking out your papers. His headpiece disappears once again, and your breath catches in your throat. 

His hair cast a faint shadow across his face, and his eyes seemed to glow. As you leaned in closer, you realised there was a thin ring of gold around his pupils. 

“Are you done with your part?” he demands, breaking you out of your trance. 

You silently hand over your drafts, watching his eyes flit across your paper. His eyebrows furrow slightly, eyes narrowing, but he remains quiet. Were his eyelashes always this long? They created an indistinct shadow on his cheeks. His skin was pale, fair. Not the sickly kind of pale you thought he’d be. Did he exercise? You wouldn’t be surprised, with all your classmates always fawning over his broad, strong chest and narrower waist. 

Was it your imagination, or were his cheeks slightly flushed? It might have been the light. 

“It’s deplorable.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as you sit back against the armchair. 

“Your ideas are rudimentary. Have you been reading at all?” he sighs, holding his head in his hand. “No matter. I can fix it. I don’t need you to do anything anymore. You can go.”

You stay seated in shock, unable to move. You’ve heard the anecdotes of people crying over being scolded by him, but was he always this harsh? 

“You know it’s a group project, right?” you begin before your better judgement can decide against it, “My work is just as important as yours, it doesn’t matter if you think my work is ‘deplorable’. I’m in the same class, I take the same course, I learn the same things as you do, you don’t get to look down on me no matter how stupidly smart you are.”

He raises an eyebrow, unamused. “Why not?”

“Take that stick out of your ass, Veritas Ratio. Get off your high horse.” you snatch your papers out of his hands and take your leave, ignoring his calls of your name. 

Were you dramatic? Yes, but not without reason. Given Ratio’s reputation for prioritising academics over everything else, you suspected that it wouldn’t take long for him to find you, either. 

You were so wrong. 

More days passed with no contact. He didn’t seem to be affected by your dramatics, and never once batted an eye in your direction unless necessary. It seemed your hypothesis of him inventing new ways to get on your nerves was on the track of being proved correct. But if you didn’t do something within the next few days, you trusted him to turn in the project without your name on the paper, resulting in a zero. 

He was just as stubborn as you, and though you were nothing compared to him in actuality, you were so close to grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you for who you were.

Seemingly, even in the battle of wits, he seemed to emerge victorious. 

“Ratio.” 

He barely glances up, engrossed in his writing. “What?”

“Are you done with the project?” Biting the bullet stings your teeth and left a bitter taste on your tongue. 

“No. Not yet. Why? You’re finally going to help?”

“Are you going to stop looking down at me?” 

The library is nearly empty. The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon, and the voices of students float down the corridor beyond the grand stacks of books, yet you’re here. Why do you bother? Are you really that desperate for his validation?

“Are you going to keep writing such reprehensible work?”

You glare at him. “Guess not.” you turn on your heel.

“You’re absolutely infuriating.” he sighs, leaning back in the armchair. “You’re not aware of what you can do, are you?”

You glare at him. Your chest stings. 

He looks at you, then. Truly. His complexion relaxes, and he rubs his temples. “Sit. Let’s go through your part.”

“Why?”

“I mulled it over. Your part is brilliant.”

Your eyes widen.

“But your expression and research is appalling. Have you learned how to write academically at all?”

You’d never simultaneously wanted to slap and kiss a man at once until today. “What happened to getting off your high horse?”

“I got off it. Now sit and listen, I won’t repeat myself.”

You supposed that was the closest to an apology he’d ever give you, so you sat. It pained you, but you did. Besides, he had called you brilliant – your part – but still, you couldn’t force the smile from your face as you listened to his instruction. 

“Your ideas in your introduction are well formed, but from there, it all goes downhill. You have to reorder your logic for it to make sense, and we will be deducted points if you don’t elaborate on the principles of your concept first.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So how would you do it?”

“For one, I’d restart completely and get straight to the point.”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Show me, then, if you’re so good.”

His eyes narrow at you, but he says nothing as he motions for you to come closer. 

The librarian was likely too scared to kick either of you out after closing time. Your arguments were heard by all of your neighbouring desks, and whenever there was a break in conversation, it seemed as if everyone held their breath. There was pin drop silence except for the two of you – but neither of you realised it. 

He was blunt, and had no idea what you were thinking, but perhaps this is what entrapped him. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about how he had called your ideas brilliant. 

You quickly learn how good of a teacher he is. Maybe it’s his forced patience or once-in-a-millenium genuine praise that spurs your decision, but you find yourself so willing to prove yourself, and he finds himself willing to help. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad. 

“Just fix it, stop arguing with me. I’m right.”

“Why? Do you know every single thing about our topic?”

“No, but I have four degrees and more experience than you.”

“Jackass.”

“Change it.”

You grumbled another insult under your breath, yawning as you scribbled out the section you wrote and began to reword your thoughts. The sudden quietude was jarring, and as you looked around, you realised the overhead lights were off, the only source of light from the lamps illuminating the desks. 

“Is everyone gone?” you ask, sitting up straight and stretching. 

“Who cares? Finish up, then we can head back.”

“Fuck you, give me a break. I don’t write at the pace of a robot.”

“Then learn.”

“Fuck you too Veritas Ratio.”

“Expand your vocabulary while you’re at it.”

“Why are you so intent on irritating me?”

“You get irritated easily. Not my problem.”

“If you know I get irritated easily, why do you keep provoking me then? Do you want me to hate you more?”

He seems to pause. Minisculely, almost unnoticeable had your gaze not been trained on him for the past few hours. He had a habit of pausing and furrowing his brows when you said something slightly out of line. 

“Just finish the paper. You talk too much.”

You sigh and get back to work as he leafs through his own research. 

Amicable silence passes. The night is alive outside, gleaming and glistening with the touch of benevolent gods and whispers of long gone wishes – pearls stitched by fate’s knowing hands. 

“I’m done.”

“Show me.”

You pass the paper to him as you watch his expression carefully. 

Crimson eyes flit across your work, gold ringed irises flickering in the scarce light. If you could capture the way the light reflected in his eyes in a jar, you think wishfully that you’d stare at it forever; Until the light died out, or it decided to escape the ephemeral glass confines. 

But you’d never admit it out loud. It was wishful. If Veritas Ratio could read minds, he would undoubtedly reprimand you.

He clears his throat, and you snap to attention, swatting away your fantasies of stealing and bottling evasive light. 

“It’s good.”

You wait for him to speak further, but he says nothing. “Just good?”

“Well, by my standards, no, but for you, it’s good.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he leans on the table, forearms flexing. “That you’re finally starting to live up to your potential.”

“Huh?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“What potential?”

He shakes his head absently, almost in disbelief. Forget light, you’d barter with the lady of fate to let you preserve this moment in a frame so that you could glimpse this expression forever. You’d never seen him so dumbfounded and awed at once – you doubt anyone ever has. He’d always been a man of knowing, and whatever he didn’t know, he would find out. Nothing was ever a “maybe,” or a “probably,” it was always absolute. It had to be absolute in his philosophy. 

You happened to be the one exception. 

“You’re not aware of the potential you have?”

“You think I have potential?”

“Aeons,” he murmurs under his breath, before standing and gathering his belongings. “I’m going to bed. See you in class tomorrow. We’ll finish up then.”

He leaves before you have the chance to question him, but as you slump back in your armchair, you can’t help but smile. 

Potential was as close as you’d ever get to a compliment from Veritas. 

—

The lady of fortune and lady Themis looked him in the eyes and saw their mortal emanator at his birth. He’d never been certain what he was made for, but he never let it burden him. Things like these weren’t made for him to ponder, that was up to the dreamers and inventors. 

He was a being of logic. A doctor of calculations and reason, and everyone knew him as such. 

But he simply couldn’t figure out what it was about you – your naive gaze or that pout that absently curved your lips – that had your words and scent and eyes lingering in his mind like a vengeful phantom. 

You were the being of all chaos and irrationality, but you were so bright. Unhoned, rough and unhewn. A gemstone shining with impurities but shining still, casting a beautiful mosaic cast across the ground with indecipherable shapes and patterns. 

It was deplorable. He hated you for being on his mind, and hated you even more for your wasted potential. He hated how you stared, how his cheeks would redden from the intensity of your gaze, and how he’d have to pretend he was unfazed, because he couldn’t afford any distractions. 

You were the being of his undoing, he was sure. You were brought into existence to spite him, to bring an unaccounted variable into the equation of his being, and present a causality dilemma for all he was. 

He wanted you gone, but he wanted you closer all at once. 

He hated it. 

It wasn’t common for him to sleep in either, so when he woke five minutes before class was supposed to start, he cursed you with all the spite in his heart and rushed to class, clutching papers from the night before, still imbued with traces of your lingering fragrance. Just how long had you pored over those papers for your smell to latch to them? It should be impossible. Fate was clearly against him. 

Fate brought you back together as he entered the brimming lecture hall, and the only vacant seat was the one next to you. 

“Did you get the papers in order?” you asked, glancing at his dishevelled state. The Dr Ratio you knew was never dishevelled, but this was the closest you’d ever seen him to it. 

“Yes. Just write your name on your bits and sign the sign off sheet and it’s complete.”

You take the paper from him, scrawling your name across your work, then handing it back. 

With your project finally submitted, you could breathe easy again – never endure his biting remarks and criticism again. 

But as the class progressed, you realised you were in trouble. 

The professor was merciless. He flicked through the presentation on the new topic with haste, rushing through new concepts, formulae and calculations with record speeds. You’d nudged Ratio, whispering for help, but he rolled his eyes and kept his stare attentively on the presentation. 

You wanted to slap him. 

Was he tolerating you because of the project? Was he going back to cold stares and dismissive glances?

You wouldn’t allow it. Not when you were so close to discovering the man behind the alabaster figurehead. As soon as the professor signalled the end of the lecture, a collective sigh was released from the class. 

You turned to Ratio, and he was already staring at you. 

“What was it you wanted to say?”

“Tutor me please.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re smart.”

“Pick someone else, then. I don’t see why I should.”

“You asshole, I’ll buy you lunch if you tutor me.”

He frowns at you as he begins to leave. You trail after him. “Please?”

He sighs deeply. Like a man burdened with the weight of his own world on his shoulders. Byron’s brooding, romantic hero, in his melodramatic glory. “Fine. Stop annoying me.”

You smile. “Thanks. Meet you at your dorm after dinner?”

He sighs again. “ Don’t be late or I'll lock the door and go to bed.”

He watched the seconds tick by in agonising motion – a man awaiting his sentence, but also his reprieve. Is this what his classmates felt before they took tests? It certainly seemed like it. Relief was on the horizon, and yet great suffering was imminent. He’d never known the feeling until now.

But as they say, the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his quest to decipher you. 

It seemed mutual as he paced in front of his front door, having eaten dinner at the cafeteria early to mentally prepare himself. 

When your knock finally sounded at his door, he sighed, checked his watch, then reluctantly opened the door. 

You were a picture to behold. 

Hair slightly damp from a shower, drowning in loose, oversized clothing. It was all painfully domestic to see you walk through his doorway, scanning his living space. In the back of his mind, he thought it felt right, but he shook his head. 

You were messing with him again. 

Two could play that game. 

“Take a seat.” He pulled out a stool from his kitchen island. “Want a drink?”

“What, like alcohol?” you huffed. 

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“Only if you want me to be.” you shrug, setting down your notes on the bench.

He sighs exasperatedly, already berating himself for agreeing to this. He never agreed to tutor anyone. Why were you the exception? You shouldn’t be. 

His hypothesis: you were trying to get something out of him. A way to cheat the class, his academic favour, something hedonistic, even. It seemed plausible enough, but you listened intently as he explained the concepts the professor spoke of in the lecture, asking questions and actively engaging with his explanation. 

It didn’t seem like there was any ulterior motive. So why was he letting you break his rules and defy his nature?

“God, why didn't the prof explain it during that lesson? Everyone struggled.”

“You’re not smart enough to understand his concise methods, then.” he huffed. 

“You’re too smart.”

“You’re not smart enough.”

“Smart ass,”

“Get back to work. You did that question wrong, by the way.”

You groaned. “Where?”

He was so caught up in your quarrels that he didn’t notice the time grinding away at the pestle. It was nearly midnight when you’d finally caught up with that day’s classwork, and he sighed in relief. 

“You understand?”

“Yes. You don’t have to worry now.”

“I won’t. Now get out.”

“No drink?” you frowned, pretending to sulk at his expense. He simply stared at you, getting up from his stool and walking to the fridge. 

Remarkably, he pulled out two beers. 

“Don’t speak. If you do, I'll regret allowing you over again.”

A smile befell your lips. “I’m not saying anything.”

“I don’t like the look on your face.”

“Wipe it off then.”

A frown.  His new hypothesis: you were trying to seduce him for better grades, more tutoring sessions, or for his own downfall. 

“Drink and leave.”

“If you say so.” you take the chilled bottle and drink. He watches your throat move, and he thinks of himself as pathetic as he drinks as well, wincing at the bitterness. 

“Do you live by yourself?” you ask, head propped onto your hand. 

“I do.”

“Are you lonely or something?”

“No, people are irritating.” Like you.

“What a ray of sunshine you are.” You’re not much better.

“I don’t have to put up with any idiocy.”

“If you say so.”

Quiet passes as beer fizzes in the bottles, golden liquid sloshing at the sides of the glass. 

One thing you learn that night is that Veritas Ratio, the famed multiple time valedictorian of your university, is an extreme lightweight. His cheeks become red quicker than you can finish your bottle, and he starts to grumble nonsense under his breath. 

“You’re really smart, you know?” he suddenly says after mumbling something about quantum physics.

“What was that?” 

“You’re really smart. Really smart. Impressive.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you idiot, how many times do I have to repeat myself?” he leans on the bench, not entirely aware of his surroundings as he does so.  He squints at the ground. 

He’s a cute drunk, you realise begrudgingly.

“Thanks, Veritas. You’re smart too.”

“I know.” he drinks from his bottle again, swirling the dregs. “But I can’t figure you out.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Do you hate me?”

You hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then why are you like this?”

Your eyebrows raise. 

“You’re making me irrational. I can’t figure it out.”

“...Sorry?”

“You should be. You know, I was nearly late to class today because of you. You kept me awake.”

“Really?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking. Thoughts. And things.”

You laugh at his predicament, draining your beer and gathering your things. Trying to leave before he said anything that could turn the encounter south. 

“Wait. Don’t go.” he slams his palm onto your notes, determination in his eyes. 

“I need to go to bed.” you say as if scolding a child.

“I need to figure you out. You’re still an enigma to me. The anomaly of my behaviour. Is this your intention?”

“What are you talking about? You’re drunk.”

“I can think. I can move. I can see fine. I’m not drunk. Answer me.”

“Maybe I'm just so mesmerising to you.” you joke, but his brows furrowed in thought. 

“Maybe.” he retracts his hand from your notes, and you stow them away into your bag, slinging it onto your shoulder before he can do anything else. 

As you’re halfway to the door, he pushes you against the wall. 

You never realised how tall he was until then. How much of a height difference you had, or how muscular he was. He had to have worked out on a daily basis. The pungent smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, and his cheeks were tainted with deep red as he searched your gaze. 

You decide he’s officially lost his mind, but who were you to complain?

“Are you mesmerising?” he whispers, eyes trailing down your face, examining and analysing, his hand tracing down your body with those slender scholar’s hands.

“You tell me.”

Then he grabs your face and mashes your lips together. The kiss is rough, biting and rushed. You freeze for a sliver of a second before returning it, letting him decide your allure with his own devices. 

He pulls away almost too fast, lips kiss bitten, breath fast. 

“You’re a siren.”

“Am I?”

“You’re going to ruin me.”

“What a weak man you are, if it only takes one woman to ruin you.”

“I hate you.”

“Really?”

“I hate it because I’d probably let you.”

“Are you a masochist?”

“Not in my right mind. I’ll wake up and regret everything, but it’ll all be the same, fundamentally.”

“So what’s your conclusion?”

He still has you pushed against the wall, caged within himself. “You were put into this world to bring about my destruction.”

“How? Why?”

“You’re my opposite. Brash, naive, carefree.”

“Are you normally this analytical of people?”

“No, which supports my point.”

“I see. So you’re going to let me ruin your image?”

“No. I hate you for it.”

“Let me go then.”

He wordlessly steps away, and you stumble to the door. 

“So what are we?” you ask, turned away from him. You can’t see the way he drinks in your visage like a starving man, and the small, sober part of him is grateful for it. 

“Polar opposites.”

“I mean who am I to you?”

He’s silent for a while, so you turn back to him to find him leaning on the wall, gazing into space. 

“Veritas?”

“You’re my undoing. A catalyst, maybe, for my downfall. But there must be balance, right? So what are you?”

“What am I?”

“I don’t know.”

You knew then that he was beyond reason. Was this what you did to him? You took some sadistic pride in seeing a man such as himself reduced to a mumbling, questioning, incoherent mess. You were somewhat pleased with the effect you had on him., but you could never let him know this. 

He crumpled to the floor, back to the wall, clutching his head in his hands. “I’ll figure you out.”

“Sure you will. Goodnight, Veritas.”

“Night.”

Your smile was brighter than the morning as you left his apartment, embracing the night’s welcoming chill. 

written by @atlaswav , published 15th of July 2024

[jezabelle9299]

Make-up Birthday S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture: Spencer didn't just miss your birthday he forgot it. (Happy Ending)

C-Ws: Missed occasions, pushing down feelings for the benefit of another person, Spencer chose Gideon over you

A/N- Baby's first angst, go easy on me. And I've been in a sour mood so I have 2 other angst fics (also birthday themed), that will probably be posted sometime this week. Our regularly scheduled sap will return next week.

You weren’t a very big birthday person. Of course when you were young you had birthday parties with all of your little friends, but as time went on, things got busy. It was pushed to the side for years, until you preferred to just ignore it. Until a few weeks ago, when Spencer asked what you’d like to do to celebrate. You told him nothing was necessary, but he insisted that the two of you at least spend the day together. You let yourself get excited, you made good plans, just takeout and movie night, but that was enough. If it were anyone else you’d remind him, several times, but you knew he wouldn’t forget. He didn’t forget anything.

This morning you woke up to an empty bed, and you knew Spencer had gone to work. He had a few meetings he mentioned having to go to about their latest cases, but you weren't expecting him until this evening. The day passed you by when you got set up, but time slowed down when there was nothing to do but wait. Each second passed a little slower than the last, until you got worried. You haven't heard from Spencer all day. 

You: Hey Spence, everything ok?

Spence: I’m ok, just got caught up at work. I’ll come to your place as soon as I can. 

You: Ok, see you then

You were glad he was ok, and you knew he’d rather be with you, than at work. Something important must’ve come up, he wouldn’t miss this over nothing. But time passed with no more texts, until you resigned yourself to him just not coming. You changed from your date outfit into some comfy pajamas, and laid down in bed. You weren’t upset with Spencer, this job was important to him, and you knew he felt like he had something to prove just being there. You could celebrate another day.

It wasn't until well after nine when Gideon asked Spencer what he was still doing here, he’d mentioned weeks ago that he’d need to leave early. That’s when Spencer realized what he was missing. It wasn’t just movie night, by now he’d missed almost your entire birthday, after he’d pressed you to celebrate it at all. He rushed out as quickly as possible, but by the time he got to your place it was too late. He knocked on the door and as soon as you answered, all the apologies came pouring out. He couldn’t make himself stop until you put your hands on either side of his face making him look you in the eyes. 

“It’s ok Spence, I know how important your job is, and we can celebrate another day.”  

He leaned down to hug you, burying his face in your neck. “I’m so sorry honey, it totally slipped my mind. But I promise to make it up to you.” You pulled away from him at that. 

“Wait, what do you mean?” He just looked at you, like he was replaying what he said to figure out what he did wrong. 

“You–you forgot?” 

“I thought you knew.”

“No, I didn’t. I had this picture in my mind, like when you leave for cases, when you tell me how you wish you could be here.”

“I do wish I was here, baby. You mean the world to me.” You couldn’t keep doing this, his reassurance was breaking you down bit by bit. Sure now he wished he was there, but he didn’t even realize you were missing him. 

“I’m gonna go for a drive I think, we don’t have to celebrate another day, it’s fine.” 

“No please stay– please let me make this up to you.” His phone rang. A shrill tone cutting through, nearly making you wince.

“It’s Gideon, I have to take this. But please stay with me, I want to talk about this. It’ll only take a minute.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll talk to you tomorrow Spence, just remember to lock up when you leave ok?” You picked up your shoes and keys before you walked out, still in your pajamas. You gave him not even half of a smile, and it was breaking his heart. But he couldn’t ignore the call.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Gideon was like a father to him, and even though he winced when the door shut behind you, quietly, as if you weren’t even upset, he still answered. There wasn’t even a case, Gideon just had a question about some evidence. Nothing would’ve happened if he didn’t answer, no one was dying, and the only one hurt was you. He couldn’t have just ignored the call, and now you were gone. 

Spencer didn’t forget anything, but somehow he forgot this. 

You weren't sure where you’d go. You decided to allow yourself one evening to be upset. To acknowledge that this whole situation sucks and honestly today your usually wonderful boyfriend kind of sucks too. You’ll feel guilty about it tomorrow, but tonight you're going to drive an hour and a half down the highway, just to turn back around so you could avoid the drunk drivers on the road when the bars close. Spencer should be gone by then, you’re sure Gideon was calling to steal your boyfriend away on a case again and you’d call him in the morning to make sure he got there ok and tell him to be safe like you always did. 

What Spencer did was important, and you couldn’t be mad at him for missing something as silly as a birthday for a work problem. But he wasn’t out saving lives like you thought. It may be selfish or overly-presumptuous about your standing in his life, but when you missed him it made you feel better to think he was missing you just as much. How he was at work thinking about how he loved you. And today was the day that illusion shattered.

You could only sob at the thought. 

By the time you got home, it was almost 1am. The redness in your eyes finally started to subside, you got too dehydrated to continue actually crying almost an hour ago, so that’s when you decided that the time for being upset over this was done. Even the puffiness in your face was going down. But when you unlocked the door, Spencer was waiting for you. 

“You’re home.” 

“You’re here. I thought you had a case.” 

“No, Gideon just had a question about some evidence, I wanted to be here when you got back.” 

“That’s sweet of you Spencer, but I just went for a quick drive. I’m kind of tired, so I think I’m just going to head to bed now, ok? But I’ll see you in the morning.” You gave him a resigned kiss on the forehead and his heart broke. He did this. And you called him Spencer, not ‘Spence’, not ‘honey’, not ‘babe’. Spencer. It never sounded so awful. 

He did all he could do, he slept on the couch and let you rest. You would be talking about this in the morning. You couldn’t shut him out forever, he loved you too much.  

The beeping of the coffee machine woke him up, his legs half hanging off your couch. He immediately got up. If the coffee machine was going off, you were awake, and you could talk about last night. 

“Honey?”

“Hi, I didn’t realize you’d stayed here last night, were you too tired to drive?”

“No, but I wanted to be here when you woke up.”

“You could've slept in my bed with me.” You were glad he didn’t. But you wanted to maintain your facade, you wanted to forgive him, and forget about everything.

“You’re upset with me, I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re the love of my life and I hurt you. You don’t have to pretend to be ok with it.”

“It was one day, Spencer. It’s fine, you don’t have to sleep on the couch as penance.” You were putting on your coolest presence, but everything you said still came out as more of a mumble than it would’ve. 

“I need you to listen to me, you are the most important person in my life. I love you so much it hurts, and I can’t stand the thought of you thinking I forgot about you.” That broke your barely held together exterior of confidence.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I need you to know that I love you, I can’t just let this go.”

“Ok fine. You made me celebrate my birthday and when you forgot anyway, it hurt my feelings. But I don’t want a makeup birthday, and I wish I could just forget about it, and I don’t understand why you want me to be mad at you.”

“I don’t want you to be mad, but when you are mad, I need you to tell me. I can’t do anything to help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“But I don’t want you to know when I’m upset. I want to be the cool girlfriend that doesn’t get upset when her boyfriend does something by accident. You are the best boyfriend I’ve ever had and when you make one mistake about something I wouldn’t have even cared about a month ago, I can’t get over it. But I really want to get over it, so could we please just forget about it?” By this point tears were flowing down your face, but you were still wiping your face every few seconds to stop them in their tracks.

“No we can’t just forget, I think you’re the coolest girl I’ve ever met, and it’s not because you ignore your feelings whenever you think they’d be inconvenient. I want to spend the day with you if you’d be ok with it, but if you want some time alone that’s ok too.”

“I want to spend the day with you. But could we leave out the birthday theme?”

“Sure honey, whatever you want, I’m all yours.”

“You know I love you Spence, right?”

“I know, I love you too.” It was an upsetting morning, but he was still overjoyed that you called him ‘Spence’ again. He’d earned his pet name back.

“Do you really think I’m cool?” It was barely spoken into his chest, moreso whined, muffled by the fabric of his sweater vest. At this moment, you were so uncool. Yet he still kissed your forehead as he laughed. 

“The coolest.”

[artificial-transmutations]

Give in to the Midnight Grind

Milo could hear the thumbing bass from inside his patrol car, as he parked in front of the seedy club. It was hardly the first time the neighbors complained about the excessive noise, but it was the first time for Milo to be sent here, and also his first time going alone.

Usually, young officers like Milo - or Miles Dawson, as it read on his uniform - didn't go anywhere alone, but as it happened, his designated partner for the evening had called in sick. Milo had volunteered to go by himself, since he wanted to prove that he could be trusted to go solo. And, asking a club to turn down the music was hardly a dangerous task.

He checked his uniform again in the patrol car's rear mirror and adjusted his collar one final time. It was important to look professional, after all.

Once he was satisfied with the result, Milo exited the car and locked it before approaching the club entrance.

"The Midnight Grind" was hardly one of the most prestigious clubs in town, and the rundown facade certainly didn't do it any favors. However, that didn't seem to stop the long line of people wanting to enter. The long line of men, Milo corrected himself. Either the nightclub was very bad at attracting female customers or it was a gay club. Considering the provocative name and the leather-clad bouncer, Milo strongly suspected the latter.

Of course, gay nightclubs weren't illegal, and Milo didn't plan on causing any trouble. It was a bit uncomfortable for him, since he was straight, but then again, Milo wasn't here to party, he was only here to tell them to keep the volume down.

When he approached the bouncer, he put on his most winning smile and nodded to the burly bald man with the many tattoos.

"Good evening, Sir. I would like to speak to the management of this establishment."

The bouncer shot him a scrutinizing look and then looked back to his patrol car. Milo had expected his uniform to be enough proof for his official capacity, but perhaps, it wasn't entirely unusual for patrons to show up in a similar outfit.

"Badge." The bouncer grumbled in a voice so deep that it sounded like rocks grinding against each other.

"Oh, of course. One second."

Milo was a bit embarrassed that he hadn't thought of showing his ID earlier and brought out his official badge, still shiny and new. He showed it to the bouncer, who studied it carefully, before nodding and stepping aside, mumbling something into his radio.

"They will send someone to the entrance. Wait here."

"Thank you, sir."

Milo felt uneasy due to the looks of the men waiting in line, but none of them seemed to be particularly hostile, so Milo just smiled politely. A few of the men even seemed to check him out and one or two even winked, which Milo chose to ignore.

Finally, after several awkward minutes, another guy came out. This one was a bit younger, but also dressed in a skintight leather harness, a pair of tight jeans and combat boots. Milo's eyes wandered across his exposed skin, the tattooed chest and the piercings, but the guy didn't seem to notice and smiled widely.

"Officer? My name is Adam. The boss will see you now. Follow me."

Milo felt relief wash over him and was grateful that he could finally escape the hungry looks of the people in the queue, as he followed the young man.

Inside, the music was even louder, and Milo found himself surrounded by half-naked bodies, dancing, drinking and occasionally even making out. It was a bit of an uncomfortable sight for him, but at least the music drowned out any moaning or panting. Still, Milo considered it the best idea to just look straight ahead, avoiding any eye contact.

Adam led him to a set of stairs that went up and to a small balcony overlooking the dance floor. There, a muscular man with a neatly trimmed beard, a full sleeve tattoo and a tight black shirt was sitting on a comfortable looking sofa, smoking a cigar. His legs were spread wide, and he was clearly wearing a pair of skin-tight leather pants that did a very bad job of hiding his bulge. Well, they probably weren't designed to *hide* anything.

Adam said something, but Milo couldn't understand what was being said, so Adam repeated himself.

"The boss will see you now, Officer."

The "boss" regarded Milo from head to toe, which didn't help him feel more comfortable. To escape the situation, Milo began to speak, loud enough to be heard over the blaring and thumbing music.

"Good evening, Sir. I am Milo - I mean, Miles Dawson, Officer, actually, from the city police force and..."

Damn, he needed more routine for that, Milo thought as he stumbled over his words, but the muscular man cut him off.

"It's okay, Officer Milo. Sit down."

Milo didn't feel too comfortable being addressed by his nickname, especially not by this man, but at least he called him 'officer'. Milo gladly sat down opposite of the other man, who took another drag of his cigar.

"Thank you. What is your name, Sir?"

"You can call me 'boss'. Everyone does."

That of course wasn't according to protocol, but again, Milo didn't want to cause any trouble. In his opinion, the police were there to be as kind and helpful as possible, servants of the public more than anything else.

"Alright, Mr. ...Boss. I am here on behalf of the city police because..."

"Would you like something to drink?"

The boss asked and blew a cloud of smoke right into Milo's face, who tried to avoid breathing in the thick smoke and coughing.

"Uhm, no, thank you. I'm on duty."

"A little bit of alcohol won't hurt you, officer. But have it your way. A virgin cocktail, then?"

Again, Milo didn't want to be rude and simply nodded, smiling. If there was no alcohol involved, it wasn't against the rules.

The boss snapped his fingers, and a half-naked waiter came with a large and colorful drink, putting it down in front of Milo. The straw was formed like an erect penis. Of course. But under no circumstances, Milo wanted to come off as homophobic, so he took a small sip from the obscene straw before clearing his voice.

"Anyway, as I said, the city police were contacted by the neighbors because the music here is very loud. Now, I'm not trying to cause any trouble. We all know how it is when you have a party and have some fun, but I have to ask you to tone it just a bit."

Surprisingly enough, the boss nodded.

"I understand, Officer. Of course, we don't want to cause trouble either. I guess we got carried away a bit, some music is best enjoyed loudly. But whom am I telling that? I see you found a liking to the music as well."

Milo followed his gaze to his own leg and was surprised to see it bobbing to the rhythm. When did that happen? He didn't remember deciding to do that.

"Ah, yes, it's very catchy."

Embarrassed by his lack of control, he took another big sip from the sweet drink.

"Isn't it? But as it happens, we might have to close early today, anyway."

"Why is that?", Milo asked, before he could stop himself.

The boss shrugged his shoulder. "We're short staffed. The flu. Our stripper for today called in sick."

Milo's gaze wandered over the dancing crowd and stopped at the exclusively male dancers in the cages slightly above the dance floor, moving their sweaty bodies to the beat of the music while wearing only skimpy glittering underwear.

"Do you like what you see?" asked the boss, as he took another drag from his cigar.

"What? Oh, no, haha. I mean, sure, you have a great establam... a great club."

Damn, Milo's thoughts felt like they were moving through cotton candy, probably because of the bad air in here. A bit of ventila... a few fans wouldn't hurt, especially since the boss was still smoking his cigar.

"I see, I'm just asking because of your massive boner." The boss said casually.

Milo looked down, and indeed, a prominent tent was visible in his trousers, stretching the fabric uncomfortably.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I... I have no idea how that happened."

"Relax Milo. I'm not judging. If you like the show, feel free to watch some more."

The voice of the boss sounded reassuring, and Milo took another sip, as his eyes returned to the dancers. They did look pretty hot, he had to admit, and for a moment or two, Milo let his mind wander. What would it be like to dance on a pole like that? To show his body, to flaunt his muscles and to show off his cock and his ass, to grind on a pole like he was riding a dick...

Wait, what was he thinking? He wasn't like that at all! He wasn't a dancer, and he wasn't gay. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Are you alright, Milo?" asked the boss, still with a smirk on his face and the cigar in his mouth.

"If you feel uncomfortable, you can take off that jacket of yours, if you like."

Something about this felt wrong, but the boss was right. It was awfully hot. So, he took off his jacket, which helped a bit. Still, his mouth felt dry, so he drank some more cocktail.

"You should also loosen that tie. Don't want you to feel constrained."

Again, Milo did as the boss suggested, feeling more comfortable with every step of the process. The tie had really been a bit too tight. He was just about to unbutton his shirt, when the boss interrupted.

"Wait a moment, man. Finish your drink and follow me."

"Where to?", Milo asked, but the boss was already getting up and walking towards the other end of the balcony, to a door.

"Just relax. You are going to like it."

The boss was right, Milo was thinking too much. And thinking was hard, even harder than his cock was right now. Milo finished his cocktail and got up. The bulge was very prominent in his pants, bigger than Milo ever remembered seeing. For a moment, he looked for a way to hide it, but since nothing came to his foggy mind and the boss was already waiting for him, Milo decided not to care. After all, most of the guys in this club were probably hard, down on the dance floor.

The door led to a small stairway, going down and a narrow corridor after that. Milo had to duck when passing the doorframe, which confused him even more, but he couldn't really tell why. The music was even louder here, and the boss stopped in front of a glittering curtain.

"There, you can take your shirt off out there." He said and gave Milo a thumbs up.

Out there? Confused, Milo stumbled through the curtain into a sea of bright light. For a moment, the music stopped, and Milo was able to hear the voice of the boss coming from all the speakers.

"Give a warm welcome to tonight's star! Here is Macho Dawgson for you, "The Meat" himself. And there's a reason he is called that way..."

After that, a new, driving beat set in and the confusion in Macho's head cleared somewhat. What was he doing again...? Right, he wanted to get out of his shirt.

The uniform shirt was awfully tight, as Macho unbuttoned one button after the other. His body was still moving to the beat, beyond his control, but he didn't mind.

Finally, the shirt came off, and Macho twirled it around his finger for a while before throwing it into the bright light, where cheering sounds reacted to it.

For a split second, Macho looked down on himself. Was that really him? He was way fitter than he used to be, like he visited the gym regularly.

But why did that surprise him, really? He basically lived in the gym, all paid for by the boss. Again, the confusion cleared up some more and Macho started moving to the beat again, thrusting his hips and flaunting his muscles.

The crowd cheered. Of course they did. Macho could hardly keep himself from snorting. He was their fucking god, their idol, the perfect specimen of a man, and they knew it. All those fat, or skinny or otherwise pathetic dudes down there worshipped him, and they better should.

The music got faster and louder, and the dancing crowd was cheering and whistling. Macho felt their hungry eyes on his body, his abs, his pecs, his arms, his crotch. Yeah, there was a reason why they called him "The meat", and that reason was bulging out his uniform pants proudly. But before he got to the main course, he wanted to tease those losers some more.

Macho turned around and let his impressive back muscles work. Of course, he knew that his ass also was a sight to behold, but it was just for teasing. Macho was, of course, a top through and through. After the show, he would be surrounded by willing cocksuckers, who offered every hole in their bodies, begging to be bred, and Macho would make sure three or four of them got their reward tonight.

He ripped open the zipper and wiggled his ass until the pants were hanging low on his hips, and the tight underwear underneath revealed his ass crack. Yeah, Macho knew what he was doing. That's what he lived for: Gym, sex and dancing. He was a god, and he fucking knew it.

Time for the finale. Macho swirled around again and, with a strong motion, ripped off the fake police pants, revealing his stuffed-to-the-brim underwear that shadowed every other man's equipment. Other strippers often wore prosthetics to look bigger, but Macho didn't need that. The bulge in his shorts highlighted his dick and balls in a way that promised only one thing: Size.

The crowd went wild, and the music reached a climax. With a final roar, Macho pulled on his underwear now, ripping it apart and letting his giant meat spring free, enjoying the admiration and jealousy that branded against the stage.

Fuck yeah. Macho loved his job.

If you enjoyed the story and want to support my writing, check out my tip jar! There are also a few more versions of Miles/Macho!

[littlexdeaths]

scotty doesn’t know - e.m. iii.

eddie munson x fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: cheating, lil sprinkle of angst, shitty (ex) boyfriend behavior, some major fucking CHEESE (sorry if ur lactose intolerant), reader is the ultimate tease, dom!eddie, light bondage, degradation kink, oral (m receiving), ass/pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv sex, cream pie

series masterlist

based on scotty doesn’t know by lustra

a/n: honestly about to dedicate my entire life and blog to @strangerstilinski because i couldn’t have gotten this one done without her help. also thank you everyone who has been so incredibly patient with me, i hope you enjoy xx.

word count: 8.2k

The weekend had come and gone way too fast.

And now Monday was staring you right in the face, and with it— a very important decision.

You spent the rest of your weekend with Eddie, cuddling, talking and just enjoying each other's company. For those two days you were in your own little world together and you honestly never wanted it to end. But realistically you knew you had to go home and return back to your reality.

A reality where you belonged to someone else.

Your parents were absolutely livid by the time you returned home late Sunday evening, getting the biggest lecture of your life after Eddie had dropped you off. To add fuel to the fire, Scott had been calling your house nonstop since Saturday morning, much to your parents' annoyance. But that was a conversation you weren’t ready to have just yet.

Especially not over the phone.

You tossed and turned all night, desperately trying to figure out what you were going to say to him.

Monday was going to be rough, you knew that. But the thought of being able to finally show everyone who your heart really belonged to made things a little easier. You hadn’t exactly let Eddie know of your plans to dump your boyfriend the following day but he could tell something was up.

From the way you kissed him goodbye in his van, right out in the open for anyone to see, including your parents. And the look you gave him as you glanced over your shoulder before continuing up your driveway. It gave him a spark of hope that maybe this wasn’t just a silly fling to you either.

You got ready that morning with shaky hands, tucking one of Eddie’s band tees into your Levi’s. The male had let you wear it home the previous day, mostly because he enjoyed the sight of you in his clothes a little too much. You fiddle with the belt loop of your jeans as you stare at your reflection.

A mixture of nerves and excitement swirled in your belly as you took in your appearance, smoothing your sweaty palms over your thighs.

You can do this.

You take one final look before grabbing your backpack and bound down the stairs with a newfound pep in your step. You can’t help the goofy smile from spreading across your face as you think of seeing Eddie, and it makes all this seem a little easier. You all but ignore the curious looks from your parents as you bolt out the front door.

They hadn’t seen you this happy in months.

But as you drive to school, those pesky nerves begin to creep back in as you pass Scott’s jeep. You will your heart rate to slow as you search for a parking spot. A sense of relief fills your chest when you notice one just a few spots down from a very particular van. Your hands shake as you pull the key from the ignition, taking a moment to collect yourself before you head inside.

You try to ignore the curious eyes of your peers as you enter the school, knowing the events of the previous Friday were still fresh in their minds. And you reach your locker without incident, quickly yanking it open to put away your textbooks. You keep your head down as you walk to your first class, part of you was just waiting for Scott to sneak up on you.

Oddly enough you hadn’t seen him or Eddie all morning, which was extremely unusual. By now Scott would've walked you to first class and you’d be spending your second period study hall with Eddie. So seeing neither of them had your mind racing, and your anxiety spiking.

Had Scott figured it out? Did he confront Eddie?

A pit begins to form in your stomach at the thought, and you don’t think you could ever forgive yourself if Eddie was hurt because of you. You’re so wrapped up in your own head that you don’t notice someone beginning to approach you. A look of determination on their face.

“I need to talk to you.”

The voice startles you, panic rises in your throat as your eyes lift. You are expecting to meet Scott’s icy glare, or the warmth of Eddie’s gaze. But instead, you are met with the soft but stern cerulean of Dustin Henderson.

“Me?” you ask softly, glancing around you before back at the younger male.

“Yes you,” he huffs in annoyance.

“What could you possibly need to talk to me about?” you keep your tone hushed as he takes the empty chair across from you.

“I know you think you’re fooling everyone, but you aren’t fooling me.”

You’re stunned into silence for a moment, fingers gripping the arm of the chair as he raises a brow at you.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me, I know you’re sneaking around with Eddie,” he snaps.

Your heart leaps into your throat, mouth drying as Dustin continues to glower at you. A sting of betrayal suddenly fills your chest, and you feel foolish for even thinking Eddie would actually keep this secret between you.

But maybe he was just like Scott, who loved to brag about his sexual conquests to all his friends.

“He wasn’t supposed to tell—”

“He didn’t.” Dustin cuts you off, taking off his hat to run a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m just not blind.”

You both sit in silence for a moment then, feeling even more confused than you were when he initially sat down.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Dustin sighs, folding his hands together before he meets your gaze again.

“Eddie doesn’t know I'm here right now and honestly, he’d probably kill me if he did know.” The male winces slightly, before he continues. “But I am through with sitting around and watching one of my best friend’s hearts get stomped on.”

“Dustin, that’s not—”

He holds up his hand to cut you off, shaking his head.

“Just let me finish.”

So you hold your tongue, despite wanting to tell this kid that he has it all wrong.

“Eddie’s a good guy, one of the best I've ever known. And over the past couple of months we’ve all seen a change in him, he’s happier.”

That thought warmed your heart.

“But I can also see how all this is weighing on him. You may not notice it, but it’s definitely there.”

A lump has formed in your throat, watching in silence as the younger boy stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder. He glances at you once more, that look of disdain still written across his features.

“Now I know I can’t tell you what to do, but Eddie doesn’t deserve to be someone’s secret.”

And without a glance back in your direction, you’re alone again.

Fourth period.

The moment you’ve been waiting for and simultaneously dreading since Sunday evening. It was the only class you shared with Scott, and while you’d been able to avoid him most of the day— it was time to face the music.

When you step into the classroom, he is already seated in his usual spot in the back corner of the room. The empty desk beside him is practically calling your name.

But your whole body freezes when his eyes meet yours expectantly. And as he begins to wave you over, you make a beeline to the opposite side of the classroom. You keep your eyes low as you find an empty seat, chewing nervously on your lower lip.

When you flip open your notebook, you hear the familiar squeak of sneakers in front of you. Your eyes slowly lift to reveal the hardened features of your boyfriend. His jaw is set in a grimace, and he rests his knuckles harshly on the front of your desk.

“Babe, we need to talk.”

But before you have the chance to reply, Mrs. Jones enters the classroom in a flurry. The bell rings immediately after, signaling the start of class. And it’s hard to tell whether the abrupt noise or his harsh glare causes you to flinch in your seat. She claps her hands to attention then, but Scott still doesn’t move.

“Mr. McGuire, take your seat now.”

He merely scoffs before he stalks away, returning to his own seat. Feeling defeated, you slump down in your chair. Any confidence you’d had this morning seemed to dissolve under his angry gaze. The rest of the class period goes by in a daze, as you can’t seem to focus on anything besides the daggers that Scott has been throwing your way the entire hour.

Once the final bell rings, you shoot up from your seat so fast you nearly take a couple other students in your rush. You practically sprint to your locker, hoping to make it to the lunchroom before Scott can corner you.

But you underestimated his speed, especially when he was sober.

His hand suddenly slams your locker door shut, and he backs you into the cool metal. He leans his palm against the line of lockers, closing you in completely. There was no way you could escape him now.

“What is going on with you? Why are you being such a frigid bitch?” he seethes.

You can’t help but wince at the insult, shrinking under his increasingly angry gaze. People were beginning to stare, causing more nerves to twist in your gut. This was a much more interesting sight than anything the cafeteria had to offer. And while you hated the attention, you knew you had to do this.

Just like ripping off a bandaid.

“I want to break up.”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that, confusion quickly replacing the anger on his features. You let out the sigh you didn’t realize you were holding, relief filling your chest as you finally spoke the words aloud.

Scott runs a hand through his dark locks, pulling away from you ever so slightly.

“You want to break up?” his voice raises, “Why? Is this about that stupid fucking party?”

You knew it wouldn’t be that easy, he wouldn’t just agree and walk away. While you had tried to prepare yourself for what you wanted to say all night, your brain was struggling to string any words together.

You rub your temples, trying to prolong the inevitable but the male could only take your silence for so long.

“Well?!” he shouts.

You take a shaky breath as you square your shoulders, attempting to feign some kind of confidence. Dustin’s words from earlier echoing in your ears. He doesn’t deserve to be someone’s secret. The sea of students had only begun to grow in the past few minutes but you don’t notice that Eddie was amongst them.

“I don’t love you, and quite frankly I don’t think I ever did.”

You could hear a pin drop.

“You're an arrogant, selfish prick. And honestly, I just can’t keep doing this anymore…” you pause, now meeting his stormy eyes.

“Especially when my heart belongs to someone else.”

If you thought Scott was angry before, you hadn’t seen anything yet.

His hand suddenly slams into the locker next to your head, causing you to shrink instantly. While he’s never been violent towards you before, you aren’t entirely surprised by it. It was just in his nature.

“So you cheated on me? Is that what you’re saying?”

Before you can get another word in, you hear the familiar clearing of a throat. And a ringed hand reaches out to harshly tug the male away from you.

“You just don’t learn do you, Scotty?”

Eddie is beyond fuming as he shoves Scott back into the lockers before the male can properly react. And while Scott wasn’t the smartest guy, he quickly seemed to put two and two together.

He looked between you and Eddie before he started laughing.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Munson? You’re fucking the freak?”

You instantly turn on defense mode, entirely fed up with his treatment of him. Before you can stop yourself, you copy Eddie’s actions and shove Scott back into the lockers. Surprise crosses both of the males' features at your actions, knowing you were never a violent or angry person.

But everyone has their limits and you’ve just hit yours.

“Yeah, and he fucks me so well too. Eddie here actually knows how to make a girl come— but I can’t say the same for you, McGuire.”

An astounding ‘oooh’ resonates through the crowd at your words.

Scott’s cheeks are flushed from a mixture of embarrassment and anger. No one has ever stood up to him like this before and he’s suddenly at a loss for words. Eddie is grinning like a mad man, clapping excitedly before he wraps his arms around your waist. You welcome his embrace, leaning back further against his chest.

Scott just stares at the two of you, gritting his teeth as you smile sweetly.

“Now, I think we’re done here. Let’s go, Eddie.”

The metalhead willingly lets you drag him away, only your destination wasn’t the cafeteria anymore.

You pull him into the nearest empty hallway, shoving him up against the wall and locking your lips together. Eddie eagerly accepts your advances, fingers lacing through the loop of your jeans to keep you pressed against him.

Adrenaline is pumping through your veins, making every touch of his skin feel like a live wire.

“Munson!”

You curse softly as you realize you’ve been caught, and quickly glance over your shoulder.

Mr. Mundy looks between the two of you with a deep sigh, “Now come on, you know the rules. Break it up or you’re both getting detention.”

You unwillingly pull yourself away from him and lean against the brick wall beside him. A glance out of the corner of your eye shows how the male is biting back a grin.

“Try not to infect your girlfriend with your delinquency, alright?” Mr. Mundy gives you both a disgruntled look before heading back into his classroom.

Once the door shuts behind him, Eddie lets out a soft chuckle and coaxes you back into his arms.

“Y’hear that? Girlfriend,” he teases, wiggling his brows but the title makes your stomach flutter nonetheless. “Didn’t even ask me out on a proper date though, sweetheart. I’m offended.”

He laughs as you playfully pinch his side, shaking your head fondly. You lean your forehead against his chest, letting yourself indulge in the scent of his cologne.

“Did you really mean what you said back there?” he says after a while.

The sudden change of tone has you lifting your head, gazing up at him curiously. Eddie pulls you in even closer, letting his hands rest on the curve of your waist.

“That your heart belongs to me?” he prods.

You look down at your feet shyly, not realizing that he had heard that part of the conversation. Eddie doesn’t let your gaze wander for long though, as he gently tips your head back up to meet his.

“Yes, I meant it,” your voice shakes, your nerves getting the best of you.

But the look that flits over his features has your heart skipping a beat and butterflies erupting in your belly.

“All mine?” he questions, nervously licking his lips as he awaits your answer.

“All yours, Eddie.”

Being Eddie Munson’s official girlfriend is more than anything you could’ve dreamt about.

While sneaking around with him was fun in the moment, the amount he wanted to show you off made your heart sing. You had never felt so wanted or taken care of in your entire life.

But it wasn’t always easy, as graduation continued to grow closer the two of you barely had any alone time together. Between Hellfire, band practice and constant cramming for finals— time was not on your side.

But busy schedules be damned, you both manage to carve out enough time for a date at Benny’s.

“The usual, kids?”

Benny calls from the kitchen with a grin as you both take a seat in your normal booth. The diner had quickly become your favorite place for date nights, in your opinion they had the best food in town. Despite Eddie’s futile attempts to take you to Enzo’s, you prefer the easy going atmosphere of the small diner much more.

“Nah, just two chocolate milkshakes and an order of fries. We only got a few minutes before this one abandons me for prom shit with Wheeler,” Eddie teases.

You can’t help but pout, nudging his foot under the table.

“Says the one who abandoned me for movie night with Henderson yesterday.”

What you aren’t aware of though is how Dustin was actually helping Eddie pick out a tux and tie for prom. Laughing hysterically as the older boy panicked over what color tie would match perfectly with your dress.

Benny watches you both playfully bicker back and forth, shaking his head fondly. He brings out your order a few minutes later and unable to contain your excitement any further, you grab a fry and dip it directly into your milkshake.

Eddie’s lips freeze around the straw, gazing at you in absolute bewilderment when he pretends to gag.

“Sweetheart, that’s disgusting.”

You roll your eyes at his theatrics, taking a bite out of the fry before dipping it back in.

“You really shouldn’t knock it till you try it, Ed,” you say in a sing-song tone as your boyfriend urgently pulls the basket of fries away from you.

“Yeah— no way. I’m not doing that, you’re pretty sick in the head, baby,” he muses between bites of a plain fry. “Shit… and people call me a freak?”

You stifle a giggle as you lean forward, stealing the half eaten fry from between his fingers. You dunk it back into your milkshake and pop it in your mouth with a soft but exaggerated moan.

Eddie shifts slightly in his seat, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. It was almost too easy to get him so worked up. You ignore the warning look he shoots your way as you reach for another fry.

“Come on, just try it.”

You scoop as much of the shake onto the fry as possible, holding it towards him. The male just shakes his head, leaning back against the cracked leather of the booth.

“You know, I don’t know if this is gonna work out between us, doll face,” he chuckles, watching as the chocolate cream begins to drip down your fingers.

His petulance continues but you’re still trying to goad him into taking a bite, dangling it in front of his scrunched nose, inching closer and closer. All in an effort to tempt him. You watch patiently, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip it between his pouty lips.

“This level of blasphemy might be crossing a line, even for me—”

Before he can finish his thought, there’s lukewarm milkshake and salt smeared across his cheek and the corner of his mouth.

Eddie sits in shock for a moment before you burst into a fit of giggles at his expression.

“Oh, you are asking for it now, baby,” he taunts.

You are unprepared as he dips two of his fingers into his own glass, reaching forward to smear the sticky chocolate across your cheek. You gasp when the male leans forward, mischief sparkling in his eyes. His tongue darts out, causing a loud squeal to escape you as he licks the milkshake from your cheek.

“Eddie, that’s gross,” you whine as you reach out to steady the glass before he dumps milkshake everywhere.

“Hm, you didn’t seem to find it that gross when it was buried inside your—”

You toss a fry at him before he can finish that sentence, hitting him square in the forehead. He looks shocked, ringed fingers dramatically grasping at his chest when he slumps in his seat.

“You wound me, sweet thing.”

It’s then that you take the time to really look at him, and a surge of utter fondness fills your chest. While he goes on a dramatic rant about how french fries could be considered a deadly weapon, you’re only half listening.

Instead admiring the way his dimple indents his cheek when he grins sheepishly at you, and his hands flail about when he speaks. And it really hits you just how lucky you are to have him, that he was all yours.

So when you lean forward to capture his lips and ultimately silence him— he’s a little surprised. But he cups your face between his palms and kisses you back with just as much fervor.

“What was that for?” he asks a little breathlessly when you pull away, and you just smile.

“Just… cause I can.”

His eyes soften and he reaches out to thread your fingers together. Eddie knows the significance of what that means, so he can’t help but lean in to press your lips together again.

“Fuck yeah, you can.”

You really wonder if the universe was playing one big joke on you.

After your mini date at the diner a few days prior, you’d barely seen Eddie the rest of the week. The guys had a big gig at the Hideout the following evening and have been using any spare moment they had to practice. While you understood the reasoning for it, the other part of you was becoming increasingly frustrated.

Eddie could definitely tell something was up, but he didn’t exactly have the time to ask you in the five minute intervals you had together between classes.

So in an effort to make up for his absence, Eddie asked you to tag along to practice that night. But you might have had some ulterior motives for agreeing. Since it had been well over a week since you had any proper alone time together, you were past the point of needy.

Despite still seeing each other, the rushed kisses and subtle touches weren’t enough for either of you.

This was the longest either of you had gone without sex, so you can only imagine he was feeling the same way. But if his longing glances told you anything, it was that he needed you just as much— if not more. So that’s why you showed up to practice in your shortest skirt you owned.

What the metalhead doesn’t know is that you aren’t wearing any panties under said skirt.

However, he’s going to find out soon enough.

You’d given him a quick peck on the cheek when you got there, nothing too much though. You really did want his friends to like you, and they seemed to hate the constant displays of affection you both exhibited on the daily. So you kept it subtle, mostly for that reason.

But a small part of you did it just to rile him more.

In the short time you’d been officially dating, it became quite apparent how much Eddie craved your touch, whether it was sexual or not. He’d subtly tap his fingers on your knee during group hang outs, or press his lips to your temple when he walked you to class. You found it utterly endearing, but you also knew you could use it to your advantage.

So you could immediately tell from the slight pout that your boyfriend wanted more than just a peck on the cheek.

Hook, line and sinker.

As practice continued on, you found yourself sitting on an unused amp, with no other chairs in sight. The group wasn’t exactly used to visitors during practice, so you had to make due. You didn’t mind it though, as it put you in Eddie’s direct line of sight.

About half an hour in they decided to take a small break, the other three males were chatting excitedly about their upcoming dnd campaign. Eddie was more focused on tuning his guitar, but his eyes continued to wander back over to you.

This was the perfect opportunity to let him in on your little secret, while the other members were too preoccupied to be paying attention to you.

You sigh heavily and lean your arms back, uncrossing your legs and letting them fall open. Giving him the perfect view of what you were hiding… or rather not hiding, underneath your skirt.

His eyes flick up to your face before they begin to travel lower, and it takes him a full minute before he notices. But once that recognition flashes across his features, his mouth hangs open in shock.

A playful smirk plays on your lips and you quickly cross your legs again, acting as though nothing had happened. Eddie’s jaw is clenched when he returns to tuning his guitar, feigning as though it had no effect on him. But you could tell from the growing bulge in his jeans, that it definitely did.

He was grateful he had the ability to hide his boner for the rest of practice, not wanting to explain himself to his bandmates. But you knew by his stiff posture, you were so in for it when this was over.

The thought had you squirming with excitement, and you tried your best not to make a mess all over your makeshift seat. Now that would be something you could never live down.

Thankfully Eddie decided to end practice earlier than normal, claiming they could all use a break after their busy week.

But only the two of you knew the real reason.

Eddie all but drags you out to his van once his gear is packed up, gently shoving you against the back door. He opens the other side to put his guitar back into the vehicle, and quickly slams it shut. You bite back a grin when he cages you in against the cool metal.

His jaw is still tense, eyes darkening when his hand begins to caress your bare thigh.

“That was quite the peep show, sweetness.”

You try to keep your breathing even, but his roaming hands are making that very difficult.

“I don’t know what you mean, baby,” you feign innocence, knowing it’ll only rile him up more.

While he loves when you’re his good girl, he also loves any excuse to treat you like his little slut. The brunette chuckles humorously, grabbing your chin in his free hand to keep your eyes aligned with his.

“Come on now, don’t play dumb with me,” he tuts.

You just continue to gaze up at him all doe-eyed, hands resting on his chest. You don’t answer him, which only makes him more frustrated than he was to begin with.

“I see how it’s gonna be... You wanna be a brat? I’ll treat you like one,” he hisses. “Now, get in the van.”

He pulls away, and you feel a sudden chill from the loss of his body heat. When you don’t move an inch his brow raises, cocking his head at you.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart.”

As much as you would love to continue to push his buttons, you know you’re in enough trouble as it is. So you squeak out a quiet ‘yes, sir’ and round the side of the van to hop in the passenger seat.

Eddie is silent for most of the ride, but the tension in the air is palpable. While he says nothing, the glances he keeps tossing your way have you squirming in your seat. In an effort to stop your distracting movements he reaches a hand out, ringed fingers digging into the meat of your thigh.

And in your desperate state you can’t resist pushing him just a little more. So you rest your smaller hand atop his and guide his fingers in between your legs. Eddie suddenly slams on the brakes and your body flies forward when he pulls off on the side of the road.

He puts the van in park before turning to face you.

“In the back, on your knees. Now.”

You grin excitedly at his demanding tone, already anticipating what was to come. So you quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and scurry into the back of the van without another word. Eddie takes his sweet ole time before joining you, as part of your punishment. He knew your patience would only last so long.

He flicks through his cassette tapes and fiddles with the radio volume… anything to keep you waiting.

So when he does finally join you in the back, you’re practically trembling with need. His hands cradle the back of your neck, titling it to bare your throat to him. He presses harsh kisses along your skin, nipping every so often. You can’t help but whimper from the contact, your hands reaching out to grip the fabric of his shirt.

But he stops you, immediately pushing your hands aside.

“Only good girls get to touch me,” he grunts.

Your eyes widen when he pulls the skull bandana out of his back pocket, maneuvering himself around you. He pulls your hands behind your back and binds them together with the soft fabric. Once he was happy with the secureness of the knot, he’s back in front of you.

This was something new.

His fingers gently grip your chin, but he forces you to meet his gaze.

“What’s your color, baby?”

As your sexual relationship began to delve deeper, the more safe words and communication became his highest priority.

“Green… neon fucking green,” you hum.

The smirk quickly returns to his features, and his lips go back to sucking on your neck.

“Watch that pretty mouth of yours, doll or I’ll put it to use.”

You can feel the wetness starting to drip down your thighs, having absolutely no barrier due to your lack of undergarments. His hands have found their way to your breasts, kneading them in his large palms before he continues lower. Once he reaches the apex of your thighs he nearly growls, feeling your arousal coating your supple skin.

“Fuck— I need you, Eds.” you whine, already forgetting what he had just told you only moments prior.

Eddie promptly removes his hands from you, the sound of his belt clinking open has you shivering in anticipation.

“You really want to test my patience tonight, don’t you?”

You now realize your mistake.

But you can’t find it in yourself to regret it when he finally releases his cock from the confines of his jeans. You glance up at him expectantly, licking your lips at the sight of his pre-cum coating the tip. His fingers guide your mouth open and can feel your body practically buzzing with excitement.

“Since you can’t seem to listen, I’m going to use your mouth however I want. If it’s too much I need you to snap your fingers twice. Okay?”

You give him verbal confirmation and snap twice to demonstrate that you are still able to do so even with your hands bound. Satisfied with your response he grins and opens your mouth wider.

“Lemme see that tongue, baby,” he instructs.

You obey immediately and he rewards you by slapping the head of his cock against it. Once… twice… a third time… before he slips it past your lips with a groan.

Eddie’s hand fists your hair, pulling your mouth even further onto his cock. You take every inch willingly, eagerly swirling your tongue around the base of his shaft. His eyes squeeze shut, mouth slightly agape as you take him even deeper.

But you already miss his piercing gaze, now desperate for him to look at you. So you pull back until his cock slips past your lips.

His eyes shoot open and he raises a brow at you, “Did I say you could stop?”

The utter dominance in his tone and stature makes you even wetter, your thighs pressing together as he continues to stare you down with those dark eyes.

“Want you to look at me,” you plead, batting your lashes at him.

He just chuckles, keeping his gaze locked on yours when you eagerly take him back into your mouth. His fist tightens in your hair, another groan escapes him when he hits the back of your throat. A wicked grin tugs at his lips when he feels you gag around him.

“That’s right, gag on it,” he coos.

Your eyes remain locked with his as he continues to use your throat, mascara tears running freely down your cheeks with each thrust. His groans fill your ears, each one sending heat straight to your core. His lips pull up into that signature smirk as he admires the absolute mess he’s made of you.

But before he reaches that peak, he slips himself out of your mouth. It’s too soon for your liking, despite the throbbing ache between your legs. He notices the pout on your lips, now eyeing the string of saliva that keeps you connected.

“As much as I’d love to come in that bratty mouth of yours…” he pauses, wiping up some of the drool from your lips with his thumb. “I’d much rather see it dripping out of that pretty pussy instead.”

You can’t help but whimper in response, letting Eddie bend you over the center console of the vehicle. He flips your skirt up, landing a harsh smack to your ass as he nudges your legs apart with his own. You’re suddenly grateful for the console beneath you, knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to hold yourself up with your hands still bound.

Eddie grabs your bound wrists with one hand, the other slipping between your thighs.His calloused fingers run through your slick folds, and he moans at the wetness he finds there.

“God… always so wet. You’re such a little slut for me, huh? You like when I use you like this, baby?”

You merely nod, your thoughts far too jumbled from his touch that words are escaping you. But Eddie isn’t having any of it, and really you should know better.

Another harsh slap lands on your pussy this time, a shaky gasp leaving your lips.

“Come on sweetheart, tell me…”

Eddie slips two fingers into your entrance with no resistance, curling them up to hit that sweet spot inside of you. But his actions stop just as quickly as they start due to your continued silence. And when he begins to slip his fingers out, your walls contract around them in an effort to keep them nestled inside you.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” he taunts.

You want to cry from frustration when he fully removes the digits, guiding your hips back towards him. Eddie just chuckles, before you hear him noisily suck your arousal from his fingers.

“Y-Yes, Eddie. Just please, fuck me,” you cry.

While you can’t see him, you know he’s grinning like a madman. Any further plans of begging disappear when you feel the tip of his cock rubbing through your folds. As much as he’d love to continue teasing you, his own impatience takes over and he slides into you with one hard thrust.

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s fucked you, you still feel so full. Stretched out beyond belief— it nearly takes your breath away.

Eddie doesn’t give you much warning before he’s snapping his hips back into yours. The sudden motion causes your head to lull forward and rest against the console. Your walls practically suck him in deeper, and he enjoys the pathetic little noises that leave you as he continues to slam into you.

“Fuck— you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Eddie uses your bound wrists to pound into you harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. You can already feel your orgasm bubbling up inside you, that band getting tighter as he continues his ruthless pace.

“You gonna cum already? Such a little slut…” he nearly growls, “Go on, do it. Let’s see how many times you can make a mess on my cock.”

Between his words and the constant pounding into your g-spot is what tips you over the edge, feeling your knees wobble from the force of your orgasm. Eddie begins to slow his pace, letting you ride the waves a little before he slips one of his hands between you to gently rub at your clit.

Your soft whimpers only seem to spur him on further, keeping a steady pace. But he rams into you so deeply, you swear you can feel him in your throat. Despite how slightly overstimulating the feeling is… it’s too good to stop. And you’d do anything to show Eddie how good you can actually be.

“That’s it… feels good, baby?”

You let out a small but breathy ‘uh huh’, that being the only response you can muster at this point. One orgasm has turned your brain to mush, and all you can think or feel is Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Your response has him chuckling, as the male continues to rock his hips into yours. He loves getting you to this point, so drunk on his cock that you can’t form a coherent sentence. His fingers start to pick up their pace against your bundle of nerves, feeling how your walls clench even tighter around him.

While he wants to fill you up so badly, he also wants to see how far he could push you. It was only fair.

“Wanna show me you can listen, sweetheart? Give me another one. You can do it.”

You nearly sob as your second orgasm suddenly crashes over you. While not as forceful as the first, it’s powerful enough to make your legs give out beneath you. Letting all your weight rest against the center console. Eddie is quick to help guide your hips back up, and stops the movement of his own.

You can feel the tears slipping down your cheeks when he frees your wrists, finally slipping out of you. You whimper at the loss of contact, but it’s not gone for long. As Eddie helps guide you into a sitting position, before carefully laying you back onto a pile of blankets.

He brushes the tears away from your cheeks, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Can you give me one more? Doin’ so good for me, sweet thing.”

You practically preen at his praise, eagerly nodding when he situates himself between your legs again. He carefully lifts your trembling thighs, his touch much more gentle now. He caresses your supple skin before he slips back inside you with a deep seated groan.

You can feel how your hands begin to twitch at your sides, desperate to reach up and tangle your fingers in his curls. But his previous warning rings in your ears, only good girls can touch me. Eddie catches the subtle movement and reaches down to guide your hands up towards his head. And a loud grunt leaves him when he reaches your deepest point.

“You can touch me baby, you’ve earned it.”

He barely finishes his sentence before you’re threading your fingers through his wild curls and tugging him closer. Until your clothed chests are pressed together and you can feel the weight of his ribs against yours. Your mouths meet with a soft urgency and his tongue glides over your lower lip before slipping past them.

His pace has slowed tremendously, all in an effort to cherish the feeling of being inside you. Despite how rough can be at times, this was his favorite way to be with you. With your bodies entangled in every possible way.

While Eddie may put on a tough exterior, he’s a big softie underneath it all. And you’ve come to adore both sides of him.

He pulls away from your lips with a small gasp, greedily inhaling your mingling breath as his chestnut hues meet yours. Eddie looks beautiful like this, hovering above you all sweaty and flushed. It's truly a sight you wouldn’t grow tired of seeing. He doesn’t let lips stray too far though, leaning down to press hot kisses along your jaw towards your neck.

The brunette eagerly sucks onto the skin of your throat, tongue darting out to soothe the ache he leaves behind. One of your hands untangles itself from his tousled curls, slipping between your bodies to rub at your overly sensitive clit. Judging by how sloppy his thrusts were becoming, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Eddie buries his face into the crook of your neck, whining when you clench harder around him. The feeling of his cock twitching inside you has your head reeling, already so close to finishing for a third time that night.

“Fuck— I love you,” he pants, each slam of his hips becomes more frantic with his admission. “I love you, sweetheart.”

His confession is all it takes to push you both over the edge. Eddie’s hips stutter as he fills you, and your body arches further into his embrace with a cry of his name. It’s so intense that you can feel how his body trembles above you, and the stars begin to dance behind your lids. The weight of his words finally starts to sink in when he collapses on top of you, blinking away the tears that fill your lash line.

The mixture of your heavy breathing fills the silence and you gently stroke his curls while you both come down from your highs. Eddie must have felt your tears dripping down onto his cheek and his head lifts to regard you with concern.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asks.

You just shake your head, pressing another kiss to his awaiting mouth. But when you pull away a little too soon for his liking, he practically pouts. You just smile fondly, nervous fluttering in your belly at what you were about to confess. Despite hearing him utter those same three words only moments prior.

“I just… I really love you too, Eddie.”

The grin that stretches across his face has your heart thumping faster, your giggles soon fill the silence in the van as he presses tender kisses everywhere he can reach.

“Love you so much, sweetheart.”

The Hideout was packed, which seemed to be an unusual occurrence for a Saturday night in small town Hawkins. But the promise of multiple live bands quickly filled the seats that usually remained empty during the week.

Ever since you became official, you easily fit in amongst his large group of friends. Even Dustin, who was weary of you in the beginning, had quickly begun to warm up to you. But you had clicked with Robin the fastest and the two of you became very close in such a short amount of time.

Most of them had come out to support the band, besides the group of freshmen. As Eddie all but forbade from stepping foot in this establishment. His overprotective nature towards them was something you found to be incredibly endearing.

You were standing at the front of the crowd, snugly in between Robin and Steve. Mostly due to Eddie’s strict instructions to keep an eye on you. He could already anticipate just how rowdy this crowd might be from the moment you entered the dingy bar.

You anxiously shift in place, taking another swig from the flask that Robin had snuck in. You hadn’t seen Eddie for more than a few minutes since he dropped you off at home earlier that morning. And you were beyond impatient for the show to get started.

It was a little annoying how much you missed him when he wasn’t around, how uneasy it made you.

But the vodka was definitely starting to help soothe your nerves.

You continued to shift from foot to foot, partially from your growing impatience and partly due to the soreness between your thighs. The round in the van had only continued once you got back to Eddie’s trailer. He buried his tongue inside you while he showed you how much he loved you from between your thighs.

It’s as though the universe could tell you were getting antsy, as the lights on the small stage finally dim. You cheer loudly and the rest of your friends join in when the four males walk out onto the stage. They all take their respective positions, and Eddie slings his guitar strap over his shoulder and adjusts the mic stand.

“Good evening Hawkins, we’re Corroded Coffin. Thanks for coming out!”

A round of boos suddenly erupt from amongst the cheers, and your head instantly whips around to find the source. You see Jason and Scott’s whole crew leaning up against the back wall of the bar, a prominent smirk on your ex’s face. Your hands balled into fists and you quickly flip them all the bird before turning your focus back towards the stage.

Scott’s incessant torment had cooled off for a bit, but that entire week it was seeming to ramp right back up. While you knew your boyfriend could take care of himself, it still didn’t stop the fury from bubbling up inside you over it. Especially knowing it had only gotten worse because of you.

You find Eddie’s gaze again and he shoots a wink your way, not even fazed by their presence. They started off their set with a cover of Bang Your Head by Quiet Riot, already getting the crowd ramped up. Eddie was totally in his element, carefree as his fingers danced along the neck of his guitar. While they played mostly covers, they were able to sneak in a few original songs.

The crowd was overly enthusiastic, which was a nice change of pace from the five sullen drunks they usually had in attendance at their normal Tuesday time slot. While Eddie was riding that high, his eyes always seemed to find their way back to you.

“Thank you guys for being such an awesome crowd, this is our last song.”

In the time that you’ve been together, you’ve come to recognize almost all of their songs. Eddie was always bouncing lyric ideas off of you, or playing them for you any chance that he could. But hearing the first few chords ring out into the bar, you knew this one was clearly new.

And if shit eating grin he was sporting was any indication, he’d been preparing for this moment. Eddie’s eyes drift from yours to the back of the dimly lit bar as he begins singing. The opening lyrics make your eyes widen in shock.

“Scotty doesn’t know that Fiona and me do it in my van every Sunday. She tells him she’s in church, but she doesn’t go. Still she’s on her knees and Scotty doesn’t know.”

Your heart begins to race and that cocky grin never leaves his face. Your eyes follow his line of sight and you turn around, watching in amusement when you notice how Scott’s fists are clenched at his sides. This is by far the angriest you’ve ever seen him, and you can almost see the metaphorical steam coming out of his ears.

“Fiona says she’s out shopping, but she’s under me and I’m not stopping…”

A smug look graces your features when Scott meets your gaze, giving him a little wave before turning back to focus on your boyfriend. Eddie’s husky voice is full of confidence as he continues onto the next verse. That sound alone could bring you to your knees.

“I can't believe he's so trusting, while I'm right behind you thrusting. Fiona's got him on the phone, and she's trying not to moan. It's a three-way call and he knows nothing, nothing…”

Your mind instantly drifts back to that fateful phone call, that night being a major turning point in your feelings towards the metalhead. Your whole body flushes at the vulgarity of the lyrics, but in an odd way you find it kind of sweet.

Once he has your attention again, Eddie blows you a subtle kiss.

“The parkin' lot, why not? It's so cool when you're on top. His front lawn in the snow, life is so hard 'cause Scotty doesn't know! Scotty doesn't know!”

You watch in fascination as his fingers work diligently over the guitar strings, banging his head along with Jeff. The song aside, you really were enjoying yourself. Eddie lets his guitar fall to his hip, gripping the mic with both hands.

“I did her on his birthday…”

Your curiosity has gotten the better of you again, and you glance back to where Scott had previously been standing. The spot was now empty, much to your surprise. Scott was never one to back down without getting the last word. So you let your eyes wander around the bar, but Scott and his posse were nowhere in sight.

When the song starts to come to a close, Eddie and the rest of the guys have gathered at the front of the stage. Huddled together as they chanted a chorus of, ‘Scotty doesn’t know’, the crowd joining in unison. When you glance over at Robin, her grin practically matches that of your boyfriend’s.

While you had never explicitly told anyone (besides Robin) the details of how everything played out between you two, your ex definitely had his suspicions.

But now, one thing was for sure…

Scotty definitely knew.

sdk taglist: @xxbimbobunnyxx @munsonhoneybaby @mugloversonly @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @transparentenemypenguin @calumfmu @vamp-bunny @eddiesxangel @nailbatanddungeon @deathst9r @comeonatmebruh @mrsjellymunson @eddiesghxst @eddiesguitarskills @callsignraver @eldermayfield @potatobeans99 @loserboysandlithium @em0220

[anantaru]

cw. [ex]plicit, forbidden romance, passionate haithie, fem! reader

the lingering thought of living through a forbidden romance with alhaitham.

“we shouldn't be doing this but it feels so good,” while you exchange deep breaths, eyes misted with a delirious glow.

right now, nothing seemed important enough for you to muffle your cries and heaves, as it was the only way to vocalize your feeling.

but a piercing reservation for this relationship was always there.

the irremediable sorrow of what would happen if you do get caught, if someone sees you steal a couple more kisses, brush your hands together lightly when you walk past each other. it's present, that haunted look on your face, and it was impossible to cure it as it overcame you with a shaded gloom, casted above you as it applied layer after layer of unsettling emotions.

yet your heart twists when you feel him kiss you again, again— and again, as if alhaitham silently sensed how you were giving yourself to the negatives parts of your secret relationship that actually contributed to many positive instances in your life.

"i hate it, so much," that hurt, you realized, to say it out loud and feel it hang above your head, "i hate it so much, it pains me!" to voice your emotions to him too— as if it didn't kill him as well.

but you close your eyes now, your lashes shining with a threat of tears, attempting to ignore the wounds inside of you and go back to focus on what was right now, towering before you. it being alhaitham, the man you loved, so fucking much, pleasing you to his heart’s content.

the scribe traces your muscles with his fingertips before pulling himself in you again, his lips parted and glistening on top of yours. everything considered, there was a strange, almost insatiable sort of pleasure bundling inwardly, he simply never looked at you like this before.

"oh? you're still concerned someone might hear us?"

"no, I'm not," you avert your gaze in denial, but the bitterness on your facial features told the entire story to his sharp pair of eyes. you suddenly close your arms around his neck so you could kiss— and better, shut him up, so that alhaitham would also forget about your panicked outburst and resort back to filling you with pleasure.

"good, me neither, i couldn't give a damn anymore."

"what—" this was probably one of the most miserable dirty talk sessions in history of such— if you can even call that awkward conversation that.

alhaitham silently hooks his fingers under your hips before pulling you off and on him, repeatedly, but this time faster as your lower body automatically arched upwards so he could move you on and off his cock in the most pleasurable, precise way. to have your sweet cunt split by his girth—it's maddening and you feel him throb inside of you as he drags himself against your warm walls, luxuriating in the softness of your pussy.

alhaitham slumps into your body, "i-don't-care-anymore-" and at each full throated groan, he spills a new word to complete his sentence.

now, everything had gotten more hot— scorchingly hot but cold too, precisely all at once and at the same time, your creamy walls being rubbed with passionate rolls of his cock as his pelvis hits yours.

everything between your thighs retorted to feeling swollen and well used, your hips sore enough to give up but you did not want to, not now, not ever, not when there was nothing that made you feel as good and free as this.

yes, alhaitham made you feel free, like you could achieve anything in life and have him by your side at the same time.

in the course of this, you close your eyes before begging him to kiss you again, uncontrollably make out with you until your lips would strain and hurt. and alhaitham notices, pushes deeper in, so deep that his shaft had been entirely webbed in your liquids and made them ooze out whenever he pulled his cock out.

he does it with such ease, like he's meant to do this, "i don't care whether people will spread rumors," and presses his lips on top of yours, muffling.

"because there's only one person i care about."

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[physalian]

You don’t have to pay for that fancy worldbuilding program

As mentioned in this post about writing with executive dysfunction, if one of your reasons to keep procrastinating on starting your book is not being able to afford something like World Anvil or Campfire, I’m here to tell you those programs are a luxury, not a necessity: Enter Google Suite (not sponsored but gosh I wish).

MS Office offers more processing power and more fine-tuning, but Office is expensive and only autosaves to OneDrive, and I have a perfectly healthy grudge against OneDrive for failing to sync and losing 19k words of a WIP that I never got back.

Google’s sync has never failed me, and the Google apps (at least for iPhone) aren’t nearly as buggy and clunky as Microsoft’s. So today I’m outlining the system I used for my upcoming fantasy novel with all the helpful pictures and diagrams. Maybe this won’t work for you, maybe you have something else, and that’s okay! I refuse to pay for what I can get legally for free and sometimes Google’s simplicity is to its benefit.

The biggest downside is that you have to manually input and update your data, but as someone who loves organizing and made all these willingly and for fun, I don’t mind.

So. Let’s start with Google Sheets.

The Character Cheat Sheet:

I organized it this way for several reasons:

I can easily see which characters belong to which factions and how many I have named and have to keep up with for each faction

All names are in alphabetical order so when I have to come up with a new name, I can look at my list and pick a letter or a string of sounds I haven’t used as often (and then ignore it and start 8 names with A).

The strikethrough feature lets me keep track of which characters I kill off (yes, I changed it, so this remains spoiler-free)

It’s an easy place to go instead of scrolling up and down an entire manuscript for names I’ve forgotten, with every named character, however minor their role, all in one spot

Also on this page are spare names I’ll see randomly in other media (commercials, movie end credits, etc) and can add easily from my phone before I forget

Also on this page are my summary, my elevator pitch, and important character beats I could otherwise easily mess up, it helps stay consistent

*I also have on here not pictured an age timeline for all my vampires so I keep track of who’s older than who and how well I’ve staggered their ages relative to important events, but it’s made in Photoshop and too much of a pain to censor and add here

On other tabs, I keep track of location names, deities, made-up vocabulary and definitions, and my chapter word count.

The Word Count Guide:

*3/30 Edit to update this chart to its full glory. Column 3 is a cumulative count. Most of what I write breaks 100k and it's fun watching the word count rise until it boils over.

This is the most frustrating to update manually, especially if you don’t have separate docs for each chapter, but it really helps me stay consistent with chapter lengths and the formula for calculating the average and rising totals is super basic.

Not that all your chapters have to be uniform, but if you care about that, this little chart is a fantastic visualizer.

If you have multiple narrators, and this book does, you can also keep track of how many POVs each narrator has, and how spread out they are. I didn’t do that for this book since it’s not an ensemble team and matters less, but I did for my sci-fi WIP, pictured below.

As I was writing that one, I had “scripted” the chapters before going back and writing out all the glorious narrative, and updated the symbols from “scripted” to “finished” accordingly.

I also have a pie chart that I had to make manually on a convoluted iPhone app to color coordinate specifically the way I wanted to easily tell who narrates the most out of the cast, and who needs more representation.

—

Google Docs

Can’t show you much here unfortunately but I’d like to take an aside to talk about my “scene bits” docs.

It’s what it says on the tin, an entire doc all labeled with different heading styles with blurbs for each scene I want to include at some point in the book so I can hop around easily. Whether they make it into the manuscript or not, all practice is good practice and I like to keep old ideas because they might be useful in unsuspecting ways later.

Separate from that, I keep most of my deleted scenes and scene chunks for, again, possible use later in a “deleted scenes” doc, all labeled accordingly.

When I designed my alien language for the sci-fi series, I created a Word doc dictionary and my own "translation" matrix, for easy look-up or word generation whenever I needed it (do y'all want a breakdown for creating foreign languages? It's so fun).

Normally, as with my sci-fi series, I have an entire doc filled with character sheets and important details, I just… didn’t do that for this book. But the point is—you can still make those for free on any word processing software, you don’t need fancy gadgets.

—

I hope this helps anyone struggling! It doesn’t have to be fancy. It doesn’t have to be expensive. Everything I made here, minus the aforementioned timeline and pie chart, was done with basic excel skills and the paint bucket tool. I imagine this can be applicable to games, comics, what have you, it knows no bounds!

Now you have one less excuse to sit down and start writing.

[recovering-dungeon-lord]

The first time I read Dungeon Meshi I was like “I love all these characters but Mithrun is hands down my favorite, it’s been a long time since I went this feral for a fictional character.” And like. That’s still true. I still absolutely adore Mithrun and he’s extremely important to me and his character arc is so beautiful and also I want to kiss him. BUT.

I’m not gonna lie, the way that like 85% of western fans either ignore Toshiro or straight up dislike him is turning me into a Shuro stan from the sheer injustice of it all.

He should get more love. He’s wonderful. It’s a little tricky to get a read on him initially but once you learn more about him he’s such an interesting character with so much going on under the surface. He seems like the stereotypical Stoic Eastern Warrior type, but it’s only because he’s using that stoicism to hide his shyness and uncertainty and fear of doing or saying the wrong thing. (And honestly, if you really thought Ryoko Kui of all people would write such a flat stereotype of a character you haven’t been paying attention). By the end of the series it’s shown that despite his issues Toshiro is a good and kind person beneath the impassive noble facade he’s been taught to put up his whole life.

And! He’s such a perfect character foil for Laios! Because they both struggle socially (personally I think Toshiro is also autistic, like Laios, but I’ll probably make a separate post abt that bc this one is already getting long), but in ways that contrast each other. This brings them into conflict when at their core they both crave the same thing: a deep connection with their peers that they’ve struggled to find their entire lives. They’re two sides of the same coin, at opposite ends of the spectrum of outward responses to a very similar internal experience. It’s really well done, as is, like, every character/relationship in DM.

Anyway if no one else is gonna ride or die for Nakamoto Toshiro then I will, god damn. I have to do everything myself around here.

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

Hands-On: Nanami/Ino/Fem!Reader

wc: 2154 / explicit consent, exhibitionism, blindfolded with his Nanami's tie [ao3]

Nanami’s confident voice came from somewhere behind your head. “Listen carefully. I’ll explain everything first, then you can get some hands-on experience.” You bit your lip, trying your hardest to lie still as your husband lectured his student. He brushed back your hair with one heavy hand. “The face is an obvious place to start.” 

Nanami brushed his lips against your forehead. “A kiss here can be very sweet, and conveys safety and love.” A flush dusts your cheeks. “You can build up to a kiss on the lips. Something like this.” He gently kissed the corners of your mouth, just below your nose, the slope of your chin- everywhere but your mouth. You whimpered and tried to meet him, tilting your head up pleadingly. His laugh was a rumble in his chest. “You see?”

Nanami turned to the young man beside him. “Now it’ll be more satisfying when you give in.” He lovingly kissed your lips, smiling against you. “I presume you understand the importance of consent. Clear, enthusiastic, can be withdrawn at any time…” Ino nodded. “I think you’ll find that asking for consent can be quite an enjoyable part of the process.” 

He leaned down to whisper. “Do we have your consent, my love? Would you like to keep helping me instruct my student?” He held your chin in his hand, squeezing your cheeks into a pout. You nodded dumbly, cheeks burning. Nanami grinned. 

“Such a good girl. I’m sure Ino here appreciates it.”

Ino’s voice cracks a bit as he answers, “Y-yes, very much. Thank you...”

Nanami trailed his fingers down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “There’s so much you can do with a gentle touch, Ino. Pleasure isn’t a race.” His exploring fingers skimmed your collarbone and draped around your neck. “So many places to apply sensation…” he squeezed your throat, just barely, and your mouth fell open in a moan. 

He smirked. “As you can see, my wife is quite responsive.” Ino nodded again, his eyes wide.

Nanami took his hand off your neck and deftly unbuttoned your shirt, pressing kisses to each inch of revealed skin. You squirmed under his attentions, letting out a whimper when he pulled away. “Every bit of build-up is part of the experience. Leave nothing unappreciated.” As he spoke, he smoothly unfastened your bra and slid the straps down your arms.

Nanami and Ino breathed a sigh in tandem as your breasts were revealed, your nipples stiffening quickly with exposure to the air. You fought the urge to cover yourself, keeping your arms pinned to your sides. To your hiss of disappointment, Nanami ignored them entirely and slid his hand down the plane of your stomach. Ino watched, rapt, as you trembled. As if you were nothing more than a doll, Nanami traced your curves and calmly described his actions.

“Here we have an often under-appreciated area, so pay close attention. Though the object of your desires may appear to be here-” a whisper-light brush of your cunt with his calloused knuckles- “there is much to be made of the hips and waist.” He gripped you hard, kneading the soft flesh that pooled on your hips. You bucked into his touch, lifting your back off the table.

“You see?” He chuckled, obliging you with a hard squeeze of your ass. “But they can also be used more creatively.” Seeing Ino’s confused look, he pulled you down closer to him. “Flip over, beautiful.” Nanami hummed approvingly as you obeyed and yanked you down the table by your hips. You groaned as he shoved you against the bulge in his pants.

“Now, this might be a bit advanced for you,” Nanami bent over your prone form and grasped a thick handful of your hair, pulling your head back. “But if you keep one hand here-” he slapped your ass lightly and moved back to your hip, “and the other here-” he gave your hair a firm tug, forcing you to arch against him, “then you are in a very interesting position indeed.”

Ino looked like he might faint, sweating underneath the balaclava bunched on his head. “I-I see.” Nanami smiled at him without relaxing his hold on you, his cock throbbing against your ass.

“But again, this is more advanced. My wife likes when I play rough with her.” One more tug of your hair, hard enough to make you cry out, and he released you. “Back over please, darling.” 

You twisted onto your back again, chest heaving as you looked up at the two men. You felt beyond exposed, but at the same time completely safe in Nanami’s hands. As if reading your mind, he soothed, “You’re doing amazing, my love. Isn’t she Ino?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he breathed.

“Back to basics then, shall we?” Nanami caressed down your thighs and calves. “You should leave no part of your lover’s body unadored,” he said. He lifted your foot and lovingly kissed the arch as he massaged it. “Exploring each other is a beautiful, vulnerable thing. Treating it as such will allow for much…deeper encounters, shall we say.” 

The lecture was all well and good, and under other circumstances you would’ve laughed at the concentration on Ino’s face, but you were desperate for the teasing to end. Your pussy clenched around nothing, slick pooling down your plush thighs as you were used like a prop. “Kento, can we…move on please?”

He laughed, patting your head condescendingly. “It seems our beautiful model is impatient, hmm? Let’s not keep her waiting.” He tilted his head at his student as an idea occurred to him. “Unless you feel you need to spend longer on these concepts?”

“What do you-” Ino began, then froze when he saw what Nanami was getting at. “Oh I, uh- I could use a little more time. To make sure I really get everything.”

Nanami hummed in agreement. “I appreciate your diligence, Ino.” Your eyes went wide, and you pushed yourself up to your elbows to argue.

“Kento, I really don’t think that’s necessary, wouldn’t he rather-”

“Shh, my love. I certainly don’t think you would downplay the importance of foreplay in front of our impressionable student here, would you?” He easily pushed you back down on the table.

Nanami loosened his speckled tie and slid it out from his collar. “Sometimes toys can intensify an experience,” he lectured. “Particularly those involving the senses, or their limitations.” He tied his tie over your eyes in a makeshift blindfold. Your breath hitched as your vision went dark, but you didn’t protest.

“Now every touch will be unexpected and all the more intense.” You felt his fingers trail down across your stomach, stopping just above the patch of coarse hair on your mound. You willed him lower, but gasped as his other hand found your breast at least, rolling your nipple in two rough fingers. Before you could get any relief from the touch he moved on, a soft kiss to your earlobe chased by a sudden smack to your clit with the back of his hand.

“Fuck!” You snapped your legs together a moment too late, hissing at the sting.

“Now how can we see that way, pretty?” Nanami teased as he pushed you back open. “That’s a good girl. Ino, you see her heightened responses?” You heard the younger man shakily agree. Nanami’s laugh rumbled again, and you ached. “Ah, I can tell.”

An embarrassed grunt from Ino, and the rustle of him adjusting his pants. You bit your lip, your cheeks flaming with both embarrassment and arousal. “I can’t blame you, though.” You suddenly felt Nanami’s smile against your inner thigh, and blindly groped down to tangle your trembling fingers in his hair, hoping to keep him there.

“Let’s not torture her any longer, fun as it is.” His tongue met your pussy, licking a long stripe up your slit as you writhed underneath him. He pulled away too soon, tugging his hair from your grip with his teacher voice back on. “Always try to make her finish first, Ino. Properly eating a woman is a crucial skill for a gentleman to have.” He demonstrated with another lap at your cunt, dragging his tongue in and out of your messy folds as you whimpered pitifully.

You felt him hum into you as you clenched your thighs around his head, desperately trying to pin him down as he sucked and tongued at you eagerly, licking up the juices that smeared on his face. He pulled back just long enough to breathe before diving back in, savoring you so sinfullyl. You almost forgot that you had an audience until you heard a ragged breath from Ino, and felt Nanami drag himself away from you with one last sloppy kiss to your cunt. 

“You taste amazing, my love. Forgive me Ino, I was carried away. I trust you were watching carefully?”

“Yes sir, very much so.” You could hear the strain in Ino’s voice, the effort he was making to keep it together in front of his mentor.

“Good, because now it’s your turn.” Nanami pulled off your blindfold in time for you to catch Ino’s awestruck gaze tracing down your body hungrily. “Why don’t you try what you’ve just seen?”

“A-all of it?”

Nanami shrugged. “Whatever you feel ready for. We’ll both give you feedback.” You smiled encouragingly, shivering in anticipation.

Ino tugged his balaclava off, rocking on his feet for a moment before he dropped to his knees in front of you. With a final nervous look at Nanami, he closed his eyes and leaned into your dripping pussy, pressing his lips to yours shyly. You moaned and wiggled your hips to encourage him, and he slowly began to lick up and down your folds, mimicking what he had seen Nanami do. He breathed hard as he ate you, little puffs of warmth that made your walls flutter.

“Kento, he’s so cute,” you giggled, reaching down to tug him closer. Nanami stood behind him with a critical eye, encouraging the younger man with quiet advice.

“That’s it, follow her movements. See how she’s responding to what you do.” Ino hummed at the praise and moved more confidently, lapping deeper into your dripping cunt.

“You look so pretty under him, my love,” whispered Nanami, reaching for your hand. He laced his fingers with yours then drew them together down to Ino’s head, pressing him against you.

Ino’s muffled sigh sent a spark up and into you, your thighs shuddering against his clenched jaw. His earnest face so messy, slick and debauched in your arousal and his own spit. 

“Mmmm, taste s’good Mrs. Nanami,” he mumbled, and you felt the elastic band in your gut draw taut. Beginner’s luck had him latching onto your clit, sucking hard when he felt you stiffen and arch into his mouth. 

“God, don’t fucking stop, hah, that’s a good boy-“ you tried to borrow some of your husband’s authority but couldn’t hide the needy whine in your voice.  

Nanami watched with bright eyes as his student brought you closer to your peak, drinking in the ripples of your flesh and the muss of your hair as you squirmed on the table. 

He moved behind Ino, a firm hand on either side of his head to guide his movements. Nanami steered the younger man like a toy, angling his eager tongue into your greedy hole with practiced ease. 

With nonchalant grace, your husband bent over you, his hips and hands smothering Ino between your legs as he leaned in to kiss you. His lips captured yours passionately, his tongue swiping into your mouth as Ino’s was shoved deeper into your core, forcing sighs and moans from all three of you. 

Nanami’s familiar taste overwhelmed you, the elastic in your gut stretching further and further until you snapped, coming with a cry into Nanami’s mouth and a twitching, aching gush into Ino’s. 

Your head fell back, mouth open and chest heaving as you ground down against Ino’s face, chasing the fading high. Nanami kissed you more softly now, feather-light brushes against your cheeks and lips.

A strangled whimper below you, and Nanami quickly backed up, letting Ino break away to pant for breath. Strings of slick and saliva connected him to your thighs as he gasped, eyes and lips glassy. 

“You okay, baby?” You coo at him, and Ino focuses a wobbly, fucked-out smile at you. 

“More than okay. I’m…I mean you-” he looked up at Nanami like a puppy. 

Nanami clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a quick leaner. Good job, Takuma.”

The sound of his first name seemed to embarrass Ino even more than being nose-deep in the wife of the man who used it. “Thank you sir!”

You smiled as you slid your hand into Nanami’s, stroking Ino’s hair with the other. “I think we should continue these lessons. Same time next week?”