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01zfan · 1 month

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housequake pt. 2 | j. sc

soccer team leader!sungchan x cheerleader!reader | 9k words

part two! i kinda got carried away with leading up to the party...y'all know me i love to type a little too much. also sungchan wears mr. burberry cologne in this.

contains: smoking, partying, and drinking

housequake: part one | part two

after the police crashed shotaro’s party, everyone became paranoid. guest lists were kept small and big blowout parties turned into medium sized gatherings or calm kickbacks.

some people complained about it, how the looming authority of the cops took away the joy of being young. there was the constant fear of being busted, especially from the kids that were caught and given a warning by the cops. your team complained about it too. you found it odd that they complained about the small parties when a majority of it was spent outside, passing around substances. very few times did you actually see your team inside the houses of the party instead of the lawn. you never said this out loud because there was nothing your team hated more than being considered hypocrites. you preferred to tough the weather conditions rather than try to navigate sticky floors and loud music. atleast this way you could actually hear your teammates as they ran through topics of conversation while smoking cigarettes down to the butt.

speaking points of your little huddle changed each week. you had started referring to them as your debriefs of the week. some topics would be on a rotation, ever now and then there would be something so monumental that happened it would be brought up time and time again. when you were freshmen, it was when karina caught her ex red-handed with a former member of the cheerleading team. your huddle combed over every detail of the night, adding in things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things but just gave you more to talk about. each time you thought you were done and then you’d hear an i just think it’s funny how before everyone dove back into the conversation

as of late, you and sungchan became one of the main topics of conversation. it started when you and ryujin successfully escaped from shotaro’s busted house party. you barely had time to look back at sungchan as ryujin pulled you out the room and down the stairs. even though it was inevitable a party of that size in a neighborhood that quiet would get busted, it was still scary. warnings from law enforcement evolved into tickets and in school suspension after a call home. you even heard a case of someone having to get picked up from the station. you saw that some of your classmates had already been made into examples. they sat lined up on the curb like ducks in handcuffs while officers wrote them tickets.

before you could walk out the front door right to the cops, ryujin grabbed your hand and pointed towards shotaro’s backyard. you looked at the cop coming through the front door and locking eyes with you before turning on the ball of your foot, running towards the sliding glass door. kids rushed beside you going in all different directions. you knew it wasn’t nearly as scary to get caught by the cops, but the haste of everyone else made adrenaline pump through your veins.

when ryujin said your only option was jumping the fence you wanted to tell her that your legs were still exhausted from what you were doing in shotaro’s room not even five minutes ago. you didn’t have time as you ran past your slow peers, or narrowly evading the cops that were in shotaro’s backyard trying to grab whoever they could.

ryujin let go of your hand to get over the fence, and you had little time to prep yourself before you leaped over it. you had to thank your career in cheer for helping you clear the fence with ease. you saw a few of your peers get stuck on the fence and that’s how they were caught. you felt like a criminal on the run when you swung your leg over the fence to cut through the yards of shotaros’ neighbors. a few had their lights on, yelling at the small crowd of teenagers as they ran from the police. you recognized a few faces of the people who were able to escape. eyes were focused and everyone ran at full speed trying to hold all their things as they ran from the sound of police sirens. all you could think about were the soles of your poor cheerleading shoes as you ran through garden beds and stone walkways.

you and ryujin kept running long after everyone around you stopped. the two of you didn’t slow down until you found an exit from the yard, emerging onto the street. ryujin grabbed your hand again and pointed at karina’s car. you don’t know how ryujin noticed the car that was parked underneath the streetlamp. the lights were off and you couldn’t see anyone in the car. it was almost ominous, seeing the single light shine down on the matte black vehicle.

you two jogged across the street, the sound of your cheer shoes hitting the road louder than the police sirens down the street. karina and chaeryeong’s seats shot up when ryujin pulled on the backdoor car handle.

by the time you made it to karina’s car your shoes were a mess. the pristine white was replaced with dirt and mud, and it looked like it was going to stain. you and ryujin were huffing in the backseat trying to catch your breath. karina wasted no time turning on her car to leave the area.

you didn’t catch your breath for another five minutes. just as you thought you were calming down, your mind took you back to your encounter with sungchan. you barely had time to comprehend what happened before being pulled away. with each breath you remembered the way sungchan puffed into your ear, or how he was moaning for you when he was close. when you closed your eyes to focus that only made things worse. you swear you could see the way sungchan looked at you seared into the back of your eyelids, or how he leaned his head back when he came on your thighs.

ryujin caught her breath before you did. when ryujin was able to speak again she wasted no time to tell the story of how a guy was able to get you to go upstairs. her side of the story was dramatized and exaggerated, but it made karina and chaeryeong’s eyes go wide nonetheless. you were still breathless as you shook your head to try and squash ryujin’s lies, but it was no use. karina’s interest was piqued as she tried to figure out who the man was.

karina looked at your expression for only a second in the rearview mirror before gasping out loud. karina was so shocked her car swerved on the road slightly and had to be corrected by chaeryeong putting panicked hands on the wheel. you had to remind yourself that karina did nothing but smoke tonight, she was the safest one to drive out of everybody. you could probably ask her how the other girls got home to avoid talking about the elephant in the car, but it was too late when karina whispered his name.

“sungchan?” karina said.

ryujin nodded her head and you stuck your head in your hands, suddenly too embarrassed to even think. you felt karina reach towards the backseat and hit your knee in exclamation.

“i. fucking. knew. it.” karina seethed after each hit

she was entirely too excited, mouth open in surprise as she laughed. karina and ryujin laughed together, waiting for your explanation. you shook your head and ryujin took matters into her own hands. ryujin recounts the story and karina nods her head excitedly, eyes on the road as she gathers in all the new information. chaeryeong corraborates the story, nodding along as ryujin tells karina.

“so i see chaeryeong getting chatted up by that girl on her team that is always hitting on her right? so i go over to her just for a second to bring her back with me because she looks uncomfortable as hell.” ryujin says.

“not true.” chaeryeong says unconvincingly.

you can practically hear ryujin roll her eyes as you look up from your hands. you see ryujin pointing her finger at you as karina steals glances by looking at her rearview mirror.

“before i can bring her back, i see this little player walking up the stairs,” karina gasps again and ryujin nods her head. “i see her walking up the stairs with sungchan. his hand is literally on her ass by the way.” ryujin says

“his hand was on my shoulder.” you say matter-of-factly.

karina looks to the rear view mirror to laugh at you.

“you don’t deny anything else?” karina asks.

her eyebrows are raised and the car fills up with giggles as you say nothing in response.

“i didn’t know you had it in you.” karina says.

“i didn’t know he had it in him.” you correct.

ryujin and karina exchange looks. chaeryeong freezes before turning to look at you in the backseat. you can feel ryujin turning to look at you too. everyone has an extremely confused look on their faces and you subconsciously match their expressions.

“wait. you guys fucked?” ryujin asks.

your eyes are wide as you nod. you thought they knew, but the playful atmosphere in the car changed almost immediately. your three friends are silent as they look to one another. you consider opening up the car door and barrel rolling into the road to get away from the conversation.

“this changes everything.” karina says.

the car is silent again and you see chaeryeong and ryujin nod their heads in agreement. your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you try to understand what karina means.

“how?” you ask. “you and eunseok have fucked.” you turn your head to the side to look at ryujin and chaeryeong. "you two have fucked."

“well that’s different. we’ve been fooling around for awhile.” karina says.

“your dynamic with sungchan is so different too.” chaeryeong says.

you look at chaeryeong in amazement that she has so much to say and she shrugs at you to say sorry. you know she’s not wrong when ryujin and karina nod their heads in agreement.

“it’s gonna be so awkward.” ryujin says.

karina turns on her blinker to go into her neighborhood. you try to come up with a rebuttal or defense but you know it’s the truth.

“i know. it’s gonna be great.” karina says smiling.

ryujin and karina were right. the following monday at school you saw sungchan first, and your mind immediately went to shotaro’s party two days prior. you wondered if he thought about the night as much as you did or if he was as nervous to see you as you were to see him. you debated on walking into an empty classroom to avoid the situation all together, but it was too late. sungchan made direct eye contact with you while anton and eunseok walked next to him. you felt like all their eyes were on you, and you there was a sinking feeling. you imagined yourself becoming the subject of their locker room talk. so when they came closer to you in the hallway your hands tightened around you backpack straps and you looked down, continuing to walk. you completely missed sungchan smiling at you and his awkward little wave and the way he turned his head to look back at you.

anton and eunseok were confused seeing sungchan try to get your attention. they didn’t even think about the time at the party that sungchan was unaccounted for, or how shotaro blew up their groupchat talking about jizz on his towel.

“what was that all about?” eunseok asked.

sungchan shrugged his shoulders and readjusted his backpack.

“i thought she saw me.” sungchan said simply.

they didn’t ask him to explain further. eunseok and anton just continued to talk about the next soccer game and how they were going against their rivals. sungchan was barely present for the conversation, nodding his head to seem engaged.

it went on like this for the whole day, sungchan thinking about how you passed him by in the hallway without saying a single word. he thought about you and him in shotaro’s room, how embarrassed he was after the fact. sungchan started to think you were embarrassed of the situation too. his face started to feel hot and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking you weren’t satisfied with his performance. you could’ve easily lied to make sungchan feel better. he couldn’t stop himself from putting his head in his hands at the thought of him not being able to please you. sungchan had the habit of losing himself when chasing his pleasure, he was afraid it was to the point that you didn’t have any fun.

when you sat at your table for lunch all their eyes were on you. you looked to ryujin and karina, they avoided your eye contact, picking at food on their plate. you tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, eating your food while the rest of the table stared at you. you took a bite, feeling all of their eyes burn holes into your skin. you look up from your plate innocently, eyes darting to all your teammates.

“what?” you ask.

everyone at the table groans at your benevolence.

“don’t even.” yunjin says.

“details. now.” ningning says.

you look at karina and ryujin. they shrug and immediately get defensive.

“you didn’t say we couldn’t say anything!” ryujin says.

you can’t bring yourself to talk about the situation in detail. your team settles for hearing your awkward encounter with sungchan this morning, how you two made eye contact and didn’t interact. your team becomes your active audience, cringing and giving sound effects to your story. some of them even turn to look at sungchan sitting at a table with his friends. he barely eats his food, pushing around his fruit with a fork.

“he’s looked like a lost puppy all day by the way.” chaeryeong says.

“i mean look at the poor guy.” yunjin says.

she hides a smile and you look over yunjin’s shoulder to look at sungchan. you can’t lie and say he doesn’t look downcast at his seat. he has always been the worst at hiding his emotions, you have seen frustration take over multiple times during the season. he’d visibly roll his eyes at the referee when a bad call was made, and you have seen him get defensive when his teammate was pushed down. but that fiery spirit you saw on the field was nothing like the man sitting at the table, stealing glances at you ever so often.

when sungchan looked up at the same time you did you both made eye contact. so lost in eachother’s own minds made both of your eyes go wide, embarrassed for some reason to show you were thinking about the other. you held eye contact for a beat too long, eyes darting to your food a little too quickly. your friends laid witness to the whole thing, most of them cringing.

the monday after the party and the party itself gave your team alot to talk about. so now each party they would subtly try to bring up sungchan, trying to see if there were any updates. it bothered them to no end that you would just smile and look down shyly before shaking your head. you were awful at keeping secrets so you simply chose to stay silent. they could see the heat in your cheeks and the way you bashfully shrugged your shoulders, but they didn’t ask you anymore questions.

they didn’t know that by the time the next party came around, you were seeing sungchan consistently. you saw him again nearly colliding with him in the library. it was an accident on your part but negligence on whoever it was that ran into you. you turned around, ready to give whoever it was the meanest look you could muster. but when you realized it was sungchan, the expression on your face changed to pure shock.

he was no better, getting ready to apologize profusely before his eyes went wide.

neither of you could figure out what to say. you didn’t know it would be so awful to hookup with people at parties and never speak to them again. as you stared at sungchan you were at a loss for words—you had to shake your head several times when you felt your eyes wondering. you tried to push past him quickly to give your groupchat another thing to cringe over. but before you could get away, sungchan called out to you. he reached out his hand as well, but he pulled it back to rest by his leg.

“can we talk?” sungchan asked

that talk led to both of you quietly confessing that you would like to continue seeing eachother. you both kept it a secret from your teams in an effort to keep the mess contained. so many instances of your two teams fooling around made you want to keep everything personal until you decided where the relationship was going to go.

after the first date you were inseparable. after the second date sungchan asked to be your boyfriend. after the third date sungchan started dropping hints that he wanted to tell the world you were his girlfriend. he started walking you to all of your classes even if they were on the other side of the campus and holding all of your things even if his hands were full. sungchan started dropping his things off in class a little earlier, just so he could lighten the load you had to carry. you adopted your own ways of doting on sungchan. your doting came in the form of notes in his locker on game days wishing him luck and grabbing his hand when you both were alone. it was simple signs of affection, but no matter what sungchan shyly put his hand down and started smiling uncontrollably.

by the time the next weekend party rolled around you were heavily involved with sungchan. you both found it humorous to sneak around behind your teammates backs, although you weren’t really trying to keep it a secret. you just liked playing dumb when your team would bring up you and sungchan.

when you sat outside of sungchan’s house with your huddle while they passed around their substances you couldn’t stop smiling. something about parties now were even more enjoyable than they were before. even when your group got mad at the fact that they had to move to the backyard to smoke you remained happy, quickly looking through each room for your man. he was constantly going to each room of his house making sure everything remained in tact.

sungchan knew he was a little bit too high strung to throw big gatherings like shotaro did. after his friend got busted the unspoken responsibility to throw house parties landed on sungchan’s shoulders. he hated the idea of strangers being in his parents house so he settled for a smaller guest list and a designated schedule for when the party was over. he also made his team agree to help clean any messes that were left when the party was over. sungchan was trying his best to not get the police called on him, so he was constantly monitoring the volume of people and the music. sungchan felt an unbelievable amount of stress pacing around his home. it was freezing outside but he sweat from the anxiety, and he couldn’t stop himself from putting people’s drinks on coasters. he decided he was never going to host anything like this ever again.

the only source of relief sungchan had from the night was seeing you. it was in quick snatches and in between moments of sungchan catching someone doing something they weren’t supposed to. at first your interactions were rushed. sungchan would only be able to grip your shoulders quickly before stopping someone from running into a framed picture hanging on the wall. he kissed your forehead quickly during another part in the night before stopping someone from going into his room. it wasn’t until the party was winding down that sungchan was actually able to flirt with you the way he wanted to.

it was ironic, the harder he tried to seem cool the more awkward he felt. when sungchan put his hands into his pockets to lean over you, he felt like an idiot. the only thing that kept sungchan going was the way you looked up at him, and nodded your head slowly anytime he asked you if you knew how pretty you were. right as sungchan would be getting into the feeling of it all, he would see another one of his guests about to do something that would get sungchan reprimanded by parents. he kissed your cheek before running off, giving you his saddest look.

you didn’t care if sungchan didn’t spend all night with you. you were having fun outside with your friends hearing them talk about whatever came to their minds outside. it seemed like this time was the only relief you got from your hectic school schedules and grueling practices.

just as your huddle started talking about you and sungchan, you saw him come into the backyard. he had a bottle of beer in his hand that was just for show as he nervously approached your group of girls.

“the party is about to end,” sungchan rubbed the back of his neck as your team looked at him unamused. they continued to smoke as sungchan got even more nervous. you smiled at the situation, kicking a rock around as sungchan tried to get in everyone’s good graces. “my parents are gonna be home in the morning.” sungchan said.

your team didn’t react besides karina who nodded to him. sungchan looked at you and smiled, bringing his hand that was awkwardly behind his back to wave at you. it was awkward and he did it for no reason, bringing the attention of your teammates to your interaction. you could feel their eyes drift from sungchan’s hand to yours as you smiled and waved back. sungchan stayed there for a moment with his eyes only on you before he remembered the presence of your teammates. he walked away after looking around your huddle, and slightly tripped while heading back to the door. you failed to hide your smile as your team teased you for the awkward interaction.

you spent the remainder of the party outside with your team, staring at the sliding glass door of sungchan’s house. the door in the kitchen led you right outside, where the main group of people resided. you saw more and more people clear the space as time passed. occasionally you would get a glance of sungchan instructing his team on where to clean up. sungchan would also sneak peaks outside where your team remained unmoving.

“looks like the party is over.” you say casually.

your attempt at sounding casual failed. the moment you finished your sentence your huddle turned towards you with wicked smiled on their faces.

“trying to be alone with sungchan?” karina asked.

“that’s why she’s trying to end the party early.” yunjin laughed.

instantly you shook your head and raised your hands in defense.

“i don’t know what you guys are talking about.” you say.

it was no use. you were teased the whole time while your group left through the gate in sungchan’s backyard. they only got louder when you said you were staying behind to help clean.

“you’ve never helped clean up after a party in your life.” ryujin said.

your whole team was laughing while you tried to make up an excuse. you didn’t hear the end of it until the door closed to karina’s car. even in the team groupchat they were talking about you. the moment karina’s car backed out of the driveway your phone’s ringer was going off. you were getting sent texts talking about the importance of safe sex and to report back about how good sungchan was at actual sex when you were done.

you were defending yourself over text while walking back into sungchan’s house through the back door. the same kitchen table that was covered in spilled drinks and bottles of hard liquor was completely clean. the whole house seemed to be clean now with the help of the soccer team. they had stayed behind too, walking through sungchan’s place with bags and cleaning gloves on checking for spills or leftover trash.

you leaned against the table in sungchan’s kitchen waiting to see him again. his teammates passed by you, getting ready to tell you it was time to go home before realizing who you were. when they saw your face, they would nod politely before walking off to continue cleaning. you tried not to think too much of it, maybe they thought you were waiting for your teammates that were long gone.

sungchan was checking each room of his home trying not to seem frantic. he started at the very top, peaking into the empty room of his parents and then walking down the hallway to check his. when he saw that all of the upstairs was empty, he was happy that there were no stragglers. but when sungchan checked the downstairs living room and the guest room he felt himself begin to panic. he started to think that it was only him, his teammates, and leftover partygoers in his big house. sungchan started swinging open doors without knocking, only muttering a sorry to his teammate in the bathroom before continuing to check the rooms. sungchan almost ran past you to look outside before stopping in his tracks.

you looked up from your phone to see sungchan in the entryway of his dining room. you were still leaning on the table looking up to your boyfriend from something unimportant on your device. you took in sungchan’s frazzled appearance and the way he was slightly out of breath from running around his house. he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the strands from his face. he cleared the singular step that took him down into the kitchen with ease and walked towards you.

“you had fun?” sungchan asks.

sungchan’s perfume gets to you before his hand does. when he leans forward you smell the cleanliness of sandalwood and a hint of spearmint before the warmth and comfort of nutmeg and cardamom fills your nose. the woody cleanliness of sungchan makes you the drunkest you’ve ever been, it almost makes you fall off the counter you lean on. you’re drawn closer to him, and feel him everywhere before he even touches you.

sungchan brings a gentle hand rests on top of yours as he leans his body closer to you. he’s is at an awkward angle, almost like he is trying to stop himself from invading too much of your personal space. you look down at the shirt he managed to keep clean all night. the baby blue polo for your school uniform it’s too formal for a house party, but the collar looks perfect to grab. you have to fight to stop yourself from closing the space between the two of you. your mind drifts to the image of how the fabric would look wrinkled between your clutched fingers.

sungchan’s hand that doesn’t rest on top of yours goes underneath your chin to push your gaze upwards. you let your eyes connect with him, and your hands have to grip tighter to the edge of the counter. if anyone else was in the room they no longer mattered—only you and sungchan existed in the space of his kitchen.

“it was alot of fun.” you said.

“it wasn’t as big as taro’s parties.” sungchan said.

you shrugged your shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant. you felt like you were going to snap off the edge of sungchan’s counter with the force of your grip.

“i like smaller parties. they’re calmer.” you say.

sungchan nods in agreement. you see hie body pause for a second before he lets his hand rest on the edge of the counter next to yours. you quickly try to loosen your grip, but you see sungchan hold the edge until his knuckles turn white. it becomes harder to remain calm as sungchan’s eyes get softer. he still refuses to come closer into your space. it's almost torture having him close enough to smell but too far to touch casually.

“i barely got to see you.” you continue.

sungchan nods again. he surprises you by coming in a little closer, his hand underneath your chin brings you to him. you use your hands on the counter to move your body towards his.

when someone clears their throat in the kitchen you both jolt. sungchan’s hand immediately drops from your face and you turn your head away from whoever made the noise. you look outside the window of sungchan's kitchen, looking at the empty yard where you oncee stood. sungchan lets go of the counter to stand upright. he clears his throat too, and you can hear him scratching his head.

“we need help finding more bags.” you heard a voice awkwardly say.

“i showed you where already.” sungchan said.

“i forgot.” he says simply.

you let a tiny laugh escape you and sungchan shakes his head. when the person turns to leave the kitchen you look and see that it’s sohee. he sat next to you in your home economics class last year. now you would have to avoid him for the next couple days. sohee turned around for a moment and you could almost feel sungchan next to you trying to inconspicuously shoo him away. sohee looked lost for just a moment, looking around where to go before walking out of sight.

sungchan’s hands that were in the air suddenly moved to his hair to adjust the strands. he looked at you again before swallowing his nerves.

“go upstairs and wait for me?” sungchan asked.

he left the question in the air to let you decide what you wanted to do. his teeth were showing by the time he was done talking, an awkward smiling playing on his lips. you remain straight faced, the only expression showing in your eyes.

“is it going to be just us?” you ask.

you looked past sungchan to his mostly vacant home. the only evidence of a party that remained were the stragglers and the sparse messes on the floors. you saw crumpled red solo cups and occasionally your foot would step in something sticky. your team is long gone. they seemed to have disappeared after you told ryujin your plans, and you’re sure ryujin told everyone else.

sungchan plays with the short sleeve of your shirt, thumbing the hem so he can touch your bare arm. his hand travels up from the fabric until he reaches your face. he used his thumb to stroke the apples of your cheeks. his eyes focus on the way your skin moves underneath the light pressure of his thumb when he speaks.

“just us. i’ll put people on the street if i have to.” sungchan says.

you laugh and put your hand on his, moving it away from your face. his eyes snap back to yours, looking to see if you had changed your mind. you try to seem facetious, like you have something in store for him when you get him alone.

“your room is on the right up the stairs?” you ask innocently.

you start heading the correct way when sungchan nods quickly. he stays there for a moment, just to make sure you’re heading towards the stairs. he peaks over his shoulder to see the person that he almost got out the house settled back on his couch. sungchan starts backing towards the person on his couch as you walk towards the stairs. you turn your back but you can hear sungchan call out to you from the living room.

“i’ll be up there soon.” he says excitedly.

when you get to the base of sungchan’s stairs, the way up is daunting. you believe going up shotaro’s stairs were easier, even if his stairs were bare and had to carpet to help traction your feet. shotaro’s stairs had people shoulder to shoulder, not giving you the chance to be alone even if you wanted to. but up sungchan’s stairs—thirteen to be exact—was his empty room waiting for you. you tried to not trip on the even steps, and tried to seem as relaxed as possible incase sungchan had turned around to check that you went into the correct room. your posture is straightened as you try to make yourself seem calm and collected, and your hand grips the railing with a white knuckle.

you somehow make it up, and immediately make a beeline for sungchan’s room. you waste no time closing the door behind you, trying to give yourself as much time as possible to relax. you pace around sungchan’s room in the same timid path to try not and disrupt anything. you look at his desk and his chair that has his backpack hanging on the back. you turn on his lamp and look at the papers he has laid out.

when you feel like you have looked for too long, you walk to his dresser to read the trophies and medals that rest on top. they’re dusty, some of them newer than others but they all say the same thing. when you get tired of that you move to sungchan’s black bedside table. you debate on opening the tiny drawer, just to take a peak at what’s inside. when the temptation becomes to strong, you walk around the foot of sungchan’s bed to go to the other side. you study the photos and posters on his wall, slowly making your way across his room. at the very end, the closest spot to his bed you see the black and white photobooth pictures you took on your second date. you smile looking at the four photos on top of eachother. only in the first and last one does sungchan actually look at the camera; the two in the middle he spent locked on the expressions you made for the memories. you still remember having to manually move his head to take the last photo.

you were leaning in close to the photos when you heard the door open. your mind was preoccupied by snooping around sungchan’s room that you almost forgot why you were in here. the fleeting idea of stripping down to your undergarments and waiting on his bed for him posed all provocatively crossed your mind. the idea left your mind almost as soon as you realized you couldn’t look at sungchan’s bed without your stomach doing flips. it was too late anyway sungchan was in the room with you and you turned from the photos on his wall like you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

sungchan enters his room hesitating. he stands in the open doorframe, to let the light from his hallway spill in. he debates with himself quietly, before using his back to gently close the door. when it’s just the two of you in the room the atmosphere changes. you watch sungchan’s every move as he comes further into the bedroom. he messes with something on his desk before coming around the foot of his bed to get closer to you. this is different from the anonymity of being in shotaro’s room. you are looking at the memories and snapshots of sungchan’s life while the possibilities of how your night is going to go hangs in the air.

sungchan sits on the edge of the bed and gently taps the space beside him. the invitation is timid, almost as timid as your shy steps towards him. the springs of his mattress give underneath your weight, and the dip caused by sungchan's body causes you to get slide closer to him. you can feel sungchan prop a hand behind your body as he leans back slightly. you let yourself lean on his arm, and sungchan flexes to give your body something more stable. he points to the photo booth pictures that are tacked to his wall with the hand that isn’t behind you.

“those are my favorite photos of us.” he says.

you hum in agreement, and let your body lean further into sungchan’s.

“that was a good day.” you say.

for a moment, you and sungchan stay like that, sitting on the edge of his bed while looking at the photos. the silence is comfortable, both of you leaning further and further into one another. you can feel the tension in the room go up as sungchan moves the hand behind you to wrap around your waist. it's slow, first picking at the belt loop of your jeans before going underneath the bottom of your shirt. his hand is warm against your waist, and you scoot closer to him. you can't get any closer without going to sungchan's lap, you only move to show him his touches are invited. you continue to breathe in sungchan, trying to calm your heart by looking at the photos on his wall.

“is everyone gone?” you ask.

“eunseok just left to drop off anton,” sungchan moves his hand to rest on your thigh that’s closest to him. “it’s just us.” sungchan says.

you finally get the courage to turn your head. you look at sungchan, your own face reflected in his eyes as he gets closer and closer to you.

both you and sungchan close your eyes at the same time before the kiss. it’s slow only a gentle peck to figure out what the other wants. too deliberate and overthought on both ends, completely different from the first time. you almost pull back as doubt creeps in but sungchan pushes forward to keep your lips connected. he’s quick, and his lips linger longer. you relax into sungchan as he sets the rhythm.

once you find a steady pace you both become more and more desperate. your hands touch various places on sungchan’s arm to find a good grip and sungchan’s hand goes underneath your chin to slightly push your head up. his other hand that wraps around your waist pulls at your sides underneath your shirt.

sungchan’s kisses falter, an offering for you to take the lead. you do it without hesitation—one hand reaches behind his back to the nape of his neck and the other clutches his shoulder. you tilt your head and sungchan mirrors your movement, giving you all the access you need. you both become starved, needing more and more with each kiss. the obvious doesn’t have to be said as you two dive into one another. both of your hands move to sungchan’s face to pull him in closer. he responds by getting off the bed and gets in front of you. your lips never separate as sungchan lets you suck on his face.

he’s a good teammate on and off the field, letting you kiss him until you tucker yourself out. when you pull away to catch your breath sungchan goes to your neck, bending even closer to lightly suck and nip at your skin. you clutch the sides of his polo shirt in your hands at the sensation. his plush lips tickle your neck, and the way his large hand tilts your head to the side makes you sigh contently.

you let your body fall back on the bed and sungchan kisses your neck all the way down. you can feel the electricity and sungchan can feel it too. you're already squirming, strong hands on his shoulder keeps sungchan in place. his dick presses against his pants, and he exerts all of his self control to hold himself back. you look so good underneath his body, and he breaks his no outside clothes on the bed rule to prop one of his knees beside your thighs. your hands continue to mess with his shirt, pushing it up to reveal his toned body. you arch off the bed, needing to feel his body against yours.

sungchan is suddenly upright, using quick hands to unbutton his polo. it’s over his head while you come from your daze. you start working on your own shirt, your fidgety hands fail you. sungchan is there to help you the rest of the way even though his hands shake the same.

when you are in your bra he kisses you back down onto the bed. his lips are on yours when you feel for the button on his jeans, clumsily undoing them as you try to keep up with his kisses.

“so pretty.” sungchan says breathlessly.

he started working at getting your pants off. having to lift your hips in the air is awkward, but it helps you push yourself further onto the bed. only your feet are over the edge when you’re left in your under garments. sungchan takes off his pants beside the bed. he adjusts the light setting on his lamp, changing it to a dim setting that still allows him to be visible.

”is having the light on okay?” sungchan looks to you quickly. “i want to see you.”

you shift slightly on the bed as you nod. sungchan’s eyes wander all over your body, staying on the parts of you he couldn’t see in the darkness of shotaro’s room.

he comes back to your slowly on the bed, his knees going to either side of you. he looms over you, bringing your face in for another kiss. this time it’s sungchan sucking on your lips, trailing down until he’s kissing your collarbones.

“can i touch you?” he asks.

his voice is raspy and low. you can feel the thrill shoot up your spine and the heat in the pit of your stomach intensifies.

“please.” you say.

sungchan wastes no time gripping your chest. he moves down your body slightly to place kisses on the exposed skin and to look at your expressions. he presses the pads of his fingers into your pillowy skin, fixated on the way it spills between his fingers. when his lips graze your sensitive areola you lift your leg that's between his. you can feel his hard dick press into your leg and sungchan sighs. when he purposely presses his dick against your thigh you can feel all of him, heavy and hard underneath his briefs. you sigh contently, and quietly moan when his kisses get wetter. sungchan doesn’t try to take off your bra, instead he pushes it down until your chest is completely exposed.

when he looks up to you again you nod, and your hand goes to his hair. you pet his head and arch your back into sungchan’s mouth and he doesn't hesitate to take you into his mouth. you can’t maintain eye contact when he looks up at you with glossy eyes, almost like he's waiting for approval. you lean your head back into the mattress, hoping that the way you pet his head tells him how good you feel.

sungchan starts moving your body until your head is resting on his pillows. when he’s not sucking on one breast he rolls your nipples between his fingers. you whimper when he pinches a little harder, and you can feel his smile against your wet skin.

sungchan drags his tongue across your chest until he latches on your other nipple. the cold air in sungchan’s room leaves the sensitive bud hardening, and the stimulation leaves you a squirming mess. you are only temporarily sated when sungchan’s fingers push underneath the waistband of your panties.

“so wet.” sungchan says quietly.

you only whine in response, and your legs close around sungchan’s hand. he smiles when he sees your swollen lip caught between your teeth and your hand fisting the sheets on his bed. your legs give sungchan’s hand no resistance when he separates them at the knee. he swipes his finger down your folds while he looks up at you.

“can you?” you ask.

sungchan nods before sliding a finger in. your body trembles. when he puts in two fingers you grab him and pull him close, pressing his face the soft skin of your stomach.

“i can barely fit two fingers” sungchan says.

he’s amazed when you start lifting your hips slightly. sungchan looks up to you and purposely locks his hand in place to see what you will do. when your stomach starts tightening so you can fuck yourself on his fingers, sungchan's eyes go wide. when you hiss each time his fingers go all the way inside of you, his dick twitches in his briefs. when you have to shake your head after sungchan tries to scissor his fingers, he has to focus on something else in his room.

“you’re perfect.” sungchan says out of breath.

he keeps his fingers in place, looking down at you as you slowly bring your hips up. your knees come together, and your grip on his sheets turns your knuckles white. when you start shaking sungchan has to pull his fingers out. he kisses away your whines when you start reaching for the waistband of his briefs.

sungchan looks down at your hand on his waistband and considers something for a moment.

“i could barely fit two fingers.” sungchan says.

“we can try,” you begin to pout and reach for your own waistband. “please?” you ask.

sungchan folds immediately, getting off his bed to look in his bedside drawer. you take the time to strip yourself, unclasping your bra and taking off your panties. sungchan looks around his drawer faster before finding what he’s looking for.

“i have these this time.” sungchan smiles.

you look and see the line of foil packets in sungchan’s hand. there’s atleast five, none of them have been separated yet. your eyes go wide and sungchan’s eyes go wide too. his cheeks become rosy as he holds out his hands defensively.

“i don’t plan on using all of them or anything. just extra just in case.” he says.

sungchan’s words come out rushed and you can’t help but smile. you slowly come to the edge of the bed yourself, letting your legs fall over the edge as sungchan slots himself between them. you snap at his waistband and look up to him. he ineptly detaches a single condom from the foil line, tearing it open quickly. you get back onto the bed as sungchan pushes down his underwear. you only let yourself look for a second to watch him slide the condom on his length. you look away and settle yourself in between the pillows, trying to find a comfortable position as sungchan clambers onto his bed.

you lay down as sungchan hovers above you, propped on an elbow as he looks down between the two of you. the anticipation is almost blinding as he looks to you for reassurance.

your eyes are closed underneath sungchan, and he kisses your lids to get you to look at him. you look to him for comfort, and his hand touching your face soothes you.

“tell me if it’s too much.” sungchan says.

you nod and crane your neck to kiss his lips. he kisses you back, and continues to kiss you as he lets his tip prod at your entrance. sungchan keeps his kisses constant, pressing lips to your open mouth. sungchan lips move all along your face as he goes further and further. when your walls clamp around him he can’t go any further without resistance. your sounds had graduated from whispers to moans when sungchan has to stop.

“you’re so tight.” he hisses.

“it’s alot.” you whimper.

sungchan stills inside of you and you bring your legs up to bend at the knee. spreading helps open your hips more, but an almost pained expression flashes against sungchan's face.

“should i pull out?” sungchan voice shakes.

“no,” you shake your head a little too quickly. “just go slow.” you say.

sungchan nods and kisses your forehead. he goes at an even slower pace. so slow that you can feel him everywhere—by the time sungchan’s hips kiss yours you’re consuming all of him. the way his hair shakes in the space between the two of you, his hand gripping your hip and his lips on your cheek. he pulls away only to go to the crook of your neck.

“you’re soooo tight.” sungchan rasps into your ear.

the way sungchan emphasizes almost makes you apologize. when you spread further to try and give him space he winces and holds your hips tighter.

"fuck. oh my god."

sungchan’s voice is almost whining in the skin of your neck. you let your hands go to his back, trying to find a comfortable position. you press on his back, and sungchan looks up from your neck to kiss your jaw.

“can i move?” sungchan asks tensely.

you tell him yes, and when he pulls out to slide in just as slow you move your hips up to meet him the rest of the way. sungchan sighs and you do too. you don’t know how you didn’t ask him to fuck you then and there in shotaro’s room all that time ago.

“it's like a perfect fit.” sungchan looks at you when he slides in a little faster.

“please don’t stop.” you whine.

“i don’t wanna,” you accidentally squeeze around sungchan’s length. “oh my god.” he says.

when sungchan kisses your lips again, you flex your abs to purposely clamp your walls around sungchan’s dick. you fail a few times, but when sungchan’s kisses falter you know you’re doing it right. you look to sungchan’s eyes and he looks down at you. his eyes are wide and blown out. he turns his head slightly when you keep squeezing around him, and you lift your hips to increase his pace.

“too much.” sungchan whines.

sungchan usually wasn't the one too back down from a challenge. that's why he was the leader of his team and why he was so good at his sport. when faced with a challenge he was able to find a way around it. he thought that breathing and focusing on anything else would keep him there with you. as he continud to slide in and out, he focused on his breathing, the way your face was contorting in pleasure trying to take all of him. the excitement that hung heavy off of him was bearable until the look in your eyes changed and sungchan felt your walls clamp his dick. almost too fast his hips stuttered and yours picked up their pace. his grip on your waist was useless as it loosened and he was pulled in close by you. the thrill he kept at bay shot up his spine and rang in his head.

sungchan moaned into your mouth when he came undone. it was desperate and quick, arguably even ruined as he started rutting into helplessly. his moans turned into whines while he released into the condom. feeling his climax brought you closer to your own peak, but you could feel yourself coming down when his sweaty body slumped on top of yours.

only a moment passes before his head shoots up from your chest, looking you in the eye. they’re no longer glazed with concern, only wide and blown out as he maintains eye contact.

sungchan said nothing when he stood up on his knees. your body can’t be cooled by the sweat when you feel his hands press to the back of your thighs. you moan at his strength, how he’s bending you in a new way. this sungchan is nothing like the whimpering mess that was panting against the skin of your neck before. this wasn't the sungchan that came on your cheer skirt almost untouched. this is the sungchan that has your knees pressed to your chest and watches his dick glide in and out of your pussy.

“feels good?” he asked, looking up to you.

“faster.” you whined.

”you got it” sungchan smiled.

sungchan went harder and faster, fucking you into his mattress. later down the line, once you got used to him, sungchan will coo at you teasingly as your responses came out jumbled messes. he would have to prove to you how possessive he really was, how the thought of anyone else seeing you like this made his skin crawl. without saying anything, sungchan could see you understood. he could tell by the way you looked at the shaking medals that hung above his bed while his headboard make contact with the wall. he could see your frantic hand trying to find something to steady yourself, first grabbing at the sheets before digging your nails into his arm. sungchan moaned, only using the pain as motivation to fuck you faster.

you could feel his strength behind each thrust and the hold on your thighs. the sound of skin slapping against skin drowned out your moans. sungchan heard you perfectly when you moaned about being close. looked away from your face to look where your hips met. he used only one hand to keep your thighs in place and used the other to whirl his finger on your clit. your other hand rested on top sungchan’s hand that kept your thighs in place. sungchan looked to your face again and clasped his hand over yours. both of you worked together to keep your thighs in place while sungchan kept his pace.

“cum for me baby.” sungchan said.

the way sungchan spoke to you had you coming undone. he was tender but set on his mission. he gave you all you needed to seize around his dick and cry out. by habit you let your moans be muffled by your arm. sungchan’s hand was quick in letting go of your thighs, forcing you to hold them in place while his hand moved your face to his. he swallowed your moans and cries while continuing to fuck you, only stopping when they fizzed off into weak whimpers.

the two of your stayed in that position, sungchan’s body pushed against your thighs, and you suddenly started noticing the position wasn’t comfortable. you let your suddenly tired legs down, and they slid on the covers until laid flat. sungchan’s exertion seemed to catch up to him too. he was huffing to catch his breath mirroring your hiss when he slid out to continue laying on top of you. when sungchan’s body became too heavy on top of you, you gently pressed at his shoulder. sungchan’s body stiffened and he looked up to you.

“i’m sorry.” he apologized quickly while rolling off your body.

you two laid on his bed in silence while trying to catch your breath. you could feel sungchan occasionally turning towards you.

“was that too much?” sungchan asked.

when you turned towards him sungchan looked worried. if you had any strength left in your body you would’ve laid on top of him and press lazy kisses to his face to thank him. but you had to regain your energy to ask for another round.

“that was perfect.” you say honestly.

sungchan’s worried expression is replaced with a smile. he already is back to normal, pinching your cheek before leaning over and kissing your forehead.

“you should go to the bathroom,” sungchan pulls away from your forehead. “always pee after sex.”

he gets off his bed to tie the condom off, stretching his back until it pops and comes to your side. you are barely able to prop yourself up on your elbows as sungchan goes into his dresser. he pulls out boxers for you and a large shirt, setting it beside you.

you nod and sigh in pain as you bring your legs over the edge of the bed. you playfully hit sungchan’s leg when you see him puff out his chest in pride.

“are you gonna tell your friends how i get down?” sungchan teases.

“shut up before i make you carry me.” you say.

#01zfan: sungchan #seriez: housequake #sungchan smut #riize smut

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bloatedandalone04 · 6 months

Text

Illicit Affairs

➪the one where leon is yours entirely, even though he is married to someone else.

Warnings: cheating, affairs, swearing, unprotected sex, fluffy sex, mentions of cheating, angst, smut, toxic relationships, small amount of ada slander since that is actually a warning i found out, mentions of divorce and all that fun stuff

Word Count: 3.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Left the door unlocked, just in case. I hope you had a good day.

That was the text Leon is met with as he enters the house he shared with his wife. His thumbs ghosted over the screen, his mind trying to come up with a good enough answer that wouldn’t leave you feeling cheap. There was nothing he could say through text, he decided, and he ended up pocketing his phone and heading towards his bedroom.

Ada was sitting against the headboard, picking at her freshly painted red nails with a dangerous glint in her eyes. Her engagement and wedding rings reflected off the bedside table lamp, and Leon wished he cared enough to remember where he had placed his own wedding band after taking it off many weeks ago, but it held no meaning to him. “Late again, Leon,” she muttered, glaring at him as he entered the room. “What was it this time?”

Leon huffed as he walked towards the dresser. “Work,” he answered and he was being completely truthful, not that she’d ever believe him - which is quite hypocritical, if he had to be honest. He was well aware of the many times she came home late, and the many more times she never came home at all. She was just as bad as him, maybe even worse. “Like last time.”

Ada scoffed, tossing the sheets over her body and crossing her arms. “Liar,”

She was trying to get under his skin, something she has always been able to do, even back when he was twenty one years old. Now at the age of twenty eight, he had no idea why he still continues to put himself through this.

He was so sure that what he felt for the woman was love, but after four years with her, he quickly found out that it was lust. He met her when he was just starting out and had no idea what love even was, but he knew that it wasn’t what he felt for her.

At first he was infatuated with her. It was a cat and mouse game that left him feeling like he could never truly and fully have her, and that was still true to this day.

He married her, and yet she still wasn’t his.

The guys she met at the bar. The men she ran into on missions. The rookies who had information she wanted, but didn’t need. She was all of theirs, as well as Leon’s, but never in full.

Leon kept his back to her as he rolled his eyes and rummaged around in his drawer. “Whatever, Ada,” he muttered, grabbing his grey sweats before opening another drawer.

“Don’t whatever me, Leon,” she seethed. “Don’t act like you haven’t been sneaking around on me. We both know you have. Some poor, naive girl who thinks you’re actually into her but probably doesn’t even know you’re married to me.”

Leon hated the way she was talking about you, and she was once again getting under his skin. He slams the drawer shut loudly after grabbing a black tee, turning towards his wife with a fire in his eyes. “You’re one to talk,” he growls. “You’ve been sleeping around since before we even got married. You haven’t changed, and I was dumb enough to believe you would.”

Ada’s eyes widened a bit but she tried to hide it by sitting up a little straighter.

He caught her, though. And they both knew it. “Yeah,” he laughs, the sound lacking any humor. “Haven’t been as discreet about it as you thought, huh?”

Leon turns to leave the room, but she wasn’t done playing with him, clearly. “Oh, come on, Leon,” she called out, dropping her attitude and making her voice sound sultry. “We both know how good we are together. Just come to bed with me. We can forget all about this.”

She pushes the sheets off her body and crawls over to him, kneeling on the bed and running her hand up his arm. “Ada-”

“Shh,” she purrs, reaching her hands up and capturing his lips in a messy kiss. He doesn’t move at all, even though he wants to pull away, he also wants to prove a point. The fact that this was the first kiss they’ve shared in months should be a clear enough sign that this was completely over. She smirks when she pulls away, licking at her slightly wet lips. “See? You feel that?”

Leon didn’t know what he was supposed to be feeling, but he knew that she was trying to coax him into bed with her so he can fuck her and then pretend like their relationship was a normal and healthy one.

When her hand wanders down his body and is about to touch him through his jeans, his own shoots out and his fingers wrap around her wrist, successfully halting her advances. “I don’t feel a thing,” he says, his voice so serious it had her eyes narrowing as she ripped her hand away from him.

She sat back in disgust, crossing her arms again. “You can’t leave, Leon,” she states, unaware of just how far gone he is from her control over him. He’s detached from her completely and felt nothing for her but resentment. And maybe a little anger at the years he’s wasted chasing after her when she didn’t want him at all.

“I want a divorce, Ada,” he says, voice monotone as he turns away and leaves the room.

She yells harsh words after him but makes no move to stop him, further proving the point that she didn’t care. And neither did he.

Leon hates how much time he’s wasted with her when he could’ve been with you. You could’ve been his, officially, had he not been so afraid to let go of something he’s spent so much of his adulthood holding onto.

He grabs his keys from off the counter, where he had tossed them not even ten minutes ago when he arrived home, and leaves the house, his mind on you as he hastily types out a reply to you and starts his car.

I’m sorry.

You read the text over and over again as you lie on your side in bed.

What was he apologizing for? For stringing you along? For promising he’s going to leave his wife but never does? For not showing up tonight?

The night was still young, so he might still show up, but the fact still stands.

You felt terrible.

Leon’s marriage was an unhappy one, and you knew he found happiness with you, but he hadn’t made it official yet, nor had he broken things off with Ada yet. Was it all a lie? Does he only come to you for an easy lay? For a sense of normalcy?

You weren’t sure you wanted the answer.

Falling in love with him was slowly breaking your heart, but you really didn’t have a choice. Leon was every girl’s dream and only became unfaithful when he grew sick of the lonely nights where his wife went off and fucked half the town.

From what you know, you’re the only person he’s seeing, and that was enough for you to keep on inviting him to come over and escape from that environment.

How Ada could ever take him for granted was beyond you.

You shut off your phone and set it on the nightstand beside you after reading the time. It was nearing twelve in the morning and you were beginning to feel a bit like an idiot after sending that text to him.

It was an invitation to stay at your house, and you even threw in a dumb line about his day, all because you knew Ada didn’t care enough to ask him that herself.

As you begin to get more comfortable in bed, the sound of the front door opening then locking pierces your ears. Your mood lifts considerably at the fact that he had shown up after all, but you also knew you would be met with the same old line of ‘I’m going to break up with her, I promise’.

You really weren’t sure how much more your heart could take.

Quiet footsteps neared your bedroom, where the door slowly creaked open. “Y/n?” His soft voice called out and you just shifted to let him know that you were still awake. Leon kicks off his boots and drops his sweats and tee onto the top of your dresser before pulling the covers back and moving to lay behind you. “Sweetheart.”

“Hi,” you greet quietly, keeping your back to him.

“Hi,” he says back, wrapping his arms around you. “I missed you.”

You stiffen slightly. “Did you?” You ask harshly, instantly regretting it when he doesn’t respond. You turn your head and look back at him, seeing guilt swim in his blue eyes, even in the dark room. Sighing, you turn back around. “I missed you, too.”

Leon could hear the tiredness in your voice, and he knew it wasn’t because of how late it was. He knew it was because of his broken promises of leaving his wife, but never sticking to them. Until now. “Baby,” he called softly, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the side of your head, smiling at the way you lean into his touch. “I asked for a divorce.”

That had your eyes widening and you tried to turn around, but his arms kept you still. “Really?” You ask as you settle against him once again. When he nodded and hummed, you added, “When?”

“Before I came here,” he answered, tangling his legs with yours under the sheets.

Your lips tremble as you try not to get too ahead of yourself. “Leon,” you nearly whisper.

“It’s over,” he confirmed, kissing your head again. “I promise, this is the last time. She doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“And me?” You felt selfish for asking, but you needed to know that you weren’t the only one feeling this between you and him.

Leon’s hand slides under your shirt as he pulls your body closer to his. “You’re my girl,” he mumbles. “And I love you.”

Your head turns again and you keep your back to his chest as you grin. “You love me?”

He nods, leaning in and brushing his lips against yours. “So much,”

Reaching behind you, your hand tangles in his hair as you pull his head closer to yours. “I love you, too,” you confess, pressing your lips to his afterwards in a kiss that was all smiles. “I missed you, Leon.”

Leon runs his hand higher up your body and strokes the undersides of your breasts. “I missed you, too,” he says as he kisses along your neck. “I thought about you all day.”

“Leon,” you hummed, gripping his hair tighter as his fingers began to tease your nipples. His thumb and index finger gently pinch and pull at the buds, making your legs squeeze around his. “God.”

With the arm that is pinned under your body, his fingers continue to tease your chest while his other hand slides down your body. “I need you, sweetheart,” he nearly begs. “Please.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this about Ada, and it was clear that you had completely changed his perspective on what a real, happy relationship looked and felt like.

You remove your hand from his hair and wrap your fingers around his wrist, sliding his hand lower down your body until he is softly rubbing your clit through your panties. “Take me, Leon,” you request in a whisper, reaching behind you so you could gently palm him through his jeans. “I’m yours.”

Leon kisses you deeply, sliding his hand in between the lace and your skin so he could properly tease your clit. “All mine,” he stated when you pulled away and moaned. “‘M all yours, too, baby.”

You whimper when his index finger gathered up your wetness before sinking into you knuckle deep. “Leon,” you moan quietly, struggling to unzip his jeans from the position, but somehow managing to.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder blade. He thrusts his finger a couple of times before adding his middle and allowing his thumb to rub bruising circles onto your clit. “Everything I could ever want.”

This is how it’s supposed to be.

You never pressured him to do anything, never forced anything or broke his trust in any way. It felt so right with you, like how a relationship should.

He didn’t have to force himself to love you, that was something that came naturally, and quite quickly.

Running into you at that bar nearly seven months ago was one of the best things that has ever happened to him, and he wouldn’t take that day back for anything in the whole world.

“Leon,” you moan and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

“I’m right here,” he promised, kissing the side of your head as he slowed down the fucks of his hand in order to help your own rid him of his uncomfortable jeans. “You want this?” He asks, just to be sure you weren’t thinking this was all he came here for.

Really, he would’ve been completely content with spending the night fully clothed and in your arms, but he was also more than okay with ending his day with you wrapped around him.

“I want this,” you kiss him deeply, the angle making your neck hurt a bit but you don’t care. You kick off your panties as you ask, “Do you?”

Another thing he wasn’t used to, the question of consent that sounded so sweet coming from you. “Always,” he answered, kissing you again when you reached back and pulled him free before guiding him to your slick entrance. He slips into you with a deep groan, the quiet gasp you emit making his head spin in the best way. “I love you. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

You shake your head and reach back to grip his hair as he pulls your leg to rest over his. “I think I would’ve waited forever, Leon,” you confessed as he began to slowly rock into you.

He grunted quietly at your words and felt his whole body heat up, as well as his heart begin to race. He had never felt this way before, and he was glad he had found the person to experience this with at a still young age.

Leon didn’t ever want to let you go after the first night he met you, and that only intensified as the months went on. “Yeah?” He asked as his hand settled on your hip, his other arm wrapping tightly around you. “I can promise you this, baby, I wouldn’t have made you wait that long. But I love you for telling me that.”

You lean back and kiss him, your brows furrowing at the slow fucks of his hips. “I love you, too, Leon,” you say back, placing your hand on his that was still tightly gripping your waist. “I just want you to be happy.”

He kissed along your neck, his teeth nipping at various spots. “You make me happy,” he rasped, pulling your body impossibly closer to his as he loved on you in more ways than one. “I’ve never been happier.”

You moan at his words, your heart swelling with pride and a bit of shock at the fact that you were, it seems like, the only person who truly has his entire heart, and the only one who has made him feel like this.

At the sound of Leon’s quiet grunts, you allow yourself to lean back and against him completely, the assurance that he was yours entirely after tonight at the front of your mind.

“You make me happy, too,” you say as you bury the side of your face in your pillow. Leon hums in response, pushing your hair away from your neck with his nose before kissing the skin there. “Leon…can I?”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you, noting the way your head was turned so your lips were ghosting against the base of his throat. Without you even finishing your question, he knew what you were asking, and he somehow got even more turned on at your request.

A deep grunt leaves his mouth as he nods, gripping your hip tightly and thrusting into you. “Yeah, baby,” he answered. You smile and moan quietly before kissing his neck, your lips teasing his spotless skin. He grunts again, tilting his head a bit and exposing more of his neck to you. “Do it, baby. Please.”

You give in and suck a mark onto the base of his throat, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your lips as you stay there for a bit. He groaned loudly, and the thought of Ada seeing the hickey when he returned back to her with divorce papers sent his mind into a frenzy. He wanted her to see it after seemingly assuming that he had no one other than her. Oh, how wrong she is.

Pulling away with a lopsided grin, you bury your face in the pillow again when he sped up the pace of his hips.

He couldn’t wait for this to become his normal life soon. The sound of your sweet moans filling your room played on repeat in his head whenever he was away from you, and your kind smile was the only thing he thought about when he went to sleep.

“You’re everything I want,” he promised as his hand slipped from your waist and found your clit once again. Your body shuddered against his as a loud moan left your mouth, and you reached a hand down to grip his wrist. “Everything to me.”

“Leon,” you whimper and arch your back a bit as you feel your high quickly approach. Your hand wraps tighter around his wrist as your moans increase in volume, chanting a multitude of “Please.”

“You close, sweet girl?” He asked, already knowing the answer as he felt you clench helplessly around him.

“Yes,” you replied in a breathy whisper, pulling his hand from in between your legs and pressing it against your chest. “Please, Leon.”

He wraps his hand around your breast, his thumb rubbing against your nipple through your shirt. You cry out and he feels your walls spasm a bit as you come around him, your core sucking him in even deeper and begging him to mark it as his own. “Good girl,” he praised, kissing all along your neck while you writhe against him. “Good girl, baby.”

“Leon,” you whispered, leaning back into him again and turning your head so you can brush your lips against his.

“I know,” he rasped, fucking you through your sensitivity. “‘M gonna come, too, baby.”

“I want it,” you begged, tangling your hand in his hair.

And he would never deny you of something you wanted.

He groaned and cursed under his breath, his thrusts halting altogether as he leaned down to kiss you again. You moan against his mouth, your fingers gently massaging his head as you both came down from your highs.

When he pulled out of you, your body turned to face his. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you kiss him deeply and tangle your legs with his again. “You really mean it? It’s really over between you and her?” You ask quietly when you break the kiss, your fingers gently tracing his jawline.

Leon turned his head and kissed your fingertips as he nodded. “It’s over, sweetheart,” he swore, kissing your forehead after. “I’m all yours. I always was.”

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saltywinteradult · 28 days

Note

“there is no way in hell Alicent is going to abandon her children” why not?

Aegon’s a rapist and Aemond’s a sociopathic kinslayer, why should Alicent be forced to stay loyal to them?

I understand Rhaenyra why loves Jace, Luke and Joffrey because what’s not to love, they’re perfect. But I cannot see Alicent genuinely loving Aegon and Aemond after everything they’ve done.

It would be 100x more radical and feminist for Alicent to choose Rhaenyra, to put herself first, to stop letting men control her.

Goodness me, I hardly know where to start with this.

I don’t know how you think parental love works, nonny dearest, but it sure as hell isn’t "I won't love my children if they're not perfect people". That’s generally not how parenthood works. And Alicent loves her children. She was sold as a child bride and endured years of rape for the sake of producing those children. Raising and protecting them has been the main purpose of Alicent’s life for twenty years. How could she not love them?

In case you need proof, Alicent physically attacked Rhaenyra, arguably the big love of her life, because she was that angry (and rightfully so) about her son being maimed. Alicent went along with usurping Rhaenyra's throne, despite knowing it would lead to war and ruin what little chance she had left of mending things with Rhaenyra, because she loves her children and is desperate to keep them safe, and she believes that Rhaenyra would kill them to secure her claim to the throne. (Whether that is true is a different discussion - what matters here is that Alicent believes it.) Alicent stepped in front of a dragon to protect Aegon, for crying out loud. Aegon being a rapist clearly tarnished him in her eyes, and yet she still stepped in front of that dragon to protect him. If that doesn't tell you everything you need to know about Alicent's love for her children, I don't know what will. So I don't know that this is a case of Alicent being "forced" to stay loyal to her children, as much as it is Alicent choosing to stay loyal to the people she loves most in the world.

I would also like to point out that Rhaenyra's children are very much not perfect. Jace and Luke both participated in bullying Aemond. In case you forgot, it was Luke who literally mutilated and permanently disabled Aemond. It doesn't matter if Aemond was in the wrong for claiming Vhagar or calling the Strong boys bastards. He wasn't, but even if he was, cutting out someone's eye is not a thing that good people do. So I don't know where you got the idea that Jace and Luke are "perfect", nonny dearest, but it sure as hell wasn't from HotD.

I'm not going to argue over whether Luke maiming Aemond is more or less bad than Aegon raping Dyana or Aemond killing Luke (which is his fault, even if in this version of the story he didn't intend for it to happen). That's not the point. And please note, I am not making a single excuse for Aegon raping Dyana or Aemond killing Luke. I'm simply pointing out that it is extremely hypocritical to claim that Aemond and Aegon are unloveable because of the terrible things they do, but Jace and Luke are loveable when they both do terrible things as well.

And here's the thing. Rhaenyra clearly loves Jace and Luke anyway. Why wouldn't she? They're her kids and she loves them flaws and all. So why is it any less believable that Alicent would love Aegon and Aemond? Why are Jace and Luke loveable despite their terrible deeds, but Aegon and Aemond aren't? And if Alicent choosing Rhaenyra, whom she loves, would be a feminist storytelling choice, why would it be any less feminist for her to choose to stay with her family whom she loves just as much? Why are Alicent's choices only Feminist and Radical when they benefit Rhaenyra?

Even if it were true that Alicent abandoning her family and becoming lifetime president of the Rhaenyra Fan Club would make for a more feminist story - which, to be clear, it isn't - my first priority is not for the story to be The Most Radical And Feminist™. I want the story to be good. And I do not think that making Alicent abandon her family for Rhaenyra would make for a good story. It goes completely against Alicent's characterisation to have her abandon the family we're shown time and time again that she loves more than anything else. Not only would that be a betrayal of her character, it would undermine the narrative as a whole.

For better or worse, these two women and their relationship have been made central to this story. They are foils and they've each been made into the figurehead of their respective teams in every way, down to the marketing of the show. It would simply be bad storytelling to throw off that narrative balance by having them team up. It would completely upend the story being told. The point of making Rhaenyra and Alicent's relationship so central to the show is that despite their love for each other they were still driven apart and forced to become enemies. Having them reconcile would undermine the point that this story is a tragedy.

#alicent hightower #pro alicent hightower #rhaenicent #rhaenyra x alicent #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #anti lucerys velaryon #house of the dragon #hotd

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forbidden-sunlight · 1 year

Text

yandere!poseidon headcanons with fem!kokushibo!reader

warning: obsessive behavior, violence, spoilers from manga/anime. Please take caution when reading the content.

Credit for this piece goes to @recreationalfanfics and their phenomenal works, specifically this one. I would like to specially thank my friend @nixes-noxes for helping me fine-tune this script to its fullest potential.

The intention of this story is for entertainment purposes only. The behavior exhibited here is inappropriate and unhealthy, hence it should not be encouraged. There are also triggers, so please take caution. You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

A demon was born from the malice of mankind. That is the story that humans and gods believe…but that is not the truth in your case.

Fearing death, you willingly drank Muzan Kibitsuji’s blood and became the first Upper Moon. One of Twelve Kizuki to serve him and provide aid in his quest to obtain a solution to walk in the sunlight. You had died by the hands of your descendant and his fellow Demon Slayers, unsatisfied with the life you had lived as an abomination. In the end, you could not attain the innate talent your little brother possessed.

Because you were a creature classified as ‘evil’, you were confined to the depths of Helheim as punishment to suffer for all eternity. Not wanting to perish for a second time, you sliced down enemies and cultivated your Moon Breathing Style in the hellish landscape before you were suddenly plucked out of that place, coming face-to-face with your new master: the Valkyrie called Brunhilde.

Apparently, she had intended to call out another champion to fight against the gods in a tournament known as Ragnarok, but for some unknown reason you were whisked here by her summons. Seeing this ‘accident’ as an opportunity, you laid out your sword and offered your loyalty to her. Yes you were a demon, but you had been loyal to Muzan until your dying breath. Being the servant to a demigod would not be any different, minus facing the antagonization of both human and gods alike for just being by her side.

It was better than returning to Helheim, anyway. The water did not scorch your skin and the high quality tea leaves were exceptional.

The smallest pleasures in life made a difference…but does that include being on the roster to fight against the infamous tyrant of the divine waters, Poseidon? Probably not.

Yandere!Poseidon

This is a god who is the physical embodiment of perfection. He is a king who has no need to be supported by individuals who are beneath him in the hierarchy of all life. Furthermore, he was not pleased when his little brother had added him as a contender in this childish tournament without his consent. Why stall the inevitable fate of humanity with Ragnarok? It’s honestly a waste of time for him.

There has never been an opponent who did not quiver at the sight of his trident nor survived to tell the tale. So why should he even bother to give any effort in this fight? His opponent was a demon. It is only natural that a demon would be stomped down by someone like himself, even if it is a female one with a slightly impressive physique and once bore the moniker ‘Moon Hashira’.

Untamed [Hair Color] tresses held together in a ponytail that reached to her waist. [Favorite Color] nagagi-kimono and black umanori-styled pants tied with a white obi. [Eye Color] irises and red sclera with words written on them.

The only reason he even recognized the clothing is because Aphrodite whined about the ‘poor fashion’ taste of Brunhilde’s new ‘pet’...but did she honestly expect anything more from a demon?

No, but she enjoyed hearing the others praise her intellect and how no one could ever hold a candle to the beauty of the lusty goddess. A hypocrite by any other name. She and Ares had another falling out, again.

Still it would not bother the gods nor himself by allowing his opponent to try and land a hit on him before killing the unfortunate abomination. The effort of an ant trying to avoid being crushed by a boot is always…adorable.

This act of ‘kindness’ towards the Moon Hashira led Poseidon into a match that has lasted longer than the previous Ragnarok bouts. She did not hesitate to use the water surrounding the arena to create a heavy mist that acted as a smokescreen before attacking from behind with her sword. She slashed his calves and right forearm, then jammed her sword that is made from her own flesh and blood into his stomach. She was going to kill him. She would do whatever it took to win the fight.

This revelation enraged Poseidon. How dare a demon think that she can kill a god? Blasphemy! HE IS A GOD, HE IS PERFECTION. ANYONE WHO DISAGREES HIM DESERVES TO DIE.

And yet he still found himself kneeling on the circular platform, leaning heavily against his trident with the bloodied edge of her sword pressed against the side of his neck. If it isn’t the reversal of positions that bothered him the most, it was the look of indifference dancing in the Moon Hashira’s eyes. As if he was the one being a nuisance and not the other way around.

Suddenly, she withdrew her sword and sheathed it. “I will not kill you.” She said, “A hierarchy exists to keep the balance between those who sit at the top of the food chain and those who are barely scraping by. Those who upset the balance must be punished accordingly. I am a demon, so I should die by the hands of a god…but I will not allow myself to die by someone who does not respect my master. That is…embarrassing. So take this loss as an act of kindness from me. The humiliation of being defeated by someone such as myself is more than adequate punishment.”

Turning her back to him, she stepped onto the boat that was tied to a stone pillar and drifted back to the human’s side of the arena. Poseidon also retreated, refusing Ares’ offers to escort him to the medical wing and swiftly returning to his palace beneath the ocean floor. He ignored Proteus’ concerns, isolating himself in his quarters as he…unleashed his anger onto the furniture. They could be easily replaced…but his defeat cannot be remedied just like the splintered wood, the tattered drapes, or anything he had thrown around the room.

He has lost against an imperfect creature. Him, the one who is the most feared and blessed god in the pantheons. How could this have happened?! How?!

Though is the Moon Hashira truly an ant if she had beaten him? No. But there is no use thinking about the wretched embodiment of impurity anymore. He…has lost the match, and in the end it is just one loss for the gods. Humanity will be destroyed, and the divine waters will be restored to their glory once the vermin have been eradicated.

Shortly after he had regained his composure, Poseidon returned to the Grecian’s private balcony to watch the other matches. As he is a god, his wounds healed within a matter of hours…so why could he have still felt the sword in his belly, twisting his insides? Why?

This might be the starting point in his descent to madness. He would remain a silent statue even in the aftermath of his adopted nephew’s death by Jack The Ripper’s hands, and Shiva’s obvious win against Raiden Taeemon while his brethren watched the events unfold in awe and anger.

But no matter how hard he tried to dissuade thoughts about the Valkyrie’s servant, his mind always drifted back to the Moon Hashira. He silently reflected on their fight; he remembered the humiliation when she spared his life, her deadly grace as she released one form of the Moon Breathing Style, her perfection.

[First Name] [Last Name], the Moon Hashira and a demon summoned from the depths of Helheim to save humanity….she was perfection. And Poseidon wanted her.

Knowing that the moon always gravitated towards the ocean would only feed into his delusions that it must be a sign from the Fates that this is his other half. The companion who will be by his side for all enternity. So why does she still dare to stand by Brunhilde and whisper in the demigod’s ear? Why does she converse with the samurai Kojiro, when he had no business being near her, let alone sharing a plate of Japanese snacks and tea?

How dare she smile at the man who had killed Heracles and the traitorous Buddha? She is perfect, there is no need to waste her time teaching her breathing techniques to a brat that went toe-to-toe with Loki in the greenhouse!

When the tyrant of the oceans witnessed [First Name] showing more emotions around the other combatants, he knows must act swiftly or else she will be snatched away by someone else who is lesser than a god of perfection such as himself, or worse be cast aside by her malicious master for the sake of humanity’s survival.

He will make the necessary arrangements with Proteus to prepare his kingdom for the arrival of a new queen.

Bonus Content:

The Moon Hashira is fully aware of Poseidon’s psychotic tendencies and will not make it easy for him to whisk her away like Zeus’ previous mistresses. Nor is she blindly loyal to being oblivious to Brunhilde’s scheming.

She did not live for half of a millennia as an Upper Moon by being an idiot.

Taglist:

@rukia-writes

@recreationalfanfics

@dazailover1900

@nixes-noxes

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@onecantsimply

@yellow-snark

@radioactivesweet

#snv x reader #snv poseidon #record of ragnarok x reader #poseidon record of ragnarok #kokushibo!reader #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #ns.fw #forbidden-sunlight #record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #poseidon headcanons

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Note

could u do xavier being really high/wasted and he’s super clingy and says dumb stuff and reader takes care of him

A/n: this was purely the result of me being half asleep and trying to make something out of it.

It was to no surprise that upon making your way to your dormitory, you would hear Xavier’s incoherent babbling and light hearted giggles before you could seen his slanted form pressed up against the wall next to your door. Things at Nevermore were becoming more and more stressful for both staff and students alike, and everyone was looking for a primary method in making it all go away for a good few hours.

Some chose to focus heavily on their piling homework, extracurriculars or kept themselves busy by performing mundane tasks whilst others would resort to other methods. As in Xavier’s case, that would be getting high as a kite in Ajax’s room. You weren’t one to judge peoples perfected form of de-stressing, it would just be hypocritical if you did to begin with; However someone relives themselves was of none of your concern.

What was of your concern was the fact that if you didn’t do something with Xavier now before the teachers came to check on everyone, you’d both be fucked. The only downside in attempting to move Xavier the giggly over there was that he tended to became quite clingy whilst high; Which made it all the more difficult to haul him into your dorm without him managing to drag you down to the floor with him. Unfortunately time wasn’t on your side to debate on how you were going to move him, “Xav?” His head picked up like a dogs at the sound of your name as a dopey smile beamed across his face.

“Y/n, look!” He cried between giggles as he showed you his hands before looking taken aback at his fingers as he wiggled them, “I’ve got fingers!” He told you, astonished, “they’re waving at me y/n…I don’t like it.” You fought back a laugh at Xavier’s weariness of his own limbs as you knelt by his side. “They’re only saying hi, there’s no need to be afraid of them.” You played along by holding some of his fingers at the base of his hand, forcing them to move as though on their own accord.

Xavier gasps and leans into your side, “they’re doing it again.” He said in what he probably believed was a whisper but was more of a whisper shout. His doe eyes never left his fingers, on edge that one of them might pull out a switchblade and knick him when he wasn’t looking. “I believe they’re trying to tell you something, should i tell you what they’re saying?” You asked, seeing this as an opening into getting Xavier to become complacent enough for you to get him into your dorm. “You speak fingers, y/n?” Xavier asked. “Yep.” You replied.

“Tell me what they’re saying, tell me what they’re saying!” He chanted and you moved his fingers again randomly as though they were ‘speaking.’ You made a variety of faces throughout the ‘conversation’ before humming to yourself in deep thought. “What did they say, what did they say!” Xavier cried as he leaned himself heavily against you, causing you to groan at how heavy the boy really was. “They told me that you should let me help you into my dorm before we get into some really big trouble.” You told him as though you were telling a child. Was it right? No. Was it the only option you had in getting him to do as you say? Yes.

“What kind of trouble?” Xavier says softly this time, never letting his eyes off of you. “Dunno, you gotta let me help you into my dorm first.” You shrugged, dragging one of his arms over your shoulder as your other arm was brought to his waist, “ready?” You asked him. “Anything for my little finger buddies.” Xavier replied with determination and with minimum amount of effort you managed to haul him off the floor and into your dorm, where you quickly lead him to where your bed was before retreating back to the open door to close it shut.

“Y/n.” Xavier called. “Yeah?” You replied, looking back to find him staring at his fingers once more as he subconsciously wiggles them. It was cute seeing how serious he looked whilst trying to understand the language of his fingers. However it made for better blackmail material for later use should he ever get cocky with you in the distant future; Maybe you could even use this against him in the next Poe Cup so that you could score your team the victory and bragging rights bonus?

“What’re they saying now?” He asked and that was when you were drawn out of fantasy land and reminded that you were still expected to keep up the charade that you could -through some bullshit logic- understand his ‘finger friends.’ “Let me see.” You sighed as you clambered over your bed to sit besides Xavier as he held out his hand towards you to get a better look at his fingers. Once again you made a variety of exaggerated expressions, followed by a series of hums and other vocal choices to keep up the ridiculous illusion you created. Karma truly was a bitch in this instance as it dawned on you that until Xavier fell asleep, you were doomed to keep up the act.

“They ask if your hungry, sleepy, or otherwise?” You relied to him as he furrowed his brows in thought and his lip was drawn into a childlike pout. “I am kinda sleepy.” He admits almost sheepishly, resting his head against your shoulder, his eyes closing briefly before opening again. “Will you sleep with me?” He asks innocently enough but you had to hold back on chocking on your own spit at his request before forcing your mind out of the gutter; reminding yourself that he was still very much in fact high. “Sure Xavier, I’ll sleep with you.”

At your response Xavier was quick to cage you in between his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as he burrowed his head into the crevice of your neck, whilst his silky soft golden-brown locks tickled the skin of your jaw and the column of your neck. “Thank you for taking care of me.” He says lowly, voice laced with tiredness that you couldn’t help but nose the hollow of his neck. “It’s not an issue Xavier, just get some sleep for me. Okay?” You murmured. “Okay.”

Xavier fell asleep pretty quickly after that as you started running your fingers through his hair after wrangling it to freedom from being pinned to your side for so long and every attempt you made to move after that, a whine would rip from his throat and his arms would tightened their grip. You’ve long accepted that he wasn’t letting go anytime soon and eventually gave into your new fate as his personal pillow. It was worth it for the hassle you had to been put through prior so you were opting to see this as rather a reward that you could enjoy.

Besides you didn’t have much going on anyways, which was probably why Ajax purposefully left him on your doorstep…you’d get that Gorgon back sooner or later, you swore it. For now, sleep.

#xavier thorpe fic #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe imagines #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe x reader #Xavier x reader #Xavier imagines #Xavier imagine #Xavier fic #Xavier fanfic #Xavier x you

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crazyk-imagine · 10 months

Text

Married Off to a Beast?! (Or Troll)

Pairing: King George x Fem!reader Characters: Charlotte, Fem!reader, King George, Adolphus (briefly mentioned) Warnings: A memoriable scene, fluff, Charlotte doesn’t approve of running away, George is a simp, Reader and George are enamored with each other, Charlotte is a hypocrite, George regrets nothing, reader knows she can’t resist him now, reader showing skin O:O Word Count: 1,356

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You walk back and forth in front of the wall. You take a deep breath and step closer. "Charlotte help me."

"No," she shakes her head, wanting little to no part in your escape.

You spin around to look at her, your body visible for anyone to see if they walk down this path to the garden. "Your brother married me off without my consent, you will help me."

She huffs, scratching the side of her head. Out of the two of them (her and her brother), she's always had a harder time saying no to you.

"Fine."

George watches as you call for her assistance and decides to walk further down. Neither of noticed him, not until he cleared his throat. “Hello, My Lady.”

You glance over your shoulder to find a charming man standing a few feet away.

He turns to your cousin. “My Lady.”

Her eye twitches, you know it did; you didn’t have to look at her to know. “Are you in need of assistance of some kind?”

“Uh, I am quite fine, thank you.” You return to your mission. “You can go back inside and wait with all the other gawkers.”

Charlotte whispers your name. She understands your feelings about the situation but there is a better way to address someone.

"I… will. What are you doing?"

You huff, “nothing.”

“You’re doing something.”

You internally groan, not wanting to berate some man for something he had no control over. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“You are!”

You jump down from your place and spin around to face him. "If you must know, I am being shipped off into a marriage I did not give my consent to and one I had no prior knowledge of, therefore I am leaving before it can happen."

"Oh," his brows shot up in surprise.

“Yes, so I am currently trying to find the best way to climb over this damned garden wall so that I may live my life the way I choose to.”

He mutters a few things, trying to understand this new information he’s been given. “Whatever for?”

"For the love of-" She mutters, hearing the wheels turning in your head.

"I believe he may be a beast.”

"He isn't," she assures you.

"How do you know? I mean, do you know what he looks like?"

She rolls her eyes, knowing you’ve been on edge since... well, since you were informed of your future role.

“You think he is a beast?”

“Or a troll.”

“Uh, who are we discussing.”

You furrow your brows, “no one who concerns you.” You study the wall, sighing to yourself. “The King. Only because no one will speak of him. No one. So, he can only be a beast or a troll if that’s the case.”

“Understood.”

Charlotte shakes her head, lowering it so George doesn’t see the disappointment on her face.

“If I grab there,” you point to an ideal spot. “You can assist me by lifting me up.”

“One question. You do not like beasts or trolls? What he looks like matters?”

You shrug, “I do not care what he looks like. I care about my sanity… and the not knowing. That, that is what I do not like. I do not like the not knowing. Now come here and help me.” You gesture for him to come closer. “She will not help me. You grab here,” you hold your waist, “and lift me.”

“You want me to lift you over the wall so you may escape?”

“That is what I said, is it not.”

You shake your head, mumbling to yourself, “it’s as if he isn’t listening.”

“Won’t people notice you are missing?”

“Her brother will make her take my place, I’m sure.”

“What?” Charlotte nearly screeches.

“I have little care to worry about that. Now, if you please. I just need a little assistance from a more cooperative audience. Make haste.”

“I have absolutely no intention of helping you.”

You’re baffled. You step off the wall and march towards him. “Do you not see I am a lady in distress. You refuse to help me? Again, a lady in distress.”

“I refuse when that lady in distress is trying to go over a wall so that she does not have to marry someone I think you'll find rather appealing."

You furrow your brows, "and why's that?"

"Because I am... his majesty."

You take a step back, realizing the many errors you’ve made leading up to now.

“Hello,” he says your name.

"Oh, no," your cousin mutters. She takes a step closer, pulling you towards her. "Be quiet and bow."

You start to apologize. “I am deeply s…”

And then your training (from when you were a young girl) kicks in and you bow, "My King."

"No, no. Just George."

"Your majesty."

"Not your majesty, George."

"Your-"

Your cousin rolls her eyes and sneaks away (not wanting to listen to you two anymore). She’s off to find her brother. Not to mention the fact that she needs to hide from her betrothed as well… which explains why she willingly followed you.

"George."

"You-"

"George."

"Y-"

"George."

"Your-"

"I mean, yes your majesty to you, just George… For you, I will be your George, I like that," he smiles.

“I- I need you to accept my apology. You see, if I had known-”

“You would have what? Not told me you were trying to escape?”

“Yes- wait no, I mean…” You huff, “I do apologize your majesty.”

“George… Your George. The “King” situation towers over us and I was hoping as my wife, I could be just George to you. I mean, that was of course, before I found out that you do not want to be married to me.”

You furrow your brows, “I did not say that.”

“You did.”

“No.”

“Many times, in fact.”

You purse your lips in anger, knowing he’s right. “I do not know you.”

He raises his arms, “I do not know you either… other than finding out… how terrible you are at climbing a wall.”

You scoff, “you try climbing in this,” you wave to your outfit and lift the skirts of your dress, showing him your ankles. “These garments and shoes. They’re terrible, but if I don’t want to hurt myself, I must.”

His constant stare worries you.

“What?”

“I- No one told me you’d be this beautiful. Perhaps, you’re too beautiful to marry me. People will talk… given I’m a troll.”

“I believe I said beast.”

He chuckles.

Your face twists as if you’re in pain but only thinking of your future marriage. “Your majesty.”

“George.”

“George. I- I still do not know you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Ev- fine.” He gives you information to help ease you into knowing more about him and potentially help your future marriage.

“It sounds like you’re bragging.”

He chuckles, “another to know about me is that… I am- well, nervous about marrying a girl I’m only just meeting minutes before our wedding. Only, I cannot show it and climb over a wall because I am the king of Britian and Ireland and that would, cause a scandal. But I promise you, I am neither a troll, nor a beast. Just your George.”

The corners of your lips twitch.

Charlotte’s voice interrupts you two. “My brother is on his way, so we must leave now.”

“I-”

“I have one question.”

“Yes?”

“Have you decided whether you wish to marry me? Or would you prefer to go over the wall?”

You gulp.

“As much as I would love to hear your answer, I have to go because I believe there are some anxious guards who think I’ve been kidnapped.” He grabs your hand and whispers your name as he places a kiss upon it. “I hope to see you in there.”

You watch as he walks away. “Have you decided? Because there will be a scandal one way or another.”

“I-” you take a deep breath. “Come with me, you impatient brat.”

“I am not a brat.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

#Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #queen charlotte #queen charlotte fanfiction #queen charlotte fanfic #king george bridgerton #king george #king george x reader #king george fanfic #king george fanfiction #king george x you #king george fic #king george bridgerton fanfic #king george bridgerton fanfiction #king george bridgerton fic #king george bridgerton x reader #king george bridgerton x you #crazyk-imagine

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squgs · 9 months

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I've seen people responding to it being pointed out that Daemon is so obviously a worse person than Alicent or Criston by saying that "at least he isn't a hypocrite" or "at least he doesn't pretend he's better than he is." Which is perhaps accurate, but is really just saying "at least Daemon doesn't make any attempt to be a good person or voice any desire to be better."

This leads me to something I've been noticing: none of the team black characters voice or show any regret for their misdeeds while team green characters do so constantly. Daemon never apologizes or show any regret for any of the brutally evil things he does. Alicent on the other hand is constantly looking apologetic and regretful, even when she didn't do anything like in the case of Larys killing his family.

After the eye incident Alicent is extremely regretful and apologetic for her actions while Rhaenyra isn't at all. In fact Rhaenyra's response is to seek out more power through marrying Daemon so that she can more effectively hurt anyone who states an obvious truth. Her children similarly show no regret for escalating that fight, nor seem at all apologetic for having permanently disfigured Aemond.

The comparison is most striking between Criston and Daemon who have semi similar misbehavior that only Criston acknowledges in any way as bad. First in episode 5 they both smash someone's face in. Daemon's is clearly premeditated and his entire reason for being in the vale, while Criston's was planned at most ten minutes before it was carried out and was a response to an assumed attempt to blackmail him. Daemon has absolutely no shame about the murder, even going so far as to try to claim his victim's inheritance. Criston on the other hand is so ashamed that he tries to kill himself. They both also have incidents of misogynistic language. Criston calls Rhaenyra a cunt once and promptly apologizes. Daemon refers to his first wife as a 'bronze bitch' more than he uses her name and calls Alicent a whore. He does not apologize for any of those instances or show any indication that he doesn't think those are appropriate things to call a woman. Finally in episodes 8 and 9 Criston and Daemon each attack a man from behind after he insults their wife. Neither is their best moment, but again Criston is pretty clearly regretful of it, and it seems like he didn't mean to kill Beesbury and that he just forgot how fragile old people are. Daemon on the other hand clearly intended to murder Vaemond and was happy to quip about it and then chuckle when he's mentioned again.

The one sort of exception to this is Rhaenyra's toast to Alicent in episode 8. She does apologize in that scene. However, she isn't apologizing for mistreating Alicent. All she is apologizing for is not helping to take care of Viserys and not acknowledging her care taking previously, which like it definitely means something that she said that, but implicit in what she says is the idea that it's Alicent's role and duty to be taking care of him. There's kind of an implication that Rhaenyra views Alicent as having redeemed herself through serving Viserys when in reality her care taking is just another facet of Viserys's abuse, abuse that is never acknowledged or apologized for. Still I do love that scene and the way it is beautifully, pathetically, sad that Rhaenyra can only connect and forgive Alicent when she's in her subservient role and that Alicent is so desperate for connection with Rhaenyra that she will accept that barest hint of an apology even in the face of all the evidence that it's meaningless.

Now one would think that some characters regretting their misdeeds would be viewed as a sign of them being better people, but I think it actually has the opposite effect. Because the green characters are shown being regretful, their misdeeds are focused on and emphasized. In episode 5 it's possible to forget that Daemon killed his wife at the start of the episode, because it seems like he's forgotten as well. However it's impossible to forget what Criston does because his actions for the rest of the episode are all a reaction to his shame and horror about having just murdered someone. Then in the next episode when Criston has his one instance of misogyny, the entire show pauses to take note of it and wait for him to apologize (which he does!), but on the numerous occasions when Daemon is misogynistic the show breezes right past it, treating it as just a bad boy Daemon moment. Daemon's misdeeds can be enjoyed without an imediate reminder of how evil he is, letting him be a cool fun badass, while Criston's can't. You can't look at him awkwerdly and regretfully standing over Beesbury's body and say 'oh wow, such a badass male wife he really told Beesbury to keep his Wife's name out of his fucking mouth.' Though to be clear I also very much judge anyone who says that about Daemon killing Vaemond.

This is seen again in the eye incident. For most of the audience that goes into the incident not thinking that Rhaenyra is a significantly worse person than Alicent (a reasonable assumption), Alicent being extremely regretful afterwards while Rhaenyra isn't at all, is an indication that Alicent acted far worse than Rhaenyra did. A misreading that is helped by Rhaenyra's call for violence being couched in the 'sharply questioned' euphemism while Alicent's is stated outright. That is perhaps Alicent's most badass scene where she does her best to stand up to her abuser and those who allow that abuse in defense of their children, going so far as to physically fight back (though Rhaenyra perhaps wasn't the best choice of target), but the audience doesn't have any encouragement to see her badassery, instead we're to wallow in her shame at having fought back and watch her shrink back into herself with the implication that that's what she should be doing.

This pattern shows a fascinating tension between the events portrayed in the show and their framing. The show gives us two groups of people who range from very flawed to evil, but they are framed as a group of heroes and a group of villains. The greens are villains and their actions can only confirm that, while the blacks are heroes and their actions no matter how violent can only provide more evidence of heroism. I don't know how much actual meaning can be made from that tension, I wouldn't even be surprised if it was entirely accidental, but it is at the very least interesting enough to note.

#alicent hightower #criston cole #hotd #anti daemon targaryen #team green #hotd critical

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furiousladyking · 3 months

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It's a Date - Part 2

Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: This is probably going to be slow going, but I think I like it so far?

Summary: Jake Seresin is feeling defeated. His youngest sister, Brooke is getting married in 3 weeks, and he has yet to find a date. While he loves his family, he can't say he enjoys getting those comments from his mother about when he is going to find a "nice girl" and settle down. In comes Y/N "Casper" L/N, a prime target to get rid of the one on Jake's back.

Warning: probably incorrect military information, not really proof-read.

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“You said you would give me whatever I wanted if I agreed to come with you,” you started, pointing toward a coffee shop kiosk to your left. They had just made it through security screening. Being in the Navy had its perks, including the fast lane through the always dreaded process.

“Casp, you want to spend your compensation on a coffee?” It was early, too early if you ask Y/N. Hangman begged to differ, he wanted to check their bags and head toward their gate as quickly as possible so they wouldn’t be rushed. It was a little hypocritical, but that wasn’t something you were going to bring up at this hour.

“Oh, Honey,” you begin, with a playful grin on your face. “You’ll be giving me whatever I want all weekend.” Hangman snorts at your comment, causing you to pull a face at his insinuation. Quickly brushing it off and rolling your eyes, you plant your feet where they stand and cross your arms. It was Hangman’s turn to roll his eyes.

“In that case, Sweetheart, how about you go over and get us something while I check our bags.” He adjusts the bags on his shoulder. “What do you have in this thing anyway? An F-18 manual?” His tone indicates joking, but his face is set in an almost glare.

“Just my love for you, baby,” you grin, reaching out your hand towards his cheek, getting ready to squeeze. He swats your hand away before shaking his head. While walking away, toward the check-in desk, he most definitely did not smile at your giggle.

“Here,” you mumble as Hangman walks up to you after checking your bags. In your hand is a coffee cup, which he quickly accepts. You both grab the handle of your carry-ons and start walking in the direction of your gate. Lifting the cup to his mouth, Hangman admits to himself that coffee is definitely appreciated, it doesn't matter if it is the way he likes it.

“You remembered.” He looks to his side; head cocking slightly after the first sip. You look back, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“What?”

“Casper, you remembered the way I like my coffee,” He starts. You simply shrug and go to sip your drink once more. Hangman continues, “Y’know, someone might get the wrong idea and think you like me because you remembered this.” The sing-songy tune at the end of his sentence makes you snort.

“Don’t get a big head, Bagman, it’s just a coffee. A black coffee,” you say as you shake your head softly.

“If we’re going to pass as a couple, you can’t be calling me that this weekend.” Your walk turns into more of a stroll as people rush past you.

“But what if you’re being ridiculous,” You counter, your eyebrows raised.

“I have never, in my life, been ridiculous.” You cackle. Hangman does what he can to suppress the grin on his face, blaming it on the fact that your laugh was hilarious. “I think we should think about what we are going to call each other so it sounds natural when the time comes.” At that moment, someone who was in a particularly large rush passed you, clipping Hangman’s shoulder. His coffee splashes on his hand and wrist, causing him to hiss in surprise. “Asshat,” He grumbles under his breath. Hearing a gasp beside him, he notices the look on your face. “No - not that!”

“Fine, but you can’t veto my next one. I’m calling you baby and there is nothing you can do about it,” you say, shrugging mostly to yourself. “It just flows, so it’ll make pretending easier.”

“And you can be Honey,” He states. Looking at you, he sees the shake of your head. “Princess?” Giggles follow. “Sweetheart?” you pause for a moment, causing those behind you to grumble as they pass.

“It’s not the worst choice.” You begin to walk once more, not looking back to see if the man you are with has followed. “So, Hangman, how long have we been dating?”

“It needs to be at least six months - that’s when I told my sisters that I would have a date for the wedding.”

“And they are just hearing about me now after over half a year because...?” Hangman’s shoulders move up and down.

“Being in the navy, and a pilot at that, we wanted to make sure things worked on a personal level before getting others involved,” He says.

“If I had use of both of my hands, I might actually applaud you. It’s like you have thought about this or something.”

As the plane touches down on the tarmac, you feel yourself getting more and more anxious about the whole plan. You knew you were friends, and possibly could even categorize yourselves as good friends at this point, but would anyone buy that you were in love?

You look to the seat beside you, and Hangman’s pleasant disposition washes away a bit of the worry. You can tell how excited he is to see his family. Like most of the dagger crew, he visited home as often as he could and would invite his family to see him, but being away was something Hangman never really got used to. He missed coming home to the smell of a hot, home-cooked meal wafting through the house. He missed teasing his sisters, then inevitably threatening someone who spoke or acted against them.

You decide to pull him out of his focused state when those in front of them start to stand up and get ready to disembark from the plane. You place your hand on his forearm and find yourself smiling when he jumps slightly.

“Your hands are freezing,” He spoke with his eyebrows knit together, words filled with pretend malice. “A little Texan air will do you some good, hopefully, return you to being a warm-blooded creature,” he said, with his face screwed up. You pretend to scoff, but a smirk was clawing its way onto your face, with nothing you could do about it.

Jake takes it upon himself to lift both of their carry-ons from the overhead compartment, seemingly slipping into the boyfriend role easily. Before walking down the aisle to disembark, he takes your hand in his and squeezes it as if he can feel your anxiety. You guess it was probably radiating off you considering how much you felt building up in your chest.

Walking through the hallways of the airport, you are impressed. You knew Austin was big, but in all honesty, you were expecting something a little more… country. Through the walls of windows, you notice the large crowd of people at the bottom of the escalator. Most of them looked so excited to be here, likely reuniting with some of their favourite people. You watch as various groups embrace passengers from the plane and feel a pang in your chest. Is it wrong to trick Jake’s family like this? Surely there was another-

“That’s them there”, Jake interjects, jolting you from your possibly spiral-inducing thoughts. Though he is pointing toward the crowd, you can’t help but look at his face first. He looks like a kid on Christmas who just opened a present containing a puppy. You follow his hand and try to filter through the crowd. You had seen pictures of his mom and his sisters from an old photograph in his locker but adding an extra 20 years really changed people.

Jake’s point turns into a wave, and suddenly you see them. His mother has the same smile, and his sisters have the same bright blonde hair that Jake adorned.

The both of you walk up to Jake’s family and you are immediately enveloped in a hug by his mother. Your mouth opens into an “o” shape, a little taken aback by the prompt physical affection. You hear a snicker from beside you.

“I hope Jake told you we are a family of huggers,” his sister jokes, taking Jake into a hug herself.

“Oh, hush, Emily,” Jake’s mother chides before partially releasing you. She holds onto the tops of your arms and smiles. “It is so nice to meet you, dear.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Seresin. Thank you so much for having me.” She still hasn’t let you go of your arms, seemingly trying to take you all in. You flush red, looking away for a second, worried she will be able to see the lie on your face.

“Dear, call me Alice, Mrs. Seresin is far too formal for such an important person in Jake’s life.” Her hands brush down your arms, to stop to hold your hands for a quick moment. Almost abruptly, she releases your hold to turn toward her son. “And you, I swear it’s been years since I have seen my favourite son,” she teases. He chuckles.

“It’s been maybe five months, Ma.” He doesn’t touch on the favourite son bit. Sure, he was her only son, but it didn’t stop her from telling him he could still be her favourite. Her hug with Jake is much shorter than the one she shared with you, something Jake couldn’t help but notice.

“Okay then, let’s get this show on the road. Your nieces were practically bouncing on the couch in anticipation of meeting Y/N.”

_________________________________________________________

@keyrani @djs8891

#jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader

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avocado-writing · 8 months

Text

Roland Blum x Reader

notes: nobody asked for this but I wrote it anyway. big shout out to my mate M who helped me brainstorm this and came up with some of the *chefs kiss* lines. might do a part 2 idk rating: E, minors dni

words: 2.4k

cw: utter filth. smut; excessive discussion of oral sex; pegging; you’re both switches lmfao taglist: @clarina04 @havaheart @angiestopit @cryptid-flannelhell @shadowluna25

Roland Blum fucking hates you.

He hates how you think you know everything even though you’re just a kid. Yeah, sure, he was the exact same way when he was your age, but he also acknowledges that he’s a hypocrite and doesn’t care. He hates the tight little outfits you wear, because he’s a slut for a well-tailored suit and you know you look exceptionally fuckable in them. He hates how he couldn’t stop imagining bending you over his desk and drenching his cock in your tight little pussy, wondering what his name would sound like from your mouth as you choke it out through orgasms. He hates that you’ve rejected his every advance so far.

Most of all he hates how you’re good at this job. It’s infuriating. If you were shit, like so many of the others he’s seen come and go through these doors, it might be different. But you’re not. You’re a fucking shark, out for blood. Just like him.

He hates you.

If there’s one thing that’s worse than you it’s your shitty little boyfriend.

He’s constantly around, trying to earn your approval - and he does need to earn it because it doesn’t take much research to find out he’s a fucking serial cheater. He has this habit of falling dick first into leggy blondes he finds at bars which you don’t much approve of. And you fucking let him keep getting away with it! You don’t even seem to like the guy that much. Roland can see the thinly veiled disinterest on your face every time your boyfriend tries to surprise you with your favourite coffee or a bunch of flowers. You accept them, and the kiss he offers, and then look relieved when he’s gone.

You need a good fuck. You need it. He can tell, and he’s sure your boyfriend isn’t getting the job done. Nobody sexually satisfied is as bitchy as you are. Except, maybe, for him. But his exception doesn’t prove the rule. He teases you about it mercilessly and loudly, and your conversations always end the same way.

“Maybe if someone was taking care of your vagina, it wouldn’t have sand in it.”

“I fucking hate you, Roland.”

“Yeah, I know.”

But you work well together, that can’t be denied. Case after case you take on, and case after case you win. It’s nice that you can put your mutual loathing aside to be professional for long enough to help your clients out.

He knows where you’re meant to be meeting your boyfriend that night. That fancy bar in the penthouse of that hotel. Seems fucking stupid to him, bars should be on ground level, but what does he know. While you’re in the bathroom he gets himself something strong which goes down well with the pill he takes; he sits in the corner where he won’t be seen and watches you.

You’re sitting on a tall stool, drumming your fingers on the counter. At first you look hopeful. Then you look at your watch. Over and over again. He can see the excitement leave you and you deflate like a balloon animal left in some kid’s room as time ticks by. Eventually your phone rings, and though he can’t work out every word, you have a very short conversation with the person on the other end, finishing the call by jabbing your screen so hard he’s surprised the glass doesn’t shatter.

You head into the elevator. He follows you. You’re the only two in there as the doors slide shut and it begins its descent. He leans on the wall and looks at you, levelly. You don’t even seem surprised that he’s there, you just look sort of tired.

“So,” he says, and you look like you’re bracing yourself for him to mock you like he usually would, but he gets straight to the point, “you gonna let me fuck you?”

You look at him, properly look at him. You seem to sum him up for the first time since you started at the firm, let your eyes trail up and down his body, taking him in.

“Roland, you have until the alcohol wears off.”

You barely get the last word out, actually, because he hears your consent and fucking lunges for you. His mouth is hot and rough on yours, beard scraping your chin and cheeks, and he grins into it when he hears you moan. Moaning from a kiss? You are desperate.

He slams his fist on the emergency brake button and the elevator screeches to a halt. You pull back to look at him, confused and appalled. He likes it.

“What?” he asks, pressing his thigh between yours, up into your needy cunt, “You said I have until the alcohol wears off, I’m not wasting a single fucking second with you.”

You seem oddly charmed by that idea, but it’s only a quick flash of sentiment over your face before he finds your clit and begins to fuck into it with the width of his thigh. You begin to twist and writhe in pleasure against him, wanting to ride him yourself, but him not allowing you the freedom to do it. He grins as he watches you melt.

“Knew you needed someone to take care of your little cunt.”

“I fucking hate you,” you snap, but he can tell your heart isn’t in it. Not this time anyway. He pulls off his suit blazer and, with a flick of the wrist that is too certain to have not been practised before, he manages to throw it over the camera in the upper corner of the elevator, letting it hang off it as if it were a coat rack. Seemingly happy that you have a few minutes, you let him kiss his way down your body and end up on his knees in front of you. He sees the hungry way you look down at him and wants to see it on your face all the fucking time.

He makes light work of your tight little skirt, raising his eyebrows when he gets to your thong. You shove him with your foot.

“What?”

“Someone thought she was gonna get lucky tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I fucking am aren’t I?”

He can’t argue with that. Well, he could, but for once he doesn’t. Instead he rips it off your body with his bare hand and shoves it into his trouser pocket. You yelp but any complaints you have are quickly doused when he begins to fuck you with his mouth. He is fucking ravenous for you, pressing his fingers up inside your greedy cunt and latching onto your clit viciously. You haul a leg over his shoulder and pull him in harder against you, your heel knocking against his spine. He digs his hands into the meat of your ass and hopes his fingernails leave little crescents.

You come once on his fingers, heavy and slick, and look both exhausted and disappointed when he pulls his hand away. He sucks his fingers dry and nods to the elevator control panel.

“Thing’s about to start working again. I’d get dressed if I were you.”

On cue the elevator begins to whir as someone somewhere deactivates the brake. As it starts to swoop downwards and finish its journey you scrabble to get your skirt back on while Roland grins at the show.

He takes his suit jacket and walks out the door with confidence when they open, striding past the assembled staff with utter nonchalance.

“Get that fucking thing fixed, almost ruined my evening,” he shouts at them, but anyone looking for too long can see his beard is soaked in you. You do your best to mimic his confidence, walking out as if the elevator room doesn’t reek of sex.

He heads to the street, doesn’t say anything, but offers the cab driver two hundred dollars to ignore what’s happening in the back seat. You bark out your address and fall into his lap.

Roland fingers you while you’re driven to your apartment. You’re one orgasm deep and high off it, and he makes you come again in the back of a dark taxi while easy listening plays over the radio. When the journey is over you grab his tie and pull him the two flights up to your home. He likes it a lot, being led like a dog, but there will be time to explore that another day.

Because there will be another day.

Roland takes immense joy in fucking you on the mattress he can only imagine your boyfriend has disappointed you on hundreds of times. He has stamina, you’ll give him that, and he ends up coming inside you three times over the following hours. By the end of it you’re lying on either side of the bed, sweaty and exhausted, just listening to the sound of your combined breathing.

“Why do you wax?” is the question he chooses to break the silence with. You look confused, and he points to your pussy.

“Oh. Personal preference I guess.”

“No, try again.”

“What—”

“I can tell when you’re lying. About this, anyway. Tell me why.”

You clench your jaw, but admit: “My boyfriend doesn’t like me hairy.”

Roland lets out a short, loud laugh that’s reminiscent of a bark.

“What, he afraid to get a pube in his mouth?”

“Roland!” you snap, and hit him with a pillow far harder than it has any right to feel.

“I’m just saying he’s a pussy. Wait, no, let’s not use that word, I fucking love pussy - he’s a coward. Grow it out if you want to grow it out, fuck him. If my face isn’t stuck to your cunt like Velcro then it’s no fun.”

You purse your lips but don’t say anything else.

The next time he fucks you, hair is beginning to grow there again. You’ve not really spoken about that night, and a couple of weeks have already passed. There’s been too much work to think about sex, anyway. Well, to act on it, at least. Well to act on it with each other - he’s not above admitting he kept your thong and likes to have the fabric over his mouth and nose while he jerks off into the toilet. You must know but you’ve not asked for it back, which he finds just wonderful.

The two of you are working late, main office lights off, lit by lamps, utterly exhausted. You’re in business mode, swapping ideas back and forth, butting heads a little but generally agreeing with what the other is saying. Excitement builds in the room and bubbles over to something else, and suddenly you’re in his lap stripping him off, and then he’s hefting you onto the desk and pulling down your skirt. He grins when he sees the slightly more natural state of your pussy and you roll your eyes at him.

“Don’t say a fucking word.”

“Oh, but I really want to.”

You silence him with a ferocious kiss and he begins to slide inside, too horny to bother getting out of his clothes properly; which is saying something because he loves being out of his clothes. He sheathes himself in you and you throw yourself back against the legal papers, not caring about how they scatter.

“So, your boyfriend pissed you off again?” he begins to thrust, pushing his girthy cock even deeper inside your creamy pussy.

“You wanna ask this while you’re inside me?”

He shrugs. He’s still hard as rock, so doesn’t seem to mind the discussion, so you humour him as he begins to work your clit with his thumb.

“Eh, a little. He’s always pissed me off to some level.”

“Why are you with him? You seem to fucking hate him.”

“We’ve been together - aah! - since we were in high school. Our families are friends. It’s just – oh, fuck – expected now.”

“Ahh, expectation, the truest form of love.”

You seem to mull that over, sincere, but you’re taken out of the moment when he slings one of your legs up over his shoulder and fucks into you so deeply you think he’s about to split you in half.

It becomes a more regular thing after that. Your little boyfriend is still around, but he’s none the wiser that you’re spending every other night fucking one of your coworkers. And the two of you are amazing at fucking. Roland believes you could sell tickets to a show to watch the two of you going at each other, feral and needy. And you’re kinky, too! One night you wrap his belt around his neck and squeeze it so hard his vision blurs and he comes more than he has since he was a teenager. On another, you fold him in two on your bed and take your time stretching his ass open before you peg him with the biggest dildo he’s ever seen. A prostate orgasm can really make you appreciate the world a little better.

You see each other a lot outside of work now, too. Usually he feels like the little dates you go on are extended foreplay, where you can run your foot up and down his leg and press your toes into his dick, but sometimes he has to admit he just likes going out with you. You’re a quick wit, whip-smart, and fucking filthy. You’re wasted on going out with that pathetic asshole, you really are.

And one night the two of you are working late, again. You’ve both ordered Chinese takeout from down the street, and have found yourselves distracted. Not with sex, not with arguing, but with trying to fling battered chicken balls into each others’ mouths across the length of the office. You’re in literal tears as Roland tries to wheel his chair into the chicken’s oncoming trajectory only to lose his balance and tumble out of it, landing miserably on his ass.

You can’t breathe. You grip the edge of the desk for support, tears streaming down your cheeks, the long line of your beautiful throat exposed as you throw your head back laughing, and Roland finds himself fucking enamoured with you. He wants to hear your laugh all day, every day, forever, actually. He wants to go home tonight knowing his is the only cock you have inside you. Fuck it if that’s possessive, he’ll promise the same thing if it means you’ll be only his.

He’s fucked.

He’s so fucked.

Roland Blum hates you.

Except he doesn’t really. He just has to tell himself that, or he’ll realise he’s fucking fallen in love.

#roland blum x reader #michael sheen x reader

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silversweetpea · 1 year

Text

Peer Review

pairing: Spencer reid x reader (gn)

word count: 1895

warning: This is probably really sappy but other than that i don’t think so?

summary: The genius and the student and the very obvious thing between them they both weren’t seeing.

author’s note: this is wildly self indulgent because I'm struggling with staying motivated with school and really just wanted to image a cute coffee date with Spencer. I have an idea for a second part so keep an eye out for me continuing to be wildly indulgent the next time I get sad about making my reference page lmao

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀�� ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀

You weren’t hiding your college course from your coworkers. If Hotch or Morgan or even Garcia had asked you would tell them flat out that you had classes you were studying for. It wasn’t a big deal and if anyone in the world was going to understand what it was like to be addicted to working on something, it would be them.

If you were to hide it though, you would want the man approaching your table to be the last to know.

“Hey Doc, what’s up?” Reid smiled again, a little dopey and a little bashful, the same one that you got every time you called him by the nickname. Seeing him in this moment was almost worth having been at the table since you had slipped out of the office yesterday afternoon.

“Just, uh, you mentioned this coffee shop on the past few three cases straight. I figured I might as well try it while I had a chance.” It was your turn to smile, world suddenly a little brighter at his comment. You’d be the first to call anyone else in your circumstance hypocritical or indecisive to be so giddy over someone proving that they’ve been listening to you while trying so hard to hide something from them. Lucky for you, you weren’t anyone else and Spencer, as attentive as he was, had yet to comment on your sudden love of textbooks or attachment to your laptop.

“Good right? Have a seat, tell me what you got.” He was quick to slip into the spot across from you, long legs brushing yours under the table. You’ve never been more thankful for the close quarters as you are in that moment. Your laptop gets drawn towards you, but not quite closed. There was no telling if it would turn back on if you gave it a chance to rest.

“I have no clue. I didn’t know what most of the drinks had in them and by the time i got to the front of the line there were people behind me. Whatever it is cost six bucks.” His voice is tired and part of you longs to cup his face in your hand, to run your finger along the bags forming under his eyes. You’re not sure how tired he must be to not rehearse his order like usual but you’re not sure you could handle finding out either. It helps explain the dramatic drink - nearly half of which you’re sure is whip cream - in front of him at least.

“Well, give it a try.” Spencer looks skeptical of the rather frilly drink in his hand but when you nod towards it, you get to see him lift it to his lips. More importantly you get to see the slight mustache that forms on his upper lip.

Your brain wonders what he would taste like if you kissed him.

The more rational part of your brain simply leans over and uses a spare napkin to wipe the offending sweetness off his face.

It doesn’t occur to you that Reid has issues with people in his space until you’ve already settled back into your chair, napkin at your side and a dumbstruck look on his face. You’ve never seen brown eyes so blown wide or his hands so still where they still held his drink.

“Sorry about that. It’s worth it though right?” Spencer barely blinks as you give a stilted laugh and sip at your own drink - despite the fact that its now well past its peak at hours old.

“Yeah,” The tired edge is gone, replaced with something breathy. Whatever it is though, Spencer gets a hold of himself with a short clearing of his throat and a look to the laptop you had nearly, blessedly, forgotten about. “What are you working on?”

“Oh just, stuff,” Raised eyebrows, teasing smile. If your job didn’t kill you, if this homework didn’t kill you, it would be him. Even as you cringe you can feel the knock of his knees against yours again. “You know, organizing my email, going through old files, that sort of thing.”

Hands you would recognize by shadow alone close the distance, small as it is, painfully slow. It’s a polite way to argue, an unspoken question you answer with a resigned sigh and a sip of your drink once more as you watch those beautiful features light up with surprise.

“This is an essay.” The words aren’t accusatory like you had thought they would be, they’re not even joking, just confused. It makes looking up at him a bit easier though it does nothing to stop the way that your heart skips at the eye contact.

“In theory.” Your weak response makes him smile again, mouth faltering with no noise as you slid the laptop back towards yourself.

“Why are you writing an essay?” It’s innocent but your eyes are already skimming through the paper again, spotting all the mistakes that Spencer’s just seen and feeling your stomach plumet at the extent of them all. The bravery that had been surging through you at his presence suddenly slipped away.

“You have to promise you won’t laugh.” His hair falls into his eyes just a bit when he nods, face serious in a way that you’ve never seen outside of the field. Though you suppose that you’ve only ever had a good reason to invite him out alone once or twice and if he was nervous with the group he’d probably keep that to himself if possible. Your eyes drift back to your cup at your side and the finger you have running around the rim of the cup to avoid looking at him. “I’ve been doing an online class recently. Figured it was about time to start updating what I know so I don’t get rusty.”

The silence between you feels unjustly vulnerable.

“That’s...wow.” Soft as a feather. Would that be what it felt like to feel his breath on your skin too? Not looking up means that you can’t tell what he’s trying to say with just two words and it only takes a second to compose yourself.

“I know it’s nothing compared to your wall of degrees bu-” Your gaze only snaps to Spencer when a warm hand covers your own.

“No that’s not it. I just can’t believe you found time to go back to school with all the cases we handle. Do you ever sleep?” Silence again, as if the rest of the cafe is holding its breath too while you search for some sign of insincerity. There isn’t though, not with Spencer.

“There’s a reason I like this coffee shop.” The noise comes back all at once when you catch the smallest bit of a laugh. You don’t mind this one though, it almost sounds relieved coming from him. “Though I like it less when I’m cut off for the day.”

“How long have you been here?” Warmth floods your veins, embarrassment catching you by surprise. The strange looks of baristas who ring you out several times a visit was one thing. Watching Spencer’s brow furrow, or his hair shift as he leaned ever so slightly towards you, was another.

The cold air feels like a brick being dropped on your hand when you pull back into yourself. Your eyes glue themselves to the laptop screen and the blinking cursor that seemed to mock you there.

“Long enough to rewrite this essay four times and still hate it. I meant to write it in the hotel rooms but the case wrapped early and then there was paper work and-” You hadn’t even noticed the hand snaking back in your direction until the laptop you’d been focused on was pulled from your grip.

“Let me take a look,” Spencer says as if you’re not floundering like a fish out of water. The nerves have just enough time to build in your throat, suffocating you, before you realize that you’re just as anxious about the ease in which the genius offers his help. Its the same way that he saves you a seat on the jet or offers to grab you something from the breakroom. Its the same as when you share those quiet in-between moments where you learn about his life in exchange for bits of your own and marvel at how perfect they seem to fit together despite your concerns.

“If it’s bad you can say so. I know that I’m not the best at the whole essay thing. Tests I can study for but open ended ‘explain this concept I barely touched upon in class’ moments aren’t my strong suit.” He says nothing, but you can see a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. It’s hard to tell what that means for your paper but for your heart is means another skipped beat. The words keep coming in an attempt to ignore that though. “You know maybe I should just go. It’s not fair to make you review that on your day off-”

“(Y/n), calm down,” The anxiety simmers and then evaporates completely when he looks up at you again. the smile makes his eyes shine and Spencer voice is light with a laugh that doesn’t seem quite able to break free. You’re sure in that moment that time stops, that you’ve spent an eternity just allowing yourself to get lost in familiarity. Your line of work doesn’t leave much room for domestic day dreams, nights spent at the dinner table or lazy Sunday afternoons but for a minute you can see it all ahead of you and reflected back in Spencer’s gaze. “Your essay is fine. I’m just going to leave some notes for you to review later and then you can have it back.”

“Why not just tell me now?” The words are still breathless, but when he looks back to the screen, the sound of typing filling the space between you two, your lungs seem more accepting of the air you gulp down. For the first time in your life you understand how it must feel to be a smoker, addicted to the same thing robbing you of your ability to breathe.

“Because I’m walking you home. You look like you haven’t slept since you left the office.” Easy, confident, said in the same tone of voice that he’d use to tell you the sky is blue and although you want to argue, want to insist that you stay put until the essay if finished and submitted you don’t have it in you to deny him that truth.

“Okay, just let me grab something to drink that isn’t hours old.”

“Here,” Spencer hands off his drink in one hand and swipes your laptop bag with the other, throwing the strap over his shoulder. “It seems like something you’d like.”

When he stands, you’re pretty sure you catch a glimpse of red in his cheeks, but you’re so busy thinking about the fact that you’re sipping from the same cup that you can’t trust your own eyes. Nor can you fathom how he knew that this was your favorite drink if slightly sweeter from the caffeine free flavoring used.

All you know is that when Spencer almost trips over himself to hold the door open on the way out, you’re thinking again of what it’d be like to kiss him.

#Spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine

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thegoldencontracts · 1 month

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Is it possible to request for Azul with a reader who used to be the queen bee/top dog of their school but then was overthrown and was bullied (essentially like Azul but in reverse)?

Of course!

Notes: Mentions of bullying, minus the title, very soft fem!reader implications due to the title of queen-bee

Azul x Ex-Queen-Bee!Reader HCs

You probably don't like him at first.

Okay, hear me out, he's all about exploitation, deception, manipulation, and blackmail. That's the exact thing that got you bullied. You know how this plays out, and you want none of it.

"You seem stressed, my poor unfortunate soul! I'm certain you could use some assistance. Luckily, I am benevolent enough to provide it. For a fee, of course."

You don't know much about this man, after all, you've just met him, but you can already tell he's bad news.

He'd also dislike you at first. He sees someone who's annoyingly jaded, and because of your experience being in his shoes, you know his tactics all too well, and you're not afraid to use them against him.

Funnily enough, this is actually what makes you start to like him more.

"My dearest," he said, encroaching upon your personal space in that way meant to be both intimidating and attractive that you were all too familiar with. Time to see if he could stand a taste of his own medicine.

"Yes?" You said, leaning right in - you weren't letting him shove you around. You'd had enough of that at your old school.

It worked. He flushed, swatting you away with a huff.

"D-Don't be so improper!" He said, and you would've called him out for being a hypocrite if you weren't too busy laughing. This was too good. For all Azul pestered you over contracts, he could be pretty cute when he ditched the smug attitude.

The main way for you two to get closer is to slowly learn about each other. You learn that Azul's actually quite loyal to his friends - no matter the much both the twins and Azul try to call themselves business partners, and he learns that you don't actually want to hurt anyone right now, you'd just like to be left alone. He learns your past at some point, and you learn his.

It's here that you guys might start developing feelings. In that case-

You both try to suppress them. You're both jaded, after all.

But after a while, someone's going to crack. It can be either one of you, but it's for your own good, because otherwise you'll both just end up pushing the other away

It's probably going to be Azul. Not because he's less jaded (which he definitely isn't), but because of the twins

They're getting bored of him being mopey (aka they care and don't want to see him upset) so Azul either gets small mentions until he can't take it anymore or they just straight up set you two up

If you somehow manage to overcome all of the jadedness from being overthrown and the fear of getting stabbed in the back again to confess first, though, congratulations! You've just earned yourself a super flustered Azul. Ultra-Rare!

While dating, you guys are an interesting match, to say the least. Two jaded souls who are both afraid to admit their attachment to one another. Difference is, Azul acts more smug while you're just gruff

All in all, it's safe to say you and Azul will likely have quite the good relationship, but it'll take you a lot of time first

#azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x you #fluff #twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto x you #twst #headcannons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst azul #twst azul x reader #tweel cameo #ty for the request!

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dekutherealest · 2 months

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I am not one to mind ships, but shippers are what drive me crazy.

I hate how so many z*tara shippers seem to strip Katara of her character when it benefits their narrative.

Basically calling Katara a human incubator because she had kids, saying she felt pressured to do such because of Aang is unbelievably insane.

But thinking her being with Zuko suddenly makes having kids and being with someone in a position of power is okay makes me side eye you so hard.

I don't get how someone who was actively trying to harm her throughout the entire show is given grace but when it comes to Katara's feelings towards Aang "they came out of nowhere, and makes no sense"

I don't like how people act like Aang doesn't respect Katara and how they imply that simply because he is the Avatar that Aang sees her as lesser than when that has never been the case.

Aang and Katara have always been very supportive of each other, and admitting that does not take away from you enjoying your ship.

It seems as if every positive that comes with Kataang gets turned into a negative for them but is suddenly good when applied elsewhere.

When it comes to how they end, you think Katara was simply a trophy for Aang doing well, but you also think because of his redemption, Zuko should've ended up with Katara. That's hypocritical to me.

#kataang #alta #might have to circle back to this #bottom line is #some of the shippers are the problem

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blacknedsoul-blog · 4 months

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Annabel Lee Whitlock: The Hypocrite, the Vampire and the Femme Fatale. A review of archetypes

Good news: I'm on vacation. Bad news: I'm on vacation.

And that means rest. A positive externality. But on the other hand, it also means that my brain, which is constantly thirsting for stimulation, has lost eight hours of activity a day that it has to fill with something. You know what happens to orange tabbies who suddenly become quiet and behave as if possessed by all the demons of Ars Goetia? Well, sort of.

So my brain in need of stimulation decided to dust off my college notes and talk about archetypes, because it's a thorough enough job to keep me away from climbing walls or checking random stuff on the Internet for 10 hours a day.

What is an archetype?

Just to make sure we're all on the same page, an archetype (a "type character") is a writing model that describes a role and has certain characteristics.

The term was coined by Honoré de Balzac, a French writer obsessed with what he called "micro-history. His life's work, "La Comédie humaine", is a massive collection of more than 80 novels, which, when read, will give you more information about that historical period than any theoretical book on the subject.

You may not know this sir or the protagonist of "Illusions perdues", but you do know the archetype that Lucien Rumempré represents: a young from the provinces, full of dreams, who moves to the city only to discover that the lights are there to dazzle and distract from the misery.

But at the same time, the characters that come to mind are likely to be very different from the good Lucien. This is because the archetype is a different construct from the cliché.

If I had to explain the difference, I would say that the cliché is a recipe, while the archetype is a mold.

If you follow a recipe, you will always get results that are very similar, even if you make small variations in the recipe. But if you have a star cookie cutter, the contents of the cookies can be quite different: no one would dare say that a chocolate chip cookie tastes the same as an oatmeal cookie or a gingerbread cookie. Even if all three are cut in the shape of a star.

So I'm going to do a little review of the archetypes that Annabel notices. The differences, the similarities, and let's see what comes out.

The Hypocrite

Not "hypocrite" in the sense of a personality, but in the sense of a way of behaving in the world: The Hypocrite is a character whose way of relating to the world is a pantomime, whose role is to build themselves up to fit into a system (which, by the way, they despise). If they don't have what you want, they will at least pretend enough to make you think they do. Usually for personal gain.

The founder of this archetype is Julien Sorel, the protagonist of "Le Rogue et Le Noir", the most famous work of Stendhal, one of the most prominent writers of the literary realism founded by Balzac.

Julien is this poor boy, but smart enough to memorize the Bible, which makes him seem educated enough to get him a job as a tutor in a rich house, and eventually a priest's cassock.

A more modern example is Nick Wilde from Zootopia. This fox has decided that if he alone can be a con man, he will be one, though he desperately wants someone to see him as an individual beyond that. He hates the system that condemns him, but he wants to be a part of it and will play by the rules he is given in order to profit.

Annabel, like Julien and Nick, has built her entire identity around being what is expected of her, in her case a perfect Victorian high society lady. Something that has given her a tremendous amount of knowledge about how people move in such circles. And from her point of view, people are the same everywhere (Miss Marple would be proud of her).

And in this oppressive context that fosters an environment where people kill each other, she knows what currency to give in return for loyalty: people will look for a leader, someone competent, someone who knows what they're doing.

Annabel has no idea what's going on, what awaits them outside the Nevermore gate, or even if there's a way to escape. But she can pretend to know. The quietest person in the room wins, and she's the one who takes the prizes to achieve her goal. The performance is justified as a means to an end.

Another thing that characterizes stories with a Hypocrite as a relevant character is the exploration of the consequences of this lifestyle: identity is consumed by the role, the line between actor and character is lost, and the Hypocrite is often faced with the reality that they have put so much of themselves into the character they are playing that once it is exposed, there is nothing underneath, or at least nothing worth saving.

In Annabel's case, this is expressed in her utter horror at not being trusted by Lenore. She puts her hypocrisy at the disposal of her lover and comforts herself with the reward of her affection, but Lenore's love for her is the only thread that binds her own identity: that Lenore does not trust her means that the role has completely consumed her, the complete confirmation that she, as an individual, is no longer a disturbed poseur.

Related to this point, we have the final transversal line in the conflicts that Hypocrites tend to have: loneliness. When all their relationships are based on a carefully rehearsed performance, the Hypocrite knows that they are alone in the world, that no one really knows them, and they are usually so deep in the role by this point that they don't want to (or can't) leave it. The longing for honest relationships overlaps with their self-destructive tendencies.

As much as Annabel insists that it's her and Lenore against the world, that her life is meaningless without Lenore, and that she is enough, these phrases indicate that Annabel is painfully aware of how she is perceived by others, and though she tells herself that Lenore's love is all she needs, it seems more like a mantra to keep her sane than a reality.

As you may have noticed, the main difference from the usual Hypocrite is that Annabel has Lenore. A bit like Nick has Judy. But Nevermore is a story that takes the psychology of its characters much more seriously, so while Nick just needs someone to reach out to in order to form honest relationships, Annabel passes because she has no fucking idea how to form an honest, healthy bond.

That Annabel is extraordinarily self-destructive, emotionally dependent, and so afraid to step outside the box she knows so well are, in this light, natural consequences of the Hypocrite lifestyle.

The Vampire

Here we must make a leap to another movement: during the Romantic period, the Gothic novel was at its best, and it was Edgar Allan Poe who squeezed out the last drops of what this genre had to offer.

Now, looking at the bibliography, Annabel does not have much in common with the gothic heroine (that is something Lenore takes care of), neither on an aesthetic level nor on a value level. To find her in the works that inspire her, one must look in a slightly different direction: the female vampires of gothic fiction.

Aurelia ("Vampirismus" by E.T.A. Hoffmann), Carmilla ("Carmilla" by Sheridan Le Fanu), Clarimonde ("The death woman in love" by Théophile Gautier), the vampire in the poem "The Metamorphosis of the Vampire" by Baudelaire, the three vampire women, and Lucy ("Dracula" by Bram Stoker).

All these characters have something more in common than their fangs: they are beautiful women capable of making anyone who sees them fall completely into their arms, as opposed to their role of making the one they have chosen as their prey "fall".

The Gothic vampire is practically a succubus, but much less sexualized than one might think. Although many of these works, with the exception of the poem by the good Baudelaire (an author who should be fed separately on these matters), spare no pages in describing how beautiful they are, neither do they overly sexualize them, nor are they particularly flirtatious: even Clarimonde is dedicated to simply being there and letting her presence alone do the work.

This is something Annabel shares with the gothic vampire: though physically gorgeous, the framing in the comic doesn't tend to focus on her as an object of sexual desire, her beauty is highlighted, but in a way that is more akin to an ethereal or unattainable entity.

This is due to a mixture of two things: the Gothic novel is steeped in Catholic puritanism, and even if it is to present a villain who uses her attractiveness as a weapon, the erotic component is subtly exposed, and the vampire's angelic beauty offers a contrast to her status as an antagonist: beautiful on the outside, insidious on the inside.

This is another thing Annabel has in common with the gothic vampire: she is aware that her appearance gives her a haughty, elegant, and dignified air, identifiable enough to earn nicknames like "Queen" or "Queenie," and she knows how to capitalize on it. This contrasts with the darker parts of her personality.

Another thing that terrifies romantics about vampires is that these fangirl succubi possess a quality that makes us 21st-century readers raise an eyebrow because it's supposed to make us uncomfortable: a deep, honest, and sincere willingness to be affectionate.

In context, this makes sense: the vampire is a representation of sin, temptation, and lust. So their affection is something that leads the object of it away from the path of morality (this is the 19th century, this is really important).

I understand that because of the vampire's role in all of this, she is a devoted lover. Incredibly devoted, in fact: Clarimonde is Romuald's sugar mommy (no, I'm not kidding, I'm not exaggerating either), and Carmilla never stops showering Laura with affection and attention, satisfying this girl's craving for companionship after living in isolation.

Annabel does something similar: there is a genuine interest on her part to reach out and connect with Lenore, and in scenes like this, she goes out of her way to show her that she is an amazing person in her own right, rather than being her brother's shadow.

All kidding aside, I think of the archetypes I could find to analyze Annabel, this is the one that fits her best, even though she is not, well, literally a vampire. She seems to have several things in common with Carmilla in particular.

The Femme Fatale

We all have a more or less clear idea of what a femme fatale is: this extremely attractive, sexually active, badass woman who is there to make the male character's life miserable and has a 50% chance of smoking fine cigarettes with a cigarette holder. This is…partially true, but also highly inaccurate.

Although these characters can be traced back much further in mythology, this archetype gets its name and very specific form from Raymond Chandler, the founder of the noir novel. I'm not going to go into too much detail on this topic, as entire books could be written about it, so let's just focus on what's important.

The thing to understand about the context to understand the Femme Fatale is that we are in the 30-40's and although she has many more rights than 19th century women, the decadence shown in these works emphasizes that she is in a macho context where every single rule of the game is stacked against her. This is something that Femme Fatale is acutely aware of: no matter how well she plays the game, she will always lose.

This is something that Annabel shares with this archetype: she is very aware of the rules of the game, she knows backwards and forwards how the world works, so she is also aware that they are too heavily stacked against her to ever win. All she can do is resign herself, play the role as best she can, and find small distractions to cling to like a burning nail so as not to lose her head altogether.

Therefore, the Femme Fatale's approach to life is this: if the rules are stacked against her, that means she has the right to do whatever it takes to survive. These tactics usually include manipulation, deception, exploitation, and, of course, making the most of her sexual attractiveness because, unlike the vampire, she knows how to flirt and use sex as a weapon. What needs to be kept in mind here is that for this character archetype, the use of these wiles comes not because she is factory evil, but as a coping mechanism within a system she cannot win against. If this ultimately makes her a villain, it's more about her role within the story in which it plays out than anything about the archetype itself.

Here's an interesting difference between the Annabel we see in Lenore's memories and the one we see in the present day of the comic: Annabel used to be willing to play by the rules, but the thing she learned from Lenore is that cheating is more than possible. As a result, her attitude has become much closer to that of a Femme Fatale, using her extensive knowledge of the rules to her advantage, going with the flow for personal gain. Her methods are much closer to those of the Hypocrite (especially since we haven't seen Annabel use her body or affection as currency yet), but there are definitely similarities.

Another thing about the Femme Fatale (when she is NOT a villain) is that, like the Vampire, she operates within a duality: an exterior built to be sexy in a somewhat intimidating way (which is why the aesthetics of many of these characters can be interpreted within BDSM culture), but with some goodness in her heart. A really clear example of this is Vivian Sternwood from The Big Sleep (the first novel on the subject published by Raymond Chandler): her own father describes her as "rude, demanding, clever, and quite ruthless," and Marlow, our detective, will have a long series of uncomfortable encounters with her. But by the end of the novel, when he is faced with the same choice Vivian must have made in the past, he cannot help but realize that despite everything, this woman would rather keep painful secrets than harm her family, whom she loves dearly.

So if you're wondering why the framing of scenes like this looks familiar, that's why.

Add to that the three layers of how her aesthetic works: an angelic appearance for when she needs to play dumb, her gaslighting, gatekeeping, girlboss bullshit face for when she needs to demonstrate authority, and framing where it should make you directly uncomfortable.

Looks are one of the strengths of Femmel Fatale's performance. And it's one of the strengths of Annabel's performance.

Conclusions

One interesting thing about looking at Annabel in this light is to realize two things: first, that many of the archetypes her character seems to take notes from are often in the role of antagonists or, for that matter, villains.

The other is that these archetypes are quite well ordered and connected: the gothic vampire is the inspiration for the Femme Fatale of Noir (her beta version, if you can call it that), and the Hypocrite shares a historical writing period with many female vampires. From her conception, Annabel is constructed in a fairly orderly fashion, and believe me, that's a huge contrast to what's going to happen with Lenore (which I'll get to soon, but I need to brush up on my picaresque novel notes).

The last thing I want to point out in this review is this: unless you're a Nick Wilde-style Hypocrite, Hypocrites and Vampires in general tend to have utter destruction in store for them. The Noir, for its part, puts us in a situation where the Femme Fatale, even if she wants to change, is generally too deep in this tangle to get out.

So what I find interesting about Annabel in this regard is:

This is actually THE scene that shows us Annabel timidly stepping out of the scheme of things. She doesn't seem to want to change, in fact I'd bet she's terrified to change, but even though she's repeating her father's toxic pattern here, she's also breaking it without realizing it.

It's too early to tell if we'll see Annabel have some sort of redemption towards less harmful behavior, or if we'll end up seeing her become a villain altogether. But I'm really curious to see where this story goes with all of these elements.

#nevermore webtoon #annabel lee nevermore #annabel lee whitlock #So this is about 3000 words long #I want to die #Spoiler with Lenore we'll talk about rogues knights and womens with tuberculosis #femme fatale #hypocrite #vampire

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