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qwimchii · 7 months

Note

Could I request a fanfic where reader has an aversion of men (due to trauma) and her coping mechanism is to regard men as an "it" so she can get through day to day. When she's assigned to work alongside Task Force 141, she tends to get the most along with Ghost because it's easier to talk to him due to his mask and also simply because he's not very chatty and touchy. And through her time working alongside him, she falls in love?

If requests are closed please disregard this! I love your writing, thank you!

𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴 (pt 1) — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘸𝘤 — 3.3k

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, (𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭) 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘸𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘯𝘯𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢 & 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢 & 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺(𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘰), 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 :(

note: im so sorry for taking so long on this anon!!!! but i loved the idea so much that i ended up making this a multipart series in honor of friday oct 13 & halloween.... 🤭 also i know that you requested her to be on the 141 task force but i ended up amending that a bit so i hope that's alright?? anyways enjoy lovies!

you walked down the sidewalk, a pool of cold sweat collecting at your back. it was freezing outside—the midst of a fall unfurling across the landscape, orange leaves crunching underfoot as you approached the church looming in the distance. the glare of a car’s lights illuminated the white structure as it passed.

we’re adding a new person to the support group, Kate had texted into the groupchat a few hours before the meeting. Sarah had added a bunch of flowery heart emojis after it, saying how excited she would be to meet the new person.

the dread continued to drip down your back in a sweat.

in response, you had texted back a flat: why?

you knew what you were doing was considered plain mean.

you checked your phone again, the glare of it burning your eyes in the darkness. still no response to your text—no doubt purposeful on Kate’s part.

but this support group had become…

you strode through the church parking lot, shivering, and walked up a set of concrete steps, swinging the heavy, brass knuckled entrance open.

…special to you.

as you entered the familiar chapel, the old musk of the building a comforting scent now, you adjusted to the dim, warm light dispersed overhead before moving towards the basement steps.

your aversion of men wasn’t foreign to your closest friends and family. you knew it was a nuisance to them, but your past betrayed you, and sometimes, on the darkest nights like this, you could feel the tendrils of your trauma clutching at you.

you used to go to church with your father too. now, you would avoid any church like the plague, save for this one.

you made your way down the steps to the basement—the musk of mold and age drifting through the place.

the girls in your support group had become much more than just a kind word. they were your friends. they accepted your strange quirks without so much as the bat of an eye.

adding a newcomer… complicated things. things like closing yourself off again, getting jittery and nervous every time you even spoke in front of the group, overwhelming you to the point of quitting entirely.

it had happened three times already but Kate had coaxed you back every time someone new joined. eventually, you had come to accept each of them. but it was no less difficult.

passing through the long, carpeted hallway, miscellaneous boxes here and there, you neared a familiar wooden double-door.

Kate rounded the corner on the far side of the hallway and gave you an easy, but tired, smile. she was holding some papers as she strode up to you.

“hey honey,” she called, patting your cheek gently in greeting when she neared you. “you’re early.”

you shrugged. “i’m always early.”

to these meetings at least, you didn’t voice, you wouldn’t miss them for the world.

Kate swallowed, then nodded, brushing back the strands of blonde wisps that fell into her eyes. “i know.”

you cocked your brow. she was acting strange—avoiding your eyes, and swallowing up words she wasn’t saying.

“Kate,” you said, tongue feeling heavy, “what’s this new person thing about?”

she bit her lip, finally meeting your eyes. “apparently, the newcomer has a habit of being early too.”

your brows rose. “yeah? let me meet them—”

your hand itched towards the knob of the door, but Kate stepped in front of you, blocking your way to the entrance.

your eyes were narrowed now. shifting on your feet, you tried to doge the petite woman, but she swatted at you, side stepping so that her back was flush with the door now.

“what are you doing?” you asked with an amused huff, bewildered by her strange behavior.

“is the newcomer a bit of an oddball?” you offered, your brow furrowing when she tilted her head.

“not exactly.”

you nodded slowly, trying your absolute best to appear optimistic with an indifferent shrug. “s’fine to me. we’re all a bit strange.”

definitely strange, that voice in you sang. you tried not to feel offended by your own mind.

Kate’s head dropped, breathing out a long and heavy sigh, before her blue eyes were on yours again. “just… don’t run away.”

“she can’t be that bad can she?” you asked with a laugh, a new muddled swirl of something dark and alarming pooling in your stomach.

Kate shrugged and that made you really nervous. she swung the heavy door open and stepped inside, disappearing from sight into the meeting room.

you stood there for a good moment, fumbling with your hands before, and you made it halfway through the doorway before—

you saw a man.

you stopped short. he was huge—muscular, no doubt, under several layers of black attire, body dwarfing the folding chair he was sitting on. half of his face was shrouded by a black surgical mask, hood drawn up, the cords of his earbuds trailing into the pocket of his black sweatshirt where his hands were shoved into.

immediately, you slammed the door shut.

turning on your heel and making your way back down the hall, you only hurried when you heard the door fling open behind you and quick footsteps following that.

“wait!” Kate called, and you covered your hands with your ears.

apparently, Kate was faster than you, because her hand was grabbing a fistful of your clothes before you knew it, and you reeled on her, seething, “i’m not going in there.”

apparently Kate was stronger than you, too, because she started half-dragging you back down the hallway and hissing through gritted teeth, “like hell you have a choice!”

“no—don’t want to—!”

by the time she had dragged you all the way back down the hallway, your shoes desperately scrambling against the carpet, panting with exertion, you had accepted defeat.

she still loosely clutched at the collar of your shirt, for fear that you may run again, and you swatted her hand away, fixing the wrinkles of your clothes as she brushed back her hair with a deep scowl and closed eyes.

when she gave you a side long look full of bitterness, your face scrunched, sending her the nastiest expression you could muster, hands balled into fists.

she completely ignored you, jerking her head in the direction of the open doors. “go.”

it wasn’t a request.

you bit down on your tongue hard, and with the most dramatic sigh you could muster, you sulked into the room, completely ignoring the man sitting within a circle of chairs.

Kate tutted behind you, half-pushing you out of the way to the desks shoved into the corner of the room. you trailed after her, watching her set down the now crumpled papers, smooth them out, stuff them into cardboard boxes, and then reorganize the boxes.

you searched for the words.

“you didn’t tell me that person was…”

a man.

you looked back over to the hulking man leaning back in the rickety, tin folding chair. it creaked under his weight, and he cocked his head, eyes shut like he was sleeping. you didn’t really care if he heard you or not.

rather immaturely, you rephrased the sentence. “you didn’t tell me it was—”

Kate shot you a look that immediately shut you up. “anyone can come to our support groups, missy. you know that.”

you rolled your eyes. you knew that. but still.

“but…” you couldn’t find the words to say.

she sighed out, moving the box of papers to an adjacent desk. “and i thought this would be a good thing,” she grumbled.

your eyes snapped to her the back of her blonde head, a keen suspicion brewing in your throat. “good thing?”

she turned back to you, hand on her hip. “yeah. a good thing.”

it was a deadpan.

“honey, you’ve been in this group the longest, and we’ve been struggling with this i hate men thing since the beginning.”

you flinched. ouch.

she was right but that didn't make it any easier to come to terms with, and luckily for you, you were stubborn as hell.

“so?” you said with a shrug, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

“see?” she said, gesturing to your stiff posture, “you’re getting defensive.”

you blinked. “no i’m not.”

she let out a laugh but it was mirthless—more of a frustrated huff. “since you’ve been here the longest, i’m gonna need you to do something for me, honey.”

your voice was strained. “do what?”

she pointed to the man, whose eyes were still closed, and hissed at you in a half-whisper, “you’re going to talk to him first, introduce yourself, get his name and occupation, and then you’re gonna introduce him to the rest of the group yourself.”

your skin crawled with disgust at the idea. Kate always did introductions. not you.

you stepped forward, opening your mouth to protest but—

she held up a hand in your face and skirted around you. “no. i don’t care what you have to say. this is how we improve, honey.”

you know that she wanted to say you.

you stood stock still behind the desk, seething, clenching and unclenching your fists as you heard Kate disappear from the room. leaving you alone with that thing.

turning on your heel, you jolted when the man’s gaze was already on you, half-lidded and piercing. his eyes had a dark, grayish film to them—brown with a murky depth.

it took everything in you not to snap at him to look away.

sighing out with exasperation, you rolled your shoulders and neck, and took stiff strides towards him. you hesitated mid-stride when he lazily looked away, seeming like he was just going to try and ignore you. that irked you even more.

you stood right in front of him so he couldn’t look anywhere else. you saw the furrow of his brow, the snap of his eyes up to yours in a hard glare, and felt a pleasant curl of satisfaction soothe you.

“hi,” you said, voice rough, as you shoved your hands back into your pockets.

he shifted in his chair, tilting his head back at you, taking you in fully. you wanted to slap that look off his face.

arrogant asshole.

his accent was thick and grating. “hi.”

after a long moment of tense silence, his eyes narrowed. “you got a name?”

you gave him a sweet smile. “nope. yours?”

his brows rose slightly, something playful flashing in his dark eyes.

you cringed. was he smiling?

that was not your intent.

“Simon Riley,” he said curt, “but i prefer Ghost.”

you ignored him, scratching at your neck, ready to get this over with. “right, Simon, welcome to the support group. i guess.”

he stared at you. “thanks.”

suddenly, his gaze felt too heavy and awkward on you. something dark and miry drenched your heart, tugging it down with a weight. it felt unfamiliar and strange. something bordering on regret or guilt.

fumbling with your hands, you stepped back and found a chair on the very opposite side of the circle. the very opposite side.

his eyes were still locked onto you, and you crossed your arms, looking anywhere but him, the carpeted floor, the peeling posters plastered with religious slogans on the wall, Kate’s desk, the entrance of the room where Sarah and Maya stepped in.

seeing them was like a release, and that ugly thing weighing down your heart was lifted. Sarah gave you a beaming smile, waving enthusiastically with a loud greeting. Maya trailed behind, giving you a soft, shy smile.

both of them edged around Simon and flanked your sides in the seats.

you watched her glance to Simon, eyes wide, then looking back at you. there was something like apprehension in her face.

she mouthed, is this the new person?

you glanced to him. he was barely registering the other two girls in the room, eyes untrained and looking somewhere else, black boots crossing over each other.

with a bitter feeling, you nodded at Sarah and she clutched at her mouth, sharing a look with Maya who was perfectly undisturbed by the newcomer’s presence.

Sarah, being Sarah, sat up straighter in her seat and leaned forward, waving a hand to get Simon’s attention.

“hi,” she called with a soft voice, smiling big. “i’m Sarah.”

Simon dipped his head politely. “nice to meet you.”

you scowled. where were his manners before?

though, you thought meekly, you hadn’t really showed your best manners either.

sighing out, you watched Sarah and Maya launch into a conversation with him that you refused to join, withering into your chair. all his responses were polite, curt, and bordering on uninterested.

“what are you listening to?” Maya asked in that soft angelic tone of hers, and Simon took out his earbuds.

“smashing pumpkins.”

Sarah gasped, gesturing to your face with a wild hand that almost knocked against your chin. “that’s her favorite band!”

Simon’s gaze snapped to you, and you felt like puking.

fumbling for words, you protested in a tone too strong. “no it’s not.”

Sarah gave you a confused look. “but we went to their concert last summer remember? in las vegas?”

oh you remembered. you specifically remembered because their band was getting old and their farewell tour felt like a looming threat in the near future. you remembered because you wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

but you couldn’t say that so instead you said, “no, my favorite band is… is…”

you glanced at Maya’s curious expression.

“taylor swift,” you shot out.

you grimaced. that’s not even a band.

Maya cocked her head. “no, taylor swift is my favorite singer.” she gave you a knowing look. “and you love the smashing pumpkins.”

she turned to Simon. “she even has posters in her room.”

you groaned out, slumping further down into your chair and wanting to disintegrate on the spot as Maya continued to talk about your avid love for smashing pumpkins. but Simon’s gaze was pinned on you. it didn’t even look like he was listening.

you pretended you were invisible for the rest of the conversation until the rest of the girls had trickled into the room, watching with a curling disgust at the sight of them fawning over Simon and his alluring presence. he seemed indifferent enough to their attention.

not like you cared.

the circle slowly filled till Kate took the last spot.

she had a stack of papers on her lap, smoothing over them with that tight-lipped smile of hers as she started the meeting.

her words were flying through your ears. words you didn’t really want to hear as you tugged on the hem of your hoodie, slumped over in your chair.

you didn’t hear her calling your name either.

Sarah knocked her foot against yours and you shot up in your seat, flushing when you noticed everyone’s attention on you.

your eyes darted around the room, feeling hyper aware of Simon’s blank, bored stare sweeping down your body.

“hi,” Kate said in a sweet tone, leaned forward in her seat, though her face was laced through and through with that burning exasperation that you were too familiar with.

“since you were the first to acquaint yourself with our guest,” she said, gesturing with a polite hand to that big masked thing on a chair, “we would love for you to introduce the new member to us.”

shifting to sit further up in your chair, you swallowed, voice falling flat and dead. “sure. this is Simon. he’s uhh…”

you took him in and all his hulking demeanor. “an accountant.”

his eyes flashed with that same look as before—something playful that really pissed you off.

Sarah snorted and Kate just smiled, though it was wholly devoid of warmth, and you resisted shivering. “right. i’ll do it then.”

she looked around the circle slowly. “this is Simon Riley. he’s in the military. i met him a couple years back.”

your eyes snapped to Kate’s, a whole new sense of betrayal swelling in your chest. she had already known him and wanted you to introduce him anyway?

“traitor,” you grumbled under your breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

the girls, in a chorus, sang out a hi Simon, a couple of them giggling, poking at each other. you noticed Maya blushing beside you and rolled your eyes.

was he really that attractive?

he just nodded, with a very low, “hello,” and sat up properly, drawing back his hood.

there was a light tussle of blonde hair on his head, shaved down at the sides and hanging down his forehead.

you bit your tongue, looking away. maybe he was.

“welcome Simon,” Kate said with a gentle smile, “i’m glad you decided to come.”

there was something knowing in her gaze when Simon’s eyes darted to hers that had a new curiosity perk up in you.

you watched the whole interaction with narrowed eyes.

just how well did they know each other?

as Kate dished out the upcoming schedule for the group, your gaze burned into his face. his eyes, trained on Kate, made you jolt when they flicked to you.

he slowly tilted his head, eyes narrowing a smidge. you frowned deeply, and in a stubborn haze, met his piercing gaze with one of equal stature. after a long moment, he huffed, a weird breathy sound, eyes flashing again, and looked away, and the moment you shared was gone.

you shifted in your seat, blinking, feeling strange and light.

what the hell was that?

you looked around, seeing if anyone else noticed. when you were sure no one had, you scolded yourself.

no fraternizing with the enemy, you chided, shifting your attention back to Kate who was listing off the predetermined pairs for the fall session. Kate always claimed that she pulled the pair choices out of a hat. the fact that you had never been paired with Maya or Sarah for a single season left you questioning that.

besides that, many of the sessions required getting one-on-one quality time with other group members through predetermined partners and different activities, even outside of group meetings. the fall session was always the busiest, preparing for upcoming events with weekly meetings.

it was something unique to your group which you wholly appreciated.

your gaze flitted to Simon.

except for when there’s newcomers.

“finally, you,” Kate nodded her head to you with a bitter tone, which made you wince, although you knew guessed you deserved it, “and Simon.”

what?

“what?” you croaked, and you visibly saw the girls in the room shift with discomfort, gazes avoiding you.

they had seen your immature outbursts before about newcomers. you were not afraid to show them again.

Kate gave you a very nasty sidelong look. “don’t start.”

you bit your tongue so hard you think it almost bled.

Maya’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, looking a bit crestfallen at the conclusion designated pairs, and in the sweetest tone you could muster, you offered, “what about Maya?”

her head whipped to you, jaw dropping open and a flush on her cheeks. you sent her a weak, apologetic look, sneaking a hand over to hers but she just smacked it away.

Simon only laxed back into his chair, blinking slowly like he was about to fall asleep, gaze flitting lazily between you and the bashful girl beside you. when his eyes lingered on her, you truely, utterly, wished with every fiber of your being that Simon had been paired with Maya instead.

Kate just ignored you, sorting through papers to find the next one that she read aloud. more on the upcoming fall activities that you would be helping the church with.

usually you’d be ecstatic.

but when your gaze fell on Simon, lazy, hulking, and donned in black, he cocked his head at you, eyes swirling. then, he put his earbuds back in, eyes sliding shut.

you jerked your hood up over your head and sulked.

this was going to be the worst few weeks yet.

okayyyy soooo i wanted to make these chapters shorter and ive already prepared quite a few so i'll be posting every 1-2 days for this series leading up to halloween!!!! im so excited 🤭 i hope you guys enjoyed this first silly part <3 more silly parts to come!

taglist: @ivybeeloved @babygirl-riley

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

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merakiui · 1 month

Text

the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly.

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious, places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline.

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #n/sfw #tw: age gap #tw: dubcon #tw: pregnancy mention

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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

Note

I’m so happy you’re up for writing for WTTW! It’s one of my all time faves, can’t believe it’s been a year?!

Please could I request a cute little blurb set during the drive back maybe? Something cute and loved up and maybe a little smutty (for the sluts) (aka me)

Or anything else from this AU you feel like writing!

🥰

18+

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over.”

You were on a road outside of a town in Utah, Carmel and the ocean long left behind. It was almost dusk, that golden kind of light draping over the canyons, making the desert landscape look pink, like a dream. Everything was cotton candy, soft and sweet, including the boy driving.

“D’you need to pee or something?” Steve asked and he peered down at the map that was thrown across your legs. “There should be a gas station somewhere along here if—”

“Or something,” you replied, your answer vague enough to have Steve frowning but he was already pulling off of the road, pink and red dust kicking up from the wheels.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok— oh.” He realised what was happening when you arched up, hips lifting from the seat, just enough for you to hook your fingers into the sides of your underwear and peel them down from underneath your dress. “Oh my god, okay, yeah.”

His belt was unbuckled instantly, a comical quickness to his actions, the buckle hitting the door panel with a thud and he was sliding the divers seat back quicker than he could keep up with, his other hand hitting the horn.

It was all laughter into mouths, pretty, sweet, urgent kisses over the stick shift and Steve wasn’t shy about urging you into his lap. He kissed you until you were breathless, until the sky went from pink to lavender and the clouds in the distance rolled a little closer. It wasn’t a busy road per se, definitely sleepy at this hour but headlights flashed over your both as an old truck blurred past and it just made everything a little more exciting.

Steve was making the nicest noises, needy gasps and groans as you rocked over him, his jeans unbuckled just enough to free his cock and he threw his head back at the feel of how wet you were, letting you nip and lick at his throat, his jaw.

And when he got close and the stars started to blink from between the rock formations, Steve gripped your hip with one hand and urged you to ride him faster, the windows wet with condensation, the car rocking in the most obvious way. He used his free hand to slip down the straps of your dress from your shoulders, tugged the flowery material down over your tits until you were wearing it around the middle of your waist like a belt.

You were so on show it was obscene.

“I’m close,” you moaned and Steve just thrust up to keep you, cock sliding in and out with slick sounds.

You grabbed at his hair, tugging, gazing down at him with hazy eyes. He was tanned, sunkissed and freckles with his lips pink and parted for you, staring right back with pupils blown wide.

“Christ, you’re so pretty,” he murmured and his voice was gone, wrecked. “Gonna come for me? Just for me?”

You nodded, gasping, pulling at his hair until he groaned and took over, holding your hips still so he could fuck up into you until you came, clenching down on him.

And if that happened in every place you stopped on the way home, well. That wasn’t a vacation story you needed to share with friends.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve harrington fanfiction #Steve harrington blurb #Steve harrington oneshot #Steve harrington x reader smut #steve baby blurb #wttw

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 20 days

Note

hii I JUST LOVE YOUR WORK i stay and read them every day tbh, it's my first time requesting so I'm a lil nervous (also english isn't my first language so if i write too tangled things don't mind please) yandere disease has been corrupting my mind lately like this disease has taken over the world and now people are divided in two types: yanderes and darlings. Every darling is forced to stay with their yanderes by their parents and government when they turn 20 , like goverment has been taking care of yanderes too much, there's territories and special occasions where yanderes can meet darlings, if darling tries to escape people are just gonna drag them to their "soulmate" otherwise they think darling are too weak and fragile to protect themselves.

If you're too busy, just ignore this. I also know how hard it is to write. Hope you're doing good💗💗

Your English is perfect ❤️ better than some native speakers' ❤️ I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!!

Yandere!Fiance x GN!Reader

There were conspiracy theories as to how it happened.

Populations around the globe had declined dramatically, worrying nearly every country in every continent. The most popular theory online was that to combat the rapidly declining birth rate, one (or more) of the suffering countries conspired to create a new kind of biological warfare; an illness directed at their own people to foster relations. Unfortunately, while half of people were naturally immune to the attack, the other half were affected too much.

It was just a theory. Nothing could be proved. No government wanted to get to the bottom of the "attack" because their economies were booming; who would want to rid people of an illness that drove the rate of divorce to an all time low? It didn't matter if there were a few hiccups along the way.. As long as people were pushing out more babies, governments across the planet were more than happy to just create new laws to keep the death rates minimal ensure happiness amongst couples.

(Reader) prayed on their knees like fanatic, begging any God that may be listening, for years that they could be one of the Lovers instead of a Darling. They were terrified of the idea of becoming someone's Darling; becoming a prisoner to a loving murderer. No matter how perfect each family unit seemed to be, the young adult could see it in their father's eyes, the longing for the outside world, away from their mother. The suffocating love their mother drowned him in; the almost unnoticeable quiver to his smile.. (Reader) wished upon every single star in the sky that they could fall madly in love with someone, just so they didn't have to live through the rose tinted hell their father did.

But every crush they had was normal, none of the guys they thought were cute in highschool awakened some kind instinct in them. Eventually (Reader) turned 19 years old, and found out that they were engaged.

"To who??" (Reader) nearly barfed onto the dinner table. Their parents sat across from them, smiling happily from the good news they had just delivered to their child.

"He went to the same elementary school as you! Isn't that romantic?" Their mother cooed, poking her husband while doing so. "Apparently he's known since forever that you two are soul mates, but he's been too shy until recently to approach the Family Planning Bureau about his feelings~"

(Reader) gripped their thighs under the table while their eyes stung from the blossoming tears. ".. Do I have to meet him?" They asked quietly.

Although the building was painted bright blue and was surrounded by a beautiful, flowery landscape, it felt like a prison with it's tall chain link fencing.

The sorrowful expression on their father's sympathetic face burned into their retina so painfully, that every time they blinked while on the bus to their first meeting with their "fiance" they could still see it. He knew just as well as (Reader) did that there was no escape.

Even the walk towards a private meeting room past other Darlings felt like a death march. (Reader) could only hope that the "electric chair" wouldn't be too painful.

The kind guard opened a door, and a young man they did not recognize sitting inside immediately stood up, his face bright red.

His freckled and bespectacled face was almost hidden by his wavy, unbrushed hair. A smile stretched sweetly across his round cheeks, and (Reader) noticed that his blush went down his neck. "Ah- (Reader)! It's nice to- it's nice to meet you!"

It didn't matter that he was incredibly adorable: (Reader) was determined not to let their guard down.

"You said we went to elementary school together?"

"Yes-"

"-I'm sorry, but I don't remember you." They interrupted him, curt and to the point.

Instead of looking offended, his eyes softened and his smile became (somehow) warmer. "I'm sorry." He motioned to a seat near the table he was just sitting at. "I can explain everything.. if you give me a chance."

Reluctantly, (Reader) sat across from him. It was hard to deny that he was attractive, really being their ideal man, but they continuously bit the inside of their cheek to prevent themselves from feeling any sort of positive emotion. They knew better than to fall into this trap.

"My name is Anthony." His freckles almost disappeared entirely under his blush. "I'm sorry I never had the confidence to approach you.."

"Huh?" The confused teen forgot to hold their tongue. "Isn't it, like, frowned upon to talk to your Darling before registering with the bureau?"

Anthony rubbed his hands together nervously. "I - I really didn't want you to meet me this way.." He sucked in air between his teeth, looking faint. "I.. Do you believe in true love?"

A pang shot through (Reader's) heart. They remembered every time they would chase a crush, yearning for something true and genuine. Reading love stories from the days before the bureau, and wondering if that was what love was really like once upon a time. "No."

He sighed sadly. "I believe.. or at least, I want to believe in true love." Anthony sat straighter, staring into (Reader's) eyes with a shaky confidence. "I should have asked you out when I first met you in the fifth grade. I'm sorry I was too nervous to talk to you back then."

Vibrating adrenaline shook their system as they tried to make sense of what this stranger was saying.

"I wanted to ask you out, and take you on dates, and get to know you like in the old days."

"Why didn't you?"

His head fell slightly, obscuring his face entirely. "I thought that my feelings for you weren't strong enough.."

(Reader) suddenly felt as though they were connected with Anthony on a spiritual level; as though he was the only person in the whole world to understand them. The need for love, conflicting with the fear of not being a Lover, being destined to be labeled as a Darling. "Are you.." (Reader) dropped their voice to a whisper, "are you a lover?"

Sorrow filled Anthony's figure. Shoulders slumped, and back shuddering under his uneven, heavy breaths. "Would you report me if I wasn't?"

It was as if God had finally answered (Reader's) prayers. Their heart was racing; their head felt lighter than a cloud. Stuttering over their words, the young adult had to avert their gaze. "I don't remember you.. but I wouldn't mind getting to know you." Even though they didn't love him, Anthony felt like their one and only chance to fall in love naturally. To not be trapped like their father.

"Then.. I can see you again?"

(Reader) smiled. "Yeah.."

....

The second (Reader) left the room, Anthony's head hit the table with a loud bang.

It felt like he was going to vomit with how excited he was, and he couldn't contain his giggles any longer. Being in the same room as his childhood love was almost too much for him, and he almost ruined everything.

Anthony had worked so hard to make (Reader) love him.

He knew they liked shy, nerdy types, so he morphed into that. Destroying his eye sight so he could wear glasses, growing out his hair so he could always look slightly dishevelled, biting his tongue until it bled to force himself to stay in character.

Tears pooled around his nose on the table. He was smarter than the Lovers that made his precious (Reader) scared to be a Darling.

"I'm so happy..~" Anthony sobbed loudly in the empty room. "Please fall in love with me quickly~ Although, I don't mind waiting on you forever.. I want you to love me now..!"

#yandere #yandere x reader #gn reader #thank you for interacting with me #sorry it took so long #yandere fiance #yandere oc #cw manipulation

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tangibletechnomancy · 20 days

Text

Doing It Wrong On Purpose: Episode 1 - The Un-Ship

Today's experiment: What happens if I prompt for something, and then negative prompt all the main keywords, plus various synonyms and related words?

The answer: Some gloriously weird stuff.

For example, let's look at a negative cat:

Positive prompt: A cat on a windowsill during a storm

Negative prompt: Cat, feline, felidae, kitty, kitten, animal, pet, windowsill, window, glass, pane, house, storm, rain, water, lightning, thunder, clouds, torrent, downpour, snow, blizzard, wind, windy

Interesting! Let's get a little more fantasy with it and try for an anti-deer:

Positive prompt: A deer in a peaceful flowery meadow, crystals, midnight, fantasy, colorful

Negative prompt: Deer, cervidae, animal, elk, moose, stag, doe, fawn, reindeer, antelope, cervid, antlers, flowers, night, dark, trees, foliage, bloom, stars, night, tranquil, fantastic, vibrant, cool, magic, blue, moon, sky, crystal, stone, statue, topiary, floral, blossom

Between these two experiments, including a few dozen other generations that remain unposted, one thing I can say for sure is that for living subjects, it's a great way to get the kind of anatomical wonk that older models are (in)famous for - and it makes sense why, the model is trying to make something that looks like a certain subject...but once it starts to look too much like it, well, shit, we told it NOT to do that! Break something up! Given that I love that kind of wonk, I think I've found a useful tool for myself.

One more living subject, and let's get even more abstract with our direction here:

Positive prompt: mind horse

Negative prompt: horse, equine, colt, filly, mare, stallion, bronco, pony, mind, brain, thought, essence, psyche, intelligence, consciousness, imagination, dream, soul, visualization, intellect, wit, cognizance

Now let's try something that isn't alive. One thing I love AI for is surreal settings and landscapes - lets try one now!

Positive prompt: A magic palace garden made of crystal and gold

Negative prompt: Palace, magic, crystal, gold, fantasy, castle, estate, stronghold, temple, garden, flowers, plants, blossoms, bloom, blooms, trees, grass, stems, foliage, leaves, greenery, branches, bush, bushes, hedge, hedges, metal, luxury, stone, glass, brass, rose, polished, jewel, prism, courtyard

I then tried to see if, learning from the animal subjects, I could make it more likely to return one of my favorite "mistakes" - making it impossible to discern the point where a water area ends and a sky area begins. I wasn't immediately successful, but I came up with some results I found pleasing regardless-

Positive prompt: Secret hideout in a cave behind a waterfall in the foggy forest on a floating sky island in fluffy clouds

Negative prompt: hideout, camp, campsite, home, abode, house, dwelling, rest, shelter, waterfall, water, cave, grotto, forest, woods, woodland, trees, fountain, cascade, pond, stream, lake, river, brook, puddle, creek, pool, beach, ocean, sea, cloud, clouds, sky, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus, fog, storm, rain, sunshower, falls

It seems that with landscapes it's got a much clearer and more specific "idea" of what a [SUBJECT] without [SUBJECT] looks like; it's more inclined to invent very specific, very consistent unasked for related elements. With the animals, I was tweaking the weight on the positive prompt to avoid getting straightforwardly just what I had positive (and negative) prompted, but with landscapes, I just get... almost something else entirely.

So how about inanimate objects? Let's try a ship, perhaps?

Positive prompt: A huge sailing ship with brilliant prismatic crystal sails on a stormy, turbulent sea of sunset clouds

Negative prompt: ship, boat, sailboat, sailing ship, pirate ship, galleon, ketch, schooner, sloop, cutter, sail, sea, ocean, storm, wind, rain, water, waves, cloudy, clouds, fog, sunset, dusk, dawn, sunrise, twilight, evening

...okay, I'm in love with the un-ship. It truly does manage to consistently give me results that look like, yet entirely unlike, a ship. It is everything I love about AI as a medium. More than that, it is my friend.

At lower positive prompt weights, they only get even more beautifully chaotic.

I want to live on one of these (in an alternate universe where they're geometrically possible and structurally sound, that is).

Failing that, I will be featuring them a lot from now on.

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

#ai art #generated art #simple stable #stable diffusion

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endlessdreamworld · 1 year

Text

Rejected xx Rejection

Yandere! Ayato X Noble! GN Reader

TW: Gaslighting, imprisonment, death, threats of suicide

Another proposal. Yet another hand written missive that was dripping with honeyed words, and flowery metaphors about everything that made you perfect, graced your desk. Tragically, you were used to navigating the exhausting political landscape of Inazuma’s nobility, and had to be, especially given the social standing of your family. The amount of clans that could rival yours in power, wealth, and influence could be counted on one hand. Presently, the head of one such clan, Kamisato Ayato, had been relentless in his pursuit of your hand the moment you were of age to be married. Of course, he wasn’t the only one, but he was the one you had the hardest time rejecting.

From the outside looking in, it didn’t make any sense. You were childhood friends, equal in social standing, and your families could gain much from the union. Your excuse of “I’m not ready yet” has carried you for the past couple of years, but it��s starting to run its course. The social circumstances didn’t allow you to turn him down in favor of a lower house without terrible implications and issues for your family, and the Kamisato head has made it apparent that he wouldn’t be backing down.

Before you could even begin to mentally unpack how you would piece together another cordial rejection to his most recent proposal, a servant approached you. “Beg your pardon, but your father wishes to have a word with you in the study.” You acknowledged your servant and then sent them away before they had the chance to hear you groan. It’s always something lately, some gala that needed attending, some dignitaries that needed entertaining, and all other manner of nonsense. It was enough to make you want to roll your eyes so far back in your head you could swallow them. And damn that Kamisato and his never-ending proposals. Doesn’t he have anything better to do? If anything he should be more busy as he is the current family head, and not just the primary heir like you.

Before long you had arrived in the study, and a servant opened the door for you to enter. Much to your horror, you found the person who you wanted to see least of all warmly smiling and elegantly laughing with your father who was as pleased as can be. On the table next to him was a large loosely wrapped bouquet. All attention was on you the moment you entered the room. Ayato stood to attention and gave you a deep self humbling bow without a moment of hesitation – something that was nearly socially inconceivable. Your father nudged him with his elbow, “Oh come on now, everyone knows you might as well be family.” Ayato gave a small amused laugh. Your father stood up and excused himself so the two of you could talk. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The door closed behind him, and the air grew thick enough to drown in. “It’s been a while,” Ayato gave you a half-lidded gaze, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He was immaculately dressed in formal attire that screamed ‘not your usual visit’ and you hated how good he looked. Ayato unwrapped the decorative paper of the ‘bouquet’ to reveal that it was not a bouquet at all but about a dozen assorted individual flowers.

“Why are you here?” You spat out. All decorum has left you save for being quiet enough to not alert the servants. Acting irrationally would reflect poorly on your father. The servants had made themselves scarce and you hated how they were all eager for your relationship to progress, so they wouldn’t dare interrupt.

“Isn’t it obvious?” It was obvious, but you weren’t going to dignify that question with an answer just to give him more work. You wanted to give him a hard time. Ayato gave a soft hum of happiness not at all discouraged by your silence. “I stopped by to see you, and to drop this off.:” He motioned towards a well wrapped decorative box that you’ve seen many times. It’s a special sesame candy that’s only available this time of year. “I know just how much you love it, and luckily for me, it was in season.” It was in fact your favorite, and he’s done this many years in a row without fail, and you never grew to hate the taste though you wish you had.

“Please have a seat, we have much to discuss.” You silently complied. The faster you can reject him, the faster he can get the hell out of your family home. Ayato paced behind you, grabbed something, and then set it in front of you – a heavy square tan ceramic vase. “I made the time to take some lessons in flower arrangement. You inspired me to.” Ayato picked up a flower with an overly long stem then stood behind you, thinking of which way it should lean against the lip of the inside of the vase. You could feel his chest brush against your hair, and some hanging decorative silk of his upper garment brush against the bare skin of the back of your wrists while you watch him assess then reassess. You stewed and silently watched his arrangement come together.

You began to feel sick as you watched him work. He was good at arranging flowers, just like he is at everything else. The way he arranged the flowers, and the order he arranged them in, told the story of your friendship, when it began and where you are now, though you wouldn’t call it friendship now. He even chose a flower for himself, and a flower that depicted you, and his choices were spot on. Until this point, you had no idea someone could depict any inside joke with flower arrangements, but you sure wish you didn’t find out – not like this. And of course it ended up with another proposal. It was an absolute tragedy that someone who knew you so well disregarded your most important feelings. There was certainly an alternate reality where you fell for Ayato for all of the reasons people on the outside were assuming. How did it all go so wrong?

It would be just easier to give in, and you’re sure you could find happiness in it all, but it’d be a warped sense of happiness, so you’d rather say no for the sake of saying no. “How many times do I have to tell you no, Kamisato?” You spat the words out, and used his last name as an act of defiance.

“It’ll never be enough. You know that.” He lifted his hands from the arrangement, then placed them on your shoulders. Ayato gave them a soft squeeze. This shocked you, and despite your best efforts your breath hitched in your throat. Archons that felt incredible. You didn’t realize how stiff you had become from the day in day out stress of your social obligations. The Kamisato head didn’t fail to pick up on your body’s betrayal despite how hard you tried to hide it. “What’s wrong?” He laughed as quiet as a whisper right next to your ear. His hair brushed against your neck and you shivered. Ayato wasted no time and began to give your shoulders a proper massage. Your skin couldn’t decide if it wanted to grow hot or to crawl, and it settled for needles anywhere he wasn’t touching you.

You could feel hot angry tears pool in the corner of your eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” He stops everything, breathing included. You’ve never asked him why, only given him a No. You swore you could feel his long elegant fingers shake against the muscles of your shoulders as if he suddenly became unsure with the way he was touching you. And then, just as suddenly as he stopped, he started up again as if nothing had happened.

“Because no one in this world deserves you.”

“Except for you?” you scoff.

“Including me. Though luckily for us I’m second to no one.” Oh for fuck’s sake. How does he manage to be so delusional while still being lucid? “Do you ever wonder why you’ve gotten so busy all of a sudden?” You didn’t like the sound of that question. “You look stressed – you feel stressed,” he made sure to squeeze your shoulders harder this time. “Do you want it all to end?” Of course he’s behind this recent influx of responsibilities.

You’ve had enough. You clench your jaw and dig your fingernails into the palms of your hands as sharply as you can, hoping the pain will help you find the willpower to wrench yourself free from his grasp. You rip free and spin to face him. You weren’t sure what kind of expression you were expecting to see on Ayato’s face, but a soft composed smile wasn’t one of them. Normally he would look at you like a cat before it’d catch its prey, like you were playing some game of cat and mouse, but seeing proper happiness was eerie. Other times he’d look at you with a smug smile like he knew something you didn’t, and worst of all he would do this openly if you ever had the misfortune to encounter him at social gatherings. You hated it. You hated him.

“Get out.”

He pulls away from you, his expression more warm than before. “Of course. Until next time.”

That was the last time you saw Ayato before your life was turned into a living hell. By the end of the month, the Tenryou commission raided your estate, and dragged you from your home. You could still remember your father’s infuriated yelling as they dragged you outside by your shoulders.

The next time you saw Ayato, you had been imprisoned for over a month. You were hungry, filthy, and angrier than you had ever been before. The charges weighed against you were false, that you were in possession of a delusion, and had plans to overthrow the shogunate. It’s been ages since you saw your father, and every few days a member of the commission came into your cell to “teach you a lesson.”

The sound of the cell door creaking up startles you. Not again. You curl yourself into a ball on the ground and cover your head with your arms preemptively.

“Oh my.” It’s been so long since you heard his voice. Ayato walks through the cell and stops, standing before you. You don’t move to acknowledge him, since this was clearly his fault. His scheme. How dare he do this to you!? He framed you, though it’s anyone’s guess how he got his hands on a delusion. “You look like a mess.”

You don’t yield, or give into his taunt. Ayato kneels down, now much closer to your level, “They finally decided what’s to be done with you.” He’s almost whispering when he says, “You’ve been sentenced to death.”

You try your best not to cry, but your best didn’t stop a pained sob from leaving your chest. Before long, you’ve fallen apart completely. Ayato is silent through your open sobs, maybe he’s waiting for you to beg him to get you out of the mess he put you in, but you don’t.

He leans closer to you, and tilts your chin up to look him in the eye. It’s that same expression as before, but sharper. “I can save you though. The execution date is two weeks from today.” He’s close enough that you could feel his breath tickle your dry, cracked lips.

You give a dry laugh. “I’d rather die.” You tell him coldly. If you couldn't be free to live your life as you wanted, then you would rather die. Finally, all of his hard work would be undone, and you’d take it to your grave. But, why does he look like that? You figured he would look indignant, frustrated, or unhappy that you would choose to be defiant until your last breath. So why does he look like you said exactly what you wanted him to? You felt sick.

Ayato stood up wordlessly, and headed towards the door. He smiled back at you over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in two weeks.” The gate slammed shut.

After that, no one came into your cell anymore. No more beatings, no more news whatsoever, just your scheduled meals. Then the day had finally arrived. Your cell door was thrust open, and it wasn’t Ayato who greeted you this time, but his sister Ayaka. She rushed towards you and then embraced you. “Thank goodness you’re okay.” Ayaka pats your grime covered face. What in the world could possibly be happening? “My brother worked so hard to prove your innocence in time. I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you, but everything will be okay now.” Ayaka helped pull you upright, and headed towards the cell door, effectively carrying you out.

“Where are we going?” You croak out.

“The Kamisato estate. I’m so sorry about everything that happened to you. Thank goodness my brother cleared your name in time” She sounded like she was about to cry. “I’m so sorry about what your father did to you.” “My father?”

“Yes, everyone now knows that the delusion found in your family estate was his, and he was using it to manipulate you and keep you away from my brother. He said you might not be okay mentally for a while, some kind of emotional damage caused by the delusion, but it’s okay because you’ll be with us now. We’ll take care of you.” She breathed out a sigh of relief, as if the words were heavy in her mind, and she could finally unburden herself. “Everyone thought it was peculiar why the two of you didn’t just get married already, and it finally made sense.”

“Where’s my dad?”

“Oh, him? You don’t need to worry about him anymore. He was put to death earlier today so you wouldn’t have to see it.” Ayaka held you the entire way out. She was genuinely happy for the freedom and salvation she believed you were granted – that you deserved. Your mouth was dry. You couldn’t say anything. All you could do was accept that no one would believe a word that would come out of your mouth given these new circumstances.

Some Kamisato family servants and Ayaka escorted you outside. It was the first time you saw the sun in who knows how long. You looked up to see Ayato standing next to a carriage waiting for you. He rushed towards you the moment he saw you, and all but pried you from Ayaka and the rest. “I'm so glad you’re okay. I was worried sick about you. No one’s ever going to hurt you ever again, I’ll make sure of it. And we can finally be together, just like we’ve always wanted.”

There’d probably be people around you at all times since they’d be afraid you’d be a risk to yourself. You were outmaneuvered and overpowered. Now, you had no one, and you didn’t even have the freedom to die anymore.

Just what kind of monster is Kamisato Ayato?

#yandere ayato x reader #yandere ayato #yandere x reader #yandere x you #genshin impact #ayato headcanons #kamisato ayato #yandere x gn reader #yandere genshin impact

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cssnder · 2 months

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Writing tip: keep a diary.

It's as simple as that, really. Make sure to write daily, and write about your feelings, thoughts or day as if you were a narrator in a novel. If a conversation stood out today, write the dialogue. If the landscape looked lovely on your way to the store and it is still weighing in your mind, describe it, and write how it made you feel. No matter how dramatic, write it. As a matter of fact, my diary entries are all very flowery and dramatic. But they're excellent writing exercises.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writer stuff #writer community #writing #writers #writer things #writing tips #writerscommunity #writerblr #poetry #quotes #dark academia #litblr #booklr #books #bookworm #A Writer's Diary

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lovehina019 · 3 months

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starlitmark · 3 months

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Summary: Both you and Taeyong love waking up to slow, soft sex early in the morning. Pairing: Taeyong x fem!reader Tropes: established relationship au, soulmate au (mind link/shared dreams) Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: soul links, language Smut Warnings: unprotected sex, somnophilia, grinding Word Count: 600 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Note: sorry this is late!! Things happened at home Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ Velvet by EXID

You wake before Taeyong does most days. Most days, you both are up and running out the door for work. Then, there are days like today. The rays of the sun shine through the sheer white curtains. (After coming home late last night, you forgot to draw the heavier ones that block out the light.). Taeyong’s soothing breathing adds just the slightest bit of noise to the quiet space. You hardly awake yourself and debate falling back to sleep. Instead, you catch a glimpse of your soulmate’s dream through your mind link. It’s just the two of you on a cute little picnic date in some flowery field. It’s cute in every sense of the word. Normally, you don’t intend to see Taeyong’s dreams, often times you leave him to his dreams in peace. For some reason, today, you just couldn’t block it out. You roll over and look at your boyfriend. He seems entirely peaceful other than his eyebrows being furrowed.

Letting out a soft breath, you close your eyes and mentally step through the link between your minds. The doorway of sorts is wide open. You find yourself in Taeyong’s dream a moment later and are pleasantly surprised to see what he dreams about. Immediately you’re greeted with the feeling of your boyfriend fully inside you. His face is tucked into your shoulder as he smoothly and methodically thrusts into you.

That’s another thing about your mind links, when you step into the space, you are actually a part of the dream or any other content that occupies the space. You’ll often find Taeyong stepping into the shared space to just hang out and talk when you’re apart. Now though, you’ve taken the place of your dream self and are so happy you did.

Clinging to him, you let out a broken moan. Each thrust is perfectly angled to brush up against your g-spot. Taeyong starts placing placing kisses along your neck and shoulder. The sensation sends chills up and down your spine.

“Hi, sweetheart, you finally join me?” He gasps.

“Yongie–” you moan, “Feels so good.”

“I should’ve gotten you in here quicker, fuck, I’m not gonna last.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to urge him to go faster. The heat in your belly is starting to become a fire. You’re still very much sleepy, but the feeling of your boyfriend inside you has you more desperate than you could ever describe. Taeyong gently pulls your legs around his waist and pulls you onto his lap. Now you can properly see the landscape of his dream. You’re in a stunning, vibrantly colored valley. Taeyong doesn’t give you long to process your surroundings before he’s thrusting up into you at a pace that makes you see stars.

“Fuck– I’m gonna cum, baby.” Taeyong groans, peppering kisses against your chest.

Before you can respond, you’re startled out of the dreamscape. You open your eyes to see yourself cuddled up against Taeyong’s chest. He groans and rubs his eyes before looking over at you. He doesn’t say a word; instead, he leans in and kisses you softly. Rolling over to be over you, he lets one of his hands wander down your side to rub small circles into your waist. You gasp as he slots himself between your legs and starts grinding against you. Nothing could beat mornings like this. The feeling of your soulmate loving you and you love him. Being able to share such a strong connetion without any words being exchanged. All of it was so velvety and warm. You never want to leave.

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

#taeyong smut #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #joongfryefff24 #nct fanfic #nct x reder #nct smut #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 smut #taeyong fanfic #taeyong x reader

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ladykinrannoch · 11 days

Text

Using ChatGPT to write your media releases? I think we found you out Megsy!

So playing around with ChatCPT because of the terrible product launch content that has been emanating from the Montecito hotmail account. From Meghan's InvisiPA.

So I gave it a different command. The result is still very similar to what she has been pushing out! In fact it is almost word for word similar to what we have already read! I am astounded.

I still think this is way too flowery, even although I took that command out. I am going to try once more to get something that is way less flowery, so I will tweek the command a little.

But I think I have proved my point! This is how she does it, I am now convinced. Such a fraud. ChatGPT evens sets it out exactly as we are taught at university to set out a media release.

You:

Can you write me a professional product launch press release for Meghan Markle's American Riviera Orchard jam, it should be factual, unbiased and draw attention to the key features of the product, its packaging, the source of the strawberries and its pricing in comparison to other similar products.

ChatGPT:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Meghan Markle Introduces American Riviera Orchard Jam: A Taste of California Sunshine in Every Jar

[City, Date] - Meghan Markle, renowned for her commitment to quality and authenticity, proudly unveils her latest culinary creation: American Riviera Orchard Jam. Crafted with meticulous attention to detail and inspired by the bountiful orchards of California's sun-kissed landscapes, this exquisite jam promises to delight the senses and elevate any dining experience.

Drawing from the abundant fruit harvest of California's famed Riviera region, each jar of American Riviera Orchard Jam is a testament to the vibrant flavors and natural goodness of the West Coast. Locally sourced strawberries, handpicked at the peak of ripeness, lend their luscious sweetness to this delectable preserve, while a hint of citrus adds a refreshing tang that is sure to tantalize the taste buds.

Packaged in elegant glass jars adorned with understated yet sophisticated labeling, Meghan Markle's American Riviera Orchard Jam is as visually appealing as it is delicious. The packaging reflects Meghan's commitment to sustainability, with recyclable materials used wherever possible, ensuring that every jar is not only a culinary delight but also an eco-conscious choice.

What sets American Riviera Orchard Jam apart from the competition is its unparalleled quality and attention to detail. Unlike mass-produced jams that rely on artificial flavors and preservatives, Meghan's creation is made in small batches using traditional methods, allowing the true essence of the fruit to shine through with every spoonful.

And while the quality of American Riviera Orchard Jam speaks for itself, its affordability may come as a pleasant surprise. Priced competitively in comparison to other premium jams on the market, Meghan Markle's creation offers exceptional value without compromising on taste or quality.

"We wanted to create a jam that not only captures the essence of California's orchards but also reflects our commitment to quality and sustainability," says Meghan Markle, co-founder of American Riviera Orchard. "With American Riviera Orchard Jam, we believe we've achieved that goal, and we're excited to share it with the world."

American Riviera Orchard Jam is now available for purchase online and at select retailers nationwide. Experience the taste of California sunshine with Meghan Markle's latest culinary masterpiece.

For media inquiries, please contact:

[Media Contact Name] [Email Address] [Phone Number]

About American Riviera Orchard: American Riviera Orchard is dedicated to crafting exceptional culinary products that celebrate the natural beauty and bounty of California's Riviera region. Founded by Meghan Markle and a team of passionate food enthusiasts, American Riviera Orchard is committed to sustainability, quality, and authenticity in every jar.

Next attempt:

You:

ChatGPT

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Meghan Markle Unveils American Riviera Orchard Jam: A Delicious Addition to the Culinary Landscape

[City, Date] - Meghan Markle, in collaboration with American Riviera Orchard, announces the launch of American Riviera Orchard Jam, a new addition to the culinary market that showcases the natural flavors of California's Riviera region.

American Riviera Orchard Jam is made from locally sourced strawberries, handpicked at the peak of ripeness from California's abundant orchards. This emphasis on quality ingredients ensures a rich and authentic flavor profile in every jar.

The product is packaged in glass jars with eco-conscious labeling, reflecting American Riviera Orchard's commitment to sustainability. The packaging is designed to be both visually appealing and environmentally friendly.

American Riviera Orchard Jam is competitively priced in comparison to other premium jams on the market, offering consumers exceptional value without compromising on quality.

"We are thrilled to introduce American Riviera Orchard Jam to consumers," says Meghan Markle, co-founder of American Riviera Orchard. "Our jam embodies the natural beauty and flavors of California's Riviera region, and we are confident that it will become a staple in kitchens everywhere."

American Riviera Orchard Jam is now available for purchase online and at select retailers nationwide.

For media inquiries, please contact:

[Media Contact Name] [Email Address] [Phone Number]

About American Riviera Orchard: American Riviera Orchard is committed to crafting high-quality culinary products that showcase the natural bounty of California's Riviera region. Founded by Meghan Markle and a team of food enthusiasts, American Riviera Orchard emphasizes sustainability, authenticity, and exceptional flavor in every product.

-----

Okay Tumblrs, that is the lesson in PR writing with ChatGPT done for today! I have highlighted the key command that all professionals should use! Hold back on the adjectives!

#meghanmarkle #I am such a fraud!

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iztea · 4 months

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How do you get the ideas for your backgrounds?

mmm ideas.... sometimes i draw the background directly from a photo reference (the happy case) so there's not a lot for me to change and i can have a rather peaceful painting process

othertimes, the BG is tied to the subject/concept/scene I'm thinking of, so it only makes sense that i have that as the background

for example, for this fem skk art, i knew i wanted to have chuu kneeling in a crater after destroying a city so drawing that background was just a logical follow-up because i already had the entire idea in mind

Here, I wanted to have Akiangel sit on a building, watching over the city. The ominous sign with "the day of salvation" and crow came later after I found this picture on Pinterest, so they helped further develop the concept, but the main idea was there and so on

The third background option happens when my painting doesn't depict a certain irl scene or landscape, nor do i have any particular references i can use. In that situation, I first and foremost think about the general composition, the shapes, how they flow with each other, how I can tie them to my main theme and what sort of symbolism or little easter eggs i can throw in there just to keep it fresh and interesting for the viewer ( aka the person reading this aha ;;) :-* )

For this piece, i started with a big circle for the background, and then I started breaking it up in pleasing, cloud-like shapes and swirls that constantly keep your eye moving around the picture (i mean hopefully lol). The composition was inspired by a) Dazai's Mayoi card ofc, that trad Eastern illustration style with the circle and then branches of trees, and also .. kazuha's splash art ok i admit it bshsj

for this one, the roses came much, much later. Again, I added that sort of golden arcade to better frame the focal point or the main subject of the scene which was ofc her face and/or outfit. Then, since it still felt rather empty, awkward, and directionless, I tried finding a pleasing, spiral line that would compliment the already existing shapes and that would, again, move your eye all around the composition. I figured since her outfit already had those small roses stuffed in her belt, those curvy lines could become some bloody, spikey roses and boom! here are the theme and elements for you: blacks-roses-blood-deadly-sharp-gold etc. I then had her crush some of those roses in her right (ik it's the left hand shut up) hand to balance out the busier left side

and a last example, sometimes I draw multiple character poses in one piece and they sort of become my background. Yet I still have some blank spaces left so i gotta figure out a way to fill them out. Here, since the pose where he's all curled up was inspired by the TDIPUD light novel, i drew him as a "corpse" in a pool of blood, and contrasted it with some nice flowery-ish patterns and swirls that sort of come from within that bloody mess ( someone also mentioned it looks like a womb which I found very interesting as well ). The cats also helped fill out the space. On the left side, i added that swirly black sun that drips into three squares that gradually fill up with straight blackness and raindrops falling below inspired by the "a conviction that the sun will never rise again" line. I don't think I should go into detail with the symbolism cause it's pretty obvious and not that deep so i won't but yeah, and that's my BG all filled up!

I do this with most of my BGs, it's mostly just abstract shapes; I'm very fixated on making the overall composition look okay and for the piece to send a message ( most of the time ), so i don't think of backgrounds as a separate entity, they are part of an already existing idea, generally speaking.

This kinda turned into a composition discussion midway......... sorry about that....... To be completely honest with you, I have plenty of BG ideas, they kinda just spawn in my brain so i'm not exactly lacking in that department. Having to draw them and finding refs is the hard part for me

#long post #what's new #i genuinely enjoy talking about this so thanks for the question #i hope it helped?#bottom line is - direct refs - already existing ideas - abstract shapes and symbols that work well together #ask iztea #this is nothing new under the sun im aware it's just what i do

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delicrieux · 1 month

Text

𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 6. year one note: september 2nd, the summons

pairing for this chapter—f!lestrange!reader x regulus black warnings for this chapter—none word count—2.1k

whatever did happen at slughorn’s honorary tea party? well…

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you would have preferred to change into something a bit more fitting for a tea party, but the invitation came too sudden. it was just you and regulus, wrung out from the day’s activities – the new classes and itineraries and so many faces to remember and attach names to – en route to the library (by regulus’ request, he had been quite adamant at starting charms homework early) when you were collected and brought the same winding steps down to the dungeons.

you’d think the air be warm and smelling of mould and torch-light smoke, but no. it’s surprisingly dry, if not a bit heavy, bending under the weight of the castle and the black lake. you follow. the professor says his hellos to passing slytherin students. regulus, a step behind you, remains equally as silent.

the office you are cordially ushered in is small for a professor of such distinguished rank. there’s a low ceiling and a homey atmosphere, a plush couch in deep, smoky velvet with gilded edges, a mahogany table, an impressive amount of trinkets and pictures in the cabinet, a few portraits and landscapes and old tomes with latin titles: the elixir compendium: ancient brews and potent potions, alchemy through the ages: secrets of the master potioneers, witchcraft and wizardry: a guide to mystical mixtures.

tea’s already steaming and waiting. beside the cups, a delicious display of biscuits and caramels in flowery china.

“there we are,” professor slughorn says, closing the door. regulus and you take a seat, backs straight and hands folded neatly on your laps. one, however, seems much less at ease, “there we are. what a joy, i must say, to have so many bright students this year.”

the professor takes a seat on an armchair to face you both. his eyes jump between you and regulus. when he takes his tea, you do, too.

“i know it must be too soon to tell, but how are you finding hogwarts?” he settles on regulus first.

there’s a slight pause and an answer given to the tea, “very big, sir.”

“ah,” slughorn intones, “indeed, a marvel of creation. can be quite difficult to navigate. sometimes i stumble the wrong way and discover a room unseen, even after all these years. always up to something, this castle. as if alive itself,” his gaze drifts to you, “and you, miss lestrange? what are the impressions?”

medieval. the truth has a bitter tinge.

what comes out is more polite, “sheer wonder, sir. a bit of homesickness as well, but surely passes away the first few months, does it not?"

“of course, of course! as is to be expected anywhere, but i'm absolutely certain you’ll grow to love it very much over your stay,” there is a gleam of pride, a private whisper of, "very bright, indeed, you two. you'll both excel in all your studies." before he is reaching for a biscuit with the poise of a natural socialite.

regulus frowns but accepts the complement and bites into the sugar glaze of his own treat.

"i recall, you know, your father, mister black. orion was quite a rising name in the duelling club back in the day," a wave of the biscuit, and the memories, "no one, till this day, i bet, could beat him. not without paying a visit to the hospital wing."

regulus looks slightly up from under his lashes. professor slughorn perseveres with an affable smile.

a raised finger, "excelled in defence against the dark arts. wonderful wandwork, though i was quite, if you pardon my candour, miffed that he didn't take to potions as much. top of his class, but his passions laid elsewhere. your mother, though, walburga, oh, a delight to the heart," slughorn, overcome with remembrance, rubs a thumb over the stitching on his robe, "simply splendid. always a joy to have in class – a talented witch and diligent student. well-versed in potion making and never shied away from a difficult task."

"thank you, sir," is offered stiffly and sincerely, if somewhat unwillingly.

"the only one ever to come close to beat her title as top of class was your own mother, miss lestrange," he doesn't notice the glance that passes between you and your cousin, "you are very much like her. laurelle. a spitting image, in fact," there's a strange wistfulness in his eye as he regards you, a tone just a tad softer, "an exceptional young woman."

it could have been anyone – the sentiment could apply to a countless number of things, but...

no one speaks much of your mother, and she doesn't speak at all. hearing anything on a figure whom had faded into an invisible character is strangely foreign. like a freshly cut bruise.

"thank you, sir," you say, not sure how to respond to such a tender sentiment, "everyone says we're much alike."

"then no doubt you possess her talent for runes and arithmacy. her and walburga, always a competition between them, i recall. a bit of friendly rivalry in class. but walburga, i fear, didn't possess laurelle's talent for astronomy or the gift for divination."

there's a slight pause at the mention of the last word, where everything seems to halt. the world itself, under your feet, eases motion. the sugar cube held between your tweezers plops into your cup with a splash a bit too loud.

"and your father," slughron glosses over it quickly but gracefully, "a natural at transfiguration. one of the toughest subjects at hogwarts, if i do say so myself, besides potions, that is," you feel regulus' gaze burn the side of your face, "rodolphus, too, enjoyed transfiguration very much. yes, a very gifted boy."

rabastan mustn’t be talented at much since he isn't mentioned. you expected it, though it feels like a slight injustice.

"here," slughorn stands and retrieves a picture in a pretty gold frame before presenting it to you and regulus, "our winter social of 1946."

in the picture is slughorn himself and his illustrious slug club. there's a 17 year old orion black, handsome, carefree, a slight mischievous twinkle in his eye, not a line of stress etched in his features. you and regulus spot your mothers instantly. walburga softer in the face, the harsh lines not yet present. a modest smile, one regulus mimics unconsciously faced with her likeness. and there's laurelle, your mother, in the front beside slughorn, gazing past the camera to the great beyond.

a beauty. startling in sight, like a painting slightly crooked.

there's father, too, seeming very jovial beside his prewett cousins.

"timon and orion," slughorn continues, pilfering another picture from the cabinet. he gives it to regulus, as you hold the other, "were on the slytherin quidditch team. very good ones, too. orion was seeker and timon beater, a fine fit for their temperaments. are you interested in quidditch, dear boy?"

regulus, finally, comes alive. there's a fervour now, the topic far more exciting than that of house points and exams.

"yes, sir. my brother didn’t allow me to go out and train with him, though. said i'm too young," he doesn't complain, simply recounts with disappointment.

slughorn laughs, "yes, well, sirius cannot stop you now, can he? if you're interested, do talk to young aster fauns. he's the captain of our team. i'm certain he'll be delighted to let you practice before trying out for the team next year. hogwarts is, after all, a great place for adventures, and nothing is more thrilling than an afternoon out in the skies," slughorn's finger wiggle, "best believe it was me, and dear orestes carrow, who first hang-glided off the west tower."

regulus grins then. really grins, a lovely sight. a shadow of orion's, in the picture held before.

slughorn tacks on, "with some friends, naturally. of course, now, of course. safe to say that no one is attempting hang-gliding these days. and you shan't either," he wags a finger, though good-naturedly, "both of you, know i have eyes and ears everywhere. i shall be the first to hear of it."

you return to inspecting the treasure in your hands. the eight members of the slug club stand in formalwear, perfectly fitted. the air is lighter, smiles a little more wide. even for an animated picture, they stay respectably still besides the odd laugh and wandering, playful eyes.

laurelle, particularly, doesn't move, or blink, or breathe. there's a half smile painted on her lips, an almost faint sadness around the edges of her eyes.

she must've been ill by then. so young, a seventh year. a brilliant, albeit tragic star, the scintillating crown of the lestranges. a jewel so precious father chose a foreign last name.

"any classes you are excited for in particular?" slughorn inquires.

regulus starts but keeps a sensible eye, "all of them, sir."

a chortle. he sounds amused, not doubtful, at the wide-eyed, unhesitating declaration.

"and you, miss lestrange?"

you lift your head from the picture. you wonder if you shall grow into her features like rabastan grew into father's, "runes, sir."

"a marvellous subject. tremendously difficult, but i do not doubt your potency for it, dear girl. you'll excel. are you familiar at all?"

regulus turns at attention. the portraits, too, seem intrigued and tilt an ear. you tell the truth, "i know the alphabet. the runic charts in the library at home, though, are very complicated."

"your mother's handiwork, most probably," his lips crinkle upward, eyes scrunched kindly, "many would disagree, but a runic chart is often very subjective. like any other language, the flow and transition depends greatly on the speaker. laurelle was, is still, no doubt, an exceptional translator. have you attempted to read them?"

you glance at regulus, as if unsure. his expression is inscrutable.

"a little, sir," you hesitate again before continuing, "but i can't translate everything. i'd be much more comfortable using a rune dictionary."

"like the best of them, you've inherited your mother's talent."

something remains unsaid, but you feel it in the air around you. bending under the weight.

"well, i shan't keep you longer," slughorn says, setting down his tea, "the hour grows late and you have classes in the morning."

you all stand. regulus collects the photos and returns them to their owner. the others remain in the picture frames on the cabinets. there are too many to take in and you're curious, perhaps a touch greedy, to drink the sight of laurelle lestrange while offered the leisure.

"but, before you go," slughorn calls when you're at the door, "may i have a word, dear girl? only a moment."

you look to regulus, who does, too, and raises a brow. slughorn nods reassuringly, his hand reaching forward, ready to push the knob and send him off.

"i'll wait in the corridor," regulus tells you before the closing door obscures him.

the room is silent. slughorn's small eyes dart to the ground before back to you. there's a tentative smile, "a good friend, isn't he? regulus."

"yes, sir," you reply dutifully.

"no doubt, you shall grow to learn what a gift that is in hogwarts. very true friends, those loyal in their heart, are scarce. it's good to have such a person by your side."

"of course, sir."

the atmosphere feels thick again.

"someone you can trust," he emphasizes, but it feels as though what he's saying is going over your head, "that can be dependable," a gentle, careful tone is in his voice, like a question or a plea, "to confide in."

there's a prolonged silence. a shifting in your boots, the pull of the robe over your knees, "i'm sorry, sir. what do you mean?"

his expression falls, like he doesn't wish to elaborate, to explain the unspoken, but, no doubt, you don't fully understand, "not so important, really. a silly worry. an old man's fretting. this is a very difficult thing, being away from home. could result in a deal of… unexpected ways. i recall i could barely sleep the first week. terribly cold up here in winter, and all the unfamiliar voices."

he sounds apologetic. you say politely, "that will certainly ease itself soon, i'm certain. home is not so far, after all, sir."

he smiles, a comforting thing, "indeed. quite true. a splendid perspective, as i expect of you. only, if there was something to ever come up, know that you can confide in me, as you can in young regulus. my ears and heart are always open," it's offered in earnest. you nod, if not a touch stiff, before bowing your head.

when you enter the corridor, you meet regulus with an unchanged face. he's studying the decorations and trinkets lined the walls. portraits, old medals, and ribbons hung.

"what'd he want?" he inquires once you're on your way back to the common room. a glance over the shoulder, though professor slughorn's office is closed and far off already, "nothing, really."

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