#…also note how she does not answer? very mindful very demure-

[amusing-little-things]

my lady.... Somebody gave your kids a Tumblr...

@sea-siblings

They keep arguing about who's the favorite child

…How.

Why.

Those three can’t even get along for the life of them! Not even Rhodos!

[muniimyg]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jk (14) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist request closed

note: car sex; riding, doggy, hair pulling, ass slapping, spitting, choking, fingering, and blowjob. dirty talk; daddy kink, bitch/cockslut, etc... the vibes yk?

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

//

opening the door, your eyes light up at the sight of your visitor.

"eomma, you're early! come in, come in! didn’t jungkook pick you up? where is he?”

jungkook's mom laughs, pulling you in a hug. she sways you back and forth and pats your back.

“he’s parking the car, sweetie.”

when she pulls away, she greets zion. excited, zion cheers at the sight of his grandma. he bounces on your hips, leaning forward for you to pass him to her.. jungkook's mom takes him.

ushering her inside, you bend over and place slippers for her. she steps into them as you bombard her with more questions. "how are you? i thought abeoji was babysitting with you tonight? where is he? and… oh my goodness! is this the blouse i got you?”

"yes, it is! you’re right… the colour suits my completion well.” she does a little twirl, showcasing her outfit.

“so cute! very demure!”

snickering, she answers the rest of your questions. “oh, you know your abeoji… he's coming! he went to play golf... of course..." pausing, she looks around your home and sighs. "did you clean again? you don't have to do that, remember? i don't mind helping when i come over! you're so busy, it's not good to overwork. if i check your fridge, will the side dishes i made for you be empty or still full? because i brought more—"

"eomma..."

"it's just side dishes!" she glances to the side, cueing in jungkook to enter in with three bags filled of food. “… maybe 3-5 main dishes too…”

you gasp. "that's too much!"

"yah!" she hisses. pointing at you and jungkook, she makes her claims. “you need to eat more and this one eats 3 times more than you... i would know. i fed him every day and lost so much money—"

"love you too, eomma." jungkook mutters, placing the bags on the kitchen island.

you roll your eyes as he immediately comes over to you, slipping his arms around your waist and greeting you with a kiss on the cheek. then, he makes a kissy face at zion. zion sticks his tongue out at him. jungkook laughs.

"hi," jungkook says softly, tilting his face to see you.

"hi," you reply with the same gentleness, mimicking his headtilt. “you left early this morning… where’d you go?”

“car appointment.”

“oil change?” you ask. jungkook opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by your son’s excitement.

"hi everyone!" zion squeals, wanting to feel included. “halmeoni, do you see that? mama and dada are married. they love each other!"

jungkook's mom laughs while your eyes widen. feeling your embarrassment, jungkook clears his throat. the air feels awfully thin.

"have you eaten, honey? we can eat a bit here and then bring some dishes for the party." jungkook suggests.

you nod. "i fed zion but haven't eaten myself."

"you need to eat," he frowns. "don't just feed our son. eat too."

"i will," you smile. "eomma, did you make my favourite?"

she gives you an offended look.

"yah, ___... how old do you think i am? i'm not at the age where i forget just anything... of course i made your favourite! i made 3 tubs worth of it! i also added perilla leaves."

you break away from jungkook and hug his mom. you squeeze her tight, causing zion to squirm. "you're the best! i want to be born as your daughter in my next life."

she giggles at your affection. with a teasing tone, she not-so-whispers into your ear; "marry my son soon, okay? so you can be my daughter in this life."

pulling away, you pout at her.

"if i marry your son will you stop nagging me to eat more?"

"marry him first and find out."

completely shocked by her playfulness, jungkook bursts out laughing. before you can respond, he grabs your hand and drags you to the kitchen area. sitting you down at a countertop chair, he places a plate in front of you and begins to unpack the food. his mom moves to the livingroom and sets zion down with his blocks. together, they begin to play and sing.

by the time you pay attention to jungkook, you realize he already fixed you a plate.

"this is too much food."

"shut up," he chuckles, reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ears. "just eat."

rolling your eyes, you pick up your chopsticks and reach for the perilla leaves. struggling to peel them apart, jungkook picks up a pair of chopsticks and helps you peel them. when you get a piece, you thank him and begin to eat.

"the guys are excited to see you again."

in between chews, you snicker at him. "i can't believe they're throwing a good riddance party for yoongi."

jungkook blows air out of his cheeks and sighs. "i can. i literally had to keep one eye open at night because of that guy."

"cos i think he's hot?"

"cos he also thinks you're hot. which... he's not wrong."

"jealous?"

"always."

"how come it's cute on you but scary when it's me?" you pout. "you always complain about that... it can't be true, right? isn't it hot when i'm jealous?"

jungkook shakes his head. "fuck no. i fear for my life. truly."

"liar," you snort.

"i let pia go. i'm looking for a male assistant... i have interviews lined up for next week," jungkook admits. "and it wasn't fully because of you... she was chill and all but definitely spent too much time flirting with jaehyun. distracted him from working, always came in a little late, and still would get my coffee wrong."

"jaehyun's cute!" you admire. “did he ask her out?"

"jealous?"

"always."

"not funny," he warns you. "i'm already enemies with nam joon and you joking about yoongi keeps me on my toes.”

furrowing your eyebrows at him, you tease; "stay on your toes then.”

jungkook makes a face at you before taking his chopsticks and shoving another perilla leaf in your mouth.

"eat up," he hisses. "you're gonna need the energy for all the making up to me you’ll have to do later if you keep pissing me off."

after dinner, you quickly get ready and head out with jungkook. kissing zion goodbye, you also let jungkook's mom know you left a gift bag of skincare in zion's room for her. she tells you you're too much and you tell her it's nothing. then, she's pushing you out the door and telling you guys not to come home.

walking to the car, you notice jungkook takes out a different set of keys. then, a different car beeps and you turn your head to it. jungkook walks forward and then opens the car door for you.

"w-what's this?" you ask, eyes glowing. "was this your car appointment? did you seriously buy a new audi? is this the q7? shit... honey, your model isn't even old—"

"just get in."

you glare at him. "rude."

"please."

“better.”

exchanging nose scrunches, you get in the car. sitting down, he bends inside and buckles your seatbelt. as he pulls out, he sneaks a kiss on your lips. you laugh at his quickness.

moments later, he joins you inside. settling into the drivers seat, he starts the engine. he buckles his seatbelt and begins to drive. suddenly, music begins to play. moments later, he joins you inside. settling into the driver's seat, he starts the engine. he buckles his seatbelt and begins to drive. suddenly, music begins to play.

…

i, i hear the whispers in your eyes...

i'll make you wanna think twice.

you'll find that you were never not mine—

you're mine.

i can feel it comin', hummin' in the way you move...

push the reset button, we're becoming something new—

say you got somebody, i'll say, "i got someone too"

—even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you...

you turn your head at jungkook and glare at him.

"seriously?"

"whoops?" he acts dumb. "is it a crime to listen to taylor swift?"

you fight the urge to roll your eyes and give him attitude. “no.. the song itself just seems perfectly timed..." you accuse him. he shrugs and takes the hit. "you tryna tell me something?"

"yeah," he says, stopping at a red light.

"really? what is it?"

"this car is yours."

you blink.

"what?"

"what do you mean what? honey, you wanna pay for zion's daycare? fine. i pay for this car. your car." jungkook states with no room for argument.

in disbelief, you open your mouth to say something. anything! truly, this is absurd! daycare bills are nothing compared to a new car—

"you've been driving the same car since before law school. no, it's not broken. no, it's not old... but it's also not what you deserve. you don't want my help paying for zion's daycare bills? fine. so be it. i don't want your help paying for this car."

"jungkook—"

"just say thank you," he pleads, placing his hand on your thigh. the light turns green, and he drives. "i showed it to your dad already. he approved it and even went on a test drive. my mom rode in it today when i picked her up. everyone knows about the car but for you so do me a favour and don't embarrass me by not accepting it."

"it's too much—"

"you're the mother of my child and love of my life," he huffs. "i'll never be able to repay you for that."

you sink into your seat. truly, this is too much. it's not like you needed a new car either! but wow... he's just... too good to you.

"jungkook..."

fully prepared for your reaction, jungkook is quick to make a suggestion. "awh, if you're really thankful... just suck my dick or something—"

"jungkook!"

he chuckles and squeezes your thigh. "come on, mama. it's been a hot minute... haven't fucked in a few weeks. i love sleeping next to you and zion but it would be nice to wake up with my cock in your mouth."

"do you wanna?" you sit up, mood bright and ready. "pull over."

he laughs and wiggles his finger at you.

"we haven't even sat in this car for 20 minutes and you already wanna fuck in the back seats? thankful much?" jungkook blurts.

you huff. "i don't even know how to say thank you. it doesn't feel like it's enough... but thank you, jungkook... for everything."

jungkook shrugs, as if buying you a whole ass new audi isn't a big deal. bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses them.

"you love me," he reminds you. "that's enough."

as expected, the boys try to steal you from jungkook the minute you arrive.

"it's been too long!" jimin cries, poking your sides.

taehyung joins in and aims for your underarm. "who gives a fuck if you're a lawyer. big whoop! we have plans on suing you for never showing up to our events."

you laugh and hide behind jungkook.

"yah! it's hard doing it all," you flip your hair at them. "you try being a mom, a lawyer, and—oh my god! yoongi?"

like a scene from a movie, your friends part for him. yoongi laughs as you rush into his arms and hug him.

"isn't this your good riddance party?" you ask, shocked that he's here.

yoongi sighs. "she dumped me."

"you're joking..." you gasp, clueless and a little angry. "w-what happened?"

yoongi lets you go and greets jungkook with a hug as well. jungkook pats his back and then pulls away. like glue, jungkook shifts and sticks to you. you lean against him and guide his arms to wrap around you.

"to be honest.. we were having issues before i flew there. she freaked out and didn't even bother showing up at the airport. i booked a return flight and gave up fighting for her... it's been—what?” yoongi pauses and gathers his thoughts. “a week? i don't know. i just wish she told me where her head was at before i packed up my shit and quit my job." yoongi laughs, trying to lighten the mood. "this is technically still a good riddance party... good riddance to her."

you pout at him, hating the position he's in. it's so shitty. who treats someone like that? you don't know much about his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—but everything you did know about her was all good... but life is like that, isn't it? people let you down and turn into something completely different.

it's times like these when you're thankful to have jungkook. the dating pool these days is a nightmare.

"you quit your job? i thought they allowed you to do remote?" jungkook asks, eyebrows knit together.

"they considered it... but didn't go through with it. it's fine... i've been wanting to change things up anyway," yoongi insists. "aside from that... i moved in with jin and told the people subletting my condo that they could stay for 6 months."

jungkook sighs. "well... if you need a job asap, i'm looking for an assistant. it's yours if you want it. i won't even boss you around that much—"

"don't you already have one?"

you raise a brow. "the pretty one?"

yoongi's eyes shake.

"oh," yoongi connects. "i get it. yeah, sure. thanks jungkook. i'll take it for now and get searching for a new job soon. i can start next week.”

"there's no rush," jungkook ensures yoongi. "take the job and keep it for as long as you need."

yoongi nods and thanks jungkook. you share a look with yoongi and sigh.

"are you okay?" you ask yoongi. suddenly, you feel jungkook kiss your shoulder. jungkook then excuses himself to give you and yoongi time to talk. you didn't realize until now that everyone dispersed to their own conversations. jin, jimin, and hoseok were in the kitchen while taehyung and jungkook began to play games on the ps5.

moving closer to you, yoongi shrugs.

"am i supposed to be? i wanted to marry her."

for some reason, yoongi's words strike you. it was one thing to see the pain in his eyes and feel it in the way his words came out of his mouth; it was another to remember jungkook.

you wonder what he said to the guys when you broke up with him.

... that's enough to need a shot or two.

“are you okay?”

you nod. “yeah. took a vacation leave from work for a week to reset… asked for less intense cases and been trying harder in balancing the work-life stuff. it’s been better—“

“no, like.. are you okay?” he repeats. “like… you’re not throwing up anymore, right? and your mood swings? post partum still a bitch?”

���i’ve been doing okay,” you tell him. “i have a session soon… i’ll probably get reassessed and talk about things.”

yoongi smiles. “things like… you and jungkook?”

“yeah.”

he clears his throat.

"you know… it’s really nice to see you two together again," yoongi admits. "if there's one good thing that came out of all of this shit it's seeing you guys happier."

you blink at him.

"no," you stop him. "you can't be going through this huge heartbreak and turn this into a lesson for me. come on, yoongi! nothing's changed," you lie. "we're still broken up."

yoongi groans at your answer. "are lawyers always defensive or is that just a personality trait of yours?"

"both," you play along. "but seriously... we're still broken up. i guess things are... unfolding and going well... but—"

"it's not your fault, you know?" yoongi interrupts you. "he doesn't blame you for any of it either. no one does. so take your time and avoid it all you want—but he's gonna get you back."

your gaze softens, touched by his words. for the first time in a while, you let your guard down.

"you think so?"

"i know so."

by 11pm, more people arrived and took over the living room.

yoongi is re-explaining his situation to a crowd of friends. jimin and taehyung have started a karaoke competition, while jin and hoseok ran around filling everyone's cups with more alcohol. jungkook spent some time catching up with friends, while you gossip with the girlies.

then, your eyes meet jungkook's.

across the room, he bites his bottom lip and nods towards jin's bedroom. you know that signal too well.

excusing yourself from the conversation, you and jungkook slip your way through the party. fingertips brushing, jungkook's heart races when you lace your fingers with his and guide him inside jin's bedroom.

as he shuts the door behind you, your lips crash into his the moment he turns. kissing you back, he cups your cheeks with the palm of his hand.

"forgot you have an exhibition kink," you murmur against his lips. he bites your bottom lip and groans.

"i do not."

"yeah?" you challenge. "remember when you fingered me during your company's christmas dinner?"

"you wore stockings," he cries. "wanted to rip them. duh."

"that literally makes no sense—“

"who fucking cares? you let me finger you. you were into it too." he growls.

“never said i wasn’t.”

jungkook sneers, “holy fuck, can we please go home? i'm have no more social energy and only want to be with you."

you pull away and fix his hair. you watch the way his eyes soften as he looks into yours.

"leaving a party at 11pm is kinda lame though.. we're not that old." you chide. though, you wouldn't mind going home either. "... should we though? should we leave?"

jungkook nods, kissing you again. "can we have sex?"

you laugh against the kiss and pull away. pinching his cheeks, you drag your thumb across his bottom lip.

"yeah, we can have sex. wanna see how much space my car has?" you flirt.

earning a smile from jungkook, he tilts his head at you.

"your car?"

"my car," you repeat with a prideful tone. "it's pretty cool... newest model. my baby daddy bought it for me. it's an audi though, so it gives fuckboy vibes."

jungkook chuckles. "oh? is your baby daddy a fuckboy? yikes... is he at least hot?"

"kinda."

"kinda? wow. if you hate him, just say so."

"hate him?" you gasp. "i love him... gonna marry him one day."

he doesn't know what it is.

maybe it's the 5 shots you downed.

maybe it's simply the truth.

one thing's for sure; jungkook's heart has never skipped a beat that fast before.

sneaking out of the party was easy.

receiving the texts and calls was not. everyone was blowing up your and jungkook's phone, annoyed and disappointed you two left without saying goodbye (even though doing so would completely backfire). truth be told, you two didn't say goodbye because it you two would have been taken hostage. it would've been impossible to escape.

besides, you two prefer it like this.

just you two.

jungkook parked outside his place. the led lights are on in the car and the music is turned down. it's just enough to fill the space, but the true music to his ears are your moans.

in the backseat, jungkook sits with his legs planted on the floor. his pants pool around his ankles while his shirt is thrown to the front seat. his dick is out and your dress is scrunched up to your stomach. you're on top of him, grinding against his thick cock. the top part of your dress is pushed down to your stomach too, leaving jungkook in disbelief. he's so lucky to be this close to you. this view... is mesmerizing.

your breasts bounce so pretty at him. he can't help but dig his face in between them. you giggle, feeling how ticklish his features are against your breasts.

"t-that tickles!" you squirm, grabbing a fist full of his hair and pulling him away. "kiss me or something."

he chuckles but does as you request. stretching his neck, he kisses you slowly and surely. he takes his time, exploring your mouth and sucking on your tongue. you can't help but let out a whimpering moan as he kisses you so good; you're taken by surprise when he slips his cock inside you.

"m-mhmm," you moan. "so good. love your fat cock so much."

jungkook smirks. "dirty talk? really?"

"why not?"

"you're that level of horny?"

"what level is this?"

you hold on to his biceps and bounce hard. your eyebrows furrow and your lips part ever so slightly at the sudden burn in between your legs. it feels so good to fuck him like this. the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs makes this so much more lewd. you continue to bounce as jungkook throws his head back from the pleasure. quickening your tempo, you feel his dick rise even more inside you.

"h-holy shit," you cry, holding onto his biceps even tighter. trying your best to stabilize yourself, you wrap yourself around him. then, you do the only logical thing: whine for help. "jungkook, fuck me… please!”

jungkook wastes no time. he places both his hands on your ass, helping you hold your position. he then leans back and gets into it.

oh, he gets fucking into it.

jungkook begins to drill his hard cock into you. you feel your hole stretch from the friction. you also feel yourself dripping against him. the sound of your liquids smacking against skin arouses you even more. jungkook fucks you, completely disregarding what you can and can't take. he fucks you like it's a lesson.

as you whimper and give out on the position, you put your weight down and sit on him. he slowly and gently continues to thrust inside you. you rest your forehead against his shoulder blade and let out a tired laugh.

"doggy?" you pitch, out of breath.

jungkook lets out an airy laugh but agrees.

sweaty, sticky, and messy; you two switch positions. jungkook shifts towards the corner, allowing you to angle your body diagonally. you lean against the passenger seat, holding it for stability. jungkook kneels, sliding himself back inside you. his hands are on your waist as he begins to thrust in and out.

jungkook has always admired you ass. god truly took his time creating you. it's honestly his favourite feature about you... aside from your boobs, eyes, lips, legs, waist.... okay. fine. he loves it all.

he loves all of you.

you love all of him too... from his tattoos to the way his facial expression changes with every slight touch... it's too good.

not to mention his dick hits all the spots. you feel him play with your pussy, sneaking a hand underneath and in between your folds. you moan at the sensation and feel yourself begin to pound more and more inside of you. out of nowhere, he pinches your clit and you yelp.

suddenly, he grabs your hair and pulls it. the tug sends your head to go back. you bite your lip from the rush.

"you like that, mama? you like having your hair pulled and me fucking you like a little bitch?" jungkook hisses. "such a fucking freak... wanting to fuck in this car? i bought it for you to ride in, not ride me in."

you cry, "needed your cock so bad, daddy."

"you're daddy's little bitch, aren't you?" he slaps your ass. "say it, baby. say you're my bitch."

he slaps your ass again.

you hiss at the tingle but also can't help but wish for more. maybe he heard you because he slaps you for the third time before thrusting himself deeper.

god, he's so big.

like seriously... he's so fucking big! you swear you can feel him in your guts.

"i'm your little bitch," you sob. "f-fuck, daddy... you're so big. always so big for me. biggest fucking cock in the world, o-oh my god. it's for me, right? only for me?"

jungkook moans in response.

"is my pussy tight enough for this massive fucking cock? am i taking you in well? like a good girl? i'm good, right? you like the way i bounced on your hard cock? feel it in my guts... g-god, you feel so fucking good! i'm losing m-my goddamn mind, daddy... you make me f-feel so good... d-daddy, do i make you feel good?"

jungkook stays silent, trying to process your words.

with a whiney tone, you call for him; "daddy?"

"shut up."

he gulps, gripping your hair tighter. tugging it more, he moves closer to your face. swirling his saliva in his mouth, he spits on your face.

"what do you say?"

"thank you, daddy!" you lick your lips, getting a bit of his spit. jungkook lets go of your hair and cups your jaw with his hand. he squishes your lips together and kisses them. you kiss him back and pull away. giggling, he licks your lips and asks you to open up. doing so, he spits into your mouth.

you swallow.

he grins.

"daddy's little bitch is such a good girl... fuck, ___. you take me in so good. good job, honey. so proud of you."

then, his hand moves from your jaw to your neck. you shut your eyes, feeling the way his thrusts speed up but lower in intensity. losing yourself to the feeling of pleasure, jungkook adds pressure to his hold on your neck. you feel your throat tighten as he continues to fuck you.

he's never choked you. you've asked him once or twice, but he refused because he didn't wanna be rough on you like that. guess tonight is different... tonight, he fucks you rough and sloppy.

yet, the second you let out a small cough, jungkook lets go of your neck entirely. he immediately leans over and kisses it. you softly laugh at his kisses and hum;

“i’m okay, honey. it felt good."

“you sure? love you.”

“mhm… love you too—“

without warning, he pulls out and takes a seat. he grabs you buy the hips and gets you to sit in between his legs. he parts yours and places his fingers inside you.

you moan, throwing your head back. jungkook kisses the top of your head as he plays with your precious pussy. he fingers you for a good 5 minutes, your legs shake and your chest feels like it’s going to explode because of how fast your heart is racing. then suddenly—

"a-ahh, f-fuck!"

you cum.

the minute you do so, jungkook slaps your pussy and brings his fingers to his mouth. he sucks on them, tasting you.

you pant and attempt to catch your breath as much as you can. the new car smell is completely gone by now. the car smells of sweat and sex... iconic of you two, honestly.

after a few moments of silence and self-composing, you squish yourself between the seats and jungkook's legs. you take his half-erected dick and shove it inside your mouth.

his cock is huge.

(oversaid? yes. downplaying? absolutely not!)

it fills up your entire mouth and you struggle to get to the base. jungkook helps you, pushing your head deeper. as you gag, he holds you still.

"that's fucking right, honey. choke on my fucking cock like the cockslut you are... m-mhmm, y-yeah," he moans, throwing his head back. he lets go of you, letting you to suck him dry.

you bob your head, dragging your tongue around his length. it's veiny and so angry. the tip practically pulsates at you. you spit on it and rub your thumb across it. jungkook hisses at the touch and you kiss it to make him feel some type of way.

“this what you wanted, right? my cock in your fucking mouth this like this? god, if you could see yourself so full of me… fucking beautiful, baby. the prettiest woman in this entire world has my fat cock in her mouth.” jungkook praises you, doing his best to fight the urge of rolling his lips and fucking your face.

thankfully, he succeeds and lets you do your thing. sucking his dick, jungkook doesn't last too long. his breathing turns heavy and he begins to squirm in his seat. pulling his cock out of your mouth, you jerk him off against your face. jungkook watches as you leave your tongue out.

at the sight, he cums and spills himself all over your face.

his cum splatters and you lick his tip. jungkook laughs and pulls his dick out of your mouth. he tilts your chin and meets your lips with his.

he kisses you, losing his breath even more.

but it didn't matter.

you're his air.

when the morning comes, you wake up to the smell of coffee.

jungkook crawls back into bed with you. he tangles his body with yours. you let out a sleepy laugh when he reaches under your shirt and feels for your boobs. holding him close, he murmurs against your skin;

"want some coffee?"

"sure," you say. "i miss coffee."

[matchalovertrait]

Me??????

Thank you to everyone who tagged me for the simblr appreciation 💗 That was @bouncytrait, @elderwisp, @catsinmugs, @bloomingkyras, @woohoojuicesimoleons2,

@spotlessssmiind, and @smulie :)

I am so happy you thought of me and I love your blogs too!!

I’d like to tag everyone, but I can’t do that. However, I can acknowledge all of you whose posts I come across every day! I make sure to hit the like button to let you know that there’s someone here waiting for your next post. If I haven’t been liking recent posts, it’s because I’m reading your story from the beginning. I’m an awfully slow reader, so my apologies. I like to take my time and not rush through the stories to ensure I understand everything and take in all the small details.

Also, I know it can be easy to become disillusioned on here but trust me, there are a lot of incredible people. I see them every day on my dash.

I’ll mention some of my friends here who inspire me. Um, it's kinda long:

@changingplumbob: I don’t know how she balances so many projects at once and does it all with love! Each one of her characters is unique and steals the spotlight. When it comes to her posts, I'm either philosophizing or laughing. It's also admirable how much research she puts into the stories she writes. You can definitely tell!

@deardiaryts4: I love people who do extra things for their sims just like me LOL. She doesn’t have to make a music video or album cover CC. Nor does she have to create actual code for us to solve a mystery, but she does it anyway because she's passionate! She gives it 110% every time with her intriguing story and gameplay.

@ruthplaysthesims goes DEEEEPP into the lore! Blink and you'll miss it. She also has an impressive cast of characters. There are many mysteries in her stories that I am itching to have the answers to. I need to see/know!!!

@abbysimsfun OMG I absolutely love her style of writing, which became a recent influence over my own. She's also a fellow fan and user of Chekhov's guns (I know the name of that literary device now because of her hehehe. No, no actual guns here!). I am captivated by the storytelling!

@dreamyyesenia is so incredibly sweet! She also takes her sims' personalities and interests very seriously and creates the perfect homes/wardrobes for them. She's a master at it and I'm taking notes.

@authorspirit: Her builds are absolutely fantastic. Joy is a smart cookie and she does everything with precision. I really like the chic and regal aesthetic in her posts too. Quite demure

@sharona-sims is my slice-of-life queen!!!! She seems apologetic for the "slow pace" of her gameplay, but I don't mind it one bit. I could keep up with Lily and Michael for the rest of my life, idc, I love them.

@teadreamsims is immensely creative and a great storyteller. I always forget they play on console. That just shows how important imagination is. The gameplay with Fern and the rotational gameplay with the townies happened ages ago but they live in my head rentfree.

@aurorangen: Details details details!!!!! I eat it all up and Rory always gives us extra insight and behind-the-scenes stuff. She's talented in both writing and telling her stories through pictures. And her builds are insane.

@cakepoppresent: Nahhhhh cuz the drama and the wholesomeness, omg. I like how we explore different groups of characters at a time and it never seems like too much. And her videos are everything.

@miralure is on hiatus sadly :( But she definitely left her mark, I never forget her. When I came back to Simblr, I had no idea a lot of people saw commenting as an "embarrassing" thing? She was very welcoming and her mindset is the one I've been following ever since. Because of her, I'm often all up in your guys's comments like nothing lmao. Anyway, her lookbooks were perfection as well as her male sims. Amazing.

@windslar also seems to be on hiatus :( I admire the way she composes her dialogue posts through photos and I've been trying to do it as well as she does. The facial expressions, the angles, etc! It's cinematic.

@cinamun: I don't even have to explain, but I will anyway. The drama, the real-life-issues, the gifs, the heartfelt moments, the plot twists, the in-depth characters, the lore, the background, the wardrobes. Phenomenal work!

[burnwater13]

Greef Karga, Din Djarin and 'The Client' standing inside the Client's office, with a protocol droid bar tender in the background and Grogu's closed pram next to the Mandalorian. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 7, Reckoning. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu was just scrolling through his fan mail when one title caught his attention. 

“Did ‘The Client’ really believe that Greef Karga somehow managed to capture a Mandalorian?”

Grogu laughed. He’d been waiting for this question to reach his feed. He quickly typed a short response and signed it ‘Your Friend, Grogu’. The response was ‘No. LOL’. 

It was fair. He had really laughed out loud when he read the question. He had also laughed out loud when he read the script for that episode. He was going to talk to Jon about it, but his dad shook his head and Grogu decided to listen to his dad for a change.

“Listen buddy, as long as the story rolls out that way, fewer people will be afraid of Mandalorians and that’s good for us. Plus, it could have happened that way. It was touch and go there for a bit.”

Of course his dad was right. It had been touch and go. Touch Greef Karga with the Force and go into Nevarro City without anyone realizing that they were there. A couple of flash grenades later and the Imps were in disarray. While he and his dad were flying around in the Razor Crest, Cara Dune and Kuiil had managed to infiltrate the Imp base and collect the information on what Moff Gideon was up to and where he was going. Easy peasy. 

That of course was the problem. When Grogu and his dad told Jon that part of the story Jon had sighed at them.

“Where’s the drama? Where’s the conflict? People won’t buy it.”

Like people were going to buy that the only guy who could bring Grogu back from the Pykes was suddenly going to forget how to fight a couple of toughs and the head of the bounty hunting guild he knew so well? Well, Jon was the writer and he was just lucky to be in the show. (Trust Pedro to explain things so simply.)

Grogu was glad that his fans caught stuff like that and asked the questions. He couldn’t always give them all the details, but he could at least answer their basic questions.

“Was Pedro the real Mandalorian?”

“No. Din Djarin was the real Mandalorian. Pedro was an amazing actor and great friend and Grogu valued the time they spent on set together.”

“Did Grogu actually understand Peli Motto when she was speaking ‘Frog’?”

“Yes and no. No one was better than Amy at learning new languages super fast. The real Peli Motto, not so much. The real Peli used a lot of short cuts and interspersed Huttese into conversation whenever she thought she could get away with it. Amy was just the best. No note.”

“Did Grogu really like eating whole fresh, frogs?”

“Yes. Next question.”

“What does Din Djarin look like under the helmet?”

Now that was a tough one. To Grogu, Din Djarin was just about the most beautiful human being he had ever met, and he’d met Obi-Wan Kenobi. Brown eyes, check. Friendly smile, check. Scruffy beard, sort a check. Din Djarin shaved far less frequently than Pedro did when he was in the suit. The Mandalorian didn’t have to worry about continuity from scene to scene when they took place on different shooting days. Pedro did. 

That, of course, reminded Grogu of the time they had been on Nevarro, checking up on Greef Karga, who was a much better High Magistrate than a bounty guild leader, and Din Djarin had insisted that he needed to shave before they went into town. Grogu had asked him why and his dad admitted that the last time his beard was so scruffy, the protocol droid had complained about him violating a noise ordinance, the way it scratched at the interior of his helmet. Grogu had laughed about that until his dad commented that it was unlikely that Grogu would ever have that problem. 

Wow. Just wow.

“Who do you like more, your dad, Din Djarin, or the guys who play him?”

Grogu tried to be very demure and very mindful as he replied to that question. It wasn’t easy. He got this question a lot and it didn’t really make a lot of sense to him.

“My dad is The Mandalorian. He is the best bounty hunter in the Outer Rim. His name is Din Djarin, of the Clan Mudhorn, first of his house. Those wonderful actor and stunt performers don’t ‘play him’, they depict a fictional character based on our exploits. Of course I like my dad more. What the heck is wrong…”

“Grogu, buddy. Your fans love you. It’s okay. They just want what’s best for you.”

Grogu sighed. His dad really did have the best voice in the Outer Rim as well. Lucky for Pedro that he sounded just like him. 

And you can put as many ‘hearts’ on that as you like. I have spoken. This is the Way and may the Force be with you when you send new questions in.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Three

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: so yeah this isn’t my best work bc i havent been feeling great lately but i hope you guys can stay patient with me until i get my shit together. we’re almost to the end🤞

***

Sitting crammed between Elain and Feyre on the gray couch in Lana’s office, Nesta has to cross her legs prettily and pretend she doesn’t want to peel out of her skin right there. She doesn’t know what she was thinking when she invited her sisters to one of her therapy sessions, but she’s assuming it would be considered rude to kick them out now.

“Who wants to speak first?” Lana’s bob swings as she looks at each of them. The office is ice cold today, and Feyre and Elain’s presence doesn’t help the chill in the air.

Nesta crosses her arms before she can be asked to speak. “No, thank you,” she says. She knows everyone probably expects better from her, but no way in hell is she going to be the first to open up in front of this crowd. “Feyre,” she turns to her youngest sister instead, “why don’t you say something?”

“Actually, why don’t you set the example, Nesta?” Lana gives her a look, making her cheeks redden with irritation.

“Fine,” Nesta grumbles. She clears her throat. “As you can see, I have made moves to reconnect with my sisters. I invited them here because I hoped that therapy would bring us closer and also make them more… tolerable.”

Elain coughs, “Bitch.”

Nesta smiles tightly. “Elain could especially use this, I think.”

Lana is already frowning. She never frowns this early into a session. “We’ll start with an easy question, then. What’s been on your mind lately, Nesta?”

Nesta purses her lips, pretending to think. “Nothing important. I’m looking at jobs for the summer. I think Azriel keeps sneaking money into my purse, and it’s starting to become more than a little condescending. I caught up with some friends from school, and I was polite enough to pay for lunch.” She mentions off to the side to Elain, “Lucien was there, too.”

“Why would I care?” Elain sneers. She spies Lana’s disapproving look and lowers her head demurely. “Sorry,” she murmurs.

“That’s alright,” Lana says. “Why don’t you go next?”

“Me?” Elain’s head snaps up, and Nesta holds in her snicker.

“Start by describing your relationship with Nesta. I heard you two used to be very close.” Lana uncaps her pen, preparing to write.

Elain flushes lightly and folds her hands. “That was when we were children. The only thing keeping us together was that we shared a home. When we stopped living in the same place, some of us had no problem leaving others in the dust.”

“You can use my name,” Nesta rolls her eyes, “I’m right here.”

From the corner of her vision, Feyre cringes.

“Are you saying you feel abandoned by Nesta?” Lana continues probing.

Elain’s answering silence tells more than enough. Therapy must actually be paying off, though, because Nesta only thinks about interrupting and defending herself for a second before shaking it off. Her mind focuses on the word abandonment instead.

Lana is focusing on the same thing, because she leans closer and says, “Being abandoned bothers you?”

“I never said that,” Elain says indignantly.

“It would bother most people.”

Nesta watches Elain sigh and blink her big doe eyes at Lana. She’s always been able to use those eyes on anybody for anything. “I just don’t understand why I’m the villain for expecting a little loyalty,” Elain says sweetly. “Especially when you take a look at this face.” She cups her round cheeks. “You know psychology. How could you abandon this face?”

Nesta’s jaw hangs open. “Are we still talking about me?” She remembers Cassian telling her the story behind Azriel ghosting Elain, and a pang of guilt and pity hits her. She still hasn’t talked with Elain about why Azriel left Velaris, and she knows she won’t be able to decide whether to spare Az or not until she does.

“So that’s my turn,” Elain finishes up. “Feyre can go next.”

Lana is writing something sharply on her notepad, but she nods coolly. “Feyre, how would you describe your relationship with your sisters?”

“Oh, we don’t have time for all of that,” Feyre laughs awkwardly and waves a hand.

Nesta agrees, but the look Lana gives Feyre tells her that yes, they do have time.

Gulping, Feyre glances around. “Well, I was born last, so I guess that made me the outsider of the family. I never had much in common with my sisters, but now that we’re older I… hoped that we would grow past that.”

Translation: she hoped that once she found her happy ending in Rhysand’s arms, poor little Nesta and Elain would happily assimilate into her new community of wealthy friends, putting the cherry on top of her perfect life. And while Elain did that exact thing, it’s always bothered Feyre that Nesta won’t do the same.

Feyre continues, “I admit I’m not the best at understanding Nesta. Elain and I get along fine now, but Nesta…” Feyre meets her eyes. “It’s like nothing we do is enough for her, but for some reason I can’t stop trying.”

“Whose fault is that?” Nesta mutters.

“You want her approval,” Lana hums, taking notes.

“Is that what it is?” Feyre looks away.

Nesta refrains from saying yes, that’s exactly what it is, and it’s not my problem if you keep looking for something I can’t give.

“What are your feelings about that, Nesta?” Lana turns her focus to her. “Remember that this is a safe space.”

It really isn’t, not with two siblings holding long term grudges against Nesta. But once and for all, she’s going to set the record straight. “I spent most of my life being a bad sister.” Nesta’s voice is apathetic, straightforward. “I let Feyre take the burden of providing for us even though I was the oldest, and I didn’t know how to be anything other than cruel to my family. So once I had the means to do so, I cut everyone off for all of our sakes. I still don’t regret it, because being a stranger is better than being a bad sister.”

In that way, Nesta is a bit like her mother. Nesta was angry after her death, but she knows she would have been even angrier if Magdalene Archeron had lived and continued to be a disappointing parent. In that way, both of them are wise for leaving their families when they did.

“Or you could just be a good sister,” Elain interrupts with a drawl.

Nesta smirks bitterly at her. “I’d rather die.”

Feyre takes in a breath. “Why? Why are you like that with us?” She blinks furiously, and Nesta can see the simmer of her emotions. “It was okay when we thought you hated everybody, but you don’t. You only hate me and Elain.”

Nesta looks to Lana for help, but her therapist is sitting this one out. She sighs through her nose. “I don’t hate you,” she says, even though they might never understand. The next line comes with great difficulty. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was. But I don’t like you very much, Feyre, and you don’t like me, either. Please stop trying to change that.”

When she finally meets Feyre’s eyes, though, they’re glimmering with tears. “How can I stop trying to change that?” Feyre whispers. “How can I give up on us like that?”

For Nesta to give Feyre and Elain the relationship they want from her would require nothing but lies on her part. And as much as she wishes she was capable of lying about this, she can’t do it.

Looking away and down at her hands, Nesta mutters, “It’s not fun for me either, but it’s how I am. I can’t be easy or friendly with you. I hate watching you try to make me be easy or friendly.”

Nobody says anything to that, but when Nesta looks up again Lana gives her a remote nod that Feyre and Elain don’t catch. Thank you for your vulnerability, it says.

“You said something interesting, Nesta,” Lana breaks the silence. “Did you see your sisters as your responsibility to raise?”

Nesta shrugs. “I was the oldest,” she repeats.

“Your father was the oldest.”

“He wouldn’t do shit even if you held a gun to his head, so I was up next.” Though Nesta hadn’t done shit either. Neither had Elain, but the rules have always been different for her. Elain redeems herself to others by handing out sunny smiles and pretending to have the intelligence of a fawn.

Lana stares at Nesta until Nesta’s skin starts to heat. “What?” she says defensively.

Ignoring the other two women in the room, Lana leans forward. “You told me once early into our relationship that part of the reason you left Tennessee was to get away from your sisters. You said you were heartbroken when they ended up following you here.”

Nesta doesn’t breathe or look to see her sisters’ reactions.

“Now I’m going to ask: did you really want to get away from your sisters, or did you want to escape the feeling of failing them?”

Nesta doesn’t know how to answer, because to her they might as well be the same thing. Having Feyre and Elain around is like having a weight tied to her chest. The lingering guilt every time Feyre is in a room, her existence screaming I’m the reason you’re still alive. Elain’s constant expectations of unconditional support and loyalty, whether it’s reciprocated or not. It’s all so heavy. And it all goes back to the fact that the three of them were once just helpless children.

If she couldn’t take care of her sisters, how is she supposed to take care of any child, ever?

Nesta releases a weary sigh. “You’re going to bring this up the next time we have the baby talk, aren’t you?”

Lana’s eyes sparkle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet.” But Nesta can see from where she sits that her therapist’s notepad is covered in bullet points.

***

“I need to use the bathroom.” Feyre is hopping back and forth on her feet once the session is over. “You guys head down to the parking lot without me.” She exits in a rush, leaving the two sisters alone. Nesta hisses in frustration, nearly chasing after Feyre so she won’t have to face the inevitable awkward conversation with Elain.

By the end of the session, it was Elain that broke and pleaded with Nesta, “Don’t do everything we want, then. Just keep doing better, the way you’ve already been doing. I’ll be happy with just that.”

Nesta was surprised that Elain had even noticed her efforts, but she retorted, “And how do you plan to do better?”

To which Elain twirled her hair and murmured something halfheartedly about, “I might be more open to taking criticism or whatever.”

Though it was the absolute bare minimum, it was still a relief for Nesta to hear Elain admit that she has flaws worth criticizing.

Now, Nesta clutches the straps of her purse and turns for the stairwell leading to the parking lot. Elain follows without comment.

Inside the stairwell, Nesta asks, “Have you spoken to Azriel since he left Velaris?”

Elain looks surprised at the sudden question, and doesn’t remember to be guarded when she answers, “No. Why?”

Nesta shrugs, her heels thumping loudly on the linoleum stairs. “Because I know what happened between you two. I know why he left.”

Elain halts midstep, grabbing Nesta’s arm and turning to face her with wide eyes. “What do you mean, you know? He told you?”

“He told Cassian, and Cassian told me.” Nesta hardly cares that she’s being a poor friend to Azriel by spilling all this to Elain, and continues, “If I had known he was such a coward, I would have kicked him out of our place a long time ago… but I figured I would get your input on it first.”

She’s never seen Elain look so genuinely pleading before. “Get my input on what?” Elain breathes. “What did he say about me? Was it something I did?”

At that torn face that borders on heartbroken, Nesta decides that she’ll do more than kick Azriel out of the cabin. She’ll kick him off the whole mountain.

She shoves Elain’s back to get Elain detached from her and moving down the stairs again, and as they walk, Nesta spills everything she knows. She tells Elain about Rhysand’s talent of shoving his nose into places it doesn’t belong, and how one conversation with him managed to convince Azriel to ditch Elain for good. She tells her about how instead of having a straightforward conversation with Elain, Azriel chose to leave the city and hide out in the mountains like a pussy. She might sound blunt, but Elain needs blunt. She needs to know the unfiltered truth of things.

By the time they reach the floor where their cars are parked, Elain is silent. “Did he really say that?” she finally asks quietly. “He said he wants me to hate him?”

“That’s what I heard.” After a moment, Nesta feels the need to add, “You should hate him, though. He fucked up bad.”

When Elain continues strolling for their cars without replying, concern bites at Nesta. “You are mad at him, right? And mad at Rhysand? You’re not going to forgive them, right?”

“I’m not a total pushover,” Elain snaps. She stares at the cement ground as they walk. “I’m just… more disappointed than anything else. He gave up so easily.” She chuckles without humor. “It sounds like he was looking for an excuse to get away from me.”

Nesta frowns. “I don’t think he would’ve spent so long moping around our house if he wanted to leave you.” Though they can never truly know what Azriel was thinking or feeling until he grows a pair and talks to Elain. Still, she shudders at having to defend him.

“I take it he doesn’t mope anymore?” Elain says.

Nesta doesn’t know how to answer that truthfully. She knows there’s more to Azriel than he lets her and Cassian see, and she knows he’s gotten better at keeping his feelings to himself. So she says, “It looks like he’s doing better, but I really don’t know.” They reach Elain’s car.

“Were you in love with him?” Nesta suddenly asks. Or worse, is she still in love with him?

Elain digs around for her keys in her purse. “You know how I am. Of course I was.”

“Not anymore, though?”

Elain looks up, keys now in hand. “It’s hard to still feel love for someone I haven’t talked to in two months.”

Then it wasn’t real love. Nesta is relieved, even though it doesn’t change the fact that Elain is hurting either way.

Elain jabs her keys at Nesta and says sharply, “Don’t you dare punish him for what he did. That’s for me to decide on.”

Nesta’s brow creases in refusal. “I’ll do what I need to do, and you do you.” She’ll have to be careful with her plotting, though, considering Azriel is Cassian’s brother.

“No.” Elain surprises Nesta with the force in her tone. “He’s your roommate and your friend. Keep treating him like it.”

Elain makes it sound easier than it is, and Nesta wants to argue until she sees Feyre heading down the parking lot toward them. “Fine,” she grumbles halfheartedly.

Elain gives her one final long look, not of threat but something else. “Thank you—for inviting us today.” That’s all she says before getting in the driver’s seat of her little red car. At the same time, Feyre catches up to them.

“Where are you parked?” Feyre pants as she approaches Nesta. She sounds a bit out of breath, like she ran to get here before Nesta could drive off alone.

Nesta points down the lot to where her scrappy old car is waiting for her, and Feyre straightens up with a grim smile. “I’ll walk you.”

Nesta knows that arguing isn’t worth it, so she allows Feyre to trail her the rest of the way to her car. Once they reach the old thing, Nesta gives a curt goodbye and heads straight for the driver’s door. Before she can touch the handle, Feyre attacks her from behind with a hug.

“Get off me, freak!” Nesta tries to jostle her way out of Feyre’s arms. She tries being nice to her sisters one time and this is what she gets—

Feyre only squeezes her tighter. “You don’t have to hug back. Just let me love you my way.”

Nesta squirms for another second before stilling. Swallowing tightly, she stares at the reflection of herself and Feyre in the car door window. One of her hands goes to where Feyre’s hands are clasped around her stomach, and she stands there without moving. She can’t remember the last time she shared affection with a family member like this, but it must have been before their mother died.

The warmth at Nesta’s back doesn’t leave, like Feyre is trying to pour all her understanding into the hug. Silently saying, I’m finally starting to get it.

In a way, Nesta is starting to get it, too. After all, how do sisters with such a complicated history begin to forgive each other?

Not by apologizing, but by doing better in the future.

***

On her way home, Nesta remembers at the last minute to stop by Gwyn’s apartment to pick up one of her sweaters. She doesn’t know when Gwyn started raiding her closet like it was a free mall, but she has a school event next week and doesn’t plan on letting her nicest clothes rot at Gwyn’s forever.

Nesta enters using the key beneath the doormat, knowing Gwyn is at work and won’t mind her stopping by. She scans the living and dining areas for a glimpse of brown cashmere, but only finds scattered books and a disorganized mess. Her fingers twitch with the urge to stop and tidy up the place, but she continues hunting for the sweater. Gwyn promised it would be waiting in plain sight for her.

Realizing the scatter-brained girl probably forgot to put the sweater out for her, Nesta pauses in the hallway leading to Gwyn’s bedroom and bites her lip. She doesn’t know if bedrooms are off limits or not, considering how often Gwyn and Emerie have barged into hers, but she knows she doesn’t want to make a second trip here just for a sweater.

Without giving it further thought, she strides into Gwyn’s room—

And yelps to find Gwyn on the bed.

Except she isn’t alone, and there’s definitely another body under the dark green blanket with her, and whoever it is definitely has their head between her legs.

Nesta spins away at the same time she hears Gwyn’s cry of surprise. She braces one hand against the doorjamb and presses the other to her freezing cold face, not having any words for what she just saw.

“Nesta?” Gwyn calls from behind her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Um, have you seen my sweater? It’s the expensive one.” She’ll just grab it and leave. Or maybe she’ll just leave—yes, that sounds like a good idea.

“Nesta?” a new, deeper voice repeats.

Gwyn hisses, and Nesta freezes because she recognizes that voice. She wants to be wrong so badly, but she has to whirl back around to confirm for herself.

“Azriel?”

***

a/n: i decided to cut this chapter short and add an extra one to flesh out my silly little gwynriel subplot. so if there’s anything specific or random you wanna see happen in the next chapter tell me bc i might have space for prompts!!

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook a favor: @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea

[bibbykins]

Penumbric Commitments (M)

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!! I wrote this up real quick yesterday, so please forgive any lacking in quality, but I had the idea and absolutely sprinted with it! I hope you all enjoy and look forward to the next full length fic I post, which I gave a not so little hint in here to!

Warnings: 18+, unhealthy relationship, manipulation, yelling, rough sex, light bondage, the usage of a belt as wrist restraints (consensual), brief fingering, male cumming inside, talking about not wanting a child, daddy kink, threatening to leave, offering to kill someone, semi-graphic talks of killing someone

Word count: 3.8k

Genre: Soft Yandere, Mafia! Au

Summary: Hindsight says Namjoon so easily complying with not having children was too easy considering his position in the business and the nightmare his parents had readily become. What you didn't realize was how far Namjoon was willing to prove to you he meant what he said that day: all you both ever need is each other.

Note: this is a canon drabble apart of the Silhouetted Bonds fic linked here

It's times like these that you regret getting a traditional clock. The ticking was incessant and daunting. It felt like it was getting closer and closer to your ear with the deafening silence it was slicing through. Analogs had to be the way to go, or better yet, none at all. The last thing you needed right now was a reminder of how much time has been spent at this table. Namjoon had sprinted home the moment his mother called him after your meeting with her. 

----

"Mrs. Kim, always a pleasure." You shook the older woman's hand with a tight smile. 

She returned yours with an equally fake smile, "Please, you know you can call me mother." She chided, but nevertheless you stayed silent as you sat back down at the table in your home. It used to be mom.

It was 8 a.m. your mother in law wanted to meet, so to be petty, you stated 9 a.m. would be great. It's a shame that your relationship with her came to this, but truthfully, it was far from your fault.

While in the beginning she had been like a mother to you, things quickly took a steep downturn the moment Namjoon reintroduced you into his life. The woman who had once been lively, rebellious, and took charge became a demure, stoic, and merely content wife. She had given you talks about your duty as the wife of the boss and the expectations she expected you to fulfill nowadays as opposed to telling stories of her youth and teaching you how to bake eccentric treats. She had even admonished you for leaving Namjoon, an idea she gave you really. Since then, she had always stated your allegiance to the business and your own husband had yet to be proven in her eyes. The notion struck you to only provide her with business professional talks.

You had always known her and Namjoon's father had been a marriage of convenience, but there seemed to be intense love between them, at least at one point. You're not sure when that collapsed in your absence, and sure you felt bad,but you did not care for her patronizing tones. If Namjoon wouldn't retaliate, she almost definitely would've had you killed the moment you decided to leave her precious son. 

"Now, I understand you're a busy woman, so I'll be chaste." She spoke as she took her seat, giving you a pointed look, "Do you feel as though you've made up for your betrayal?" This was obviously a trick question in her eyes, the simple answer being no.

However, you couldn't care less, "I have never betrayed anyone close to me, including Namjoon, if that's what you mean." You met her eyes with valor, "I don't see why you feel the need to ask such a silly question each time I see you." 

She laughed humorlessly, "Maybe I'm hoping for the right answer to cross your stubborn mind." Truly, if Namjoon didn't love and cherish his parents so much you would've told her to fuck off and mind her business, maybe focus on her own shitty marriage, by now. Alas, Namjoon was a people pleaser and fiercely intent on being a filial son.

"You mean your answer to the question about how I feel?" You raised a brow, "Even when apart from Namjoon, I took no other man. I've never even lied to Namjoon, I've been nothing but an honest and hardworking wife after forgiving his own shortcoming in honesty." You watch her fist clench in her lap at the suggestion of her precious boy having a shortcoming of any sort, "A shortcoming well remedied, seeing as I'm still here." You chided lightly in spite of the heavy tension. You pitied your staff in this moment for having to watch this battle of wills.

"Sometimes husbands lie to… protect, their wives." She struggled to find the right words as she regurgitated what Namjoon's father undoubtedly told her one too many times. Misery loves company, and goodness, did she want you to be as miserable as her.

You returned her fake smile two fold before speaking, "That's lovely, but I don't need protecting from my husband, I need trust, honesty, respect." The final word made her back straighten, "I'd like to live in reality with him, not be shielded from it, but I respect what you wish for your own marriage, but this is what I like for mine." 

She hummed in faux thought, "Very well, I can leave you to reflect on what marriage should be, you're still so young." You fought the urge to roll your eyes, "However, you're not that young…" This was a new addition, "When will I be receiving a grandchild?" 

Your brows furrowed. Namjoon told you she took the news of no grandchildren quite well. He told you that she was informed of your no children rule mere days after you spoke the words. The radio silence on the topic of children each time you met with either of his parents confirmed much for you, and you had even found yourself quite proud of him for standing his ground with you. Surely, his parents are not nearly old enough to be so forgetful.

This was the first question in a while that made you falter, and you could see the satisfaction she gained from it, "Grandchildren? I'm unsure what you-"

"Namjoon told me the last time I visited him in prison, you wanted to wait for your fifth wedding anniversary before trying for children, isn't that coming up quite soon?" She raised a brow and you felt your heart shatter. 

He lied to you. Again. He lied to you mere moments after you were ready to forgive him for lying to you the first time.

You let out a bitter laugh, "He did now?" She nodded and you shut your eyes for a moment, "It seems I've been made a fool of again." You sighed before looking as confusion crossed your mother-in-law's features, "I told Namjoon the very last time I visited him in prison that I did not want kids, ever."

"You know that's not possible for him, he's a successor." She laughed at your boldness.

"You know that he is an adult man with 6 brothers, biological or not, who will all marry one day, surely one of them will adopt or have a child." She scoffed at this, "I got my tubes tied years ago." This wiped the smile off her face.

"Does Namjoon know about this?" She snapped and you nodded with a bitter smile.

"He accompanied me to the appointment for moral support." You shot back.

"Well, your tubes can be untied and-"

"No." You deadpanned.

"No?" She mimicked in disbelief.

 "If Namjoon requires a child, he will also require a new wife." Your voice was cold and you watched shock settle into the woman across from you, "With his habit of lying coming to light, he may have to find a new wife regardless."

She stood, "Don't be-"

"Please, do not waste your breath on orders I will not be following." You held your hand up to silence her.

"I'll call Namjoon, he can talk this out with you, so you can see things our way." She tried to sound reassuring as one of your staff rushed to see her out respectfully when you did not budge from your seat.

You stayed seated at the mahogany table, staring at your wedding ring. You didn't want to get a divorce. You loved Namjoon, more than anything, and yet, did he love you more than anything?

----

You're not sure how long you stayed there, questioning everything, but it was enough time for Namjoon to come home. He ripped the door open, eyes searching frantically, ready to make sure you had not already left him before his eyes landed on your figure. From there, he took his seat across from you at the table and waited until he could no longer take the silence.

"Are you going to say anything?" Your husband's voice was calm, although fear was evident in his timbre.

You sucked your teeth and shrugged, continuing to look at your freshly manicured nails, "What's there to say?" Your voice was short, as if you were already tired of the conversation before it could even start, "You lied to me."

Your husband dropped his head into his hands and sighed, "Junebug, I'm sorry, I-"

"You embarrassed me, again." You look at him for the first time all night with a sharp glare, "Are you trying to find an excuse to divorce or do you just not care about me?" 

"Neither!" His head shot up and he met your eyes with deep regret when he realized you were looking at him with the anger and hurt he found you with all this years ago, "I love you, more than anything-"

"Obviously not!" You snapped, "Do you have any idea how it feels to explain to your shitty and judgy mother in law that, in spite of what her precious son said, you had no plans to have children, that you got your fucking tubes tied?!" Namjoon sighed, either in shame or pain, "Were you just hoping that would come around? That I'm such a fickle woman that I don't mean what I say?" 

His brows furrowed, "No, if I thought that, why did I let you get your tubes tied?!"

"Let me?" Your voice was mockingly soft, "You let me, huh?" You cocked your head slightly and he closed his eyes in frustration, "How fucking charitable of you, my sweet husband, master of the fucking house, to let your dumb little wife make a choice for her body!" You stood, "How considerate of you to play supportive husband only to fold the moment your mother asks you a question-"

"You know what my duty as the only son is!" It was his turn to raise his voice, but he immediately regretted it as he saw your eye twitch.

"And you knew my stance on kids before you got out of prison." You seethed, "You know why I don't want a fucking kid, nor do I plan to fold on my stance, because I'm all I've got left there." Namjoon's mouth parted slightly before he pressed his lips together.

"It's not my fault you don't want a kid because you'd be a bad mother just like your own." The words left his mouth before he could even begin to consider the repercussions. He was about to open his mouth again to back track wildly, but it was far too late as you took a step back, the weight of his words being too much to take from across the table.

He watched hurt consume your irises for only the second time in his life, the first time being mere hours before you left him for years, before you made him promise to never betray you like that again as a condition for you to come back to him. A condition that he evident did not adhere to in your eyes. "Do you want to know what made my mother such a bad mother?" He watched as the embers of rage within your eyes were only stoked by his reflection in your pupils, although he could see a thin layer of moisture begin to build up, pain, "You know, like I would be?" Your words were almost mocking as he stayed eerily still, "An unsupportive, isolating, and shitty sorry excuse for a fucking husband." Your word hit him like a truck.

Unsupportive. Isolating. Sorry excuse for a husband.

You weren't wrong right now. He felt shitty. He knew he should've just stood his ground. His parents didn't matter if it meant losing you, "I didn't mean that, what I said about-"

"You're right." A tear fell and he felt his heart shatter, "So if you want a kid, it'll have to be with someone else."

"I don't want anyone else, I never have!" He made his way to you as you weakly stepped back, "You're all I need." His voice was soft as he went to grab your hand, but you pulled away.

"You said that last time." Your tears were beyond your control as you wiped at them in vain, "You said that mere days before you told your mom that we were going to have kids and you told me your mom took the news well." You sniffled, "You lied to me, I can't believe that you lied to me and let me just walk around like a fool believing you, again!" 

He was stunned silent again. You were right. He had lost his back bone under the strict gaze of his parents and folded under pressure. He betrayed you, and all he could do was hope for your forgiveness.

You shook your head as he remained mute, "I need some time." You went to walk past him and to the door but he engulfed you in a hug, "Namjoon!" You struggled weakly to pull him from you but froze when you heard a sniffle.

"Please, don't go." He begged as he held you close, "I can't lose you again, I'm so sorry, please."

You fought sobs from escaping your mouth, "You lied to me, and your mom-"

"I'll kill her if you want me to." He spoke and your blood ran cold at his tone. He was serious, "My mom and my dad, I'll tell them we're not having children and if they can't handle that, they can leave us alone or die."

Your eyes were wide, tears frozen in time. Namjoon loved his parents. He was always a kid intent on surpassing their expectations, and he had made that clear to you when you started dating in highschool. You were his only sign of rebellion. He was intended to marry a woman from an affluent family, but he met you. You had figured that would be where his rebellion ended, but here he was, handing his parent's hearts in your hands and awaiting orders.

"Joonie, y-you can't mean-" You sputtered to reason but he only held you tighter.

"Or even if you just want me to kill them, I will, with my own hands of course, nobody else can know." His remained headstrong in his resolve, stroking your hair, "I don't care what I have to do to keep you with me." He kissed the top of your head, "You are the only person, the only thing on this Earth that matters to me I cannot live without you." 

A sick, and extremely twisted part of you wanted to call your mother-in-law and say, "Hah!" You wanted to rub it in her face that her son, in spite of everything, chose you. Her precious boy has been yours for years now. However, your sanity slipped through the cracks as you shook your head again.

"You love your parents." You shook your head as you cried into his chest, "And if you felt that way, why would you lie to me?"

He sniffled, "I was weakened, not 100% sure you would truly accept me with open arms and I panicked when they asked." He sighed, "I know it's pathetic and I know I seemed like I knew we would make it, but I didn't know that. They never brought it up after that so I naively thought they would forget and when they asked me again, I would tell them the truth and-"

"You're so stupid." You cried harder into his chest and felt him nod, "If you're scared to face your parents, tell me, and we'll do it together." You were surely ruining his dress shirt, but he stroked your hair soothingly, "Your mom has been calling me a shitty wife for years and after today, she must truly believe it, and I-I should take some time-" Namjoon held you, arms sliding down your body as he got down to his needs and you felt your heart drop, and you gasped, "Stop, don't-" 

You tried to help him up but he grabbed your wrists as he looked up at you with tear stained cheeks and eyes as wet as yours, shaking his head at your frantic protests as he kissed your hands and your wedding ring tenderly, "I can't lose you again." His voice was weighty with sorrow at the thought of you being away from him, "You matter more to me than my duty as a successor does, than my parents do, even more than this whole fucking business." He rubbed his cheek against your hand in desperation as you stood frozen from the shock of Namjoon begging on his knees with the utmost humility. The most powerful man in the city, undoubtedly the country as well, was on his knees crying and begging you to stay, "If killing my parents is what I have to do to prove it, I will. Name how you want it done, when you want it done, and I'll do it." He was dead serious and he could tell you knew it as tears spilled onto your cheeks even more, "You're a better wife than I deserve, and all I can ever hope is to be even a fraction of the husband you deserve, and I'm sorry I've been missing the mark." This made your face twist in pain, regret. Namjoon, up until today, had been nothing short of perfect, and even now he was making up for it, "Almost losing you nearly killed me, and-and I get that sometimes people need time to calm down but I would just prefer you beat the shit out of me instead-"

"I didn't mean that either!" You cried out as you sunk down to your knees to hug the sobbing man before you, "You aren't a sorry excuse for a husband, you're just a goddamn idiot, and I didn't want time I just didn'twant to see your stupid face because I was so angry." You laughed as he did for a moment, "Above all else, you're an amazing husband. I love you, always have, I just hate when you lie-" Your voice in his ear was like heaven as he felt a weight lift of his shoulders.

He grabbed your legs to wrap around his waist before you could properly settle onto your knees. He held you close and he soothed your cries, "I haven't lied to you since, I can promise you that." He sighed and you scoffed, "You don't have to believe me. I'm just asking you to stay with me so I can prove it over time." 

"I'm...I'm not leaving you." You sighed into his neck before he pulled you back to trap your lips between his as he kissed your with a vigorous passion. When you returned his kiss with an equal amount of desperation, he began to stand with you in his arms before promptly laying you on the couch, never detaching his mouth from yours the whole time.

You settled into the velvet cushions as he ground himself into your sex, making you gasp, "I love you, my darling." He murmured into your mouth while one of his hands slid your dress up and your panties to the side before brushing his fingers across your pussy and groaning at your wetness, "Oh fuck, you're so wet, baby." His mouth went to your ear as you moaned, threading your fingers into his hair, "Was it me promising to kill for you or me getting onto my knees that did it, hm?" He rubbed slow circles over your clit and you gasped, "You get off on me spilling blood for you? You get wet by me demeaning myself to keep you right here, where you belong?" 

"Yes, daddy, I do- fuck!" You clutched his hair harder as his finger slipped in and your hips wiggled impatienly, "Just fuck me, I don't care about being stretched, fuck me." 

Too desperate to even hesitate, Namjoon undid his belt, ripping it from his trousers as he secured your wrists within the leather garment, as he had done many times before. He undid your belt as he pushed your arms up and his pants down with his boxers. He slid into you with a deep groan that you matched with a wanton moan. He fucked himself into you feverishly, wasting no time in chasing your high as his nimble finger went down to stimulate your clit, "I love you so fucking much, y/n." He groaned as he felt you tighten, "I don't care who I have to kill to prove it, I'll even let you watch the light drain from their fucking eyes if it means you'll stay with me." 

You moaned out as he whispered gruesome threats to the outside world intermingling with sweet nothings as he held the belt around your wrists,using it as leverage to fuck you harder. If you were sane, you would not be getting closer and closer to orgasm as he cursed the rest of the world into painful deaths just to have you as his wife, but here you were, clenching around him and opening your legs further so he can go deeper, "Shit, I'm gonna cum!" You cried out, arms going over Namjoon's head so you could pull him down to you by the neck and kiss his lips messily.

His hand went from your clit as he wrapped his arm around you to hoist you up and slam himself into you further, "That's right baby, cum for daddy and I'll give you my cum." He cooed in spite of the strain to keep himself from busting you before you get your release. His words only threw you over the edge as you climaxed, hurdling him into his own. He fucked his cum into you like always and you moaned lightly until he was done.

He held himself inside of you as you both gained your breath again, exchanging occasional kisses, "You don't have to kill them, you know." You spoke finally "Although, I won't be so cordial with their bullshit anymore."

He nodded, "I'm by your side, Junebug, forever and always." You smiled before kissing him.

"And I, you." You hummed blissfully.

"We have everything we need between just the two of us, I promise." He smiled against your kiss while you nodded, "You'll be the only one calling me daddy for the rest of out lives- hey!" You smack his chest lightly as you both laughed blissfully, letting the seriously twisted shit that just transpired be a simple part of the past.

"Your mom is a bitch." You giggled tiredly as he chuckled.

"Don't worry about being nice to her if you don't want to, I have my priorities straight." He gave you another kiss that you returned with glee.

As he was cleaning you up, your hazy mind allowed you to feel smug at the fact that you just saved your shitty in-laws from certain death. You were their ticket to life. You were their precious successor's priority. You were his only true love.

Namjoon watched with nothing but love as he tucked your sleeping form into bed. Thinking on it now, he doesn't know if he could even stand the idea of you loving a child as much as you loved him. He enjoyed his monopoly over your affection, and a child would only throw a wrench in that for him. Taehyung liked kids, Jungkook seemed like a family man, maybe even Hoseok if that new girl he's saying is as serious for him as he says. All it took was one kid to carry on the business, so you didn't need to worry your pretty little head about it.

All you had to worry about was staying by his side and all he had to worry about was being a good enough husband to keep you there. He kissed your forehead as he held you closer to him, texting his mom the next time she disrespects you or his marriage, there would be consequences. 

You were the only person he needed. He would do anything to make you understand that. 

The ticking of the clock was nowhere to be heard as you laid in Namjoon's arms. You snuggled into him as you caught sight of the thinly veiled threat he sent to his own mother on account of your feelings. He was yours just as much yours were his and the victory of it all had never tasted so sweet. His heartbeat was all you could hear, steady, loving, and to the beat of the drum you commanded. 

You both wouldn't have it any other way.

Masterlist

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[jostepherjoestar]

👑Hewwu Queen 👑 is it alright if I request DIO in part 3 meeting his descendant?. Like he basically had a kid accidentally in part 1 and now he’s meeting their great grandkid who looks allot like him and seems to not be fully human. Maybe he meets them at night since their family was traveling around the world and stopped off in Egypt where he found them maybe listening to music?

Since you write for DIO, is it alright if I request that he somehow meets one of his kid after they get into some time travel shenanigans. Maybe his kid has a stand that is kinda similar to his but they aren’t confident in using it

DIO aiding his helpless descendant 

sfw / gn reader 

notes/warnings: implied assault (on your great-great grandmother)

Another case of two anons thinking alike!! It was really fun to think about this and sorry for taking so much time to get to it :o I hope you’ll still enjoy 💖✨also the pacing is strange/fast (to me), but i felt it fit with how frantic i imagine meeting Dio is

Somewhere between irking Jonathan and wishing to destroy any respectful sliver of the Joestar bloodline, Dio had his own way of indulging and spending his time. Men, women; any creature he could manipulate to his will and suck the life out of to join his dark army was welcome in his dimly lit hideout to meet their fate. The self proclaimed god that had surmounted humanity took pleasure in playing with his food; leaving them in complete darkness, literally. He’d let them suffer in silence, hearing them whimper and regret their choice to ever step foot inside the wicked monster’s palace. But it was always too late.

Except for the very night Jonathan had decided to come spoil the fun and ruin Dio’s playtime. The woman hadn’t meant anything to him, just a toy to play with and to later discard on the pile of other bodies strewn about. Was she glad to have been saved by the burly Joestar? At first yes; brought back to her senses, out of that monster’s grasp but left terribly violated. Left to carry and care for the offspring Dio would never know or care about, too busy being left to slumber in the ocean and gaining a new form from his hated ‘brother’.

Dio rose again, skulking in the shadows of dimly lit cities, looking for any and all petty humans and stand users to claim for his side. It took time and patience he didn’t know he possessed to get fully comfortable in his new body. There was always this inkling, a nagging sonar that kept getting louder and louder, not much unlike his connection to the new generation of Joestars. It grasped at his thoughts, kept him from any semblance of peace of mind -as much as he could acquire it- and there seemed to be no way of silencing it. He couldn’t see a clear picture; it was just nothing but an annoying sense of something being near.

He had searched for weeks like a bloodhound hot on a trail, irritated that he of all people, nay creations, was being made to follow and be obedient to the terrible nagging. It angered him greatly and only when he found a mere youngster sitting on a bench, you, a simple looking human, did it boil over. Sat with your walkman resting next to you on the wooden seating, head bopping along to your newest cassette in the middle of the night. Completely lost in the song you’d been drumming along to with your fingers. Dio was furious but knew better than to strike before investigating, he needed answers and he needed them now.

As he got closer to you, sneaking from behind, he noticed an immediate shift. You were no longer alone. An image, a blur that became clearer and steadier and more live-like as each second passed; posing defensively, staring down Dio with a fire in your eyes not much unlike the tall blonde’s. Not for a moment does he fear for his safety. Even though The World is a newly acquired power it could easily wipe out a scrawny kid without even hitching a breath. He smirks, eyes cast over in shadow by the dim street light as he hears you pause your cassette player.

“Oh? Was I disturbing you?’ he mocks in a smirk, catching the way your eyes glint and the vaguely familiar image you awaken in him. Just like before he’s left to figure out who this annoying hazy memory is. His voice shivers down your very being, goosebumps taking over your skin; not sure if you had already missed your chance to run. It was like his glare fixated you in place, finger still resting on the pause button of your player while the other reached up to remove the flimsy headphones.

“You…” you barely get out the word. The accusatory tone you had tried to convey had watered down to a whimper. You had felt the connection too, something nagging at your soul and stringing you along until you’d finally found the source. “Me? Hah! No, you.” Dio slid closer, his steps so quiet and calculated that even though you couldn’t take your eyes off of him you swore it seemed like he floated. You swallowed thickly, the huge figure that excluded an aura so menacing only a meter away from you.

“So. Who are you and why was it so disgustingly annoying to find you?” he joked impertinently, amused by the way you clenched your jaw at his remark. “I could ask you the same.” a brave little spark still smouldering inside. “DIO. Now don’t make me ask again, you’re making me dreadfully inpatient.” He hadn’t felt the need to kill you, at least not yet. Dio was truly curious about your answer but by the looks of it you really didn’t seem to know all that much.

You begrudgingly gave him your name, in need of some answers yourself. The sound of your name didn’t ring a single bell, not a tick, not a clank. Nothing. Not a single step further to knowing anything. “Well it seems like you do have a stand. Maybe you possess a great power that might be useful to me.” that wicked grin on his face told you a little too much of his motivations. He reminded you of those Saturday morning cartoon villains. But still you felt compelled to listen, ignoring every single red flag.  

Deciding to humour him you give out your stand’s name. “Trust me, we can’t really do much.” you huffed. You’ve only obtained your stand recently and honestly, it has been pretty shitty so far. You didn’t know exactly what it could do, it was just there. Any time you felt stressed or in danger it did come to your aid but it remained awfully docile. Their presence comforted you but you just knew it was capable of so much more.

“Are you a vampire?” The sudden question came out more surprised than Dio had hoped to let on. He regained his posture, opting to slide next to you on the bench with a swift move. There was something… off about the way you carried yourself that reminded him of himself and the other vampires he’d created. The question stunned you, your eyes that had already been widened in shock only growing more so. The way he had changed the entire conversation that had barely earned its start urged you to think quickly. “I don’t know.” you mumbled demurely. You really didn’t know. So many weird things had been happening to you lately that you being a vampire would explain a lot.

Your answer seemed to change the imposing man’s gaze and expression. It hardened a bit, his grin now slowly diminishing into a straighter line and his pointed brows resting down at a more natural angle. Even in this low light his image felt so familiar, like you were already supposed to know who he was but the memory remained hidden. Locked away for your safety. “You should feed. And don’t go out in daylight anymore.” Dio paused for a second. “Strange...” He pondered to himself out loud. He’s only seen a few cases like this, vampiric genes passed down through generations. For some reason he pitied you, as much as he could muster it. The unknown bond you shared felt too unusual to write off.

“What am I supposed to do?” you felt tears prick your eyes, trying your best to remain strong but you’ve been so tired. You couldn't confide in anyone, not about this. Tears started rolling, falling in thick streams down your cheeks and dropping onto your lap. Here you were, crying to a stranger named Dio about being a vampire and having weird powers. A bizarre twist of fate.

“First of all, stop crying. Then, widen your stance when you’re about to fight someone. I could have easily knocked you down with that flimsy imitation. Fix your posture while you’re at it. Call out your stand again.” He rattled off his demands quickly and flatly. Was he helping you? They were barbed complaints but it seemed like he actually wanted to aid you in whatever it was you were going through. You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks. You felt like a kid again; asking your parent for any reassurance when life knocked you down.

Dio actually offered a lot of viable advice, telling you about techniques to silence your steps, how to take someone down easily, to feed on humans within an inch of their life. You had asked him, just in case. You weren’t planning on killing anyone; a comment which made him scoff. That intimidating impression and overall feeling of having to bend to his will had lessened the more you talked to the blonde. He casually sat with you for what felt like hours. He hadn’t divulged into his own history, instead asking you about yours. He was still trying to figure out what this weird pull was.

“No one in your family has experienced anything like this before? Hmph. It seems to have skipped multiple generations then.” he was asking about your great grandmother and all the others that came before you. It could have occurred to them but you would have never known. “My family did come from England, though. My great-great grandmother fled in a hurry. We don’t really know why, Windknight’s Lot seems like an unusual place to frantically run from.” As soon as the small town’s name left your lips everything fell into place for Dio. His grin grew again, satisfied to finally know your connection to him.

Family.

One he made for himself, by accident, by a relation created on his own devious whim. Not that horrible Joestar bunch that kept ruining his fun or his horrible father that was but a faint minuscule memory. Something he did. It brought him even more satisfaction to know how perfectly in place it felt for you to be the one to develop these powers at the perfect time. His mind could have exploded with possibilities; a thousand ways to make you join his side. But it didn’t, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted yet. And he surely wasn’t going to tell you of your bond either, lest you get attached too quickly.

As you finished up and the early signs of a rising sun were starting to make itself known on the horizon, you were saying your goodbye’s. “Thank you for helping me. Truly, I- I don’t know how I-” you weren’t allowed to finish your earnest thanks. Dio knew you meant it, one of the only few truly grateful acknowledgements he’s ever received. “I’ll be taking over the world in a few months. If you feel so inclined to join, you know where to find me.” His lips curled into a smirk and he was making his move to leave you behind, alone on the bench again. Left to scramble for your stuff to try and stop him but he was already out of sight. “WAIT! I don’t know where to find you! You never told me!” you yelled into the empty streets, heart thumping out of your chest, hoping this wasn’t just a very elaborate dream you were caught in.

“Trust your instincts.” The voice felt incredibly close but so far away, like catching a falling snowflake; as soon as you grasped it, it just melted away.

[photiniainsummer]

Something Worth Celebrating

Rating: General Audiences (basically GenFic)

Summary: Dark admits he sort of, kind of has a birthday. And then he sort of, kind of asks you to throw him a party.

I know. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

(Basically a purely indulgent fic where Dark gets to be happy for 0.2 seconds. Yes, it's late, please forgive me, Mr. Darkiplier sir.)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 4906

Author’s Note: No warnings. Honestly just tooth-rotting tenderness. This is a super-late birthday 'present' for our favorite spooky ego that I just couldn't get out of my head. Also posted to AO3!

The thought strikes you in the midst of your weekly scan of Mark’s content. While Dark makes sure to check his uploads and social media presence moment-to-moment, you often join his weekly wrap-up review sessions as a second, fresh set of eyes. It’s usually a silent and uneventful affair, with Dark sitting at his desk and you to one side of it, both focused on the week’s batch of content as it projects on the opposite wall. Hooking up the projector was easier than hunching over Dark’s laptop, the two of you bunched together around the screen, and it usually meant you could catch and examine any irregularities with greater accuracy. Not that there had been any for months. Mark’s content has become suspiciously unsuspicious, with no odd shot changes in the middle of playthroughs, no sideways comments in food reviews… and so your mind has started wandering during your viewings.

It’s not that his content is boring. But it’s hard to enjoy Mark’s lighthearted commentary, really, knowing the man for what he is: a manipulative, body-snatching, undead creature bent on conquering the hearts and minds of the world. That kind of imposing terror makes it hard to kick back and enjoy him goofing through a new horror game.

And, yet, despite that same terror, it’s difficult to stay fully focused on the task at hand. Maybe it’s the lack of weirdness lulling you into being unobservant - maybe that’s Mark’s goal. Regardless, he makes a jokey comment, surprised by a new onslaught of enemies so soon after receiving a new weapon - “What, is it my birthday?” - and though he proceeds to casually mow down a fresh flood of zombies, your mind is nowhere near his running monologue. No, you’re off on a tangent of wonderings - When exactly is his birthday, anyway? Is it soon? Do the egos share his, or do they have their own, if they know it? When would they celebrate it, anyway? Did Mark build in birthdays for them when he summoned them up, or was it whatever day they were formed from some strange, shadowy process you still don’t know the specifics of? It’s a strange and vaguely sad thing to ponder, your mouth turning down at the corners as you roll it around in your mind. To your side, Dark sighs softly, reaching out to pause the current video. Mark’s face freezes in an unflattering expression, and you turn to look at the entity.

“What, think of something?”

“No,” he demurs, scrubbing the video back. “But you are distracted. What do you last remember?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, which is a little surprising. Where a few months ago he would have bitten off a sharp comment about your wandering attention, he just gives you a mild look when you don’t immediately respond, hands hovering at his computer. It speaks to how routine this has become for you both, how each of you has grown accustomed to the other - the ringing of his aura barely registers for you now, although you were certain when you arrived that investing in a lifetime supply of ibuprofen was a basic requirement for working in close proximity to Dark for any extended period of time.

That’s when the thought strikes you - you meandering thoughts crystallizing around his presence, centering on him. You have to wonder how much of your thought process Dark actually heard, if your idle thoughts are loud enough for him to pick up. But seeing as he’s not making any attempt to immediately answer, nor chide you for thinking about such unimportant things, the thought, as a question, easily tumbles out between you.

“Do you have a birthday?”

He immediately furrows his brow, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“I said, do you have a birthday?” you repeat, committing to this line of questioning. You go so far as to turn slightly in your chair to look at him better, attention fully directed at him. Dark sighs and turns back to the computer, picking a spot in the video a couple of minutes ago, certainly farther back than necessary.

“I heard what you said,” he clarifies. “I am attempting to understand what could have possibly brought that up.”

“He said something about his birthday. It just got me thinking, that’s all.” Dark pauses, squinting his eyes ever so slightly at the screen. His cursor hovers over the playback bar, obviously considering his next move. You pause with him, then a smile tugs at your mouth. “You missed that, didn’t you.”

“I did not. It was merely an inane comment, so I did not take note of it.” He’s a little too indignant, too quick with that response, and it makes you laugh. He shoots you a patented glare, although it carries very little true malice. “When did he say that.”

“A couple minutes forward, it’s right after he gets that new gun.” Dark hums in response, clearly still miffed at having been successfully teased, but in a good-natured sort of way. You watch him scrub for the right spot, lulling back into a comfortable silence for a few moments before you remember what brought all this up and press on. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, come on. Do you have a birthday?”

“They had birthdays,” he remarks. You recall them, or, at least, a picture of them, the only one you’ve seen that isn’t a staged portrait. You like it better than the stiff, properly posed photographs Dark hesitantly showed you once, when he had finally explained his origins to you. In the one you preferred to remember, a well-dressed woman and man hug each other close as they smile warmly into the camera. It’s some holiday, or just an excuse to get together - there are garlands blurred in the background - and the woman is holding a fancy-looking drink in the hand that isn’t wrapped around behind her brother, tugging him into frame. He looks a bit put-upon, smiling almost embarrassedly as if the woman has cajoled him in front of the cameraperson into taking a picture with her. But his expression, for all it implies, is still warm. His body curls close to his sister, his hold on her obviously affectionate. The woman is beaming like she’s won, squeezing her brother close as her cheeks apple, her painted lips curled in such pride. Her eyes dance, catching the light of the camera’s flash. They look comfortable, happy, beautiful. Full of life. The woman’s smile had pulled one out of you, when you saw it.

Dark’s explanation of how he had come to be makes the memory all the sadder, the melancholia curling around your throat even as you remember it now.

“I, on the other hand, was not born,” he explains, and for a moment you begin to regret bringing it up. But the shadow-bathed man doesn’t seem bothered, his tone matter-of-fact, simple. You know it pains him still, you saw the look on his face as he described how he had come to be, how his aura had raged around him like he was going to pull apart. How their faces had appeared in agonized red and blue flashes behind him - now that you knew what you were looking for, you could see them as themselves, not just as Dark.

Which makes the fact he can say something that directly referential without threatening to rip through existence sort of comforting. Is he just comfortable with you, now, knowing that you know? Whatever it is, you decide it’s a good thing, and settle back in your chair. “Well, sure, not as such, but… do you celebrate theirs?” you ask, as gently as you can.

“I do not.” Dark finds the proper place in the video, advancing to it.

“So you don’t celebrate you… coming into being, on any particular day?”

“I do not.” You squint slightly.

“You don’t,” you repeat. Dark sighs once more, bringing a hand to his brow in the way he does when Wilford is being particularly taxing.

“No. I do not. But the… fans. Do.” It’s an answer given through gritted teeth - the man finds the celebration of him and his many appearances in Mark’s work frustrating, to put it simply. Of course, he’s completely committed to his role as the villain the actor dreamed of, and won’t lie and say he doesn’t find it utterly amusing how Mark’s own fans seem to like him more than the actor himself. But all that is tinged with the truth of his conscription into this role, the indignity of being painted as the wicked mirror image of the man who took everything from him. It is particularly insulting, particularly painful. So to have some false version of him celebrated and adored, is…

Well, to use his words: Disgusting.

You would go for complicated, instead. It does feels strange to have them celebrate a fictionalized version of the entity next to you, given the reality of the situation, but it’s not like you can fault them for what they don’t know. They’re caught up in Mark’s game - it isn’t their fault. Still, you aren’t really surprised they found a whole day to put aside for the man.

“What day did they pick?”

“Hm?” Dark seems caught up in some internal brooding, set off by the memories of the fanart he’s seen. You prod again.

“What day is it? That they made your ‘birthday’?”

He pauses a moment, considering. You can tell he knows, he’s just debating whether or not to tell you. Whether or not this will have unintended consequences. “June 19th. It was the first time Mark posted something… strange enough to be counted as my first ‘appearance.’ So it is my birthday, by their reckoning.” He pauses again. “I suppose it is as good a day as any. Although I do not understand it - why would someone want to celebrate my existence?”

His tone takes this bitter, harsh edge, and you instinctively want to cringe against it. But you also know how Dark hates you trying to be delicate with him. It’s better to be honest, to know his reactions are not for you, but for his situation. For Mark. So you suppress the desire to turn away from it, instead reaching across the bit of desk between you to touch his arm. He doesn’t react, apart from flicking his eyes to rest on your hand. Touching him like this, yours fades to take on the same black-and-white cast as his own.

“For what it’s worth, I’d want to celebrate it. I’m glad you’re here.” You squeeze him very gently, as if trying to impress that more fully into his mind. “And… they don’t really know you, but, I mean. I think they’d like you even more, want to celebrate you more, if they did.”

Dark is silent, gaze falling to a whorl of wood in his polished desk as he considers your words. He doesn’t immediately reply and you take your hand away, not wanting to be overly touchy-feely about the whole thing. Or, at least, you don’t want to be if that’s not what Dark wants. You’d be the first to console him, if you could, but it’s hard to get a read on what might help the man most. He lives in his head, unaccustomed to sharing much with the other egos, let alone someone who hasn’t directly been through what they have. Your position on the outside imposes a distance that even having worked so closely with him for so long hasn’t yet bridged. Still, you leave that door open for him whenever you gracefully can, whenever it doesn’t feel like you’re opening it to force him through.

You try show him he can walk through whenever he likes. If he likes.

The man shifts slightly, reaching out to adjust a small pile of papers. He puts them to rights, even though they’re already perfectly in line with each other. When he finally speaks, his voice is almost covered by its own deep echo.

“If I am honest, I meant more… why would they celebrate the man they see, the ‘Darkiplier’ in his works? He is not a good man, by any means. He tells the truth, Mark’s confidence in himself sees to that. But they do not know it. He seems to seek to trap the audience through lies, manipulation… I simply do not understand the appeal.” You feel a little caught out, wondering if you jumped a bit too eagerly on his statement as a chance to comfort him. “However…”

He stops, realizing he’s run out of papers to arrange, things to fidget with. Folding his colorless hands in front of him, he finally and intentionally turns to look your way. It’s a slow, steady motion, heavy with purpose. When you meet his intensely contrasted eyes, they fall gently on you. His expression is open, almost bare. Devoid of any bitterness, frustration - his usual armor.

“...it is incredibly kind of you to say that. About me. I. I sincerely appreciate it.”

The hesitancy in his voice, yet how honestly he continues on, intent on telling you this… It’s enough to break your heart. You give him a tender smile.

“You’re not exactly that man in those videos, Dark. Not the way he has you play it, know you well enough to tell that… But even if you were, you have reason enough for it, I’d wager.”

That gets you a wry smile from the man. “Enough reason to pull ourselves back from the dead?”

You laugh, softly. “Yeah, something like that.” At your mirth, the lines of his body begin to relax, and he eases back into his seat somewhat. It’s a rare sight, Dark letting himself relax, be still for a moment. Even his aura, ever-roiling, merely seems to ebb and flow around him in gentle pulses. His mouth stays gently turned up as he looks at nothing in particular, gaze easy on some middle distance. You can tell he’s thinking, even at minor peace like this, but has no real intention to speak again. Sensing the Big Heart-To-Heart Moment™ has passed, you sigh and look back over your sparse notes. “Should we get back to it, though? I totally derailed us.”

Dark pauses a bit longer in the moment before he idly waves a hand and reaches out to close the lid of his computer. “There is nothing interesting this week, really. I think we can call it there, unless you are especially invested in head-exploding physics.” You pull a face.

“Not particularly. I can finish going over it later, anyway. Just in case.” You stretch and twist in your chair with a sigh. “Think I’ll make some coffee - can I get you a cup?”

“Are you going to use the cafetiere?”

“No, I thought the Mr. Coffee would be better. Really gets it nice and watery, just like you like.” Dark scrunches up his nose in the most totally undignified way, and god that makes you belly-laugh, bending slightly over the desk to support yourself. It breaks him, getting a real smile to curl over his face. He can be such a goofball, when he wants to be. “Of course I was gonna use the cafetiere. Who do you take me for?”

“I have to check, I have had many a disappointing cup after agreeing too eagerly. But yes, I will take one, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” you hum, coming down from your laughing fit. You make your way out of his office but before you can turn the corner, Dark calls your name, stopping you in the doorway. You look back to him, and he seems… at ease. His hands are folded across his middle, he’s resting back in his desk chair. The ghost of a smile is still on his face. You try to bottle that moment, preserve it mentally. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. Again. And…” He hesitates for a beat, making some decision. “If you or the others would like to do something. On the day. My… sort-of birthday… I would not be opposed.”

You force your jaw to stay in place and not hit the floor. Wilford will go ballistic. You don’t know if the mustachioed ego will be able to handle the thought of throwing Dark a real birthday party - he might just explode in a haze of confetti and glitter stars. Blinking, you right yourself, finding your head nodding before you even know what it’s doing.

“I. Y-Yeah! Sure, we. We could definitely do that. Do… something.” Dark just smiles a little more fully, exhaling a laugh. “I’ll. I’ll talk to them about it.”

Holy shit.

“Wonderful. It will be nice to have a reason to have a proper party. Something to celebrate. Don’t you think?” You’re nodding again, agreeing wholeheartedly, but dazedly, too. You don’t realize you’re just standing there sort of staring until Dark tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. “Is… coffee still happening?”

“Huh?” You remember. “Oh. Oh! Shi- I mean, shoot. I mean. Yes. Yeah. I. Coffee, yes. I’m… gonna do that.”

As you beat a hasty and red-faced retreat to the kitchen, bursting with ideas, you can just make out the man giving the faintest, echoing chuckle.

---

You don’t think you’ve ever felt such pure excitement in the Manor before. The air is practically buzzing with pure, unbridled energy as you approach Dark’s office door. Downstairs, you can hear the egos making final preparations underneath Wilford’s speaking in an overly dramatic tone, giving some kind of grand speech. Likely a rallying of the troops into being on their best behavior for their de facto leader. You can’t help a smile and a shake of your head - maybe he’d take his own advice tonight.

Either way, everything is ready, so you rap on the birthday boy’s outer office door. He’d graciously locked himself away after retrieving his morning coffee so you would all have the space to prepare. Of course, he hadn’t escaped early-morning birthday wishes from you and the Host, nor a fresh-cut bouquet of flowers you two had collected for him. You’d even carried them up to his office for him, just so he wouldn’t have to touch them himself and risk draining their color. The memory of how sort of bashful he’d looked, the you really shouldn’t have energy that had rolled off him as he directed you to set them on his desk - it makes you grin in anticipation for this evening as he calls for you to enter, now.

He’s sitting by the fireplace, apparently killing time with a book which he looks up from as you enter. An inquiring look pulls his brow. “All prepared?”

“Oh yes. Your party awaits you, sir.” Dark huffs a laugh and rises, setting his book aside. He’s dressed a bit differently, still in slacks and a tie but with the addition of a waistcoat closely fit over his dress shirt, which is slightly rolled up over his forearms. Then he begins to fix them, going for his jacket, and you have to interject. “Are you really going to wear a full suit to your party?”

Dark stops, looking confused. And a little concerned. “I. Was intending to, yes.”

Oops. “I mean, you always wear a suit,” you chide as gently as you can. “They look nice, but the whole point is celebrating, relaxing a little? Besides, you look nice just like that.” Dark pauses, casting a look over himself. He absently adjusts his waistcoat, and you notice a thin chain connected to one of the buttons loops into one pocket. Has he always had a pocket watch?

“You are certain it is not too… casual.” He almost sounds worried, the poor thing. You give him a reassuring smile as you approach, picking up his jacket and folding it with care before hanging it over your arm.

“I’ll bring it down, but I think you’ll be more comfortable like that. Though you aren’t totally dressed, yet.” The man gives you an utterly baffled look, and you grin in response, bringing out a brightly colored party hat. His look sours immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No. I am already being made to go down undressed, I will not go with bells on.”

Sometimes you forget he’s just a grumpy grandpa. You pull out the big guns. “Well… we’re all wearing them,” you hum, your own firmly in place. “Besides, Wilford insisted. And he’s the Decoration Czar. Self-proclaimed, but he rules with an iron fist.” Dark makes a valiant effort to hold onto his resolve, but it weakens in the face of you invoking the mustachioed man. With a soft, amorphous grumble, he pulls the elastic band of the hat under his chin.

Now that you understand a little more about how Dark and Wilford had come to be, their bond makes a lot more sense, even for all Dark’s frustrated looks shot the more light-hearted man’s way in the midst of meetings. Even before you knew the depth of their bond, Dark had always seemed surprisingly willing to go along with Wilford’s more doable requests, less inclined to irritatedly snip at him for his foolishness. As Dark adjusts his party hat in a nearby mirror (making sure his well-coiffed hair isn’t too disturbed by his headwear), you’re glad that, although Wilford may not fully be aware of it, the two of them have each other.

He drops his hands with a sigh. “I look ridiculous.” He’s positioned the cone-shaped hat directly pointing up in the middle of his head, and. Well. It looks way too proper, but very Dark all at once. You chuckle, coming close to help.

“You should see the den. It’s a wreck,” you tease, reaching for his hat, giving the man enough time to wave you off. But he doesn’t, just watching you in the mirror as you adjust it (careful of his curls) to a more jaunty angle. His aura has already absorbed the color from it, but it looks party-appropriate. More importantly, Dark seems a bit more at ease as he gets used to how it looks. You wonder if he’s ever worn a party hat in his life. “There, much better.”

“Hm. Then I suppose I am ready.”

“As you’ll ever be. C’mon, they’re all waiting.” When he turns from the mirror, you playfully offer him your arm. You think you’ll get an eyeroll, a dismissive but amused huff at best. You aren’t anticipating him looping his arm in yours and giving you this little smile that warms his eyes and has you pulling up short. He chuckles somewhat at your reaction, your lack of movement.

“I thought I was being escorted.”

“Uh. You. You are, oh, you definitely are, hold on to your socks, you’re about to experience the best escorting of your life.” Dark’s free hand comes up to help suppress the grin that threatens to split his face as you lead him from the office and down to the almost overwhelmingly decorated den. While the room is comfortably illuminated by a variety of the Manor’s most colorful lamps, the light is somewhat low and catches on the sparkling garlands heavily draped on the walls. Matching balloons bob at varying intervals and a rousing cheer goes up as you and Dark enter, a flood of grins turning your way. Music cuts on - something upbeat and jazzy - and the flock of egos quickly descends on the object of celebration, Wilford leading the charge and pressing a drink into the man’s hand after a massive bear hug. You release Dark’s arm to let the crowd of other egos at him, covering him in birthday wishes and affectionate pats on the back (their boldness inspired by Wilford, no doubt), before eagerly showing off all their preparations.

While Yancy explains the variety of possible games he’s worked up, getting a horribly wry grin out of the shadowy man at his creation of ‘pin the cravat on the Actor,’ you step back a bit to make sure Dark’s suit jacket is safely out of the way of the night’s oncoming revelry. Clearly, he’s already forgotten it, much to your pleasure. The bar is lined up with a few drink options, pre-made cocktails and bottles of wine opened to breathe, a number of elegantly arranged finger foods courtesy of resident chef Google Alpha. Carefully, you tuck Dark’s jacket under the bar in an empty shelf and before scooping up a drink of your own and tossing yourself back into the fray.

It goes a lot more smoothly than you had anticipated - everyone quickly falls into comfortable conversation, dipping into the snacks and games when it lulls. Wilford manages to keep his pants on despite threatening to provide a different kind of ‘entertainment’ at one point (and in spite of encouraging whistles from Bing and the Jims, who are quick to shove a camera in Wil’s direction). Further, Dark survives having ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to him, even blowing out the single candle in the middle of the complicated-looking tiramisu Alpha crafted.

It’s a rousing success, by all measures.

By the time you finally get a chance to sidle back up to Dark, the easy hum of the party has kicked up to a bit more of an excitable buzz as the jazz records have turned more and more swinging. Yandere and Illinois clearly know what they’re doing, beating a quick step around the open dance floor and grinning like bandits as Yancy does his best to help poor Eric get over the hurdle of not staring at your feet when you dance. The Manor feels more full than it usually does, with all of you crowded in the one room together, and you can see the warm, pure energy of it all is having a similar effect on Dark as it is on you - you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so much, small as they are.

Another thought hits you, even better than the one that prompted this whole affair. Grinning, you quickly gesture over the nearest Google. With the music like it is, it’s hard to speak over the ruckus, but you mime taking a picture and Green gets the idea, his glasses getting a particular sheen to them so you know he’s flipping through his interface. Once he gives you a thumbs up, you gently tug Dark down by the arm and gesture in Green’s direction. “Say ‘cheese,’” you prompt, and the shadowy man pulls a face.

“I don’t think-”

“Oh, just one, Dark, c’mon,” you poke. “He’s set up and everything.” With a sort of resigned huff, the man twists and gets his free arm around you, hand resting carefully on your back as you get yours around him, bringing him in closer.

Then, almost in your ear, you hear his very dour voice say, “Cheese...” and it breaks you. You’re busting out laughing, forcing yourself not to double over or spill your drink, and over the music and your own laughter, you can hear Dark chuckling, the subsequent snap of Green’s camera feature. The latter catches the most attention, the gathered egos coming running as soon as they realize pictures are happening.

Suddenly, everyone wants in, smushing in as close as they can get to you and Dark, bickering when elbows ‘accidentally’ find soft sides and someone worms in front of someone else, Green taking pictures all the while of the ensuing chaos. Dark’s aura is starting to rouse from its relatively peaceful state when you decide it’s gone on long enough. You quickly clap and break up the worst of the infighting, getting folks arranged as best you can. By the time you finish and most everyone is settled, Dark is wearing a very betrayed look and Wilford’s heavy arm, which is hugging him quite close to his side. With a playful shrug, you pick your way back to your spot.

“I thought you said one,” he grumps softly even as you both get your arms situated comfortably around the other.

“You believed me?” His eyes get a bit wide - you trick Dark? You trick him into photograph like the child? - but you turn away with a triumphant smile. “Green, set your glasses on the bar, get in!”

The android quickly obliges, setting the timer and sliding in among his copies as he counts you down. “Okay,” you call, “everyone say ‘Darkling!’”

The cacophony of laughter and broken-up attempts at the word is something you’ll never forget.

---

Google sends you the photos the next morning, as the Manor collectively attempts to nurse minor to severe hangovers. Flipping through and marking the best ones to print and frame, you get to see the first one of the two of you.

In it, you’re hugging each other close, smiling warmly into the camera. There are garlands blurred in the background and you’re holding a fancy drink, tugging Dark into frame. That slightly embarrassed tinge is gone from his smile, but he still looks cajoled, still smiles as affectionately as he ever has. There’s no doubt he’s changed - the photo warps to try to capture his existence, red and blue fragments breaking up the image - but his expression is still warm. And you look so pleased with yourself, so amused, eyes dancing with success and joy.

Full of life.

It pulls a smile out of you.

[theodora3022]

Love You To Hell And Back(Yandere Claude)

Pairing: Yandere Claude Faustus x F!reader

Summary: Upon running away from home due to an unwanted arranged marriage, you took up a maid position in the Trancy household. You thought it would be simple, lay low for couple of months then the other family would cancel the engagement. Being a maid should be easy right? Just wash and clean the house and saying yes to their lords. You never thought you would end up in such a bizarre and dangerous household.

Notes: I am a Claude simp. If you do not know before, you do now. Do not get the wrong idea, Sebastien is handsome alright, but there is just something about those golden eyes makes me shiver in the best kind of way. (Also I love the French pronunciation of his name but whatever)

Word count:2k

Warning: Non-con touching, coercion, possessive behaviour, general Yandere content

SFW

As a lady on exile, you do not have many options. Your relatives were out of the question since they could inform your parents of your whereabouts, and so does all of your friends. Luckily, you figured out the perfect solution: disguises! And who is more unnoticeable then a maid? They blend naturally in the background of drawing rooms and parties, no one will bat an eye if there happen to be an extra one. Nobles do not care for servants, so a forged name and documents would get the job done. 

Answering advertisements seems to be a good way to start. Ah, there is one right here. The Trancy Estate? To your knowledge, there is only one young lord there, and you are not acquainted with the family. Seems the ideal choice: “Only for two months, as a replacement.” You know being a servant would be unpleasant, compare to your noble lady life now, but you had chosen between this instead marrying a man you despise.

Packing some essentials, you thrown on a simple cotton dress borrowed from your maids and sneaked out. You thought you had escaped from hell, not knowing you are better off staying. Because, you had quite literally, walked into a spider’s trap.

 A dark-skinned maid welcomed you, explaining how she has to leave the household for some personal business while giving you a small tour of the building. She seems nice enough, although you were curious why her right eye is covered by bandages. The manor is dead quiet and empty, giving you an illusion of how you can hear your own breathing.

“Miss Hannah, where are the other servants?” You shiver, tightening your clock just a bit. Although it is only autumn, the winds are chillier in this house, or so you felt.

“There is only five of us. Me, the triplets, and Sir Claude the butler. Our master can be...difficult, one could say.” Handing you a basket of maid attire, Hannah seem to be terrified of this master she speaks of.  

I wonder why he is so difficult. You thought as you thanked her and settled down in the little servant room you were given. Better put on these maid clothes soon, getting use to them as fast as possible. Blue and white does not look so bad together.

Kitchen duties are not so bad since all you need to do is chopping up vegetables and wash the dishes while the triplets took care of the cooking. Dusting is a nuisance, but with enough efforts it was taken care off. The triplets are an odd flock, as they never speak unless necessary. All your befriend attempts had failed miserably, you felt as if they look down on you somehow? Since you only do backstage work, you had yet to meet the master and his butler. Not that you mind, you want to kept your existence covert, after all!

You were trying to dust off the chandelier in the drawing room when you first met Claude. The stairs you use are a bit unstable, which causes you to have major anxieties about falling.

“Ahh!” You squeal as your staircase finally deciding to let you fall. Closing your eyes in horror, you were certain you are going to suffer at least bruises. But the expected pain never came. Instead, you felt a strong set of arms had caught your body mid-hair.

 Gazing up, what did you see?

Oh did that gorgeous face make this fall worth it. The tall man in black reminds you of those flawless Roman statues, of King David. You never thought humans can be this magnificent.(Well you are still right, as he is no human)

Gently placing you back on your feet, Claude started to examine you behind those clear glasses. You quickly smoothed the wrinkles on your skirt as you dip your head for greeting.

“Greetings, kind Sir. You must be Sir Claude. My pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am (y/n), the new maid.” Gods, he is handsome. You were not even sure words can describe how those golden eyes made you feel. Are you blushing? Ugh, get it together, self! He is only a butler here. It is beneath you to swoon over him. You put on a smile, then courtesies to the stoic man in the most elegant way possible.

The lack of callus on your fingers and your sophisticated manners informs him that you, are no ordinary maid. As a servant to his lord, Claude needs to make sure no sketchy individual can harm him. Some investigation would need to be done.

How interesting...Why would a high-born lady such as yourself ran away from your prestigious noble house, only to serve as a humble servant here? Just where did Hannah dig you up? Ah, that is no matter at present. Surely your cheerful spirts can light up the dull days of this mansion. The only thing Claude need to ensure is you do not expire as quickly as others. Alois can be such a spoiled brat; however no harm should befall to you as long as he can help it.

Your voice reminds the demon of little birds of forest mornings, chirping delightfully to a new day no matter how horrid the night before was. The way you thank him stuttering then trying to go back to your duties are just adorable, and amusing. It is clear as day:you are fascinated by Claude’s pretty face. Quite bold for a lady to do so. Claude had met a lot of people in his long life, but none of them intrigues him so as you do. He cannot grasp what exactly, but there must be something enchanting about you, that makes him want to pull you close and do unspeakable things to your good, pure body.  

Tender and cautious, that is what the knocks on his office door suggests. It is late, way past Alois’s bedtime. Who could have business with him this hour, apart from his demanding lord? “Come in.” Claude’s curiosity had spiked up.

It is you, still dressed and with a plate in your hands. What a pleasant surprise. And are those pastries?

“I...baked these for you, Sir. I want to thank you for your help earlier today.” Looking away, you quickly remind yourself how you should never indulge too much. However you had already spent two hours of your free time trying to bake something decent.

Did your parents taught you it is improper to visit a man’s quarters this late at night, alone? How rebellious of you, not that Claude minds anyway. You might appear to be demure and good at first sight, but under that nice façade is a bold maiden who does not care for modesty, how complex.

Chocolate chip biscuits, but with distorted shapes. “I am not very good at this, so I totally understand if you do not wish to eat them. I jus want to properly show my gratitude, that is all.” Nervously fidgeting your apron corner, you bit your lip when he raises one of them to his lips and took a small bite.

Edible, but has lots of room for improvement. Claude can practically taste your eagerness to please from the chocolate spheres. Seeing your gaze fixated on him, expecting his comments on your work, Claude let out a quiet laugh. Which made heat rush up to your cheeks. Is that a good or a bad response? It cannot be that terrible can it?

“Come.” He signals with a hand wave, and you hesitantly walked beside his chair. How cute, the butler and the little maid. It would be a shame to just give you some half-hearted praises and send you out, wouldn’t it? It is what a gentleman would do, of course. Claude on the other hand, has never been one. He could entertain that appearance for his lord’s sake, but in this little room with just you, there is no need for charades.

You were shocked when one gloved hand pulled you swiftly onto his lap, with the other locked around your waist, pressing you against his chest. Of course, you fantasized the idea of being the lover of such a fine specimen of mankind, but only the idea of it. Even though you are nothing more then a lowly maid now, you are still a lady of nobility with conducts of propriety.

Your shrinking pupils made Claude realize he might be pushing a bit too fast. But human lives are so fragile, so short compare to demon ones. If he does not seize this opportunity, who knows when is next one going to arrive? Whether it is your intention or not, Claude is now mesmerized with you. Now that he is holding you this close, breathing in your intoxicating sweet scent, the old demon had his first epiphany of a millennium: you are lovely, and he intends to keep you this way, one way or the other.

Squirming with protests, you tried to get out of his suffocating embrace. “Sir, this is not proper, please let go of me.” Yet you achieve no results, those iron grips still hold you firmly in place, those same arms that spared you an embarrassing fall this morning.

  “Little bird, finally thinking about propriety? You should know better then coming to my office this late unless you want something to happen.” Claude is close, too close, you can feel his breath fanning your ears gently. Gloved fingers trace down your jawline, making you tremble with fear. “Am I right, Lady (family name)?” You froze. What how did he-how do he know you are not a mere commoner? Had he already done a thorough investigation on you?

“Now, repeat after me, little bird.” His golden eyes shifted its color to pink, round pupils bending into a thin line. In normal circumstances, you would be terrified of how his features suddenly changed, but now you are too possessed by his intense gaze to think of anything else. Those eyes, you felt as if you could drown in those two magenta pools.

“I love Claude Faustus forever and I would do anything should he asks of me.”

“I-I love Claude Faustus f-forever...and I would do anything should....should he-e asks of me.” It is still your voice, although those words are defintely not your own. What is happening? Why do your tongue just moved on its own like man possessed?

“Perfect.” Running his bare fingers through your hair, Claude left a light kiss on your forehead, ignoring the horrid expression you are wearing. “You will behave, right little bird?”

“Of course, Sir Claude.” You did not just say that !There is no way. What has this evil man done to you? You never should have come here. Your terrible fiancée at least could not cast spells on you!

“I’ll take good care of you, my dearest little bird. After all, your fate is defined since the moment I lay my eyes on you. We are destined to be together.”

“Oh, do try to behave. It would be a shame if something should happen to your dear family. I would hate if you end up like your other human predecessors.” His lord, despite his young age, is a master at torture and inflicting suffering. There is a unfortunate reason why there is only a few servants in this manor, and the fact that they are durable demons too. Claude knows exactly where you would end up had he not intervened. Do not worry, he would never let you go. Demons mate for life, didn’t you know that? Why resist?

“I love you my dear, to the hell and back. We shall stay together until the end of time.”

[hlizr50]

Revelations

Chapter 1: This is Wrong

Hawke eavesdrops on the Duke's lessons with Poppy and realizes what is happening within the walls of castle Teerman

Read on AO3

Casteel… Hawke… stared at the door as it clicked closed, the Maiden having entered the Duke’s office.

“Penellaphe, I am so incredibly disappointed in you.” Duke Teerman always sounded so haughty and condescending.

Something didn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you. I –“

The Duke cut her off, “Do you even know what you have done that has disappointed me?”

Was this why she and Tawny had been so apprehensive of the Duke’s summons? A scolding? A dressing down? It couldn’t have been just that, considering how Penellaphe had frozen before the door.

He took up a position not too close to seem suspicious to the two men standing guard. No matter. He was Atlantian, and even though he leaned against the wall a few feet from the door he could hear every word spoken in that office. He didn’t know what he should expect.

“I don’t. But I’m sure whatever it is, I’m at fault. You are never disappointed in me without cause.” Her words were measured. Careful. And careful wasn’t really her style.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t be disappointed for no reason at all. But this time I find myself blindsided by what I have been told.”

Hawke had been her guard for barely a day, but he found it hard to believe that Penellaphe would have committed a crime so egregious to blindside the Duke. Although, if her escapade to the Red Pearl was any indication maybe she had.

“Remove your veil, Penellaphe. You do not want to test my patience.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that we… we are not alone, and the Gods forbad me from showing my face.”

“The Gods will not find fault in today’s proceedings.”

They were not alone? His amber eyes narrowed slightly. Who else was there? Had he not experienced the meeting yesterday he would have also wondered why she was apparently hesitant to remove the veil. But he knew the Duke likely wanted to take the opportunity to comment on her scars.

“Lift your eyes.”

A pause.

“You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”  Hawke grimaced. His insides roiled at the thought of the Duke looking at her with those deep, empty eyes.

“Thank you, your Grace.”

The Duke made a cluck with his tongue. “Such a shame. What do you think Bran?”

It was Lord Brandole Mazeen, then. Gods above, what was he doing in there? His lust and depravity were well-known throughout Castle Teerman. The maids were often warned not to earn his attention, good or bad.

“As you said, such a shame.” The Lord answered.

“The other scars are easy to hide, but this? There will come a time where there will be no veil to hide this unfortunate flaw.”

How many years had Penellaphe been here? How many times had the Teermans and their lackeys taken an opportunity to cut her with those words?

“Do you know what that new guard of hers said? He said she was beautiful. Half of her is truly stunning... You look so much like your mother.”

Hawke had said that. He meant it.

“You knew her?” Penellaphe gasped.

“I did. She was… special. You do realize that the guard wouldn’t have said otherwise. Wouldn’t have spoken the truth. I suppose it’s some small blessing. The damage to your face could have been far worse.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed. It was difficult to for him to keep his expression neutral as the Duke continued to berate her. So he kept his eyes down, studying the stone floor of the hallway. It had likely once been rough and uneven, but the years of scuffing boots had smoothed the cobbles to satin.

“You do have such pretty eyes… And a well-formed mouth. Most will find your body pleasing… For some men, those things will be enough.”

He didn’t like the way the Duke paused between his backhanded compliments. Was he looking at her? Touching her?

“Priestess Annalia came to see me this morning,” Duke Teerman paused, as if waiting for a response. “Do you not have anything to add?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what Priestess Annalia would have to say. I saw her last a week ago in the second floor parlor and all seemed fine.” Penellaphe sounded confused.

“I’m sure it did, since you only spent half an hour there before leaving unexpectedly. I was advised you didn’t once pick up your embroidery set, nor did you engage in any conversation with the priestesses.”

So… this was the crime? She hadn’t completed any of her needlework? Penellaphe had sounded confused, and Hawke had to admit that he was, as well. With all honesty and due respect (which was none, if he was being honest), who the fuck cared?

“My mind was occupied with my upcoming Rite. I must have been daydreaming.”

“I’m sure you’re very excited about the Rite, and if this had been just one situation I would have easily overlooked your poor conduct. But I’ve learned that you were just in the atrium.”

“Yes, I was. I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to be. I don’t go often, but –“ she was interrupted again.

“Spending time in the atrium is not the issue and you��re smart enough to know that. Don’t play coy with me. You were speaking with two of the ladies in wait. You know that is not allowed.”

She had barely spoken two sentences to them! Who had run so quickly to report her to the Duke for that? The ladies had been too busy trying to get Hawke’s attention. He grinned at that, recalling the spilled rhinestones and fainting young women. But Penellaphe, who was not to have any interaction with, well, anyone… she had been in the atrium before anyone was there. The ladies had chosen to sit at the same table. Was she just supposed to just stand up and leave?

“Do you have nothing to say?”

“Such a demure Maiden.” Lord Mazeen’s words dripped like acid against Hawke’s skin. He did not have to know the Lord well to know that he would get an inordinate amount of pleasure in killing him. He felt ill knowing that Penellaphe was alone in that room, with those two beasts.

“I’m sorry. I should have left when they entered, but I didn’t.” He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone apologize so much in his life. What had happened to the woman from the Red Pearl? That Penellaphe was so full of heart and fire. The girl on the other side of that door was…

Defeated.

“And why not?” The Duke prodded.

“I was… curious. They were talking about the upcoming Rite.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that. You were always an active child with a curious mind that flicked from one thing to the next: something I’ve warned the Duchess you wouldn’t grow out of easily. Priestess Annalia has also informed me that she fears your relationship with your lady’s maid has become far too familiar.”

Good Gods, how many imaginary transgressions could there be? How was she not supposed to be familiar with someone who had literally been tasked to be at her side at all times?

“Tawny has been a wonderful lady’s maid, and if my kindness and gratefulness has been mistaken for anything else then I apologize.”

Hawke knew that had struck a nerve. Penellaphe and Tawny were close, and the Maiden was allowed so little in the way of… of anything that made life bearable.

“I know it may be hard to keep boundaries with someone you spend so much time with, but a Maiden does not seek intimacies of the heart or the mind with those who serve them. Not even those who are to become members of the court. You must never forget that you are not like them. You were chosen by the Gods at birth, and they are chosen at their Rite. You will never be equals. You will never be friends.”

He inwardly scoffed.

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. You were chosen at birth, Penellaphe. Only one other has ever been chosen by the Gods. It was why the Dark One sent the Craven after your family. It was why your parents were slaughtered. That hurts, doesn’t it? But it’s the truth. That should have been the only lesson you ever needed,” Duke Teerman had a talent for cutting words, Hawke noted. “But between your lack of awareness regarding overstepping boundaries, your lack of attention with Priestess Annalia, your blatant disregard today for what is expected of you, aaaaand the attitude you displayed yesterday toward me. What? You thought I wouldn’t address your behavior while we discussed Ryan’s replacement? You stared back at me as if you wished to do me physical harm.”

The Duke chuckled then. “The meeting would have ended vastly different if others had not been present, and we weren’t there to discuss Hawke replacing Ryan-“

“Rylan! His name is Rylan, not Ryan!”

There she was, that spirited woman that had so intrigued him.

“THERE it is! Not so demure now!” Lord Mazeen sounded… almost gleeful.

“You mean, his name was Rylan. And does it really matter? He was just a royal guard. He would have been honored that I even thought of him. Either way, you just proved that I must double my attempts to strengthen my commitment to make you more than ready for your Ascension. Apparently I’ve been too easy on you. Unfortunately, that means you require another lesson. Hopefully it will be your last, but somehow I doubt it.”

“Yes. Hopefully.”

Hawke sighed inwardly in relief. How long had been here listening to the Duke ramble on about imaginary transgressions and basic human interactions painted as crimes. They should be finished soon.

“I believe four lashes should suffice.”

He froze.

Lashes.

Hawke could barely breathe. This was no mere dressing down, no raised-voice scolding with some hurtful words.

“Are you sure that’s enough? I wouldn’t want you to feel as if you haven’t done enough.” Gods, Penellaphe’s fire roared to life at the worst possible moment.

“How does seven sound? I see that number agrees with you. What do you think, Bran?”

“I think that is sufficient.”

This was no “lesson”.

“You know where to go,” the Duke directed.

This was abuse.

“You’re not ready, Penellaphe. You should know better by this point.”

Hawke strained to hear. It was far too quiet. The Duke was waiting for something. Could he hear the soft rustle of fabric? His restraint was thinning by the second.

This was torture.

“This is for your own good. This is a necessary lesson, Penellaphe, to ensure that you take your preparations seriously and are committed to them, so you do not dishonor the Gods.”

This is wrong. This is wrong.

“Brace yourself, Penellaphe.”

He heard the faint whistle… then a crack… it had to be a cane that the Duke was using on her.

A cane. Sweet merciless, sleeping Gods.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Two. Was this the fitting punishment for not touching her embroidery set? For speaking a word to a lady in wait who needed to be put in her place?

Swoosh. CRACK.

Three. Was this the fitting punishment for daring to have a friend? For not cowering when the Duke had hoped to humiliate her the day before?

Swoosh. CRACK.

Four. His eyes were wide, but when he looked to the guards at the door they avoided his questioning glare, acting blissfully unaware.

This… this travesty…

It was as if…

As if this happened all the time.

Swoosh. CRACK

Five. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He was back there… in Carsadonia. In his cage. Made to bleed. Made to feed. Forced to take and be taken.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Six. The Blood Queen took pleasure from his pain. For decades. He couldn’t understand how any living being could be so monstrous.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Seven.

He let out an unsteady breath. It was over.

Penellaphe hadn’t made a sound.

How?

“I truly hope, Penellaphe, that this lesson… sinks in.”

His rage was white hot behind his eyes. He had to keep them closed. The guards would have been… disturbed… if they saw how they glowed with his ire.

Duke Teerman had signed his death warrant. And it was not going to be quick and painless.

Breathe. You have to breathe. You have to get ahold of yourself. This is not the time and place.

Hawke took a few measured breaths, and his heart began to slow. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what he’d just witnessed.

The door clicked and his head whipped up, amber gaze falling on the veiled woman who gingerly pulled the door closed behind her. She looked up and saw him, and Hawke could see her entire body tense. He just stared at her, willing her to meet his gaze behind the veil. He could tell that she avoided it. Penellaphe then straightened slowly and did her best to walk toward him, past him, as if nothing had happened.

But it had.

Her breathing was labored and he could tell that every step she took caused her pain. He followed her down the hall, cursing to himself when the effort became too much for her and she started whimpering softly with each pace. They made it to the narrow spiral staircase that would lead them down to the main floor. He opened the door for her to enter, and she dared not look at him as she passed.

She was already attempting the first step, grunting with effort to lower her body down through clenched teeth, when he closed the door behind him.

“Penellaphe,” his voice was low. Cold. Raw.

She continued to work on the next step, acting oblivious to his call.

“Penellaphe.”

She stopped.

“How long?”

“What?” she tried to sound surprised, but he could only hear the pain lacing the word.

“How long. How long has the Duke been doing this to you?”

Silence. It hung heavy over him. He felt like he was being smothered, waiting for an answer that he knew would likely ruin him. He could hear her pain-laden breaths sawing in and out. It had taken such effort for her to go down two steps. He watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep, calming breath.

“Since Ian returned to the Capitol.”

Gods, why weren’t they somewhere with something he could break? Blood red rage roared in his blood. Hawke could feel himself trembling.

“That’s… that’s been years,” he whispered.

“It has.”

And then she began struggling down the steps again. As if that were the end of the conversation.

It wasn’t. Not even fucking close.

He practically leapt the three steps down to stand in front of her. “Is that all you have to say? Poppy this is wrong. You know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t call me that. Only my friends call me that.”

“Am I not? Do your friends know about this? How have your friends helped you?” Hawke spat, clenching his quaking fists at his side. “From what I can tell, I’m the only person who seems to give a flying fuck about what just happened. Tell me how that doesn’t qualify me as your friend.”

“There’s nothing that can be done to help,” she whispered and turned her head to the side, suddenly finding the stone wall quite interesting. He uttered a curse and reached for the chains that held the veil on top of her head.

“Take this Gods-damned thing off,” he growled as he pulled it away. He couldn’t stand trying to speak with her without seeing into her eyes, seeing her face. She was a person. Her emotions and expressions mattered. But she barely even flinched, keeping her gaze fixed somewhere near his boots. Her face was flushed and her eyes lined silver.

“Look at me.” When she made no move he reached her hand to her. He lightly traced his fingers over her left cheek down to her jaw, pulling gently so her face was lifted to him. “Please, Penellaphe. Look at me.” Her emerald gaze met his, shining with pain and sorrow and shame.

“I… I used to try. I used to do everything I thought I could to fix whatever it is that I’d done that had disappointed him,” she blinked, allowing a couple stray tears fall. “But it was never enough. No matter what I did, no matter how demure I was, no matter the eggshells I walked on and the dedication I tried to show… I realized eventually that my dedication was never the point. It was never about what I did or didn’t do. It didn’t matter how hard I tried. He would find anything-“

“Like not doing your fucking cross-stitch?”

She sucked in a breath and pulled away from his fingers. “How much did you hear?” the fire-haired beauty clasped her hands in front of her heart. He held onto her gaze and her eyes roared at him with hurt.

“Everything.”

She shuddered and bowed her head. Her hands trembled as she brought them up to cover her face. Hawke could feel humiliation rolling from her in waves and saw the tension in her shoulders. She was weeping before him.

“He will find anything that could possibly be an offense. He’s punished me for walking too quickly and breathing too loudly. And I have come to realize that… he only does it because he wants to hurt and humiliate me. He knows that his words make me flinch and his touch make me want to peel the skin from my body. And he relishes that. And I hate that he has that kind of power over me.”

Hawke’s ire sharpened into something cooler, more calculating and thoughtful. He had come to Masadonia to kidnap and ransom the Maiden, a symbol to all of Solis. He’d come to send a message using their precious prize, a privileged brat that was no better than those soulless creatures who had raised her.

He took a measured breath and ran a hand over his face in realization.

She was... innocent. She was a pawn, a possession. She was a victim, kept in a cage just as he had been, albeit far more gilded. And even though there was an illusion of life and choice, she was guilted, berated, and beaten into submission.

And Gods, she was still brave and vivacious enough to risk the Duke’s ire. Reckless enough to step into a brothel and send all of Hawke’s expectations straight to hell.

There is nothing that can be done to help.

There was. He could take her away from this. He had planned to do that, in a way, but now? How could he deliver her back to the Ascended knowing that this is what her life would be? And how could he convince her of the truth? She was smart, and Hawke knew that she didn’t agree with everything the Ascended ordained. Her reactions at the council meeting had been proof of that.

He reached out to her again, taking her hands in his and pulling them away from her tear-streaked cheeks. He stroked his thumbs over her knuckles and spoke her name to draw her gaze.

“This is wrong. You hold no shame in this. He has done this to you, and that is evil and terrible and monstrous. Tell me you realize that, Penellaphe,” he urged. She nodded softly. He gave an encouraging quirk of his lips and continued. “He does these things to make you feel weak and powerless, and you are neither of those things. He knows that you are curious and full of life, and he is afraid that you will be able to see past his façade and into his own weakness if he cannot keep you squashed under his heel.”

Hawke let go of her hands and gingerly held her face between them, using his thumbs to wipe away any remaining dampness that fell there. He looked down for a moment, and then brought his eyes back up, a burning golden stare.

“I need you to make me a promise, Penellaphe. Can you do that?”

“A promise?” she whispered.

“Promise me. Promise me that you’ll trust your instincts. Question everything. You are fierce and intelligent, so think about what they do and what they say. Think about it… you are the most important person in the entire kingdom. They should be worshipping at your feet, not taking a cane to your back,” he was afraid he’d said too much; pushed too hard. Would she be suspicious? Would she balk at his request? Her gaze was green as springtime, and her eyes stared into his, trying to process what he was saying.

“Can you promise me that?”

The knight endured her gaze for a few tense moments, her face still in his palms. She closed her eyes after a sigh and placed her hands over his, dipping her chin.

“I promise, Hawke.”

Thank the Gods.

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and the Maiden inhaled sharply. Chuckling, he let her go and reached down to the discarded veil.

“I will make you a promise, as well,” he extended his hand with the soft fabric. She moved to grab it and he clenched her hand with both of his. Startled, she looked to him again.

“He will never hurt you again.”

She smiled wistfully then, and he could read in her expression that, as much as she wanted that to be true, she didn’t believe that anyone had that power. Then she pulled the veil from his hand and attempted the next step in front of her.

It would take forever to make it down the stairs.

“I have an idea,” Hawke smirked. “I think it will help. But you have to trust me.”

“I… I don’t trust you. Not when you have that look in your eye,” she laughed lightly.

“Here, if I squat down can you climb on my back?” he turned around on the step in front of her. He knew he was still much taller than she was, even on a step below. “It may be painful to get there, but if you can wrap your arms around my shoulders and your legs around my waist we could make it down much more quickly. And hopefully without too much strain on your back.”

Hawke felt a hand on her shoulder, but she hesitated. “That would be… incredibly inappropriate. What if someone sees?”

“You’re hurt. If someone opens one of the doors we’ll hear it and have enough time for me to set you down and throw that Gods-forsaken sheet over your head,” he scoffed over her shoulder. “Now wrap your arms around my neck, and I’ll grab your legs when I stand up.”

He was surprised when she didn’t argue and her forearms crossed in front of him.

“Ready?” He asked, knowing the first time he lifted her up would probably cause her some pain.

“Yes.” Her grip tightened around him. She gasped into his shoulder as he stood straight, putting his hands under her thighs. He waited a moment, listening for her breath to even out as she adjusted to the soreness.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” Hawke gave her legs a light squeeze. She nodded against his shoulder, and he started gingerly making his way down the stairs. He thanked the Gods that he was Atlantian, strong and light on his feet. He knew he could practically glide down without causing her any additional discomfort.

They reached the bottom landing and he gently set her down, heart constricting when he saw her wince as she slowly lowered her arms to her sides.

“Here,” he grabbed the veil from her hand and placed it over her head. He studied the tiny chains that were supposed to hold it in place, and he had to admit that he wasn’t sure what to do with those. A giggle escaped from behind the veil.

“Give me that,” she grabbed the chains. “It’s not far to my room. We should be able to make it there without it falling off.”

Hawke grinned and pulled open the door. “After you, Milady.”

They walked down the corridor slowly and silently. He would look down at her from time to time, wondering how she could possibly have the strength to be so spirited and brave knowing the consequences that could await her. What would the Duke do if he’d known about her little trip to the Red Pearl? He frowned to himself and looked forward. That had been reckless, but he understood her need for life. For freedom. She had wanted to experience things that everyone else in the world took for granted. They said she was Chosen, privileged. But she was also alone.

Well, no she wasn’t. Not anymore.

As they stopped in front of her door he turned to her. “Are you alright? Is there anything you need?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Tawny gets an ointment from the healer. It will help, but I may not be… I may stay in my room for a while. But I heal pretty quickly, and this isn’t the worst I’ve had…”

The anger roiled through him as she trailed off. Of course it wasn’t. Of course seven lashes for not touching her embroidery set and her attitude hadn’t been the worst that he’d done to her.

“I… he…” he swallowed and took two deep breaths. “I’m going to calm myself so I don’t do anything reckless about what you just said.”

“I’m sorry,” she answered quietly.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Penellaphe. None of this is your fault. I am simply… staggered by his cruelty,” he managed a soft smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “Get some rest.” Hawke reached down and squeezed her hand before he opened the door and motioned for her to go in. He began to close the door behind her when she stopped.

“Hawke?”

“Yes?” he answered, looking for her eyes behind the veil.

“You can… please, call me Poppy,” she gave a shy grin and shuffled into the room. He pushed the door closed behind her and leaned his forehead against the wood.

He was shaking.

Breathe, Hawke. Breathe.

His ragged breaths seethed out from between his teeth. In for four counts, out for four. In… out… in… out...

After what seemed like ages of breathing exercises he pushed away from the door and stalked down the hall.

He needed to think. And talk to Kieran. He would be none-too-thrilled at the change of plans.

But plans would change.

Duke Teerman would die.

They would have to find another way to get his brother back.

Because nobody was going to hurt Poppy again.

[oneboxofmatches]

Hi!!! May I request a HP romantic and friendship matchup on both eras? (Preferably male), thanks in advance! 💞

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

19, Libra, Neutral Good, enneagram is 4w5, Ravenclaw, and my patronus spirit is swan. Bi Pan Genderfluid girl using pronouns of She/Her or He/Him. A friend of mine told me that I (kinda) look like Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 (a Netflix animated series), but the exception is I'm short (5'1.2") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has messy/wavy brunette medium hair, chocolate brown eyes, oriental skin and a small beauty mark on the forehead. My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant and shy at first cause' I dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis, talkative, awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY clumsy, secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over any wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, sarcastic person with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no. 1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), and will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

People thought I'm a demure self-effacing woman that looks "idealistic" or "one of a kind," (due to my protective parents, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, I'm eloquent, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic crybaby filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone, yet I still managed to be stronger than ever, even it's a slow burn process. I can be intimidating, sassy, and a douchebag if I receive ends. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, very indecisive, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive or I might break a belonging due to my carelessness). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic person, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams) 𝖺𝗇𝖽 what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Blunt but the loudest idiotic feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will act like a silent backstabber on people that we loathe, will crack up over your stupid antics before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic who tends to banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment (but gets grumpy if I received sappy or offensive one), still generous and concerned in a subtle way.

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 making corniest jokes/puns, 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Loves kittens, eating a lot, cartoons, watching YouTube videos (mostly pageants, ASMR, edit audios, and mukbangs), also enjoys playing games on my sister's PSP. Sucker for arts, choir, night sky, makeup, fun/deep/dumb conversations, Christianity, documentaries (about saints, real crime stories, and inspirational people), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and writings, chilling both indoors and outdoors. Beside that, my music taste are like late 90s-2000s songs (mostly rock, pop, and country) sometimes kpop and ppop, chocoholic, and a sweetooth as well.

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Things that I hate are stereotyping, HUGE creepy crawlies (spiders, toads, snakes, and cockroaches), firecracker sounds, being left out, loneliness, heart break, blackout, and judgemental people. One random fact about me is, I 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 vent out EVERYTHING I despise in my entire existence---from bad soap operas to toxicity and worse scenarios in real life, because it's a big deal for me, and I consider forcing me to do what I'm not into and manipulating me as my major pet peeves.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦

In terms of triggers...I only have two which are ta𝖨king about divorce/annullment/separation because I came from a generational broken family and religion/beliefs discrimination, cause' there are reasonings that doesn't makes sense because some are too hypocritical.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗔

My best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, and oratorical skills...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, and a top student who's a former active campus ministry member with three roles (choir leader, psalm singer, and reader). Currently an incoming college freshman, learning how to cook and have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale competing internationally...I also consider joining pageants at school too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

Thank you so, so much for requesting! I had a lot of fun with this one (as you can tell by some of the really long answers lol) and I hope you enjoy!!

In the Golden Trio era, I romantically pair you with…

CEDRIC DIGGORY

One of the most beautiful things about Cedric is that although he may show some introverted tendencies, he still manages to have a natural gift for connecting to others and allowing them to feel comfortable enough to open up. Really, your initial distance and shyness don't last nearly as long towards Cedric as they would with most other people.

Hearing your laughter brings the widest, cheesiest grin to Cedric’s face. Not only does he adore seeing you happy, but he also recognizes that your anxiety, insecurities, and strong emotions can sometimes cloud up your demeanor. Therefore, it brings him comfort knowing that (for the moment) you’re finding joy. He thrives when you thrive!

However, as much as he loves seeing your more energetic and happier self, it goes without saying that he’s the best comfort for when you’re not having the best day.

Cedric is an excellent listener, so he’ll most likely let you talk without interruption for as long as you need before even saying a word. He wants to make sure he truly understands your current state before acting. He may take a few seconds to process everything after you finish speaking, but then he’ll help you tackle whatever problems you’re facing. He’s especially talented at giving words of affirmation.

Cedric’s listening also comes in handy whenever you talk about your interests! He genuinely loves hearing about the things you’re interested in solely for the fact that you’re interested in them. Side note: you can count on him to be at any music performances, pageants, etc. you may have -- this guy is truly your #1 supporter.

Cedric’s a very good student (though I suspect he’s somewhat of a procrastinator himself), so I can also see you two supporting each other through schoolwork and celebrating each other’s successes.

Like you, Cedric has a strong urge to do the right thing. Talking to him about social issues stirs up a need to help, and I could see you two doing volunteer work together in your spare time.

I like to believe one of Cedric’s biggest love languages is quality time. Don’t get me wrong, this guy loves staying involved and busy. But taking a couple hours to be with you in small ways (even if that means just being in the same room while you scroll through social media) gives him a nice balance.

Overall, this kind boy will be there unwaveringly through the bad times and will laugh just as loud as you through the good!

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LUNA LOVEGOOD

You wanna talk about the best conversations, relentless support, and overall the most wholesome friendship you could ask for? Luna’s your girl.

Being unashamed to be true to yourself is one of the biggest reasons why Luna is so drawn to you. While she’s very friendly and insightful towards everyone she meets, it can get a bit repetitive for her to constantly interact with people who try to shelter their unique characteristics from the world. In her mind, these unique characteristics are what make people so fascinating! Why should anyone hide who they are?

Luna’s creativity is endless, and I can see it blending well with yours. Collaborating on a personal project outside of school (ex: novel, blog, etc.) together is definitely something I could see you two doing.

Speaking of creativity, finding creative solutions to everyday problems (both in school and in life) is your specialty as friends.

Admittedly, Luna isn’t usually drawn to louder individuals. However, the complexity behind your personality makes it easier for her to know you are much more than what meets the eye.

Speaking of, Luna has a difficult time standing up for herself -- whether it’s because she doesn’t feel a need to or she just doesn’t recognize the meaning behind certain phrases. She NEEDS a friend like you to stand up for her sometimes, and I know you wouldn’t hesitate!

Ranting to Luna is therapeutic to say the least. While her aloofness at times may make it seem as if she isn’t fully paying attention, that couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s actually catching every word, and once you’re done she’ll leave you with a philosophical solution that may seem borderline insane/irrelevant when you first hear it, but it strangely makes sense.

Overall, the lack of judgment from either of you is what draws you together. As a result, you build a unique bond that couldn’t be broken even if either of you wanted it to.

In the Marauders era, I romantically pair you with…

REMUS LUPIN

Let’s be honest, it would take you two so long to ask each other out. You were probably already really close friends, but the insecurities and “what if?” questions from both of you delayed an actual relationship.

When you finally started dating, you were both so relieved. You still share a laugh at how almost nothing changed in the way you interacted with each other.

While with mutual friends, Remus sometimes likes to sit back and just watch you, especially when you get really talkative because this is when you become the most expressive. He has the softest smile when you’re actively cracking jokes, discussing something you’re passionate about, or even calling someone out. Sometimes you may be too distracted to notice, but other times you’ll catch him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” (While that same soft smile never leaves his face.)

You both hold really high standards for yourself in terms of school, so expect late-night study/work sessions to be your best bet for quality time.

Though the occasional instance of walking through/lying on the grounds becomes a favorite for both of you.

Remus listens when you’re particularly struggling through anxiety or strong emotions, but he has to consciously stop himself from interrupting because he can’t stand how he feels knowing you’re going through a tough time.

All he wants to do is soothe you during these moments. If you’re comfortable, he’ll hold you while speaking to you in a soft voice. Remus, the intellectual that he is, is also your best chance at finding a reasonable solution. So if you're not in the mood for calming words, he's also a great person to turn to for answers.

As for your ambitions, no matter what you choose to pursue, you already know Remus is going to be your biggest source of support every step of the way. He’s more than happy to help in any way he can!

Overall, Remus appreciates you, and he’s always going to make sure you know it.

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LILY EVANS

Lily especially connects to you because you manage to be determined, competitive, and intelligent without sacrificing your kindness, which is something she can relate to.

You and Lily are the C.E.O.s of doing the right thing. Neither of you hesitates to back the other up when it comes to confronting someone because you know it’s justified.

As perceptive as Lily is, you never need to tell her when something is bothering you. All it takes is a quick glance before she puts whatever she’s doing on hold to check in with you.

The reverse works as well. Typically, Lily really doesn’t internally struggle too much, and when she does she tries to hide it. You’re one of the only people who can see right through whatever she tries to pull.

The constant banter between you two is unmatched, but you both know it's because you really care about each other.

Overall, you and Lily have each other’s backs through anything, even when the other isn’t actively asking for help.

[vampiremourning]

for the oc thing- 👁 and 👀 and 🪞 (i hope you're doing well :))

physical feature descriptions. (not currently accepting)

--

Katerina’s eyes are green. A brilliant, deep, intense green that matched her father’s eyes while he still lived. It’s absolutely the sort of colour that makes people wonder whether or not they’re contacts, but it was really just the luck of the genetic draw. As expected, people also take note of them, and often. She doesn’t mind the compliments at all. Her eye shape itself is of the deep set/hooded variety, but that doesn’t stop her from finding ways to line them for further emphasis. 

She’ll blink hard if she’s trying to regain focus for something, or if she’s in a more melancholy mood and needs to snap out of it quickly. If she’s comfortable with you, she’s not above throwing a teasing wink in every now and then if she’s feeling playful. 

Second was answered here. 

Something that most people pick up within moments of meeting her is that Katerina knows she’s attractive. She’s known it since she was a teenager and figured out how to use this to command a room and get away with things she maybe shouldn’t have soon after. 

Her view of herself gives her an undeniable ego, but it’s not unearned, and she isn’t the type to verbally brag about it (unless, of course, she’s in a rare joking mood). It comes through in the way that she carries herself, the confidence in her walk and the straight line of her shoulders. If you were to compliment her, she would agree with a demure ‘I know,’ before thanking you. She’ll occasionally give unsolicited tips to her friends on how to amplify their own attractiveness, and while this may seem blunt and a bit rude, her goal is to get them feeling as good in their skin as she does in hers. But above all, she doesn’t care if she’s not someone’s cup of tea or if they find her conceited. The second bit is kind of true, and as for the first? Well, not everyone can have good taste, can they? 

On a slightly more depressing note, she recognizes that her looks are very much a form of armour. ‘Pretty privilege’ is real, but so is holding yourself in such a way that everyone else is afraid to approach. It was also part of the reason Apollonnio decided to make her his childe in the first place; he was no Toreador, but he knew the value of aesthetics and making yourself sexually appealing when it came to dealing with positions of power. She knows how to use the fact that many people only see her looks and nothing more to her advantage, but the underestimation does get under her skin occasionally. 

She also knows that looking good doesn’t absolve her of her mistakes or past sins. She doesn’t think she’s irredeemable, but there were times when being pretty allowed her to hurt others more easily for her own gain, and she regrets it (but can’t help be aware of how easy it would be to conduct herself like that again). A nice package doesn’t mean much if the insides are rotten. 

All the same, she’s quite pleased with how she looks and how it affects her psyche in general. The downsides can be dealt with privately. 

[anotheronechicagobog]

Functional Dysfunction - Rheese - Chapter 1

written by @anotheronechicagobog​

A/N: This is a new series I’ve been trying to work on and I’m so happy that I’m finally done the first chapter! It’s IMPORTANT to note that this the fic I took a survey for a while back so; Sarah Reese has a double specialty of ED and Neuro. Also, it’s a bit AU so be prepared for that. 

Warnings: swearing, vomit, unplanned pregnancy, talk of abortion

The waiting room was a decent size, but she still felt small. Surrounded by medical diagrams and leather couches, and pregnant women, and pregnant women with children. She felt completely out of depth and she was finding it hard to breathe. Her tunnel vision was only broken when the nurse called her name. The older woman smiled at her obvious nerves and Sarah was instantly relieved, not because of the woman’s assuring demeanour, but because she knew that if she had gone to a doctor at MED instead of Planned Parenthood, she would have instead been met with shock, judgement, and awaiting a comment from Doris.

“Dr. Singh will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

So Sarah laid back on the examination table in the flimsy blue paper gown with her unmentionables in the breeze, because of course, Sarah found herself in a situation where she’d need a transvaginal ultrasound instead of a pap smear. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm herself down.

“Ms. Reese?”

“Hi.”

“Hello, I’m Dr. Singh. You believe you’re pregnant?”

“Yes, I took two home tests, I’ve been nauseous but only between two and four in the afternoon and one and four in the morning, I missed my period, I’ve been fatigued, and my breasts have been sore. And it’s... Uh, it’s Dr. Reese, actually.”

“Okay, then. Are you in your residency?”

“Halfway through my second year.”

“So you know how this works then.”

“Yes.”

“Did you bring any support? We have counsellors and resources you can use. Your mental and emotional wellbeing is just as important as your physical health.”

“I’m fine. I just want to get the pregnancy confirmed and then book an abortion. I’m in my second year of residency, the father was a one night stand, and my main source of income comes from my mother who would not approve of me having a baby out of wedlock.”

“I completely understand. Med school was hard enough for me without pregnancy and then a baby. We’re still going to have a counsellor talk to you about it beforehand, make sure that you’re making the decision for you and not for anyone else.”

“Alright, I guess.”

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah was right, she was pregnant. She wasn’t surprised and it didn’t change how she felt. So when she walked into her next shift she didn’t expect a concerned Maggie to approach her. “Hey Sarah, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Maggie, why? Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

“You’re pale, you haven’t been eating much lately, and you’ve been more tired lately. What’s going on Reese, are you sick? You can talk to Goodwin and she’ll give you time off.”

“I’m grateful that you’re worried about me Maggie, but I’m not sick or anything, I promise. It’s just stress.” Sarah tried and failed to tell herself that she wasn’t technically lying, but pushed that thought to the back of her mind and took in Maggie’s disbelieving demeanour.

“If you’re sure...”

“I am.” Maggie gave her a look that clearly said ‘I don’t think you’re telling the truth but your lie is plausible so I’m letting it go for now’ as she exited the doctor’s lounge, leaving Sarah alone. She took a deep breath as she put her stuff in her locker before grabbing a clean pair of scrubs. After she’d changed into them she looked into the full mirror of the dressing room, staring herself down. She willed against herself not to do it and lost. She turned to the side and placed her hands over her abdomen. She knew that the fetus inside of her was tiny, the size of a sesame seed, but... She didn’t know what she was doing, truthfully. So she shook her head and squared her shoulders before tying her hair back and walking up to the nurses’ station. “What have you got for me, Maggie?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrew Pierson was seventeen and optimistic, something that both she and Rhodes admired. It made their daily rounds and checkups much easier. On most days they both went at the same time so that both departments were able to get first-hand results and to prevent miscommunication. The only problem was that they were always at 3:30 pm, smack dab in the one-hour afternoon window of Sarah’s ‘morning’ sickness. She did her best to quell it in advance; ginger tea, fresh air, mindful of what she’d had for lunch, and she was always drinking water. Sometimes though, like today, morning sickness couldn’t be quelled or repressed. She and Rhodes were discussing Andrew’s latest brain scan and what his injury meant for a valve replacement, when it reared its ugly head like never before. The bile was rising up her throat, fast and hot. She stopped talking in the middle of her sentence, drawing attention from her colleague and her patient. She didn’t register dropping her tablet. She darted into the adjoining bathroom and emptied the little liquid she had in her stomach. Even after it was all out she had to sit there dry-heaving. The burning discomfort in her throat didn’t bother her like it used to, and the painful twisting in her stomach annoyed her more than anything else at this point. When the hellish nausea finally passed she was able to register that she wasn’t alone. Rhodes stood behind her, holding her hair back for her. She turned to look at him and he clearly felt unbelievably awkward, like her, but she did see worry clearly on display behind his eyes. “What’s going on, Reese? You’ve been sick all week.” She hastily got on her feet, only for Rhodes to have to steady her when her balance wavered and mind spun from doing it too fast. After she was okay enough that Rhodes could let go, she warily made her way to the sink to rinse her mouth, only to find that there was some vomit on the edges of her lips and chin, only furthering her embarrassment as Rhodes tried to make eye contact in the mirror.

“It’s nothing-”

“Okay, stop. This is not nothing, you don’t think I’ve noticed how pale and nauseous you get every day? I may have my head wrapped around for too much but I’m not an idiot. Not to mention, you literally just dropped our patient’s brain scans to vomit. You are not fine, actually, you know what? Let’s just go down to the ED, get you checked out-”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Reese, these are continual symptoms, they could be the sign of-”

“I’m pregnant.”

“... Oh.” Sarah bit out harshly, turned the water off, and left the bathroom, leaving Rhodes standing by the toilet, as she blinked back tears. The look in his eyes, the acknowledgement, the pity. She picked up her, thankfully undamaged tablet, as a demure Dr. Rhodes came to stand beside her again. “I’m very sorry Mr. Pierson, I think I ate some bad sushi yesterday. Let’s just finish our appointment and then we can get you started on your new preparation plan so that you’re ready for surgery, okay?”

“Sounds good, and I hope you feel better soon, doc.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Rhodes had spent the remainder of Andrew’s appointment standing beside her clearly shocked and somewhat muted. When they both left though, he steered her into the closest conference room he could find. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, now if you’ll excuse me I have other patients that need my care-”

“What about you? Who’s caring for you? You’ve been really sick, and although pregnancy explains it, it doesn’t change the fact that you have concerning symptoms or that Maggie is one bathroom trip away from admitting you into the hospital herself. Because I haven’t heard anything about you in any of the gossip I’m going to assume that you haven’t told many, if any at all, people here. So is there anyone who knows? Anyone who can help you out? And what about the father? I mean you’re pregnant, you’re going to have a baby. Have you spoken to Goodwin yet? She’ll work with everyone to make sure that you’ve got everything you need-”

“Okay, stop! No one knows and I want to keep it that way. I’m not... I’m getting an abortion. And I just...” Sarah took a deep breath as she blinked her tears away. Not now, not at work, not in front of Dr. Rhodes.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” He stood there awkwardly, his arms hovering around her form, unsure of whether he should embrace her or not. Sarah shrugged his hand away and took a few controlled breaths. “I won’t tell anyone, but, does anybody know? And I don’t mean from work, I mean in general, do you have someone to talk to about this? Or take you to and from the procedure?”

“No but it’s fine, I’ll just call a cab after.”

“What if something goes wrong during the procedure, who are they going to call? You have to list an emergency contact.”

“I’ll be fine, everything will be fine.” Sarah took a steadying breath as she tried to quell her morning sickness, again, and stop her body from shaking. “Are you trying to reassure me? Or yourself?” Sarah honestly didn’t have an answer for that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah cursed herself constantly over the fifteen-minute drive it took to get to Molly’s. Not only did she reveal a pretty damning secret to one of the hospital’s top surgeons, but she hadn’t been able to get out of going to the bar with the rest of the ED staff. And since Molly’s was a firefighter bar, owned by a few members of the 51st firehouse, the father of her child was most likely going to be there. She sat in her car, trying not to let the dread fill her as she stared at the ornate door of what was now her least favourite bar, not that she enjoyed drinking enough to have a favourite. She took the seat next to Maggie and tried to join in on the laughter that was being shared amongst her colleagues. But she couldn’t, she felt hot and cold all over, her breathing was tense, her chest was constricted, and her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. The fact that Jimmy Borrelli, the father of the unborn child inside of her that he didn’t even know about, was staring at her with familiar lust-filled eyes, and that Connor Rhodes, currently the only person who knew about her pregnancy, just entered and looked at her with a mix of shock, horror, and concern, did absolutely nothing to help with her stress or her pregnancy symptoms. Rhodes made his way over to the table with a guarded look on his face. “Hey guys, how about I get the next round?”

“You’re not new anymore Rhodes, we know you’re not a complete stuck up ass, you don’t have to keep trying to bribe us.”

“Thanks for your words of kindness, Halstead, but this isn’t bribery, this is me offering beer.”

“... Fair enough, man. I think we’re all up for it.”

“Great, hey Reese, would you mind helping me carry it all over?” The meaningful look Rhodes sent made it clear he was using this as an excuse to talk to her away from their co-workers. “Sure.” She tried to sound chipper as she hopped out of her seat, but her voice was tired and it cracked partway through the word. Rhodes visibly frowned and Sarah could feel the concerned stares from her co-workers. They walked to the counter and nodded at Hermann, ready to wait until he was available. “I know that you’re... ‘Cancelling your subscription’,” he spoke lowly, mindful of all the ears around them and how fast gossip flourished among the groups present, “but you still, you know, have it. Should you be drinking?”

“I’m not. I’ve missed too many get-togethers and because of my, uh ‘binge-watching’. People, Maggie in particular are getting suspicious. And honestly, even though I’m ‘cancelling my subscription’, I can’t bring myself to do anything to harm... You know. I, uh, I don’t even drink, really.”

“Yeah, I know. Is there anything else I can get you, then?” Sarah shook her head even though her stomach had turned on her and was eating itself. The bodily organ betrayed her, making an audible growl that could be heard above the music bursting out of the speaker directly above them and the loud mixture of conversations that made nearly everything inaudible. He raised his eyebrow as she scolded herself internally and tried to ignore the warmth creeping up to her cheeks at his bemused expression. “You sure about that? How about some food? I hear that Mills has taken up working the kitchen here, the food should be good.”

“The food is great! And I’m not just saying that because I own that place.” Sarah jumped at Hermann’s voice, not knowing he’d gotten back to them.

“Would you mind showing me a menu then, Hermann? I won’t turn down free food.” Sarah nodded her head at the man standing next to her with a slight smile on her face, feeling better than she had all day if she was being honest. “Oh, is the good doctor buying again?”

“Yes I am, which reminds me, three pitchers of Coors please, and-”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“And spaghetti and meatballs, please.”

“You got it. Here’s your beer, glasses for everyone, and your food’ll be brought over to you when it’s done.”

“Great.”

“And Reese?”

“Yeah?”

“Give us a good review, will ya? We could use all the help we can get to gain some traction for the kitchen.”

“You got it.”

Sarah eyed the tower of glasses she had in her right hand, concentrating far more than necessary if she was being honest, to make sure that she didn’t drop them. When Sarah set the glasses and full pitcher down she took the opportunity to look around the tables at her colleagues. Everyone had gone back to their conversations, and weren’t regarding her with caution, except for Maggie and Manning. They shared a look with each other, then her. “I’m fine, promise.” They shared another look with each other before discreetly taking her hands into theirs. “We don’t believe you.”

[letsoulswander]

What if you've thought about this for a long time and done lots of self examination and still find that your individual sexuality doesn't include desire for somebody who has a particular set of genitalia or secondary sex characteristics? Like I've really tried. It just leaves me cold, and I know I'm far from alone. Feels weird to be constantly called a bigot for something that is so personal, and that I cannot change 🤷

(I’m assuming this ask is in response to my reblogging this, from @cipheramnesia)

It’s funny that you are asking me this, anon, because I’m both ace and trans- what people have in their pants doesn’t really play much role for me in the grand scheme of things.

I’ve spent a lot of personal time researching sexual attraction, how it works, what it feels like. I’ve asked people to tell me about it and I’ve observed how they interact with it. It’s a feeling I experience very infrequently, if at all, so it’s endlessly fascinating to me.

I’ve also spent a lot of time researching gender identity, dysphoria, euphoria, and the roles they play in peoples’ lives. I’ve spent a lot of time talking to trans people about their experiences as trans people, and I’ve lived my whole life as a trans person.

Given these, I like to think those identities and their overlap gives me a unique perspective to talk about this kind of thing. Please keep in mind that I am not every trans person, every ace person, or every queer person.

Now I’m going to take a page out of Hannah Gadsby’s book, and set your expectations. In other words, here’s a TLDR:

Your sexuality/attraction probably isn’t specifically focused on genitals.

If you’re uncomfortable being called a bigot, ask yourself if you’re behaving like one.

Genitals are gross. People who find them gross still sleep with them, because they’re attracted to the rest of the person.

Even if you specifically have attraction for a specific genital type, you’re probably not going to meet many people genital-first.

“Secondary sex characteristics” that are associated with cis men appear in cis women, and ones that are associated with cis women appear in cis men, naturally.

Your attraction probably has room for things other than the specific look/feel/shape of the genitals of your partner. Consider that any partners you take, or people you feel attraction for, exist outside of any sexual activities you do together (which may or may not involve taking off your pants).

Homework: Examine, please, why you are so focused on genitalia as a deciding factor in your sexuality. It might be the people around you or the people who helped you come out, but it’s important to consider why you think these hypothetical genitals will make or break your potential relationships.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s begin.

To start: I’m sorry that someone has made you think that your sexuality is only specifically about genitals. It really sucks. Correlating genitals to sexuality has been used for a long time to defend anything from “not exposing” children to non-straight/cis content, to denying health care and housing to people “because we don’t want people doing that, here”.

(Because queer and non-cishet identities are all About Sex and the genitals involved, obviously.)

It sounds like you’re bothered by this topic. Maybe it’s just because you are uncomfortable with being called a bigot, or maybe you actually are a bigot. I don’t know you. I’m going to respond as if it’s the first, because I know there are probably a couple people who follow me with similar concerns.

What I do know is, to put it bluntly, the argument that “my sexuality doesn’t allow for this set of genitals/secondary sex characteristics” is one that gets thrown around in a lot of anti-trans rhetoric, and it’s poison. So lets break down why someone might hear you say that, and then think you are a bigot.

Genitals are gross. I’ve asked people who are REALLY INTO GUYS, who have slept with guys, and have been told (by multiple people!) that penises are weird, and not that sexy. I did then ask, of course, “why do you have sex with them then?” The answer I got was because... apparently, they were also attracted to the rest of the guy. Who knew, right?

I’ve also asked people who are REALLY INTO GIRLS, who have slept with girls, and have been told (again, by multiple people) that vulvas are weird, and not that sexy. Their answer to why they have sex with a body part that’s not that sexy? Also attraction to the rest of the girl.

Why do I mention these? Because even people who are REALLY attracted to a specific gender aren’t (generally) all that invested in the genitals of their partners. I don’t know what kind of life you live, anon, but unless you exclusively meet your partners/people you find attractive via cam-girl tapes or porn, chances are you’ve met and been attracted to at least a couple of trans people who have transitioned, people you would never expect to have (insert binary genital type here).

Let’s talk about secondary sex characteristics. You’re familiar with terms like AGAB/AFAB/AMAB? If you’re not, google them (all together so they come up with the correct definitions). I’ll wait.

Okay, now that you know what they mean, let’s use a hypothetical. Imagine a baby girl is born, and the doctor looks and says “it’s a girl!” Everything looks fine. She grows up, gets her period, examines her gender identity and decides that she is cis.

Now, the secondary sex characteristics people tend to expect from cis women after puberty include a moderately high voice, soft skin, rounded facial features. Socially, women are also pressured to remove body hair and have long hair on their heads, and to move in certain ways to be “ladylike” or “sexy” or “demure” or whatever. Also, generally, people associate vulvas with “ability to get pregnant”.

But lots of cis women don’t fit those! Google Indian or Israeli or Arabic women, who are genetically more likely to have thicker and darker facial and body hair. Google PCOS or endometriosis, which can cause deepening voice, increased and darker facial/body hair, fertility issues and pain. Google vaginismus, which makes PIV sex very painful or impossible. There are posture issues and disabilities that make moving fluidly tricky, and disorders (like hyperthyroidism) that make your head hair fall out or thin. These are all secondary sex characteristics.

The issue I take with your dismissal of “certain secondary sex characteristics” is that, well, they’re secondary. Each body responds differently to genetics and environment both. There are cis men with soft skin, sparse body hair, long head hair, men with high voices and more fluid mannerisms and softer facial features, as well. These not indicators that the person in question is Actually Secretly Trans and is out to hoodwink you.

The argument you’ve brought to me seems to be “I don’t like x genital, therefore I couldn’t sleep with/be attracted to someone who is not cis”. I invite you to, instead of wondering about what genitals you are “attracted to”, consider what kind of person you like. Are they funny? Smart? Beautiful? Handsome? A mix of all of those? Do they tell you jokes? Help you with chores? Are they kind to you?

Honestly, anon, I don’t care who you are attracted to or who you sleep with. I’m not telling you that you need to be attracted to people you don’t find attractive.

But I strongly, strongly urge you to consider why the hypothetical genitals of the people around you are so important to you. Maybe you should reconsider whoever you’re hanging out with, who’s asking you these questions, because I doubt they have your best interest at heart, or the best interest of the trans people around you.

We get attacked, around the world, every day because of our genitals. People police us all the time, want us to “man up” or “be ladylike”, either to pass better or to force us to commit to play the role of cis for the rest of our lives. But the cure for this is NOT tapping out the moment trans people - and our genitals - are brought up and complaining that “I just don’t find (insert genital) sexy!”

As Cipher noted (in that post waaay back at the top of this thing), she’s married to someone who doesn’t particularly like penises, but loves her dearly, and Cipher, in turn, also isn’t a fan of her own. I promise you, anon, I promise you, genitals are strange, and love is stranger. Don’t put your attraction on the fulcrum of “what genitals I will sleep with”. (Note: you also don’t have to sleep with whoever you’re into, I promise, take it from an ace person who doesn’t have sex and still has a lovely time with the people I’m into.)

Instead, here’s a little homework: Consider what is attractive to you about the people you like, and try to let go of the idea of what does or doesn’t constitute a man or woman. Including genitals, sure, but also including secondary sex characteristics. Trust me. It’s worth the work.

[xfandomwritingsx]

The Sweet of Night – Loki Laufeyson – Part 3

-gif source-

Description: After growing up besides Loki and having a complicated friendship with him, you visit him in his cell at night.  

Warnings/Labels: None I don’t think.

Approx. Word Count: 3,300

A/N: If you’re new to me, you’ll learn this pretty quickly; my updates are SUPER sporadic and I apologize.

Story Materpost

You let your fingers dance over the spines of the books kept inside your chambers. You’ve been going over their titles and plots in your head for the better part of your morning which had started a little early. You’d risen just before the sun, sending your request for breakfast to be brought to your room in a few short hours. You need to make a decision before Katerina comes however.

You pull one out from the shelf, an older leather bound book lined with bits of gold. You’ve read it many times. It’s one of your favorites. But would he like it? A romance novel? It was exciting with battles and heroes and villains with depth, but at its heart it is still a romance. You’re running out of time so you finally decide it will do and put it at your desk. You sit down and quickly scribble a note on a page of spare paper to slip into its cover.

As you finish, there’s a knock at the door. You get up to answer the door perhaps a little too quickly as Katerina’s startled look tells you. You greet her with a smile and open your door wide for her.

“Good Morning my Lady,” she says gently, crossing one ankle behind the other to give a small curtsy. You’ve told her time and time again that was not needed, but she seldom listened when you told her to forgo the formalities. They help to keep her quiet, demure appearance alive and keep many away from the truth.

“Katerina,” you call her attention as she enters and places the tray of food on your desk. “I have a favor to request.” You can tell her interest is piqued when you close your door by the small tilt in her head as she raises her eyebrows in response. “You are tasked with bringing Loki his meals, are you not?” You can see the wheels turning in her mind.

“I am,” she confirms, voice still small and innocent. She stands straight up, not a single strand of her amber hair falling out the tight bun she’d put it in.

“I need you to bring him something for me,” you tell her. “With discretion,” you emphasize. Her eyes dart around the room, shoulders stiffening in order to portray an uncomfortable air. You hold in a small chuckle. “Oh come now,” you smile at her as she continues to hold her façade. “This is a very small ask of someone who smuggles as well as you.” She knits her brows together.

“I’m not sure what you mean, my Lady,” she sputters. Honestly, she’s quite good. Not good enough to convince you, but quite good nonetheless.

“I’m not interested in prosecuting you,” you assure her. “Your crimes are nonviolent and quite frankly, minuscule. I’m not concerned with potent herbs and alcohols and love notes passed between nobles.” You can tell she knows that she’s been caught, but she keeps her composure all the same. “I simply ask that when you bring Loki his meal, you give him this as well.” You reach down and pick up the book to hand it to her.

“A book?” Her voice is less timid now that her ruse was up. She takes it and turns it in her hands, looking for some hidden secret to it. “May I ask why you simply don’t deliver this yourself?”

“Deliveries are forbidden to the Prince’s cell, even from Thor himself.” It’s the truth, whether it is a punishment or a precaution you aren’t entirely sure. Even if the rule was not in place, giving gifts to a war criminal would not bode well for you.

“That makes this quite a risk for me.” She holds the book in her hands, close to her body. “As you said, my previous crimes have been of a much smaller nature.” She’s clearly not concerned. The job is simple and fairly easy to complete with little risk of being caught. You know what she’s aiming for and you must admit, you admire her finesse.

“The favor, of course, comes with payment.” You hand her a small satchel of high value coins that had also been resting on your desk. She’s pleased with this and she smiles, opening her robe enough to slip the book inside and under her arm.

“Delivery will be made this morning.” You pass smiles for each other before escorting her back to the door.

“Thank you, Katerina.” She gives another polite curtsy before she retreats into the halls.

---

You take Loki’s advice tonight on coming to visit him sooner. You tell yourself it’s for his amusement, that he wants you for a longer period of time, but you know the truth is that you’re impatient. You’ve been excited to see him all day. Ever since Katerina left your chambers, all you could think of was going to see Loki. Did he get your book? Did he appreciate it? Did he scoff?

As soon as it’s late enough that the halls are mostly empty, you’re slipping out of your room and swiftly heading towards the prison. The guards still say nothing to you, but you give them a small smile and nod, the need to acknowledge their presence not one you like to ignore.

Loki is at the barrier wall, already waiting for you when you round the corner, his hands neatly placed behind his back. His eyes lift when he sees you, a small smirk already making its way onto his lips.

“You know, I never much cared for breakfast,” he tells you as you manage to hold off on your smile. “It comes at an odd hour and it’s always too sweet.” You have to force yourself not to look over his room, to try to see where he kept the book. Instead, you keep your face neutral as you come closer. “But this morning, there was something a little different to it.”

“Oh?” you feign innocently. His lips quirk up in a small smirk, amused by your game.

“It was arranged in the most careful fashion, practically like artwork with the bowl of oats on a cloth covered platform and the fruit arranged to resemble a flower on a lower level.” He’s at an angle, almost casually leaning his shoulder against the barrier. Eyes looking towards the ceiling, acting like he’s recalling the arrangement. “Curious it was. When I went to investigate, I found someone has been putting our servant girl’s smuggling talents to use.” He brings his hands out from behind his back, your book cradled in one of them.

“I wasn’t aware you were privy to Katerina’s hobby.” It’s where your true source of surprise comes from, the book forgotten for a moment. His smirk widens.

“Do you truly believe you’re the only one who has requested items be brought discreetly to me?” Honestly, you hadn’t considered it before, but no. You suppose you wouldn’t have been the only one. It raises a question about the security of Asgard’s prison, but you tuck it away to worry about later. And if this wasn’t Katerina’s first time sneaking things to Loki, it also means your payment to her was quite over generous. “This was far from my usual deliveries, however.” He looks down at the book and turns it over in his hand. You choose to remain quiet, waiting to gauge his reaction. As he turns it in his palm and flips the cover open, you notice a sliver of colored paper peeking out from the pages; a bookmark, nearly half way through. “A little less dull than your history books,” he reads your brief note aloud. “How thoughtful.” He raises his eyes to you, a sarcastic sparkle reflecting. “Do you think me a romantic?”

“A man full of mystery who speaks in a nearly poetic nature?” you muse, shifting your eyes up to the ceiling in thought. “I think there’s potential for a romantic in you. Romance was not the reason behind it however.”

“You don’t mean to seduce me through books?” he teases. You pull your robe tighter around yourself and scoff at him.

“Hardly.” He snaps the book closed with one hand, holding it by its spine. He lowers the book and folds his other hand over it, letting his arms rest comfortably in front of his body.

“So disappointing.” He smiles lightly and you’re compelled to return the gesture. “So tell me then, what was the reason for this?” His chin tilts down to the book.

“It’s one of my favorites,” you admit. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Concerned for my entertainment, are you?” His smirk belittles you and you look away.

“Must you always mock me for trying to be kind?” Your voice is much more timid than you wish it to be. You are a strong woman and yet Loki holds some kind of power over you, making you feel vulnerable. His face suggests the slightest notion of surprise at your hurt.

“Your kindness is… difficult to take at face value.” He does not meet your eyes when you look at him. There is a hardness and hesitation to his tone. Is he regretting his own proposal of honesty already?

“You do not think me genuine?” You attempt not to be offended. “Have I ever given you reason to believe my kindness is meant to be trickery?” Again, you find yourself pulling your robe tighter around yourself.

“No one is kind to monsters,” he states. “And I am but a monster.” His posture is tall and straight; sure of his monstrosity as if it is a badge he wears. Your eyes narrow and though you know it’s hard for others to do, you see through the façade.

“No,” you say plainly. “You are not so easily defined by a single moniker.” His eyes turn cold.

“Did you not see images of Midgard?” His sharp, even tone sends a chill down your spine. It’s so easy to forget that behind his charm and lean body, there’s a powerful and intimidating God underneath. “Were you not at the trial where they listed my crimes, my atrocities, my sins?”

“I saw the images,” you whisper. “But I did not attend your trial.” You were one of the few that did not. It had been a large event in Asgard and while it ended up being closed to the public, the attendance was still quite large and had you wanted, you could have gone. You meant to. You’d dressed for it, but instead had sat on your bed and didn’t get up. You just couldn’t watch. Loki looks surprised at this and his head tilts ever so slightly.

“When I didn’t see your face, I had assumed you were simply hidden away in the back.” It’s your turn to tilt your head questioningly at him.

“You looked for me?” You internally scold yourself for feeling fluttery at the thought.

“Your usual seat was strikingly empty,” he says, shrugging as though it was an afterthought. “It would have been hard not to notice your absence.” A short silence falls between you as he analyzes you. Trying to keep your face a stone, trying not to give him anything to read off of you, you feel stiff and statuesque. “Why did you not attend?” he finally asks.

“Because…” you pause, many excuses bubbling up in you. “I simply didn’t want to.” He instantly tsks his tongue at you.

“Ah-ah,” he chides. “Honesty, remember?” His chin tilts down as he eyes you carefully. You huff, frustrated with yourself or him you’re not entirely sure. You cross your arms over your chest, looking at anything, but him.

“I couldn’t.” It’s the truth, though it still feels like a lie. You continue quickly, knowing he’s going to ask you why anyways. “I wasn’t ready to see you like that. Bound in chains and sentenced for war crimes. It felt like you were someone else.” He glances towards the floor and looks almost shameful.

“But it was me,” he says.

“Why?” Your voice croaks and you take a step towards the barrier. “Why did you do it?” He does not look up at you.

“The same reason I did what I did here,” he says coldly. “I wanted to rule.”

“No,” you tell him, trying to mimic his tone. “The truth,” you demand.

“That is the truth!” he snaps at you, lifting his head so quickly it startles you. There’s something in his eyes, behind the anger, that draws you in. Is it fear? You breathe slowly, choosing your words carefully.

“Then what aren’t you saying?” You’re gentle this time, uncrossing your arms and letting go of your tension, hoping to appear unjudgemental and unconfrontational. He squeezes the book tightly between his fingers.

“I was… unwell,” he says after a time. “The scepter, it has the power to twist things. It can manipulate you and make you see things very differently if you are not careful.” His mouth curls into a disgusted snarl. “In my haste to get what I wanted, I was not careful.” You do not doubt his words. The images you saw of him on Midgard were unsettling; tired, vacant eyes with dark circles around them. Unwell would be an understatement to you.

“Did you tell this to the council?” Surely manipulation and mind control would be grounds for a lesser sentence, would they not? He smiles with no joy and looks at you bitterly.

“To what purpose? My actions were still my own. I could have stepped away, but I did not.” There’s acceptance in his voice, but maybe something else too. Perhaps he felt shame and embarrassment that the great trickster himself was played the fool. Perhaps he held some regret for his actions and wanted punishment. Maybe he didn’t even know what it was that truly kept him from defending himself.

“Perhaps if you had, I’d be able to visit you without this barrier.” You reach out and touch it gently, running your fingers down it and watching the way the yellow chases your fingertips. His face softens.

“Are you implying you wish to touch me?” There’s so many layers to the question that you’re unsure how to answer it. You don’t have a desire to rush into his arms and hug him or hold his hand or even pat him on the back. When you think about it, you have no reason to touch him. And yet, there’s something that pulls you to the wall between the two of you, something that makes you reach out and touch it and wish its existence away.

“It’s not about touch,” you conclude. “It’s about distance. I prefer to be in the same room as the people I’m speaking to. The occasional flicker of the barrier, especially when it happens across your face, just makes you look like an illusion.” Loki steps up and places his fingers over yours. The extra vibration from his touch sends a flutter through you.

“Are you sure there’s no desire to touch?” he teases, not oblivious to your reaction. You look up at him, watch his face when you flatten your palm to the barrier and his follows your actions. His whole body leans in, his weight in his hand as if he could push through the wall. His eyes are on your hand and then drift towards your body.

“Are you asking because you are hoping for a certain answer?” you counter.

“Answering a question with a question is, uncharacteristically, a form of avoidance.” His weight comes off his hand, leaning away but not withdrawing just yet. You hum at him.

“And where do you think I learned that from?” The quirk of his lips suggests a small sense of pride in himself and it makes you release a breath of a laugh. “Regardless of it all,” You let your hand come off of the barrier, the tingle on your palm remaining for a few seconds. “The barrier remains.”

“That it does, for now.” He takes a few steps back before turning away from you and walking towards his bed. While the tag at the end of his sentence has you curious, you would assume that as a dismissal. He continues to speak to you, however. “So tell me of your day.”

“My day?” The request is not anything like you expected.

“Yes.” He places your book on his bedside table and turns back to you, arms open. “I would tell you of mine, but I’m afraid there’s not much to tell.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell of my day either.” The corner of your lips drag down in an apologetic frown as you shrug. “I met with Asgard’s workmen on their progress in repairing the west court gate.” It sounds extremely dull to you, but Loki’s brow furrows in interest.

“What happened to the gate that caused its need for repair?” he asks, sitting himself back onto the edge of his bed. “It’s a sturdy gate and I can’t imagine anyone trying to attack it.” You can’t resist the humored smile on your lips.

“Oh, no, certainly not. Weeks ago Volstagg, drunken of course, ran a mount into it.” You chuckle as Loki’s eyes widen in concern. “The mount was in full armor and completely unharmed,” you assure him. “The gate was quite bent however.”

“I can imagine,” he comments, a hint of an amused smile peeking through. “Well, keep on,” he encourages when you pause in your telling. “Tell me everything. Tell me of your day, of Asgard’s events, of everything.”

You think that he must be very bored as his interest seems genuine. You smile and oblige him, thinking back over the last years for stories he might find intriguing. You stay for over an hour, finding yourself laughing with him over humorous events and pondering over more serious ones. You only take your leave when you run out stories and when your feet start to ache from standing.

“You know it’s rude to sit while your guest cannot,” you chide him teasingly.

“My guests are usually treated to more than just a seat when they visit my chambers,” he assures, his flirtation clear. “But I am lacking the ability to accommodate at the moment.” He points forward, not towards you, but to the barrier.

“I suppose that’s an adequate excuse,” you concede, giving an exaggerated eye roll. You both give a small chuckle before you shift your weight once again and stretch your arms out. “I do believe I’m going to retire though.”

“By all means.” He gives you a wave with his hand, giving a show of shooing you away and then casually leaning back.

“Good evening, Loki.” You tuck your chin in the smallest bow with your head and turn to leave when he calls your name. You look over your shoulder at him.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “For the book. I’ll make sure our resident smuggler gets it back to you shortly.”

“Take your time,” you tell him with a smile. “Enjoy it.” His eyes briefly run down your body.

“Oh, I think I will.”

[imagine-loki]

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 48 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.     RATING: Mature   NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

I literally have this written with over a week and just as a tab on my computer but I suffer from ITS, Idiotic Thoughts Syndrome which makes me really mentally weird and my mind tells me no one likes my stuff, I just had a few people message me over the last day about this telling me they love it which forced me to feel like I am letting them down if I don't post it which, by the way, is sometimes the best way to motivate my shitty ass, so yeah, it needs saying, if you like this, please let me know, it actually gets me to upload new chapters. I have some written, so...yeah.

Tags - @skulliebythesea​ @asimovethroughthisworld​ @blackcherry26-blog​ @we-shadowhunter2901

As expected, no sooner was it announced that Laufey would not die as king, there was a multitude of reactions, not all positive. Many saw it as merely making official what had been occurring for some time. Loki had been the one to deal with the majority of court matters, so it made sense for him to simply rise to the task officially. Others felt it went against tradition, and that was not something they could accept. Ella heard the word tradition so many times, it stopped being more than sounds after a while. She commented into Loki’s ear something that made him chuckle causing the room to focus on him.

“Does something amuse you, Prince Loki?” Igor was a cantankerous old Jotunn at the best of times but the flaunting of such a tradition irked him all the more.

“Yes, actually it does. My mate made a funny comment on this matter.” He answered honestly.

“And what did she say that has you seeing fit to laugh at me?” The Jotnar glared at Ella, who smirked back.

Loki looked down at her, still smiling himself and asked her silently which of them would answer, seeing her smirk grow slightly, he looked forward again to see Igor’s reaction as her statement became known.

“I stated that tradition when used simply to continue impractical practices, is merely aggressive guilt into coercion via the deceased.” Her words were clear and concise.

“I think it an accurate yet amusing statement, don’t you?” Loki chuckled to Igor.

“Coming from an Aesir, whose traditions are beyond rigid and deemed of importance…”

“I do not recall bringing any such traditions with me, have I? And do you not think that if such a statement were to be true, then surely I would be the best placed to say such with validity, no?” Ella asked, her voice calm and light.

Igor silenced, knowing there was no adequate response to such a statement. It was becoming increasingly clear to the court and all those in it that Loki’s mate was not some mindless silent demure Aesir princess with no opinions or mind to voice them but an able wordsmith who tied up far better speakers and minds than him so he silenced rather than make a fool of himself.

“Whether or not the court agrees, it is occurring, I am too old, too weak. The realm needs a fresh face and mind as we welcome in our new era of prosperity,” Laufey declared. “So this coming full moon, my son will take my place on the throne.”

Both Loki and Ella were slightly startled by that statement, neither had expected it to be so soon. Loki because he did not think he would have so little time to mentally prepare, while Ella wondered how the realm would prepare for such an occasion in so little time. She was unsure how they would do so.

*

Her first decision was to send a seidr message to her mother. They conversed at length regarding the matter. She altered her appearance so that her mother could not tell she was carrying a child. Though Frigga disliked the cold of Jotunheim, even with her seidr, she immediately began readying for the journey there. Ella felt as though it would be best to tell her parents face to face about her impending parenthood so she said nothing of the matter. She knew they would come for such an event, not only because of her father’s role as Allfather but as a manner of publicly showing support for the marriage he placed his daughter in.

When she had finished speaking with her mother, she paced slightly, something she often did when anxious and this caused her to feel incredibly so. She never tried to show her concerns, she learnt from a young age to never let anyone see her in such a manner. Frigga and Odin were masters of such also, never letting anyone see you fret or worry but as easy as it had become to mask such expressions outside, they still turmoiled within her. She toyed with her hands also, something her father long noted she had inherited from her mother, his comments to his wife to cease it before one of their children picked up the habit long being joined by ones to Ella to cease also.

“What are you doing?”

The sound of another joining her caused Ella to yelp slightly and turn around. Seeing Loki looking at her curiously, she shook her head. “What?”

“I asked what are you doing?”

“Doing?”

“You are like a caged beast, pacing and all but frantic, looking to escape. You also yelped in shock, nothing seems to sneak up on you.”

“I’m not…”

“You are. Is something the matter?”

“Of course n...” He raised a brow. Ella sighed, remembering her promise to remain honest, regardless of anything else. “I informed my parents informally about what is occurring. I know that they will be given the news officially in the near future but…”

“How did you do that?” Loki had not heard the Bifrost blast through the quiet realm.

“I explained that in the throne room before, via seidr.” She explained. “I use mine, my mother uses hers and the Bifrost guardian, Heimdall, makes it so we can connect them, even through the realms.”

“So the Guardian can hear what you speak of?”

“Heimdall sees everything, there is little point in trying to hide from him.”

“Then why did he not tell the Allfather about when you were ill?” Loki asked, wondering why the guardian had not alerted anyone on either realm as to Ella’s condition.

“I did not let him see me, what he saw was what I wished for him to see, I suspect he was able to see me when I fell unconscious, I don’t know, I never asked him.”

“But you said…” Loki ceased speaking as soon as he noted the ever so slight smirk on Ella’s face. “I give up.” He raised his hands like one that was defeated causing Ella to look at him curiously. “You...you come across as this outwardly perfectly unassuming, dare I say it, boring princess who does nothing untoward. When you came here I genuinely thought you to be an idiot or dim at the very least, truly I did. I thought you to be someone who could not fathom ever even considering breaking the rules but instead, you are tricking the All-Seeing Guardian, even when you do nothing of note.”

“I do not like the idea of someone watching me all the time. How was I supposed to sneak out of the palace if I could be reported to my father?”

“You...” Loki shook his head again. “Of course, you did. I have a miscreant for a mate. That child will do nothing but guarantee I am balder than any Jotnar of full blood with the stress of his actions,” Loki growled.

Ella found herself snorting slightly at his exasperation. “If you must know, I have something of a reputation as a trickster on my old realm. My parents used to get very irked.”

“I do not doubt it.” Ella grinned at him causing him to shake his head slightly. “I fear what sort of terror we have put in you.” Loki eyed her stomach warily causing Ella to laugh.

“You had begun to realise who I am before you willingly did that.”

“First and foremost, you did not tell me how great a delinquent you were in advance,” He pointed out. “Secondly, I alone did not create the situation by which you came to carry our son, you were very much an active part of the process.” Ella beamed proudly at him. “You are not the same creature brought here to be my mate,” He declared. “You sent a copy, didn’t you? Then you wandered along when you felt like it and released your true self on the realm.”

Ella shook her head slightly as she chuckled. “No, that genuinely was me, just recall that you did not wish to speak with me and I could not simply walk up to the Jotnar that clearly loathed me beyond words and introduce myself as the Trickster Princess, could I?”

“It would have been interesting if you had.”

Ella laughed slightly before her face turned into a frown and she placed a hand to her side.

Loki immediately ceased his jestful behaviour and rushed over to her worriedly. “Are you alright?”

Ella took his hand and placed it to where she had her own a moment before.

Loki had been expecting perhaps to feel the child move, he was not prepared firstly for her touch to be colder than his but also to feel a slight pulse of something go through his hand. “What is that?”

“He is unconsciously using his seidr.”

“What?”

“I think he thinks me to be too warm and his seidr is attempting to cool his environs to something more to his liking.” She frowned as she looked down before her own seidr glowed slightly. “That should keep him satisfied for now.” She paused for a moment, waiting to see if there would be any other form of reaction from within her but there was nothing more, satisfied, she gave a nod.

Loki’s had yet to remove his hand from her stomach. He had been about to do so when he felt a little nudge against it. He chuckled slightly. “What have we created? He has your demeanour.”

“Then we can rest assured that Jotunheim will have two great kings to come, starting on the next full moon.” Ella looked him in the eye as she spoke, hoping to convey her sincerity as she did so. Loki swallowed. “Why in the realms are you nervous? You were made for this.”

“I do not wish to leave him down. To not be everything everyone expects. What if I fail?”

“Loki, you are an incredible being. You will be a truly great king and will not repeat our fathers’ mistakes. Your reign will be a glorious one. You are benevolent and fair and Jotunheim will prosper like never before under your rule.” She held her hands against his face, forcing him to look at her. “You will not fail.” She stated. “And if you are at risk of it, I will be there to make sure you do not. I’ll keep you on the path.” He chuckled slightly leaning down to have their noses touch as he had them do before, his eyes closed and a content sigh as he did so, his hand still on her stomach where his son moved. Ella, since the last time he had done so, had come to learn from Greta that it was the closest form of Jotnar contact to a loving embrace. Hearing that had caused her to question why Loki would do such a thing with her. She came to the conclusion that the relief in the coming of an heir had made him do it, with this second time, she was not so certain.