#(would have been to tell her that she has her own important task:)

[itsbeenliketenyearsitsprettywild]

mylo vanderskid arcane, when it was actually him and not a hallucination, didn't call powder a jinx from a place of personal insecurity, as at no point in show does he come off as threatened by the skills she does have. he had a valid point obscured by the fact that he was a stupid teenager untrained in the skill of logical debate, alongside a long-burning personal frustration leading him to get mean in the way he framed the subject. post-timeskip, everything about mylo's deeper point about jinx's behavior is proven true in acts 2 and 3 of season 1 as it comes up again and again as something silco himself struggles with in keeping his political grip on zaun. in this essay i

[galadrieljones]

It speaks volumes when Lavellan calls Solas a "terrible liar" in the Cobbled Swan. Rook is, of course, confused by this. "He's the god of lies," she says. But Lavellan clarifies, because that's not what she means. She means that he can't tell "lies of the heart." That is why he had to turn her away, because he actually could not deceive her.

Varric, very early in the game, also refers to Solas as "sentimental." He says to Rook, "He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals."

There's something very interesting about the elven god of lies and deceit, who unwillingly wears his heart on his sleeve, essentially creating a new version of the world in which all sources of raw, magical *emotion* that, according to him, used to imbue it with so much life and beauty have been compartmentalized from the more brutish, harsh aspects of the physical world. Because he, himself, has had to do this very thing to his own heart. He's "split." A very cool archetype. When he tells the Inquisitor to "harden her heart to a cutting edge" in Inquisition, he is projecting. Solas has built a "veil" within himself, to protect his more stern, militaristic identity as The Dread Wolf from the effusive, soft, and intelligent man that is Solas. It's the only way he can get anything done. Perhaps we should more aptly call him the god of stoicism and compartmentalization.

It's also interesting how well characters like Varric seem to know Solas, because it communicates that Solas did open up to the people of the Inquisition, during which time he "played the role" of quiet, unassuming Fade mage. Perhaps this wasn't a role at all, however, and perhaps this is why he is failing so spectacularly now. Who he really is is just this man who fell in love and made friends and found a home within a community where he did not have to cut off his emotions in order to lead. This was the "breach" in his plans, so to speak. It tore his world apart.

The whole story of Veilguard actually starts because Varric knows he can appeal to Solas's emotions and that this has a high chance of working to some degree. It's important to remember that while Varric didn't change Solas's mind at the ritual site, he was able to keep Solas talking long enough for Rook to sabotage his plans. Solas entertains Varric's pleas, because, sort of as Rook guesses with Lavellan at the Cobbled Swan, in some ways, Solas wants to be stopped. He wants someone to pull the reins on him because he is too prideful to stop himself.

Thinking back to Trespasser, I remember we all sort of knew this right away just in reading his body language. I remember someone making a whole post about it, and how he will not allow her to get too close to him. When she approaches, he takes a very measured step back. And later, as he takes the anchor, a task which requires him to take her hand, we see exactly why this is. He breaks down, calls her his "love," and kisses her. He is so stern and so measured and in "control," but then, all it takes is a single touch from the woman to whom he showed a glimpse of his true heart, his true self, to bring him to his knees.

The Veil as a narrative manifestation for how Solas tends to seal his own raw emotions away from others in order to function as the revolutionary general he had to be for centuries is a very beautiful construct to me.

[seijorhi]

Divine Rights

for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy as a somewhat late, sort of birthday present aka the royal fic y'all have been waiting weeks for oikawa tooru x female reader w.c 5.6k tw: non-con, yandere themes, blood and a little gore, murder, violence, abuse, pregnancy & childbirth, breeding kink, smut, nsfw

“Miyuki forgot to bring me my tea this afternoon.” At the blank look you get in response, you hasten to clarify, “The maid– the new one, I mean. She always brings it after lunch, but today she forgot.” 

Guilt needles you with every word. You like Miyuki. Quiet as a mouse, most of the time she can hardly bring herself to meet your eye, much less talk with you, but on the days she finishes her tasks quickly enough – the days the guards aren’t watching the clock – she’ll sit with you while you sew or practice your reading. For a brief moment, you can imagine her a friend. Perhaps if you were her friend, or at least a better friend, you’d ignore the gnawing unease in the pit of your stomach, keep your mouth shut and spare her. 

Because there will be consequences, of that you’re certain. Whatever grace the King affords you on a whim does not extend to the servants scurrying throughout the castle. Most especially those few he allows within your presence. 

Stretched out languidly beside you, Oikawa arches an eyebrow. “Your tea?” he repeats.

Your cheeks flame. What you’d give right now to squirm away from him, crawl out of his bed, this room, and disappear entirely just to avoid him and this mortifying conversation. 

There’s a voice in the back of your head that reminds you that there’s a decent chance Oikawa’s ignorant of all of it. Why should he have to concern himself with trivialities like contraception or pulling out? He’s the King, there’ll always be those who trail along after him, cleaning up his messes. No royal bastards. No loose ends when the blacksmith’s youngest disappears behind the walls of the castle keep. 

“So that we don’t– there’s no chance of a– a baby. I meant to say something earlier, but…” you trail off, the slow trickle of his seed oozing from the raw ache between your legs speaking for itself. 

With your oldest sister and her husband, it’d taken months for her to fall pregnant. Newlyweds don’t always conceive within the first year. If every accidental slip left women pregnant, the streets by the brothels would run riot with unclaimed bastards. It’ll be fine. 

You drank the tea Miyuki brought you yesterday, so long as she brings it shortly, and you take it as normal again tomorrow–

Long, elegant fingers coax at your chin, derailing the runaway thought in its tracks. His chuckle, deep and low, registers a split second before the kiss. “Not a mistake,” he tells you, murmuring against your lips. “You’re going to give me an heir, sweet girl. Two, actually. An heir and a spare, and maybe a few after that, if you’re very, very good for me.” He says it indulgently, his own breath catching on a low shudder when his index and middle fingers curl up into your pussy, pushing his spend back inside of you, “Where it belongs,” he whispers.

You seize his forearm, “T-Tooru–” you gasp.

He has to be joking. You can’t– He wouldn’t–

The tea made sense. You’ve no title, you’re not his wife nor his Queen, not a Lady of the court or the daughter of some important, foreign dignitary. Outside the walls of these chambers, you do not exist at all. You aren’t anyone, anything beyond what he desires you to be.

You cannot have his child. 

“Please, I don’t want this. I’m not– I’m not ready.” Your nails are digging half moon circles into his skin, and the prickle of tears unshed and the lump in your throat make your voice thick and strained, but the King meets your panicked gaze with a twinkle in his eye. 

“You are,” he kisses your forehead, “and you will,” your mouth, sucking on your lower lip. “Trust in your King, love. Everything is as it’s meant to be.”

The woman who brings your meals the next day doesn’t linger, she scurries about, shoulders drawn, flinching when you ask her name.

There’s no tea – not that afternoon, or any that follow. 

—

When you were younger, you used to pretend you lived in the castle up on the hill. 

Your two older brothers would fight over which would play King while you and your sisters danced and sipped honeyed drinks and pretended to give your favour to one or the other, only to order them about once they’d been crowned. You imagined dances and feasts and thrilling hunts, tournaments with brave knights and roaring crowds. Never a dull moment. 

A life of luxury forever out of reach. 

Until it was forced upon you, but only a shadow. 

You eat delicacies you could only have dreamed of, taste rich, heady wine on the King’s tongue – once, a mouthful from his lips, Oikawa laving up the droplet that spilled down your chin.

But while you hear the distant, muted melodies that play somewhere down below, you’ve never sat in the hall by his side. Only a few of the names he rattles off you recognise. The others remain blurry figures in your head, characters in a play you’ve yet to attend. Won’t ever attend, if the King has his way. 

The court gossip you learn in dribs and drabs, never enough to paint a complete picture, and for all that he chatters away in your ear, Oikawa shares little. You aren’t privy to the schemes that run through the castle, the kingdom at large, from its highest echelon. Nothing for you to trouble your pretty little head over.

It should come as no surprise then that news of his upcoming nuptials doesn’t come from the King himself. 

“I imagine they’ll be moving you,” the maid – Miyuki’s replacement – says one afternoon, out of the blue. And it might not come as such a shock if she’d ever spoken to you before that, if the comments weren’t accompanied by a wide eyed, frantic look at odds with her stilted delivery, if you had any idea what she was on about to begin with.

You blink at her. “Moving me?”

She nods, a shaking jut of her chin. “When the King marries at week’s end. If he decides to keep you, it won’t be here.”

If.

Oikawa’s never bothered with sweet lies. Every vow he’s ever made to you, he’s followed through on, every threat delivered – no matter your tears. In that, at least, you trust him. When he withheld the tea and told you he wanted you to give him an heir, you believed it. He had no reason to lie.

Your mind spins, trying in vain to pluck the threads of an unravelling tapestry; the colours wrong and the image distorted. 

A Queen doesn’t bode well. Moving you would be the logical step; there’s no doubt a plethora of nooks and crannies he could lock you away in until he’s gotten what he wants – but now that makes even less sense than before.

A cold feeling prickles at the nape of your neck.

And then what? What happens when you give him the child he wants? What happens when you outlive your usefulness?

You’ve become stone, blank faced, frozen if not for the slight tremor in your – the hand she seizes by your wrist, fingers digging in tight. Dropping all pretence, she steps closer, voice lowering to a frightened whisper, “You need to leave. Whatever you think you’re gaining from this, you aren’t. He’ll kill us all before–”

“Enough.”

The maid snaps back like she’s been scalded, dropping into a hasty curtsy, eyes fixed to the floor as one of Oikawa’s Royal Guards – knights in their own right – Matsukawa, strides into the room, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. 

He spares you only a glance, a quick, cursory look to determine you’re unharmed. A laughable notion, really, when one considers his King’s penchant for manhandling.

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She had her hands on you,” he counters. And the King will not abide that.

You bite your tongue, sinking down onto the bed as Matsukawa steps aside and the maid – she never told you her name, never answered when you asked – all but flees with a hand to her mouth, muffling a sob. Matsukawa leaves behind her, the door quietly shut in his wake.

For a long time after that you sit in silence. 

Eventually, the door opens again – a boy this time, no older than seven, carrying a tray from the kitchens. He stares with wide, awe filled eyes, and bows and stammers out an apology, cheeks flushed apple red. Only the ache in your chest draws the corners of your lips upwards into a paper-thin smile.

Your sister’s boys would’ve been his age. 

If, if, if–

“I hear you’ve had an exciting day, my love.”

The sun has set. The King has returned home to roost. 

“Is that why?” you ask, hardly glancing up as he makes his way over towards you.

“Why what?”

“I-is she barren? Hideous? Too old to bear children, or too– too–” you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Cruel, heartless and selfish he may be, you have to believe there’s at least one boundary he wouldn’t cross. “What happens to me when all this is done? When you have your heirs, or you grow weary of this– of… me?” you ask instead.

You don’t realise tears are rolling down your face until he’s looming over you, having pushed his way between your legs, cupping your cheeks to wipe them away. The gesture could almost be construed as something comforting, something genuine, if not for the preening satisfaction behind his sigh. 

“My stubborn, sensitive girl, twisting yourself into knots over things that aren’t yours to worry about. We’d both be much happier if you just left well enough alone and trusted me, hm? You know I can’t stand to see you cry.” Liar. “But if it will ease that tender heart of yours, know that she’s a whining cunt, I have a sizeable new merchant fleet courtesy of her father, and there is no scenario, in this or any other life–” his expression doesn’t waver, but every trace of levity bleeds from his voice as his thumb slides between your lips, “–where I will ever be done with you, do you understand?”

You nod. With his thumb hooked in your mouth, pressing against your tongue, it’s all you can do. 

“Good girl. Always so good for me.”

It isn’t unexpected when his other hand moves to unlace his breeches and fish out his cock.

“Get it wet,” he breathes.

When he’s feeling generous, your King’s the one to sink between your knees, tongue and fingers working at your core until you’re panting, dizzy on the edge of pleasure, warm and welcoming, dripping with a need that’s his to sate.

But the King isn’t feeling generous tonight. Gathering your hair in his fist, he lets out an anticipatory breath, a near hiss, when your fingers curl around him and you lean in, lips obediently parting.  Your tongue swirls around the velvety head giving it a light,  experimental suck, and his hips buck, chasing the sensation.

Usually, Oikawa enjoys your mouth almost as much as your pussy, preferring to draw it out, edge himself, let you demonstrate your ardent devotion to your King, your love – but there’s none of that now. Your scalp screams for relief when he tightens his grip, and though you should have been expecting it, the sudden thrust into your mouth takes you by surprise, eyes shooting wide, choking on the intrusion.

It’s rough and graceless, the wet, gagging sounds that spill out amidst his panting, the tears that spring to your eyes and the burn in the back of your throat. You barely have the presence of mind to work your tongue, hollow your cheeks. Suck like he wants you to.

The reprieve comes without warning, Oikawa yanking you off by your hair. True enough, every inch of his thick, flushed cock shines with your spit, gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

“Lie back,” he orders.

You sprawl back onto the bed. 

None of your earlier nerves have eased, but the tremor in your heart has everything to do with the naked desire that bleeds across his expression as he finishes ridding himself of his clothes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

You shake your head, fingers fluttering in the sheets either side of you.

“No?” he purrs. “You don’t wish it were you I were putting in a crown–” Your insides twist into knots as he crawls onto the bed taking an ankle in his grip. A soft whine escapes, but he simply trails his fingers lovingly along your calf, pushing your shift up and sliding closer. “–pledging myself to in the eyes of God and our Countrymen?”

Your breath hitches. He knocks your legs wider, slotting himself into the open space. “I–I wouldn’t dare to be so bold. I’m already yours, that’s… that’s enough for me.”

He laughs darkly, pressing a kiss to your knee and lifting it to his shoulder. “You are mine, but if you want a crown, I’ll give you one.” 

You seize the sheets, gasping for air when his cock slides into you in a slow, punishing thrust. 

“I’ll give you a crown, the dress, all the pretty diamonds and rubies you like so long as I can have you like this you while wear them– fuck,” he moans, eyes closing, head tilted back as he savours the tight warmth of your pussy, squeezing at his cock. 

He leans down, seeking the taste of your swollen lips. With his tongue licking greedily into the open seam of your mouth, he rolls his hips and falls into a rhythm which leaves you writhing and squirming beneath him. The drag of his cock stings. The King’s never cared that it hurts and it doesn’t affect him now, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, dragging you closer, shifting your hips so the angle is better. Deeper. Every inch of you claimed, every inch of you his. 

“I’ll marry you too, if that’s what you want,” he pants. 

Each whimper, sharp, stuttered breath, plea for clemency, for a second’s reprieve – they spur him on. Drive him to the brink. You’re sweltering from inside out. Sweat forms at your forehead, beading along the nape of your neck – through hazy eyes, you watch a droplet trickle down Oikawa’s bare chest, struck with the strangest desire to push yourself up and lap at it, all the while the King’s cock rocks inside of you, deep, hard strokes that rob you of sense. 

Your bones rattle with each slam of his hips against the cradle of your thighs, your cries swallowed by his tongue, soothed with a kiss. Pain and pleasure war, bleeding over until they’re indiscernible from one another. “We’ll do it in the Old Ways,” he tells you, his eyes alight, his smile almost savage in its raw pleasure. “Oaths sealed in blood and fucking, witnessed by a Priest. I wouldn’t let any of those old fucks anywhere near you, but Iwa should suffice.”

All you can do is cry out, clutching at his forearm. You’re sure that your nails break the skin, but it only urges Oikawa on. 

“You want Iwa to come watch me split you apart on my cock, hm?” His weight drops, leaning over and nearly folding you in two, and on the next thrust you see stars that blink out your vision. “You want him to marry us?” You shatter beneath him, eyes rolling back, body shuddering as pleasure explodes inside of you, fizzing through your veins til every part of you is alight with it. 

The King swears violently, the heat of your spasming cunt driving him over the edge. With his forehead pressed against yours, he cums with a gritted out moan, fucking his release deep inside of you. Where it belongs. 

—

The disparity between the two of you is never so stark as when Oikawa dons his regalia. From the deep teal of his fur-lined cloak, clasped with chains of gold, to the glittering gemstones set into his crown, he wears finery like a second skin. Even his leather boots would fetch more money at market than your family had ever seen in their lives.

You, meanwhile, are barefoot, hair unbound, wearing a shift stained with last night’s blood. Oikawa smiles down at you with a fond sort of benevolence while you fiddle with the last of his fastenings. At one point of time, he must’ve had a servant to help him with this sort of thing. 

Now, he has you, and seems all the more pleased for it.

“Are you coming back tonight?” you ask.

He catches your hands when you pull away, bringing them back to rest on his chest. “Where else would I go?”

These are, of course, his chambers. 

“And… her?” you choke out, refusing to meet his gaze. 

“You mean the blushing bride to be?” He laughs, the sound grating on your already fraught nerves. “You wouldn’t happen to be jealous, darling, would you?” 

If he fucks her here tonight, with you in the room, you might actually vomit. 

Biting down on the tip of your tongue, you force a nod. It earns another laugh from the King, “My little liar,” he croons. “How quick you are to forget the promises we made to each other.”  Like a dance, he spins you to draw your back flush to his chest, turning you both to face the mirror. 

The reflection paints a stark, ugly picture. Baleful eyes shadowed and drawn. Skin sapped of its healthy glow. You might’ve been a great beauty once – in the eye of certain beholders – in the King’s covetous embrace, there’s something hollow that stares back, aching and endless. A stranger plucked from the wilds. 

Oikawa rests his cheek against your hair and smiles at your reflection, tugging at the top of your shift until it slips low enough to reveal the marred flesh above your breast. He hums appreciatively. “The Queen isn’t your concern. She won’t be setting foot in here.”

The finality in his tone stops you from prying deeper. 

That, and the sharp double rap at the door. 

A quiet curse tumbles from his mouth. For a split second, his grip tightens, the beginnings of a scowl flitting across his handsome face before he smooths it out with a huff. “Later,” he promises, dragging himself away like it pains him to do so.

Rather than leaving, though, you watch as he steps aside to allow someone else entry – a guard.

Kyoutani. Mad Dog. 

Presumably nicknamed for his scowling, vicious mien and the rabidity of his temperament, of all the Royal Guard, he is definitely the last you’d pick to be alone in a room with. Somewhat darkly, you wonder if that’s the sole reason Oikawa says what he does next. “I think we’ve been a little too lax with your safety, my love. Mad Dog will be here to keep a closer eye on you for the foreseeable future.”

Honey brown eyes bear down on you, sharp and shrewd, and a chill rolls down your spine.

“Be good for him, won’t you?”

—

True to his word, she never appeared in his bedchambers; he returned alone, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and handsy, tugging at your shift with clumsy hands and a sloppy grin before you’d fully roused.

Nothing changes – with the exception of your new guard. 

Gone is any semblance of privacy. For every moment that your King does not dog your every waking breath, Kyoutani takes up watch. You cannot ignore him. You cannot relax, pinned under his stare like a rabbit in a trap. If you thought your maids were nervous before, it’s nothing to the unbridled panic the latest exudes working under the eye of the King’s loyal hound, walking on eggshells like he’s one wrong breath away from snapping her spine. 

After Matsukawa and her predecessor, you’re not entirely sure she’s wrong. With the way he watches you, tracking your every move with narrowed eyes and a perpetual scowl, you’re more afraid that when he snaps – when Oikawa loosens that leash ever so slightly – it’ll be your neck that finds its way between his salivating jaws. That maybe this is your end, and he’s making you face it day in, day out.

You believe Oikawa, and the oaths he made – but only to a point. 

It’s why the morning they bring you eggs for breakfast and the smell sends you hurtling to the bathroom, it isn’t a sense of relief or happiness that fills you. While Oikawa rubs soothingly at your back, kissing your neck, your hair – whatever parts of you he can reach, cooing praise that goes in one ear and out the other, there’s an edge of hysteria that winds its way through your chest and constricts util it feels like you’ll choke under the pressure of it all.

In your womb, a noose and a lifeline. 

“I want my sisters. I want to see them.”

Breakfast long forgotten, lying in bed covered solely by the fine sheen of sweat sticking to your skin, you take his hand in yours and guide it to your stomach. It’ll be months before you show, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from flicking down, the hunger that pools at the reminder of the life that’ll grow there. Your child; his heir.  

“Please, Tooru. I haven’t– it’s been months. Let me see them. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

His eyes return to yours, pityingly, his hand stays where it is, thumb stroking bare flesh. “My love, they won’t see you.”

He might as well have slapped you. “What? Why wouldn’t they see me? You– you promised you wouldn’t–”

“I haven’t laid a finger on them,” he assures you. “They… blame you for what happened. Your parents and brothers. Their husbands. The boys. Even if I allowed the guards to permit you entry, they’d only lash out and hurt you. I wouldn’t put you through that, not for anything.”

Rationality rebels against this. Whatever your faults and missteps, you never asked for the King’s attention, you wouldn’t have tried to run if you’d known the cost. He did this, not you.  But rationality gets lost entirely, drowned beneath the wave of grief that sweeps you up. It coils around you and sinks down into your bones. Grief becomes the air you breathe, the blood in your veins. It’s agony and heartbreak and the first sob that leaves you feels like it’s cleaving you in two.

They blame you. 

You don’t fight him, not anymore. You sit pretty and spread your legs, let him fill you with rot over and over and over again, all to keep the King’s ire from touching them further. 

They live and breathe at your behest while you’ve become a broodmare, and they hate you for it.

The cracks within grow wide and deep. 

Still cradling your belly, the King laments, “I’m sorry, my love. I’d have kept you from that knowledge if I could.”

If, if, if–

—

Your breasts swell and grow tender, your middle fills out.

A simple gold band on the King’s left hand marks their marriage, but within the walls of your gilded cage, the new Queen does not exist. Beyond them, you don’t. 

She breaks that tentative impasse only once.

The day itself is unremarkable. The King left hours ago, you’re on the chaise, trying, as per usual, to ignore Kyoutani’s overbearing presence with your drawing book when you hear the muffled conversation filtering through the door.

At first, you pay it no mind. While your maid is usually the only one permitted access, servants come and go throughout the day, the guards change rotation, every so often this Lord or that Lord will come seeking the ear of the King. None of them gain entry, and so you’ve learned to mostly tune the noise out.

But the voices get louder, distractingly so. 

You recognise Makki’s, the other’s foreign to you. Female, you can discern that much, and with each passing exchange, her soft, dulcet tone morphs into something sharp and shrill.

From the corner of your eye, you spy Mad Dog stiffening, a clenching of his jaw. Without necessarily meaning to, you abandon the quill pen, folding your half-finished sketch shut, one hand drifting to flutter nervously over your stomach. 

“– hiding his pet whore! Let me in, or so help me–”

The door thumps violently, rattling the lock and you jump with it. A snarl tears through the chamber – not from Makki or the Queen, but Kyoutani, eyes ablaze, who stalks towards you, seizes you by your arm and hauls you to your feet roughly. 

For months he’s prowled on the edge of an invisible barrier he’s erected around you. He smashes through it now without care, calloused fingers digging in through the cotton of your dress while you stumble behind him, struggling to keep up with his long, angry strides.

“In the bedroom. Now,” he growls, as though you aren’t already at the door.

You expect him to toss you inside and slam the door shut behind you, with him on the other side. He doesn’t. He drags you to the huge bed, pushing you – almost gently – back onto the mattress and stomps to stand guard by its foot without so much as a word of explanation. The door swings closed of its own accord, but not before you catch the screeching wail that cuts off with another loud thump.

The silence grows heavy after that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d entertained the possibility that whatever it was Oikawa was plotting with you and her, the Queen was in on it. Content enough with her crown not to care where her husband buried his cock each night or that her own bed remained cold and empty.

She, after all, would remain once your part in this was done. 

But even if she was just a simple fool, tossed into this game at the whims of the men in her life, you imagined she’d be untouchable. Protected in a way you’d never been afforded.

If the Queen – pretty idiot, scheming bitch – is not safe from the King’s violence, what hope is there for you?

Your eyes drift to the sword on Mad Dog’s hip, and you do a very good job of pretending that when your hands curl around your stomach, they aren’t shaking, that the lie doesn’t taste bitter on your tongue when you whisper, “It’s okay, little one. We’re gonna be okay.”

When the King returns shortly thereafter, he doesn’t utter a word about the incident. Dismissing Kyoutani with a flick of his wrist, he cups your cheeks in warm, tender palms, marvelling at the tears that shine there as though he isn’t perfectly aware he’s their cause.

“Give me a son,” he says lowly, a secret just for the two of you, “and I promise we’ll only have to go through this once more.”

—

You know it before the first contraction, before your water breaks, soaking the sheets beneath.

The physician’s called, your maid pulled from her rest to attend you as the King refuses to allow any more eyes into the room. For hours, you wait out your contractions, breathing through the pain while the King paces and the physician flits between examining you and whispering in his ear. 

Eventually, though, he rises from your bedside and nods at the King. 

“Makki, fetch the Queen. Iwaizumi, too,” he orders. To you, he says, “She’s had such a difficult pregnancy, can hardly get out of bed these days, the poor thing. She deserves to be here for the birth of her child, don’t you think?”

Your chin bobs in agreement, too terrified to speak.

Within minutes the door to the chambers opens again, the Lord Chancellor stepping through, followed by Makki with the Queen in tow.

Mortification stirs within your chest at the sight of the King’s right hand, and you’re quick to divert your gaze to the Queen instead. She stands behind Hanamaki, pallid and thin – certainly not pregnant – and she might have been beautiful, had her expression not been pinched in a sneer. 

A whining cunt, Oikawa had said. But no amount of imperiousness can hide the nervous way her eyes dart between you, the King, and the gathered guards. 

“Your Grace,” she utters stiffly.

She isn’t wearing a crown. No jewels or pretty dresses. Her hair’s loosely braided and she wears a shift dress not dissimilar to your own. Hardly the picture of royalty. 

What strikes you, though, is that she looks passably similar to you. 

“Kneel.”

Another contraction hits, stealing your attention. You squeeze your eyes shut and suck in a breath through clenched teeth, waiting for the rippling pain to abate. 

“Don’t look at her,” Oikawa drawls. “Kneel.”

When your eyes flutter open again, the Queen’s on her knees, the edge of Makki’s blade resting upon her shoulder. Your heart lurches.

You don’t understand what’s happening, why they’re here, but the panic rising up inside of you threatens to sweep you away and you cannot help the tears that spring to your eyes or the lump that forms in your throat. Your mother should be here. Your sisters. They’d help you through this, guide you with steady hands and keep you calm – but your mother burned with your home, and your sisters, who despise you anyway, now traitors to the Crown. 

The bed’s been turned to give you the smallest semblance of privacy, but there’s no escaping the prying eyes across the room. In a room full of voyeurs, you’ve never been more alone. More terrified. You don’t want to give birth in front of them. You don’t want your children taken from you. 

You don’t want to die like this, an animal on display.  

“Tooru–” you gasp, curling in on yourself as another contraction hits.

He’s at your side in an instant, hand in yours, the other stroking your hair. He shushes you gently as the physician peers between your legs and tells you that it’s time to push.

—

There’s no more proof needed of the divine right of kings than in the two healthy baby boys the physician presents to Oikawa. 

An heir and a spare. 

The Queen still kneels on the ground at Makki’s feet. Your maid’s fussing with sheets, Iwaizumi and Kyoutani surveying from the corner, straight backed. Alert. Waiting.

Every eye but the Queen’s is fixed on Oikawa and his sons. 

“Can… Can I hold them? Please?” 

You’ll beg if you have to. Those boys are yours. He can kill you now, throw you in the dungeons below with your sisters – he can erase you from the story entirely, but those two perfect boys belong to you, and you’ll haunt him to the grave if he robs you of the chance to kiss them goodbye. 

As though the entire room isn’t holding their breath, dangling on the edge of a knife, Oikawa returns to your side, carefully laying the two swaddled bundles in your arms, and presses a kiss to your trembling lips. “My perfect, perfect girl,” he marvels, smoothing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “You did so well. Better than I could’ve possibly hoped.”

One of the babies yawns, squirming into the warmth of your chest, the other blinks curiously at you, his tiny brown eyes a mirror image of his father’s. They’ll need to be fed soon.

Rather than snatching them back as you fear, the King eases down onto the bed beside you, careful as to not disturb either Prince, and tucks you into his side. Unable to hold it back any longer, a sob wrenches its way free, and Oikawa sighs with such exasperated fondness that it breaks you a little more.

“Iwa, she’s crying.”

The Lord Chancellor grunts in agreement. “You seem to have that effect.”

Oikawa laughs, the tip of his finger running down his son’s nose. “Women die in childbirth every day. It’s a small miracle, my love,” his lips brush your cheek, nuzzling close, “that you were spared that, especially with twins. The Queen wasn’t so fortunate.”

At first, you think he’s referring to his own mother – it’s common knowledge that there were complications when she delivered the King’s younger brother and neither survived – until you catch a glint of steel from the corner of your eye. On instinct, you turn to follow it, and witness the exact moment the Queen’s head is cleaved from her body and tumbles to the floor.

Her body – kneeling in forced supplication, blood spurting from her still pumping heart – hangs there for a moment, as if waiting for the shock to register, for everyone to drink their fill of the grisly scene, before it too topples to the ground. 

An echo, playing out for you once more. 

Your maid screams, Kyoutani darting to wrench her back before she can flee. The physician pales. Startled by the sudden noise and the commotion in the room, two near identical wails break within moments of each other, your sons making their displeasure known, wriggling about and crying in your arms. You draw them closer, eyes wide, trembling like a leaf, to press a kiss against both their foreheads as you choke back a sob of your own. 

“And the woman?” Iwa asks. 

Oikawa, head on your shoulder, utterly absorbed in his children’s outbursts, doesn’t even bother looking up. He waves his fingers in front of their little faces and coos when they scrunch up in response. 

“We’ll need someone to clean up the blood. Take her tongue instead.”

[honey-doc]

Why I appreciate Kabru and Mithrun's relationship in the story (with pictures!)

I just want to express how much I loved reading through the chapter with the 6 days they spent together and how I think their relationship developed in a pretty sweet way.

I feel like a lot of people reduce their dynamic to "nurse and patient" and that makes me sad because I personally got a lot more from it than that.

I do wanna start off by saying I'm here appreciating their dynamic as it is in the text.

Read more (spoilers ofc):

The beginnings

When they first met, there was an air of intimidation surrounding Mithrun as the captain of the ominous Canaries. He demonstrates his proficiency as a fighter and leader which worried Kabru because he knew it would lead to the dungeon falling into elven hands once again. But this threatening aura begins to dim in Kabru's mind as they get to know each other.

Even before they fell down the hole, the both of them ended up relying on each other's abilities a number of times (when the underground governor turned out to be corrupted Mithrun defeated him and Mithrun needed Kabru's deduction skills during the battle on the first floor) which is already the beginning of a great dynamic

(Kabwu is scared but Mithrun just asks for his help)

After Cithis tasked him with "taking care of Mithrun's needs" for the time being, Kabru treated Mithrun with proper respect and doesn't take advantage of his disability, even using his title “Captain” when he knew Mithrun wouldn’t have cared either way after learning about how he lost his desires. This is in contrast to Cithis who immediately took advantage of her position to mess around with Mithrun when she was taking care of him.

(When Cithis was put in charge of taking care of Mithrun)

The whole time Kabru is with Mithrun, he treats him like a person and more than just someone to be taken care of, as also he relies on Mithrun's fighting skills, knowledge of the dungeon, and teleportation magic.

When you reduce their dynamic to just "caretaker and patient", you're ignoring Mithrun's own capabilities and making him seem totally helpless. It actually feels rather ableist. They have a more balanced relationship with what Mithrun brings to the table than you may think. Mithrun couldn't have survived down there on his own, but it's the same for Kabru (who famously dies every time he fights)!

Kabru doesn’t show signs of trying to manipulate Mithrun either, and he's no longer intimidated by him in the slightest once he learns he’s not a threat or after his life. Though he does instinctively revert to his "sparkly" persona to get Mithrun to eat the disgusting mushroom, it doesn’t work so Kabru just has him eat it normally and never tries it again. This is the beginning of Mithrun unintentionally encouraging Kabru to be more honest with others.

(Kabru realizing he can chill out)

(Kabru being unreserved and Mithrun being silly)

bonus funny moment:

Bonding

Throughout the journey they talked to each other, shared things with each other, and ate with each other. And Kabru expresses genuine concern about whether Mithrun is comfortable (which is something he could live without and wasn't something the Canaries told him to do).

(Kabru showing he wants to make him comfortable by making food for him which is a very important part of the narrative)

(Kabru sharing intimate memories with Mithrun)

(Kabru initiating conversation without hesitation or worry. This part also is referencing how Mithrun shared very important details of his life with Kabru. Kabru also ends up trusting Mithrun with information about Laios despite knowing he could possibly tell the other Canaries about him and impede his plans..which he does lol they do end up knowing about Laios before meeting him.)

For a bonus Lycion implies Kabru was taking better care of Mithrun than they had been which is interesting to me.

Mithrun also shows that he has come to trust Kabru's decisions over the Canaries' when he says he wants to stay in the dungeon after fulfilling the caretaker requirement. They did talk to each other a lot, during that time. I wonder what Mithrun's Shapeshifter double of Kabru would look like now?

Here, Kabru goes out of his way to make sure Mithrun doesn’t overexert himself by knocking him out after the demon leaves with Marcille (again, when his time taking care of him is already over), and I think that demonstrates an extra level of concern he holds for Mithrun.

(Kabru holding back a hellbent Mithrun)

(KNOCKOUT!)

He even managed to make Mithrun mad. It's probably because he "let the demon get away" but I think it's cute and funny because would he huff like that at anyone else? Lol

When the demon breaks through the surface

Kabru begins panicking after Laios turns into the giant monster because he's wondering if he made the right decisions etc. If Mithrun didn’t care about Kabru at least a little bit, he would’ve just left him alone when he started losing it (right after Marcille did the same thing and she is technically more to blame for empowering the demon than Kabru was for not allowing Mithrun to go after it), but he went out of his way to snap him out of it.

It also means a lot to me that Mithrun even says Kabru's name, because in Japanese you can go your entire life without referring to someone by name and it wouldn't sound wrong (just rude) and it's the first time Mithrun says Kabru's name on screen (I checked).

Though it was with a slap, I think it says a lot, because if Mithrun didn’t care at all he wouldn’t have done anything and left him alone. It's not like Kabru could've done anything to stop the demon. He didn't even to tell him to do anything even though Kabru looked ready for an order.

(To be honest I don't know exactly why Mithrun starts beating him up here but you can say it's another rare demonstration of emotion Kabru was able to evoke in him lol. Maybe it's payment for Kabru stopping him the first time. That can be interpreted as paying it back and/or paying it forward I think.)

The last few chapters

And in the end when Kabru’s motivating Mithrun to continue living his life, he speaks to him like they’re friends/have no rank between them despite using the Captain title for him the whole time. Even Lycion initially gets upset that he’s acting “too familiar” with Mithrun.

It feels like Mithrun changed so much in the short time he spent together with Kabru and before the final battle, and it’s thanks to Kabru that Mithrun finally starts to be able to move past his lingering obsession with the demon and begin to really heal.

This is despite the fact that he spent so much time with Milsril and the other elves who never managed to break through to him like that.

(Before Kabru) (After Kabru)

And even after his role as Mithrun's caretaker was loong complete, he still shows concern for Mithrun and tells him to take a break when he's using up all his magic to slice the Falin meat (lmao).

He didn't need to do that! But it shows how he at least slightly considers Mithrun some kind of friend.

It all culminates with Kabru helping Mithrun regain his wil to live and Mithrun confiding in Kabru. Their relationship is important. Kabru continuing to do things for Mithrun to me is more of a sign that he just plain cares about him. Isn't it normal when a friend needs medication for you to remind them to take it? I think it's like that.

Kabru is there with Mithrun when he comes out about his feelings of uselessness AND when Senshi helps him put a spin on the 'vegetable scraps' metaphor and he find meaning in his life again. He's the first one to see him cry :')

Along with the fact that it feels like Mithrun is the first person we see Kabru doesn't feel the need to change his personality with or put on airs for since Mithrun doesn't need buttering up and he won't get offended if someone were to say something socially awkward, I think they made a pretty good team!

BUT ALSO the REAL reason I became endeared to them is cute shit like this:

GOD I love them!!!!! There are so many funny sides to Mithrun Kabru was able to bring out, and really show his charm as a character. Mithrun also brings out the best in Kabru while Kabru’s the most genuine he’s been since his debut with Mithrun. We are able to see that he’s just a kind and caring person, rather than the shady obsessed guy most fans have come to believe him to be.

The true depths of their dynamic also grew on me over time :)

TLDR

All in all it’s so nice seeing how even though Mithrun is a really deadpan person, and Kabru is a really secretive and withheld person, they clearly seem to have developed some kind of bond while they traveled together and even changed each other to an extent.

Doesn't Kabru feel more honest near the end? Maybe it's because of how much he talked to and shared with Mithrun during those 6 days so candidly...because they taaaalked a looooot like wow.

They mean so goddamn much to me. I don’t need them to be in a romantic relationship but I do want them to be together forever :'))) or like at least hang out when they have off time since they're still in the same country lol. Praying for Kui to make another side comic of them some time (crying).

Thanks for reading if you made it this far, I mostly arranged this because it makes me sad to see people reduce their dynamic to only one singular aspect.

Anyways ya...love 'em (heart hands)

[hederasgarden]

Eternal Devotion (1/3)

Summary: Months after your husband's untimely death, his presence lingers, haunting you in ways you never expected. Pairing: Vampire!Friedrich Harding x Wife!Reader  Word Count: 3.9K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Heavy angst and grief, period typical sexism, creepy things, mildly dubious consent, sexual content, vampirism and all the warnings that come with that (I’m diverging from canon a bit in regards to feeding). This is my attempt at Gothic Romance. A/N:  The reader has always been Friedrich's wife, Anna does not exist in this AU. Big thanks to @ryebecca, @otaku-girl-ao3, @whatblogisthis216 , @eremeldanin and @caught-reading for their help with this fic.  Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her. -Hozier

The room is dim with the curtains drawn tight, allowing only a sliver of daylight to creep through the gap. In the distance, the soft hum of morning activity rises from the rest of the house, the gentle chatter of your two daughters layered over the quiet rustling of the servants preparing for the day ahead. You should rise and follow the rhythm of the world outside this room, but you cannot. 

Friedrich has been gone nearly six months. It feels like a lifetime. The days stretch endlessly, and each one feels like an affront, a reminder that the world refuses to stop turning. How are you supposed to go on living? You know if you had died, Friedrich would have climbed into the casket beside you and his grief would have blotted out the sun.

But there was no casket for him. No body left to bury. He was swallowed by the sea, lost while fulfilling a promise you made, helping Ellen return to Thomas.

Your daughters do not yet grasp the finality of it. No matter how many times you tell them, they speak of their father like he is simply away at work, perhaps, or out on some important errand. And each morning they act as if he’s come to tuck them into bed, kiss their cheeks, and say their prayers like he did before. They look up at you with soft eyes, the very same as his and you must relive the pain of it again and again when you remind them their father is gone.

Sometimes, you wish you could believe your own dreams, the ones where Friedrich slips back into bed beside you. Yet even in those fleeting moments of illusion, something is wrong. The warmth you long for is absent. His touch is colder, harder, his presence not the way it used to be. When his lips meet your skin, it stings, sharp and unfamiliar, and the truth rises within you, pushing against the comfort of the dream. 

It’s not him. And it never will be. Now and forevermore, each morning you will wake to find the sheets beside you cold. Empty.

Everyone told you the grief would abate with time but these past few weeks have drained you more thoroughly than any that came before. Each morning, it feels as though your very blood has turned to sand, your bones to lead. Even the simple act of turning onto your back, to stare up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, takes more effort than you can summon. 

You remain in bed until the door creaks open, and the light sound of footsteps follows. Kerstin’s voice is no more than a whisper as she brushes your shoulder.

“Frau Harding. Your parents have arrived for breakfast. Your father wishes for you to join them.”

The sight of your maid’s pale, worried face is enough to rouse you. You let her dress and prepare you for the day. Although she’s done this a thousand times, there’s something about the way her hands hover over the buttons of your gown, the hesitation before each movement, that makes you feel like a stranger in your own skin. You see how she and the other servants watch you now. Even when they pretend to be absorbed in their tasks, their glances are sharp, laden with worry. They fear you’ll descend into the same madness as Ellen, but it is only your grief, so vast and deep, that’s reshaping you in ways you can’t even recognize. 

When you enter the dining room, your daughters rush to you. You hold them close, inhaling the familiar scent of their hair. Your mother greets you next, reaching out to cup your face in her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as they linger there. There is a deep sadness in her eyes and she glances over at your father with a look halfway between pleading and resignation.

“Come, you must eat,” she encourages, guiding you to sit beside her.

Your father, sitting at the head of the table, offers no such tenderness. His presence is a commanding weight in the room and the deep set of his brow lets you know this is not merely a social visit. You glance at your mother who stares at the hands in her lap and your fingers curl around the richly upholstered arm of the dining room chair. Whatever he has come to say will not be good, you realize. 

“The children are finished with their breakfast,” he announces sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a command. With a quick flick of his fingers, he gestures to the governess. “Take them to the parlor. Their mother and I have matters to discuss.”

Once they are gone, your father doesn’t wait long to speak again. “It has been six months,” he begins, his gaze unwavering. “Long enough. You must remarry, and soon.” 

You blink, momentarily stunned. Six months? Six months since Friedrich was swallowed by the sea, leaving nothing but an empty, aching space behind. Six months in which you have not even been able to make sense of the grief that clings to you like a second skin. How could he even think of you remarrying so soon?

“But… Father, I…” you begin, the words faltering in your throat.

He doesn’t let you finish, his voice growing sterner. “You must think of the future, not just of your own sorrow. The children need stability, and you need a husband. You cannot manage alone, not with the wealth you inherited from your late husband.”

You shake your head, even as you know there is a kernel of truth to his words. The vast estate, the shipyard, and the assets Friedrich once managed all fall on you now. It is a burden you are not prepared to shoulder and one you have steadily ignored these past months. But even beyond all that, the thought of remarrying, of taking another man into your life is something you can’t even entertain.

"I cannot… not yet," you whisper, barely above a breath. And in the pit of your chest, a deeper thought rises unbidden: Not ever.

“I understand your reluctance,” he says firmly. “But even now, men circle you like vultures. They want your husband’s wealth and his business. We must act swiftly and secure the right match — for you, for the children, for our family’s future.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to pass. Your hands move to straighten the cutlery in front of you, anything to occupy them, anything to hold off the flood of emotion threatening to spill over.

And then, almost without thinking, you speak. “You never say his name.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “What?”

“Friedrich,” you whisper. “It is always my husband or your son-in-law. You do not… you do not say his name.”

There is a long pause before your father clears his throat, dismissing the uncomfortable silence. “We cannot afford to linger on sentiment,” he says. “Sentiment will not feed the children or keep the business afloat. We need to think practically.”

You stare at him, hearing nothing more than the absence of your husband's name in his voice, the not-so-subtle command that you too must move on, move past this grief, and return to the world of the living. 

“You cannot make me do this.”

"Perhaps not," your father concedes, exhaling sharply. "But your husband has many cousins who would think nothing of reclaiming control over the business." He pauses, taking a deliberate sip of his water, his eyes never leaving yours. "Men who would see no value in a widow and her daughters when they have families of their own.”

His words have their desired effect, leaving you feeling small and powerless. Your shoulders slump, the strength in you draining away as your head hangs, heavy with the crushing knowledge of what awaits.

“Now, your mother has already arranged for you and the girls to have new clothes made for your return to society," he continues, his tone cool and businesslike. "We will host a small, intimate gathering. I will invite a few prospective suitors—men I consider promising options. You may, of course, choose which one you wish to pursue."

“How kind you are to offer me a say,” you murmur, the words bitter in your mouth.  

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I know grief has stolen your good sense but you will watch your tongue when you speak to me,” your father warns. 

A surge of emotion rises within you, sharp and unwelcome, forcing its way up your throat. The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unrestrained. “You would not speak to me this way if Friedrich were here.”

Your father shakes his head, rising from his seat to tower over you. “He is not here, my girl. He will never be here again. You are alone in a world that is unkind to women such as yourself.”

The pity in his eyes is more than you can bear. The dam breaks, and the first wave of tears crashes down, unbidden and unstoppable. A  flood that drags you under. You sink back into the chair, helpless as wracking sobs tear through you, a deep, raw ache flooding every part of your being.

Distantly, you hear your mother’s voice chastising your father. Her arms slip around you, pulling you close. She whispers gentle reassurances, her shushing echoing the soothing words you’ve said a hundred times to your own girls, but it feels empty now, a hollow repetition that cannot shield you from the brutal reality.

Friedrich is gone. And with him, any hope you once held of finding happiness.

–

When you step into your father’s parlor, the weight of every gaze in the room settles on you like a tangible thing. The faces that turn toward you are mostly unfamiliar, offering you that sad, understanding smile you’ve grown so weary of. It is a smile that means nothing at all in light of their presence here. Each one of them is complicit in your father’s schemes.

“You look lovely,” your father says. He presses his lips to your cheek in an exaggerated gesture of affection, more a farce than any real expression of love. “The blue truly suits you,” he adds, his eyes dropping to take in your fine silk dress. 

It’s the latest fashion from Paris, or so you’re told. Once, a dress like this would have delighted you—Friedrich always took such joy in bringing you the finest, most exquisite silks and fabrics from his travels. But now, the dress feels all wrong, too tight and too revealing, exposing more of your shoulder and décolletage than you’re comfortable with. 

You smile at your father. Even though it barely touches your lips it doesn’t seem to bother him. He simply sweeps you further into the room, his hand on your arm guiding you forward as he begins the task of making introductions. It’s a performance, and you are trapped at the center of it. But you do as your father and society demand, falling into the practiced motions of politeness. 

You engage in small talk, offering the kind of perfunctory responses that are expected of you, feigning interest in whatever these men have to say. Some ask after your children, while others offer their condolences for your loss. But behind their kindness lies a predatory sort of interest. It is all you can do to nod, offering your own strained smile as you stand there wondering how much longer you can keep up this charade.

When your father finally leaves you for a moment you close your eyes, exhaling. 

“Oh, dearest girl.” 

The unexpected voice makes you flinch. You turn, meeting a familiar pair of brown eyes of Herr Gothrim. Of all your father’s friends, he is the one you think might understand your plight the best. He lost his wife to the plague that swept the city nearly a year ago.

“It is shameful what your father is doing. Forcing you from your mourning period so soon.” He shakes his head. “Though, I confess, had I daughter like you I might be convinced to do the same.” He steps closer, his voice quieting. “You are the talk of the city and beyond.”

“They desire Friedrich’s wealth,” you reply. “Nothing more.”

Herr Gothrim stares at you for a moment before he speaks again, his words laden with something that makes your skin crawl.

“Do not sell yourself short. You are young. Beautiful. You might still bear your future husband a son or two.”

Friedrich had wanted a son. You knew that long before you ever married him. He had spoken of it often, longing to see his name carried on but he never once made you feel like an instrument to secure his legacy. More than that he loved your daughter fiercely, completely. And though it might have been a sin, he loved you even more.  

“I fear you will not have the luxury of time, my dear,” Herr Gothrim warns. “Your father will push forward with his plans, and if you do not make a choice, one will be made for you. Perhaps a familiar one would be best.”

His eyes briefly flick over his shoulder, and you follow his gaze. It rests on his son, Pieter. The sight of him makes a sharp, uncomfortable feeling bubbling up from within. Once, he had petitioned your father for your hand and before Friedrich had made his offer, Pieter had been the one your father had entertained as a potential suitor. 

To your dismay, Pieter seems to take your attention as an invitation, crossing the room to join the two of you. He greets you with an overly familiar kiss to your cheek that lingers, brushing against the corner of your lips. When he pulls away his hand remains on your elbow, tethering you to him. 

“Frau Harding, you look well,” he says brightly. “Or should it be Fräulein now?”

His boldness stuns you but before you can gather your thoughts, he continues, oblivious to the discomfort in your silence. “I must confess, I was both surprised and pleased to receive your father’s invitation. And to see you again after so long. I am eager for a second chance to win your hand.”

It is only the thought of your daughters and the need to ensure their future is safe that keeps grief from sharpening your tongue. You force your eyes downward, focusing on a speck of dust on his lapels to avoid looking at his face. “My father was pleased you accepted his invitation. He has always been fond of you,” you reply hollowly.

Pieter smiles, seemingly unaware of how your voice thins and your words fall flat and meaningless. 

“You look cold,” he observes. “Come, you should warm yourself by the fire as we reacquaint ourselves. My import business has grown greatly since we last spoke.”

His touch feels possessive, demanding even yet you are helpless to do anything more than follow him. You catch your father’s eyes when you pass him. He looks pleased and it turns your stomach. 

Pieter keeps you by his side for the rest of the evening, his words a constant hum around you. Whether he’s wholly unaware of your discomfort or willfully blind to it, you can’t decide. His conversation is a relentless stream of boasts about his business, his wealth, and his success, as though he expects you to be impressed, to be eager for his attention. Each time you try to excuse yourself, your attempts are dismissed with a smile and an insistent push to stay.

It isn’t until your mother comes to collect you at the end of the night that you are finally freed from his hold. You follow her away from the gathering and into the waiting carriage, Pieter’s gaze lingering on you. 

You’re so exhausted on the ride home that the muffled sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets and the rocking of the carriage nearly lulls you into sleep. You find your daughters are already in bed when you arrive at the house. Though you loathe to disturb their peaceful slumber, you find yourself drawn to them, compelled to check on them before you can rest. You make your way down the dark hallway, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet the only sound betraying your presence.

When you crack open the door to their room, a cool rush of air greets you, sending a shiver through you. You find their window unlatched, the curtains fluttering in the autumn breeze that has slipped in. Startled, you step further into the room, a wave of panic rising in your chest. You move quickly to reach the window and quietly shut it again. 

Once it is secured, you turn to your girls. The sight of them, peaceful and safe in their beds, eases some of the tension in your chest. Your youngest clutches a slip of fabric in her hands, her tiny face relaxed in sleep. There is something about the cloth she holds that gives you pause. You kneel beside her, gently prying it from her grasp. At the sight of the familiar handkerchief and your own needlework, worn and fraying with time, your breath stutters in your throat. 

It was one of the first gifts you ever gave Friedrich, back when he was still courting you. You had made him dozens more over the years, but still, he carried it with him, even as it began to unravel at the edges. You always assumed it was lost with him and to find it here, tucked in your daughter’s hands, feels like both a balm and a wound.

Fingers trembling, you press the fabric to your face and close your eyes. For a brief moment, you swear you can still smell Friedrich’s cologne, faint but unmistakable. You linger in that moment until your daughter shifts in her sleep and you're brought back to reality. Carefully, you tuck the handkerchief into her tiny hands and kiss her forehead before retreating from the room.

–

Your dreams are restless, an amalgam of fractured images and disjointed sensations. Pieter’s dark, unblinking eyes merge with the black fabric of your mourning gown, and then, without warning, the scene shifts, plunging you into the vast, endless depths of the sea that claimed Friedrich. 

The cold water envelops you, and you gasp for air, but the water rushes in, drowning your cries. In your panic, you thrash wildly, desperate for escape. Just as you feel yourself slipping into the abyss, strong hands seize you, pulling you upward. Your eyes snap open, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The water recedes, and in its place, Friedrich’s face fills your vision.

“I am here, I am here, my love,” he murmurs softly, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand rests lightly on your chest, guiding your breath to match his steady rhythm, coaxing the frantic pace of your heart to slow.  

You stare at him as the world crystallizes around you. Then, you surge forward, your lips crashing into his with a desperation that consumes you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching him tightly like he might vanish if you let go. The kiss is a lifeline and you cling to it with a need so raw it aches.

“Friedrich,” you gasp, reveling in the familiar tickle of his mustache and his strong hands on your body.  

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is real, if he’s truly here, or if your grief has finally unraveled, conjuring him from the depths of the ocean to haunt you. But then, as his lips press urgently against yours and the solid weight of him fills your arms, you decide you don’t care. It doesn’t matter if he is a ghost, risen from the sea’s cold embrace. Nor does it matter that death has leached the color from his cheeks and the warmth from his hands. All that matters is that he’s here.

“My love,” you cry. 

“I am here,” he promises, trailing his lips down the side of your throat until his mouth seals over the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. 

He lingers there, the sting of his kiss euphoric. You bury your fingers in his thick curls, tugging gently and he all but growls against your skin. With his mouth still on you, his fingers tug at your nightgown, baring your body to his eager hands. They slip between your parted thighs, finding your wet heat, and stealing it away as they work you to the peak of pleasure. Friedrich groans and the pain in your neck flares, sharp and sudden.

When he pulls away, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you, leaving you breathless and spent. You stare up at him as your vision shifts, the world taking on a hazy hue. In the dim light, his blue eyes are dark, almost silvery, and something deep within you recoils, an instinctive fear that you can’t quite name. But then, he blinks, and just as quickly the shadow fades. The warmth of his gaze returns, and those same familiar blue eyes, the ones you’ve loved for so long, look down at you with tenderness.

Your fingers hover over his face, longing to touch him again. But a painful realization stops you. 

"You are not real.” The words leave you in a rush. 

“Does it matter if I am?" he asks. "Does this not bring you peace, my love?"

You shake your head, the pain of his absence still raw in your chest. You can’t resist the pull of him, the need to feel close again, even if only in this fleeting moment. Without thinking, you draw him down to kiss you, and the taste of him is sharp, unexpectedly coppery.

"It is a horrible thought," you murmur, breaking the kiss, "but I wish I would not wake when morning comes. I want to stay here with you. In this dream."

A deep frown forms between his brows, and his hand finds your cheek, his touch colder than it should be. His mouth parts slightly, and his teeth, white and sharp, glimmer faintly against his pale lips. 

“You do not wish to find a new husband? To live?” he questions. 

"I wish only for you," you say, voice trembling but sure. "And for our girls."

“My dearest wife,” he whispers, kissing you sweetly. “I will never leave you. I cannot.”

A soft moan slips from you, unbidden, the sound encouraging him to kiss you deeper. His lips move with a possessive tenderness that fills the hollow spaces inside you. “Nor would I ever let you go," he promises. “We are bound even in death.”

Part 2

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae I love your Spencer and intern reader fics they’re my sweet babes and I keep rereading them <3 would you consider writing something where Spencer defends her work and efforts in front of someone in the BAU or an officer/someone else they’re working with like maybe after they speak down to her? ilyilyily

They're my sweet babes too <3 Thanks for requesting angel!

cw: mention of bombing (no death)

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1k words

“No. Find me someone else.” 

The voice reaches Spencer from the next room, raised and prickly. He pauses in sorting through crime scene photos to listen. 

Your reply is quieter, difficult to make out. 

“I’m not giving my testimony to an intern!” 

“This isn’t a testimony, sir,” you reply calmly. Spencer can hear it now, because somehow his feet have carried him towards you. He doesn’t stop once he realizes, continuing towards the doorway and the sound of your voice. “We’re not in court, and this isn’t a formal statement. I’m only asking you to tell me about what you saw.” 

“Yeah, and I saw some important shit. Go and get me someone qualified to talk to.” 

“Of course what you saw was important. This interview is to determine—” 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think is important. You don’t know what you’re doing!” 

“Excuse me,” Spencer says, coming up to a stop beside you. “Hi. Is there a problem?” 

You turn to Spencer with a look of relief, and as one, the rest of the onlookers in the packed police station lobby look away, resuming pretending to mind their own business. 

This morning, a bomb went off outside the Department of Commerce offices. Because the incident took place in D.C., the BAU was able to get to the site quicker than most cases, and whereas arriving at a fresh scene is generally a good thing, it has its drawbacks. One being that the dozens of witnesses didn’t have statements taken before Spencer’s team arrived. 

All those witnesses are crammed into one room now, and with the police station in chaos and most of the FBI rushing to figure out if they can expect another attack, the task of questioning has fallen to you and a few other officers. You’re mostly trying to shrink the pool. In the aftermath of an attack like this, many witnesses have a tendency to conjure images. Sometimes, the brain processes trauma by recollecting things that didn’t truly happen; sometimes, people recount things that they think will get them on the evening news. As you go down the line, you’re making note of witnesses who seem to have plausible, relevant information, and those are the ones being brought in for cognitives by the rest of the team.

Evidently, you’re getting some resistance. 

“Yeah,” says the man you’re talking to. He’s broad and in an ill-fitting suit that makes Spencer think he likes to appear more important than he is. “I want to give my testimony to someone with a badge.” 

“As she explained, it’s not a testimony,” Spencer says evenly. “Do you have a badge?” 

The man’s eyebrows draw together. “No,” he says, an invisible question mark at the end. 

“Then what do you think makes you qualified to determine who gives interviews?” 

The man makes a sound like he’s choking. Before he can speak, Spencer continues, just loud enough for the rest of the eavesdropping room to hear. 

“Miss L/N is an intern with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. She has studied this case and many others before it as thoroughly as anyone else on our team, and she is more than qualified to take your statement. Excuse us a moment, please.” 

You turn gladly into Spencer’s hand on your shoulder, allowing him to guide you from the room. Your posture slumps as soon as you’re out of sight. You’ve been keeping up a collected and professional facade, but you have to be tired after talking to witnesses all morning. Spencer passes you a water bottle as you sit down at the desk he’s been using. The way you gulp from it lends credence to his theory. 

“Your throat must be sore,” he says. 

You shrug, reluctant as always to complain. “There’s more talking in interviews than I would have expected,” you admit. “I thought it’d be all listening.” 

“Yeah, sometimes witnesses need some prompting. You’re doing great, though. Have there been many like that?” 

You swallow and let out a tired breath. “Not many. It’s, you know, lots of bureaucrats.” Your tone takes on a tinge of irreverence. A smile tugs at Spencer’s lips. Sometimes, it feels like you’re still brand new, but others your time with the FBI is obvious; bureaucracy is almost a dirty word in the bureau. “They all think they’re the most important person there. But really, it hasn’t been so bad. You saw the worst of it.” 

“Yeah.” Spencer studies you, taking in the terse set of your brows, the defeated line of your mouth. “That guy was pretty pugnacious.” 

Your eyes flicker up to Spencer’s, lips twitching at something he doesn’t understand. He understands that he’d like to make it happen again. 

“He was,” you agree. “He didn’t ask you for your credentials.” 

There’s a tinge of bitterness to your tone that Spencer doesn’t think you mean to reveal. He wouldn’t begrudge you it. He noticed the same thing. 

“Sometimes, JJ and Emily have a harder time with witnesses, too,” he tells you. “If it makes you feel any better, it probably doesn’t have anything to do with you not being an agent.” 

“No, it’s only something that will follow me through my career even after I do get credentials.” Your tone is wry, but there’s a little smile on your lips. And, Spencer can’t help but note, it’s the first time he’s heard you talk about your future with the BAU with such certainty. 

Still, he doesn’t know what to say to that. There are no easy placations or reassurances, at least none that would be true. So Spencer chooses silence, and as usual you let him. Your eyes criss-cross over his face like you’re doing more than studying. Like you’re practicing reading him the way he reads you, but something more than that too. It’s exhilarating to remember that there are things about you Spencer still doesn’t have figured out. 

After a minute, you say, “I should get back in there.” 

Spencer nods, begrudging. “Do you still want to interview that last one? I can take him, if you want.” 

“No, thanks.” You stand and toss the water bottle into the recycling, smiling with renewed vigor. “I’d rather make him sit through it.” 

Spencer can’t help but return your smile as you turn to go.

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wet & Wild II

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: SMUT, porn with a plot, sexually explicit language, cursing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, nipple play, locker room sex, swimmer lingo

word count: 5.5k

part 1

tags💜: @midnightwrriting @no1runawaymilkdad @ihave-aboringlife @blahhucantmakeme @laniirackssss @blood-bloss @lmaoyani @geminiflanagansblog @ruyaas-world @hrlzy @povobsessed @stephstephstephsteph @chakin @10ava01 @lem0ns77 @velvrei @hdhdhdndhdndk

masterlist

a/n: sorry if the tags aren’t working, I tried to include everyone that wanted it. lmk if you have questions on anything. hope you enjoy!!

A week has passed since the last time you’d seen Art and you try to rid any thoughts of him from your mind as you enter the women’s locker room, the day so early that the sun has only just risen. You’d only spent a few hours with him, but he feels more important to you than a mere acquaintance, especially considering you’d let him have more of you than most people would ever get to. You try to tell yourself it won’t matter if he shows or not, but deep down you know that it will. Regardless, overthinking won’t help you in the water so you shove it down as you steadily pull on your tech suit, careful not to rip the delicate fabric. Your headphones are currently blaring your hype playlist in your ear, but you slide them off once you notice movement to your left as Chloe opens her own locker.

“You ready?” she asks you, pulling out her own racing suit from the depths of her swim bag.

“Not really,” you admit, giving up on stretching your tight suit to your full body frame for the time being as you opt for a tie-back bikini top instead. Your shoulders are ever so grateful. “I’m so nervous.”

“Why? Because of your race or your little tennis boyfriend?” she teases, lips quirking into a classic Chloe smirk. As your best friend, she was the first and only person you told about your interaction with Art at the party and, of course, she had been teasing you about it since. While during practice it was amusing, you are not in the mood for jokes right before a race, especially one of such importance.

You furrow a brow, shaking your head to signal that it’s not the time for such jests concerning the blonde. As the good friend that she is, Chloe immediately understands as she moves to help tie your suit straps, a simple task that you are unexpectedly failing at due to the pressure of the meet ahead of you.

“You’re going to do great,” Chloe comforts, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder once she’s finished with your straps. “I’m sure of it.”

“What if I don’t break the record?”

“Who cares? You can try again next time. If that’s the worst that can happen, you don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she smiles in assurance. “Besides that record is as good as yours -” she makes a gesture to your tech suit that has the most magical of time bending abilities if wielded by the right swimmer. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Nothing can stop you now.”

“Thanks Clo.” you grin at her appreciatively, and though your nerves don’t settle in the slightest, you feel more comfortable living in cohabitation with them now. They’re so much easier to manage when you’re not alone.

It’s only minutes before the rest of your team has arrived and you have hours before your event is scheduled to take place, yet it only feels like seconds before you’re being seated in the waiting room amongst your competitors, tech suit finally fully on. Rousing music plays through your headphones though you are sure to skip any songs that seem even the slightest bit romantic. You try to slip into the right headspace, the line between confident and cocky that has always aided you in not panicking just before you step up to the blocks in the past. You try to find it, using any method at your fingertips, but it’s no use. You can’t seem to find it no matter how hard you try and suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is crashing down on you when the door opens and your event is called. You stand with the other women and together you line up behind the blocks.

The sun shines much higher up in the sky than it had been when you dove in during warm ups, blaring down to reflect off the red of your cap that bears the Stanford logo in white along with your last name. You take your rightful place behind the starting block of the middle lane, and though you already wrote your heat and lane in black sharpie on your forearm just to be sure, you can’t help but worry that you’ve already missed your race.

It’s only when the head announcer calls your event on the loudspeaker that you stop dwelling on it, her voice echoing through the stands that seem so much taller now that you're in the center with so much pressure resting solely on you. You rake though the rafters to your left, hoping to be comforted by the sight of Chloe or one of your other teammates until you realize that they are more than likely preparing for their own events in the warm up pool.

It's then, just when the swirling hurricane of emotions is hurtling toward you, that you see him. He’s seated in the first row, blonde curls circling his head like a golden crown and a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees that you’ve finally spotted him, one that you can’t help returning as he mouths sweet wishes of luck to you.

Art came. He actually came!

The storm subsides and all of a sudden you’ve lost all your inhibitions. Instead of buzzing anxiety, you are filled with a new light and the confidence of a record breaker. It’s all so clear with Art in the stands and as his presence wafts away your storm of worries, you come to the realization that you can do it. You know you can.

The whistle of an official blares through the speaker and on cue you slide on your goggles and mount the block. You’re really starting to feel the compression of your suit as you bend into your diving position, waiting for the magic words. The signal that it’s time to race and leave everything you have in the pool as you go.

“Swimmers, take your marks…” 

You take one last breath before the sound blares and you dive off the block. It all comes naturally to you and with the help of your suit, you find yourself breaking out farther than ever before.

You only have a few strokes until you’re at the end of the pool when out of nowhere, the girl in the lane beside you starts to catch up to you until the two of you are neck and neck and it doesn’t escape your attention when she flips a split second before you’re able to.

You know it’s not about winning, you told Art that, but it’s as if a fire has been lit behind you and you’re suddenly determined to go for the gold. You push yourself harder than you ever have before and though you're not sure where the energy has come from, you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve failed if you’re able to get out of the pool without stumbling.

Before long you catch up to the swimmer beside you, taking your first and only breath as you summon the last of your power, pushing through the water like a jet-ski. At once you’re behind the flags and unlike before, there’s no one beating you to the touch pad resting on the side of the ending wall as you slam your hand down and come up for air.

The crowd erupts with applause once you finish and at first you’re under the impression that it’s because of your win until your eyes glaze over at the scoreboard and nearly burst from your skull at the sight of the result.

You had accomplished your goal. There it was, a time faster than the Stanford record glowing right beside your name. But you didn’t just pass it by a few flimsy hundredths. Your new record was more than a second faster.

You can hardly believe it and you know if the proof weren’t right in front of you, there’d only be disbelief instead of this crashing wave of accomplishment and pride. Though you’re in severe oxygen debt from the race, you find yourself screaming in excitement at your gigantic accomplishment.

“We have a new record!” an official announces through the loudspeaker once the other girls have returned to the starting wall, followed by your name and new time. You search for Art again once you’re out of the water, all but failing to suppress your grin as you find him clapping in the stands and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious stone in the world.

Your teammates are filled with the same immense pride when you join them in the locker room once the meet is over. You’ve since changed from your tech suit, switching out the tight fabric for your cozy hoodie, tie-back bikini top, and a towel tied around your waist. The suit in question now hangs in your locker with the rest of your clothes that you had been in the middle of putting on before the congradulations began.

“I fucking told you!” Chloe shouts, clapping you on the back like you had just won the lottery. You imagine such a feat couldn’t match the pride you feel now.

You almost say that you can’t believe it, but the words stall on your lips. You actually can believe it, this is something you’ve been working tirelessly for. And now, after a long hard race, the record title is finally yours.

“Did I see a certain blonde in the audience?” Chloe smirks, nudging you as you wave goodbye to one of your other parting teammates.

“Maybe,” you drawl, trying your best to hide your growing grin, but the thought of the man makes you feel like flying through the air as year worth of buried emotions bubble up to the surface. You haven’t felt anything like this for a very long time.

“You know what that means…” Chloe whispers to you after you pull away from a hug with one of the other girls who like everyone else, is on her way out. The night’s party is being hosted at a house that’s a longer commute than usual in honor of the women’s tenth annual win and unlike your teammates, you aren’t in any hurry to get there knowing the a portion of the celebration will surround you.

“Drinks on you?” you guess, pretending you are clueless as to what she’s getting at. You hope it’s enough to deter her from whatever inevitably grotesque she’s about to say, but you know it’s to no avail as she laughs and shakes her head.

“Nice try,” she smiles, nudging you with her elbow. “I meant that he’s definetly going to fuck the shit out of you next time you see him.”

You cringe bashfully at her words, hitting her on the shoulder as she backs away from your shrunken form.

“Chloe!” you chide, though you both know no real anger lies within your tone. She’s been like this since the day you’d first met her: always the same old loving, indecorous Chloe.

“Just saying.” she shrugs before turning to say her goodbyes to the last lingering one of your other teammates.

You turn to open your locker, finally ready to change out of your damp towel until you’re startled by the clacking footsteps of unfamiliar tennis shoes heading in your direction. You assume it’s another random spectator who had bypassed the many signs clearly stating that the locker room is for athlete occupance only, but at once you find you’re very wrong when you turn to see who it is.

Art stands before you and though it was his decision to invade the women’s locker room, he looks as surprised as you.

“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly. You’re thankful when you notice that Chloe is fully dressed to your left, just pulling on her knit cardigan.

She smirks smuggly at the sight of him, swinging her bag over her shoulders before sending you a wink and a swiftly muttered, “Told ya.” Without another word she exits, leaving you and Art utterly and completely alone.

“You realize this is the women’s restroom, right?” you jab as you hear Chloe shut the door behind her, though it’s all in good fun. As far as you know, no one is coming anywhere near the locker room for the next several hours.

“I was waiting outside for you,” he states, gradually lifting his hands from their tense place in the front of his jean pockets. “I thought everyone else had already come out, but I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s just Chloe,” you laugh, gesturing in the direction of the exit path your best friend had just taken. “Don’t worry, she won’t tattle.”

He chuckles, amused by your jest before he takes a slow step closer to you. Like a sparkler to your stomach, you become acutely aware of the tension between the two of you, growing like the blush colored blossoms of a cherry tree in spring. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

This makes you smile.

“And?”

“You were right.”

You’re heart flutters, so light that if it weren’t encaged within your chest you’re sure it would’ve floated away. He pauses to take another tense step in your direction, now only a foot away.

“Do you know how Tashi and I met?”

“I don’t, actually,” you say, words laced with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Right,” he laughs, realizing the folly behind his question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but he begins the story like a spider spindiling its web. “Well it was only about a year ago. We met at the US open. Patrick and I both went after her and you know what she told us?”

You wait for the answer.

“She said she’d give her number to whoever won our match. That was the first time I ever lost and it was to my best friend.”

“That’s who was at your match, wasn’t it?” you ask.

Art nods solumnly, though the pain that had been etched on his face from your last meeting has vanished, as if the thorn in his side has been replced by a budding rose.

“I didn’t know Art, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he urges. “It’s all okay now. I’ve realized that none of it matters anymore and it’s all because of you. If I’m being honest, I thought maybe if I won my match, then Tashi would leave him. But it’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be the winner she’s running to. I don’t want to have to earn her love.”

“What do you want?”

There’s a pause, a distinct moment where the glint in his blue eyes from the bright lights above conveys a clever message to you than any words could. Then he speaks.

“I think you know what I want.”

It’s all the confirmation you need to know that he’s finally playing the same game as you. He’s unbearably close now as his head reaches up to gently rake through your stringy wet hair. You welcome his touch, breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers as his lips hover just above yours. If you’re being completely honest, you haven’t stopped fantasizing about it since the night of the party. Since the moment he had kissed you.

“You were right,” he whispers as his hot breath tickles the tips of your top lips with every placid word. “I don’t care about winning anymore. The only point I want to score is you.”

“That’s a really bad joke.” you remark, pointing out the obvious from his corny declaration. But Art doesn’t share your smirk, his face settling in an expression that’s much more sensual.

“I’m not kidding.”

You feel the immediate shift in energy as your smirk fades to parted lips and Art’s longing gaze moves downward from your eyes. What little space left between you is squashed as you allow him to pull you even closer, noses prodigy one another as Art’s fingers drift from the tips of your hair to cup the back of your head. It��s almost salivating the way he looks at you and you’re suddenly eager to remember what he tastes like.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks through a whisper, so quietly that if you hadn’t been right in front of him, you surely wouldn’t have heard it. It’s milliseconds before you’re nodding exuberantly with more urgency than a speeding ambulance (something you might need if your heart decided to beat any faster).

“Pleas-” you start, but Art’s on you before you can even get the word out, covering your lips with his until all you can taste, smell, and feel is him. Everything is him.

He’s gentle with you at first, testing the waters as his lips pass smoothly over yours. You lift up your hands to invite him in, squeezing the toned flesh of his arms before you drag them slowly up to the nape of his neck. You toy with some of the curls that rest there, twirling them between your fingers while sinking into the sounds he makes in return. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, and at once his tongue melds with yours. You match the new intensity, swallowing each low groan.

Unlike your last encounter, it’s Art who pulls away this time, forcing you to scowl at him in confusion, eyes squinting and lips puffy. He twists his head to the left, glazing at the wide space behind him as he slowly moves the both of you backwards to the nearest flat-board bench until one of its edges grazes the top of his shin.

“What are you doing?” you ask through a whisper, leaning forward so that your lips titillate the tip of his ear which sends inadvertent shivers through his whole body. Art turns back to you, smirking as he leans in for another sloppy kiss, earning a salacious sound from you before his lips shift from yours and trailing from the corner of your mouth to the line of your open jaw where his teeth scrape against your skin. You can feel him grinning as he makes you emit the softest of moans.

“I want to make up for the other night. I said some things - I’m not proud of.”

You give a giddy chuckle as you cup his cheek, amused by the fact that he thinks his past behavior was inexcusable until Art’s head dips to suck on the tender skin of your neck and you can’t help but whine. You’re glad you have the lung capacity of a swimmer otherwise you might’ve fainted from the near constant lack of oxygen.

“Art, honestly-” a sudden gasp is ripped from you as you feel him nipping at your sweet spot, crumbling like a tin can under pressure. “-it’s fine.” you barely manage to finish your sentence.

He places a few more steady kisses to the column of your neck, working his way down to your clavicle. You tip your head back, an unintentional effect from the sensation of his lips as he lays the last just near the edge of your collarbone before raising his head to look at you and it’s almost as if he can see right through you.

“Does that mean you don’t want what I’m offering?” he questions, glancing down at the steady movement of your chest as it rises and falls beneath your hoodie. You don’t recall when in the last few minutes he managed to move his hands down to your waist, but you can feel them now as clear as ever. He grips the sides of your hoodie, nimble fingers sliding under the thick gray fabric until they find the skin beneath and his touch feels like fire, sparking flames along your hips with every small caress. It’s so hot that you aren’t sure how Tashi could pick anyone over him. You aren’t sure how anyone could deny him for that matter.

“No…” you admit and at once his hands start to travel higher and higher until they reach the bottom band of your bikini, inflaming the whole of your torso as he meets the straps still tied neatly together in the middle of your spine forming a perfect bow. His fingers follow the provided path, meeting at the center of your back as he starts to twirl one of the tails of the knot around his pointer finger.

“May I?” he asks, his tone so deceivingly politely as he gently tugs on the string. He waits patiently for your consent as his eyes pan up from your chest to your expression. You can’t get the words out, already too overwhelmed from the sizzling sensation of his touch, but you make sure to nod with the utmost enthusiasm. Who were you to tell Art Donaldson no when he was so eager to touch you? And you, in turn, were so eager to feel him.

He smiled at your agreeance and instantly unfastened the tie of your suit, pulling on the strand until the entire bow came undone. He lips pressed against yours once more before he settled down on the bench and raised the hem of your hoodie just enough to expose your stomach, peppering kisses to every inch of you.

You released your hold on him to assist in pulling the hoodie over your head, tossing it behind you where it lands in a crumple pile near the metal door of your locker. Without any tension left to hold it up, the triangle cutlets of your bikini slump to reveal two perfect pebbled nipples, leaving the towel looped around your waist as your only source of coverage.

Usually you’d feel insecure being so bare for a man that’s practically a stranger, but from the dazed look Art gives you as he takes in the sight of your figure, you find that you don’t mind it in the slightest.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Art mutters almost involuntarily, sending shock waves down straight to your core. The words came bursting out before he could find the strength to hold them back, his brain too busy processing your beauty to have any control over any sort of filter. You return your hands to his head of blonde curls just as he presses one last kiss to the center of your abdomen, exactly below your rib cage.

The movement is so sudden that you can't count the seconds that pass before he grabs at your breasts, each hand perfectly cupping the mounted flesh. His mouth is slower, trailing kisses up the valley of your chest.

His thumb works the sensitive skin encircling your nipple, running over the hardened peak in an unperceivable pattern that forces another well earned moan from your lips. It’s encouragement for his other hand that immediately drifts upwards to mirror the actions of the other. Every pinch and slight movement is like gasoline to your fire, all pouring in a downward stream to the part of you that grows more needy with every passing second. You could cry from the sensation of it all, the intensity only growing when you feel him pass his tongue over your left nipple. You try to suppress any sounds this time, teeth biting down on your lip as you curve your head back, but it forces its way out despite your efforts. You grip the hair fixed to his crown and pressure him forwards so that he remains in place.

“Shit, that feels - really good.” you praise, your phrase strung together like an old beaded bracelet as changes in pace break apart each word. When Art does part from your breasts, it’s to press wet kisses down the line of your abdomen as flickering thumbs replace his mouth. He pauses as he reaches the softest portion of your stomach, stopping just above the knot that is covering your very bare lower half, and though you don’t recall informing him about your lack of undergarments, you are sure that he already knows.

“I need to taste you,” he whispers against your skin.

He doesn’t ask you for permission anymore, but instead glances up at you from his spot on the bench and it’s everything you need to understand what he wants from you. And of course you want it. You’re sure if he wastes a second longer to tend to your throbbing center, you might just pass out in his sturdy arms.

“Please, Art, I need you,” you’re able to get out, though it’s breathy and delicate from the way that he’s rendered you.

He’s quick to oblige as he takes the top of your towel cover in between his perfect white teeth and yanks the fabric hard enough for it to fall to your feet. He’s on you in an instant, one of his hands moving to support your shaky frame as he slides a knee between yours to spread you open.

He coaxes every cry out of you with his tongue, wet and skilled as he traces it along each fold, his nose bobbing against your swollen clit not dissimilar from his left hand that still lies atop your breast. You press him closer to you as he swirls his tongue around you, over and over and never in the same way more than twice in a row. It’s overstimulation at its best, overwhelming you until you're trembling in his grasp and before you know it, you’re riding the edge of the wave to pure pleasure.

“Fuck, Art! I’m- I’m-“ you can’t even finish your sentence, he feels so good. He hums against you in amusement, the vibrations of his voice meeting your core in a melting sensation that you find yourself grinding into uncontrollably.

“On my tongue,” he promotes against you before licking a steady stripe along your center. It’s then that you know you’re done for. Your cry is almost inhuman as you leap off the edge, diving into the heart of the wave as Art finally relinquishes his hold on your breast and uses the newly unoccupied hand to pierce into your arousal, calloused fingers curling into you as he helps you down from your high. Even after you cum you know you still have more in you. And you can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that Art isn’t done with you either.

He stands to kiss you with dampened lips as the taste of your own arousal invades your senses, but you withdraw from the embrace after only a few seconds to ask him your burning question, desire already regrowing like a flooding river of need.

“Art, I need you,” you start, pulling at the canvas material of his button up. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before pressing his mouth towards yours and back you up to the wall of lockers that are neatly arranged behind you.

Granted by his permission, you unfasten each button of his shirt until it’s enough to pull it off him which he happily helps you accomplish. You can’t tell who’s more desperate for you to feel the dense muscle of his chest as he places your palms face down on his pecs, granting you the assurance you needed to explore his body.

You take your time, squeezing and prodding just as he had done to you until one of your hands is low enough on his stomach to palm him through his light wash jeans. The soft whimper he returns is nearly enough to send you over again. He pulls back as he lets you undo his belt, eyelids fluttering after you’ve unbuttoned and unzipped the only thing keeping you from him. You’re quick to pull him out, not at all shocked by how hard he is and it’s a major ego boost knowing it’s all because of you.

“See what you do to me?” he whispers against your lips as if you needed more proof of his longing for you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Please,” you beg. “I need to feel you.”

Art is quick to oblige as his calloused fingers grip the soft skin of your hips, so rough that you can feel every callus from his racket as he pushes you against the lockers, thrusting up into you. While he’s dying to continue, he hesitates so that you can acclimate to his size. It takes no longer than a second as you release a guttural groan and wrap a leg around his waist, aiding him in hitting even deeper within you.

“Fuck!” you cry, throwing your head back against the cold metal as Art nips at your neckline again. You’re drowning beneath the blissful rocky wave and from the sounds that he’s making, almost re-enacting one of his matches just for you, you can tell that Art is too.

It happens so quickly that your mind struggles to understand it, spinning wildly as the wave pulls you under once more along with Art who finishes in a similar amount of time. You lean into his chest, breathing heavily as you take in the heavenly scent of his undoubtedly expensive cologne and slightly wincing as he pulls out of you slowly. He ducks to pick up your fallen towel as he starts to clean you up.

The realization that it’s over doesn't quite hit you until Art helps you get dressed, buckling his belt back up only once you’re decent and in return you hand him a spare shirt so he doesn’t have to redo every button on the one you’d nearly torn off him.

“Thanks,” he smiles gratefully, pulling on your shirt which fits tighter around him than it would around you, though it’s nothing to complain about as every miniscule ripple of muscle is on display.

You’re both thinking the exact same thing as you exit the locker room, hand in hand with the same guilty expression on your face as you pass an incoming janitor who is too busy scowling to ask Art what he was doing in the women’s locker room. It’s obvious from the encounter that it won’t be your last and as Art drives you to the planned frat party, you’re even sure that it’s not the last of the night.

Time proves you right as you’re seated next to Art a few weeks later, curled into his side as you share a large plate of the appetizer combo at a local Applebees. It was the only thing open after a long day of matches and meets and steamy rendezvous in between. The two of you were going on steadier than the trunks of ancient trees as you continue to support each other, you attending all of Art’s matches ( even if it meant skipping a practice or two) and Art cheering for you at all of your meets. You’re not sure if it’s the consistent attendance, but the both of you were only getting better at your respective hobbies by the day, particularly Art who hadn’t lost a match since meeting you.

You’re both jokingly arguing over who gets the last quesadilla when a familiar woman stops near your table, joined by a man you’d never seen before, though you recognize him from several of Art's detailed stories. He straightens beside you, gathering himself to greet the new company.

“Hey guys, long time no see!”

“Art,” Patrick nods to his friend before smiling to you and offering his hand, one that you take without a second thought. “I’m Patrick.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be Tashi.” you turn to the girl and you can’t help, but analyze the peculiarities of her expression. It’s clear she is content with her own man of choice, but something about the way she looks at you tells you that she’s still involved in the tennis philosophy you managed to screw out of Art. She looks at you like you’re a player she’s lost to. And from what Art’s told you, you're certain it’s the first time Tashi has lost.

“It’s nice to meet you.” she fakes a smile before pulling Patrick to the door, careful not to stay long enough for the conversation to lead anywhere important. It’s awkward and strange, but you know it’s for the best. You’re not particularly interested in anything she has to say anyways.

“Did you see that?” you ask, pointing in the direction of the doorway that the couple had used for an easy escape.

“What?” Art wonders, looking towards you in anticipation.

“I think she’s looking for a new winner.”

Art leans in to peck the apple of your cheek, assurance that no matter the circumstance, he’ll never be available to the likes of Tashi Duncan again.

“Must be because I’ve won,” he reasons, “-because I have you and there’s nothing she can do to separate us.”

You smile at his sweet words, praying that he never ceases to use his talent for affectionate poetry as you lean in to kiss him. Whether he wins or loses or even never plays again, you couldn’t care less about the outcome of his career. As long as Art’s happy, you’re prepared to take on any challenge you’re put up to, whether on the court or in the pool.

[alaritheaurora]

One thing I don't see people talking about is Sneegsnag's loyalty to the kingdom. Often when people talk about him they speak about his relationship with losa, and while certainly he values them above all else. He is still extremely loyal to Foolish.

Even if he's not around often, Sneeg trusts Foolish to lead. Like, in every situation where Foolish has been gone, such as when Foolish was banned, or when Ros left Yelllow. He has done his best to do what Foolish would want, and was sure that Foolish would agree with his actions. In no circumstance did he think that Foolish would choose Owen over Ros. And after Foolish came back and cleared up what happened at his death Sneeg referred to him as generous.

I noticed this during one of the recent nirvana streams, because he's having a conversation with Sausage and Bek, and he's clearly uncomfortable about being seen as a god. And then they make a comment about him being useful in war. And Sneeg says he doesn't want to fight, that it's not his problem, but then he goes "if the king wants me to, I will. I trust his judgment" (paraphrased). It's the fact that even with these powers, even if he thinks the conflict is stupid, Sneeg trusts Foolish's decisions.

Arguably, Sneeg is currently the most loyal kingdom member. He's constantly providing insight resources and protection. He made an alarm system for the castle (for Ros, but she is probably the most important part of the kingdom). He does most of the tasks (for MULTIPLE teams). And he actually believes the things Foolish says, he trusts him.

And I think it's because Sneeg is away from the kingdom enough to often miss stuff, but when given the down-low, he's always given it in relation to yellow team. Any conflicts are Green's fault. Any good deeds are supported by the king. He gets a very filtered idea of the rest of the server because he isn't around to pass his own judgment, and his main way of getting information, Ros, is a people pleaser and wouldn't speak ill of her own teammates, even if maybe she should.

And I think Foolish takes this into account as well (not the bias, I don't think Foolish is aware of just how much Sneeg trusts him). Sneeg is third in line for the throne. That's crazy. The guy who is at the castle and interacts with others the least is third in line. Because Foolish knows how loyal he is. How should a problem arise, Sneeg will be there (so long as someone tells him). That Sneeg has the kingdom in mind, and not his own personal gain.

It's odd, how even though he doesn't look it, Sneeg is perhaps the one who believes in the kingdom's ideals the most.

[revehae]

OK DONT JUDGE ME THO 😒😒 so instead of naive stepsis asking about normal sex and bla bla she asks about what rape is and he well… shows her

like it’s so cornyyyy but………. say u see my vision

i had to let this linger for a bit but you know what… i can work with it. changing it up a itty bitty pinch because i don’t like overly-innocent reader and i feel like not knowing what rape is is less believable than not knowing what a creampie is lol // tw noncon, stepcest

stealing stepbro!member’s laptop because yours is currently being repaired and you really, really need it as you’re a college student with a slew of assignments to complete. you’re not necessarily nosy and you do close out all his tabs because he has an excessive amount of them open, too many for your own comfort, but you see just a bit of the last one’s title before it disappears before you can even finish. all you saw was “Hardcore Non Con,” and it piqued your curiosity, but you focused on your own task rather than whatever he has going on. it’s none of your business anyway and getting these assignments turned in is way, way more important.

all is good until stepbro!member walks into your room, about to ask if you’ve seen his laptop, and sort of panics when he sees you with the item in question. he asks you what you’re doing with it, why you didn’t ask if you could borrow it, and more importantly, what you saw. you tell him that you didn’t see anything, you closed out all his tabs, and teasingly ask what he’s hiding. then your mind darts back to the fraction of that last tab that you saw, and you ask him “what’s noncon?” your voice and face too innocent for him to even think that you’re just asking to taunt him. no, you genuinely have no idea.

he chuckles. he’s less panicky now and mostly just upset that you took his laptop without permission. “you really didn’t click the tab, did you?” he asks, considering if you had, the answer would have been right there on the page glaring at you. when you shake your head, he closes the door behind himself. “would you rather me tell you or show you?” he questions. you think about it for a second, not really sure. “show me…?” you reply reluctantly. assuming a demonstration would be harmless.

you’re confused when stepbro!member crawls into your bed, sliding his laptop away and climbing on top of you. doesn’t answer when you ask him what he’s doing, doesn’t quit when you tell him to stop, tugging at your clothes and biting at your neck and pinching at your chest when he frees your breasts from your shirt. you feel so exposed, so dirty and violated. when you try to conceal yourself with your hands, he tugs them above your head none too gently and smacks you across the face with his free hand.

tears sting your eyes now. you try to shake your head as he tugs at your shorts. “i don’t want it,” you whimper amongst more desperate pleas for him to stop. “yes you do. you told me to show you,” he reminds you, landing a smack on your clothed cunt. your thighs tense. “you’re gonna learn your fucking lesson.”

he sinks into you without much more lubricant than his saliva. a defeated sound falls from your lips as he does, more tears welling at your eyes as you sob brokenly. you squirm underneath him, trying to wrest yourself free but to no avail. stepbro!member chuckles, releasing your hands and tugging at your hair roughly as he says, “you took what you wanted without asking, so why shouldn’t i?”

[verdantwyrm]

In Defense of Curly (Again)

This post is not about absolving Curly of his “sins” or anything, Curly is not an innocent angel that has done no wrong, no, he is morally grey as they come. But I will not stand for slander on my wife NO MORE. Curly is not as guilty as you would think, but neither is he Innocent. Anya is so much more than a victim, Curly is so much more than a bystander, and Jimmy is so much more than a rapist, they are multifaceted characters in a very multidimensional game. They’re all characters that have been individually crafted to tell a story, and everyone is avoiding that by reducing them to a singular note of events rather than their entire personality and even going as far to twist their dialogue and character to fit their own bias, ignoring whats actual factual and canon for the sake of projection.

So with that out of the way, let us begin.

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A sense of timeline for better understanding.

Curly's Psych Eval (and by extension, Jimmys) was 7 Days before the crash. Curly does not know Anya is pregnant here. 

The birthday Party is 6 Days before the crash. Curly doesn't know here either. 

The Dead Pixel scene is 2 Days before the Crash. Curly doesn't know here either. 

Anya stealing the gun is 1 Day Before the Crash. Curly Finds out Anya is pregnant here and that Jimmy is responsible. Anya tells Jimmy about the pregnancy and tells Curly about it. 0 Days before the crash (The Same Day)

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Pony Express’ Abuse

As for the first subject, I want to make it very clear about Pony Express’ Failure to comply and have any standard safety measures (most noticeably in the lack of locks) and the fact that they very often penalize their employees by taking from their pay and that they’re extremely lazy and known to cut corners for everything. The poster in-game tells us a lot about this if not backed up directly by the dialogue.

"Proper preparation prevents accidents, it is your responsibility to keep yourself and the crew safe. Medical expenses will be docked from person credits."

"Punctual delivery is our pride and promise- No matter where you are! Late deliveries will be docked from personal credits."

"Teamwork is the soul of success! When you have completed your tasks, always check on other tasks! HR complaints about poor team synergy may result in collective punishment"

"Sleep is the best rest after a long day of work, earn that rest! Don't overdo it or fall behind! Do not indulge in over 5 hours of forest, including leisure time. Sleeping over the allowed budget will result in disciplinary actions."

Neither Curly nor Jimmy are getting anything close to the required amount of rest for such a demanding job, with only 5 hours compared to the IRL guidelines for pilots to get an average of 10 hours of rest between shifts with 8 hours of sleep, it's also implied by Anya and Curly's own dialogue that he struggles to sleep. Which all together implies that they're both working 19-hour shifts every day. Every. Single. Day.

We see them both on shift at the same time multiple times during the game and Curly is the only one with clearance to make certain extremely important navigation decisions (like turning off the autopilot) and we can easily come to the conclusion that they are both extremely overworked, Curly Especially.

We can easily see that Pony Express are not shy to punish their employees and even goes as far as to routinely engage in collective punishment, and this is shown to be the drive behind a lot of Curly's decisions in particular, especially with how he reassures Anya that her stealing the gun case will not go on the performance log and reducing the chances of her being punished at all and to probably put the pressure onto himself in case Pony Express does find out. Given her precarious financial situation, she literally cannot afford to have her pay docked and Curly knows this.

Pony Express is known for its laziness, negligence and its ability to cut corners, they are also seen to not trust its employees by making everything have to go through him from axe usage to making a cake. To not supplying enough medical equipment, a fifth cryogenic pod to account for Daisuke or even to account for him at all. Curly himself even commented on how he should have made a bigger “stink” about the situation of Daisuke being thrown on the Tulpar last minute, which implies that he did raise this as an issue and a safety risk and was ignored.

I'm not going to take this as seriously but it is worth mentioning regardless because it is just absolutely Kafkaesque levels of absurd, They actively make it borderline impossible to report anything, so even if Curly or Anya were able to get ahold of Pony Express to send in a report, they never could due to the requirements and the prerequisites. It also implies that if you apply for a job there but refuse the medical evaluation, they can fine you despite the fact that you don't even actually work there yet.

Another classic example of Marx's theory is of the alienation in capitalism, wherein workers are estranged and separated from the products of their own labour. The crew had absolutely no idea what they were delivering, and judging by how much was put in place, they were never supposed to.

Marx's theory, the implementation of automation would negatively impact workers by depriving them of job opportunities that could have been filled by humans. This is strongly suggested to be the primary reason for the downfall of Pony Express and why the crew was fired.

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Anya’s Assault

Anya being assaulted is never outright said, with an intentional layer of vagueness layered over the top with how she talks about it and how she mentions it to Curly. The words “Assault” “Rape” or even “Attacked” are not mentioned at any point, we only learn this through visual imagery and subtext of Anya mentioning the lack of locks on the doors, how unsafe she feels around Jimmy, and she would rather him not have the gun at all—fawning at his every response in a panic of upsetting him or escalating the situation. The words are never explicitly said as many other victims can sympathise with, saying the words out loud can be very difficult sometimes, and Anya’s vagueness was intentional on the happenchance that Curly did take Jimmy’s side. She was trying to put distance between herself and that possibility by being as cautious and as vague as she could, in hopes that Curly would pick up on the signs himself and come to that conclusion himself instead of Anya babying him and dumbing down the situation.

This is a believable reaction, especially when your abuser has any kind of power over you or other people, and he isn’t the only one either. Curly has just as much power, if not significantly more over her, which adds more to the fear of even mentioning such a thing, as mentioned earlier in my section of Pony Express' Abuse towards them, the possibility of being penalized with her– and everyone else –pay being docked because she made a simple complaint, was a very real threat, and even more dangerous after finding out about the whole crew being laid off. Jimmy tears her down every chance he gets, makes her feel little and even compares her to Polle in his hallucinations. And Anya knows that he and Curly have a very lengthy history, so her caution and anxiety about even mentioning the incident, let alone saying the word “rape” is borderline impossible for her. It’s a manifestation, it’s a verbal acceptance and confession that it’s even happened. Something she has been trying to avoid coming to terms with.

And when she does eventually tell Swansea what happened, as much as you want to think she told him- she most likely told him to not do anything, to try and keep the peace for as long as possible.

Again, her vagueness is not her fault, nor is it her responsibility. It was Jimmy’s responsibility to not abuse and rape her.

It’s also very present that Jimmy is verbally abusive to her, putting her down at every opportunity by ignoring her very talented medical skills by saying Pony Express only hired her to cut corners in an attempt to reduce costs because she failed Medical School and that she’s not a “real nurse” because of that, and how he constantly questions her skills despite keeping Curly alive for such a long time in such a state.

After being insulted by him multiple times, she fawns to get him to actually do something beneficial because she knows he responds well to praise, and he complies, all while still insulting and belittling her for being "weak" and "sentimental"

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The Dead Pixel In The Room

Going to immediately preface this with a very big obvious “Curly did not know Anya was raped” warning sign to hopefully weed out the weak that don’t want to actually read this. You can leave now if you’d like, no hard feelings. This scene is supposed to be your first clue as a player, as well as Curly's. It's intentional to be like that, it makes the most sense chronologically as well because up until that point, we don't even know.

Okay, we can start now. First, off the bat, I want to talk about that dead pixel scene. And how both Anya and Curly have their own individual meanings behind It, and how both play into each character’s relationship with Jimmy. With Anya’s being a constant reminder of Jimmy’s presence, how it affected her and how it’ll always be there no matter what. And Curly’s is something that he knows exists, but cannot see for himself, because he’s too busy looking at the bigger picture. Even if he knows it's fake, even if he knows it’s an illusion.

He doesn’t doubt her here either, and even though he admits he cannot see it. He believes that it's there, despite this, and that it doesn’t ruin the image. Choosing to see the good, the beauty, of the bigger picture. The Dead pixel scene isn’t just about Anya, it’s about the both of them. And you’re probably asking how Curly hasn’t gotten the point Anya is trying to make, and thats again because she’s being intentionally vague here, and her comment about the lack of locks ties up pretty well with the previous two conversations she’s had with Curly directly. Complaining about Jimmy being weird during the psych evaluation and then her pithy comment about Pony Express’ cutting back expenses on their food and the comment she makes about the code scanner during the birthday party.

All of her previous conversations with Curly have been about their work or something going on in the ship or even with Pony Express directly. So it’s not unusual for her comment about the lack of locks on the sleeping quarters, it’s not random, it’s pretty on theme with the direction of how their conversations go, Curly wouldn’t pick up on that alone because it’s not a strange thing to say.

It's also very much shown that Anya trusts Curly, trusts him enough to not only confide in him first about the pregnancy but also allow herself to be open and friendly with him, even going as far as to try and get him to open up to her during his psych evaluation. She is also hiding behind his seat when she steals the gun. She feels the safest when she is with the real captain and how uncomfortable she is listening to Jimmy's orders to strip Curly of that title.

Every single time that Curly and Anya speak directly, he is always reassuring her, attempting to calm her down and her safety is the first thing he's concerned about when he finds out she's taken the gun.

And once she mentions the pregnancy, his priorities flip, again to her safety, reassuring her that she won't get punished for this. Once again telling her that everything is going to work out, that WE will fix this, WE WILL figure this out TOGETHER. He and Anya.

A key important word here is "what would you have done"

Would. Not, what will you do, no she's asking in past tense. The assault has already happened, she is reassuring herself here before telling him about the pregnancy that he is on her side, that he believes her and that her trust in him isn't misplaced.

And when he does find out she's pregnant, he still doesn't know exactly how. And it's important because it reflects back onto how Curly does ultimately behave when he does approach Jimmy. He doesn't know he's confronting a rapist, and his dialogue here proves that he does just think it was ultimately her choice, her decision. And the most painful part Is the very blatant unwanted pregnancy, not anything else.

Anya is still being intentionally vague here as well, as mentioned earlier. Curly did not actually know that Anya was raped, as the only thing that's mentioned is the pregnancy and that Jimmy is involved. Which is absolutely something to be worried about, regardless of how it happened, because they're on a ship. In the middle of Space.

Someone who knew would not react like that. Curly never once doubts Anya's words or her truth. And after Anya tells Culy about how she told Jimmy about her pregnancy, Curly says that she should have waited for him because he wanted to be there just in case.

Curly even does it literally. The most important part that everybody overlooks is how determined he is to get to the cockpit as the ship is crashing. He knows it's crashing but all he can do is try, he could have run away, but he didn't.

Curly took responsibility multiple different times which is easily overlooked because so much happens in such a short time span that people literally think he had months between knowing about Anya being raped and then the crash when it was barely a day. Just like how people easily overlook the dead pixel scene and how it also represents something to Curly as well, and just like how people overlook Anya's "I told you so"

Curly's kind, forgiving and trusting nature is not inherently bad. It was how it was used against him in an extremely difficult situation, which is exactly what Abusers do time and time again. He failed Anya in such a delicate way and in such a difficult situation, but it's something to understand that Pony Express failed her first, failed her in all the most important ways by even allowing a situation like this to happen. It was Jimmy's responsibility to not be a rapist, but it was Pony Express's fault for even enabling that in the first place.

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Curly's Trauma

A very common thing that people tend to overlook, and this is either because they subconsciously forget that men can be victims of abuse, or simply because they don’t care enough to consider Curly to be one– his relationship with Jimmy and what we can glean from is very abusive, emotionally and verbally and then soon later on physically. Curly is just as much a victim of Jimmy's mistreatment and abuse as Anya is, in their own unique and parallel ways, they both had everything taken from them. We can tell in Jimmy’s behaviour and the way he intentionally isolates Curly in the Birthday scene and the Psychological evaluation in the cockpit, Jimmy takes Curly’s weakness and anxieties and twists them around to isolate him from receiving any help or support from others.

Curly’s biggest weakness is his forgiving nature. We all talk about how Anya is a victim of Jimmy, and she absolutely is, but so is Curly. His first immediate response Jimmy's reaction to Anya announcing her pregnancy is met with immense fear and anxiety with the added soundtrack of what could be equivalent to the sound of Curly's heart racing. He freezes, he fawns, he panics.

Curly's good-natured heart, being lax, trusting and a constant mediator isn't inherently a problem. It was the circumstances that turned that so volatile. If Jimmy wasn't who he was and so readily abusive then Curly's character would not be that detrimental, and his actions would not have such a catastrophic impact. And everyone immediately boiling down those harmless traits and villainising them does much more harm than good, especially since the character they should be targeting is Jimmy, not Curly.

He is beyond terrified, and when he does finally get to Jimmy, he immediately fawns and freezes. He makes absolutely no mention of Anya or anyone else because all that mattered in that panicked situation was easing Jimmy down and resolving the situation. There was truly, absolutely nothing that Curly could have done that wouldn't have resulted in either direct consequences or collective punishment. All of Curly's thoughts, behaviour and actions were as carefully thought out as he possibly could in the short 24 hours or so that he was made aware of Anya's pregnancy and Jimmy's involvement.

He is trying to eliminate all potential problems in the situation so Curly can take the full front of Jimmy's rage. This again furthers the point of exactly why Curly wouldn't recognise the signs of Anya being abused as well because this is all so normal for him. He’s terrified of Jimmy, and an abuser's main tactic is to make sure that their victims never feel confident to speak up against them, or to ever seek out help from others. It’s why he never rushes to defend himself, he just lets Jimmy do and say all of these horrible things.

And Jimmy immediately stabs back putting him down. Twisting the blame and putting it into Curly. Like he somehow was a part of it all and that it was his fault.

Curly was and has been a victim of Jimmy's abuse for a very long time on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario which devolved into physical and medical abuse very quickly once Jimmy got his chance. And it is also true that Curly had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain that he failed due to bias towards his abusers, and his kind and forgiving nature of simply wanting to see the good in Jimmy, which is also another aspect of what victims believe. Curly enables Jimmy's behaviour towards himself and even goes as far to completely blame himself for everything that happened in How Fish Is Made.

A lot of victims tend to surround themselves with excuses of why they’re abused, that it’s somehow their fault and that he’s done something awful to deserve it, that this a normal thing that happens, that Jimmy has his reasons to be like this and it isn’t his fault. People argue that Curly should have done more and that he "failed" in any regard is putting a huge expectation onto a victim like him of someone like Jimmy's relentless abuse and how it takes such an impactful toll on someone like Curly. Everyone who plays or watches the game looks over the very easy and subtle warning signs of this abuse and is too busy claiming Curly to be the antagonist here and holding him responsible instead of Jimmy.

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Conclusion + Other Comments

Curly is not perfect, but he is not as guilty as everyone wants him to be. If you go into mouthwashing anticipating Curly as a cruel, selfish monster, of course, you're going to interpret him that way and twist everything he ever does or says to fit your narrative although he very obviously isn't that way at all and get upset when someone tells you you're wrong. You need to remember that he had a whole crew to think of, Curly is not judgement, nor is he the executioner. His hands were absolutely tied and for one reason only: Because Pony Express does, did, and will not care. Pony Express has it explicitly like this so you cannot do anything. So people like Jimmy who manipulate the vulnerable can prey upon his co-workers and get away with it.

The situation on the Tulpar is not as straightforward as people would like, I understand it's extremely cathartic to think of a situation where Jimmy gets what he deserves but it isn't realistic, and thats what this game is trying to say. Abusive corporations, exhausting capitalism, this environment breeds Abusers like Jimmy and victims like Anya and Curly. There was nothing that could be done. Pony Express is what doomed them all, they're the catalyst.

At some point, you have to understand and accept the fact that certain scenarios are simply just cathartic fantasies that simply couldn't have happened. They were all doomed, right from the start. It wasn't just Jimmy's actions (Although they significantly influenced the outcome), and it sure as hell wasn't Curly's inaction. It was Pony Express. I think something that a lot of people get mixed up in their interpretations of Curly is that he's not us, and we're not supposed to be him. Constantly projecting your own fears and experiences onto him to sway your interpretation of his words takes away from the already written-in-stone character he is. You saying "He didn't mean it" when talking about Curly saying he cares about Anya is not only incorrect, but it's YOUR projection onto a character that is already extremely upfront and honest about his intentions and kind personality. He is not malicious, evil, cruel, selfish or misogynistic, so saying that because you interpreted his words to be half-truths or him lying through his teeth to Anya and that his kindness is fake is literally obstructing his character.

Everyone wants them both to be perfect examples of victims and refuses to understand or even believe Curly's situation. Curly DID fail Anya but not for the reason everyone thinks he did.

They're both victims to the same man, they both believe in the best of people (although to their own detriment in a way) they want to find peace, and fulfilment in their career and life. They're so alike in such delicate and intimate ways, that trying to constantly paint Curly as this great, horrible oppressor over her does way more harm than good.

Curly's character is painfully obvious, very very upfront and honest. He is kind, constantly weighed down by guilt and anxiety about his future and career and is being abused by his so-called friend and the company he's working himself to death for that he absolutely hates that just discarded him like he was nothing. Like a lame horse.

Thank you so much to the Mouthwashing Mania Discord server for helping me with this thread! Specifically Mogs for their amazing analysis on Capitalism which can be found here!

Thank you for reaching the end of the thread, please don't be scared to share your thoughts in the tags or in my inbox, I'd love to hear them! good job! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡

[venxomi]

TBHK Chapter 125 Analysis - Duty and Determination

This chapter has been a lore-heavy one that opened the door to a lot of possibilities.

The introduction of a new 'God'

We always knew multiple gods existed via multiple mentions throughout the series, but the pit god was the only one introduced as such. We now welcome our second 'God', the Sand Clock.

You may ask, "How is the Sand Clock a God?", and I will reply with "Because it's so similar to the Pit God, it feels like a cruel joke".

Its origins unknown, with a will of its own- It wants to be used so it can claim its prize.

"Turn the clock upside down, make a wish, give up your present, and you can redo your entire life". Simple enough, isn't it? Make a sacrifice and get a chance at happiness.

It operates in a very similar way the pit god does, it just works by a different mechanism; It wants you to use it, it lets you use it as much as you'd like to reach your desired outcome, and when you're done wasting your soul away trying, it takes its due compensation in a very 'natural' and ironic way.

It either claims the lives of those who use the clock for themselves or the lives of those they want to save.

One who used it to become rich died at the hands of bandits, one who used it to gain fame died at the hands of envy, one who used it to gain love died with the one she loved- And finally, the one who used it to make another happy made it so that person never existed.

The theme of "happiness" reared its head once again- a honest desire to make another happy turned to ruin. We saw it with Tsukasa and Amane in the Red House, we saw it with Hanako and Nene in the Severance, and we saw it just a few chapters ago with Nene and Amane. We now see it with the watchmaker and his niece. In an honest attempt to make her happy, her existence was erased instead.

Kako's Purpose

After he experienced tragedy himself, the watchmaker decided to seal it. Desire is a part of human nature, so a human couldn't be tasked with guarding this cursed item.

As both a solution and punishment for himself for his actions, he used his own flesh and soul to create Kako, the Clock Keeper- A perfectly inhuman supernatural who would never fail in fulfilling his duty to guard the Sand Clock.

This reflects in the Clock Keepers' Yorishiro, the Key. It's the very key used to unlock the Sand Clock's seal and it is proof of Kako's duty, his purpose for existing. He was created solely to guard the clock, and having his yorishiro destroyed means destroying his entire reason for his existence.

Kako's inhumanity is meant to combat the Clock's ability to fan the flames of desire. It does not allow him to fall prey to the Clock. And it's proven up to a point- Nene tells him of Akane, the Guardian of the Present's death, along with her other friends' death. But Kako is unfazed. Like Akane said in the Clock Keepers arc, they do not value human life at all.

However, it is important to note that it's not perfectly inhuman. The watchmaker only used himself to create Kako, so who created Mirai, a clockwork doll in the likeness of the watchmaker's niece, if not Kako? Does it not contradict his intended inhumanity?

Which leads me to further think- He stored his yorishiro, the key to the Sand Clock, inside Mirai. Wasn't it so he wouldn't be able to use the Clock for himself, so he wouldn't be able to abandon his duty, as he would be forced to destroy the machine that looks like his niece to do so? A bitter reminder of the tragedy that follows.

It is also important to note that it is specified that Kako was created to prevent the Sand Clock's use. So why is it that Kako claims that his purpose is to "use it perfectly"? Is it his pride in his inhumanity that his actions would be based off logic and not desire?

The one thing "that must be protected above all else"

It is something that is so important it precedes mass killings. That it's fine if dozens, if not hundreds of people die, if this something is unharmed.

Most importantly, Kako says it's a secret, but it's something that even if it was revealed, Nene wouldn't be able to threaten Kako with it.

That opens up three possibilities:

It's something beyond Nene's reach, something that Nene can't do anything about anyway;

It's not a something, but a someone; Nene refused to destroy Sumire, who was a human yorishiro- So how could she threaten Kako at the expense of someone?

For me, it's the most likely one: It's someone or something Nene cares about, someone Nene would never want to come to harm.

I do have my own ideas, but I reached them via my intuition and not solid evidence, so they're not meant to be explained here.

The Intruder

The alarm rang since chapter 124. The cat assumed it's an alarm for an intruder, and it's confirmed in chapter 125 by Kako.

But see, Kako says that the alarm rings when someone invades the Boundary. But it didn't ring the moment Nene entered the Boundary, did it? It took one and a half chapter for it to ring. Which means Nene is not the invader the alarm went off on.

Perhaps you remember in chapter 121 when Akane ran his mouth in the Red House about going back in time and the curse of the Red House heard him?

"Still, a clock that can control time... That could be trouble."

Akane, Aoi and Teru put their lives on the line to get Nene enough time to get to the clock and turn back time. But that time seems to soon expire, and Kako will have to confront the issue he didn't bother prioritizing. He will have to confront the arrogant belief that he used the Sand Clock correctly, just because he was made 'perfect', 'beyond human'.

Nene's determination and... self-sacrifice?

Nene's determination is to be admired, for sure. For the entirety of the chapter she is told how the Sand Clock is a curse that brings the user to ruin. In the previous chapter, she is told about how others who attempted to turn back time were turned into mechanical dolls and forced into the Clock Keepers' Boundary for eternity.

She does not waver.

However, is that a good thing?

"I heard what you said, and it doesn't make any sense at all."

No, she does understand. She made it clear that she understands that if she takes the Sand Glass, ruin will await her.

But she doesn't want to acknowledge that she understands. Because if she does, she would acknowledge her own doom. Not only her own, but possibly others' aswell. Or rather, she feeds into the mindset she started having since chapter 91.

She... No longer values her own life nor her own personal happiness. As if befitting her role of a 'kannagi', she has a dangerous mindset- She starts thinking she's fine with sacrificing herself for others.

She doesn't care that she risks more than just her life anymore. She cares about reaching her own goals for others' sake. I, as of now, do not see a good outcome for Nene. Hanako picked up on this mindset and tried to rid her of it early in 91, but it would seem he failed.

I wonder how things will progress from here.

[uceyliyahh]

GUARDED

summary: Genesis has been protecting her heart ever since she filed for divorce and didn’t want to be in another relationship until he came around and changed her mind.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings contain: emotional abuse, divorce, depression, fighting, oral (m receiving), self pleasure.

word count: 7.1k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Genesis

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title 🫶🏽

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @prettyfilmz @sharmelasworld @spiicii @formulafortyfour @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic @mjonthetrack

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @celesteheartsjey @4milly @luuvprincess @yyaktayak @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @bookuce @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage @luvrsluxe

𝚺𝛊𝛆𝛎𝛆𝛈

𝜣𝒎𝜼𝒊𝒔𝝇𝒊𝜺𝜼𝝉

gigispovv has posted on their story!

jonathanfatu replied to your story: fuck you look so fucking pretty baby I’m getting those pics first 😩

uceyjucey replied to your story: come get him Gigi he’s been acting like a damn horny ass dog😭😭

jadecargill replied to your story: 👀👀 ouuu our girl doing a photoshoot??

jackieredmond replied to your story: can’t wait to see them pictures girl

americannightmarecody replied to your story: look at my beautiful best friend

biancabelairwwe replied to your story: I can tell that these pictures are finna eaaaaat

gigispovv, biancabelairwwe, americannightmarecody, and others liked your post.

jonathanfatu: Twin Flame 💪🏽

gigispovv: can yall like do another pose or sum? 😭😭

uceyjucey: @ gigispovv mane sis why you hating? 

trinity_fatu: ouuu daddy looking good 

samizayn: my brothers 💪🏼

biancabelairwwe: @ gigispovv girl you better get Trin 

gigispovv: @ biancabelairwwe manee she ain’t important just desperate 😭🧍🏽‍♀️

romanreigns: @ gigispovv when you coming to visit the fam again? 

rikishi: ❤️

americannightmarecody: where’s Gigi Jimmy! 😭😭

jonathanfatu: @ americannightmarecody she’s at her photoshoot uce 😭

MontezFordWWE: now you know I gotta meet Genesis

read all comments.

Fort Wayne, Texas - 2:30PM

Genesis took the day off from work today to prepare for an exciting photoshoot. As she sat in the makeup chair, a stylist expertly curled her hair, and she passed the time by scrolling through her social media feeds.

While she was engaged in that task, a notification popped up on her screen, revealing a text from Jey.

Brothaa💪🏽📍: Gigi come get yo’ man

She chuckled at his message.

Gigi🤍: he’s not my man yet we haven’t made it official 

Brothaa💪🏽📍: still come get him he’s back acting out today bc you ain’t here rn fool actin like a feral dog rn

She was aware that this would occur during her absence. She understood just how needy Jimmy could be, and the wild part was—she adored it.

Gigi🤍: tell him I’ll be there to visit him later 

Brothaa💪🏽📍: yk he don’t wanna hear none of that Gigi 😭😭 he wants you here now 😭

Gigi🤍: too bad he’s going have to wait tell him I said to be a good boy and he’ll get something in return 🙂‍↕️

Brothaa💪🏽📍: aight then have fun at yo’ little photoshoot then sis 

Gigi🤍: byeee

Genesis resumed her endless scroll through social media, her mind drifting back to that incident at his mother's house with him and Zilla, a moment that had left her in silence ever since.

The final words she received from Zilla were that he intended to come for her, holding her responsible for her ex-husband's hospitalization due to Jimmy's gunfire—but could anyone truly fault him? Jimmy had always been fiercely protective of her, so it was only natural for him to act.

As the hairstylist finished curling her hair, Genesis gazed into the mirror, admiring her vibrant, bouncy curls. She expressed her gratitude to the stylist while playfully tousling her hair with her fingers.

As the hairstylist finished curling her hair, Genesis gazed into the mirror, admiring her vibrant, bouncy curls. She expressed her gratitude to the stylist while playfully tousling her hair with her fingers.

“Girl! You look absolutely gorgeous.” Danny said.

“Thank you Danny, are you ready for me?” Genesis asked as Danny nodded his head.

Genesis rose from the makeup chair, trailing behind Danny as they approached the camera. The bright lights and extensive camera gear loomed before her; it was her very first experience in such a setting.

If she were truly honest with herself, she would admit to feeling quite anxious; however, deep down, she was confident that she would excel.

In the center of the scene, she adjusted her outfit, ensuring everything looked perfect as the camera clicked away. She struck a variety of poses, with Danny enthusiastically cheering her on from behind, which greatly eased her frayed nerves.

She flaunted her face and body, revealing everything as they kept capturing her beauty on camera—if Jimmy were present at that moment, he would be utterly speechless, unable to resist the urge to tear her clothes away in an instant.

“You look good Gigi!” Danny shouted behind the camera.

Genesis struck a few more poses before the photo session came to a halt—she strolled over to Danny, who was reviewing the shots, and wow, she looked stunning.

“Damn I look like a snack!” She exclaimed.

“No, honey you really do look so good. How come a man hasn’t snatched you up yet?” Deep down, Genesis realized that Jimmy was the one who had swept her off her feet and was looking after her with great care.

Genesis shrugged her shoulders, “ I don’t know Danny, a man wouldn’t know how to handle me.”

Danny had tapped his fingers while smiling, “clock that tea babes, let’s continue on with the photoshoot.” Genesis gave a slight nod, fully aware that she was being completely dishonest about her previous statement.

She preferred to keep her affairs private, and Jimmy was the only one who understood her completely; he was the perfect man for her.

—

Once she finished snapping photos and slipped into a fresh outfit, she noticed someone entering the building, carrying a bouquet of flowers, approaching her with a warm smile.

A vibrant bunch of crimson roses instantly brightened her face with joy as she eagerly accepted them, expressing her gratitude before they could turn to leave. Her eyes caught sight of a small card nestled among the blooms, prompting her to carefully extract it and read the heartfelt message inside.

‘Hey Baby, I miss you so much right now. I hope everything is okay during your photoshoot. If something happens, let me know, and hurry up so I can see yo’ cute ass.’ Xoxo Jonathan 

She laughed softly at the adorable note on the card, inhaling the fragrance of the roses he had gifted her, just as she noticed Danny approaching with a playful grin on his face.

“Alright girl, who's the lucky guy?” He asked, nudging her on the shoulders.

Genesis shot him an exasperated glance as she focused intensely on her chess game. "There's someone important who wants me to visit him after my photoshoot because he misses me," she replied, setting the bouquet of roses down on the table.

“Ohhh, is y'all dating or made it official yet?” Genesis preferred to keep their relationship under wraps, adding an element of intrigue for those online and in their lives, allowing others to speculate freely.

“All imma say is our relationship is private Danny, that’s all you need to know honey.” They exchanged amused glances and laughter as they strolled toward the center, with Danny positioning himself behind the cameras.

Just as they were about to begin the photoshoot, a ruckus from outside piqued their curiosity—she recognized a voice that sent chills down her spine, compelling her to move closer to uncover the identity of the person behind it.

At that moment, she froze, her eyes widening at the sight of Zilla's battered face as he struggled against the security guards, desperate to reach her.

“Gigi! Baby! Tell these fools to let me in!” Zilla shouted.

Danny came up to her before speaking, “is that the guy who sent you the flowers?” 

Genesis shook her head, explaining that the flowers were sent by one of his older cousins. She added that Zilla was someone who had unrealistic expectations. Just then, she noticed a security guard approaching her.

“Ma’am do you know this man?” One of the security guards asked.

Genesis glanced at Zilla, then turned to the security guard, shaking her head before speaking. "I have no idea who that man is, please escort him out." The guard acknowledged her request and led the man away from her and Danny.

Her heart raced wildly, a heavy lump lodged in her throat as she struggled to swallow, confronted by him after narrowly escaping a brutal attack from his cousin—she pressed her hand against her chest, taking deep breaths to steady herself.

“Genesis! You hear me calling you!” She paid no attention to him as she made her way back to the cameras positioned in the center.

She refused to allow him to sabotage her current happiness just because he desired something from her—especially since Jimmy had already shattered her five-year vow of celibacy. What more could Zilla possibly expect from her now?

“You good to continue Gigi?” 

“Yeah, let’s continue with this Danny.”

After finishing her evening photoshoot, Genesis decided it was time to catch the twins' match. As she headed to her car, a voice called out her name, startling her. To her surprise, it was Zilla, the very person she had been trying to dodge. With a heavy sigh, she rolled her eyes at this unforeseen meeting.

He extended his arms to pull her close, but she softly resisted, her face etched with seriousness. She just lacked the strength to deal with his antics, particularly as she was feeling under the weather at that moment.

“Nigga don’t fucking touch me.” Genesis spat while folding her arms.

“Damn baby girl, this how you treat me? When all I want is yo’ cute ass?” Zilla said as Genesis scoffed at him.

“Nigga all you want is this coochie which you will never get after what you have done to me.” 

Zilla stood with his hands firmly on his hips, exhaling a deep sigh of exasperation. He longed for Genesis to find a way to overcome her past, yet he recognized that forgetting such a traumatic experience, which had etched deep wounds into her soul, was beyond her reach.

“C’mon now Gigi, you know Jimmy ain’t the right one for you shawty.” 

Genesis scoffed with a sharp laugh, her head shaking in disbelief. “and you think you the right one? Boy if you don’t get the fuck out my face.” Genesis swung open her car door and slid inside, decisively closing it behind her before igniting the engine.

“Gigi, c’mon shawty I was the first one to get yo’ number he wasn’t even thinking about you.” 

“I only gave you my number because you seemed desperate unlike Jimmy who was just himself and didn’t seem desperate like you.” Genesis sped away, leaving Zilla in a state of shock.

She was astonished that this idiot was still on his feet and acting as if nothing had happened after his cousin had pummeled him, all while insisting that Jimmy wasn't the right choice for her—yet deep down, she knew without a doubt that Jimmy was indeed the one for her.

Her affection for him ran far deeper than she ever thought possible, evident in the way he nurtured her well-being and showered her with thoughtful dates and gifts, demonstrating his love and desire to keep her safe.

He fiercely guarded her, particularly from his cousin and her former husband who was allied with Zilla—Jimmy would not hesitate to harm anyone who threatened Genesis.

He did not play about her.

—

As Genesis strolled toward the gorilla position, she arrived just in time to catch the tag team match, spotting Jackie sprinting toward her with a beaming smile.

“Girl! Where have you been? I missed you!” Jackie said while hugging Genesis.

“I told you I had a photoshoot today girl, did I miss anything?” Genesis asked.

"Indeed! What was Trinity doing flirting with Jimmy?" Genesis's face shifted to one of confusion. "What do you mean she was flirting with him?"

Jackie recounted the events that unfolded during her absence at the photoshoot, revealing that Trinity was all over Jimmy—pleading with him to abandon Genesis and choose her instead. She couldn't help but touch his glistening, oiled torso before his match against his twin.

Genesis laughed softly, playfully pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. Was it really possible for her to be free of drama?

“Jimmy did push her away if you wanted to know what he did, he looked so uncomfortable too.” She commented.

“Thanks for telling me this, because imma have to deal with her ass after their match.” Jackie nodded in understanding, sensing that some drama was about to unfold—she and Jackie made their way to the gorilla to catch the match together.

As Genesis shared her photoshoot images with Jackie, her gaze was fixed on the screen, admiring her man who looked incredibly handsome and tempting. However, they were at work, so they had to maintain a professional demeanor.

“Gigi, these are literally beautiful girl, everyone will like your post.” She complimented.

“Yeah, until someone had to come and ruin it. Like can I live my life in peace without drama.” 

“Zilla? He came to the photoshoot? Why?”

Genesis shrugged her shoulders, “because this nigga believes that Jimmy isn’t the right one for me and just wanted me to forget about what he had done to me it just pissed me off.” 

This was never her desire; the turmoil with Zilla and the complications with Trinity felt overwhelming—especially when she was already burdened with Quincy��s nonsense, and now she had to face even more chaos.

“Does Jimmy know?” 

“Nah, he doesn’t but if I tell him. He’s going to be pissed, it's bad enough he wants to kill him and Quincy.”

“I heard he’s in the hospital right now, did he shoot him or something?” Genesis watched intently, her head nodding in approval as she observed Jey land a powerful super kick right to Xavier's face on the screen.

Just as something on the screen captured her attention, she spotted Trinity emerging from the barricade, attempting to divert Jimmy's focus from his match. Jimmy, noticing her, turned around and ran his fingers through his hair, urging her to go away.

Despite his discomfort, she remained unyielding, her hands exploring his body in a way that stirred a complex mix of emotions within Genesis as he gazed down at her.

But was she really going to just sit there and let this girl all over her man? Absolutely not! She sprang up from her seat, striding towards the ringside, ready to confront this woman—oh, and Genesis was more than ready for a showdown today.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Genesis stormed onto the scene, visibly furious, while Trinity stood poised for battle—she had been eagerly anticipating this moment for ages.

“Bitch! What the fuck you got going on!” Genesis shouted.

“I’m just touching on what’s mine that didn’t belong to you in the first place bitch!” Trinity hissed as she charged towards Genesis, and the two clashed in a fierce battle.

Trinity yanked at her hair, unleashing a storm of punches to her face as the crowd roared in excitement. Genesis managed to pin Trinity down, looming over her and pressing her head against the unforgiving floor. With a rapid succession of blows, she hammered Trinity's face, splitting her lip in vengeance for the earlier hits she had endured.

One thing about Genesis she didn’t play when it came to Jimmy.

She rose to her feet, grabbing Trinity by the hair and dragging her around like a ragdoll, delivering punches to her abdomen as she slammed Trinity against the pole, sending her crashing to the ground once more.

Genesis stepped underneath the ring, seized a kendo stick, and advanced toward Trinity, mercilessly striking her repeatedly as Trinity's screams of anguish echoed in the air.

With a sudden crack, the kendo stick splintered, and she seized Trinity by her hair, yanking her upward. In a swift motion, Trinity pulled Genesis down to the ground, and with a fierce stance, she unleashed a devastating kick to Genesis's abdomen, eliciting a wave of pain that contorted her features.

“Stupid bitch! He belongs to me!” Trinity let out an exasperated hiss as she continued to deliver powerful kicks to her own midsection.

At the same time, Jimmy observed the entire scene as Kofi nearly landed a super kick to his face, but he quickly retaliated with a super kick of his own just as Jey tagged him in to confront Xavier.

As Jimmy ascended the turnbuckle, he executed a flawless Samoan drop on Xavier, slamming him onto the mat. Meanwhile, he observed Genesis and Trinity fiercely battling it out. Seizing the moment, Jimmy spotted Xavier rising to his feet and swiftly struck him with the Whisper of the Wind, landing the move with precision.

Ascending the turnbuckle once more, he launched himself at Xavier with his iconic Uso Splash, pinning him to the mat just as the referee counted to three, signaling the victory. They had successfully defended their tag team championship once again, while Jimmy slipped out of the ring to embrace Genesis in a triumphant hold.

With a swift motion, Genesis twisted Trinity's ankle, sending her crashing to the ground with a pained scream. Taking advantage of the situation, Genesis forcefully pinned her down, climbing on top to leave a mark—a bruise and a swollen eye that would serve as a painful reminder of their clash.

“Yo, Yo, CHILL!” Jimmy's powerful voice resonated as he encircled Genesis' waist, effortlessly lifting her away from Trinity while Jey positioned himself between them.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Genesis hollered, still kicking her legs, “get off of me! Lemme’ whoop this bitch ass Jimmy! She had no right!”

With a fierce determination, she broke free from Jimmy's hold, shoving past Jey as she seized Trinity by the hair, forcefully slamming her against the barricade. She relentlessly stomped on her, driving her into the ground repeatedly until Jimmy intervened, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her away.

“Genesis, you proved your point, mama! Look at me!” She halted abruptly, her gaze locked onto his; if looks had the power to slay, he would have perished on the spot, for her eyes were drilling deep into his very essence. “She had no fucking right to be touching you like that.”

Trinity rose from the dirt, disheveled and battered, with a split lip and a blackened eye, muttering curses under her breath and shooting daggers at her opponents, fully aware that a second round was out of the question with Jimmy and Jey watching closely.

As the referees and officials approached the ringside, Jey swiftly intervened, gesturing for them to back off. “we cool over here.” He said smoothly. “We good uce.”

Jimmy guided Genesis into the locker room he shared with Jey, wrapping his arm around her waist, fully aware that she might bolt to complete her task.

He swung the door open, allowing her to step in ahead of him. As he followed, he closed the door and tossed his shirt onto the couch, noticing her casually leaning against the table with her arms crossed.

As Jimmy approached her, he could feel the lingering tension in the air. He gently rested his hands on her hips, and as she gazed into his warm chocolate brown eyes, he leaned in to plant a tender kiss on her neck, causing her to melt into his embrace.

She attempted to maintain her anger and frustration, but his tender, wet kisses trailing from her neck to her jawline melted her resolve, causing her body to surrender to his unexpected affection.

In that moment, she released her embrace, feeling him hoist her by the thighs and carry her to the sofa, where she settled onto his lap, her arms encircling his neck.

He planted soft kisses on her lips, then gently gripped her throat to intensify the kiss. Their tongues entwined passionately as he playfully smacked her left cheek, eliciting a soft whimper from her between their shared breaths.

She despised how he always found a way to soothe her whenever she felt upset or furious, particularly over trivial matters like this, and to make matters worse, he had the audacity to miss her after being absent all day.

“I missed so much mama.” Jimmy murmured between her lips.

“I missed you too.” Genesis murmured back while her fingers were tangled up in his curls.

They pulled away from each other while Jimmy gave her a few more kisses on the lips before glancing up at her smiling. “God, I hate how you can make me calm down because I wanted to beat the fuck out of her.”

He chuckled at her bratty attitude, “I don’t need my baby getting fired at her job over her aight? She ain’t even worth your time mama.” He wasn't mistaken, but she simply couldn't afford to engage with Trinity's nonsense after everything she had already endured today.

However, she was uncertain about revealing to him that Zilla had interrupted her during the shoot today, a fact that Jimmy seemed to already pick up on due to her silence. “What’chu gotta tell me mamas?”

“Damn, how you know I had something to tell you? Can you read my mind or something?”

“Gigi, I’ve known you since you joined this company. I know when something is wrong so what’s up.” She sighed deeply while folding her arms. “Zilla pulled up today at my shoot.”

In an instant, she noticed his smile fade, replaced by a scowl, and she realized that her words had struck a nerve, leaving him visibly upset.

“What? Did he do anything to you?” 

“No, security had dragged him out, but after my shoot he did catch up to me while I was heading towards my car.”

“What he say?”

She sighed, “he said that you weren't the one for me and that I should just forget about what happened between me and him.” Jimmy let out a grim chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief, fully aware that his cousin wouldn't grasp the lesson until he was six feet under, resting in a coffin.

“He must’ve forgotten what happened to his ass over at my mamas crib—that fool.” Jimmy said.

“You know he’s not going to stop until I’m with him.” Genesis commented.

“I know, but that won’t happen when I’m around you. He needs to keep it pushing or imma kill him baby you know this.” Genesis was well aware of Jimmy's wild side—she had witnessed him battered and bloodied from his brawls with Zilla, all because of her.

Jimmy hand wrapped around her throat as he pulled her face closer to his, “you know I’m crazy right? I’m crazy about you Gigi.” His voice was hoarse and gravelly, sending chills racing down her spine.

“I know baby, I know that you’re crazy about me.” Jimmy had kissed her lips. “You’re something dangerous mamas.”

“Fool don’t even know how to handle you, or pleasure you like I do baby—he don’t.” He pressed his lips against her neck, gently sucking as Genesis tilted her head to the side, granting him greater access to her warmth.

“J-Jimmy.” She moaned softly.

“C’mere baby.” He turned them over while she reclined on her side on the couch, his knee resting on it as he pulled her skirt off and shifted her panties aside. “Been missing yo’ cute ass all day mama.”

He loosened his belt and slid down his jeans and boxers, revealing his impressive eight-inch erection, glistening with pre-cum at the tip. With his hands firmly grasping Genesis's hips, he thrust himself into her, eliciting a shared moan from both of them.

“O-oh, fuck. Jimmy.”

“Mhm, lemme fuck this pretty pussy out princess.”

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gigispovv: His Chocolate Dessert 🍨 😘

jonathanfatu: goddamn baby you tryna kill me huh?

gigispovv: @ jonathanfatu maybe 🙃😜

uceyjucey: this picture go harddd sis

rikishi: ❤️❤️

biancabelairwwe: GIRL HELLO THESE ARE EATING? I HOPE U POST SOME MORE

jadecargill: SHES TAKING IT HONEY MY BESTIE BAD ASF

jackieredmond: GIGI LIKE HELLO??

yaonlylivonce: OMG GENESIS GIVE ME A CHANCEEEE 😩😩

jonathanfatu: @ yaonlylivonce aye watch out dawg 😭😭

read all comments.

Genesis and Jimmy enjoyed a leisurely stroll outside Fort Wayne, hand in hand, engaging in conversation. During their walk, they discovered a bench where they paused to take in the beautiful cityscape.

Genesis rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes flicking through her social media feed, watching the likes pour in on her latest post. She felt his hand gently resting on her thigh, drawing her gaze upward to meet his eyes, a smile lighting up her face.

She gazed into his deep chocolate brown eyes, attempting to decipher his expression, but for some inexplicable reason, she found herself unable to do so, which sent a shiver of fear through her. It was as if he had unspoken words lingering on his lips, or thoughts swirling in his mind, waiting to be revealed.

As she averted her eyes from his intense stare, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, prompting a soft chuckle from him.

Jimmy begins to say, “what I can’t look at you?”

“No, you can look at me but don’t be staring for too long it makes me nervous.” Genesis said.

“I make you nervous baby?” He asked.

“Yes, all the time whenever I’m near you.” She said.

Jimmy acknowledged the power he held over her emotions, a power his cousin lacked, as the latter sought only to satisfy his own desires.

“The view is nice and the breeze feels great out here.”

Yeah, ion wanna leave here honestly. They have some good food down here.”

“Fat ass.” Genesis playfully elbowed him as he locked her in a headlock, teasingly ruffling her hair with his knuckles while she protested with a whine. “Oh my fucking god you asshole.” 

With a burst of determination, she wriggled free from the headlock, eager to turn the tables and ensnare him in one of her own for some sweet revenge. However, her plan quickly unraveled as he effortlessly tossed her over his shoulders, spinning her around in a playful whirl while she called out his name in a mix of surprise and delight.

She flailed her legs like a playful child, striking his shoulders and pleading for him to cease, as dizziness began to overwhelm her.

“Okay, okay, Jimmy! Okay!” She hollered.

He halted the twirling, gently setting her back on her feet while keeping a firm grip on her waist to steady her—her vision was blurred, prompting her to shut her eyes momentarily to gather her senses before reopening them to meet his gaze.

Jimmy gazed at her stunning figure from top to bottom, his lips moist and shimmering under the soft glow of the streetlight. “You’re so pretty mamas, so fucking pretty.” He complimented.

“You’re handsome too, fine at that like phew lord.” He chuckled at her softly while keeping his hands on her hips. “I do have a surprise for you though.”

“You know I’m actually scared of your surprises, but now I’m curious.” Jimmy reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved a tiny pink velvet box. Its size led Genesis to believe it contained a necklace or some trinket, but as he opened it and knelt before her, her heart raced with anticipation.

Inside the box, she discovered a stunning double band ring. Uncertain of his intentions for the evening, she sensed that this was no ordinary surprise; it was something truly unique and extraordinary.

“You know I love you right?” Jimmy said.

She nodded her head.

“But this type of love between us has been so good and I started to realize how deeply in love I am with you Gigi.” Her heart froze at those familiar words—the very ones Quincy had spoken during his proposal. But in that moment, she understood that Jimmy was not Quincy; he was an entirely different man altogether.

“I think about you all day and every single night when you are not near me mamas—you're like a drug that I needed and I cannot let that go.” He gently grasped her hand, removing the promise ring he had gifted her for her birthday, and replaced it with the elegant double band rings nestled inside the box.

The double band ring on her finger sparkled in the light, a beautiful distraction as she struggled to contain her emotions.

“I want you to be mine, mine forever baby. Lemme heal yo’ scars if you let me Gigi.” All she ever desired was for someone to sweep her off her feet and mend the scars she had been struggling to heal alone for so long, and Jimmy was the perfect person to do just that.

In mere moments, she sensed her feelings fading, her eyes glazing over as she nodded. Jimmy rose from his knees and enveloped her in a tight embrace, while she wept into his chest, soaking his shirt with her tears.

Jimmy gently caressed her hair, planting a soft kiss on her head as he reassured her of his unwavering support, vowing to protect her from anyone who might try to interfere—he was the one who would mend her wounds and alleviate the burdens she carried.

He wished for her to be more forthcoming, to seek him out whenever she felt the need for support, rather than retreating to solitude to weep when he was right there to comfort her.

“I’m right here Gigi, you mine until I marry you.” Jimmy cooed at her.

With her clumped lashes glistening and her eyes swollen from tears, she gazed up at him, prompting him to gently brush the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

He planted a lingering, gentle kiss on her lips, and as she noticed the sheen of her lip gloss now adorning his, a soft chuckle escaped her lips.

“What?”

“Nothing, you just got my lip gloss on your lips honey.” 

Jimmy pressed his lips together before leaning in for another kiss, craving more. Genesis responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as it turned slow and passionate, his tongue gently exploring her mouth in a swirling dance.

Her fingers wove through his tousled curls as his hands glided down to cradle her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze—she could sense the warmth of his saliva mingling with hers, creating a slick sensation in their mouths.

She sensed his rigid arousal pressing against her through the fabric of his jeans, fully aware of the impact she had on him.

“You drive me crazy mamas.” He murmured between her lips.

“You do too Jimmy.” She murmured back.

She drew back from him, showering his neck with soft, lingering kisses, prompting him to clutch her curves more firmly as she lifted his shirt, trailing her warm, wet kisses down his torso until she knelt before him, teasingly tugging at his waistband.

“Damn, out here baby? You’re so nasty.” 

As she loosened his belt, she slid down his jeans and boxers, revealing his impressive eight-inch member that playfully smacked against her face. With a teasing flick of her tongue, she wrapped it around his shaft, playfully tapping it against her taste buds.

Just before she could savor the moment, she started to apply the tip, which was dripping with pre-cum, onto her lips, smearing it like a glossy lip balm, while Jimmy gently held her chin, looking down into her wide, innocent eyes.

“You gon’ eat this dick up baby?” 

She kissed the tip of his cock, “yes daddy, imma eat up so good.” 

Again this is the type of shit that he loved her freaky side it just did something to him bringing that out of her, “c’mon then, suck this dick up baby. This yo’ dick mama.” She began to stroke him in a steady rhythm before enveloping him with her mouth, causing him to arch his back in pure bliss as she kept her eyes locked on him.

Genesis moved her head in a rhythmic motion, her fingers gliding up and down his shaft while her tongue teasingly traced the tip, relishing the delightful sounds of his moans as she reveled in her power.

With one hand entwined in her hair, he sensed Genesis pulling him further in, battling to keep his hips from instinctively thrusting, completely consumed by the ecstasy of the experience.

He experienced her hand gripping him while her tongue danced along his shaft, tightening his thighs in response to the sensation. She continued her oral delight, briefly gagging, but soon adjusted her throat to accommodate him more fully.

She enveloped him with her mouth, experiencing a slight struggle as waves of intense pleasure surged through her. Her tongue glided over his length, causing him to shudder and quiver with ecstasy.

“Hmm, fuck gigi. sucking this dick so good mamas.” A low, rumbling moan escaped his lips as Genesis's fingers glided under his hoodie, tracing every contour of his chest.

“Keep touching me baby, I’m all yours.” 

Genesis felt a pulsating desire coursing through her, her arousal creating a warm pool that soaked her panties. With a deft movement, she shifted her panties aside and began to caress her sensitive folds in gentle, circular motions.

As Jimmy looked down, he saw her indulging in her own pleasure while satisfying him, and the sight ignited a fire within him, prompting him to thrust his hips, driving himself deeper into her mouth.

“Keep playing with that pussy mamas, lemme fuck yo’ throat baby.” Jimmy grunted as he thrust deeply into her throat, making her gag once more. “Relax it baby, relax yo’ throat for me mamas.”

She inhaled deeply through her nose, loosening the tension in her throat as he pressed further inside her, eliciting a loud groan from him while Genesis caressed her intimate areas.

As he continued to push deeper into her mouth, Genesis kept her eyes shut, avoiding his gaze. This only made him clutch her hair more firmly. "Look at me, Gigi. I want to see how much you enjoy this, baby," he urged. She finally opened her eyes, innocence shining through as she swirled her tongue around his tip.

“Mhmm, just like that mama. Fuck you look so pretty like this.” Genesis parted her lips more, allowing him to find a better angle within the inviting warmth of her mouth.

He pushed deeper into her mouth, letting drool spill from her lips to the floor as their eyes locked. He could feel her cheeks sink in and her tongue explore him, prompting him to throw his head back in ecstasy.

As he thrust deeper into her throat, almost reaching a limit, Jimmy bit his lip and gazed down at her with intense, desire-filled eyes. He adjusted her head to alter the angle, then drove his hips forward, gliding along the contour of her throat.

Genesis was rhythmically tightening and loosening her grip, her eyes rolling back as she sensed the slickness of her own arousal glistening on her fingers.

She took him in her mouth, feeling a thrilling mix of pleasure and discomfort as she struggled to accommodate him. The sensation intensified as his fullness pressed against her throat, prompting her to relax and let him slide deeper, the weight of him resting against her chin.

In the stillness of the night, with no one to witness, his low moans and vulgar words echoed softly, but neither he nor she seemed to mind the solitude.

“Nasty slut baby, so fucking nasty. This dick was made for you princess. You gon’ get this nut up?” He grunted as Genesis nodded her head obeying him.

Genesis quickened her movements, her fingers dancing within her as the sensation threatened to overwhelm her in mere moments.

Jimmy found a captivating rhythm as he thrust into her throat, chasing his pleasure, and the delightful sound of her gurgling around him brought a satisfied smirk to his lips.

She inhaled deeply through her nose to steady herself as Jimmy took her from behind. She focused on loosening her throat, aware that each involuntary clench only heightened his desire.

She repeatedly plunged her fingers in and out of her slick core, stimulating her g-spot with each motion, all while her thoughts were consumed by him in this moment.

As he forcefully thrust into her throat, Genesis experienced an overwhelming sensation of desire, her core pulsating and yearning for his caress. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and drool trickled onto her chest as she continued to pleasure herself with her fingers.

It was a captivating scene as she overwhelmed herself right before his eyes. "Hmm, look at you, princess. About to make quite the mess, aren't you?" he teased, feeling his arousal pulse within her mouth.

She teetered on the edge of liberation as he forcefully thrust into her throat, his body tensing and pausing when he felt beads of sweat rolling down his face. Her throat became the perfect vessel for his desires, exclusively his.

“Fuck, lemme paint that fucking pretty ass face mamas.” 

With a final thrust, she plunged her fingers deep within herself as he drove into her, forcing his length further down her throat while withdrawing, releasing streams of his essence across her face, mingling with her own pleasure that erupted all over her.

As her essence trickled down her thigh, he adorned her face with his warmth, sending shivers through her body and leaving her legs quaking. He ensured every drop was released before gently assisting Genesis to her feet.

“You nasty as fuck baby look at you.” Jimmy cooed at her.

“Only for you daddy.” Genesis replied.

—

In the cozy confines of his hotel room, Jimmy and Genesis lay side by side on the bed, a rare moment of intimacy as Genesis peacefully dozed on his chest, while Jimmy absentmindedly scrolled through TikTok on his phone.

As he was engaged in that task, a text from his twin brother popped up, prompting him to check what had occurred.

Twin⚡️: Yo you up twin?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: yeah I’m up what’s up?

Twin⚡️: did you make her yo girlfriend or what dawg?

Jimmy let out a soft laugh as he looked at Genesis, then shifted his gaze back to his messages.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: yeah fool we official dawg 😭

Twin⚡️: see I should’ve known yall two was going to be together since that night at the club during that truth or dare game but yall was doing shi on the low 😭

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: that’s bc we wanted to keep things low key we still gonna do that ion need folks in our business 

Twin⚡️: well except for me and Jade ofc 

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: dawg go to bed twin

Twin⚡️: I’m playing twin but nah fr tho she the one?

From the instant Cody made the introduction, Jimmy felt an undeniable connection with her; he was certain Genesis was meant for him, regardless of his cousin Zilla's opinions.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: yeah, she’s the one 

Twin⚡️: what about Zilla and Quincy?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: if they stand in my way or in our way imma have to kill em twin you know this 

Twin⚡️: ik ik im just saying I gotchu and Gigi if anything pops off knowing how crazy yo ass is

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: I’m only crazy when it’s about Genesis and I don’t need his ass tryna start some shi up

Twin⚡️: shiii he might after hearing the news tho that’s all I’m saying especially with him having Quincy around 

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: mane Idgaf how mad he’s gonna be it was his fault for being desperate for her when she didn’t even find him interesting 😭😭

Twin⚡️: true true but imma head to sleep now twin I’ll see yall in the morning 

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: aight then twin

Jimmy switched off his phone and set it down on the mini dresser beside him, letting it charge as he settled into bed next to Genesis, who was stirring in her sleep.

He drew her nearer, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, then graced her with a warm smile. As his eyes began to flutter, he closed them softly, surrendering to the embrace of sleep.

While Genesis lay asleep in bed, her phone buzzed incessantly beside her, but the sound went unnoticed as they slumbered on, the ringing persisting until it finally ceased.

Unknown Number has sent a voicemail.

‘You fucking bitch! You dating my cousin now? How long did it take him to ask you to be with him huh? Even though yall were doing shit on the low for folks to not even know—imma fucking kill him and then imma do whatever I want to yo’ ass because you belong to me! Me! Damn it! Can’t believe he stole you away from me!’

Unknown Number: YOU BELONG TO ME GENESIS NOT HIM, YOU'RE MINE ALL MINE HOW CAN HE JUST SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET LIKE THAT?

Unknown Number: I BET HE DIDNT EVEN FUCK YOU YET HUH? I BET HE DIDNT BEAT THAT PUSSY UP I JUST KNOW HE DIDNT—CODY SHOULDVE MINDED HIS FUCKING BUSINESS AND LET ME FINISH THE JOB I COULDVE BEEN IN ALLAT BUT NO

Unknown Number: WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU—YOU WONT BE ABLE TO ESCAPE FROM ME NOT EVEN JIMMY CAN SAVE YOU BABYGIRL WATCH ME

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gigispovv: Peakaboo made it official with my ride or die 🤍💍

jonathanfatu: fuckkkk Genesis, can’t believe this is all mine right here damn 😫😫

gigispovv: @ jonathanfatu all yours baby 🩷

biancabelairwwe: OH BITCH YOU IS EATIN BRO 

jadecargill: FINALLY I GOT TIRED OF YALL TWO BEING SNEAKY HOE😭😭

gigispovv: @ jadecargill BYE BITCH😭😭

uceyjucey: okayyy i see you sis 🫶🏼

americannightmarecody: IS THAT MY BEST FRIEND???

jackieredmond: OUUU GIRL YOU IS SO PRETTY LIKE JIMMY IS LUCKY ASF

rikishi: my beautiful daughter in law ❤️‍

yaonlylivonce: OH GENESIS IM ON MY KNEES BITCH TELL JIMMY TO MOVE OUT THE WAY

jonathanfatu: @ yaonlylivonce chill dawg chill 

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GUARDED.

a/n: they’re officially together 🙂‍↕️ I’m so happy honestly that’s his ride or die right there and Zilla is not to happy about the news but oh well 😭😭

I hope yall enjoy this chapter lmk in the comments below.

STAY UCEY.

chapter twelve

previous chapter

[mediumgayitalian]

okay i’ve seen the take around and i have to add. it’s killing me.

i do not agree that will would avoid the medical arts when he gets older.

i see the argument about trauma and growing from it. and, like, yeah. he had so much on his shoulders from so ridiculously young, it had to be rough.

but it’s also like.

what he’s good at.

let me tell you a story. there was a girl. when she was a year and a half old her first sister was born. and her mother’s family warned her to keep her away from her sister: she had been an only child for her entire life up to this point, she would be jealous of the baby. she might even try to hurt her.

but the mother shook her head and reclined on her hospital bed with her new baby in her arms. and she called her daughter softly up and showed her how to sit, how to fold her hands. she placed her newborn into her daughters arms and her daughter, he toddler, stayed there for hours. for hours, mesmerized by her baby sister, holding her carefully.

that daughter doesn’t remember, obviously. but her mother tells her this story often, smiling. the daughter had hands to hold from infancy.

the daughter gets another sister when she is three. and another when she is eight, and a brother when she is ten. she has been surrounded by babies her whole life, while her parents work. she learned to change diapers before she could divide, learned how to cook before she learned to play properly with friends. she has known domesticity every day of her life.

and she excels at it.

she chafes, a little. of course she does. when she takes her baby brother to the park people confuse her for his mother — she is ten years old. she is used to walking with a child on her hip. her name was her brother’s third ever word, and sometimes — often times — her siblings seek her out instead of her parents. she is made to do thrice the chores her siblings must because she is more organized, because she is more capable. she is meant to take them safely to places — no one takes her safely to places.

but she glows when her siblings need her. at family reunions, she volunteers to mind the babies, nervous about conversation with adults. she is the only one patient enough to tutor her siblings when they’re struggling and frustrated and pride blooms in her chest. when she cleans, her anxious mind quiets.

she grows up to be an elementary school teacher, after a couple years of discovering.

do you see the projection connection i am trying to make here. it is hard to be trained your whole life for something — there is part of you, always, that will resent it, that will wonder.

but it is another thing when the training is so easy because you are so good at it already. when doing what you have been trained to do makes you calm after a long day, when the tedious tasks that others spurn brings a smile to your face. yes, i’m sure healing carries a lot of pain for will. yes, i’m sure he’s frustrated. yes, i’m sure he takes some time to experiment.

but he is good at healing. and he likes to be needed, to be the rock upon which others need: if he is the rock it means he is strong, he is steady. when he doubts himself he can remember those he has helped and it is impossible to write off his own importance. he has healer’s hands, builder’s hands, carer’s hands — to be anything else would be a struggle, first, but it would not bring the same relief. the same steadiness in knowing that he is capable and righteously proud.

i don’t know. this isn’t a real essay and i don’t have a real conclusion. i just cannot find it in myself to imagine a future where my path is dark and overgrown with foreign weeds, rather than peppered with the flowers i grew up tending. i doubt will can either.

[m0nsterqzzz]

Capture the Flag

pairing: clarisse la rue x child of apollo!reader

summary: you hate capture the flag, and clarisse hates people hurting you. that's that.

warnings: kidnapping? *done by a bunch of demigod teenagers for the simple outcome of winning a game* mentions of murder because what is a clarisse fic without it? swearing? kinda oc clarisse just because I can't write anything else without turning it into enemies to lovers

a/n: she is my love. clarisse defender for life.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Clarisse La Rue.

The name sparks fear in many people at Camp Half Blood. Kids cower when she’s near, or run away when she walks towards them. It makes her happy, having people fear her. She thrives off of it, being a daughter of Ares; the god of war.

But too you? The name brings warmth, comfort, and love. It’s very rare her wrath has ever been directed towards you, and the few times it has been was when she didn’t know you. When you were just another camper to her.

It only took a few days at camp for you to be claimed by your father, Apollo. 

It made sense really, your bubbly and energetic personality was so similar to your fathers and his demi god childrens. You moved into cabin seven with your small backpack of beloved items from your past, picking the bed in the corner farthest away from the few other children of Apollo and spending most of your time in that spot if you weren't at arts and crafts or archery. Not many people cared about you at first, not that you mind while you were trying to process all that happened for you to finally get to this wilderness home. Then you tried to make some friends, which ended with you mostly spending your days with your siblings or the children of Hermes and the campers who lived in that cabin without being claimed.

Then, you met your girlfriend. The love of your life. You're everything. Clarisse.

She had protected you during a game of capture the flag, not realizing that your “attacker” was one of your best friends who simply held his sword up to you in a playful way. You teased her for weeks after that, giving her the title, “my protector”. Although the teasing eventually stopped, the nickname never did.

You’re her sunshine. That’s clear to everyone in camp, but nobody really talks about it for fear of being hurt by her spear.

Capture the flag is one of her favorite days out of the week. Other than every Tuesday when Chiron lets you eat dinner at her table- an agreement that came after a very long week of begging of course. That was his compromise to your ask of being able to spend every night at that table, and Clarisse wasn’t going to push it despite liking the first idea more. 

It became a lot harder to win said game when she started dating you, team red losing one of their best fighters when she would leave her post by the flag to roam the forest and make sure you are okay. It just makes you laugh when she stops kissing you up against a tree to suddenly run back to her post when she remembers the main task at hand, but her siblings and team would definitely disagree that it's funny.

Today's no different, and after threatening her teammate with her spear, she leaves her post to find you with the peace of mind that they’ll protect the flag and won’t tell on her to the other players on team red.

You on the other hand, you have your headphones in, music blasting in them as you dance through the forest and around the trees. Capture the flag has never really been as important to you as your teammates on the blue team, and both Annabeth and Luke eventually learned to give you a simple task and let you do your own thing. 

The nymph's join along in your activities every once in a while, but for the most part they just stay in their tree form as you dance past them.

You’re in your own world with your favorite song playing on your wired headphones that stay connected to the ipod in your hand that your girlfriend gifted to you after she came home from a quest a few months ago. It’s only when someone hits your helmet-covered head with the butt of their sword so hard you pass out that you realize you wandered into the red team's territory.

Waking up, the first thing you notice is the harsh light of the sun glaring down at you. Then it’s the rough feeling of wood on your back and the tight pull of rope on your stomach when you try and fail to stand up from your sitting poston. Your stomach churns as you realize what kind of situation you're in; no help, in a vulnerable position, and no weapon. Lastly, you groan when you realize that your headphones have been taken out of your ears and are laying in a tangled pile a few feet away along with your ipod.

After a few seconds, your vision clears up and the two blobs of color that you saw in front of you turn out to be two people. They’re clearing down at you from their standing positions, one with a sword out and the other holding a dagger.

“Good morning sunshine.” You cringe at the nickname that comes from one of the boys you now recognize from the Aphrodite cabin. It’s the one that your girlfriend uses for you. 

Children of Aphrodite may be well known for her being the goddess of love, and all things pink and pretty, but sometimes people forget she is also a goddess of war. Her demigod children are sweet and nice, but it’s no big surprise why Clarisse likes having them on her team when you see their fighting abilities when they actually try.

“What do you want with me?” You question harshly, trying but eventually giving up on trying to force the ropes to untie by moving your body around. You’re tied to a thin tree, thin enough for your arms to reach behind you and wrap around it- it's kind of like your giving the tree a backwards hug with your hands tied together around it- but not thin enough to break when you push you back up against it to test the theory on if you can snap it. 

They look at eachother and chuckle, putting their weapons away when they realize you can’t get out of your ties. One you recognize as Oliver steps closer to you as he says, “Annabeth and Luke care about you so much, the moment they realize that you’re missing, they’ll forget all about the flag and Clarisse can go get it.”

You stare at them blankly for a few seconds before you burst out laughing. They glance at each other before narrowing their eyes at you.

“What are you laughing at sunshine?” You finish laughing when the ropes pull on your stomach way too tightly with the way your body shakes with the laughter. “You ummm…” You start, taking a deep breath when you find yourself beginning to giggle again. “You thought the most amazing plan…was to lead my overprotective friends and girlfriend…the girl who carries a spear with her everywhere she goes and hurts anyone who looks at her wrong mind you…to the spot where she’ll find her partner tied up to a tree in a clearing where no one is around to stop her from killing you guys?”

They stare at you with a sudden look of fear in their eyes before they walk a few yards away to begin whispering to each other, the confidence from earlier gone and rethinking their plan after you brought the obvious ending to your attention.

“Hey guys?!” You shout out, smiling when they turn around for a second to face you. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell Clarisse not to kill you! She usually listens to me because the last time she killed someone, I didn’t cuddle her for a week!” Their eyes widen at your casualness, as if her killing someone is completely normal in your world before turning back around so you can’t see them panicking. It doesn’t matter though, the way they move their hands erratically and have to take deep breaths from raising their voices in fear is enough knowledge.

They come back a few minutes later, the fear still there as they stand in front of you. You don’t ask what plan they’ve come up with now, and they don’t tell you.

You guys sit in silence for a second before you glance at your earbuds and ask, “Do you guys like jazz tunes?” The boys stare at you with a confused expression.

“Um..…no. Why? Is that what you were listening to?”

“No. It’s just a conversation starter. The quiet was getting kinda awkward.”

The silence is back again, before you begin to quietly hum the tune of the song you were listening to before they interrupted your state of happiness. “So…..did you guys see my amazing dancing?”

Liam chuckles, eyes not meeting yours as he scans the forest around you guys and mumbles, “It wasn’t that good.” Oliver lets out a small hum of agreement. 

You scoff, eyes falling to your legs as you whisper under your breath, “Well damn. I’m definitely letting my girl kill you now.”

Suddenly, a few yards away, there is a loud scream that could make someone's ear eardrums bleed. It isn’t one of fear or sadness, but of anger. The boy’s eyes widen and they begin to spin in circles to try and keep track of the attacker as they pull out their weapons. You just smile.

The sound of someone running is what finally snaps them out of their panic enough to try running away, but she’s already there using the end of her spear to hit one's back so hard he falls forward and pulls the other one of one backwards and throws him on the ground by his armor. 

The first boy she pushes tries to get up and scurry away, but she simply places her foot on his back and presses so down with her boot with enough pressure he looks ready to cry. He really should be wearing armor. 

“Clar! Clar, it’s fine! I’m fine!” You shout when the fear starts to set in that she might actually hurt them, and she doesn’t even seem like she’s listening as she twists her spear in a circle and looks towards the other boy with a grin on her face that you know all too well. She’s going to kill them.

You begin to try and pry your hands out of the rope so hard it begins to shred your skin like paper in hopes of stopping her from doing something she’ll get in so much trouble for, and it’s only when you let out a small whimper of pain does Clarisse stop her actions. The grin falls from her face, and her foot releases the boy as she hurries over to you.

Both boys get up off the dirt, stumbling over their own feet as they begin to run back into the forest to hide from Clarisse. “You touch them again and I’ll kill you in ways even my father couldn’t imagine!” She screams over her shoulder in a terrifying voice, and the way she then turns to you with a sweet smile would be weird to anyone else. It only comforts you.

“I’m so sorry sunshine. I’m so sorry I let them hurt you.” She whispers as she uses the sharpest part of her spear to cut the ropes off. You sigh in relief, bringing them to your lap so you can gently caress them. There are red marks surrounding them, some of which you can already tell are going to bruise and one with a small cut on it from the rope and bark on the tree rubbing on your skin.

Your girlfriend looks guilty, so when she begins to spill even more apologizes you shut her up with a gentle kiss. “It’s okay Clar. I’m okay. It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” She shakes her head no and you watch with a small smile as she uses the most gentle touch you’ve ever felt to pick up your wrists and assess the injury.

“Really. I’m fine. It’s just some rope burn.” She hums in understanding, bringing them up to her lips one by one to place a feather light kiss on the red spots. “Better?” The curly haired girl asks with a small smile. 

“Much.” She nods, letting out one more apology before she picks you up bridal style and begins to walk back in the direction of camp. It’s only when you make it to the edge of the clearing and the cabins, mess hall, and big house come into view do you realize she’s not taking you back to your team's territory. 

When you go to ask where she’s taking you, but she just shh’s you and takes the trail to the infirmary. In the distance, the conch shell sounds, signaling the end of the game. It’s followed by the familiar cheers of your team, making you feel bad.

“I’m really sorry Clar. I could have walked myself. I’m so sorry” She just shakes her head, walking into the small building that only has about three Apollo children in it, the kids who don’t like to play capture the flag and volunteer to stay in the infirmary in case someone needs medical help. You know them, sending them all bright smiles and they do the same.

She sets you down on a gurney, a quick glare to the boy standing awkwardly a few feet away with a clipboard is all he needs to run over and begin gently cradling your arms to wrap your wrist’s. His name is Jamie, and he’s the quietest out of all of your siblings. Even with his silence, you know he’s an absolute sweetheart after nights spent painting with him or enjoy a walk in the sun together.

“Just take off the bandages to ice them every once and a while, and you should feel fine in a few days.” He mumbles before scurrying off to do something else, but in reality you know he’s just trying to get away from the girl who now stands at the edge of your bed like a guard. My protector.

You stand up, slowly walking towards her and wrapping your arms around the back of her neck. “You know, your siblings are beginning to despise me for being the reason you guys are losing.”

She shrugs, a small smile making its way onto her face. “Let them. They ever talk shit, you come to me. I’ll deal with it. Until then, they can despise you in silence. I’m just happy you’re okay sunshine.”

“Thanks to you. My protector.” With that she chuckles, leaning down to kiss you as your arms tighten around her.

“But I’m definitely getting Chiron to change the Apollo cabin to our team.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

[masonmontz]

hello :) it’s been a while, uh? i just wrote that this morning bc i’m working on some big fics and i still haven’t finished them

smut (blowjob) word count: 1,6k

✦‎۟ ࣭ ⊹

“I'm exhausted, I wish I could sleep in our bed in Manchester right now” Mason grumbled as he turned off the car in front of his parents' house.

“Tomorrow we'll go back, dear, and you know your mother will be happy with you here” You spoke and leaned towards Mason to kiss him, bringing your hand to his neck to hold him against you.

Mason was doing a lot of things during the day while he was in London, he had meetings with some brands in the morning, lunch with Declan, in the afternoon he had a photo shoot and now he still has dinner at Debbie's house. Even speaking has become a difficult task, because it requires a lot of effort.

Mason moaned as you kissed his neck and you smiled, then realized that it was one of those days that Mason would be completely surrendered to you.

“Please, let's go in or we'll have to leave” he said.

Debbie opened the door smiling, hugging Mason for almost a minute while telling him how handsome he was and that she had missed him. Even as an adult, Mason is still the baby of the family and it is hilarious.

“Y/N, I missed you too sweetheart. Wow, you are so beautiful” you smiled as you hugged her, ‘cause Debbie was just as special and important to you as the rest of Mason's family.

“We missed you too, Mason and I were alone in that huge city.”

Everyone was already there, Lewis and his boyfriend, Jaz with the children, and as always only Stacey was not present because she was on the other side of the world.

Mason was quickly sitting on the floor coloring with Summer and Mila, who was now able to say a few words and communicate. Summer played an excellent big sister.

Debbie had prepared lasagna for dinner and soon you were all eating, Mason sat in the last place at the table against the wall and you sat next to him, and he stayed away cause he was tired and didn't want to talk too much during dinner.

“Y/n, do you already know if you'll be able to travel with us next month?” Jaz asked, because it was her birthday and she was organizing a girls' trip, and even Stacey was coming.

“Yes, I'm looking forward to getting to know Spain.” Mason was quiet beside you and you looked at him, and he just gave you a tired smile.

You placed your hand on his leg, stroking it lightly, a way to comfort Mason, just like he did with you.

“Oh, I think we're going to see some beautiful beaches, I'm really excited. I'm also excited for Sam to take care of the girls on his own.”

Jaz looked at her husband who shrugged, still a little scared about taking care of Summer and Mila alone.

You still had your hand on Mason's leg, and when you realized, Mason took his hand under the table and pulled your hand towards his crotch slowly. You were taking a sip of wine and almost drowned, but you tried to hide it.

Mason was tired, but you didn't know he was so needy after an exhausting day. You slowly slid your hand down his cock, trying not to let anyone notice, and Mason leaned against the table, taking advantage of the fact that no one was talking to him.

Mason was getting hard, so you quickly took your hand away from him and volunteered to help Debbie clear the table. Mason sighed, sitting for a few more minutes after Tony called him into the living room for them to talk.

“Mom, I'm going to lie down for a bit, I'm tired and I'm not feeling well” he said and Debbie agreed, so Mason quickly left the kitchen so no one would see anything.

Fifteen minutes later you told Debbie that you were going to check on Mason to see if everything was okay, so you quickly walked upstairs to the last room in the hallway which is Mason's old room.

You walked in and Mason was lying on his stomach, you closed the door without locking it and approached him, who opened his eyes and looked at you.

“You good, babe?” You asked and sat on the edge of the bed, then Mason turned around and you almost whistled when you saw the bulge in his pants. “Wow, you pervert, your whole family is here.”

“I've tried thinking of the weirdest things possible and it just hurts more” he complained, bringing his hand to his own cock and stroking it through the fabric. Poor boy, so needy and hard.

You licked your lips as you watched Mason trying to relieve himself, feeling your own body heat up as you realized how sore he must be and how much he needed relief.

“Do you want help, dear?” You asked and brought your hand to Mason's, stroking his cock along with his hand that began to make quick movements because he desperately wanted to cum.

“Please” Mason groaned, and then he opened the button and zipper of his pants, and you managed to put your hand inside to feel his cock, hard as a rock. “I'm so hard and I don't have the strength to fuck you today, love.”

“Shh, I'll take care of you.”

You knelt on the floor and Mason sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed as you pulled his pants and underwear down, but didn't take them off. He didn't even bother to take off the white shirt he was wearing.

Your mouth watered when you saw his pink cock dripping, with the veins pulsing. It was truly a sight that would keep anyone awake at night.

Mason brought his hand back down to his cock and jerked off hard, and you just pulled away quickly to tie your hair into a messy ponytail before pushing his hand away.

“Let me do this” you whispered and Mason closed his eyes, supporting himself on the bed with his elbows while you contoured his cock with your hands and moved it up and down slowly. “So needy, baby.”

“Please I need to cum, Y/n” he whispered in despair, his breathing quickening.

You brought your mouth close to his cock and licked it from the base to the top. Mason threw his head back, biting his lips to keep from moaning.

His cock throbbed once more and you finally took it into your mouth, and then used one hand to push Mason back against the mattress so he could just relax.

You made quick movements with your mouth and used your hand to masturbate what didn't fit in your mouth, and in a few seconds Mason was already restless and desperate.

“Oh… Oh my God.”

Mason lifted his head to look at you once more, and your gaze met his for a few seconds before he closed his eyes again and let his head fall back onto the mattress. Mason wouldn't last long and you knew it, which was great because someone could arrive at any moment.

You made quick movements with your mouth and sometimes you just left licks all over the length, blew on the wet tip or licked his balls, which was when Mason moaned against his own arm so as not to make noise.

“Good?” you asked and Mason just moaned in response, then when he started pressing his hips up you knew he was going to cum, because his movements became desperate.

“Please, Y/N, I’m going to cum” he put his hand over his mouth to keep from moaning, and then you brought your hand down to the base of his cock again and made quick movements. Mason contracted his abdomen and you felt his cock throb in your mouth before feeling the liquid hit your throat.

You took his cock out of your mouth but didn't stop your movements as Mason came, and he came a little in your mouth and a little on his belly when he pulled his shirt back so it wouldn't get dirty.

Mason was breathing heavily as he was still cumming, and you didn't think he had cum this much in all the times you had sex.

“Feeling better?” You asked and got up, throwing yourself next to him on the bed, his eyes closed and a small smile on his face.

“Thank you for helping me, love” he mumbled and you ran your fingers over his stomach, feeling him squirm, then you took the fingers with his cum to your mouth and then leaned in to kiss him.

“You don't have the strength to fuck me but I hope you have the strength for me to sit on your face because I'm so horny right now I feel like I'm going to explode.”

“We can do that when we get to my flat.”

You helped Mason clean himself with a wet wipe that was in the room, probably because of the kids, and he quickly put his clothes back on and continued lying down. You sat next to him and leaned in to kiss him once more.

“Y/n? Mason?” your eyes widened when you heard Debbie call you and open the bedroom door that you forgot to lock when you entered. “Hey, are you feeling better darling?”

“Yes mom, I'm better. Y/N and I are going down soon” he replied as you avoided looking at Debbie out of embarrassment.

She nodded and closed the door again, and you and Mason looked at each other and started laughing when you realized anyone could have walked in.

“Oh my God, that was close” you said and Mason agreed, laughing with you.

“Imagine if she had come sooner, we would be screwed.”

“Shall we go?”

“Yes honey, we still have a session for you to sit on my face at home.”

[outofconcheol]

friends forever? (lmh x f!reader)

pairing: Minho x reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: fluff, humour, angst if you squint, brief smut, established relationship, 18+

summary: Minho has the difficult task of wooing someone very important to you.

warnings: CATS, a very confused Minho, swearing, mentions breakups, mentions periods, just lots of feels ok, smut warnings: brief oral (f receiving), kissing

word count: 1.9k

a/n: Where are all my cat people at? this idea came to me today and it was so cute i almost passed out (jk I did actually pass out today). i really said enough of Minho wooing reader, i want to see this man woo a cat and i made it happen! Also Lulu is one of my nicknames for my cat (but he's a boy). this is very unedited, I wrote it in like an hour but I hope you enjoy!

It’s past midnight when Minho notices the eyes for the first time. They peer at him from the endless darkness of the hallway and he looks around nervously, wondering if he should say something. In the corner of his eye, he can see you rustling around in the kitchen, cabinets opening and closing as you try to find some snacks for the both of you. If there’s an intruder in your apartment, you don’t seem perturbed, humming quietly to yourself.

He wonders if this is some kind of test from the universe, if some evil spirit’s been sent down so that he, as your newly-minted boyfriend, can prove that he’s brave and worthy of protecting you. But before he can whip out his ghost-busting skills, your sock-clad feet are padding towards him on the couch, a surprised gasp leaving your lips.

“Oh! I see you’ve met Lulu.”

Minho blinks once, twice, before following the sound of your voice, looking down over the edge of the couch. 

Those same eyes from the hallway blink up at him. It’s a cat. Your cat, fluffy fur and all, looking at Minho through narrowed eyes.

Immediately, he softens, silently relieved that he wouldn’t have to slay any demons tonight. Minho loved cats. He had three of his own waiting at home. He slides off the couch, dropping to his knees, extending an arm out.

“Hi there Lulu, I’m Minho. Nice to meet you.”

Lulu cocks her head, taking a few seconds to look Minho over, assessing him from head to toe. And then she… remains completely still, refusing to budge and accept the offer to smell Minho’s hand. Minho feels his heart drop, arm still outstretched with the hope that she’ll change her mind, but to no avail.

“Babe,” Minho zips his head in your direction, and you offer him a comforting squeeze to his arm. “Lulu takes a while to warm up to new people, it’s nothing personal. She never liked any of my exes.”

You giggle, pulling Minho back onto the couch with you so he can rest his head in your lap while you start the movie. Minho tries to focus on the film, but his mind remains elsewhere, darting over to the side where he sees Lulu sitting next to the couch. Eventually, she jumps up onto the cushions to join you, snuggling into your side, but maintaining a safe distance from Minho.

Minho resists the urge to overthink the interaction from earlier. He knew better than anyone that cats were temperamental beings, and that they required extra love and attention. So what if Lulu never warmed up to any of your exes? She’d warm up to him eventually, because he planned on sticking around for a long time. 

If you asked Minho the key to winning a cat’s heart, he’d tell you time. And maybe lots of treats. But mostly time. He thought time would be enough to heal the frosty first impression he’d left on Lulu, but every time he was over at your place, there she was around the corner, mean-mugging and making him feel guilty for crimes he didn’t commit.

He didn’t want to worry you with his silly beef with your cat, knowing that you loved her and she’d helped you through many hard times. 

So Minho, being the amazing boyfriend he was, tried to tackle the problem on his own.

He started with treats of course. The sizeable dent in his wallet from owning three cats only became all the more palpable when he’d buy an extra box from the pet store every week, hoping to woo over Miss Lulu with the five-star meal of some pureed chicken in a tube.

Lulu stared down the tube like it was a foreign object, before slapping her fluffy tail against Minho’s face, turning on her heels, and walking away.

She had the same reaction to the freeze-dried treats he tried the week after.

Then he theorized that maybe Lulu was averse to the smell of his own cats on him. So Minho kept an extra pair of clothes in his car all the time, one he’d change into before coming over. When he knocked at the door, he was met with your dazzling smile, cupping his face to press your lips to his, but as soon as it was over he caught sight of Princess Lulu running down the hallway away from him.

Months passed with Minho doing everything he could wrap his mind around what he could do win over the second most important person in your life (after him, of course). He’d even powered through a tense meeting between Lulu and Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, worried that his sons would scare her away, or even worse, hurt her, and that would be the end of you and Minho. But much to his surprise, Lulu played happily with the boys, even letting Dori tackle her and lick her fur.

And so began Minho’s mutual grudge against your cat. He did his best to hide it, but the lack of acceptance from Lulu was getting to him, like an arrow through his heart. He wondered if he could survive years by your side with a cat that hated him, but one look at your sparkly eyes and pretty smile told him that yes, this was worth it. You were worth it.

So Lulu ignored Minho. And Minho ignored Lulu. And both of them continued on in their own little worlds, centered around you. 

Minho slams his lips against yours, pushing you up against the door of your bedroom, smirking when he feels your lips part in a soft moan. The two of you make out lazily against the door for a few moments, until you’re both breathless and panting, Minho stepping back to admire the handiwork he’d left on your neck, the angry marks disappearing underneath the neckline of your shirt. 

Minho runs his thumb over your lip, watching your eyes go dark with desire, and in no time at all, you’re pinned underneath him on the bed, legs dangling with Minho in between them. He wastes no time diving in, eating you out with fervor until you’re writhing against his face, a wave of pleasure building inside you.

Only for it all to come crashing down seconds later, when he suddenly stops. You let out a pathetic whine, running your fingers through Minho’s hair while he remains crouched in between your thighs.

“Min, baby what’s wrong?” you lift his chin up so he’s looking at you, and the look in his eyes is so starkly different from a few minutes ago, his face pale.

“She’s watching us,” he whispers, like he’s seen a ghost.

You follow his line of sight to the top of the dresser, where Lulu is now perched, tail tucked underneath her butt, eyes narrowing at you and Minho.

“Just ignore her, babe,” you nudge his head between your legs again. Minho gives a few tentative licks to your folds, but lets out a heavy sigh, sitting back on his knees.

“I can’t.” And he looks so unbelievably guilty it makes your heart melt. You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, before throwing on his discarded shirt, softly padding over to where Lulu rests.

“Hey pretty girl,” you coo at her, cradling her in your arms. “How about we go drink some water, huh?”

Minho sits on the edge of the bed, legs crossed and head in his hands. He doesn’t hear you come back inside, jumping slightly when you throw your arms around him, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“She doesn’t hate you,” your voice is muffled, nuzzling your nose against his jaw.

“She does,” Minho whines, trying not to let his voice break. “She literally won’t accept any treats from me. Every time you have period cramps, she glares at me like she’s saying “It’s your fault, asshole.” She even plays with Changbin more than me. And he’s allergic! She hates me and you’re going to break up with me because I can’t get along with your cat.”

“Why would I break up with you, silly?” you giggle. “I love you.”

Minho grabs you by the shoulders, cupping your cheeks in his hands, shock on his face.

“Y-you do?”

You nod your head, reaching up to grab his hand with your own.

“I love you, Lee Minho. And Lulu too. My heart is big enough for both of you.”

Minho feels better after that night, his anxieties melting away, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can survive this impasse with Lulu.

Until you ask him to do the unthinkable.

“Please Minho? It’s just for one night.” you beg him. Something urgent had come up for work, and you needed to take an overnight trip to handle it. Which meant Minho had to stay home with Lulu.

Minho wants to protest, saying the little brat will be fine, but then you pout. And it’s game over. He’s agreeing before he can think it through.

So you leave, the door clicking behind you, and Minho sits on the couch, Lulu across the room from him, the two of them staring each other down much like the first time they’d met. He takes meticulous care to fill up her food bowl and clean out her litter box, his heart doing a flutter when she doesn’t refuse either.

But she remains at her safe distance, and Minho is alone on the couch, missing the warmth of your presence next to him. He clicks through a few tv channels, before turning the TV off, throwing his hoodie on and slipping out onto your balcony, making sure to leave the door slightly ajar in case something happened to Lulu.

He sits with his knees curled to his chest, watching the city lights twinkle, until he hears a soft whine. He turns to see Lulu across from him on the balcony, maintaining her healthy distance, but staring at him with curious eyes.

“You’re a tough nut to crack Lulu, you know that?” Minho blurts out. “I just wish you’d like me, kiddo. I try so hard for you. And for your mom.”

He leans back against the railing, letting out a heavy sigh, and the words keep pouring out.

“I love her a lot. Like a lot a lot. I think I’m probably gonna marry her someday. And then we’ll be stuck together whether you like it or not.”

Minho closes his eyes, wondering what the future would hold for the two of them, when he feels it. The soft brush of fur against his leg, and then tiny vibrations.

He blinks his eyes open, and Lulu is nestled against his leg, soft purrs coming from her as she burrows her nose into Minho’s sweaptants.

Tears prick at the corner of Minho’s lids as he fights every bone in his body not to jump for joy. He reaches over, softly stroking Lulu between her ears, and chuckles when her tiny mouth drops open.

“Of course. The only thing you love more than attention is ____. I should have known.”

He stays impossibly still, battling against the ache in his leg, his eyes growing heavy with sleep. 

That’s how you find him in the morning, still cuddled up to Lulu. You smile softly, grabbing a blanket from the couch to throw over Minho while you work on breakfast for him and Lulu, finally content that the two most important people in your world love each other as much as they love you.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜