#How could I be out here talking about marriage and a house with someone whose parents didn't even know she's gay?

[iimplicitt]

hiii 🤠 anon here

how do you feel about writing for mafia lando where he’s married to the reader who’s not his choice it’s basically an arrangement and his family hates her and she’s having a really hard time in his house and Lando doesn’t notice and he’s cold and one day her family causes her to have a panic attack and he sees her in his room all small and scared and then he helps her and makes her a feel better and etc something about a heated confession and people being put in their place. if you do write this thank you :)

HAPPINESS IS A BUTTERFLY | LN4

pairings: mafia! lando x arranged marriage reader

an/warnings: arranged marriage, violence, mentions of abusive parents, angst, panic attacks, fluff, hea

wc: 5.2k

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the sleek back car roll up in the long drive way from his office. Windows tinted but he could make out the faint outline of a person as they moved around before Oscar got out of the car to open the door for its passenger.

His new wife.

The words tasted sour on his tongue as he drank some of his whiskey, not caring that it was nine in the morning. He needed a pick-me-up for the day that was ahead.

Gleaming hair caught in the sunlight, a delicate hand with a blinding diamond hesitantly taking Oscar’s as red bottom Louis’ met the pavement.

His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched you, mere curiosity to see how you acted when he wasn’t around. When the wedding happened it was short and extravagant. All the glitz and glamour expected of such a pair. A politician's daughter and a booming business man whose money usually came tinted red. A shame that most of the world didn’t know your fathers money was just as dirty as his.

It was an alliance in London’s eyes. A step towards peace.

He hadn’t even seen you until the white lace veil was lifted.

You were pretty but that wasn’t enough to suddenly sway his mind into liking the whole arrangement. He didn’t have much choice. Having coppers on a payroll was a deal too good to pass up, so he agreed. Shook hands. It hadn’t mattered much, not in the long run. Lando was always busy. Always working. If a marriage hadn’t been forced upon him, he didn’t think he would’ve ever had a ring on his finger.

He watched silently as you waited for Oscar to grab your bags. Your eyes flickering around the property, taking in the well kept gardens and security cameras mounted every few yards. A fortress.

His eyes took in the dress you wore, expensive silk draped over skin. Flowing like liquid in the subtle summer breeze. He took note of how your hand kept flexing, the one with a ring. His ring.

The one he had slid on your finger a week ago as he whispered, “I do.” Your own voice low as you muttered the vow, eyes not meeting his.

He could barely remember what the kiss had been like. It was quick, soft. Obligatory. Both of you seemed relieved it was over with, arms linked with one another as you left the cathedral. White flower petals falling into hair as they were tossed into the sky.

Lando set his tumbler down and backed away from the window, trying to take a calming breath before walking downstairs. He needed to make this livable. An ecosystem. Staying out of each other's way, respecting boundaries. Telling where and what was off bounds. If you needed help, ask Oscar. If you wanted someone to talk to, also ask Oscar. Leave him be, because he was busy.

You seemed reasonable enough in the few minutes of shared company. You knew this was a business transaction. It wasn’t something to get hopes up on. Lando knew you were smart enough not to be a burden so hopefully it would feel like nothing had changed. Just an extra person in the household. Another echoing voice.

He could hear the sharp click of your heels as you entered the front foyer, the soft sound of your voice as you spoke in hushed tones. Your whole presence seemed cautious. Like you were treading in a minefield.

As he stepped down the stairs and into the light, your eyes met. The air shifting. Tense. Dangerous. Your painted lips pressed into a line as you waited for instruction. Ever obedient. Compliance being woven into you as a child.

He had met your father on more than one occasion and he knew he wasn’t a kind man.

But the problems of your past were yours.

Lando sighed lightly through his nose, head tilting and hands in pockets as he let himself look at you for another moment before dismissing Oscar.

The foyer was still. The only thing he could hear was the faint hum of electricity and birds outside. Watching you as you watched him.

“Nice drive?” He asked, not quite sure on the formalities of the situation.

You laughed slightly, the sound coming out in a short exhale as you looked away from him. “It was fine.”

He hummed, not seeing a point in furthering the conversation and he gestured for you to follow him.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The summer had gone by in a repetition of droning days and lonely dinners. The only thing keeping you company were the few books you packed, although you had already read through them all. An endless cycle of talking to the walls and sitting near your window, feeling like a modern day Rapunzel.

It’s not necessarily like you weren’t allowed to go anywhere, but it still felt off limits. Frowned upon. A burden if you were seen walking the halls.

His family didn’t like you very much. Which you both understood yet couldn’t come to terms with. They had to have known this wasn’t any more of your choice than it was his. And why shovel the blame onto someone’s child? It wasn’t your fault your father was corrupted and played a better hand.

Pressing your forehead against the cool glass, you watched as the world went by. The silent hum of air conditioning was the only thing to droll out your thoughts and lately it hadn’t been working. The room felt suffocating but there was no one to turn to. Even voicing your thoughts out loud to yourself seemed like some boundary was being crossed. Maybe even to yourself. That you were starting to get too comfortable.

Oscar seemed nice enough. Timid. Not sure how to approach you or if he even should. He brought your meals to your door like clock work. Part of you felt bad but the thought of eating in the dining room seemed like suicide. You had tried the first night, assuming that was just part of the routine. To have dinner with your…husband.

But Lando was nowhere to be found, leaving you at a large oak table alone and shoveling food around. Appetite non-existent. Oscar had told you he usually took dinner in his office. That most of the other members of the household ate out.

His words hit you dully as you stared at the polished wood, not quite believing this was going to be the rest of your life. Then again, you weren’t sure what you wanted. Did you want Lando to make an effort? Did you even want to be around him? You didn’t know much, just that he was a bad man. But aren’t they all? Apparently that’s all the world thought you were fit for. Violent men with money in their eyes.

No, you didn’t want to know him.

But god, loneliness caught up to everyone.

The hours ticked by and you sat there, tracing lines into the skin of your thighs with your nail. Over and over again till skin prickled and red lines appeared. The itch and sting foreign, numb. As if you’d shot your heart with novacaine. Your eyes unblinking as you did the action, pure muscle memory. You didn’t have to think. You didn’t want to.

At least you never wanted to think about yourself. Your situation. The listless marriage you now found yourself trapped in.

But your mind would wander. What did he get up to? What did he even do? Was it really any different from the current political affairs the nation got up to? Would he one day change his mind and want more?

The thought made you shiver, eyes trailing to your locked door. He’d never tried to come in. Hell, he’d never even been to your room. In the weeks you’d been there you had probably only seen him a handful of times. Walking down the hall and his eyes would catch yours for a moment but nothing else. Looking through you like a ghost. Cold. Indifferent. Sometimes you’d hear him in the house. Talking to Oscar or on the phone. Always business. Always something you didn’t understand.

He couldn’t seem bothered at the thought of you being around. Didn’t seem interested. And that weird, fucked up little voice in the back of your mind whispered that Lando was keeping himself entertained just fine. That he found comfort in other women. Having affairs. You barely felt married. There weren't technically any commitments beyond regurgitated vows. So why did the thought still make your stomach churn?

Perhaps it was the feeling of being unwanted. A constant companion of doubt. Your family didn’t want you, pawned you off. Your husband didn’t want you. You would never get to experience love. You’d go through life longing for creature comforts—

You pressed your forehead harder into the glass. Wanting the thoughts to stop. You pushed so hard you hoped it’d break and you’d go hurtling towards the ground.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Six o’clock sharp.

Dinner.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You felt like you were going insane. The walls bending inward. The wallpaper swirling. The ceiling breathing.

Crazy.

Wandering the halls was reckless but you started to care less and less if Lando saw you. For the first time in months you wanted him to see you. Be reminded that you were there. Proof you were alive. You were here. Even when it never felt like it. You felt like a phantom who haunted the house, mostly only coming out at night when the rest of the world slept. Chasing the creaks of wood and following the patterns in the rug. Chasing something. Feeling wild. Deranged like a white rabbit who was late for tea.

His mother yelled at you. For something, you weren’t sure what. It seemed like no matter what you did you were wrong. Skin not fitting right over bones. Disassociating and staring at her. That only made her more mad and she slapped you. Not for the first time. Hard across the face. You hadn’t noticed till you heard the echo of it around the kitchen. Didn’t realise till some of the staff gasped, hands flying over mouths. Glowing wide eyes staring at you in shock.

You blinked again, subtle warmth creeping into your cheek. Hand slowly going up to hold your face. What had you done wrong? Why were you always wrong?

His mother scoffed. “You’re no good. You’re not even all the way there are you?” With a look of disgust she turned away, disappearing down the hall.

One of the cooks slowly approached you, as if you were some wounded animal. Holding out a pack of ice. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“For what?” Your voice sounded distant. Distorted. Like it was coming from somewhere else. Taking the ice, you left. Letting it sit in your hand instead, the bitter coldness of it sending a dull shock up your arm.

You felt like crying. At least you thought about it. But nothing would fall out. Your eyes felt dry and heavy. Staring at nothingness as you walked with your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

This was your life. This was going to be your forever. Sucked into yet another man's orbit who didn’t give a shit about you. Because fuck what you want, right?

You turned into what you thought was your bedroom. You weren’t quite sure how you got there. It had been odd lately. Like moments of time blacked out. Arriving one place and not knowing how you got there. Tuning out to your depressing reality.

You were going to die alone. It wasn’t even your fault. Or maybe it was. Maybe you should’ve tried harder. Fought your father and left as soon as you had turned of age. Why didn’t you try harder to fight back? Did some twisted part of you want this? The lack of effort. Things being handed to you. Maybe you thought you deserved it. After all, you'd been living off your fathers dirty money guilt free. Perhaps this was just your karma.

Longing for a life you’d never have.

You sucked in a sharp breath, tears finally beginning to prick at your eyes. The droplets stung so bad your vision went blurry.

You barely felt it as your knees hit the hard wooden floors. Didn’t register the scratching sound of your nails dragging against the planks, blindly trying to crawl your way out of the hell you were living. Feeling pathetic and ungrateful because you knew it could be worse. It could always be worse.

A sob left your throat, bubbling up and out like acid.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The door flew open to his office and he was about to yell at whoever had the audacity when he turned, paused. The look on Oscar’s face wasn’t one commonly seen.

“What?”

“There’s a problem.”

Lando sighed, tapping his pen on his desk. “Care to elaborate?”

“It’s your mother and your wife.”

Lando reared back slightly at the word. It wasn’t thrown around often. Hell, he hardly saw you. And when he did, when he’d catch you wandering around well past three in the morning something was just…off. He didn't know how to approach you. Or if he even should. You’d seemed equally disinterested by his company. Staring at him sometimes like he was an apparition that wasn’t meant to be there.

He wouldn’t blame you if you hated his guts. Lando knew most women would prefer a love filled marriage compared to whatever the hell they had.

“What about them?” He asked, eyes flicking down to his papers again. Not seeing why—

“The staff said there was an altercation in the kitchen.”

Pausing, his eyes flicked up. Brow raising.

Oscar sighed, “your wife is in your room.”

That got him up. What the hell were you doing in there? And why? It wasn’t like he kept important documents in there, he knew better than that but he still didn’t trust you much. You were your fathers daughter. Maybe this was all some ploy to get into his personal things, find weaknesses, cracks.

His feet moved briskly down the hall, his polished shoes clicking dully on the ornate rugs and painted eyes followed him as he went. Lando didn’t pause as he saw his door, didn’t pause as he turned the handle.

“What do—“

Lando halted to a stop as his eyes found you. Feeling as if the earth had been yanked out from beneath him when he heard you try to smother the sound of your crying with a hand. Curled up in the space between his bed and the nightstand. Looking so small as you trembled.

Your eyes didn’t meet his. He wasn’t even sure if you heard him come in. Your breathing was too fast, too ragged. Short bursts of oxygen, your lungs not being able to keep up.

He shut the door softly behind him and quietly made his way over to you, lowering himself to his knees. Debating if he should touch you or not. You hadn’t touched in months. Not since the wedding.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and you flinched. Head shooting up and staring at him. He’d never seen you look so frightened and you tried to push yourself back harder into the wall. Shaking your head as if he’d caught you doing something wrong.

He immediately caught the red outline of a hand on your cheek. His jaw clenched. An odd, unbearably awful sensation churned in his stomach at the thought of someone hurting you. Knowing it was his mother only made the fire burn hotter. He didn���t know why. It wasn’t like you were close. But the rage was itching up his spine like a spider.

“You’re okay,” he said again. His voice was rough, but a whisper. He reached out to you, slowly. Hands gently taking hold of you as he pulled your shaking frame into his, feeling the way your lungs struggled to catch up. Your muscles coiled in tension as he touched you. He hated it.

“You’re alright, darling.” He soothed your hair back, feeling your nails bite into his skin as you twisted the fabric of his shirt. Trying to ground yourself. Trying to make sense of it all. Of why he was here.

He knew it had to be confusing. That his sudden reassurance was off putting and regret was starting to inch its way up his throat. The spindly legs tickling and desperate. He should’ve handled this whole thing better. It was selfish. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Holding your head beneath his chin as you tried to calm down. “I’m here, if you need me to be.”

You didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to do. Where to go from there. This was new territory for him. Second guessing wasn’t usually in Lando’s playbook but you were something new entirely.

He began to lean away but your grip tightened on his shirt, your head pressing further into the crook of his neck.

Sighing, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, holding you in his lap as he leaned against his bed. Giving you time. Gently running circles into the nape of your neck. His grandmother always did that for him, it always seemed to help calm him down. Lando waited patiently, taking in the faint scent of your shampoo. Smiling to himself a bit despite everything because it was the same one he used.

Slowly your harsh breathing began to subside but your body still trembled from the aftershocks.

His fingers still ran lightly over your skin, his voice a low hum and he could feel the vibration of his own rib cage with your weight against him. “I’ve had panic attacks too, you know?”

You didn’t do anything for a moment, and then, like the first break of daylight, you slightly shifted your head and your voice was a whisper. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Something had shifted. Maybe others wouldn’t have noticed, but you did. That next morning there was a knock on your bedroom door. Eight o’clock sharp. You hadn’t slept much, your eyes still raw and body restless from the previous evening. The feeling of his light, delicate touch on you was on replay in the back of your mind. You hadn’t been held in what felt like years.

You hadn’t expected such kindness from him.

Padding over to the door, you rubbed at your eyes, trying to look alive before opening it. “Morning, Oscar–” you blinked at the form of Lando standing in the hall. Wearing a casual linen shirt and dress pants, jacket draped over one arm and he looked at you expectantly.

“Ready?” He asked.

You felt dumb as you continued to stare at him. Not expecting to see him so soon. Not thinking he’d even want to see you after yesterday’s mess. “What?”

He sighed lightly through his nose. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

“Why?”

There was a slight crease forming between his brows. “Do you not want to?”

You blinked again before reality finally caught up to you. “No, no. That’s fine. Just… let me get dressed.” You eyed him as you shut the door. He was acting weird.

It was nice.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

“What on earth are you doing?” His mother shouted over the sound of a power drill. Standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Lando looked at her for only a moment. Still cross with her after the kitchen incident a couple of weeks ago. He had yelled at her after he managed to get you into bed. Yelled at his whole family. The staff, for not telling him.

“She is the lady of the household and my wife. You do not touch her, you do not say a fucking word to her unless it’s praise.” He looked directly at his mother. “Understood?”

“I’m building a reading nook.” He finally said, standing back to look at his progress so far. He took you to the fabric store yesterday but you were beyond indecisive and he wasn’t sure the new couch went with the interior of his office.

He had been trying to go out more, just small places. When he found out you hadn’t left the house since you arrived he was confused and furious with Oscar. His friend and right hand had merely raised his hands in surrender, muttering how you had never wanted to go anywhere.

“Whatever for? Since when do you read for pleasure?” His mother asked, mostly teasing. Trying to weave her way back into his good graces. He doubted that would ever happen. He was on the verge of throwing her out but you managed to talk him out of it.

“It’s not for me.” Lando left it at that. Watching how his mother’s shoulders fell at the realisation and she turned away.

He smiled slightly to himself as he set up the couch, pushing it under the window so you could get good light and a nice view of the gardens. Plus, he could watch you more easily from his desk when he worked.

You looked pretty when you were reading.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

For the first time in months you were bored, and not in a bad way. Lando made sure there was always something for you to do when he wasn’t around. Part of you felt bad, following him around like a kicked puppy. But any time you’d start to back off, give him some space, it was like his hand blindly found yours, not even looking up from his work, tugging you back.

Muttering a quiet, “stay.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies that began fluttering in your stomach, chasing after whatever this was. You didn’t know why you felt stubborn over it. He was your husband after all, butterflies are supposed to be a good thing.

You took up cooking as a hobby, mostly different kinds of fresh pasta. Trying to keep your hands steady as Lando would walk behind you, fingers lightly dragging along the small over your back. Leaning over your shoulder, lips nearly brushing your neck as he quietly spoke, “that looks lovely.”

He always spoke so softly to you. His touch always delicate.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Lando fixed his cuff links as he stood in the foyer, making sure his suit was wrinkle free in the large mirror. There was a big Christmas gala that night in London. A whole cluster of politicians, businessmen, philanthropists, etc. He didn’t have much of a role to play besides being seen, given his bookies did most of the under the table work.

When he’d asked you to go with him, you hesitated. He knew seeing your father was something you’d like to avoid. Over time you slowly opened up to him about how strained the relationship was.

He had lifted a hand to your cheek, gently brushing his knuckles along your cheekbones, watching in satisfaction as your pupils expanded at his touch. “I won't let him near you,” he whispered. Watching as you debated before eventually nodding, leaning slightly into his touch.

When he heard the sound of heels clicking sharply against marble flooring his eyes flicked up, watching you approach in the mirror. Looking like heaven in high heels. Your black dress fit you perfectly, the white fur shawl was draped lazily over your shoulders.

Lando felt his mouth go dry as he turned, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as you approached. The sweet smell of your perfume swirling around him, making him feel hazy.

God, if you knew what you did to him.

It seemed like every night now that he dreamt of kissing you, doing a whole list of unruly things. Despite the ring on his hand and yours it still felt off limits. Not feeling sure of what you actually wanted.

“Ready?” You asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

He blinked at you, still in a daze. “What?”

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh and he felt his stomach pool.

“The gala. Yes, right.” He cleared his throat, not thinking twice as he took your hand. “Let’s go.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You felt all the eyes on you as he took you around the dance floor. The whispers. Lando Norris’ wife who he liked to keep hidden away. Apparently most people hadn’t even known he was married. They thought you were just a new date till they saw the blinding diamond on your finger and his matching gold one.

You felt stiff. Too perceived.

But he lightly took hold of your chin between his fingers, making you look at him.

“It’s just you and me, love.”

Love. You felt equally reassured and nauseous.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Lando was using every excuse he could to touch you. Hand splaying on the small of your back where your dress dipped low. Fingers lightly brushing the back of your neck as he talked to the other guests. Hand on your thigh beneath the table. When he’d first done it you jumped slightly and his heart skipped a beat when you looked at him, eyes low, before turning away again and taking a sip of your wine.

He couldn’t help it as his lips pulled back slightly when he began to rub circles with his thumb, feeling the muscles of your leg tighten. But you leaned toward him, an invitation. He felt more drunk off of you than any wine he had been drinking.

He’d only see glimpses of your father. Lingering to the side of the ballroom walls. Whispering in corners with other greedy men. His eyes always on you, though.

Lando didn’t like it. Then again he never liked anything enough for that to be a fair test. But he knew never to ignore his intuition, so he took your hand in his and tugged you along until you were outside, the cold December air twirling around them.

You shivered as you waited for the valet to pull his McLaren around, blushing a bit when he draped his jacket over your shoulders. Or maybe it was just the wind, he wasn’t sure. But he’d liked to think he made you flustered.

The engine purred as he drove away, feeling your eyes on him as city lights flicked back.

“Why’d we leave early?” You finally asked.

His grip adjusted on the steering heel, looking in the rearview mirror, always vigilant. He hadn’t realised till now that going public made you a target. Made him vulnerable.

“Just wanted to,” is all he offered. Not wanting to scare you. He knew you already had a difficult time adjusting to his world. Then again he shouldn’t cut you any credit. Growing up with your father couldn’t have been any easier.

You hummed, not believing him. Your eyes finally pulled away to stare out the window. Letting him relax. It was strange, having somebody for the first time see him. The thought was equally relieving and terrifying.

When they pulled up to the house the car fell quiet, a heavy silence falling over like a blanket. He wanted to say more to you, but what? This was all new territory and the thought of messing up this bridge he’d built—

“Lando.”

He turned, looking at you as moonlight painted your skin through the window.

You reached forward, hand taking his, “I know you’ll keep me safe.” Another pause and you played with his wedding ring. “I trust you.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

A loud thud woke you up, your heart beating erratically as your door handle began to move. Thankful that you had locked it but fear was still crawling up your spine. You were just about to reach for your phone to call someone for help when a ragged voice poured out from the other side, weakly saying your name. The sound of a body slumping to the floor.

Lando.

You quickly tore off the sheets, stumbling a bit in the dark and you yanked your door open. A hand flying up to your mouth as you took in the state of him. Bruised and slick with blood, one arm wrapped around his rib cage, his breath rattling.

His eyes cracked open, gleaming in the low lamp light of the hall. His lips pulling back in a bloodied grin.

“Hello, darling.”

“Oh my god,” you did your best to get him up, almost falling under his weight as you maneuvered him to your bathroom. “What happened?”

Your heart lurched as Lando coughed, turning his head to spit out some blood into the bin and he sat himself up on the sink. Wincing as he did so. Not answering you.

“Lando,” you said quietly, afraid that even loud noises would hurt him and you gently took hold of his face in your hands. Not caring blood and dirt would get on them. Gently running your thumbs along his cheek bones.

He seemed to melt into you, letting his head fall forward and rest against yours as you brushed the damp curls back. Seeing him like this was a new kind of pain you never wanted to experience again.

“Who did this to you?” Although your voice was gentle, there was a layer of conviction under it that even surprised you.

He sighed, a wheeze coming up from the back of his throat and his hands came up to hold onto your wrists. You didn’t miss his cracked and bleeding knuckles.

“I have a duty of care,” he muttered.

Your father. You felt like throwing up.

Gently pulling his head forward, you held him to you. Letting his heartbeat bring some life back into you. He was okay. He was here. He came back to you. Everything would be fine.

Slowly, Lando’s arms wrapped around you, holding you as tight as he could.

“I’m going to kill him,” you mumbled into his hair and he laughed, not caring that it hurt.

He leaned his head back slightly, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. His hand that had snaked up to the back of your neck pulling you in slightly. Hesitant. Then all at once.

Mouths colliding, a kiss that felt like a tuning fork struck against a star.

His fingers twined in your hair and you tried to be gentle with him. As much as you could. But the feeling of finally was making you feel weightless. Reckless. Desperate as he held you tighter.

You felt high as he whispered the words my wife between kisses.

“So much for a marriage of convenience,” you managed after you pulled away. You didn’t want to, but he needed your help.

He smiled again, those dimples you loved so much deepening in his cheeks. “Nah,” he said lightly. “I think this will be a marriage of inconvenience.”

And he kissed you again.

taglist: @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @c8lap1nto @ashbone

[minihotdog]

Whose Wife Is This?

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Summary: John comes home and finds out that he somehow has a wife.

a/n: lmaooo I just had this idea before I went to bed the other night. Kinda wrote this in a hurry so it isn't organized at all and the story is all over the place, yada yada. Bare with me... Bear with me? *shrugs*

word count: 1k

***

John tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes to no avail. There was no way of hiding that the long nights he’d been putting in at the office were weighing on him. But with no reason to go home, why would he? He’d just have to complete the mountain of paperwork the next day anyway. His eyes strained from hours of reading, his wrist ached from writing.

Young John Price would’ve never imagined the amount of paper pushing he’d be doing as an operator. His naive young self lived for the chaos of the field, sometimes even putting off his less-than-exciting duties. 

“Sir?” John’s head shoots up. The boys stand at his door huddled around the small entrance. “You staying here all night, Captain?” Gaz asks with concern mixed into his voice. John looks over to the now significantly smaller pile of papers littering his desk.

“I was just finishing up. You boys need something?”

Gaz shakes his head, “No, sir.” A smirk plays on his lips. “Just tell your wife we said ‘hello’.”

“I’ll let her know.” He replies absentmindedly. The boys leave the captain alone once again, he continues looking at the papers, shuffling them around before he stops abruptly.

“My wife? What the bloody hell were they talking about.” He mutters to himself. He takes it as a sign that he should call it a night since he is now imagining things. “I don’t have a wife. Why would he say that?” 

***

The drive home is silent. At the end of a long day, he couldn’t stand to listen to anything, his mind was too exhausted to think about anything but a beer and his bed. Not many knew about his personal life. Ghost was the only one who knew he’d been married before, but the marriage occurred when he was younger and undoubtedly more immature.

He made it to selection, began his career, and fell into the same pattern many men in his profession did: Partying, one-night stands, etc. He would be the first to admit that he’d been a piss-poor husband and he was now missing the touch of a woman in his life. His bed was lonely, his house devoid of life, reflecting how often he was actually home. He’d become a hopeless romantic, dreaming of someone he could hold in his arms. He yearned for someone to memorize. Their little habits and quirks, someone he’d share moments with, even have arguments with.

He pulls into his driveway barely remembering the drive home. He groans as he steps out of his car, his back aching from the day of training and being hunched over. He moseys his way to the front door and unlocks it while letting out a deep breath. The hallway is lit by a single dim light, the brown floral wallpaper looks like it came from the 19th century and gives the home a depressing look. He unties his boots and kicks them off leaving them next to the door. He removes his uniform top tossing it on the chair on the opposite wall before his feet pat softly against the hardwood floors leading towards the kitchen, towards a beer he so badly wanted to have.

He briefly glances at a photo framed on the wall and continues onward-

Wait a second?

He takes a couple of steps back and his head snaps towards the photo. His eyes scan it knowing for a fact that it had not been there in the morning… Or any time before that. A woman in a white sun dress sat smiling in a field of flowers. He rubs his eyes, unable to believe what he is seeing, she’s wearing his bucket hat.

He looks further down the hall and sees another picture frame, this one on top of the entryway table next to a pot of plants he either forgot to water or wasn’t around to. He rushes over to it and his eyes almost pop out of his head. This photo was of him smiling down at the same woman. He reaches for it, holding it close to his face. He looks around trying to make sense of what was happening only to realize the pot of dead plants now had vibrant green leaves pouring out of it.

Maybe he’d entered the wrong house? That couldn’t be, the furniture was in the same place as it had been before. And he couldn’t deny that the man in the photo looked exactly like him. Just as he was certain he was losing his mind a feminine voice calls out for him.

“John?”

He puts the picture frame back on the table and swings around towards the voice. Small bits of light flood into the hallway from the crack in the kitchen door. He slowly pushes the door further, his eyes trying to adjust to the bright light.

“There you are! I thought I heard you come home.” A woman rushes towards him wiping her hands on her pink apron. She pulls him into a hug but he’s too stunned to react. She pecks his cheeks and pulls him towards the dining table. “Sit, honey. I made you dinner. You stayed so late today, you’re probably starving.”

He lets her drag him to the table and plops down on a chair. She flows around the counter and returns with a plate of food. She places it in front of him in between the cutlery already on the table. The meal looks far better than what he’s been putting together for himself the last few weeks. He usually cooked or meal planned but work this week just didn’t let him and he expected to come home tonight and sleep for dinner.

He blinks at her for a few seconds unsure of how he ended up in this situation.

“Love, what are you doing in my house?” 

“I’m your wife silly,” You giggle at him while leaning over to give him another kiss on the cheek.

If he had the energy to argue he would, but instead he decided to eat. He licks the plate clean and brings it to the kitchen sink.

“C’mon, honey. You’re so tired, let’s get you in bed.”

He follows quietly trying to figure out if he should accept this or if he should ask questions in the morning. There’s only one thing he knows for sure in his exhausted state: That’s not his wife.

[multific]

Memories

Any! Slytherin boy x Reader

Everyone told you from the beginning that he was bad news. That he would only want one thing and then leave you in the dust.

Somehow, deep down you feared what they were saying would come true.

That he would just leave you standing there with a broken heart.

But it never happened.

Even during arguments, he wouldn't even yell at you.

Instead, every day, he would make sure to tell you that he loves you. That you are his one and only. He always tells you just how beautiful you are. 

He would make sure that you were always smiling, always happy. 

And now here you were, years and years later, still completely in love.

You wanted to laugh into the faces of those people who ever doubted him.

And you might just get the opportunity.

You received a letter a couple of days ago about an event held at Hogwarts. 

They sent out letters to old students asking them to come and visit during the summer vacation. 

It would be a one-day trip.

Of course, you and your husband agreed to go as your parents were happy to look after your children.

You smiled as you saw the old train. Everything just brought back so many memories.

Your face hurt from all the smiling. 

Your husband had his arms around you all day, he too recalled many many memories. Especially one under a very special tree.

"This is where we kissed for the first time." he said as you walked over to the tree, turning and smiling at you as you walked over to him.

Much like how it happened back then, you pulled him down by his collar and placed a kiss on his lips.

"I remember very well. We had an argument and I stormed off to here, you followed me because you weren't done with talking." you smiled at the memory.

"And you pulled me down to shut me up with a kiss." he nodded, also recalling the events.

You had an amazing time looking around the castle. 

The library brought back memories when you tried to study but he just kept staring at you.

Then during dinner, you caught up with many of your old friends.

You learned many of them worked for the Ministry. And even more, were surprised that you two were still together.

"Yes, almost ten years of marriage and four years of dating." you confirmed.

"Oh, wow. We would have never thought that you... would marry her."

"Who did you think I would marry then?" he asked as you just ate in silence.

"No one. You were always..."

"Yeah, well I love my wife and children so. Of course, I would marry her."

"Oh, you have children as well?" asked someone else by the table.

"Of course," it was now your time to speak. "We have four, but this one wants more." you pointed at your husband. "We have three girls and two boys."

"Oh, do they come here to school?"

"Yes, they are. Two of our girls are twins so they are currently third years, another of our girl will start school next year and our two boys were born six months ago. Twins again." you explained as everyone around you looked rather impressed.

"My daughter also comes here. Which house are yours in?"

"Slytherin, just like their father." you said with a very proud tone even if you could see the people around you sharing looks. 

Whose idea was it to sit not at the Slytherin table? 

Oh, right, yours.

Well, anyway. 

You shared a look with your husband, calming him with a quick kiss before you turned to listen to other people talking about their families and achievements. 

After dinner, you were all ready to leave, you smiled as you two headed back to the train, looking back all at the nice memories you kissed your husband before boarding the train. 

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  @mandoloriancookie​ @noname2246​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #27 jealousy

Chapters 1 to 3 here on AO3

If you like the tattoo AU give it some love on my AO3, please. It would mean a lot to me. TYSM!

+++++

White Pony Tattoo - Part Seven (jealousy)

When both of them had calmed down from all the laughter, Sherlock clapped his hands on his thighs and leant forward in his chair.

“Let’s talk about your cover-up.”

“Please, do.” John fixed all of his attention on Sherlock.

“First of all, whose idea was it to get a tattoo?”

“Oh, that was me. I wanted something of her to last. Something to show how serious it was for me, our marriage. You know, til death do us part, kind of.”

Sherlock hummed but was clearly not impressed by this reason.

“And whose idea was it to put her face on a Virgin Mary image? She has not actually been a virgin when you’ve met, right?”

“Well, no.” John blushed. “It was her idea. Because, you know, her first name was Mary and she thought it was a great...” John trailed off, sighing then looking at Sherlock who thankfully kept his mouth shut but was slowly turning his head in an unmistakable “no”.

Defensively, John added, “It wasn’t, in hindsight, okay?”

“It’s never been right from the start.”

John rolled his eyes. “You just needed to say it out loud, didn’t you?”

“She proposed that you tattoo her face on your arm to make a statement. A clear mark that you’ve been taken, by her. She wanted that the other women and men,” Sherlock winked knowingly at John who merely snorted, “become jealous of her. Look at my prize! It’s mine and mine alone! Possessive behaviour at its best.”

Again, in hindsight, that makes so much sense. John thought ruefully.

Sherlock continued, ignoring the distressed expression on John’s face.

“At least, your tattooist has done quite a good job, technically. No blurring, no wonky lines, no blotchy shading. Good placement of the design, too. Matching the natural contours of your upper arm. Which makes a cover-up much easier.”

“Good. I really want to get rid of this.”

Sherlock stood up. “Come on, John. I’ll explain my process to you.” He opened the purple curtain, holding it open for John to pass through into the room behind.

It housed the actual tattoo studio. The first thing John noticed was that everything in this room was high-end.

The recliner seat for the clients, the worktable with Sherlock’s tools, shelves with bottles of ink, needles and at least five different tattoo guns. Everything was also clinically clean. One corner of the room was occupied by a tiny but professional photo studio, including spotlights and an expensive looking camera on a tripod. There was another worktable with a state-of-the-art computer setup.

“Take off your jumper and stand in front of the camera. This is a special camera with a 3D software. It’ll scan your arm and every line of the tattoo in high-res and send the data to an image generating software on my computer. This way, I can design the perfect phoenix for you, one that will match and cover or even use the lines you already have without any optical distortion.”

“Wow, that’s, Jesus, that is quite elaborate.” John gaped. “All this for a cover-up?”

“No, it’s what I do with all of my clients. It’s the only way to achieve the perfection I desire.”

“Brilliant.” John looked at Sherlock, full of awe. “Extraordinary.”

Sherlock blinked. “Really?”

“Of course, all the effort you put into this!”

Sherlock ruffled his curls, obviously abashed. He turned his head to hide the pinkish blush that had started to spread on his sharp cheekbones and mumbled something unintelligible while he rummaged uselessly around in a drawer.

But John had already seen it.

For all of his aggressive seductive behaviour, could it be that he gets shy when someone genuinely praises and appreciates his process? John mused. A bit ‘all bark but no bite’ under this self-assured demeanour and abrasive personality? I’d really like to to have a photo of this blushing Sherlock, it’s adorable.

The next ten minutes went by in silence, only interrupted when Sherlock told John how to turn and place his arm in front of the camera.

“How long will it take until you’ve got the final design?”

“At least a week. The next days are packed with clients. Also, there’s something else to my process, about creating the perfect ink which takes some time as well.”

John was struck by another question. One that John had not yet thought to ask which might possibly come across as pretty stupid now.

“Erm, we haven’t talked about what you charge for all of this.” Can I even afford this? Him?

“Oh, silly me!” Sherlock exclaimed theatrically. “I forgot to mention that you have to sign a contract in blood and sell your soul.”

“Dork!” John playfully punched Sherlock against the shoulder. “Don’t pull my leg.”

“Ah, don’t look so frightened, John. You can afford my services. I charge my clients depending on their wealth, you know? I helped a disfigured young man for the price of a bottle of ink and I had a rich investment banker pay me 600 pounds an hour. I’m not going to rob you blind.”

“Ta.” Relief flooded John, then he remembered Sherlock’s last remark. “What’s that about the ink?”

“Yes, right.” Sherlock’s voice got excited. “Do you want to see something really special? A secret?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

++++++

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at  @calaisreno

[varlaisvea]

WIP Wednesday!

lol no one tagged me; I have 18 followers and I write mostly ESO fic. Clearly, I post for me. 😂

This won't make it into the final draft, but I like it anyway. This adorable ESO quest features a Nord whose wife is a High Elf—the only High Elf I can think of in ESO who married someone decidedly Apraxic. So I decided to have my also Very Apraxic OCs meet Viggol and Telline.

1.5k words, G-rated, discussion of racism

Two non-Altmer discuss what it’s like to be married to someone who has to keep you a secret—and who will live more than a century after you’re gone.

------

Viggol looked back to where our Elves were talking. “That’s my wife,” he said proudly. “Drives Telline crazy when I tell people that. She thinks these stick-arsed Elves are going to run us out of town, but I have yet to find one who actually believes me when I claim that beautiful Elf debased herself by marrying an idiot Nord.”

“In plain sight is this one’s favorite place to hide,” I said.

He grinned. “See! You understand—that is the upside of living somewhere where all your neighbors consider you to be a genetically inferior halfwit, no? It would be absurd to imagine that Telline’s dutiful house-servant is actually her beloved husband. That’d be like suspecting your neighbor is secretly married to their horse.” He paused. “Though, I suppose I did wonder about a few of my neighbors back in Dawnstar…”

“Ha, this one has spent several long, cold, dark winters in Winterhold…” We exchanged a knowing glance. “But we are only visiting Summerset. Thank Jone and Jode, we do not live here—no insult to you.”

“None taken,” he said. “Telline grew up here, but we’ve only lived in Lillandril together for a few years. Just us and Pickle.” He gestured to the elderly dog at Telline’s feet. “It’s almost insulting; our neighbors don’t even seem to suspect a dirty Apraxic affair, even though everyone has dirty Apraxic affairs on this damned island. But Telline says I am far too handsome for that to protect me for long.” He nodded to himself, acknowledging the truth of his wife’s concern, then turned to me and scanned me from ears to tail. “You can relate, of course.”

“Just so,” I said, nodding to join him in somberly considering this problem. “As an up-jumped animal, this one is even more genetically inferior than a Man—most Elves probably imagine Eymei and I are colleagues, if they think anything at all. But, this one is strikingly handsome enough that occasionally an Altmer casts a glance, as if they suspect Eymei has a wicked little fetish for sugar-tongued liars.” I met his eyes, and the look on his face suggested he already knew what I was going to say next. “It is not as sexy as it sounds.”

We both chuckled and watched seabirds soar over the waves. Pickle was attempting to chase a gull, but quickly decided his obviously-achy hips could not sustain the effort, and came over to lay in the warm sand next to us.

“It’d be a great story, if I could tell it to anyone,” Viggol said, after a long silence. “For two or three years, I jokingly bothered Telline about marrying me at least weekly, until I started to feel like the joking had a bit too much feeling behind it; like I was pressuring her. I knew she couldn’t marry me. I just wanted to be with her. But, two or three months after I stopped pestering her about marriage, we got drunk and she asked me! It’s illegal, not to mention dangerous and socially repulsive, here in Summerset, but we weren’t in Summerset—I hauled her right then and there to the nearest Mara shrine. Of course I wouldn’t actually marry her until we were both sober, but we sat right next to the shrine for several hours until we were both of sound mind. And she didn’t back out!” It was very sweet, how moons-eyed he looked as he recounted this.

“Ah, when an Elf is willing to do something moderately spontaneous for you, this is true love, yes? What convinced her?”

He laughed. “She said—” he did his best impression of his wife “—‘I have never done anything stupid enough to risk regretting. I suspect you’d say risking regret is the only way to do something that thrills you.’” He looked over to where she was standing, with unabashed adoration on his face. His eyes were dewy when he turned back to me. “That was what she said. Why she was willing to marry someone who would die before she was middle-aged. She said she wouldn’t stay married to me unless she was right about it being thrilling. That was almost fifty years ago, and she’s still here, even though I don’t have more than ten or fifteen years left.” He wiped a tear and laughed self-consciously. “Sorry. I don’t usually get to tell people how wonderful she is.”

I just smiled. “This one can sympathize; please, do not apologize! You have found just the right audience. Fifty years is a long time to keep such things hidden.”

“Heh, if you’re asking for advice, friend, I don’t know that I can be helpful. Before this, we lived in Solitude for a couple of years—no one gave a skeever’s arse about our relationship there, though we still had to be discreet in public, and careful around Altmer. We did live in a cave for a few years; that helped.”

“An Elf willing to live in a cave for you! That is love, walker!”

“Don’t I know it! She was actually the one who originally suggested Blackreach. My adventuring days are over, but I found Blackreach to be more neighborly than Lillandril, if that tells you anything. But after fifty years of adventuring alongside her crazy Nord husband, at very least, Telline deserves a few years of uneventful, easy living.” He smiled and shook his head. “I was younger than you are now when I met Telline, and she was a bit older than your… wife?”

Somehow it felt fitting that this strange Nord would be the first to hear the news. “Yes. As of yesterday,” I said, with an unexpected choke in my throat. “Married in Eymei's ancestral tradition. There will be no Rings of Mara for us, but that is unimportant—two days ago, we both truly believed we'd never consider marriage. To each other, or at all.”

“Ha! An Elf willing to do something very spontaneous for you,” he said. “Congratulations! That sounds like quite a story!” We both laughed, and he hugged me with boisterous Nord enthusiasm. I was surprised at how much I appreciated it. “If you’re ever back in Lillandril, I’ll buy you a pint of ale so I can hear it. Or… whatever sickly-sweet thing you probably like to drink.”

I glanced back over to Eymei and Telline. They were both staring stone-faced at the waves as they talked.

Viggol said, “can’t imagine their conversation is as fun as ours. Not that most Altmer particularly enjoy fun, far as I can tell.”

I laughed sadly. “Congratulations on the sand slipping through your fingers!”

Viggol laughed too. “Since I was a little mer, I dreamed of being young and sexually frustrated while my spouse grew withered and elderly.”

“It is unjust that we must hide our relationship from Praxis-obsessed Altmer, but at least I get to spend decades waiting for my beating heart to be torn from my chest with well over half of my life still ahead of me.”

“Yes, I am so looking forward to the isolation and despair of grieving my life’s love, whom most of my kin consider a lesser being.”

Now Viggol and I were also staring stone-faced at the waves.

After a long silence, he said, “you’ll lose your mind if you don’t give voice to thoughts like that sometimes. I’m glad we could help each other—I don’t get to meet a lot of people I can talk to about my marriage. But friend, if there is one piece of advice I can give you… that Elf married you with full knowledge that that would be her future. I don’t even have to know your wife to know she has already stared all of that in the face. Am I right?”

I nodded.

“It weighs on me every day,” Viggol said. “It’s going to weigh on you, too, and believe me, it’ll only get worse as you get older and she stays young, capable, and beautiful. Part of the reason I was a bit in denial about the end of my adventuring days.” His voice came out strained as he continued. “It took me almost losing Telline to get it through my skull: I could either get crushed under the weight of what she’s willing to face for me, or I could be worth it.”

I looked down at my hands. “It is hard for me to imagine anyone being worth that.”

“Me too, friend. It’s impossible for me to say whether I’d make the same choice, in her place. But… doesn’t matter what I’d do. Fact is, I’ve got that Elf fooled well enough that she keeps making that choice every day—I’ve gotten to live my life knowing for damned sure that the wisest, kindest person I know thinks I’m worth it. So, I decided that until the day I die, I will do my best to be the person Telline thinks I am. I don’t always live up to it, but the effort has made me better in more ways than I can count.” He waited until I met his eyes. “Don’t do what I did. Don't waste your time worrying that you’re not worth it. Be worth it.”

I looked over at the Elves. They were sitting on the sand now; Pickle had wandered back over to them, and was laying next to Eymei. I think Eymei might have been quietly casting a lay-on-hands on his hips, as Telline talked.

I sighed. “The person Eymei thinks I am is… quite a cat.”

Viggol smacked me on the shoulder good-naturedly. “What if she’s right?”

[thesealantern]

Okie so here’s a very unorganised rant about my pink corruption oc Pearl! :3

(@astronic-fr sorry for the ping but I saw you ask about her in the tags of my previous post so yeah-)

I briefly went over her personality before but I’ll go into some more depth.

Pearl’s an introvert, she’s not that good at reading the room or socialising so she tends to just stick to herself most of the time. However once she does get emotionally attached to someone she’s a very loving and loyal person, does she disappear into the woods for a few weeks? Yeah, but Pearl will always come back to you. (If anyone here knows the Moomins she’s kinda like Snuffkin in that regard)

Pearl’s also a very adventurous and easily excitable person, she likes travelling around paradise and seeing new places. (Barracuda ended up inheriting this endless curiosity- for better or worse) She’s easily distracted by things around her and so conversations with Pearl are doomed to trail way off topic.

Now as for her lore with Pyrare:

Pearl and Pyrare met through a mutual friendship with Ajacenus.

The two of them ended up becoming close friends themselves. They’re both more on the quieter side and Pyrare didn’t mind her occasional eccentricity. Pearl was always fond of his kind-hearted and patient nature.

As Pearl got older her family started putting pressure on her to settle down with someone (partially since they believed it would get her head out of the clouds), she never really liked the idea of marriage and starting a family but it didn’t really seem like she could do much else with her life.

So, since Pyrare was one of her dearest friends Pearl thought I’d be only logical for the two of them to get married.

Pyrare himself wasn’t against the idea, he did want to start a family even if his relationship with Pearl didn’t feel quite like how others had described romance.

And so they got married.

It took both of them a good few years to slowly realise neither of them were really romantically interested in one another, for a while they still tried to make it work but in the end they both wanted very different futures.

Pyrare always craved stability and peace, he wanted to start a family and spend the rest of his life in a small comfortable house.

Meanwhile Pearl finds the idea of settling down and staying there agonising. Not to mention the thought of being responsible for a child terrified her.

So they eventually came to a compromise of sorts, they had Barracuda but split up right after. Barracuda stayed under Pyrare’s care, and once he got the hang of being a parent Pearl left. The two of them stayed in contact and Pearl still visited them frequently, being a sort of “cool aunt” figure for Barracuda.

Now, during the events of the first corruption and Barracuda’s death Pearl wasn’t nearby. So she only learnt of the whole incident after it had all already happened from Pyrare when she came back.

Pearl was devastated, even if she hadn’t been a mother to Barracuda for most of his life he was still her baby. She still loved him dearly. In her initial shock and grief Pearl said a lot of things to Pyrare she didn’t really mean, he didn’t take that well.

After Cuda’s death Pyrare isolated himself from pretty much everyone other than Gold (whose existence Pearl didn’t even know about, Pyrare didn’t intentionally hide him but Pearl snapped way before he could begin explaining the caretaker ordeal to her), Pearl herself went into mourning for a few years but unlike Pyrare she soon was back in touch with her loved ones.

Pyrare practically disappearing worried those who knew him. Particularly Ajacenus, even when Pearl still didn’t want to talk to him Ajacenus tried to reach out to him several times. After a while even Pearl grew concerned, but despite the many letters she sent to Pyrare over the course of several years she never got a response.

And so life had to move on.

Pearl has managed to somewhat cope with the whole ordeal but she still blames herself for both lashing out at Pyrare at a time he needed support the most and a part of her also blames herself for Barracuda’s death, maybe if she had been more present in his life she could’ve prevented it somehow…

Also some random lighthearted fun facts so I don’t end this on a depressing mood:

•Pearl has tried to learn how to knit before and despises it with her entire soul, she likes watching Pyrare knit though

•She has a lot of random acquaintances all over paradise

•Both her and Pyrare love physical affection

•When they were younger she used to constantly drag Pyrare out to go on silly adventures or to go exploring with her

•She lived with Ajacenus and her sisters for a short while after Cuda’s death

[ramen8008]

Okay this is a weird day dream thingamagic I made up while listening to music and being really sleepy so IMAGINE

Loid and the handler are talking where Sylvia says that if loid isn't willing to then she will send other spies to investigate Yor since they can't trust someone whose brother is part of the SSS and who's also willingly in a fake marriage which seems too coincidental while Loid argues that there is no need and there is nothing out of the ordinary with Yor -other than her weird understanding of most things in society- and that he has already checked her background and investigated her.

While they argue Yor sees Loid and Sylvia talking in the cafe while she was out to get cakes for Anya and she goes up to them. When asked the handler quickly says that she is his sister.

Loid is just there staring at her like 'what the hell?!? Why would you say that?!'

Yor is like 'oh I didn't know loid had a sister' and the handler quickly makes up a lie about how she is often overseas and that's why Yor didn't know and how she has heard so much about Loid's wife.

Sylvia invites Yor over as an excuse to investigate her by herself (ignoring Loid's glare) and to prove that Yor has absolutely nothing suspicious about her he encourages Yor to go over to "his sister's" place so they can meet.

THAT is where Sylvia discovers Yor's super strength and Loid learns that Yor level of strength is not normal and cannot be obtained from "self defense classes in school" or " playing throwball often as a kid".

So when they are about to leave Sylvia suggests that they should meet again and that she knows a fun place they can meet at and she gives her the address of WISE's training facility.

Loid is just there like "WHAT are you doing?". But the fact that Loid was wrong about Yor having "nothing out of the ordinary about her" shuts him up.

So when the day comes and they go to the training facility Loid is just thinking " There is no way this works. Yor will figure out I am a spy the moment she walks in the training facility. Who would actually believe that a training facility with deadly weapons is a normal place to go have fun at? What was Sylvia thinking?"

YOR LOVED IT. She has never had as much fun in a playground as she was having in the facility meant to train up coming spies.

Sylvia tells Yor that she can do whatever she wants and that breaking the mannequins was no problem after she accidentally threw a warm up punch too hard.

Sylvia is getting more and more suspicious and gives Yor a gun to try at the shooting range to see if she has been trained to handle a gun (Again Loid does not like this).

Well to Sylvia's disappointment and Loid's delight Yor doesn't know how to work a gun at all.

BUT what she ends up doing is taking out the bullets and flick them so hard that they pierce through the target perfectly as if they were fired from an actual gun.

Sylvia is like "WHAT THE ACTUAL FU-" while Loid is questioning whether he really missed all of this?

At the end Sylvia does conclude that she is not part of the SSS but in doing so she looks more into her past and finds out that Yor never went to school. Which wouldn't be uncommon for kids whose parents were killed in the war but what's weird is that according to everything she never had a job either but she still got money for a place to live and be comfortable in for herself and her brother.

She also didn't have anything left behind from her parents other than the house and they didn't have any relatives either who could have been taking care of them.

So either she was stealing OR she had been doing some kind of job which isn't under the radar for some reason maybe even something similar to WISE....

I didn't think of anything else clearly so here....

[lynbaccha]

It's almost 6 AM here, and I'm writing this instead of getting ready to leave the house, bc I have to be somewhere at 9. Because I want to talk about this even without an artpiece go to with that.

TW: misgendering someone before person knows their identity, implied child mistreatment, and mentioned bullying.

Arvak is a multighoul/hybrid, water-earth to be exact. How this came to be? We all know the simple answer - adultery from his mom.

But who was his bio-dad?

As stated before, Arvak's father was an earth ghoul called Naava. He belonged into a lower cast family, which worked under Arvak's mom's, Coral's, family. Like his son, Naava was a quite sight to hold - raw power, large, calm like a resting cow, but when angered, like a raging bull. Long hair and strong horns to go with the image and reputation he had as a protector.

Needless to say, he was very wanted bachelor, at least to some. But Naava's eyes were only on one particular apple.

Coral. Beautiful, and mischievous daughter of the family he worked under. And Coral's eyes followed his, and she always smiled with lust at his way.

But, this isn't a love story. This is a tragedy.

Where Naava, in his rare instance of naivety, saw forbidden love, Coral saw just another male to mess around with. She was promiscous, her then fiancé just didn't know then.

Naava eventually got her pregnant, soon after her marriage to her fiancé. It could have been either way of the two males, when thought with logic... But Naava knew. Earth is linked with fertility, man-like happenings in Hell. Just like child-bearing.

The kit inside Coral was his. He would be a father.

Naava was thinking every way he could to make sure he would have access to his kit, and all of them turned into him keeping his mouth shut. As much as it pained him, he didn't want to make Coral's life harder.

The kit was born. A girl, they say. He had a daughter. Whose birth he didn't see, nor who he didn't got to name. A child who wouldn't know who he is.

But he kept his mouth shut.

The little ghoulette was odd. Hating firly dresses and always playing with males of her age. She would fancy suits made for males and be more at home withing male customs. Naava lost count on how many times the nanny scolded the girl for ruining the expensive clothes. She didn't care, just stared indifferently.

The kit, being half-earth, was different. Bullying from water side of the kit's family didn't really humble them, as the preperators would have wanted, and even in front Coral's wrath, she stared back in rageful defiance.

At least, that's what kit eventually told Naava.

One day, Naava found his kit from the woods near the mansion the water family lived. With a busted lip, in dress, and with a messy, feminine bun to hide her growing horns.

First thing the kit asks does Naava have any clothes for her, that she HATES these rags they call dresses. Naava could only comply, confused. He, as per customs of his tribe, had clothes made from his first successfull big hunt. He was around his kit's age. The kit would be good hunter if given chance, Naava thought, as she dressed herself behind bushes next to his camp.

After that, they sat around the campfire in silence, until his kit spoke and gave a reason for the odd request. And in away, Naava knew before his kit laid it out. That she doesn't feel like a female.

So, Naava knew now. He doesn't have a daughter, but a son, and he is both happy and worried about the fact his son came out to him.

Because, why? He might be the father, but in actuality, he's but a stranger to this young boy... This must not be something for a stranger to know.

Kindness goes far, and Naava knows that. But he didn't know what kind of life his son has behind closed doors, and how much his son needs someone to trust to.

[madtomedgar]

For I Have Drunk, and Seen the Spider; would you talk a little about how you worked out the sort of dynamics between Qin Su and Lan Xichen? And maybe also about Jin Guangyao’s mental state? Or anything else you’d like!

For me, the big tragedy of Jin Guangyao and Qin Su is that they are stupidly, disgustingly in schmoopy hetero love with each other. They really want that boring societally ideal family together, with matching his and hers mugs or whatever it is the heteros are into these days. I see a fair amount of fixes for this where Qin Su marries someone else and the only feeling she seems to have about it is "oh well, glad we dodged that bullet. Looks like I lucked out with this hot sect leader instead," or is like. Happy and fine with being a beard? And that always feels very ooc or cheap or boring to me. Finding out you can't marry the person you are that stoked to marry because you're related would be devastating, even if they hadn't had sex! So I wanted to take those feelings seriously I guess.

And when I was thinking about what sort of person the Jin Guangyao of this story would have this particular form of heterosexual twitterpation with, what I came up with was someone who was very sweet, kind of funny, kind of a dork, 0 ambition beyond being so supportive of her ambitions, very emotionally intelligent but not someone who could ever be a threat to her, and just unabashedly into her with no ulterior motives. Qin Su would love A-Yao if she were a worm! (Though not, it turns out, if she were his sister.) So, smart but not as smart as her, kind of a mediocre cultivator, loyal to a fault, good with kids, and, as I said, 0 ambition beyond having a very happy and boring relationship with the coolest lady in the world.

And that is just not somebody Lan Xichen is going to have much interest in. Like... She would be very happy for Jin Guangyao and be very nice to this guy but also... find him incredibly uninteresting. We've all been there when one of your friends starts dating a guy who seems to have nothing wrong with him but lord he is SO boring and you always kind of hope they don't bring him around but also feel a little bad about that because he is nice! Just... paint drying is more interesting. I had done some thinking a while ago for a fic that never materialized about what would make good consort material for f!Lan Xichen, and it's... not Qin Su. If Lan Xichen had to get married the ideal is a gay guy who is really into poetry, moral philosophy, music theory, and whose talents can complement and enhance Lan Xichen's as sect leader, but could never eclipse her. So someone she can be friends with who is on the same page as her about what this is for, and who is also like. Useful.

And from there it was just really obvious that neither of them is going to be happy here. Like. Qin Su is a romantic, he was stoked to marry the girl he loved and have a beautiful family with her! And now he's married to someone trying to figure out how soon is too soon for them to have separate houses, and who is not even interested in trying to see if they could maybe have something here. And Lan Xichen is stuck with this very basic and boring dude who she feels kind of bad for but not bad enough to pretend to be interested in what he's talking about. And the one thing they can agree on is coparenting but. Oy. Misery.

The other thing is that it is a headcanon near to my heart that f!Lan Xichen has a kind of Elizabeth I (Glenda Jackson miniseries) thing going on with the concept of marriage, where she grew up watching the absolute horror show that was her parents, and so as an adult is, deep down, terrified of being married, because if you marry someone, they can do all kinds of things, like lock you in a house forever and never let you leave. Or make you have their children and then take those children away from you and only let you see them once a month. Or forbid anyone from speaking to you until you get so lonely and sick that you die and then nobody ever even talks about you again. And she's sect leader but she's also a woman in a patriarchal society and a lot of her power becomes tenuous if there's a man who in theory she should answer to.

So once this is happening, she goes to a lot of effort to make sure that Qin Su can have no power over her whatsoever, and that, even in their interpersonal relations, he understands that he's only here because it was the only way to save Jin Guangyao from marrying her brother. That he will provide the Lan sect with an heir is a bonus, but the process will be purely goal-oriented, and not dictated by him. So like. Full on Lan Zongzhu, Zewu-jun commanding dignity, ice-lord. And so like. Even if Qin Su had been a person better suited to this lavender marriage, she would always, on some level, be wary of him.

Meanwhile Qin Su hadn't been thinking this would be great but had probably hoped that maybe it could at least be nice? Maybe they could be friendly and also have some kind of physical relationship they both enjoyed? No. So here he is in the Cloud Recesses with a very different lifestyle to adjust to and nothing to really do and no real friends either. And he can't even drink about it! And the really sad thing is that I think he probably could be helpful to Lan Xichen in terms of the massive pile of issues re parents and marriage, because he's good at feelings, and kind of his whole thing is being non-threatening, and tbh he's always found her a little intimidating, but simply by virtue of him being The Husband, that will probably never happen. Yeah.

[starjxsung]

Hi Star,

I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself ❤️

I wondered if I could maybe vent in here for a moment? You don’t have to respond or post this. It’s fine if it’s just out into the ether.

I’m really unhappy. Life just hasn’t panned out how I imagined and I know that’s exactly how life is but, man, it’s a lot. And I got married because I felt I had to and I think, I know I’ve made a mistake. I feel so guilty for feeling this way. I’ve been with him for 8 years. I love him because of course I do. He’s my friend and we’ve been through a lot. But I’m not in love with him. I’m not attracted to him anymore. I hate it. It’s like I’m just living with a roommate. And when we have sex…I basically just force myself every time and suck it up. Because I feel have to like it’s a thing we have to do if that makes sense? He’s doesn’t often make me orgasm, it’s something I do struggle with and I know a lot of women do. But yeah, our sex life is unsatisfying and I really crave having my needs met. I tried talking about it but it’s just not worked out.

I was feeling needy the other day and I actually had, gosh this might sound so lame…but I was chatting with a stranger and had cyber sex essentially with them. I didn’t go into that with that intent, but it led there. And with them being an anonymous no strings attached situation it felt inconsequential. I know that’s a bullshit thing to say. But it actually really turned me on and felt exciting. I suppose it was the “forbidden” aspect of it. But I felt needed and sexy. I could say the things I wanted to say. Forget about real life.

And after, I didn’t feel guilty. And that scares me. I think my marriage is over. But we own a house, and divorce is so expensive. I worry about how her retaliate, if he’ll take the house from me and my girls (we share pets). I just hear divorce brings out the worst in people and I worry about what would happen to him. What if it breaks him? We’re not young. We’re in our 30’s. Sometimes I wish he’d cheat, find someone else. I feel pathetic. I feel lost.

Anyways, I don’t expect an answer. I just needed to let this out. Thanks for letting me pour out my soul.

☀️🌑✨

Hi my sweet angel. I’m well and I’m taking care of myself!

Thank you for feeling as though you’re able to be so vulnerable on here. It takes a lot to be able to vent about this and I’m really glad that at least you’re getting your emotions out there even if they weigh so heavily on you.

First off, your emotions are completely valid and you’re not a bad person for prioritizing your wants- whether they be emotional, physical, sexual, etc. you deserve to have all your needs met and just because you’re married to somebody certainly doesn’t mean your needs are being met. I’m glad you have it in you to acknowledge that and realize that you deserve so, so much more than what you’re letting yourself settle for.

The way I see it, allowing yourself to be vulnerable with your emotions is the stepping stone to another life beyond this one. But it will involve a lot of honesty, and it isn’t going to be easy in the slightest. I think before any rash decisions are made, you should definitely look into whose name your assets are under- if everything’s in his name, reach out and see what your options are in the event that divorce becomes a tangible option. Make sure you know what your rights are, what you risk losing and what’s next for you following the relationship. In simpler terms, make sure all the messy stuff is well accounted for!

I don’t blame you for what you did. I know that as a society we view cheating as a very black and white issue, but there are gray areas where you just can’t help but justify the actions, from one woman to another. You’re in a difficult place, you’re feeling unfulfilled, you can’t seem to work things out with your husband. That’s bound to lead to searching for a sense of fulfillment elsewhere. But I do think that just like being honest with yourself it’s important, the same goes for your husband. You could use it as a device to segue into the option of marriage therapy, or potentially just to voice the same concerns that your needs aren’t being met in this relationship. If he’s unwilling to change, or to acknowledge that it will likely happen again if you can’t reignite that flame you once had, I would look a little deeper and ask yourself if this is what you want for the rest of your life. It’s likely going to happen again, real life in the physical form. And I want to emphasize that the way you felt roused by it, fulfilled- you deserve a partner who will help you feel that way all the time! Not just to settle for living with essentially a “roommate” and treating sex like a chore.

Lastly- you’re still young. You are not old. Your 30s aren’t even considered to be middle aged yet. Sure, you found somebody you were with for a long time and as a result you guys tied the knot as I think MOST people would have done. But that doesn’t always need to mean your life is set in stone to a decision you made when you were so young. You have not met all of the people you are going to meet just yet, you haven’t even lived a fraction of your adult life by 30. You’re young!!!! Mistakes can be forgiven and decisions can end up in a tumultuous set of events that will be messy as things proceed. But choosing to change this way of life and choosing yourself is going to be the stepping stone to your life beyond this one. You’re at a forked path right now, and it takes a lot of courage and honesty to be able to choose the path you really want. But you shouldn’t feel as though your mistakes should confine you to the path you dread.

Whatever you do, know that regardless of the mistakes you’ve made and the changes that this may bestow upon you, you deserve to be happy. Many people wouldn’t find the happiness they now have if they didn’t take the first step to make some changes and be honest with themselves. You’re not some terrible person and your life won’t be completely ruined by putting yourself first. You’re just a human being and we’re all doing our best here.

In the words of Ariana Grande’s recent album- (who, might I add, has recently been divorced and is constantly dubbed a “homewrecker” and all names under the sun for putting herself first despite simply living the same reality many women are that she was simply not in love with her husband anymore! I could spend all day defending her.) Anyways, her album starts with a question- “how do I know if I’m in the right relationship?” And then ends with a beautiful outro that details “if you don’t feel comfortable, you’re in the wrong place, get out!”

The answer has always been there. If you don’t feel comfortable, get out! Put yourself first, go live your life, go be young and go be free. Yes, it will be hard. No, that doesn’t mean you deserve to be unhappy forever. And if people have things to say about it, screw them. This is your life!!!!!!

Sending you all my love 🫶 keep me posted on here if it helps you to vent, and I’ll be rooting for you from over here no matter what you decide.

🌙⭐️💫

[atopvisenyashill]

your point of it being a red herring is really good - it’s not to say it’s not true, it’s just something the greens hyper focused on for their own political argument, and we have no real opinion on what everyone else thought. our sources are maester munkin, a green, eustace, also a green, gyldayn’s opinion when he’s clearly a green sympathizer and also a raging misogynist, and mushroom, who just wholesale made shit up because he thought it would be funny. we don’t have any source on this whole thing from someone who is a) an actual black or b) neutral on the whole thing (once again saying this should have been written by a DORNISH maester). if daemon blackfyre could get a whole rebellion going bc people were willing to overlook him being a bastard, if daeron could overcome the rumors he was a bastard, if viserys plumm could take over house plumm, if the lannisters can get half the realm on their side despite the rumors about cersei’s kids - whose to say people actually gave a shit that jace wasn’t laenor’s, so long as he was rhaenyra’s?

and helaena would only be a hostage if the greens themselves decided to crown aegon anyway! it’s also a very smart political move from rhaenyra bc if alicent had gone for it & then the greens had crowned aegon anyway, rhaenyra could have used that as a talking point - see, i tried to keep things from breaking into violence by taking my siblings into my court, giving helaena status, and would have given my brothers roles fit for them but the greens made the first move. more than absolutely anything else, i think this is why alicent rejects the marriage proposal - if she can rob rhaenyra of the talking point that the blacks have done everything they can to make peace, it makes it easier to just strong arm the greens’ way onto the iron throne. she says no not because she’s worried helaena will be used as a hostage but because she does not want reconciliation, period.

as for the baela of it all - i find this argument so disingenuous & it makes me want to crazyyyyyyyyyyy, number one worst and most annoying argument to me but it’s everywhere.

the inheritance of driftmark is not actually up to rhaenyra, it’s up to corlys, the actual patriarch of house velaryon, and laenor, his first born son and heir. so who actually passed over baela’s claim after luke & jacaerys die?? CORLYS. It tracks with his character that when they change this in the show, it’s Rhaenys who is mollified by the engagements bc Laena’s blood will be on the IT & Driftwood Throne, and not Corlys that Rhaenyra talks to, because Corlys doesn’t just want his blood there, he wants his SON there.

When the question of Driftmark comes up again after Jace & Luke die, and Joff can no longer inherit bc he’s crown prince, it’s Corlys who insists Addam and Alyn are made legitimate and Driftmark given to them over over Baela, despite her being the oldest true born Velaryon. And granted there are things rhaenyra could have and should have done to help her own claim [rant redacted due to length] but Rhaenyra continues pushing Joffrey as heir to driftmark after Luke dies, because that’s how the line of succession is supposed to go. She can’t not push Joffrey when Jacaerys is still alive bc (theoretically) the line is supposed to go thru all of Laenor’s kids first not just some of them, like, are we Booboo the Fool out here??

Yes, objectively she should have pushed for Baela but her crime is not being proactive enough wrt line of succession, which is way different than like, maliciously stealing Baela’s claim to give to Joffrey and then Addam and then Alyn, esp when it’s not even her ultimate decision!

the helaena/jace marriage offer *was* a political move, and a pretty smart one by rhaenyra too. the whole argument that helaena would be in danger because jace is a bastard is kinda silly to me, because the only people who cared about that were the greens. the velaryon boys legal father and both grandfathers have already accepted them as legitimate. the only people that would be putting helaena in danger would be her own family. if she were married to jace it would force them to accept not only rhaenyra as queen, but jace as king after her. (also shoring up jaces claim, as the next queen would be viserys daughter, and the queen consort after that… also his daughter) it would force alicent to stop her scheming against both of them, unless she wanted to put her daughter in danger. (as compensation it would also put her blood on the throne, just through her grandchildren vs her children. but thats not what alicent wants) alicent *knows* this is what rhaenyra is trying to do and thats why, along with her own bastardphobia and unwillingness to give up control over her daughter, she refuses the offer. she married the king it should be *her children* on the throne.

in the book, laena and rhaenyra betroth their children together when theyre much younger because *They* were in love. and what do you do when you love someone but cant legally marry them? well you marry your kids together. of course.

but since the show cut their relationship they had to also change the reasons behind the baela/jace and rhaena/luke marriages. and made them another political arrangement, and again not a bad move by rhaenyra! the argument that rhaenyra ‘stole’ baela/rhaenas birthright is, again kinda silly since the driftmark throne never ‘belonged’ to them anyway? even though laena was the eldest, it was going to go to laenor, since he was corlys firstborn son, and after laenor, luke (since jace would be king). it was only rhaenys that was trying to convince corlys to name laenas children over luke, since they were, by blood, related to him. rhaenys feeling like her daughter was getting passed over just like she was. vaemond wasnt arguing for baela or rhaena to be named, he was arguing for *himself*, and his children after him. rhaenyras marriage offer to rhaenys soothes her, because while it might not be laena or her children themselves, laenas line will continue on both the iron and driftmark thrones. it also shores up lukes claim to the driftmark throne, because even if he isnt a “true” velaryon, rhaena is. and their children will be. the driftmark throne stays within the velaryon family, keeping everyone happy. (minus vaemond)

[igot-sarang-ggg]

I'll protect you (Yandere Yoshikage Kira x Reader)

Masterlist

Small Summary: Kira sees you by yourself at the park and offers to help with a "Problem" you have at home

Small mentions: SPOILERS, gn!reader, mention of blood, murder, Abus!ve partner, head injured, hand fetish... (It's Yoshikage Kira what do you expect lol), Yandere, mention of stalking, a bit of strong language

In Morioh 10 Years ago Sometime in June at 4 P.M

"Honey you're home, how was work?" I helped him remove his coat, "Why do you always ask the same question?" He pushed me aside, "The company will be going for drinks later tonight, I'll be home late so don't wait for me." I placed his coat on the coat rack, "Just try not to drink too much again please." I fell to my knees with a sharp pain in the back of my head. "Watch how you speak to me. I'll drink as much as I want to." I lowered my head biting my tongue. "I-I'm sorry." He grabbed his coat off the rack and left, slamming the door behind him. I wiped away the tears that formed in my eyes... why did I ever marry you?

After he left I decided to go to the park and take a walk to clear my head. I sat down on the bench, "Are you alright Ma'am?" A young man approached me and sat down on the bench with me, he looked to be in his early twenties. I wiped away a few more tears that slid down, "I'm fine just needed to clear my head a bit." There was silence, for a moment. "Did you by any chance run away from home? Did you fight with your parents?" He was asking such strange questions, but I brushed it aside, "No. I'm married just need some air is all." He looked at my hand taking them in his and examining them closely, "I don't see a ring on your finger." I pulled my hands away from his.

"I forgot it at home... I live close by so I wasn't gonna do anything risky if that's what you were implying. I'm very loyal to my husband." I felt disgusted by the word husband. Our marriage was forced on me I never loved that man. "Judging from the bruising on your arm and the bit of blood at the back of your head I'd say you are loyal. But you deserve better." I covered my face crying into my hands he grabbed my hands taking them in his, "If you'd like I could help you with your problem."

"What do you mean? We just meant I don't even know you." The man adjusted his suit he must have just come out of work, "My name is Yoshikage Kira I'm twenty-three years old. What is your name?" Yoshikage Kira? I've heard that name before but where? "Y/n L/n I'm twenty-one years of age." He chuckled, "So young to be married. Now that I think about it I work with someone whose last name is L/n." That's right Nakashima always comes home complaining about a Yoshikage Kira and how that kid is such a pain in the ass. "So, Nakashima's your husband..."

"Yes, he is." Kira seemed to be lost in thought, "Why don't I walk with you home and help you cover that wound on the back of your head? The bleeding's gotten worse." He stood up offering his hand to help me up, "Oh.. okay." I took his hand and we walked to my house.

"Do you by chance have a medical kit?" He asked. "Yes, I do. You know you don't have to help me, Kira." I said to him, and he grabbed my hand placing a kiss on top of it, "I don't mind at all. Plus, I'm glad I get to meet a co-worker's lovely Partner." I blushed slightly at his words, "I'll go get the medical kit."

I let go of his hand and made my way toward the bedroom. I grabbed the kit and then looked at my hands. He keeps grabbing my hands randomly when I'm talking to him he lightly massages and strokes them when he gets the chance. My vision became a bit blurry causing me to fall to the ground, "Y/n are you alright?" His voice sounded distant, "Yes, just got a little lightheaded is all." His footsteps approached the room, "Here, let me help you up." He helped me up to my feet and sat me down on the bed, "If you're not able to move too well, I can stitch the wound behind your head and cook some food for you and me, if you'd like?" With his hand, he pushed some hair that was covering my face. "That sounds great."

In Morioh 10 Years ago Sometime in June at 9 P.M

After eating and getting to know Kira he seemed like a great person, I don't under why Nakashima would talk so badly about him. We sat down at the table, "Thank you for your help, Kira." He smiled taking my hand in his, "You are quite welcome Y/N. Do you know when your Husband is coming home?" Reality struck me, "No I don't. Kira you should go before Nakashima gets he-" The door burst open, and at that moment I felt my heart sink. "Y/n you bitch where are you?!" It was as if he didn't even notice that Yoshikage Kira was in the house. "The guys at work kept saying they saw you with another guy!" He made his way towards me raising his hand and was about to hit me, I closed my eyes waiting for the impact but it never came.

Kira stood in front of me and grabbed onto his arm, "Yoshikage Kira what the hell are you doing here?" Nakashima stumbled backward, "I was just dropping by and helping your lovely partner, it's such a shame that they're married to a pile of trash such as yourself." Kira's comment made Nakashima even angrier, "What did you just say punk?!" Nakashima was about to hit Kira and then he was gone... No trace of him anywhere no body, no dust, no nothing. I stood there frozen not knowing what to do.

"There, finally it's quiet now..." He turned to look at me, "Don't be scared, he can't hurt you anymore my love." He bent down taking my hands and creasing them, he placed my hands close to his face and lightly kissed them, "I'll make sure no one hurts you or these beautiful hands of yours." He stopped for a moment and looked up at me, "You'll be my partner and I will be your husband. You are to not speak about Nakashima's death to anyone, not his family, not his friends, and not the police." He stood up taking my hand in his and making me stand, "If you do then I'll have to kill you the same way I did with Nakashima." He grabbed me by the neck his nail slowly piercing my flesh, "Do you understand?" I nodded yes and he let go. "Good, now go get the nail clippers and clip my fingernails for me."

10 years Later Sometime in January at 8 P.M

"Welcome home, honey." I helped him remove his coat, "Thank you, dear." He kissed my cheek taking the coat from my hands, "I'll go put it away myself." He looked at the kitchen and then at the table, "I see you made dinner, it smells delicious." He pulled me close to him, "I can't wait to eat your delicious cooking." He kissed me wrapping his arms around me and deepening the kiss, "Why don't you join me in the shower tonight? Once we're done we can eat dinner together, sounds good?" He placed a hand on my chin, "Yeah, sounds great honey." Taking my hand he leads me to the bedroom.

At first, I hated Kira. He killed Nakashima and expects me to just pretend he didn't just kill someone in front of me. Then he kept trying to force himself onto me to touch my hands and threatening to kill me if I didn't comply. But, after a bit I started falling for him, he would cook, clean, and even care for me. He treated me much better than Nakashima would. During my time with Kira, I later learned he had been watching me for a few months before he killed Nakashima.

I read all the diaries and logs he kept "Hidden away." In each of his logs, he stated that he didn't know why he wanted to protect me or why he had gotten a liking to me. He confronted Nakashima about the way he treated me, giving him a warning that he would kill Nakashima if he didn't change the way he treated me. Thus Kira ended up killing him. I did grieve his death but Kira is a man of his word he's protected and cared for me much better than anyone has ever.

"My sweet Y/n thank you for making dinner it's delicious. I'll be sure to give you a nice reward after." He winked at me while taking another bite of his food. I had fallen in love with Yoshikage Kira. "No one will hurt you as long as your with me. Don't you ever leave my side." He'd say this every night before bed.

Request for One-shot are open!

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Duty PT2

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 4269

WARNINGS: Hints of eating disorder

SUMMARY: Y/N attempts to come to grips with the fact that her husband-to-be has no plans to be faithful to her. Robb tries to make an effort with his bride-to-be. No matter how prissy she seems.

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 5½ | PART 6

ROBB STARK MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Age 6

“The Great Houses of Westeros, their sigils, and their words, please, Y/N.”

You can’t concentrate when Septa uses that tone. It’s so intimidating. The answers to these questions usually come to you as easily as breathing air, but Septa makes it feel like you can’t breathe.

“House Stark, a direwolf, ‘Winter is Coming’.”

“Yes.”

“House Lannister, a lion, ‘Hear Me Roar’.”

“Correct.”

You lick your dry lips as your mind suddenly goes blank. Septa begins to tap her foot impatiently, but it only serves to make you even more nervous.

“House Mordon-“

“No!” Septa slams the book, ‘The History of Westeros’, down on the table. The sound nearly makes you leap out of your chair.

“Read it again.”

Age 11

Your mother has a handmaiden whose daughter is the same age as you. She likes it when you braid her hair and talk about the places your father has taken you and your mother.

Septa leans down behind you as you work and your heart begins to race. She clicks her tongue and grabs your hand, tapping your fingers with a cane.

“Once you stop chewing these,” she raises your fingernails up to your eyes, “Then your braids will come out neater."

Age 15

“No, no, no.”

Over the years, you learned that ‘no’ is Septa’s favourite word. She says it all the time. You’re even convinced that she mutters it in her sleep.

“You’re missing the last few notes, my Lady,” she says before singing a short tune, hitting what you assume are the correct notes.

You take in a deep breath and begin to sing again, your throat starting to get sore from all the practicing. To your surprise, Septa begins to smile, and when you’re finished, she even claps for you.

“You sang that beautifully,” she says as she cups your face in her hands proudly, “You’re turning into an absolutely beautiful young woman, my Lady.”

You beam in response, “I’ll make the perfect wife then?”

“Singing helps to keep your husband’s interest, it’s true, but that’s not all there is to being a good wife,” you’re interrupted by your mother’s voice as she enters the room. She and your father have been gone on a trip for the last two weeks.

Septa curtseys as you rush to welcome your mother home with greetings and a hug.

“Now, my sweet, being a dutiful wife is more than just sewing and pretty dresses,” she says, “A good man will appreciate your strength and intelligence. You must have grace and poise.”

You nod along as she speaks. It’s a lot to remember, but you’re hanging on to every word.

“And most importantly, you must always demand respect from everyone. Including your husband.”

***

Your mother works at your hair as you sit in front of the vanity, deep in thought. It is a strange feeling being engaged once again. Things are different this go around — you are certain this time that Robb is the one you will end up marrying. And despite barely knowing him, the thought scares you.

For some reason, you can’t shake the look in his eyes when he was with Elyse. How can you marry someone who is so in love with another? How can you resign yourself to what will surely always be a loveless marriage?

A part of you feels like a hypocrite, because your heart too belongs to another. But you’ve left him in King’s Landing, with no intentions of ever seeing him again, while Robb has Elyse here with him. How is he ever going to be a committed husband with his lover around every corner?

“Northerners don’t wear too many braids in their hair. I suppose you could say it’s part of their charming mundanity,” your mother sighs as she fiddles with your hair.

You don’t respond, still consumed by your thoughts.

“Mother, why must they even have the engagement feast?” you suddenly ask, “They’re at war, they shouldn’t have time for any of this.”

Your mother smiles at you through the mirror, “Robb is to be your husband soon, you should learn to think of yourself as ‘we’. His strifes are now yours too.”

“Okay, fine. Why are we having this feast when we are at war?”

Rania notices your clipped tone but chooses to ignore it. “Are you that eager to be married?” she asks instead. You catch her smirk in the mirror as she sections your hair.

“Sweetheart, even in times of war, men need something to hold on to,” she says, “It can’t all be blood, death, and grief lest you lose sight of what you’re fighting for. Soldiers need that glimmer of hope. Which is what you just be for your husband.”

You accidentally scoff out loud.

Rania rolls her eyes and puts the brush down on the dresser in front of you. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

Her face hardens as she grows impatient and you sigh deeply knowing you can't keep anything from her.

"I saw Robb with another woman last night," you whisper, "They seemed...close."

She doesn't say anything at first, then she shrugs and picks up the brush once more and continues running it through your hair.

"It probably means nothing. His Grace is a young man after all."

You don't respond, but Rania catches the strained look on your face.

"Y/N, what is it? Tell me right now."

You look down at your hands and swallow thickly. "I heard him tell her that he loves her."

Rania's hand freezes in the air, still holding the brush.

"I know affairs during marriage are to be expected, but I don't know how to handle it when it's before. How can I even marry him now?"

"Look at me."

You look up at your mother through the mirror as she leans down so her head is just above yours.

"You must put a stop to this – whatever it is. For your own sake."

"How?"

"That is for you to decide," she says as stands up straight again and begins playing with your hair, "I won't always be here, Y/N. You must learn to deal with such things yourself."

You almost shrink into yourself at those words. It's all too real. After the wedding, your parents will be leaving Winterfell and you will be alone once again. Just like you were in King's Landing. Your heart begins to race.

"It won't be too difficult," Rania continues, "I'm sure Lady Catelyn and the King are both aware of what's at stake for them. They will not do anything to jeopardise this marriage. As long as they don’t know that we need them as much as they need us, then you have the advantage. Always.”

A smile forms on your lips as turn and look up at your mother properly. She places a hand against your cheek.

"Remember what I told you. You must never allow anyone to disrespect you – not even your husband," she says then returns to the work on your hair, "Forget tradition. You'll wear your braids tonight."

***

“My heart’s not in it.”

“It never is,” Catelyn sighs as she secured Robb’s cloak and strokes his hair, “But when honour calls, we must all do our duty.”

“Duty,” Robb spits the word out like a bitter taste in his mouth, “I hate that word. It only means making sacrifices that I must bear as long as I live.”

He looks away, his eyes full of sorrow as he thinks of his beloved. How her face had dropped at the news of his engagement. How she’d held back tears and forced a smile on her lips as he explained that this is what he must do.

Catelyn doesn’t miss this, and he face immediately hardens.

“You must forget that girl,” she says.

Robb’s head snaps in her direction as his eyebrows furrowed, “What girl?”

“The servant girl. Elyse.”

Robb’s eyes widen slightly — he hadn’t known that anyone was aware of his relationship with Elyse. Suddenly, his mouth goes dry and he can’t look his mother in the eye anymore.

“At least tell me you haven’t played with her virtue.”

“Of course not!” Robb is offended by the accusation, “I would never do such a thing!”

“Good,” Catelyn says, not feeding into his dramatics, “Because you could never marry her.”

Robb seems annoyed by that notion. As if he was being barred from choosing to do what he wants.

“I could if I wanted to,” he challenged, “I could stop this feast. Say that I must travel south urgently. In a few months’ time I’d cancel the engagement. Marry Elyse.”

He’d thought about it. Almost everyday since the Myrrtons arrived in Winterfell. Every way that he could get out of this engagement and marry the one he loves. He would never do it, but the thoughts comforted him at night.

Catelyn looked at him as though he had sprouted a second head.

“Have you gone mad?”

Robb didn’t speak.

“Do you know what happens if you marry that servant girl?” she says in that stern voice only a mother can channel, “You offend the Freys. You offend the Myrrtons. You lose the bridge, you lose Cillian’s army, and you lose the means to feed yours. Do you hear me, boy?!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then don’t act like one!” Catelyn finishes and steps back with a sigh, “Seven Hells, Robb! You know what you must do, as well as I do. Why must I speak it aloud?”

He knows that she’s right. Of course he knows. But he keeps the fantasy alive for his own sake. The image of himself marching into the Great Hall in the middle of the festivities and announcing his journey South. He would apologise to Lord Cillian of course, and his daughter — when the time came. It would only be right.

But alas, it was only a fantasy. Not real. And never will be. So he pulls on his gloves and finishes dressing then turns to his mother, a resentful smile on his lips for what he must do.

“Perhaps I needed the reminder.”

***

All eyes are on you as you enter the room, hands clasped in front of you and chin raised high. They don’t just look at you, they study you; the way you walk as though you're floating on air, the way your bright blue dress — an unusual choice of colour in these parts — trails behind you. Even the way your skin glows is a sign of kisses from a sun that the Northerners had never seen. Everything about you screams ‘outsider’.

But you don't care. You want them to know. The braids in your hair match the style your mother wore during her own engagement dinner. You chose the blue dress because the colour reminds you of the morning view of the sea from your childhood bedroom. And you carry yourself the way you do because you're proud of being a Southern girl — and you do not intend to leave that part of yourself behind.

Robb stands on the raised dais, in front of the high table. He already looks uninterested in all that’s happening. Still, he extends a hand to help you up, that false smile stuck on his lips, and walks you to your seat. To the right of you sits your mother and father, visibly happy to be here, and to your right sits Robb with his mother beside him.

Over the course of the evening, various men and women that you don’t know approach the table to congratulate both you and Robb on your impending nuptials. Despite not having a single word to say to you, he’s more than happy to engage these strangers in long conversations. You start to wonder if it is all a ploy to avoid speaking to you.

With a heavy sigh, you push your plate away from you and lean back in your chair. Your cheeks hurt from the smile you’ve been plastering on all night. The music is too loud, everyone is too drunk, and all you wish for is the night to be over.

“Finished already?” your mother suddenly says as she takes a bite of her roasted chicken.

You furrow your brows at her in confusion and she glances quickly at your plate in response. Your chicken is untouched, the carrots and potatoes are only half eaten, and you’ve mashed the peas into a green paste with your fork.

She smiles so as not to alert anyone at the table to your conversation, “You’ve barely touched your food.”

“I had some figs and a few potatoes.”

Her face drops, as do all pretenses. “You need to eat, Y/N,” she says in a firm tone.

“I had a big lunch, Mother, I’m just not hungry.”

“Y/N—”

“Mother,” you cut her off and place a hand over hers as you look into her eyes, “I’m fine. I promise you.”

She doesn’t look convinced but she nods anyways, her wary eyes staying on you. For her peace of mind, you cut out a quarter of your chicken breast and forced it down your throat in small bites.

***

Robb lets out his third heavy sigh in a row. His want to have this tedious evening come to a swift end has quickly turned into a desperate need. His father-in-law to be is passed out drunk in his chair, his future mother-in-law is deep in conversation with a woman he doesn't know, his mother is nowhere to be found, and his betrothed…there’s not much to say about her. She hasn’t spoken a word to him since she sat down, and Robb is struggling to care.

Somewhere in the crowd, Robb spots a familiar face. Dark hair, a freckled face and deep blue eyes. Elyse. She’s serving ale to the guests at the back of the hall. When she finally looks up, she catches Robb’s eyes and stops for a moment. She tucks the empty tray she's holding under her armpit and smiles sweetly at him before turning away. Robb takes this as an invitation to follow.

“If you’ll all excuse me for a moment,” he says to the people at the table as he rises to his feet.

Robb keeps his eyes on Elyse as he nudges his way through the crowd of excited drunks. He’s so distracted that when he bumps into someone, he almost doesn’t realise that it is his mother.

“Robb?” she questions as she looks up at him, “Where are you going?”

Robb glances quickly at the door. “I’m just stepping out for some fresh air, Mother.”

Catelyn raises a brow, clearly not believing him, “Then why don’t you ask Lady Myrrton to accompany you?”

Robb turns back to the table. Y/N has her chin resting in her hand as she stares blank-faced at the drunk dancers in front of her. She looks bored out of her mind, and Robb suspects a hint of condescension in the way she watches them. He dreads the idea of going anywhere with her.

“Y/N doesn’t know anyone here. She is to be your wife, don’t you want her to feel welcome in your home?”

Not particularly, no, Robb thinks to himself. It would be better if his coldness drove her away from Winterfell.

“Or at least try to get to know her?” Catelyn continues.

Robb knows his mother is right. Whether he likes it or not, Y/N will become his wife soon enough. And it would be a shame to share a marital bed with a stranger.

“Will you ask her?” Catelyn asks.

“Yes, Mother.”

***

Somehow, the guests at a feast thrown in your honour are having a far better time than you are. They are all stupidly drunk, grasping and groping at each other with red, sweaty faces as they dance to the music.

You can’t help but think of your childhood and your friends back home. The memory of dancing with them at parties just as blissfully as this folk are is still fresh in your mind. Of course your mother never let you have a drink until your fifteenth name day, but you never did need intoxication to enjoy yourself. It feels like just yesterday you were gossiping and dancing with Lara, and Faye, and Morina��in reality you haven’t laid eyes on them since the day you left the Hills for the Capital.

“Lady Y/N.”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of Robb’s voice. In a flash your blank stare disappears and is replaced with a charming smile.

“I’m taking a walk outside and was hoping you might accompany me,” he says.

It is immediately suspicious to you. The man has not spoken a word to you all night but suddenly wants to spend time with you? Impossible.

“Oh, it’s quite alright. I don’t want to impose—“

“It’s not an imposition,” he cuts you off and offers a hand.

You stare at it for a moment before reluctantly nodding and placing your hand in his. Not a word is spoken between the two of you as he helps you off of the raised dais and escorts you out of the hall.

***

Outside, Robb sucks in a sharp breath and smiles awkwardly at you. A part of you hopes he speaks first. At least until you’re comfortable with each other.

"I haven't had a chance to show you around the castle," he says, "Would you like a tour of the grounds?"

You take a look around and find that not a single person is outside. The moonlight is illuminating the courtyard nicely, but the main source of light is pouring out of the Great Hall, along with raucous laughter and music.

"This late?"

He shrugs and holds out his arm for you, "If you don't mind."

You take one last look at the Hall and consider the cold and dark for a moment before linking your arm with his.

Robb starts with a tour of the castles itself – every single wing. For a split second you wonder if he seeks to bore you to death until you voluntarily offer to return to the feast, but you stick with it and pay attention to everything he says.

Next comes the kitchens, where Robb introduces you to everyone present. Most are bustling about trying to keep up with the food intake of the feast-goers. Although they all stop to greet you as politely as they can, you can see in their eyes that you are only disrupting their flow. And so you don't keep them, making a mental note to introduce yourself at a later time. Your mother has taught you the importance of having a personal relationship with every member of staff.

Robb is being perfectly polite and kind the whole time. It is more than a little surprising considering how cold he has been since your arrival. Slowly, you start to feel more comfortable with the idea of marrying him, but the memory of Elyse hangs in the back of your mind.

"Would you like to visit the kennels?" he asks.

"Lead the way."

There are barely any torches lit as you approach the kennels. Only the moon's light allows you to see where you're stepping. You can barely make out the auburn of Rob's hair when you glance up at him, and the bright blue of his eyes are now darker, like the evening sky. He looks straight ahead as he walks – whether he notices you looking at him or simply ignores it you have no clue.

Your thoughts are cut off when you hear a sound coming from somewhere in the distance.

A low growl cuts through the stillness of the night's air, and while it sends a chill down your spine, Robb seems unfazed.

"Did you hear that?"

He doesn't say anything. Did he even hear you?

Then you see it. A large shadow bounding towards you at an incredibly fast pace. You slide your arm out of Robb's and step back. The creature grunts and growl and pants as it nears you and Robb, but Robb doesn't move, nor does he speak despite your obvious fear.

When you realise that the creature has no intention of stopping, you lose all composure and dive behind Robb for protection, a screech escaping your lips in the process. You clutch his arms as you peek your head over his shoulders, your heart beating out of your chest.

It doesn't occur to you how drastically different Robb's reaction has been to the whole thing until you hear a laugh rip out of his throat, his head thrown back as it does. It's a joyous, boyish sound that in any other situation would have made you smile, but right now, it only serves to baffle you.

Your hands drop from his arms as you watch him crouch down to his knees where the creature stops. Now that his body is no longer shielding you, you realise what the shadow is.

"That's a wolf!" you gasp as you watch Robb scratch behind its ear and the animal purr in response.

"A direwolf," he says, "Grey Wind."

Grey Wind.

He's a great beast – black as night with piercing yellow eyes. With Robb down on one knee, the wolf is taller than him. Yet, Grey Wind is like putty in his master's hands. You can't help how impressed you are at the sight – at Robb taming a direwolf.

You move around him, watching the two in wonder. Robb looks up at you and tilts his head towards Grey Wind.

"You can touch him," he says, "He won't harm you while I'm here."

Slowly, you kneel down on the ground, momentarily forgetting the beauty and worth of your dress. The wolf seems antsy, but he makes no move to attack. You shoot Robb a worried look and he nods encouragingly.

You raise your hand and hold it right in front of Grey Wind's snout as he sniffs you. Then he moves forward – your breath catching in your throat at the sudden action – and begins sniffing your ear and nuzzling your cheek. Your hands shake as you stroke his fur, Grey Wind purring and bumping his nose against your head as he did so.

Over Grey Wind's head, you notice that Robb is looking at you. He looks surprised more than anything else, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The sight pleases you.

"There's something else I'd like to show you."

***

The Godswood.

When Robb offers to show you this place, you almost decline, wanting to rest your feet after walking for so long. But standing here in this place, you're glad that you didn't.

It's serene. Still and beautiful. The moonlight bounces off the ripples of the black water and cast a stunning glow across the entire clearing.

"Wow," you breathe and step forward. You approach the weirwood tree and place a hand on it, your fingers tracing the carved face as you're mesmerised by its beauty.

"Lady Y/N," Robb suddenly says, catching your attention, "I know i have been somewhat...cold to you, and that I have barely spoken to you since your arrival–"

He must be a mindreader.

"It's quite alright. I know the King doesn't have much time on his hands."

"Even still. You are to be my wife, I ought to make time for you."

You don't respond, allowing him to complete his thought.

"I want you to know that from this day forth, I will do all I can to make sure that you feel welcome here," he says as he takes your hand, "This is to be your home, and I don't want you to feel isolated. Especially not by me."

It is a sweet sentiment, but you notice that yet again, his smile doesn't reach his eyes. It angers you. You don't want empty promises, and you intend to start your marriage as you mean to go on. With honesty.

"I know about you and the servant girl." You can't even speak the girl's name.

Robb drops your hand like a scalding hot coal. He clenches his jaw as his eyes darken.

"What about her?" he asks, clearly annoyed at the topic being raised.

Your mother's words ring in your ears and give you the confidence to speak your mind.

"I want you to end your relationship with her before you and I are wed."

"What?" He's flustered. Speechless.

"I am not some brood mare being sold for the sake of gaining an alliance," you say, feeling emboldened, "My father adores me, and if I go to him in earnest and tell him that I don't want this marriage, he will not hesitate to end this arrangement."

Robb is quiet for a moment as he stares at you, clearly shocked by your nerve. "How could you ask such a thing of me? You don't even know me."

You almost backtrack as you consider his words, but the spirit of your mother inside you won't allow you to.

"These are my conditions," you say, "If you cannot meet them, well...I'm sure you and I both have many other marriage prospects. My father mentioned something about the Freys?"

Robb doesn't say anything, stunned into silence.

"I don't demand your home, nor do I expect your love. But I will have your respect," you say, a firmness in your tone, "I'll leave you to think it through. Your Grace."

***

Special thanks to these awesome folk! Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ❤️:

@witchywrter @satan2002 @kingniazx @ria132love @ietss @spn-obession @hotleaf-juice @simonsbluee

[the-grey-hunt]

new day new dracula babey! i got to talking with a friend so i have some meta to share as well!

jonathan refers to the new area of the castle he's explored as belonging to the ladies of bygone days, which i find FASCINATING, as someone who writes a lot of high fantasy and loves to design castles. jonathan talks about the windows, referring to how he's moved up a few storeys and therefore found a part where the windows aren't guarded against attack (i.e., arrow slits to be fired out of but too narrow to admit any enemy fire) and therefore are much nicer and let in more light.

as for identifying it as being a ladies' area of the castle, it's entirely possible! upper floors were traditionally more residential areas in castles as opposed to lower floors, since anyone could walk into the lower floor from the front door. He mentions the furniture being nicer, too, indicating this is a more private area of the castle made for comfort (once upon a time) rather than a utilitarian receiving area/lord's hall as might be on the first floor. Private areas are somewhat more likely to be ladies' rooms, such as private drawing rooms or solars (aka ye olde sunroom), as women in Europe were traditionally relegated to more private areas of the home rather than outright participating in public affairs that might go on in the lower floors.

this entry, while short, does a lot to emphasize jonathan's relationship with the feminine/female. I mean this in a sort of narrative sense, since jonathan occupies a very feminine gothic niche. The "female gothic", a term of analysis coined in the 70s, is what I mean specifically. The female gothic essentially is a way of talking about how women in gothic stories represented contemporary anxieties about women, their roles, and their place in society. It "centers its lens on a young woman’s rite of passage into womanhood and her ambivalent relationship to contemporary domestic ideology, especially the joint institutions of marriage and motherhood...[and] deploys the supernatural for political ends."

In the sense of being trapped, especially in a home (and in the private, withdrawn, female parts of the home such as bedrooms and drawing rooms), Jonathan is very much subservient to the master of the house (Dracula) and preyed upon by the supernatural forces. He is also being tested by these supernatural forces on the verge of marriage - a point in life which many Gothic women are placed at, since it's a major transition in their lives. There's also this quote:

"the genre’s starring female role...is transported to, and...imprisoned in, an ancestral Castle or manor home by the text’s other star—the enterprising, unyielding, ruthless, and attractive Gothic hero-villain who threatens the young woman’s maidenhead and inheritance. The protagonist’s exploration, often at night, of the apparently haunted Castle’s maze-like interior involves confrontation with mysteries whose ultimate unravelling signifies a process of self-discovery."

not commenting on jonathan's maidenhead or inheritance here, but this seems VERY applicable to his experience! a lot of people have talked about gay undertones (stoker's sexuality is apparently under debate, but idk much about that) between him and Dracula, the threatening master of the house. as for self-discovery in the unraveling of the mystery (aka the vampires), i don't know if i've read enough of Dracula so far to really comment on it.

I don't necessarily know where to GO with that, but I thought it would be fun to comment on, since I studied the "female Gothic" specifically in a class a few years ago. I'm excited to see where this analysis takes me as the dailies continue and jonathan gets into deeper trouble (or hopefully gets out of it a little?). in the meantime i think i need to go find some good analysis of vampires in gothic works.

[sukirichi]

closer | gojo satoru x reader

a/n: aaah my first ask and it’s a request! thanks so much this is so kind and sweet of you 🥺 and here it is! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway! 

summary: in which Gojo has the need to be closer to you after a long day of hard work

pairings: jealous! Gojo x reader

warnings: none, other than this isn’t proofread! (This is just a fluffy domestic short fic!)

masterlist ! 

The best part about being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the power (although Gojo basks in that too) but rather the fact that he allows himself to completely tear his walls down and be putty in your hands once he comes home from work.

Gojo would never say it out loud that the best part of his days is waking up next to you, pressing kisses in your still sleepy face and you whining for five more minutes, then watching as you wobble like a penguin to the shower so you can start your day. Although he doesn’t really ask much from you, his heart still swells every time you make him a sandwich, kiss it and claim that it’s “made with love” before he proudly shows off his ‘breakfast’ of the day to his students.

Even in work, he still thinks of you. It’s quite impossible for this man to stop thinking of you; you and him never left that honeymoon phase even after two years of marriage and a much longer time of dating.

He could be exorcising a curse then get distracted afterwards after seeing an Italian restaurant that he just knows you’ll love. Next thing you know, Gojo flicks his wrist and exorcises the curse in a flash before hopping into that restaurant to look at the menu. Loving is knowing; Gojo takes the time to see if the restaurant would be respectful of your allergies every time before booking reservations.

It’s no secret that this man is completely enamoured with you, if his sappy good morning kisses accompanied with light, teasing touches down your legs is not an indication already. Gojo is confident and feels safe in your relationship and he’s never the type to get jealous because Gojo is Gojo – who else would be better than him for you?

Or at least that’s what he used to believe, until he comes home with a bag of pumpkin spice bread for you, arms wide open and a “Darling~” about to leave his lips when he sees your current predicament.

Nanami is leaning against one of the chairs in your cafe downstairs from your home, the usual stoic man’s lips and cheekbones slightly raised in laughter as you tell him something about your day. Gojo can’t exactly understand the worse falling from your lips because he’s too focused on the way you’re leaning forward, eyes absolutely crinkled into half-moons while you share a strawberry tart with him. Gojo sees the cups of tea have already been emptied, meaning Nanami has been here for a much longer time than he is welcomed.

Gojo clenches his jaw. He’s told you many times you should get a bell so you’d know when a customer comes in, but now he’s thankful you’re stubborn and refused to have one because he can hide in one of the propped up tables and chairs hidden in the darkness.

He can’t help the sigh he releases. He’s late – like he always is.

You’re a regular human who isn’t able to see curses. You’ve only ever known about their existence ever since you started dating Gojo, but other than that, you’re completely unaware of how these things work. It doesn’t bother Gojo. In fact, he quite likes that he can be just a regular man around you, and he basks in the comfort of not having to worry about your safety if ever you were also like him.

He met you when you were just still a barista who helped your boss bake from time to time. Gojo was only a student then who hopped from one cafe to another in search of the best delicacy, but he got more than what he bargained from when he met the fresh-faced and bubbly young woman standing behind the counter whose smile was sweeter than the most sugary dessert you’ve ever made.

As the two of you grew older, Gojo supported you in building your own cafe since you’re so passionate about it and it’s been your dream since childhood.

He still remembers how you’d spend hours in the kitchen trying out new ingredients, so much so that you forget to eat on most days. Gojo is left with the task of literally hauling your ass up upstairs and force you to shower with him. You lie that you’re not really tired, but the moment his skilled hands roll the tension out of your shoulders, a contented and grateful sigh paints those lips he loves to kiss.

One of the things Gojo loves doing with you is taste-testing. He’s not around the house most of the time when you work since he’s a busy man himself, but on the days he actively chooses to annoy Principal Yaga and go AWOL, he’d sit obediently on the counter and let you use him as your own taste experimenting dummy.

When night falls and you’re just about ready to head to bed; satisfied and proud of another day of hard work, Gojo comes home early to help you clean up the cafe and prop the furniture so you don’t overstrain your muscles.

Or at least, he wants to come home early to help you. It’s just that he often gets carried away on his missions and stays behind a lot longer than he’d like because the world of curses is extremely demanding. After seeing that you probably already lifted all these heavy chairs and cleaned up everything by yourself even when you’re tired, and you still have the ability to smile and laugh like that in Nanami’s presence when he should be the one on the receiving end, Gojo is unable to fight back the twisting feeling that pools in his stomach.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Gojo loudly smacks the paper bag in the table between you and Nanami, his hands resting on the blond’s shoulder who only groans at his presence. “Yo!” He greets, winking when your eyes gleam brighter now that your husband is home.

There’s no trace or hint of anything that could indicate you’re upset with him because he didn’t come home early. Instead, you bow and excuse yourself while picking up your cups and the small plate where remnants of your signature tart had been, and Gojo watches with longing eyes as you disappear in the back room.

Now that you’re gone, Gojo drops in your seat, takes off his blindfold, and glares at Nanami. “Nanamin,” he drawls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here – getting chummy with my wife, no less.”

Gojo knows he’s being petty and childish. Of course he is. This is Nanamin we’re talking about; the man is as frigid and stone and he’s as interested in romantic relationships as much as he respects Gojo Satoru. Plus, it’s you, and you have eyes for Gojo and Gojo only, but it’s also Gojo Satoru who’s mixed in the formula, and he’s not the least bit ashamed that he’s being immature right now.

Of course he’s jealous. Of course he’s possessive.

You’re his sweet, little wife – of course he doesn’t like it.

As if reading his mind but couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, Nanami slides an envelope across the table. “Ijichi took a sick leave so he couldn’t give this to you. I was tasked to hand it over to you instead so I came around. It’s not my fault you come home late and your wife insisted I have a short meal before I came home,” Gojo opens his to retort something stupid when you emerge from the back, pretty face tired yet still patient as ever.

“Leaving already, Nanami?” You smile up at him, hand slipping through Gojo’s bigger and rough ones. He doesn’t know why the gesture leaves him stunned, especially when you step close enough that he feels your heat on this sudden cold night. He’s so entranced by everything about you he doesn’t even notice the blond bidding his farewell.

Gojo watches as you turn to face him, smaller hands reaching up to caress his face. Now that his blindfold is gone, his hair falls down to forehead, your dainty fingers brushing them away from his eyes so you could marvel in its beauty.

Like a little kid, he melts into a puddle when you do that exact eye-smile he’s seen you do with Nanami, only this time, it’s reserved, private, and intimate.

Gojo shuts his eyes in the process, nearly stumbling forward, which he doesn’t really let happen with anyone because he’s the Gojo Satoru; strongest jujutsu sorcerer. But you don’t mind, you never do, and if anything it only makes you laugh when he pretends to be deadweight by collapsing into the crook of your neck.

“What a big baby,” you tease with your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion, all the tiredness and exhaustion from his day disappearing into thin air.

“Yes,” he concedes as he follows you up the stairs where you both change into your pyjamas and settle in for the night. “But I’m your big baby.”

The nickname makes you laugh, head thrown back as giggles erupted in your chest. You’ve already removed your makeup, hair down from your work hairnet and flowing in loose waves. Gojo stifles a gasp then, because you’re in his arms, in his bed, smelling like him, and you’re so soft, so free, so vulnerable and the way you lean into his shoulders while he rubs his cheek on the crown of your head makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.

He’ll never get tired of this – of you.

The mere thought of seeing you with someone else that isn’t him doesn’t sit well with Gojo. Now he understands why he’s so jealous and immature – it’s because he hasn’t wanted anyone or anything as much as he loves you.

He can’t imagine a life where he’ll wake up to his mornings without your limbs sprawled across his longer ones, or how he may never hear your sleep talks about birds and butterflies; which is utterly ridiculous, but because it’s you, he finds it adorable. Sometimes Gojo wonders how he ever even lived before meeting, but of course, those were days filled with nothing but him doing weird stupid shit.

Not that he’s stopped doing that, but now at least he’s doing those weird stupid with you.

And he only ever wants to share those with you, so he doesn’t and will never allow anyone else to take what’s rightfully his. You’re his wife, the love of his life, the sunshine in his mornings and the sunset of his beautiful dusk.

He doesn’t care if he’s petty – he’s got every right to be jealous because Gojo Satoru never shares what’s his.

When his mind races back to the way you smile for Nanami again, his hold on you grows tighter. You don’t complain when Gojo suddenly presses his lips into yours, a breathy moan blessing his ears once he finally moves on top of you. Gojo runs his hand under your – his – shirt, letting those talented hands of his roam upon the expanse of his skin like an artwork he’ll never get tired of looking at.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in between the lip-locking, leaning closer when your nails start to scratch his scalp as a way to soothe him from the night. Nothing about the kiss is hurried or fervent; rather, it’s calm and steady, slow and passionate, much like how everything he feels for you is similar to a calm, rainy day where he’ll stay in with a hot cup of chocolate.

You’re home – warmth and comfort – and you know you’re his just as he knows he’s yours, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you like he wants you to never forget that.

You shiver when Gojo’s fingers tickle your ribcage, that spot always having been sensitive. Your husband swipes his tongue over your lips that still tastes like strawberries from your lipbalm, and he groans, falling forward when you allow him access into your sweet, sweet mouth. Meanwhile, you travel down from his hair into those broad, strong shoulders that always seemed like a fortress to you.

Gojo was so big and strong compared to you. There’s no denying he could easily break you if he wanted to, but he’s nothing but gentle – perhaps a little eager – when he holds you like this.

There’s no memory of how you end up on top of his lap that night with the covers barely strewn across your bodies, Gojo’s back pressing into the bed frame that’s witnessed endless nights of passion. His hands then run over your hips, squeezing it a little too hard until you rut against his hips.

“Hmm,” you moan into his mouth at the friction, while Gojo only smirks at your reaction. Even after years, you’re still so sweet, sensitive, and responsive – he just can’t get enough of it. “Satoru,” the way you say his name is so breathy, almost as if it’s a secret only the two of you should know, so he listens intently at your next words. “You’re a little needy tonight. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lies, smiling to himself once he sees your lips are red and bruised. He’s sure he looks the same, but your eyes are glossed over with love that he can’t resist you pulling you to him as if the space offends him. He trails his lips down to your neck to leave red patches of marks that claims you as his – not that the gold wedding band on your fingers wasn’t doing the job already.

Like the good girl you are, you tilt your head and allow him to do as he pleases. He sucks, licks, kisses and nips at the skin, all the while careful to not hurt you or push you over to the edge since both of you are too tired for the day to ever do anything.

Your head drops to the crook of his neck then, arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely as if you trusted him to catch you whenever you fall – and you know he will. He always will.

Later on, you grow sleepy at the way he starts to pepper kisses into your skin that addictingly smells like cinnamon and vanilla all at the same time. Gojo chuckles to himself at how peaceful you look in that moment, draped over him like a tiny puppy who lives in a world too big for themselves, but that’s not true.

You’re bigger than the universe itself, larger than the vast galaxies he held beneath those eyes, and Gojo finally stops being jealous.

There’s no need to be, after all, not when he’s the one you trust wholeheartedly to tuck you in bed while your soft breathing lulls him into slumber as well. Gojo flicks the lamp off with his finger, not wasting another second before he scoots closer, closer, closer until there’s no more recollection of where you begin and where he ends.

He stands corrected in his statement.

He’ll never get tired of this, of you, for you’re bigger than the universe itself and there’s still a lot of space between the two of you that he can’t wait to cross until your worlds crash and burn.

“Next time,” he promises before kissing your eyelids, “I’ll come home earlier.”

[deliriumsdelight7]

I truly can't imagine how it would work??? But the forced proximity prompts? Which I totally love. But a forced marriage au for Eddissy? I haven't seen but I'd like to lol

*takes a swig of beer, cracks knuckles*

Okay. Hellcheer forced marriage, huh? I’ve actually had a concept brewing in my head for a couple months, which I’ll modify for these purposes. It may not be a popular one, but meh. Here’s how it would go down.

One night, in the backseat of Jason’s car, he and Chrissy get careless. Maybe he sneaks off the condom. Maybe he promises to pull out, but doesn’t. Maybe he does pull out, but shit happens. No matter how it happens, it happens: Chrissy is pregnant.

Thing is, Chrissy doesn’t notice right away. She isn’t used to having periods because of her ED, which she’s still recovering from. It’s actually a friend from the cheer squad who points out all the little changes going on in Chrissy’s body. But the class gossip overhears, and it’s not long before the whole school - the whole TOWN - finds out.

Laura is, understandably, furious. Oh, she wanted Chrissy to have babies, alright - AFTER she married Jason like a good Christian girl. Well, now that the whole town knows, they can’t take a quiet trip out of town to “take care of the problem.” There’s only one thing to be done: in order to not be considered a ruined woman, Chrissy will have to marry Jason. Immediately.

Chrissy sees her life flash before her eyes, in all its future misery. Marrying Jason had always been her mother’s plan for her, but it wasn’t supposed to happen until after high school. Now that she’s being told that she needs to get married before she starts showing, she feels like her life is coming to an end. In her fear and desperation, she says something completely far-fetched: “The baby isn’t Jason’s!”

The house goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. In a dangerously low voice, Laura asks: “if it isn’t Jason’s, then whose is it?”

Backed into a corner, Chrissy tries to think of a boy who might fit. None of the basketball team would ever agree to this. There’s only one boy she can think of who might: someone who’s been nothing but kind to her, who stands up to Jason in the school cafeteria. “Eddie Munson.”

Needless to say, things explode. Jason immediately dumps Chrissy for cheating on him with The Freak. She can’t even bring herself to pretend to be heartbroken.

The next morning, Eddie gets cornered by half the basketball team. Carver’s looking for a fight. Normally, Eddie likes to egg the asshole on, but today the jock is looking for blood, and fistfights aren’t Eddie’s style. When Carver accuses him of knocking Chrissy up, he laughs in his face, because really - who the fuck would believe that Chrissy Cunningham - sweet, perfect, shy Chrissy - would slum it with a guy like him.

But he happens to look over Carver’s shoulder, and he sees her gray eyes boring into his. Begging him to back her up. He’s been a goner for her since the eighth grade, so fuck it - he does.

Next thing he knows, he’s dragged into a shotgun wedding. Wayne is PISSED, because he wanted better for his nephew - wanted him to get his diploma and get the fuck out of Hawkins. How could he be so stupid as to knock up a cheerleader mere months before graduation? Eddie explains the situation, which Wayne believes, because sure, Eddie might lie through his teeth about his drug dealing, but when it comes to the important shit, he’s as honest as the day is long.

When Eddie and Chrissy finally have a chance to talk, she offers him an out. If she can just postpone the wedding until after they graduate, he can leave town just like he’d planned and never have to hear from her again. This is her mess, after all, and she feels awful for dragging him into it.

And oh, Eddie’s tempted. Because marriage? Not in his plans. He’s seen just how ugly marriage can get, and he has no interest in subjecting himself to that shit. And marrying the girl of his dreams, who just sees him as a way out of her own mess? Even worse. But he can see that Chrissy is barely hanging on by a thread. If he leaves her - which he has every right to do - her life is as good as over. She’ll never get out from under her parents’ thumb.

So he says yes, under one condition: no matter what, they get the fuck out of Hawkins. Chrissy cries in relief.

The wedding is small and informal - just a courthouse thing - but Wayne and all of Hellfire show up, plus some of Chrissy’s friends from cheer. The first thing Mr. and Mrs. Munson do as a married couple is go to her house, pack up her shit, and bring it to Eddie’s trailer.

The last month of school passes in a blur. Chrissy thrives in the Munson household. For the first time, she’s allowed to do what she wants, eat what she wants, wear what she wants. By the time graduation comes, she’s half in love with her husband. Her husband, who refuses to make a move no matter how many hints she drops, who won’t share a bed with her.

As for Eddie? Eddie is losing his damn mind. Because pregnancy really agrees with Chrissy. She’s not really showing yet, but she’s got this healthy, happy glow about her that makes her more gorgeous than ever. Or maybe that’s just her being out of her mom’s clutches. Either way, it’s all Eddie can do to keep his hands to himself.

Eventually they graduate, and they move away.

That’s, uh… that’s all I’ve got. Or rather, everything else is sort of nebulous and undefined. Idk if I’ll write this or not, but it’s definitely been kicking around in the back of my head. Maybe I’ll just finish this off in a part two later. Or hell, if someone wants to pick this up so I don’t have to write it myself, I wouldn’t complain!