#almost like the collective daughter of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

violentvaleska · 15 hours ago

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𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔

ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇʳⁱᵈᵉ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ!ʟᴇᴠɪ × ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ ʟᴇᴠɪ ʜᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴇ. ɪᴛ sᴇᴇᴍs ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪs sᴛᴏɪᴄ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅs ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴍʙᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ɴɪɢʜᴛ...

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, sᴍᴜᴛ, ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀғᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴅᴏᴍ/sᴜʙ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ғᴏᴜʀ ғɪᴠᴇ

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ: @xiernia @fangsgrr

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴀs ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ! ʏᴀʏ! ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪɴsᴀɴᴇ ᴍᴀɴʏ ʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡs ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴅᴍs, ɪᴍ sᴏ ғʟᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ :) ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ <3

Morning light spills through the gossamer curtains of your chambers, a soft gold that paints the room in ethereal warmth. The scent of parchment and aged leather mingles with the faint aroma of morning dew wafting through the open window. Your desk is a quiet storm of scattered history books, quills, and half-finished notes. The carved oak chair creaks faintly beneath you as you shift your weight, leaning closer to the pages of an ancient tome.

Your quill scratches across the parchment, the ink a bold contrast against its pale surface as you jot down observations. Names leap at you from the thick pages of Eldia’s illustrious history, weaving a tapestry of its lineage and devotion. Maria, Rose, Sina. They appear again and again, their presence as immutable as the stones of the walls they inspired. Sacred. Eternal. Each tied to the goddess Ymir and her three daughters, protectors of Eldia. You pause, your hand stilling as you trace the lines of the names, their weight pressing against your mind.

You close your eyes briefly, breathing deeply. Of course, those walls had to be named after them too. It seems Eldian noblewomen have a fable for choosing these sacred names, and it’s evident why; they carry power, a divine legacy. Yet they feel stifling, heavy with expectations you cannot meet. Historia. The name briefly dances in your mind, but you discard it almost immediately. It feels awkward, a shadow of the queen you’ve already come to know. Elyria, another suggestion, tumbles into your thoughts, but its meaning "God is my Lord" feels distant, almost mocking.

Levi’s voice echoes in your mind, sharp and clear: “You’re not a saint.” A bitter smile curves your lips as you sit back, your chair groaning under the weight of your thoughts. He’s right, of course. You aren’t, and you never claimed to be. These names, bound to devotion and sanctity, feel foreign, like ill-fitted armor. You sigh and push the book aside, its pages snapping shut with finality. Flipping through another volume, a different name catches your eye: Elise.

The accompanying illustration is delicate yet commanding, its ink aged but vibrant. The woman’s skin is a warm, rich brown, her features strikingly different from those of the pale, fair-haired Eldian women depicted elsewhere. Her hair, dark and curling like soft waves, frames her face beneath the weight of an ornate crown; one you recognize from the royal collection.

Your fingers linger over the drawing as you read her story. Elise was a foreign-born queen, not of noble birth, a woman thrust into Eldian court life as a peace offering. Much like you, she had little say in the matter. Yet, she rose above her circumstances with wit and courage, uniting two fractured kingdoms and securing her place in history as a beloved queen. Her name is spoken with reverence even now, two centuries after her reign.

“Elise.” You murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. The name feels light yet grounded, neither overly delicate nor harsh. You repeat it to yourself, testing its sound, and it feels right. The door creaks open behind you, and Sasha enters, a tray of pastries and tea balanced expertly in her hands. The scent of freshly baked goods fills the room, momentarily cutting through your thoughts. Her gaze falls on a sweet biscuit in particular, and her expression gives her away.

“You can take it.” You say with a faint smile, gesturing to the treat.

“Are you sure your Highness?” She asks, her eyes widening with excitement. “Positive.” She eagerly plucks the biscuit from the tray and seats herself beside you, her curiosity evident.

“Any luck with the name?” You nod, gesturing toward the open book on the desk.

“Elise. I think it might be the one.” Your maid pauses. “Elise?” Sasha repeats, her eyes lighting up as she leans in to inspect the illustration.

“That’s perfect! Do you know her story? She wasn’t from Eldia, but the people adored her!” You grin, her enthusiasm infectious.

“Do you think the court will approve?” She doesn’t hesitate. “They’ll have no choice.” Sasha speaks firmly, her tone full of conviction.

“Elise was very popular. You shall be too, your Highness.” Her words settle something within you, a flicker of resolve strengthening your heart. This name feels like more than a choice; it feels like a bridge; a way to connect with a future you’re still learning to navigate.

Tonight, at the intimate banquet, you will tell Levi your decision. The gathering is small, a prelude to the grand ceremony tomorrow. Friends and family of the Emperor will dine together in quiet celebration of the union to come. You glance at the drawing of Elise one last time, your fingers tracing the delicate lines of her crown. Yes, this name feels right, not just for its history but for the strength it symbolizes.

The banquet that evening is a vision of grandeur, the kind of spectacle reserved for royalty. Chandeliers hang like clusters of stars, their golden light shimmering against polished mahogany tables and the gleam of silverware. The air is alive with murmured conversations, punctuated by bursts of soft laughter and the occasional chime of crystal goblets.

You sit beside Levi, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your posture as composed as the porcelain figurines adorning the nearby shelves. Your gaze flits across the room, catching fragments of conversation here and there. Now and then, your thoughts wander to the exchanges you’ve had throughout the evening, piecing together stories from the fragments shared with you.

From Mikasa's mother, you learned that they don’t reside within the palace walls but instead live in Maria, the third holy wall of the empire. They’ve come only to attend the wedding, their visit fleeting, leaving the day after your wedding night.

Historia, in her typically warm yet sharp manner, shared another thread of intrigue. The Reiss clan, her ancestors, were once intertwined with the royal lineage of Eldia. Exiled after a political upheaval, they rebuilt their prominence in Marley. A fascinating detail, but one that strikes a chord in you for reasons you can’t quite name.

Even more intriguing is the revelation about your own family. Your father’s first wife, Dina Fritz, was of the Fritz clan, an ancestral link to the Reiss family and the former rulers of Eldia. Dina is also the mother of your half-brother, Zeke. A tangled web of bloodlines and histories, each thread pulling you deeper into a world where nothing is ever simple.

“If it means anything to you-” Historia had said earlier, her tone light but her eyes glinting with mischief. “-Levi is very popular in more ways than one from what I have heard. Perhaps the wedding night will turn out to your enjoyment.” The teasing comment had sent heat rushing to your face, and you nearly choked on your drink. Historia only laughed, patting your shoulder in a gesture meant to reassure but only leaving you more flustered.

As the evening wanes and the once-lively dinner slows to a serene hum, you find your opportunity. Dessert has been served, a delicate arrangement of sugared fruits and cream-filled pastries, and the room seems to settle into a lull. Conversations drift away from your end of the table, leaving a pocket of silence between you and Levi.

Summoning your courage, you lean slightly toward him. The scent of sandalwood and leather lingers faintly in the air around him, grounding you. “Your Majesty.” You speak quietly, your voice just loud enough to draw his attention. Levi turns his head, his sharp gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that always makes you feel as if he sees more than you’d like. He gestures subtly for you to continue, as though he has been waiting for you to speak all evening.

“I have chosen a name.” You inform, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. A small, hopeful smile curves your lips as you add. “It is Elise.” For a moment, there is silence. His expression remains unreadable, a blank canvas that gives nothing away. But then his lips shift, the faintest smirk curling at the corners. It’s the closest thing to warmth you’ve seen from him since your arrival. “Elise?” He repeats, the name rolling smoothly off his tongue. His tone holds a note of approval that surprises you.

“A wise choice. She was a queen of great renown. It will serve you well.” The quiet praise feels like a gift, unexpected but not unwelcome. A warmth stirs in your chest, unfamiliar and unsettling. For the first time, his sharp edges seem to soften, his usual detached demeanor giving way to something almost kind. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” You reply softly, your fingers brushing the stem of your wine goblet. Levi’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer before he nods.

“I will have it delivered to the priest first thing tomorrow.”

As the banquet continues to wind down, you find your thoughts drifting. Historia’s words echo in your mind, blending with the memory of Levi’s faint smile. The combination leaves you unnerved, yet oddly pleased. Your cheeks flush when your eyes meet his again across the table, and you quickly look away, blaming the wine you sipped earlier for the warmth on your face.

Tomorrow looms large in your mind, a whirlwind of nerves and uncertainty. Your new name, your vows, your future, it all feels heavy yet inevitable. But for now, you allow yourself to sit in the glow of the chandelier light, the faint hum of conversation swirling around you, and the quiet, steady presence of the man at your side.

The next morning, Mitras awakens in celebration, the city alive with joy and festivity. From the window of your carriage, you watch as the streets unfold in a kaleidoscope of colors: banners ripple in the crisp morning air, their bright hues catching the sunlight, and crowds cheer as you pass, their faces alight with hope and excitement. The sound of their voices is a strange comfort, though it does little to settle the nerves coiling in your stomach.

Inside the carriage, you sit alone, cloaked in the weight of tradition and the heavy fabric of your wedding gown. It is a masterpiece of tailoring; ivory silk embroidered with gold thread that glimmers like sunlight on water. Yet the corset cinched tightly around your torso feels like a cage, each breath a deliberate effort. A crown of elderflowers and roses rests upon your head, its sweet fragrance mingling with the faint smell of leather and wood from the carriage. Beneath it, a sheer veil drapes over your face, obscuring your features in modesty.

You try to focus on the beauty of the day, on the cheers outside and the delicate details of your attire, but your thoughts refuse to quiet. The veil and crown of flowers, a tradition you’ve never known in Marley, remind you how foreign everything feels. The people cheering for you see peace embodied in your figure, yet the irony is bitter; this union was not your choice. It was Commander Smith's idea of peace. And still, as Sasha had explained earlier, they adore you for solely that reason; the bringer of peace, their very own fairy godmother. You find it hard to reconcile the weight of their joy with the uncertainty roiling within you.

The carriage halts, jolting you from your thoughts. Through the window, you see the great church rising before you, its spires piercing the heavens. Roses and elderflowers adorn its arches and steps, their scent weaving into the crisp morning air. As you step out, a swell of applause erupts, louder and more jubilant than you expected. You blink in surprise, your fingers clutching the bouquet tighter as you take it all in.

“They are so swoon by you, your Highness.” Sasha murmurs, bustling to smooth the flowing train of your dress. Her words offer a flicker of reassurance, though the weight of countless eyes feels almost unbearable as you ascend the stone steps, giving the crowd a little wave. Men and women alike cheer at the gesture, throwing flowers of all colors in your direction.

Inside the church, the air is heavy with solemnity. The faint tang of incense mingles with the floral perfume of the decorations, the elderflowers and roses almost overpowering. Rows of onlookers turn to watch you enter, their gazes unyielding. You feel their scrutiny like a physical weight, but you hold your head high, each step measured. “Show no weakness.” You encourage yourself with each deliberate step.

The aisle stretches before you, long and daunting. For a fleeting moment, you picture your father walking beside you, his hand steadying your trembling one. The image is gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the stark reality of your solitary walk. This is not Marley, and you know nothing of Eldian traditions or the goddess Ymir, whose name echoes faintly in the priest’s recitations. At the altar, Levi waits. He stands tall and composed, his dark attire immaculate, the image of imperial authority. When his gray eyes meet yours, they soften ever so slightly, a fleeting glimmer of approval that catches you off guard. It stirs something in your chest, a mix of pride and vulnerability. You don’t understand why pleasing him matters to you, but the feeling lingers, undeniable.

The ceremony begins, the priest’s voice rising and falling in a rhythm that feels both foreign and familiar. The vows you repeat after him are simple yet profound; promises of loyalty, trust, and companionship. As you speak the words, you wonder if Levi can truly offer such things in return. His occasional eye roll at the mention of the goddess Ymir tells you he likely shares your doubts.

At last, the priest gestures for Levi to remove your crown of flowers and veil. You freeze as his fingers brush against your hair, the gentleness of the act unexpectedly intimate. He sets the crown on the altar with care, the veil slipping from your face to pool on the tiled floor. You feel exposed under the church’s high ceilings, your bare shoulders and neckline suddenly too conspicuous in the finely crafted gown. Whoever designed it clearly had the Emperor in mind, not its wearer.

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest announces. Your heart stumbles, your cheeks flushing hot as confusion flickers across your face. “What?” You whisper, caught off guard. Levi steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek with practiced ease. “Part of the ceremony.” He murmurs, his tone distant yet firm.

Before you can process his words, his lips press against yours. The kiss is brief, lasting no more than a few seconds, but it sends a wave of warmth through you. It’s soft and strangely grounding, leaving your heart racing and your mind reeling. When he pulls back, the sensation lingers, a strange comfort in the unfamiliar.

The ceremony transitions seamlessly into the coronation, the priest draping an emerald velvet cloak over your shoulders. The heavy fabric pools at your back as you kneel before Levi, your hands trembling slightly. Anxiety tightens your chest as you watch him take the silver crown from the priest.

It is of wonderful craftsmanship, adorned with emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds, its design echoing the weight of authority it represents. At its center lies a panel of green velvet, matching the cloak now draped over you.

As Levi places the crown on your head, its weight presses down, not just the physical weight of gold and jewels, but the burden of responsibility it symbolizes. You bow your head instinctively, unable to meet his gaze as the priest’s voice rises in proclamation:

“We hereby crown you, thee Elise, Empress of Eldia, Queen of Niedereldia, Queen of Obereldia, and Archduchess of Paradis.” The crowd erupts into thunderous applause, the sound echoing through the church like a tide crashing against the shore. Bells ring out in the distance, their chimes a jubilant announcement to the city. Levi extends his hand to you, his touch steady as he helps you rise. His fingers linger just long enough to convey a rare reassurance. “You did well.” He compliments quietly, his voice carrying a note of something close to approval.

The rest of the ceremony fades into a blur, the weight of the crown and cloak grounding you as the world around you seems to spin. Hand in hand, you face the crowd, their cheers a deafening reminder of the life you now step into. For better or worse, you are their Empress.

The wedding feast is a dazzling spectacle, a symphony of grandeur that overwhelms the senses. Golden candelabras cast warm light over the hall, illuminating tables laden with an array of delicacies; roasted pheasant, honeyed fruits, spiced wine flowing endlessly into gilded goblets. Laughter and the vibrant hum of conversation ripple through the air, mingling with the lilting strains of string instruments. Yet amidst the revelry, you feel untethered, as if you’re watching it all through a veil.

Historia and her ladies sit close to you, their chatter light and spirited as they try to draw you in. Their smiles are kind, their words encouraging, but your responses are soft, your attention fragmented. Even Levi’s family, scattered along the long tables, extend polite courtesies, nodding to you in measured approval. Yet the weight of the day clings to you, heavy as the crown that still rests on your head. Your own smile feels fleeting, a fragile thing that does little to conceal the exhaustion beneath it.

Across the hall, Lord Commander Erwin Smith leans slightly toward Levi, his broad shoulders and commanding presence unmissable even in the crowded room. A faint smile tugs at his lips as he sips his wine with deliberate precision, his eyes drifting toward you occasionally with a calculating glint.

“The commoners adore her.” Erwin remarks, his voice low and measured, though amusement laces the edges of his tone. Levi doesn’t bother to look at him, his attention fixed elsewhere, though the faintest twitch of an eye betrays his irritation.

“Tch. Why wouldn’t they? She fits the part.” He replies sharply, gulping down his wine. He would need it for what's to come. “It surprises me, honestly.” Erwin continues, swirling the deep red wine in his goblet as though weighing his words.

“Seems a pretty face colors the fact well enough that she was born of the enemy’s womb.” Levi’s expression darkens, but he rolls his eyes instead of snapping.

“Her mother is of Eldian blood. She chose a fitting name, looks like one of us, and hasn’t screwed up. That’s enough for them.” His eyes flick briefly to you as Lady Dok pulls you to the dance floor, her enthusiasm infectious. You seem reluctant at first, but as the music picks up, a quiet laugh escapes you, and for the first time that evening, you appear lighter. Levi’s gaze lingers for a moment before he looks back at Erwin.

“Get her some ladies-in-waiting. She’ll need someone to keep her occupied at court. Maybe one of my former concubines too. Might help her figure out how to deal with me.” At that, Erwin chuckles, nudging Levi’s shoulder lightly.

“Do be gentle with her tonight. We would not want her hating you after just a few hours of marriage.” Levi snorts, shaking his head as he refills his goblet. Erwin’s eyes drift back to you, watching as you move across the floor. The swirl of your gown and the soft laughter escaping your lips seem to brighten the dim corners of the hall. Yet his gaze is sharp, assessing, as though every detail of you holds a secret he’s determined to uncover.

“Are you not going to ask her to dance?” He prods, a teasing lilt in his voice as he glances back at Levi. “Fuck off,” Levi replies without missing a beat, his tone flat.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I did?” Erwin asks, his words carefully measured, though Levi recognizes the glimmer of deeper intent in his friend’s eyes. Levi lifts his cup to his lips, draining the last of its contents. “Do whatever the hell you want. See if I care.”

Erwin’s smile widens slightly as he sets his goblet down and rises from his seat, his imposing figure cutting effortlessly through the crowd. Heads turn as he moves, his presence commanding without trying. You’re mid-laugh when you notice him approaching, his golden hair catching the light, his broad shoulders making him an undeniable figure even among the nobility. He stops before you, bowing slightly, his movements precise and elegant.

“Your Majesty.” He greets with a deep bow, his voice smooth as polished marble. The title catches you off guard, and for a moment, you hesitate. You’re still adjusting to the shift in address, the weight of being “Empress” rather than “Princess.”

“Lord Commander,” you reply, inclining your head politely, your voice steady despite your nerves. He offers his hand, his expression unreadable save for the faintest trace of a smile.

“Would you honor me with a dance?” You glance toward Lady Dok, who steps back with a knowing grin, and then to Levi. The Emperor’s gaze is distant, fixed on his empty goblet as though he couldn’t care less about the scene unfolding before him. With a measured breath, you place your hand in Erwin’s.

“Of course.”

The dance floor shifts around you as Erwin leads you gracefully into the steps of the waltz. His movements are smooth, his grip firm yet respectful, and you can’t help but notice the precision with which he carries himself.

“You’ve adapted quickly to your role.” Lord Smith observes, his voice quiet enough that only you can hear. His gaze meets yours, steady and inquisitive. “Have I?” You reply softly, unsure whether it’s a compliment or a test. He tilts his head slightly, his lips curving into a subtle smile.

“More than I expected. But then, you strike me as someone full of surprises.” The comment sends a prickle of unease down your spine, though his tone remains pleasant. There’s something about the way he watches you; a keen, searching intensity that feels as though he’s peeling back layers of you with every glance.

“Tell me-” He continues, his voice low and deliberate. “-how are you finding court life? Are they treating you well?” You can't help but to feel there is some deeper intention to the question than he lets on.

“They have been kind.” you reply carefully, unwilling to give too much away. “I’m glad to hear it.” He says, though there’s a weight behind his words, as though he doesn’t entirely believe you. “Kindness is a rare currency in a place like this.”

The music swells, and he guides you effortlessly through the turns, his eyes never leaving yours. It feels less like a dance and more like a game, each word, each movement layered with unspoken meaning.

“You’re observant.” You note, testing him as much as he seems to be testing you. He chuckles, the sound low and rich. “It’s a habit of mine. And one I can’t afford to break, especially now.” His words linger, heavy with implication, and though his smile remains, it doesn’t reach his eyes. For a fleeting moment, you wonder what he sees when he looks at you, and whether he’s as loyal to Levi as he seems.

The waltz continues, but the atmosphere shifts subtly. The space between you and Erwin feels both vast and suffocating, as if the weight of unspoken words fills the air. His movements remain impeccable, each step calculated and deliberate, yet there’s a tension beneath the surface, a predator’s patience.

“I have heard rumors of spies your dearest father may have sent to Eldia.” Erwin begins, his voice smooth but pointed, his warm smile turning sharp, almost predatory.

“Just whispers, of course. You would not happen to know anything about that, would you?” His words hang in the air like a blade poised to strike. The question is wrapped in a veneer of casual conversation, but the underlying menace is unmistakable. Your breath catches, but you force your expression to remain neutral, meeting his piercing gaze with all the poise you can muster. The weight of his insinuation presses heavily on your chest, threatening to unravel your composure. Before you can summon a response, the music swells to a final, triumphant crescendo. Erwin steps back with an elegant bow, releasing your hand as though dismissing you from an interrogation.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, my Empress.” He hums in containment, his tone thick with layered meaning. You stand frozen for a moment, your mind racing as his imposing figure vanishes into the crowd. A faint tremor runs through your fingers, the kind you can only hope no one else notices.

“Is everything alright, Your Majesty?” Reiner’s voice breaks through your thoughts, steady and laced with concern. He’s at your side in an instant, his sharp gaze locked on Erwin’s retreating form, suspicion etched across his face. “He knows…” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers brush his armored arm briefly, a small gesture meant to ground both him and yourself.

“You and the others must stay put.” You add, your tone firm, though your heart pounds against your ribs. “If my husband decides to act on this, I will not be able to protect you.” Reiner stiffens but nods subtly, his jaw tightening as he processes your words. You step past him, your head held high despite the storm brewing inside, and make your way back toward Levi’s side, determined not to let the night see you falter.

As you reach the long, gilded table, the Emperor’s cold gaze shifts to you, unreadable but piercing. You move to take your seat, seeking refuge in routine, but Levi has other plans. Rising to his feet with deliberate precision, he extends his hand toward you.

The gesture is simple, but it commands the attention of the entire hall. The once-lively chatter dwindles into whispers, and then silence, as every pair of eyes follows your next move. The weight of expectation settles over you, but you don’t hesitate. You slip your hand into his, the warmth of his touch startling against your cold skin. With the faintest of nods, Levi leads you away from the table, his expression impassive as he guides you through the watchful crowd.

The soft rustle of your gown against the polished floor is the only sound you can hear as you step into the quiet corridor. The tension in Levi’s grip is faint but noticeable, his silence more unsettling than any words Erwin could have spoken. Whatever lies ahead, you can feel it in your bones; tonight is far from over. The doors to Levi’s chambers close with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the quiet stillness of the room. The air here is different; cooler, thicker, carrying with it the faint scent of tea and parchment. The shadows from the flickering hearthlight dance across the stone walls, making the space feel both intimate and imposing.

Levi strides ahead of you, his steps measured, his posture stiff, as though he’s carrying the weight of the entire empire on his shoulders. He doesn’t turn around, but you feel the gravity of his presence pulling you in, your feet moving on instinct as you step further inside. When he finally stops, it’s by the edge of the massive bed, it's dark velvet canopy looming above like a storm cloud. He exhales sharply, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion, and then he turns to face you.

“Take it off.” He speaks demandingly, his tone low, deliberate. You blink, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. His gaze locks onto yours, unwavering, his steel-gray eyes darkened by something you can’t quite name. The intensity of his stare feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, leaving you both breathless and exposed.

“My-” You start to speak, but he cuts you off. “The gown.” Levi clarifies, his voice softer but no less firm. “Take it off.” Your hands tremble as they move to the intricate fastenings of your gown. The silence stretches between you, heavy and electric, as the fabric slowly slips from your shoulders, pooling around your feet like liquid moonlight. You stand there in your shift, the thin material doing little to shield you from his piercing gaze.

Levi steps closer, his movements slow, almost predatory. When he reaches you, his calloused fingers graze your jaw, tilting your chin upward so you’re forced to meet his eyes. There’s something unreadable in his expression, a mix of restraint and possession, as though he’s fighting some internal battle you can’t see.

“You don't need to fear me.” His words are almost biting, but the way his thumb brushes over your cheek softens the edge. “I don't intend to hurt you.”

His words appear smoothing, reassuring even. It's almost like he smells and fears the anxiety in your gut.

“Take off the rest, please?” He asks, his voice quieter this time, but no less commanding, the polite “please” seemingly out of place. Your fingers move to the ties of your shift, but you hesitate, the vulnerability of the moment tightening your chest. Sensing your reluctance, Levi steps forward again, his hands coming to rest on your waist. His touch is firm, grounding, but not unkind.

“I won’t lie to you. Law provides that you are mine now, none of us has a say in this. Though I do hope that you see that bond as more of a union than anything else.” There’s no malice in his words, just a blunt honesty that leaves you feeling both exposed and oddly reassured. His hands linger on your waist for a moment longer before he steps back, giving you space to continue. He is different from how he behaved before, possessive in a way you haven't experienced before.

When the shift finally slips from your shoulders, leaving you bare, Levi’s breath hitches. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you notice it, the brief flicker of something softer in his eyes before his expression hardens again. He doesn’t touch you at first. Instead, he simply stares, his gaze tracing the curve of your collarbone, the line of your shoulders, the swell of your hips. The silence is deafening, but it’s not empty; it’s filled with the weight of his presence, the heat of his gaze, the unspoken tension crackling between you like a storm about to break.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers, the words rough, unpolished, as though dragged unwillingly from his throat. His hand rises again, this time brushing over your shoulder, trailing down your arm in a touch that sends a shiver racing through you. His fingers are calloused, a reminder of the man he is; hardened, sharp, but somehow gentle in this moment.

“I won’t maim you.” He promises tenderly, his voice quieter now, almost loving. “Not unless you give me a reason to.” The slight threat and raw possessiveness in his voice and word should unnerve you, but there’s a strange comfort in them, a sense of safety wrapped in his blunt honesty. If you do what he says you will be safe, perhaps even treated like a lover. The promise certainly appeals to you. Levi steps closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his touch firm but not forceful. He leans in, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.” His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, as though testing the waters. When you don’t pull away, the kiss deepens, his hand tightening on the back of your neck as he pulls you closer. There’s an urgency in the way he kisses you, a hunger that feels both possessive and desperate, as though he’s trying to claim you, to mark you as his in a way words never could.

Levi moves you toward the bed with a firm grip, his touch neither hesitant nor forceful; just deliberate. His urgency crackles in the air, charged with something raw and unspoken. He doesn’t waste time, hands trailing over your bare skin with a possessive reverence, as if memorizing the feel of you under his fingertips. You barely have a moment to process the sudden shift in energy before your back meets the mattress, the cool fabric beneath you a stark contrast to the heat between your bodies.

Your breath hitches as he hovers over you, eyes dark and unreadable, drinking in the sight before him. His gaze roams, slow and consuming, leaving a trail of fire wherever it lingers. You’ve never felt more exposed in your life, yet strangely, never more wanted. Then, methodically, he begins to undress.

With each discarded piece of clothing, more of him is revealed, the taut lines of his abdomen, the scars that mark his skin like remnants of old battles, the sheer strength woven into every inch of him. He is not merely a man but a warrior, built for precision and control, yet now, in this moment, he seems on the verge of unraveling.

Your eyes widen as he moves to cage you beneath him, his strong hands tracing along your collarbone before descending with excruciating slowness. When his palm brushes over your breast, a small gasp escapes you, and when his fingers trail lower, skimming your stomach before gripping your hip, your breath shudders.

Heat blooms beneath your skin, your body responding to his touch in ways you don’t fully understand. There is something overwhelming about being touched like this, about being wanted like this. And from the way Levi watches you, the hunger in his expression barely restrained, you realize he takes just as much pleasure in your reaction as you do in his touch.

“You like that, huh?” He murmurs, voice low, almost teasing. A smirk tugs at his lips, but his touch remains steady, exploring, claiming. His fingers slip into your hair, undoing the careful braids with slow, deliberate strokes, letting the strands spill over the pillows. The intimacy of the act sends a shiver down your spine.

His legs bracket yours, leaving no space for escape, but the thought never crosses your mind. You are trapped, yes; but it’s a different kind of captivity, one that leaves you breathless and weightless all at once. “Go on-” Levi instructs, his voice dropping into something rougher. “-help me out of these.”

Your gaze flickers downward, where his belt is already loosened, his dress trousers hanging low on his hips. Your fingers hesitate before moving to undo the buttons, knuckles grazing over the hardness beneath the fabric. The realization of his state sends another wave of heat through you. You know what it means, what your studies have taught you, but the reality of it, the anticipation in his expression, makes your throat go dry.

Levi sucks in a sharp breath when your hands brush over him, his muscles tensing. There is a flicker of something in his eyes; not quite impatience, but restraint, a tightly coiled thread threatening to snap. With a final pull, you slide both his trousers and undergarments down, freeing him from the last barrier between you. He kicks them off hastily, as if the weight of clothing is a burden he no longer has the patience for.

He should be indifferent to this, to you. This marriage is nothing more than strategy, a union for peace, yet here he is, watching you like a man on the brink of losing control. His fingers return to your skin, this time tracing over your chest, toying with the peak of your breast in a way that sends an involuntary shudder through you. Your back arches slightly, seeking more before you can even think to stop yourself.

Levi hums, seemingly pleased. “Sensitive.” He observes, his thumb rolling over the same spot, dragging another gasp from your lips. “That’ll be useful.” You grip his arms, overwhelmed, your breaths coming in shallow pants.

“W-What are you-” He leans in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck, the sensation both featherlight and burning. “Shh.” Levi murmurs against your skin, his voice like gravel, thick with something unspoken. “Just let me get you ready.” The words send a shiver down your spine. Not a request; a promise.

His lips move against your skin with a slow deliberation, trailing from the curve of your jaw down to the hollow of your throat. Every kiss is firm, bordering on possessive, leaving warmth in its wake. You feel the way his breath ghosts over your skin before he presses his mouth lower, his hands following the path of his lips, mapping the shape of you.

Your pulse flutters wildly as his fingers trace your waist, then your thighs, spreading warmth with every touch. You aren’t sure whether to be nervous or excited, the feeling coiling in your stomach is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. He’s everywhere, surrounding you, his body pressing close without fully closing the distance between you.

Levi watches you, studying every shift in your expression, every stuttered breath. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest against your hip, as though grounding himself. For all his control, there’s an edge to him; like he’s holding himself back.

“You’re trembling.” The Emperor huns, his voice thick, yet softer than before. “I-” Your voice catches in a stutter as he presses a kiss just above your collarbone, his hand skimming the outside of your thigh.

“I don’t know what to do.” The confession feels raw, your vulnerability exposed in a way that makes your cheeks heat. Levi exhales through his nose, something close to amusement flickering in his expression.

“You don’t have to do anything.” Levi says simply, dragging his thumb in slow circles over your skin. “Just feel.” He leans closer, his lips hovering just above yours, teasing the distance between you. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension so thick it makes your head spin. He’s so close, yet he holds himself still, as if waiting for something, for you to close the space, for you to surrender entirely to what’s happening between you.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he finally moves. His lips brush against yours, slow and lingering, before deepening the kiss with a quiet intensity that steals all thought from your mind. It’s consuming. The way he kisses, the way he touches, he makes you feel like you belong to him. Like he’s claiming something, and at the same time, offering something of himself in return.

His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb stroking lightly over your cheekbone, a contrast to the urgency in the way he presses himself closer. You can feel his heartbeat against yours, strong and steady, a reminder that beneath his composure, he is just as affected by this as you are.

Levis touches spiral down and before you know it his warm fingers brush over the nub between your legs, slowly caressing it in circles that make sparks appear in front of your closed eyes. An embarrassing wetness forms in-between your folds and before you know it his slender finger easily slips into your opening, making a stunned sound escape your lips.

One turns to two and two to three. The fullness that suddenly embarks in your insides is a burning hot pain that leaves you mute in discomfort, shallow breaths escaping you as the pleasurable feeling turns to hurt. Salty tears form in your eyes as you bite down on your tongue, wondering if it is supposed to feel this ripping.

“Try to relax.” Levi asks, slowly caressing your breast in an attempt to make the stretching more durable. With that you notice the pain numbing and slowly you sink deeper into the mattress, moaning with the rhythmic movement of his fingers on your chest and inside of you.

“I will take you now.” The Emperor announces, confident that he has managed to inflict such glee on you. The removal of his digits feels empty and you can't help but to whine at the loss, a bounting expression on your flushed face.

“Well aren't you a brat.” He clicks his tongue in fake annoyance and shifts his hand to wrap it around his member, coating the dip with your fluids and a way that has you shaking. His hard swell stands proudly and curves upwards to touch his lower abs, a sight that makes you feel eager and nervous at the same time. Lowering his pelvis, he pushes his dip forward right between your spreader out legs and meets your hot and coated skin.

This time you feel less pain since he has made sure to stretch you properly beforehand. It's a welcoming feeling when he slips into you with a calculated rut of his hips, slowly entering you to the hilt with a suppressed hum from deep inside his throat. You even see his adam-apple pop and his muscles tense as he holds you in place and down onto the bed.

He moves in a passionate way, his forehead touching yours as his silver eyes roam down your face to your breasts, watching them giggle as he slowly starts to increase the power of his thrusts. His length and grip fill you up fully, while his bloodshot dip frequently hits a point that has you shivering in ecstasy. You can't help but to feel embarrassed; the unhinged vocalization of your pure bliss, a mixture of strained moans and desperate little whines, leaves your reddened lips.

Levi, who has tried to hold his composure, isn't immune to the pleasure either. His groans start low, but the feeling of your walls enclosing his member coaks a variety of sounds out of him. “Shit.” He curses, eyebrows turning into a frown as he gasps for air, the motion of his hips seemingly endless as he has no interest to break the blessing intercourse.

“Hngh. I'm gonna fill up nicely.” He chims, a little smile on his face, as he watches you closely, his hand drawing down the lines of your waist and hip. Desire he hasn't felt before consumes him and deep urge to impregnate you fills his lust colored thoughts. “I wanna see your belly swell with my child.” His words, oddly straightforward, appear to trigger some primal section in your brain; wanton for his promise making another wave of wetness stain his member.

“Yes please.” You can't help but to plead, your glossy eyes glimmering with desire, as you look straight into his face, your lips parted in a way that makes Levi desire to use your mouth as he sees fit in the future. His hips runt faster, hitting a particular spot every time he pushes his length back into your cunt. It's intense, making your vision blurry with tears as you grip his shoulders for deer life, ever so slightly scratching at his skin, while your legs wrap around his middle to keep him close.

“Fuck. Good wife, just how I like it.” He praises, no sign of exhaustion in his steady voice, as he rubs deliberate circles on your clit, eyes gleaming with mischief as he sends another wave of carnal want straight to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“I feel weird I-” A gasp breaks your words, tears rolling over your cheeks as you wiggle underneath him, not able to estimate whatever you want him to stop or keep going. You can't help but to cry out in desperation, the overstimulating feeling causing you to squirm while your loud moans encourage Levi to further inflict pleasure onto your clit with skilled movements of his fingers.

Your vision sparks with stars as you grip the naked shoulders of your Emperor harshly, your eyes closing as you part your lips in a lustrous way. While your back stretches upward so your sensitive breast could touch his heaving chest, a flow of lust, ecstasy and wetness explodes inside your walls, taking Levi by surprise as he takes in your orgasm striked face.

“Fuck.” He curses, the sight of you struggling with your new found release underneath him is enough to stir his own orgasmn, a wave of pure pleasure hitting his abdomen hard while he stills in anticipation. The moment his cum strikes through your walls you too stop moving to open your star struck vision, meeting Levi's eyes that appear a liquid silver again. His pupils are blown, giving the illusion of him being high on the ecstatic feeling.

The two of you take a minute to rest, heavy breathing cutting through the otherwise silent room. You whine at the loss of hus now softened member as your husband retreats from you, covering your sweat laced skin with a warm blanket. He brushes a strand of your locks from your face, an exhausted expression on his reddened face.

“I will clean myself up. You should rest a little longer and stay here for the night.” His words, kind and filled with concern, are enough to make your smile grow. Watching him turn and leave in the candle lit quarters has you leaving a breath you have held and a warm feeling spreads inside your stomach. The blush on your cheeks takes a while to simmer down too and you can't help but to miss his desiring touch already.

Looking back at how nervous and scared you felt about this night, you now know one thing for sure: Emperor Levi, while cruel in battle, is the most care-able lover you could wish for in bed. Now the only thing he has to proof is that he will do his role as your husband justice.

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi #captain levi #aot fanfiction #captain levi x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x you #possessive behavior #arranged marriage #levi smut #smut #aot smut

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chloesimaginationthings · 5 months ago

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FNAF nightmare foxy is a huge fan of Roxanne Wolf,,

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britneyshakespeare · 2 months ago

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Also re: my little cousins I gave a bunch of my old comic books to I feel it's only fair that they have my old Spider-Man and Wolverine books since I have a bunch of their grandmother's poetry books from the 50s-60s. It's a circle of life thing.

#if they want their grandmothers poetry books someday i have no problem giving them up for the record #edie gave them to me because when she realized i would actually appreciate them she was like 'well SOMEONE finally would'#her daughters aren't interested in her book collection and her grandsons... well the oldest was like 11 at that time #he's gonna be 16 in march. that's old enough to develop a taste for poetry now i suppose #edie also said she was bequeathing her library to me in her will which is almost like. a mammoth honor yknow #you know god forbid i actually come into possession of that soon though #if they do develop more sophisticated tastes someday id be happy to pass them all sorts of other books #but i have to be fully honest with you. i already think it's just the coolest they can read my old marvel collection #they can't get that from auntie edie. although if you were wondering #she's both my modernist poetry aunt and my vintage barbie aunt. that's the same great aunt #tales from diana #im the marvel second cousin and the barbie second cousin and the shakespeare second cousin and the playing card collection second cousin.#i wear many hats

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bunnis-monsters · 5 months ago

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Prettiest catch

Yandere!Merman x Fem!Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 3rd

Oct 2

Oct 4

warning: dubcon, yandere behavior, breeding, kidnapping

summary: you explore a cave by the beach and find an isolated spot to swim, but little did you know a merman that has been watching you for a while is waiting for you beneath the surface.

Hanging out at the beach in early October wasn’t the most fun activity you could have done, but it was either walk along the beach and pick up shells during the fall when no one was around, or go home and watch TV.

Getting some air was good for you, that’s what your therapist had said. A little adventure was something to get you out of your rut and help you explore new possibilities.

So that’s why when you saw a cave by the water, you decided… why not! You were bored, wanted to explore and if something happened, at least you didn’t have to go into work tomorrow.

You were glad you wore your wetsuit when you felt a wave crash against you up to your thighs. The cave didn’t seem to be that big, so you figured you’d take a peak then leave and go eat something warm before going back home and washing your shell collection.

The ground was slippery, so you hugged the wall and moved slowly. You knew you were clumsy, and as you moved further and further into the cave, you were beginning to question yourself.

Why had you gone in there?

No one knew where you were and if you weren’t careful, you could hurt yourself and possibly die. Your body would never be found, and your family would be left wondering where their daughter was for the rest of their lives…

But your mind cleared of these doubts almost instantly when you reached the end of the cave.

It was lit up by glowing plants, perhaps mushrooms growing on the walls. A pool of water, clear and clean was at the end… though the dark side at the end of the pool did spook you a little, you couldn’t help but be captivated by the beauty of it.

Little fish and sea creatures swam and floated in the pool, some bioluminescence. “Aren’t these type of fish usually very deep in the sea? I’ve only seen them in videos…”

You marveled at the creatures, dipping your finger into the pool. Some of them approached, giving your hand a light touch before swimming away.

“Aww…”

They seemed friendly enough, and the water was pretty warm! It made sense, the cave was humid enough.

So this led you to make a mistake. You stepped into the water, sighing in relief as the chill of the October day fade into a pleasant warmth.

But you noticed something… off. While wading through the water, suddenly all of the little creatures began to scurry away and hide. Had you scared them? Now you felt bad…

It hadn’t been you that scared them, though.

You felt eyes on you, a predatory gaze of some hungry creature. You were being measured up…

“… hello?”

You glanced to the dark corner, seeing the water ripple slightly. Suddenly, you saw a pair of yellow eyes, the light reflecting off of them.

“F-fuck!”

You’d heard of salt water crocodiles, they were aggressive and territorial, you certainly didn’t want to be in the water with one!

But within seconds you were pulled under water. Whatever was after you was fast enough to get across the pool of water and pull you under before you could even think.

Just as fast as you were pulled under, you were pulled back up. Something pushed you into the rocky surface of the cave, and your ass felt cold as your wetsuit was torn.

Were you about to be eaten alive? You’d rather drown than feel teeth sink into your flesh and tear you apart!

But instead your legs were being spread, something toying with your hole in an amateurish way as if studying you.

Moments later, your thigh was being lifted up and pulled to the side, rotating you just enough so you could see what had you in its grasp.

The creature had scaly skin, but a humanoid appearance. His teeth were sharp and bared in what almost seemed like an aggressive display, his dark eyes staring down at you with a predatory look.

“Quiet…”

Something rubbed against your cunt, covering you in a sticky, almost gooey slick. “Mine…”

A strange purring sound rumbled in his chest as he rubbed his webbed hand along your belly. “Little mate… watching you for so long… mine…”

You cried out as you were speared with his fat cock, teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh on your neck. It felt sticky and cold, being fucked by this strange merman creature…

“My pretty little thing…”

He had been watching you for months, biding his time until he had you close enough to take, to breed you and keep his pretty little catch all to himself.

Now he was cumming inside, his scaly body rubbing against you as he continued to fuck you through his high. Your warm, gummy walls felt more amazing than he could have ever thought.

And he would never let you go.

After you were nice and exhausted from being bred, he nipped at your through, his long tail swaying in the water as he carried you to a far away island.

No one would find you there, and he could keep you trapped while you grew his young in your soft belly.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

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rissouu · 1 month ago

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it was well known that choso was a family man before anything. when he found out about your pregnancy, he was nearly bouncing off the walls in joy. everything was so perfect at first.. watching his daughters first step with you, her first words, all of it.

but that was years ago now. somehow in the midst of the up and downs of having a newborn, your relationship started to fall down the drain. so much so that it got the point you both just called it off, neither of you having the energy to keep trying to save yourselves from the inevitable.

he was still there for his daughter of course, that’s one thing he wouldn’t dare to lack in. but it was so hard to be around his daughter without the thought of you in the back of his head, he fucking missed you.

and after drowning in his sorrows for so long, he finally built up the courage to talk to you and act like a real man.

that’s what got you here, with one leg wrapped around his waist in hopes to keep him trapped in you. “p..please baby, missed this ‘s much- missed you so much!”

choso chuckled lowly, silver chains dangling from his neck and hovering over your sweaty face. his hands locked around your plump thighs, helping to hold them in place.

“y’missed me mama, really? what about all those fuckin’ dates of yours hm?”

his blood boiled thinking about it, all those times he had to hear from your daughter that you were out, out with other men.

you tried ignoring his question at first, not having the energy in you to utter a word. but you nearly lost it when his big calloused hands pushed on your lower stomach, applying pressure to your abdomen.

“you don’t hear me talking to you? what did i tell you about that shit?” his head tilted, drops of his sweat falling from his chest to yours. you never felt more full.

puddles of your own spit piled in your throat making it hard to speak or even breathe. you couldn’t help it when you started choking, just as choso couldn’t help it when he started pushing down harder. “mm please, please cho i hear you! ‘m sorry, never gonna go on any dates ever again!”

he chuckled lowly at your fucked out state. drool and sweat covering almost every inch of your face, hair messy and tangled as if you’d just woken up.

“you let anybody touch my perfect pussy since i been gone mama? or my pretty tits?” he cupped your soaking cunt in his palm, his thrusts only getting rougher, quicker.

all you could give him was an aggressive shake of your head, which was the truth. choso was the only man you’d ever let have you like this.

“such a good girl, my good girl.” he left soft kisses to your forehead, serving as a thank you for taking him so well. “what d’ya say we give our baby a couple siblings? you’re such a good mama, and i heard she’s been pretty lonely all by herself..”

©rissouu 2025 (pls i literally pulled this shit outta my ass, but imagine cho as a baby daddy?? i need him..)

dom!choso collection

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witherby · 2 months ago

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*raises hand* more littlest Wayne please 🥺

You got it!

The Littlest Wayne: Jason's Experience

You're a weird baby.

At least, that's what Jason thinks. You don't really cry about anything, you don't whine much except when you're maneuvered uncomfortably or rudely woken up from a nap before you're ready. But even then, it's almost a complaint for the sake of complaining, and not really a full-blown fit.

( It's great for allowing your new, vigilante family to sleep through the night. Horrible for their collective paranoia, which makes them get up to check and make sure you're still breathing through the night anyway. )

You're not deaf — Bruce had you taken in for a full examination and health screening while the ink on your adoption papers were still drying — so that's not why you're quiet, either. Aside from being a touch underweight, likely from whoever cared for you before, it seems like you just don't have much to be upset about.

Jason thinks that weird as fuck. Nobody is neglecting you or anything, but there are times where the lack of hunger cues make one of your brothers realize you haven't eaten since breakfast, or that nobody has checked your diaper in four hours and you've just been chilling in a wet nappy. This makes his monitoring of your general well-being increase ten-fold, to the point that he's the one that spends the most time with you aside from Bruce.

Dr. Leslie insists that some babies are just Like That. Alfred does, too. Their lack of concern helps him be less concerned. But it's still there. Surely there's something a baby would cry about; you're a fuckin baby, and that's, like, your primary job besides eating and sleeping.

He finds out that there is, in fact, something to cry about when he comes back from a week-long job as the Red Hood, having needed to leave the Manor to track down a criminal organization quickly gaining traction that he didn't like the looks of. When he wraps up the last of those loose ends, he steps into his apartment in Crime Alley and digs out his personal phone, switching it on to find dozens of messages from Bruce and his brothers.

Replacement: Dude, u need to get back here ASAP when ur done. The babe is straight tweakin

Eldest Daughter Syndrome: Heyyy lil wing 👋 no rush no rush, but swing by when you've got a sec! Our newest member misses you 🍼

Ninja Wannabe: Todd, your presence is required. Father's newest ward is screaming incessantly without you to entertain their mindless brain. I've retreated to Bludhaven to spare my ears until your return.

B: Stay safe, Jaylad. Adjusting to you being gone is a little tough for the baby, as I'm sure your brothers already told you. I just want you to know that there's no obligation to hurry back. They're okay, and the screaming isn't as bad as everyone is making it out to be.

Alfred: Good day, Master Jason. There is an entire batch of double-fudge brownies with your name on it upon your safe return. Best wishes.

You must be screaming the manor down if Alfred is bribing Jason with junk food, let alone a whole tray of it. He hurries out of his armor with half-concern, half-amusement, showers, then speeds off. In less than an hour, he's pulling into the driveway and parking his bike, and Tim was not fucking lying when he texted him.

Turns out it was good that you weren't a huge crier, because you had pipes that put opera singers to shame. When Jason steps inside, the faint, high pitched whines he heard through the door turn into full-fledged wailing. It's just a matter of following it down a couple corridors before he reaches the day room, which was recently repurposed into one of your play areas. He locks onto the image of one very distressed Dick, face flushed and cotton stuffed in his ears as he desperately jangles a set of plastic keys over your body.

"C'mon, baby bat," he croons, sounding near tears himself, "I dunno what you need. Calm down, honey, please."

You lie on a playmat in front of Dick, paying the toy no mind. Your eyes are squeezed shut, tears are running down your cheeks, your face is ruby red, and your tiny fists are clenched as tight as possible as you kick your legs and wail, and wail, and wail some more. It would be impressive if it weren't concerning.

"Whoa," Jason blurts, stepping fully into the room. Dick spots him and slumps with visible relief, like a puppet with cut strings. "They've been like this the whole time?"

"They were completely fine the first day! But next morning, we saw them looking around for you, and...well." Dick gestures helplessly to your thrashing form. Jason tuts and scoops you into his arms, wincing a bit at your shriek, and starts to gently bounce you.

"Hey, there," he mutters, "what's all this now, weirdo? You didn't have me around to spoon feed you gross baby mush or wipe your butt, and now you're making it everybody else's problem? Huh? That's rude as hell."

Your cries continue a little while longer. Jason continues to talk to you, to call your antics silly, to soothe you, until you finally crack an eye open and register just who it is that's got you in their arms. You stare at Jason kinda like he's an alien, brows furrowed and nose scrunched, but then your wails dissolve into sobs, then little hiccups, then just the occasional sniffle. One of your hands unclenches to latch onto his shirt instead, and you mush your face into his chest.

And you just. Completely stop it. Bruce, Dick, Tim, Alfred, and Damian had fallen all over themselves for days trying to soothe you, and a couple minutes of staring at Jason had completely eliminated the problem.

"You gotta move back to the Manor," Dick blurts from where he remained on the floor, wide-eyed and hands clasped together. "Please come back. Please. I am begging. On my hands and knees if you need it. I will do all your chores for the next year. Do not leave again."

"Not my fault I'm the favorite," Jason huffs, but the protective way he holds you, the concerned way he's checking over your face and throat to see if you hurt yourself crying for so long, the continued bouncing he does for you, all points to him moving back home. He makes the arrangements the next day.

And if Jason makes sure future missions he has to go on don't last more than two days, well, that's no one's business but his own.

You're still a weird baby, though. Even if Jason being your favorite is pretty cool.

#littlest wayne au #batfam x reader #batfam adoption au #jason todd

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deusfoundry · 3 months ago

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part 2 here!

girl dad!zayne who simply smiles when his daughter knocks on the door of his office one night. she lets herself in, a deep crease present on her forehead, fingers wrung together. he can tell the moment she entered that something's bothering her, so he shuts his laptop off in favor of giving his daughter his undivided attention.

"what's wrong?" he asks with an encouraging smile on his lips.

girl dad!zayne who puts on a nice front when she tells him that a boy is coming over tomorrow night for dinner. he almost says "no.", mouth opening to reject the very prospect of boys. "you're too young to be dating." he very nearly says, if not for the quiet "please." that stops him in his tracks.

suddenly, he's taken back to a whole decade ago.

suddenly, his little girl has just turned seven years old.

suddenly, she's pleading with the widest doe eyes he's ever seen for him to get her the slice of carrot cake displayed on the counter of a bakery.

damn it, he thinks. those eyes are the bane of his existence. not once has he been able to resist them. curse you and your genes for passing those godforsaken eyes to your little girl.

so he smiles. he pulls his daughter into a warm, comforting hug.

"of course." he says, trying not to sound like he's forcing the words through gritted teeth. "i'm not mad at all, sweetheart."

"really?"

zayne merely hums, and when she squeals in delight, jumping up to plant a small kiss to his cheek between an onslaught of thank you's and i love you's, he almost forgets that he just agreed to having some boy over in his house.

girl dad!zayne who huffs when you press a kiss against his lips to stop him in the middle of his rant. he's spent the last half hour citing complaints about his daughter. how boys her age are stupid and none of them could even dream of treating her the way she deserves to be treated.

"when did she even get old enough to start talking to boys?" he manages to insert between exasperated claims every five minutes.

"it's part of being a teenage girl, love." you pull yourself away from his lips, lazily moving around to straddle his thighs. "let her be."

"and you're not the least bit concerned?" his breath hitches against his throat when you start to slowly trail kisses around his neck. he doesn't hear your response to his question, mind clouded with the feeling of your lips drawing stars on his skin.

his girls are truly going to be the death of him.

girl dad!zayne who purposely lingers near the front door so he can beat his daughter to opening it. he hears the doorbell ring and the subsequent thundering of her footsteps from upstairs, but he's already opened the door before she can even rush down the stairs.

girl dad!zayne who relishes in watching the way this boy's face falls. he's secretly glad that his career is as remarkable as it has been at this very moment, because he sees exactly when it dawns on the boy who exactly is standing before him.

the father of the girl he likes is the doctor zayne. world-renowned cardiac surgeon doctor zayne.

the boy splutters. he unfolds into a stuttering mess right in front of zayne and he has to resist the urge to slam the door on his face.

if doing so didn't end in him being in the receiving end of your sermons, he never would've opened the door in the first place.

girl dad!zayne who’s overtaken by surprise for a quick second when the boy finally collects himself.

“thank you for letting me join you tonight, sir. it's really an honor.” he says his name. zayne's impassive expression doesn't deter the boy as he holds his hand out.

zayne reluctantly takes it. he's about to settle on just giving him a subtle shake when the boy himself takes initiative, shaking zayne's hand with just the right amount of enthusiasm.

"this is for you and your wife." he hands over the basket that's been sitting beside his feet. zayne eyes it with his arms crossed over chest.

the basket is decorated with a ribbon tied into a neat bow. it comes in his daughter's favorite color, an oddly specific shade of pastel blue that she's been obsessed with since she was five. the inside is parted down the middle, one side filled with fruits and food that you like. the other half is, very obviously, for him.

it's packed to the brim with a whole assortment of sweets. a variety of cake slices from a bakery at the other side of the town he's been meaning to visit. packs of candies he likes. his favorite pastries from the bakery near the hospital.

zayne is ... delighted. but he refuses to let the boy know he's slowly winning him over so he quietly takes the basket in his hands and lets him in.

"dinner will be ready shortly." he says before disappearing into the kitchen.

zayne catches his daughter with a small bouquet of her favorite flowers in her hand.

girl dad!zayne who intends to stay quiet over dinner, but is forced to make small talk when you kick him under the table.

"be nice." you remain silent as you smile at the young boy sitting beside your daughter, but he knows that's what you mean with the threatening glare you send him.

"so," zayne purposely says his name wrong as he clears his throat. "what do you do for fun?"

he sees you shake your head from the corner of his eye.

girl dad!zayne who still isn't entirely convinced that this boy deserves to be with his daughter, the literal light of his life, his little girl, but relents a little as the hours go by.

zayne remembers telling his daughter time and time again to never settle. that he himself would pluck the night skies free of stars if you so much as imply that it's what you want. that she should look for the love you share with him, unconditional and boundless.

and as zayne watches with a keen eye how he treats her, he thinks he's done a good job at instilling those beliefs.

he's attentive to her needs, handing the bowls of food that's way out of her reach. he places a small portion of vegetables on her plate and successfully coaxes her into eating them, something even zayne struggles with. he's quick to cover the edge of the table with his hand when she leans down to pick up the fallen spoon from beneath the table.

girl dad!zayne who ends the night standing behind his daughter on their porch as she waves him goodbye.

"drive home safely." zayne says, uttering his name correctly as a sign of respect.

he doesn't miss the way his daughter's face lights up. and if accepting someone new in their small family lets him see that smile more, zayne thinks it's all worth it.

this has been in my drafts since the i made that girl dad!zayne post a few weeks backdhejhd

divider from @cafekitsune

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne fluff #love and deepspace x reader

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uwmspeccoll · 7 months ago

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The author, Angela Hovak Johnston.

Johnston and Marjorie Tungwenuk Tahbone, traditional tattoo artist.

Catherine Niptanatiak: "I designed my own, something that represents me and who I am, something that I would be proud to wear and show off, and something that would make me feel confident and beautiful. . . . I have daughters and I would like to teach them what I know. I would like for them to want to practice our traditions and keep our culture alive."

Cecile Nelvana Lyall: "On my hand tattoos, from the top down, the triangles represent the mountains. . . . The Ys are the tools used in seal hunting. . . . The dots are my ancestors. . . . I am so excited to be able to truly call myself and Inuk woman."

Colleen Nivingalok: "The tattoos on my face represent my family and me. The lines on my chin are my four children -- my two older boys on the outside protecting my daughters. The lines on my cheeks represent the two boys and the two girls on either side. The one on my forehead represents their father and me. Together, we live for our children."

Doreen Ayalikyoak Evyagotailak: "I have thought about getting traditional tattoos since I was a teenager. . . . When I asked the elders if I could have my own meaning for my tattoos, they said it wouldn't matter. My tattoos symbolize my kids."

Mary Angele Takletok: "I always wanted traditional tattoos like the women in the old days. I wanted them on my wrists and my fingers so I could show I'm Inuk."

Melissa MacDonald Hinanik: "As a part of celebrating my heritage and revitalizing important traditional customs that form my identity, I believe I have earned my tattoos. I am a beautiful, strong young woman. I am a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend, and an active community member. I reclaim the traditional customs as mine, I re-own them as a part of who I am."

Star Westwood: "We still have some of our culture, but some things are slowly dying. Having tattoos helps us keep our culture alive. . . . . My tattoos represent my dad and my dad's dad. The ones closest to my wrists represent my sisters."

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

National Tattoo Day

July 17 is National Tattoo Day. To celebrate, we present some images from Reawakening Our Ancestors' Lines: Revitalizing Inuit Traditional Tattooing, compiled by Angela Hovak Johnston, co-founder with Marjorie Tahbone of the Inuit Tattoo Revitalization Project, with photographs by Inuit photographer Cora DeVos, and published in Iqaluit, Nunavut by Inhabit Media Inc. in 2017.

For thousands of years, Inuit have practiced the traditional art of tattooing. Created the ancient way, with bone needles and caribou sinew soaked in seal oil, sod, or soot, these tattoos were an important tradition for many Inuit women, symbols etched on their skin that connected them to their families and communities. But with the rise of missionaries and residential schools in the North, the tradition of tattooing was almost lost. In 2005, when Angela Hovak Johnston heard that the last Inuk woman tattooed in the old way had died, she set out to tattoo herself in tribute to this ancient custom and learn how to tattoo others. What was at first a personal quest became a project to bring the art of traditional tattooing back to Inuit women across Nunavut.

Collected in this book are photos and stories from more than two dozen women who participated in Johnston's project. Together, these women have united to bring to life an ancient tradition, reawakening their ancestors' lines and sharing this knowledge with future generations. Hovak Johnston writes: "Never again will these Inuit traditions be close to extinction, or only a part of history you read about in books. This is my mission."

Reawakening Our Ancestors' Lines forms part of our Indigenous America Literature Collection.

Angela Hovak Johnston (right) with her cousin Janelle Angulalik and her aunt Millie Navalik Angulalik.

View other posts from our Indigenous America Literature Collection.

#National Tattoo Day #tattoos #holidays #Inuit traditional tattoos #Inuit tattoos #Inuit #Inuk #Reawakening Our Ancestors' Lines #Angela Hovak Johnston #Cora DeVos #Cora Kavyaktok #Marjorie Tahbone #Inuit Tattoo Revitalization Project #Inhabit Media Inc.#photographs #Inuit women #Indigenous America Literature Collection #Native American Literature Collection

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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months ago

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One Big Misunderstanding || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Tensions rise when an innocent comment about a missing bracelet sows doubt between you and Rafe, sparking suspicions of infidelity.

Warnings: ANGST GALORE

Word count: 2,711

A/n: inspired by the perfect couple on Netflix 😛

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

The sunlight streamed through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the drawing room, casting a warm glow on the pristine marble floors. You sat perched on one of the luxurious cream sofas, a curated array of diamond necklaces sprawled elegantly across the glass coffee table before you.

Across from you, Eloise, your private jewellery consultant, adjusted her notepad, a professional yet friendly smile playing on her lips. “Madeline, sweetie, no touching, please,” you gently reminded, catching your daughter’s small hands as they reached out eagerly for the sparkling treasures.

Her curious blue eyes, so much like Rafe’s, widened in innocent protest before she giggled, retreating to your lap with a playful pout. Eloise chuckled softly, waving at Madeline. “Someone has quite the eye for jewels already,” she teased, her gaze fond as Madeline shyly buried her face into the folds of your dress.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing Madeline’s hair back as your fingers glided over the dazzling collection. “I don’t think it’ll be too long before she’ll be in my position,” You softly say. The newest designs shimmered under the light, each more stunning than the last. “They’re all exquisite,” you sighed, lifting a delicate piece encrusted with diamonds.

“But I think I’ll take this one, and…” Your eyes roamed over the display again, settling on another necklace with an intricate design. “This.” “Excellent choices, Mrs. Cameron,” Eloise praised, jotting down notes in her leather-bound book. Her tone brimmed with approval, and her smile didn’t waver as she looked up.

Madeline squirmed in your lap, reaching up to tug at the simple necklace you were already wearing. You adjusted her gently, holding her small hands to keep them still. Eloise glanced up from her notes. “Did you like the bracelet Mr. Cameron gave you?” Her tone was casual, but her words made you pause. “Bracelet?” you echoed, your brow furrowing.

Your voice held a slight edge of confusion as you looked at her. “The gold bangle with the pavé diamonds,” she elaborated, glancing up with a look of delight. “Rafe spent so much time picking it out for you.” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious as she beamed. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, your mind racing.

You had no idea what she was talking about. A heavy silence lingered for a moment, and you felt the weight of Eloise’s expectant gaze. “Oh! The bracelet!” you quickly feigned recognition, a forced smile stretching across your face. “Yes, of course. It’s lovely—he knows me so well.” Your voice sounded light, but your heart sank as the lie left your lips.

Eloise didn’t seem to notice. She rose gracefully, tucking her notebook under her arm. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you next month, Mrs. Cameron,” she said cheerfully, giving you a polite nod before heading toward the door. You stayed seated, your posture still and tense as Madeline babbled happily on your lap.

The silence of the room closed in around you once Eloise left, leaving you to wrestle with your thoughts. Rafe had bought you a bracelet? Why hadn’t he given it to you himself? Had he left it somewhere, expecting you to find it? Or had it been an afterthought, something he had no time—or desire—to present personally?

The questions swirled in your mind as you absentmindedly stroked Madeline’s hair, your gaze fixed on the glittering necklaces on the table. As much as you tried to push it aside, the confusion, and a small pang of hurt, lingered.

Later that night, you sat before your vanity, the familiar routine of your skincare ritual grounding you in a semblance of normalcy. The soft hum of the bathroom light and the gentle swish of creams and serums felt like a small act of defiance against the questions that kept circling in your mind. The bracelet. Rafe’s strange omission of it.

The way Eloise had mentioned it so casually, as though it was something you should’ve known. You brushed the thoughts aside, telling yourself you were overreacting, but they lingered, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. The bedroom door creaked open behind you, and without turning, you saw Rafe in the reflection of your mirror.

Still in his suit, looking as polished and untouchable as ever. You didn’t acknowledge him, continuing with your skincare, your movements slow and deliberate. “Busy day?” you asked, your voice flat, more out of routine than affection. His response was distant, lost on you as you remained absorbed in your own thoughts, the quiet hum of your routine enveloping you.

The bracelet. “How was the jewelry showing?” he asked, his voice still detached, but something in his tone caught your attention. You glanced up at him briefly through the mirror. His eyes were on you, studying you with a faint trace of curiosity. “It was good,” you mumbled, your focus wavering again.

Rafe’s brow furrowed as he watched you, sensing the lack of the usual excitement you carried after these showings. His fingers paused at the buttons of his shirt as he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Did you… pick anything you liked?” he asked, his tone slower now, as if he was gauging your mood, sensing something was off.

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, your voice empty, devoid of any real emotion. Before he could continue, you stood up abruptly, tightening the robe around your body more than necessary. The familiar movement felt like a barrier, an armour you could slip into. “I’ll just make myself some tea,” you said, the words sounding rehearsed, like you were already running from the questions.

You didn’t spare him another glance as you walked past him, leaving the room without another word. You descended the stairs mechanically, but instead of following the usual route to the kitchen, your feet took you in the opposite direction, towards Rafe’s office. Your heart pounded as you approached the oak door, glancing over your shoulder to ensure no one was watching.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, the room still and quiet in its untouched state. The room was a sharp contrast to the chaos in your mind. Your eyes darted to his desk, and instinctively, you moved toward it. You knew Rafe kept everything meticulously in order, and his drawers were always locked. But tonight, your curiosity outweighed your caution.

You pulled open the first drawer, then the second. It was the third one that caught your attention. As your fingers sifted through papers, your eyes landed on a familiar logo—the jewelry shop. Your pulse quickened as you pulled it free, finding a receipt tucked between papers. The words on the page seemed to mock you as you read, Rafe Cameron, the date, and the item listed: Nature Bangle, Pavé, priced at $18,000.

A photo of the bracelet accompanied the receipt. The image burned itself into your mind—elegant, delicate, and undeniably expensive. Your breath caught in your throat, and your mind spun. You quickly shoved the receipt back into the drawer, snapping it closed. The weight of what you’d seen was suffocating, the overwhelming question taking shape in your mind.

Was Rafe cheating on you? The thought gnawed at you, its edge cutting deep. You had been with him long enough to believe that something like this wouldn’t happen. But the pieces didn’t fit. Rafe had always been… Rafe. He wasn’t the type to hide things, or at least, you never thought he was.

The doubts began to creep in, unsettling your thoughts, but before they could settle into a clear conclusion, you stood up from the desk and made your way out of the office.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. You sat on the plush sofa, coffee in hand, its warmth grounding you as you watched Leo and Madeline play on the rug before you. Their laughter filled the room, a soothing balm to the unease still simmering from the night before.

The sound of Rafe’s footsteps descending the staircase pulled your focus, and soon enough, he rounded the corner into the living room, his presence unmistakable in the tailored suit that hugged his frame. Despite the domestic setting, he still exuded the same composed, businesslike energy he carried everywhere.

“Jordan told me your schedule was clear for today,” you remarked, your voice calm but inquisitive as you tracked his movements. “Hm?” Rafe hummed in response, crouching slightly to press a kiss to the top of both Leo’s and Madeline’s heads. The gesture was effortless, automatic, and yet it made your chest tighten—a cruel contradiction to the doubts swirling in your mind.

“I said, Jordan told me your schedule is clear today,” you repeated, watching him carefully as he straightened, his gaze finally meeting yours. A small, almost nonchalant smile tugged at his lips. “Last-minute meeting, that’s all,” he replied smoothly, brushing off the question as if it were of little consequence. His tone was casual, but it didn’t sit right with you.

You cocked an eyebrow, your expression neutral but sharp enough to suggest you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll be back before three,” he added quickly, as though the reassurance might settle you. Without waiting for a response, he stepped closer, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. The gesture was familiar, practiced, and yet it felt hollow.

You remained still, your eyes fixed straight ahead, your coffee cooling in your hand as his cologne lingered in the air. “Drive safe,” you murmured, your voice even but distant. You didn’t look at him as he pulled away and adjusted his cufflinks. The sound of his footsteps retreated, leaving a subtle void in the room once he was gone.

The door to your bedroom creaked open, and Rafe stepped in, his movements deliberate but calm. Your eyes lifted from your phone, following him briefly before drifting back to the glowing screen in your hand. “They’re asleep,” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with exhaustion. You hummed in acknowledgment, barely lifting your gaze as he moved toward his side of the bed, shrugging off his jacket and placing it neatly on the chair by the window.

Rafe climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He leaned back against the headboard, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and letting out a quiet sigh. The silence between you felt heavy, the kind of quiet that wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t quite confrontational either. You placed your phone down on the nightstand, your fingers brushing its edge before folding neatly in your lap.

The glow of the bedside lamp softened the room, but it did little to ease the tension you felt knotting in your chest. “Are you cheating on me?” The words left your lips before you could stop them, your voice sharp yet trembling, slicing through the quiet. “What?” Rafe’s hand froze, his body stiffening as he turned to look at you, his tone laced with shock and disbelief. His brows furrowed deeply, searching your face for an explanation.

“Are you cheating on me?” you repeated, softer this time, the vulnerability in your voice stark against the tension building in the room. His lips parted, words stuttering for a moment before he finally asked, “What are you talking about?” You sat up straighter, folding your arms as you exhaled shakily. “The bracelet, Rafe.” The words were laced with hurt as your eyes locked onto his, watching the colour drain from his face.

His expression shifted—confusion, then understanding, and finally a look that you couldn’t quite place. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes began to water, the emotional floodgates breaking against your will. “Eloise mentioned it. She said you spent so much time picking it out, but I never got it, Rafe,” your voice cracked slightly. “So, where is it? Who is it for?”

Rafe ran a hand down his face, the exhaustion in his eyes now replaced with something akin to guilt—but not the kind you feared. He pushed himself up against the headboard, facing you fully. “It’s not what you think,” he said firmly, his voice low, almost pleading, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside you. “Then explain,” you demanded, your voice trembling with a potent mix of anger and sorrow.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, hot and relentless, and you swiped at them quickly, unwilling to appear completely undone. But your composure was already fractured, and Rafe could see it in your glistening eyes and the slight quiver of your lip. His silence was unbearable. The hesitation hanging between you wasn’t just a pause—it was an admission, a crack that threatened to shatter everything you’d built together.

It cut deeper than words ever could, leaving a hollow ache in your chest. “Explain,” you repeated, your voice firmer now, laced with urgency. “For the sake of our children, for our marriage, Rafe. Tell me what I’m supposed to believe right now.” He ran a hand over his face, his usual confidence, his composed exterior, seemed to falter under your gaze. For once, Rafe Cameron looked unsteady.

“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” he muttered, his voice low. You blinked, your breath catching. “What wasn’t meant to be like this? Stop talking in circles and just tell me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt your chest tighten with the weight of your fears. Rafe exhaled sharply, finally looking up at you. His eyes locked onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something unfamiliar—regret, perhaps.

“The bracelet,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “was supposed to be a surprise. For you.” Your brows furrowed as you tried to process his words, your heart racing. “What?” He leaned back on the headboard, his hands clasped together. "It’s… for our anniversary. I wanted to give it to you then. I even had it engraved.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head.

“I thought I was doing something thoughtful, but I should’ve just given it to you right away. I didn’t think it would—” He stopped, the weight of your reaction sinking in. You stared at him, your mind reeling. His explanation had knocked the wind out of you, leaving you unsure whether to feel relief or frustration. “You… were planning to give it to me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” He looked at you earnestly, his expression softening. “I didn’t realise it would make you question everything. That’s on me. I’m sorry.” Your tears slowed, but the tension in your chest lingered. “Why didn’t you just tell me that when I asked? Why make me feel like I was losing my mind?” Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought you’d laugh at me, or brush it off as something meaningless.

You don’t exactly make it easy to do… sentimental gestures.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, but it held a hint of frustration. You exhaled slowly, processing his words. The weight of your accusation settled heavily on your shoulders, mixing shame with residual doubt. “You should’ve told me,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “And you should’ve trusted me,” he countered gently, his tone not harsh but pointed.

“We can’t keep doing this—assuming the worst about each other.” You looked away, your throat tight as his words sank in. Perhaps he was right, but the wounds of mistrust weren’t so easily healed. “I just… I don’t want to be a fool,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “Not for you, not for anyone.” Rafe turned his head, his hand reaching over before settling on your knee. “You’re not a fool,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

“You’re my wife. And I know I don’t always get it right, but I need you to believe that I’m trying.” You met his gaze, searching for any flicker of insincerity but finding none. His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, and for the first time that night, you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. “I’ll believe it,” you whispered, the words tentative but genuine.

"But you have to meet me halfway, Rafe. No more secrets. No more hesitation.” He nodded, his grip on your knees tightening briefly in silent agreement. “Deal.”

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

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Predicting the present

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/09/radicalized/#deny-defend-depose

Back in 2018, around the time I emailed my immigration lawyer about applying for US citizenship, I started work on a short story called "Radicalized," which eventually became the title story of a collection that came out in 2019:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250228598/radicalized/

"Radicalized" is a story about America, and about guns, and about health care, and about violence. I live in Burbank, which is ranks second in gun-stores-per-capita in the USA, a dubious honor that represents a kind of regulatory arbitrage with our neighboring goliath, the City of Los Angeles, where gun store licensing is extremely tight. If you're an Angeleno in search of a firearm, you're almost certainly coming to Burbank to buy it.

Walking, cycling and driving past more gun stores than I'd ever seen in my Canadian life got me thinking about Americans and guns, a subject that many Canadians have passed comment upon. Americans kill each other, and especially themselves, at rates that baffle everyone else in the world, and they do it with guns. When we moved here, my UK born-and-raised daughter came home from her first elementary school lockdown drill perplexed and worried. Knowing what I did about US gun violence, I understood that while school shootings and other spree killings happened with dismal and terrifying regularity, they only accounted for a small percentage of the gun deaths here. If you die with a bullet in you, the chances are that the finger on the trigger was your own. The next most likely suspect is someone you know. After that, a cop. Getting shot by a stranger out of uniform is something of a rarity here – albeit a spectacular one that captures our imaginations in ways that deliberate or accidental self-slayings and related-party shootings do not.

So I told her, "Look, you can basically ignore everything they tell you during those lockdown drills, because they almost certainly have nothing to do with your future. But if a friend ever says to you, 'Hey, wanna see my dad's gun?' I want you to turn around and leave and get in touch with me right away, that instant."

Guns turn the murderous impulse – which, let's be honest, we've all felt at some time or another – into a murderous act. Same goes for suicide, which explains the high levels of non-accidental self-shootings in the USA: when you've got a gun, the distance between suicidal ideation and your death is the ten feet from the sofa to the gun in the closet.

Americans get angry at people and then, if they have a gun to hand, sometimes they shoot them. In a thread /r/Burbank about how people at our local cinemas are rude and use their phones in which someone posted, "Well, you should just ask them to stop." The reply: "That's a great way to get shot." No one chimed in to say, "Don't be ridiculous, no one would shoot you for asking them to put away their phone during a movie." Same goes for "road rage."

And while Americans shoot people they've only just gotten angry at, they also sometimes plan shooting sprees and kill a bunch of people because they're just generically angry. Being angry about the state of the world is a completely relatable emotion, of course, but the targets of these shootings are arbitrary. Sure sometimes these killings have clear, bigoted targets – mass shootings at Black supermarkets or mosques or synagogues or gay bars – more often the people who get sprayed with bullets (at country and western concerts or elementary schools or movie theaters) are almost certainly not the people the gunman (almost always a man) is angry at.

This line of thought kept surfacing as I went through the immigration process, but not just when I was dealing with immigration paperwork. I was also spending an incredible amount of time dealing with our health insurer, Cigna, who kept refusing treatments my pain doctor – one of the most-cited pain researchers in the country – thought I would benefit from. I've had chronic pain since I was a teenager, and it's only ever gotten worse. I've had decades of pain care in Canada and the UK, and while the treatments never worked for very long, it was never compounded by the kinds of bureaucratic stuff I went through with my US insurer.

The multi-hour phone calls with Cigna that went nowhere would often have me seeing red – literally, a red tinge closing in around my vision – and usually my hands would be shaking by the time I got off the call.

And I had it easy! I wasn't terminally ill, and I certainly wasn't calling in on behalf of a child or a spouse or parent who was seriously ill or dying, whose care was being denied by their insurer. Bernie's 2016 Medicare For All campaign promise had filled the air with statistics (Americans pay more for care and get worse outcomes than anyone else in the rich world), and stories. So many stories – stories that just tore your heart out, about parents who literally had to watch their children die because the insurance they paid for refused to treat their kids. As a dad, I literally couldn't imagine how I'd cope in that situation. Just thinking about it filled me with rage.

One day, as I was swimming in the community pool across the street – a critical part of my pain management strategy – I was struck with a thought: "Why don't these people murder health insurance executives?" Not that I wanted them to. I don't want anyone to kill anyone. But why do American men who murder their wives and the people who cut them off in traffic and random classrooms full of children leave the health insurance industry alone? This is an industry that is practically designed to fill the people who interact with it with uncontrollable rage. I mean, if you're watching your wife or your kid die before your eyes because some millionaire CEO decided to aim for a $10 billion stock buyback this year instead of his customary $9 billion target, wouldn't you feel that kind of murderous rage?

Around this time, my parents came out for a visit from Canada. It was a great trip, until one night, my mom woke me up after midnight: "We have to take your father to the ER. He's really sick." He was: shaking, nauseated, feverish. We raced down the street to the local hospital, part of a gigantic chain that has swallowed nearly all the doctors' practices, labs and hospitals within an hour's drive of here.

Dad had kidney stones, and they'd gone septic. When the ER docs removed the stones, all the septic gunk in his kidneys was flushed into his bloodstream, and he crashed. If he hadn't been in an ER recovery room at the time, he would have died. As it was, he was in a coma for three days and it was touch and go. My brother flew down from Toronto, not sure if this was his last chance to see our dad alive. The nurses and doctors took great care of my dad, though, and three days later, he emerged from his coma, and today, he's better than ever.

But on day two, when we thought he was probably at the end of his life, as my mother sat at his side, holding the hand of her husband of fifty years, someone from the hospital billing department came to her side and said, "Mrs Doctorow, I know this is a difficult time, but I'd like to discuss the matter of your husband's bill with you."

The bill was $176,000. Thankfully, the travel medical insurance plan offered by the Ontario Teachers' Union pension covered it all (I don't suppose anyone gets very angry with them).

How do people tolerate this? Again, not in the sense of "people should commit violent acts in the face of these provocations," but rather, "How is it that in a country filled with both assault rifles and unimaginable acts of murderous cruelty committed by fantastically wealthy corporations, people don't leap from their murderous impulses to their murderous weapons to commit murderous acts?

For me, writing fiction is an accretive process. I can tell that a story is brewing when thoughts start rattling around in my mind, resurfacing at odd times. I think of them as stray atoms, seeking molecules with available docking sites to glom onto. I process all my emotions – but especially my negative ones – through this process, by writing stories and novels. I could tell that something was cooking, but it was missing an ingredient.

Then I found it: an interview with the woman who coined the term "incel." It was on the Reply All podcast, and Alana, a queer Canadian woman explained that she had struggled all her life to find romantic and sexual partnership, and jokingly started referring to herself as "involuntarily celibate," and then, as an "incel":

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/76h59o

Alana started a message board where other "incels" could offer each other support, and it was remarkably successful. The incels on Alana's message board helped each other work through the problems that stood between them and love, and when they did, they drifted away from the board to pursue a happier life.

That was the problem, Alana explained. If you're in a support group for people with a drinking problem, the group elders, the ones who've been around forever, are the people who've figured it out and gotten sober. When life seems impossible, those elders step in to tell you, I know it's terrible right now, but it'll get better. I was where you are and I got through it. You will, too. I'm here for you. We all are.

But on Alana's incel board, the old timers were the people who couldn't figure it out. They were the ones for whom mutual support and advice didn't help them figure out what they needed to do in order to find the love they sought. The longer the message board ran, the more it became dominated by people who were convinced that it was hopeless, that love was impossible for the likes of them. When newbies posted in rage and despair, these Great Old Ones were there to feed it: You're right. It will never get better. It only gets worse. There is no hope.

That was the missing piece. My short story Radicalized was born. It's a story about men on a message board called Fuck Cancer Right In the Fucking Face (FCKRFF, or "Fuckriff"), who are watching the people they love the most in the world be murdered by their insurance companies, who egg each other on to spectacular acts of mass violence against health insurance company employees, hospital billing offices, and other targets of their rage. As of today, anyone can read this story for free, courtesy of my publishers at Macmillan, who gave permission for the good folks at The American Prospect to post it:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2024-12-09-radicalized-cory-doctorow-story-health-care/

I often hear from people about this story, even before an unknown (at the time of writing) man assassinated Brian Thompson, CEO of Unitedhealthcare, the murderous health insurance monopoly that is the largest medical insurer in the USA. Since then, hundreds of people have gotten in touch with me to ask me how I feel about this turn of events, how it feels to have "predicted" this.

I've been thinking about it for a few days now, and I gotta tell you, I have complicated feelings.

You've doubtless seen the outpourings of sarcastic graveyard humor about Thompson's murder. People hate Unitedhealthcare, for good reason, because he personally decided – or approved – countless policies that killed people by cheating them until they died.

Nurses and doctors hate Thompson and United. United kills people, for money. During the most acute phase of the pandemic, the company charged the US government $11,000 for each $8 covid test:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/06/137300-pct-markup/#137300-pct-markup

UHC leads the nation in claims denials, with a denial rate of 32% (!!). If you want to understand how the US can spend 20% of its GDP and get the worst health outcomes in the world, just connect the dots between those two facts: the largest health insurer in human history charges the government a 183,300% markup on covid tests and also denies a third of its claims.

UHC is a vertically integrated, murdering health profiteer. They bought Optum, the largest pharmacy benefit manager ("A spreadsheet with political power" -Matt Stoller) in the country. Then they starved Optum of IT investment in order to give more money to their shareholders. Then Optum was hacked by ransomware gang and no one could get their prescriptions for weeks. This killed people:

https://www.economicliberties.us/press-release/malicious-threat-actor-accesses-unitedhealth-groups-monopolistic-data-exchange-harming-patients-and-pharmacists/#

The irony is, Optum is terrible even when it's not hacked. The purpose of Optum is to make you pay more for pharmaceuticals. If that's more than you can afford, you die. Optum – that is, UHC – kills people:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/23/shield-of-boringness/#some-men-rob-you-with-a-fountain-pen

Optum isn't the only murderous UHC division. Take Navihealth, an algorithm that United uses to kick people out of their hospital beds even if they're so frail, sick or injured they can't stand or walk. Doctors and nurses routinely watch their gravely ill patients get thrown out of their hospitals. Many die. UHC kills them, for money:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-08-16-steward-bankruptcy-physicians-private-equity/

The patients murdered by Navihealth are on Medicare Advantage. Medicare is the public health care system the USA extends to old people. Medicare Advantage is a privatized system you can swap your Medicare coverage for, and UHC leads the country in Medicare Advantage, blitzing seniors with deceptive ads that trick them into signing up for UHC Medicare Advantage. Seniors who do this lose access to their doctors and specialists, have to pay hundreds or thousands of dollars for their medication, and get hit with $400 surprise bills to use the "free" ambulance service:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-12-05-manhattan-medicare-murder-mystery/

No wonder the public spends 22% more subsidizing Medicare Advantage than they spend on the care for seniors who stick with actual Medicare:

https://theconversation.com/taxpayers-spend-22-more-per-patient-to-support-medicare-advantage-the-private-alternative-to-medicare-that-promised-to-cost-less-241997

It's not just the elderly, it's also the addicted and mentally ill. UHC illegally denies coverage for mental health and substance abuse treatment. Imagine watching a family member spiral out of control, ODing, or ending up on the streets with hallucinations, and knowing that the health insurance company that takes thousands of dollars out of your paycheck refused to treat them:

https://www.startribune.com/unitedhealthcare-will-pay-15-7m-in-settlement-of-denial-of-care-charges/600087607

Unsurprising, the internal culture at UHC is callous beyond belief. How could it not be? How could you go to work at UHC and know you were killing people and not dehumanize those victims? A lawsuit by chronically ill patient whom UHC had denied care for surfaced recorded phone calls in which UHC employees laughed long and hard about the denied claims, dismissing the patient's desperate, tearful pleas as "tantrums" :

https://www.propublica.org/article/unitedhealth-healthcare-insurance-denial-ulcerative-colitis

Those UHC workers are just trying to get by, of course, and the callouses they develop so they can bear to go to work were ripped off by last week's murder. UHC's executive team knows this, and has gone on a rampage to stop employees from leaking their own horror stories, or even mentioning that the internal company announcement of Thompson's death was seen by 16,000 employees, of whom only 28 left a comment:

https://www.kenklippenstein.com/p/unitedhealthcare-tells-employees

Doctors and nurses hate UHC on behalf of their patients, but it's also personal. UHC screws doctor's practices by refusing to pay them, making them chase payments for months or even years, and then it offers them a payday lending service that helps them keep the lights on while they wait to get paid:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frr4wuvAB6U

Is it any surprise that Reddit's nursing forums are full of nurses making grim, satisfied jokes about the assassination of the $10m/year CEO who ran the $400b/year corporation that does all this?

https://www.thedailybeast.com/leading-medical-subreddit-deletes-thread-on-unitedhealthcare-ceos-murder-after-users-slam-his-record/

We're not supposed to experience – much less express – schadenfreude when someone is murdered in the street, no matter who they are. We're meant to express horror at the idea of political violence, even when that violence only claims a single life, a fraction of the body count UCH produced under Thompson's direction. As Malcolm Harris put it, "'Every life is precious' stuff about a healthcare CEO whose company is noted for denying coverage is pretty silly":

https://twitter.com/BigMeanInternet/status/1864471932386623753

As Woody Guthrie wrote, "Some will rob you with a six-gun/And some with a fountain pen." The weapon is lethal when it's a pistol and when it's an insurance company. The insurance company merely serves as an accountability sink, a layer of indirection that lets a murder happen without any person being the technical murderer:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

I don't want people to kill insurance executives, and I don't want insurance executives to kill people. But I am unsurprised that this happened. Indeed, I'm surprised that it took so long. It should not be controversial to note that if you run an institution that makes people furious, they will eventually become furious with you. This is the entire pitch of Thomas Piketty's Capital in the 21st Century: that wealth concentration leads to corruption, which is destabilizing, and in the long run it's cheaper to run a fair society than it is to pay for the guards you'll need to keep the guillotines off your lawn:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/06/24/thomas-pikettys-capital-in-the-21st-century/

But we've spent the past 40 years running in the other direction, maximizing monopolies, inequality and corruption, and gaslighting the public when they insist that this is monstrous and unfair. Back in 2022, when UHC was buying Change Healthcare – the dominant payment network for hospitals, which would allow UHC to surveil all its competitors' payments – the DOJ sued to block the merger. The Trump-appointed judge in the case, Carl Nichols – who owned tens of thousands of dollars in UHC bonds – ruled against the DOJ, saying that it would all be fine thanks to United's "culture of trust and integrity":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-antitrust-shooting-war-has-started

We don't know much about Thompson's killer yet, but he's already becoming a folk hero, with lookalike contests in NYC:

https://twitter.com/CollinRugg/status/1865472577478553976

And gigantic graffiti murals praising him and reproducing the words he wrote on the shell casings of the bullets he used to kill Thompson, "delay, deny, depose":

https://www.tumblr.com/radicalgraff/769193188403675136/killin-fuckin-ceos-freight-graff-in-the-bay

I get why this is distasteful. Thompson is said to have been a "family man" who loved his kids, and I have no reason to disbelieve this. I can only imagine that his wife and kids are shattered by this. Every living person is the apex of a massive project involving dozens, hundreds of people who personally worked to raise, nurture and love them. I wrote about this in my novel Walkaway, as the characters consider whether to execute a mercenary sent to kill them, whom they have taken hostage:

She had parents. People who loved her. Every human was a hyper-dense node of intense emotional and material investment. Speaking meant someone had spent thousands of hours cooing to you. Those lean muscles, the ringing tone of command — their inputs were from all over the world, carefully administered. The merc was more than a person: like a spaceship launch, her existence implied thousands of skilled people, generations of experts, wars, treaties, scholarship and supply-chain management. Every one of them was all that.

But so often, the formula for "folk hero" is "killing + time." The person who terrorizes the people who terrorize you is your hero, and eventually we sanitize the deaths, and just remember them as fighters for justice. If you doubt it, consider the legend of Robin Hood:

https://twitter.com/mcmansionhell/status/1865554985842352501

The health industry is trying to put a lid on this, palpably afraid that – as in my story "Radicalized" – this one murderer will become a folk hero who inspires others to acts of spectacular violence. They're insisting that it's unseemly to gloat about Thompson's death. They're right, but this is an obvious loser strategy. The health industry is full of people whose deaths would be deplorable, but not unsurprising. As Clarence Darrow had it:

I’ve never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure.

Murder is never the answer. Murder is not a healthy response to corruption. But it is healthy for people to fear that if they kill people for greed, they will be unsafe. On December 5 – the day after Thompson's killing – the health insurer Anthem announced that it would not pay for anesthesia for medical procedures that ran long. The next day, they retracted the policy, citing "outrage":

https://www.cnn.com/2024/12/05/health/anthem-blue-cross-blue-shield-anesthesia-claim-limits/index.html

Sure, maybe it was their fear of reputation damage that got them to decide to reverse this inhumane, disgusting, murderous policy. But maybe it was also someone in the C-suite thinking about what share of the profits from this policy would have to be spent on additional bodyguards for every Anthem exec if it went into effect, and decided that it was a money-loser after all.

Think about hospital exec Ralph de la Torre, who cheerfully testified to Congress that he'd killed patients in pursuit of profit. De la Torre clearly doesn't fear any kind of consequences for his actions. He owns hospitals that are filled with tens of thousands of bats (he stiffed the exterminators), where none of the elevators work (he stiffed the repair techs), where there's no medicine or blood (he stiffed the suppliers) and where the doctors and nurses can't make rent (he stiffed them too). De La Torre doesn't just own hospitals – he also owns a pair of superyachts:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

It is a miracle that so many people have lost their mothers, sons, wives and husbands so Ralph de la Torre could buy himself another superyacht, and that those people live in a country where you can buy an assault rifle, and that Ralph de la Torre isn't forced to live in a bunker and travel in a tank.

It's a rather beautiful sort of miracle, to be honest. I like to think that it comes from a widespread belief by the people of this country I have since become a citizen of, that we should solve our problems politically, rather than with bullets.

But the assassination of Brian Thompson is a wake-up call, a warning that if we don't solve this problem politically, we may not have a choice about whether it's solved with violence. As a character in "Radicalized" says, "They say violence never solves anything, but to quote The Onion: that's only true so long as you ignore all of human history":

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2024-12-09-radicalized-cory-doctorow-story-health-care/

#pluralistic #unitedhealthcare #assassination #execution #violence #murder #science fiction #radicalized #health insurance #m4a #medicare for all #Brian Thompson #guns #cancer #corruption #usausausa #torment nexus

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chuluoyi · 11 months ago

Note

only if you are up for a challenge. Naoya Zenin x f!reader in which he got her pregnant, then she left out of fear and he found her again and won't let her go :)))

when you loved me

- zen'in naoya x reader

you loved him... but you have had enough of the shit you've experienced—his arrogance, horrible family and another woman—and decided to leave him for the sake of yourself and your child

genre/warnings: angst to comfort, implied cheating, most likely ooc, honestly i almost made it a vs naoya fic with no consolation, happy ending aka naoya is decent

note: this ask... has been collecting dust in my askbox for about SIX MONTHS HAHAH, so sorry anon. i'll just leave it here and let it burn however just bc i don’t want to delete what i’ve written :’)

general masterlist

"How... how could you?"

Once, you thought, you were in love with Zen'in Naoya.

Well, you couldn't deny that he had personality flaws, but deep down, at one point in your life, you still believed that he too loved you.

You stared at him through tears brimming in your eyes, and he was just there, looking at the little being in your arms with a mix of shock and... something else you couldn't name. Dismay? Disappointment? Black rage?

"Go away, Naoya," you declared through your gritted teeth, pulling the baby in your arms even closer to you, as though fearing he might do something drastic. No way in hell would you let him after what he made you go through.

His eyes twitched as he tried to hold himself back from losing it. He took a few deep breathes in order to stay composed.

“Y/N, answer me,” he growled, still with the same condescending tone you remembered nine months ago, when you resolutely decided to leave him. “Is that baby mine?”

This was absolute madness. You had driven him insane. Naoya was certain he would go feral on you after you boldly left him without a trace, and when he found you, you were cradling this baby in your arms—which he was absolutely sure, enough to bet on his life, that the little thing was also his.

The woman he loves has given birth to his child.

You had imagined all sort of scenarios in which this very event would occur. This was one of them actually.

“No,” you firmly replied, gaze hardening. “Not yours. So kindly let yourself out of my house, Naoya.”

“Absolute bullshit!” he shouted and you flinched. His sudden rise of voice also woke the poor baby in your arms.

His heart hammered inside his chest. There were many things that made a mess of his head. You running away from him. The nights of madness he went through, wondering where you were and if you were alright. And now, the fact you had his baby without him ever knowing.

“Where were you? Why did you leave— you were having my—”

Fuck, he didn’t even know if he had a son or daughter.

You tried to console your child, now tears also streaming down your cheeks too. But it was more of frustration and anger rather than fear. “Can you blame me? Zen’in Naoya, you have made my life hell!”

“Hell?” It felt like an total insult to his pride. “How—!”

“You!” you screamed at his face. “I’ve had enough of your shit! And not to mention your father—that horrible drunkard who always looks down on me and treats me as if I were some gold digger! And also the whole of your goddamn, entitled clan—they always harass me right in front of my face!”

All of this stunned him on this place. Truth to be told, he knew a little to nothing at all about what his kin had done to you.

“I don’t need your family’s wealth! I can live on my own just fine even with your bastard!” Your tirade still hadn’t ended, but you had to put your baby on her cot first and dismiss her ever growing cries because you were tired of all of this. This life. This absolute nightmare that was caused by one fatal mistake of falling in love with Zen’in Naoya.

“But what the fuck? You’re asking why I left? How dare you ask me that after what you did!”

“What did I even do?!” His denial made a blood vessel about to burst inside your brain. “You never fucking told me what my father did! If only you did, I would have—”

“Look, you don’t even acknowledge it!” You were so tired of this. You wished you could die and just end all of this mental suffering. Why did this have to happen to you out of a billion people out there?

And yet, still, ultimately, you were happy with him. Those memories of the two of you together, just idyllically spending time together, or sometimes even playfully clashing opinions— to you, they were irreplaceable.

So, that's why...

Your heart shattered at the screeching cries of your baby. But you had to slam this in Naoya’s face.

“That was the last straw—seeing you with that fucking woman, you insufferable, demented, cheating bastard!”

That string of profanities you screamed at his face made Naoya finally lost it, as he gripped you tightly and his eyes flared with pure white-hot anger. “Say that again—say that again, you—!”

A toe-curling scream ripped out of your baby and you wrenched yourself out of his grasp through sheer will. Naoya was left reeling as he watched your horrified expression, as you plucked the baby into your arms again.

“Shh, shh,” you shushed your child amidst your own quivering lips. “Mama is here… Don’t cry…”

Right at that moment, it was as if something had pierced his chest and left a gaping hole. He really had a living baby. That baby was crying because of him.

The sting of the anger was still there, but now guilt started to overpower it as he regained his cool somewhat. “Is that a—” his breath hitched. He had to know. At the very, very least he had to know.

You didn’t immediately answer. You were still absolutely heartbroken by how it all turned out. But above all else, you could no longer deny him of his own child.

“A girl,” you sniffled.

A daughter. A daughter— in the one split second after knowing that, Naoya made the quickest decision of his life.

“Come back. Live with me,” he said, resolute. “You’re the mother of my child—I won’t let anyone lay their hand on you again. You have my word.”

Women are pain in the ass. That was what he used to think. Until you. Not when it's you. It astounded even himself how the sight of you like this was enough to drive knives into his chest.

“Look, that’s not it,” your tears were now falling free and fast, unable to hold it back longer. “How can you ask me that—when you went behind my back with another woman? Naoya, I love you—loved you. But isn’t this too cruel? How can you do this to me?”

“What woman are you talking about?” He tried to compose himself, but your accusation of him with someone whose existence he didn’t even know was getting in his nerves. “I have never been unfaithful to you! I know we don't always agree to things, but do you really think that low of me?”

“Evidently, I saw you with her. Your father made it a point that she’s your next plaything—or possibly even, fiancée!”

There was a memory that sprung into his head when you mentioned that. He recalled that vain, stupid woman, and he definitely remembered telling his father that he refused her. It wasn’t long before you disappeared.

Now everything clicked.

“Listen to me,” Naoya started, jaw clenching. “Whatever my father told you—those are all lies. I turned her down right there and then. I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that. You should have known that.”

Sobs wrecked your body and soul at this point. You knew where your place was. Zen’in Naoya was a man outside your league, his family made it so clear to you that you were nothing but dirt in their eyes. And perhaps that was why, back then, you chose to protect yourself and left him, believing he was capable of that too.

And now before you, you could see the man you loved once again.

“Come back to me.” His gaze burned you. “This time, for sure, I won’t let anyone touch you— I won’t let them even say a word about you! I will marry you, and we will raise our daughter together.”

“I… I don’t want to live there, Naoya…” you sobbed. You hated that place. Like hell would you have your pride stomped and deceived again.

“Alright, if that’s what you want. We won’t live there. You won’t have to see any of their faces again.”

Gazing into your face, marked by trails of tears, he finally, finally felt his heart break. And he thought, that in front of him now was the only woman who could upturn his whole trajectory.

“Just… come back. To me. I will take care of you. I swear it.”

#zenin naoya x reader #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #zen'in naoya x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #zenin naoya #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk fic #jjk naoya #jjk x reader angst #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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pellucid-constellations · 6 months ago

Text

Trial and Error (5)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Illness, angst babyyy <3

a/n: I'm going insane and crazy and every iteration of that. I love writing this fic so much I want it tattooed on my forehead. Thanks, love you all <3

Main Masterlist ♡

You were in and out of sleep for the next few days—much to your displeasure.

After attempting to down all the herbal remedies Azriel’s healer had left and continuing to care for your daughter without missing a beat, Azriel had made it clear that that would not fly. You told him several times to go home and not burden himself with caring for the two of you, but he was entirely too stubborn to listen to you.

You even watched as his shadows left and returned with messages for him, sure that his High Lord was calling him home.

But Azriel still stayed.

He made food, he served the food, and he fed Melanie, coaxing her delirious eyes open to make sure she took medicine at the right times. You weren’t completely incapacitated, but it didn’t matter; Azriel wouldn’t allow you to lift a finger.

He answered the door to the apothecary several times, sending away customers after collecting payments and restocking shelves, somehow privy to the knowledge of the store. You weren’t entirely confident that he wasn’t overcharging everyone or putting things in random places.

A few times, when sleep fought for the space in your mind, you felt fingers in your hair, along your face, across your shoulders. Each brush would send you deeper into the void you avoided so adamantly, and you were ignoring the fact that you had never felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of other people until now.

You caught Azriel holding Melanie on a few occasions.

You would crack an eye open after an unexpected bout of sleep and he’d be rocking her in his arms, bouncing her to sleep as she lay her flushed face on his shoulder.

Azriel had never told you if he had experience with children. Sure, he mentioned his closeness with Nyx and how much he loved his nephew, but that was… different from this. The ease with which he held Melanie, the instinct he seemed to have towards her—it felt different. Looked different.

You felt an unexplainable sense of safety as you watched them.

Melanie would pull back from his shoulder and arrange her fingers on the planes of Azriel’s cheeks and he would smile at her. And you felt safe.

You found more energy on the third day of the fever.

You got out of bed and took some semblance of a bath, fumbling around in the bathroom without much coordination. Your head was still fuzzy and an ache still permeated deep within your muscles, but the feeling was lessened.

It wasn’t until after your bath that you realized you hadn’t checked on Melanie the moment you woke up.

You hadn’t shot out of bed and raced to her room as you had done almost every morning since she was born.

You hadn’t feared that she was somehow taken from your home, from your arms—that she was in danger of being ripped from your grasp and sent back to Autumn to live out the same cruel fate you were destined for.

A small voice in the back of your mind offered a gentle whisper, reminding you that it was because of Azriel that you found that brief moment of peace.

You pushed it back.

With a shiver, you made your way down the narrow hallway to your daughter’s bedroom.

Empty.

You felt your heart rate tick up in a small bout of panic, but you were calmed by a fluttering in your chest just as quickly. The light pressure led you into the kitchen and then flushed into a warm bloom as the scene in front of you unfolded.

Melanie was bundled up in a blanket and sat atop the kitchen counter as Azriel whisked the contents of a bowl. She was talking her head off about something that happened at school and Azriel was nodding his head with each exasperated huff she let out. Another glance told you that Melanie had eaten an entire plate of food before you’d entered, a feat in itself as your daughter hardly ate to begin with—let alone when she was sick.

“Mommy!” Melanie cheered, wrapping her arms around your neck as you entered the quaint kitchen. “I thought you were gonna sleep forever. I wanted to wake you up but Mr. Azriel said you had to sleep to get better so he made me lunch.”

“Lunch, huh?” you smiled, gathering her into your arms and sliding her off the counter.

“Uh-huh. You slept through breakfast and lunch. Aren’t you hungry, mommy?”

“Maybe a little bit.”

“Well, you should have Mr. Azriel’s pancakes.” Melanie yawned. Her blinks became longer. “They’re so good, mommy. He should live with us and make them all the time.”

From the stove, you heard Azriel breathe out a laugh. You glanced at him through your lashes as you held Melanie in your arms, the broad expanse of his wings barely contained in the kitchen. The shirt he wore strained against his arms as he shifted a pan on the burner and he didn’t look back as the two of you spoke.

“I think I need a nap,” Melanie proclaimed, rubbing at her heavy eyes. “I thought I was a big girl at school now and didn’t need to take naps. You told me that, mommy.”

You tore your gaze from Azriel’s back and offered your daughter a soft smile. “Well, you need rest to get better, too. So it’s okay for you to take naps right now.”

“I don’t like having hot blood. This is so annoying.”

You jutted your head back at her statement and made to have her explain, but Melanie shimmied from your arms and scampered off to her room before you could make a sound, her blanket dragging behind her.

That left you alone with Azriel.

“Hot blood?” you asked, leaning against the counter and attempting to appear casual in your own home. It was still surreal that he was up here—making pancakes in your kitchen—when just a few days ago, you never would have let him get past the stairs.

Azriel hummed and flicked the burner off, leaning his back on a nearby counter to face you. “I think she heard what Madja said when she was explaining what was wrong with you both. Mel’s been calling it hot blood. I didn’t—I didn’t think it was my place to correct her.”

You pressed your lips into a line and rubbed your forearm in some attempt of comfort. “Right.” A long pause. Azriel didn’t press you to speak. You did anyway to fill the dead air. “You really didn’t have to stay for as long as you did. I know this place isn’t what you’re used to and it must have been a handful with Mel—”

“I wanted to stay,” Azriel interrupted. He stepped forward and placed a hand on your forehead, ignoring the tension you felt weighing on your shoulders. “You’re still warm.”

“I feel a lot better. Almost completely fine. It would be okay… if you had somewhere to go. If you had to leave, I mean.”

The hand on your forehead slid down to your chin and tilted your face up. Azriel’s gaze flickered between your eyes—back and forth with a furrowed brow as if trying to parse out a deeper meaning behind your words or solve a puzzle you hadn’t presented. His hand was hot against your chin in a way it wasn’t against your forehead.

“You should eat,” he settled on. He brushed your still-damp hair back from your face before turning on his heel. “Mel was right. I make great pancakes and you haven’t eaten in a while. Lucky for you she didn’t finish all of them. She was close, but there are a few left.”

You let him fuss, watched him as he rooted around the cupboards to pull out a plate and a glass, and tried to figure this out now that you were more coherent.

Azriel had stayed—for almost three days he had stayed at your apartment and cared for you and your daughter as if it was expected. Each time you had woken up he had been there, coaxing water and bone-dry broth into your mouth before helping you see Melanie and then helping you to fall back to sleep. He had held your daughter and made her pancakes and he was still here.

Could this somehow be nefarious? Some ploy to get close to you just to use you as a bargaining chip and send you back home? Had the High Lord demanded that his Spymaster keep a close eye on you and this was the outcome?

No.

No, that couldn’t be the reason Azriel was setting a plate down on the counter beside you. That couldn’t be why he caught your eye with a worried gaze and seemed to pinpoint your inner turmoil almost instantly.

But why?

His visits over the past few weeks had been welcomed—confusing at first, but a welcomed break from the mundane, anxiety-fueled life you lived. You had grown comfortable with him and Melanie had begun asking for him when she showed you her art projects or had questions about the walks of life. You had come to expect his presence in your store and found yourself looking forward to the chance to see him outside of Melanie’s school.

But what could he possibly have to gain from making himself a constant in your life?

You had asked before, a single question with a simple “Why not?” for a response that you had brushed off. Because it wasn’t too much of a big deal for him to stop by or help you lift the apothecary boxes or let Melanie talk his ear off.

But this was a big deal.

It was a big deal when he sat beside you until you fell asleep and it was a big deal that he was still standing here now, inches from you, eyes boring into yours.

“Why are you doing this, Azriel?”

Your question seemed to suck all of the air from the room. Azriel winced to such an infinitesimal degree you almost missed it. His fingers twitched as they rested on the counter. The plate of food sat forgotten, its intended distraction wasted.

“I’ve already said.”

You shook your head. “‘Why not’ was okay when you were stopping by the apothecary a few times a week and flirting with me for fun. It was okay when you were saving me from nosey teachers and opening doors when my hands were full. It was okay when this—” you jabbed your finger between your chest and his “—didn’t involve you in my apartment holding my daughter until she fell asleep. I need more than why not, Azriel. I need to understand if… if…”

“What?” he whispered so close the air between you warmed.

When had he gotten so close?

“I need to know if this isn’t safe. If there’s some other reason for all of this.”

This time, when Azriel winced, he flinched. His body seemed to stun and his face twisted into a frown etched with such an uncomfortable pain it was difficult to look at.

He spoke as his head shook. “I’ve told you this isn’t… I want you to feel safe with me. I thought I would have proved that was possible after this.”

“You have,” you were quick to reply. “I wouldn’t have been able to take care of Mel if you hadn’t been here. But, that’s the thing. I don’t even know how you knew to come here. You walked in asking if I was okay—asking where Melanie was. I know your shadows spy, but why, Azriel? Why take such an interest in me? In us?”

“Is it not enough to just want to know you?” he asked, his words tight and pained.

“No. For others, maybe. But not… not after everything I’ve been through. Not when everything I have could be ripped away. I need a reason, Azriel. I can’t let this happen without one. I can’t put Melanie in danger.”

“I don’t understand,” Azriel pleaded. He got closer, wrenching his head down to find your eyes. “Help me to understand. What danger are you in? I can explain, but I can’t protect you without knowing.”

You let out an exasperated scoff, tugging at your hair and regretting the action as a headache bloomed. You took a step back until your back met the kitchen wall.

“You can’t protect me, Azriel. You can’t.”

“I could if you—”

“It doesn’t make sense that you want to! You work for the High Lord. You spy for him! Do you have any idea what any of that means in the grand scheme of things? What it could mean if someone found out that the Night Court’s Spymaster was suddenly asking around about someone from Autumn?”

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, confusion marring his features, but you were breathing faster, the fever and the panic combining beneath your skin.

“I have stayed hidden for five years—five. I shouldn’t have sent Melanie to school. I shouldn’t have asked for help from anyone. If… if someone finds me—”

“No one will find you. Hey—hey.” Azriel invaded your space, your back against the wall and his hands against your face. His eyes softened as they caught yours. “No one is going to find you. You need a reason why I want to be here with you? Why I care about you and Mel?”

Your jaw quivered under his fingers. You nodded in place of speech, unable to find words that wouldn’t make tears fall down your cheeks.

Azriel stared back at you with so much torture and conflict in his eyes you almost wanted to take back the request. He took several breaths and seemed unsure of his next words. But he held your face in his hands with such surety, strong fingers unshaken.

The Shadowsinger brought you forward with the guide of his palms until his lips met your forehead.

And then he pulled back and said, “You are my mate. I want to keep you safe—to protect you and Melanie—because you are my mate. You are what I’ve been waiting for for hundreds of years and if you want nothing to do with me after this, that’s fine. But if you’ll have me, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

part 6

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