#and you finally succeeded in being cruel enough about it that I stopped trying

[chaotic-carnifex]

Wait hold on, I gotta focus, I'm shifting into evil mode

[punkyflesh]

A that reader is affectionate and understanding. She's takes care of the royal kids and would do anything to keep them safe. So she doesn't know of Cedric plans b/c he knows she'll try to stop him. His plans succeed and the reader runs away to safety? Few years later the reader and Cedric are reunited, but under grim circumstances.

I'm basically asking for angst. I've just been in the mood for it.

The Reckoning of Hearts | Cedric X Reader (Angst)

“The truth is, you could slit my throat, and with my last, gasping breath, I’d apologise for bleeding on your shirt.”

summary: cedric succeeds in taking over the kingdom, and the reader manages to flee along with the royal children. desperate to save roland & miranda, the reader returns 3 years later to confront the man they once loved.

notes: what a way to return to my fiction-writing roots, lovely bit of cedric angst! i struggled so much with writers block so i hope this is satisfactory. likes, reblogs & comments are always appreciated!!

warnings: no warnings for this one, but be prepared, there’s no happy ending.

—————

Enchancia had fallen. Once a kingdom of enchanting beauty and unwavering prosperity, it now stood as a reminder of the malevolent overturn led by the sorcerer. In the days of old, Enchancia was once known for its lush landscapes, bright skies, ethereal flora, and a radiating positive vibe that was felt by all of the people who lived there. All but for one.

An outcast, Cedric was a target of ridicule and scorn, for his abilities were not like his ancestors’. His magic was untamed and unpredictable, often leading to accidents that left the villagers resentful, and the royal family disappointed. Since he was a boy, he was teased mercilessly, and with each form of mockery, Cedric’s heart grew heavy with each cruel word and teasing laugh.

Years of dealing with the torment changed Cedric. His once kind and gentle nature gave way to bitterness and resentment. He grew obsessed with power, determined to prove himself to all those who ever doubted him. Months of locking himself up in his dingy tower, studying ancient books, desperate to find a way to strengthen his powers. As he studied, the malevolent force took root within his heart, and his once optimistic eyes darkened with an insatiable thirst for revenge.

You were the first obstacle in Cedric’s road to rule. You were recently hired by the King as a nanny of sorts, tasked with the responsibility of babysitting the children, escorting them to events, and being a general companion and role model as they grew up. Cedric first met you on your first day - not that he particularly wanted to, but as ‘royal sorcerer’, he was obligated to attend all royal ceremonies and perform some extravagant show like a lion in a circus. He expected the event to be dull and sour, but he didn’t expect to feel his heart soften so much when he saw you. You were a stark contrast to the sorcerer, a sight for sore eyes. You filled the palace with your warmth, your laughter and your powerful ability to put up with the energetic children so much. The two of you would interact often, as Cedric was often dragged out of the safety of his tower by the new princess. Unbeknownst to Cedric, he found himself inexplicably drawn to your presence. Your kindness and innocence began to chip away at the walls around his heart, and he struggled to suppress the warmth he felt whenever he was around you.

He hated you. Cedric could not stand the vulnerable way you made him feel. How you sent him into a spiral of doubt about himself and his plans whenever you even gazed in his direction. He could not stand you.

Alas, your kindness was not enough to thaw the coldness that had developed within Cedric. His plans of stealing the amulet from Sofia had finally, finally succeeded, and he unleashed his dark magic upon the kingdom immediately. Imprisoning the royal couple, Enchancia was plunged into darkness, its once vibrant colours fading to shades of grey. Cedric was consumed by the anger and despair that had fogged his heart for so long, and had allowed himself to be taken over by the negativity.

You had acted fast, but not fast enough to prevent the royal couple’s imprisonment. Eager to protect the children, you had no choice but to flee the kingdom to Avalor, taking the royal children under your wing. You were welcomed with open arms, the royals vowing to protect yourself and the children, promising and reassuring no harm would ever come to you. But your heart was shattered. Utterly broken.

It had been three years since the fall of Enchancia, and you had never given up hope. The devastation of your heartbreak fuelled determination. As the years passed, a glimmer of hope began to stir within your heart. You led a group of brave and resilient individuals who sought to free the royal couple from Cedric’s tyranny. You were desperate to return the children’s parents to them safely, freeing them from the bitter ruling of a man you once thought you loved. Together, yourself and the group embarked on a perilous quest to restore Enchancia.

Cedric had all but forgotten about his adoration for you as the years went past. His heart grew colder every passing day, focusing solely on maintaining his tyrannical grip over the kingdom, and strengthening his powers.

A crisp autumn night, the moon hung low in the sky. Cedric sat on the throne, the room dusk with shadows and lit up by the twinkle of the night. Silence. Silence. Footsteps. He looked up. A cloaked figure stood before him, their eyes filled with both sorrow and determination. You raised your head and made eye contact with the man. His heart skipped a beat. When their eyes met, time seemed to stand still. Cedric could hardly believe his eyes, for there stood the person he once loved. You were worn down with the journey and the weight of your travels, but you still possessed a beauty that could rival the most enchanting sunrise.

As the memories of their love came flooding back, Cedric was overcome with a torrent of conflicting emotions — remorse for the path he had chosen, anger at himself for betraying you, and an overwhelming sense of wanting to be near you, wanting to justify and explain himself to you. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. You looked at him with cold eyes, and a straight face, a wave of hatred rushing over you as you took in his appearance. The crown on his head was too big, and he was remarkably skinnier. His face was slim and his fingers tapped the arms of the throne idly as he gazed at you with a gaping mouth.

Silence again.

“Where are they?”

Your voice filled the silence of the room loudly, startling Cedric out of his trance.

“I— what?”

You snarled at his patheticness, at how weak and stupid he sounded as he looked at you with confusion.

“The king and queen. Where are they?” You asked again, stepping closer to Cedric slowly as you put your hand in your pocket. Unbeknownst to Cedric, you had been taking magic lessons from the Royal Sorcerer in Avalor, and had grown to possess a healthy power, enough to battle Cedric if needed.

Cedric wasn’t stupid. He knew what you were doing, he knew what you had planned as soon as you put your hand into your pocket. His face grew cold once more as he realised that, you too, doubted him. You still saw him as the pathetic sorcerer he once was. You never believed in him, in fact, you probably agreed with everyone too, laughed at their mocking jokes behind his back. He laughed to himself quietly as he realised what you wanted, and found it humorous how you thought you could take over him so easily.

“My dear, you haven’t learnt a thing, have you not? Look around.” He stood from the throne and held his arms out, gesturing to the empty room.

“I am in control. Whatever mere spells you’ve got up your sleeve are pointless against me.”

He smirked as he drew his wand, muttering a spell and drawing you close to him with the force that expelled from the tip of it. Your faces were inches away as you grunted and groaned with frustration, dropping your own wand and being overcome with the inability to move from his force. His breath felt hot against your face as you looked into his cold, dead eyes. There was nothing there. Nothing but hatred and despair.

“It’s laughable, really. I hadn’t thought about you for years, and here you are. I could do whatever I wanted to you.”

He whispered, stroking a slender finger down your cheek as you struggled. Tears began to well in your eyes as the determination shattered, the realisation kicking in that this is how it would be.

“Silence, my dear? You looked as though you had a lot to say.” Cedric teased, his hand finding his way to your hair as he stroked it.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to talk. You’re going nowhere.”

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Winter Wonderland

summary: small, winter-related scenarios

characters: Fischl/Jean x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: none, just fluff

a/n: It's not much, but I wanted to write something so that I don't end up completely rusty when I'm done with my "Hiatus".

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Fischl  

It wasn’t every day that you’d get to see the “Prinzessin der Verurteilung” dressed in anything other than her asymmetrical attire, so when you arrived at your meeting place, only to lay your eyes on a figure wrapped in what seemed to be a million layers of clothing, the single thing making it even somewhat possible to figure out its identity being the blonde hair, you couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Excuse my remark, your highness, but are you certain you didn’t perchance put on one too many layers of clothing?”, you asked, your tone unusually teasing, causing the princess to slightly pull down her scarf so she could speak without accidentally taking it into her mouth.

“There is never such a thing as putting on too many clothes in Winter. It is the most cruel of seasons, after all, my loyal retainer”, she was quick to respond, only to send a half glare at her flying companion the moment she noticed his beak open, causing the bird to fly to a safe distance before continuing.

“Perfectly put, my majesty. Although you make it sound as if you weren’t dismayed when your mother told you the same thing and wrapped you in your current attire”, the raven snarked, obviously being just as amused by the sight at you were, being quick to fly away a bit further when the girl rebuffed him for his comments and tried to close the distance between them.

“Enough with this, you two. This is no way to treat royalty”, Fischl demanded, causing you to switch to the best poker face you had in store, only for the red faced princess to turn towards you and give you yet another small glare.

“Might I offer your highness something in exchange for her forgiveness?”

While it was as obvious of a bribe as possible, it succeeded as the Prinzessin der Verurteilung eventually gave you a nod before listing her surprisingly lax demands, consisting of nothing but a cup of hot chocolate, something you were quick to agree to before the two of you finally set out to do what you originally planned to do.

Jean

While the Acting Grandmaster was about the last person to think about staying at home just because she didn’t feel like going outside in the cold Winter weather, you had somehow managed to sell her the idea of doing her paperwork from home. It had a lot of upsides, you argued. It was much warmer than her office, she saved time she’d usually spend on travelling from her home to work and back and she didn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting her.

The Gunnhildr found it hard to figure out if she was a lot more receptive towards your idea because it was what she wanted to do deep down, or if you were just great at convincing her, but either way she found herself accepting your proposal, deciding to work on her papers from home, only for it to slowly dawn on her that she had fallen into your trap.

Just as Jean walked through the living room, being on her was back to working on her remaining documents, not wanting to get too comfortable during the small break you had urged her to take, her eyes landed on you, sitting on the couch while being wrapped in a comfortable looking blanket and staring at the lit fireplace, stopping in her tracks the moment you looked over to her.

“Oh, already on your way back to work? Come and join me for a few minutes first, it’s really comfortable”, you offered with a smile, only for Jean to consider it for a second before slightly shaking her head but not walking away. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it would be a bit too comfortable for me to return to work afterwards”, she sighed.

“Fine, but I highly recommend you try it afterwards, I found it to be a great stress reliever, so I’m sure it will make it a lot easier to help you work in peace”, you responded before wrapping the blanket around you a little bit more.

And while Jean knew too well that all of it was a plan to convince her to give in to the prospects of relief once again, she had to admit that it was working all too well, causing her to let out a small sigh.

“Would it be fine for me to join y-”, she didn’t even have time to finish before you already made space for her and raised the blanket, all the while giving her a big smile.

However as she took a seat next to you, and quickly realised you certainly weren’t lying about how comfortable it was, Jean found herself spending much more time relaxing than she planned on. Of course, she would eventually end her break and return to work, but five more minutes wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Please consider liking & reblogging if you enjoyed reading

[horizon-verizon]

What do you think of this post:

https://at.tumblr.com/bbygirl-aemond/when-villainizing-alicent-backfires-or-how/onaosayifzd6

I agree that Rhaenyra is smarter than people think, but I think that post sort of excuses how cruel Alicent was to order Rhaenyra’s baby brought to her. Also, two things can be true at the same time. Rhaenyra did ruin Alicent’s plan but she also really didn’t trust Alicent with her child because Alicent had been spreading rumors about Rhaenyra’s kids for years. Rhaenyra looked uncomfortable when Alicent took the baby from Viserys when they were in Alicent’s bedroom. She literally turned her head towards her with a worried and tense expression her face. What do you think?

A)

I agree with your points and I agree with the writer in that Rhaenyra was attempting and succeeding in making Alicent look horrible/worse by going with her son herself -- her "malicious compliance".

When OP says:

So many people claim that Rhaenyra was only acting here out of fear for her children, which does succeed in making Alicent look bad, but misses the genius of what Rhaenyra's actually doing.

AND

Rhaenyra does not go with Joffrey because she genuinely thinks Alicent will physically hurt him. At this point in time, pre-Driftmark, Alicent has literally never done anything to suggest she would physically harm a child, let alone a newborn. Stop acting like Alicent was planning on smothering him with a pillow or something equally ridiculous. It's not in Alicent's character (she's quite passive when it comes to violence), and Rhaenyra also doesn't have any information to suggest this.

I think they are not saying that Rhaenyra has no real fear of Alicent, but that the fear isn't in Alicent actually harming the infant. I however agree that OP doesn't acknowledge that the fear is there (however well-managed or "small") and that the fear is from Alicent targeting her children in the first place.

But to give the benefit of the doubt, I think that just from what I saw in the post, the point of the post was to explain the political maneuvering both women did rather than the emotional inspiration for doing those moves. To just talk about how politically capable Rhaenyra is against the "politically stupid" allegations. This could go either way reducing Alicent's evil and Rhaenyra's justifications to plot against Alicent or making people finally notice and acknowledge Rhaenyra's ability to critically think and come up with strategies sooner rather than later.

Depends on which direction the writer goes with their language, and OP only wants to discuss the maneuvering while also telling us that Alicent purposefully targeted Rhaenyra in that episode. It's enough to assume OP is advocating for Rhaenyra and her feelings, but, again, is deciding on focusing on her political brain. OP seems to acknowledge how cruel Alicent was being: "Alicent wanted Rhaenyra to come away from this looking like a shameful harlot" AND "Alicent was trying to make a power play here; she was trying to rub it in the court's faces that Rhaenyra was repeatedly having children via an affair."

However, it would make OP's post stronger if they mentioned the context since it reveals how Rhaenyra would have done many things like this during the 10 years in the jump cut. That's my criticism.

B)

Funny enough, I also read the scene in which OP says it. It makes sense especially with Rhaenyra making Viserys focus more on treachery in the 7th episode -- episode 6 lets us know, you know? I also like how the writer includes the fact that Rhaenyra took Laenor with her to make that image of her sons' legitimacy, making that image of unity against Alicent's trying to make Rhaenyra seem like a disobedient, unfit heir/unruly woman.

Excerpt from OP's post:

Alicent wanted Rhaenyra to come away from this looking like a shameful harlot, but Rhaenyra turned the tables and came away from this seeming like a hero and a dutiful stepdaughter who bravely endured the pain Alicent forced on her, while simultaneously making Alicent seem evil and unreasonable. This is a calculated political move to shift blame onto Alicent and to paint her as crazy. And from the reactions we get as Rhaenyra walks to and from Alicent's chambers, I think she succeeds.

There's one other example where I think Rhaenyra plays the game of politics against Alicent and wins, and where a lot of fans ignore Rhaenyra's intelligence in favor of trying to make Alicent look as bad as possible. It's the scene where Rhaenyra suggests the betrothal of Jacaerys and Helaena, which I'll talk about eventually since I got an ask about it. But basically: Rhaenyra made a proposal that she knew would look good on the surface but that she knew Alicent couldn't accept without endangering her children, ensuring that when Alicent turned it down she would look bitter and crazy.

And we see it here (the script):

Lord Caswell: (on the stairs) Princess, Ser Laenor, it is a privilege to be amongst the first to congratulate you.

Rhaenyra: Thank you, Lord Caswell.

Lord Caswell: If I may be of any service...

Rhaenyra: The day may yet come, my lord.

[...]

Alicent: Princess. Rhaenyra! You should be resting after your labors. Rhaenyra: I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace. Alicent: You must sit. Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess. Rhaenyra: There's no need. Alicent: Nonsense. We'll finish this later.

Rhaenyra is openly suggesting Alicent is trying something now and will try something in the future.

She, of course, looked more than "uncomfortable" and there's a specific context for why. She's lived with Alicent on her case for 10 years.

@theroguewyrm says it HERE:

no, but she demanded a fragile, freshly out of the womb-newborn to be brought to her IMMEDIATELY knowing that 1. newborns are extremely vulnerable to germs and shouldn’t get exposed for at least 1-2 days and 2. demanded to separate a mother from her child RIGHT AFTER giving birth.

While these people would not know about germs, they would know that newborns are fragile, especially knowing and experiencing infant mortality. We have Alysanne, Alyssa Velaryon, and Aemma Arryn alone to refer to. Alicent was a terrible person for that. In another post, I say similarly:

Why publicly order for the freshly-born infant in front of the entire court if not to publicly and tacitly announce that you think something is wrong with that infant? Alicent – a mother herself – is well aware of how worried, anxious, and attached a mother can get to her infant after birth and she still decides to do what she does…and it’s clear that it’s happened before, so was she actually surprised that Rhaenyra came with the baby? Why not let Rhaenyra have a few more moments alone with her new child and in real rest after putting herself through that pain to deliver it? (Because she was seeking to take advantage of Rhaenyra’s state). Plus, even if this is a medieval-modeled world, people did and would know that freshly-born infants need to be handled carefully and not so exposed to so many different elements too soon. Newborns are understood to be delicate.

[theworldasw3know1t]

LET THIS SINK IN .

Okay, so here it is. We started talking again cuz I finally heard it all from you. The thing that you so desperately hated to admit due to whatever pride you held of hating me. Yet now as we try to rekindle our friendship, it's hard to look past what you've put me through but even harder to admit I could even still possibly love you for all the pain you've left me with. The pain that I had to go through and endure to believe you actually ever loved me. Though I know, this could go the same for you. There is a difference as you have started to show me difference now and vice versa from myself to you. But one feeling unfortunately still stands to seem the same. How much more I believe I will always care and love you more than you would ever love me. I'm supposed to feel that it would be equal but reality is I feel as though I'd always have to fight for your attention the same way I actually did feel when we were still together. I know you'd beg to differ, but truthfully with you it's always been me wondering if you ever did actually appreciate me (because you would never tell me), I'd wonder the reassurance or maybe as now I have forgotten possibly over the past few months, but how could you think I would remember when you were so busy harassing and continuously putting me down. I never felt so low of myself. Though I get it, we are trying to start new. These wounds still need to heal themselves. Its ironic really, how even those around me say to be cautious still of you. At any moment you could tear my heart to pieces. As everyone knew how much I truly did love you despite my wrongdoings and shortcomings. It's no surprise as I feel it could be easily given then to someone else rather than me (for I wronged you in the past). It sucks honestly. My heart loves you but absolutely terrified of what you'd do to her if you ever knew.

Was it hard to ask to feel reassured everyday, told I'm special, I'm beautiful/amazing, anything more than a piece of shit to you. It really damn near killed me. I felt now you are hearing it all for yourself the after effects of what YOU also left me with. How dare you thought I didn't feel anything. Now that we're trying to restart our friendship, how insensitive you were and how sensitive NOW you must really need to be with me and my heart. The world was already cruel enough, out of all people you had to add to it?

Well yes, of course you'd admit the same goes for you to me. It's checkmate. Just tell me it'd be different this time. SHOW ME it'd be different this time. The same I will do for you. We both need to.

Never did I ever stop loving you. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. How could I love someone who was so cruel to me. But I can't escape it. At least I can admit it though. What about you?

Because of course regardless how much you say you cared and loved. Your actions showed different. Or that I feel that deep down you never did. Other girls are better right? God. If you knew. I'm fucked. Because you love to throw that shit back like it's nothing. You wanted so desperately to hurt me at my core and you did. You succeeded. And I know you're happy because of it. But you trying to be the hero to being my friend again? Keep trying. Prove that what I'm saying is not true. Because God forbid I want to feel that all again.

I just want real love. Genuine love. One that wouldn't hurt me. One that appreciates me. Wants me around. I want that love. And why had I so desperately had just wanted that all from you, I wondered.

[mntalbrakdown]

Locket - T. Holland

masterlist!

mentions of: smut (MDNI) it’s vanilla, hands? Unprotected sex, pregnancy, bisexual reader if u squint, hate comments, slight angst if you squint, fluff

synopsis: Tom is weirdly obsessed with your locket

wc: 2.1k

The intricate pendant was one thing he associated with you. The way it hung on her neck. How it was longer than the pearls she wore every day with it. How he loved how she kept her necklaces the same every day. It was something that he found fascinating. How she can have something so dearly on your neck to take them where ever she goes. He wondered for a long time what was inside, he grew slightly jealous of how her, and maybe others knew, but not him. For all, he knew it was her nude photos, but after him finally being able to grow a pair and start talking to her he was able to ask about it

“So what’s in there,” he asked with furrowed brows and a finger darting straight to her chest, she had to follow his finger and put two and two together that he wanted to know what was in the locket.

“Oh, it’s just a picture of my parents,” she said opening her locket moving closer to the man to show him.

He made a note to himself that the other side was empty and wondered why. He knew you had siblings so why was it empty?

“I have no clue what to put on the other side, I would put my siblings, but I don’t know,” she said as she was closing her locket looking away from his gaze and looking through the coffee shop’s window to see the passing cars

“You aren’t close with them?” he pries trying to read her expressions

“No I am, I just kind of like it by itself, so if something were to happen and I want to put something there, I don’t have to choose between my parents and my siblings,” she says turning back to his gaze

“Would you put your husband on that side?” he says trying to picture him in her locket

“Maybe even a wife” she jokes making them both laugh

“Kind of jealous that you can leave me for a girl”

“Hate the game, not the player,” she says looking straight at him trying not to laugh

“Kind of hard to do that when you’re so far away and I want to kiss you so bad,” he says trying to scoot her chair to him and succeeding. He tried leaning in but she swerved her head so he would kiss her cheek

“Not in public Tommy” she says smiling, kissing his cheek

“And why is that,” he says in a bit of a frown

“Your 12-year-old fans will attack me” she jokes around with the hate she has been getting, which made him stiffen visually because how could some people be so cruel to people they don’t even know, and how was she so ok with it?

That was that their relationship continued for years after. Every young fan wanted and prayed that they would break up to whatever god they believed in. Their wish did come true for a second and it was all over the media.

“Can’t they just leave me the fuck alone?” she said to her friend hoping the paparazzi would leave her street and stop taking pictures outside of her house.

“Price to pay when you’re dating America’s golden boy,” her friend says

“He isn’t even American!” she says in shock raising her hand “Is this shit not illegal?” she says pacing back and forth in her living room

“They’re on public property so I don’t think so”

“But they’re taking pictures of me in my fucking house, fucking creeps,” she says flipping the paparazzi off, which would make them enough to pay their rent or even upgrade their cameras

“Let’s just watch shameless together” her friend pats the couch next to her which she reluctantly follows and plops down

sorry

Why the fuck is he apologizing? It isn’t his fault. It’s the creeps who are obsessed with ordinary people and ordinary feelings. She hated and still hates why people always put people on higher pedestals when probably all they want is a normal life, but hey they signed up for this when they went for this career, right? Tom taught her that it wasn’t true, that they deserve a normal life too.

not your fault :)

She sent back. Just because both of them broke up doesn’t mean they both couldn’t be friends. They both still hung out and talked about their significant others. She was convinced he was her soulmate platonic or not, they both understood each other and that made her smile

want to hang out ;)

She debated for a second, but than thought ‘why the fuck not’ so she did. She started to hang out with him. She went to bars even though she didn’t drink and he went to bookstores even though he hated reading, partly because he was dyslexic and because it was boring. But they loved each other, that’s why they did things for each other even if they hated it.

soulmates

After a while of doing this and doing that. They got back together. This time it lasted and they never once spoke about the last break up. The 12 year old girls as she likes to call the crazy fans were upset. They knew it was forever. They looked inseparable, there would be no way in breaking them.

---

Every night night she would keep her necklaces and jewelry on. Her mother always told her to take them off, but she never listened. She thought it was so time consuming of putting them on and off every day when she can just keep them on and only take it off when she’s showering.

“You’re going to choke” he says to her

“I haven’t for the past 25 years, I think I’m ok” she smiles sarcastically at him

“Suit yourself,” he says as he wraps his hands around her waist looking at her straight through the mirror

“What the fuck turned you on?” She asks laughing at him when he tried to hide his face in her neck

“You’re wearing my Spider-Man shirt” she turns around and starts to kiss him everywhere except his face trying not to give in to him

“Fucking kiss me already” he practically begs

“Make me” he grabs her cheeks and makes her face him, he started to lean and kiss her, she gave in and kissed him back passionately. He picked her up and brought her to bed.

He was only wearing shorts to bed and was starting to take them off while she just looked at him. She loved the way he would get undressed quickly because he was eager to have her. He knew the outcome wasn’t anything special or different, but he loved it he would never get bored of it. He quickly dove to the bed making her laugh and he switched both of them so she was on top.

He grabbed the hem of the shirt and bringing it up her body to take it off. Loving the way she would stretch to help him out. When her face came back up again, her hair was covering her bare chest and her black glasses were falling. She pushed them back up which made him laugh because she can be the sexiest person and still be a nerd, something he always bullies her for.

“No bra” he questions as he brushes her hair back to get a full view

“Easy access I guess” she moves her body to try to align herself with him

“Wait no underwear” he’s a bit in shock about how he has slept with her all these years and never found this out

“I only wear a shirt, I thought you knew”

“What the-Fuck” he says as she grabs him and rubs it along her folds. She was wet and ready for him, she didn’t want it to be harsh and quick she wanted it to last for a while.

As she sinks into him she holds his chest for support. She arches her back from pleasure moaning his name. He finally realized he has easy access to her tits so he leans in to suck the right and massage the left. Then he moved his head to start leaving marks on her neck growing impatient to see them in the morning as little trophies for him. He could be able to mark her so people knew she was his and only his, and she would always show them off to the public, which he thought was hot.

Praising her of what she’s doing. He then massaged her thighs to spur her on which made her weak and she leaned to his chest. Her locket was cold and pressing against his chest. He hoped and prayed he could be in there like he belonged to her. Like she belonged to him. Something more emotional than a ring, like having a picture of her in his wallet.

He brought her jaw to him, to kiss her passionately. Her version of the locket was his watch. She couldn’t be in a watch theoretically but she always found it attractive. She found his hands attractive and having a watch decorate it was even better. She would also purposefully ask him for the time even if she had her phone. It was a turn-on for her and don't get her started on his touch, touch that would make her melt at the spot.

His other hand was grabbing her hair to keep her in that spot. Having her necklace and tits against his chest spurred him on. He glided his hand gently along her spine ticketing her making her arch her back. It was like his touch was the matches and she was the surface to ignite the fire. They were a pair that had no use if they were by themselves.

“Fuck Tommy” two words flipped a switch inside him to flip them over. Her hair was in a halo on the pillow. The way her eyes would glisten for him spurred him on. And how her mouth hung open as she was screaming from pleasure. He was so close that he wanted her to go first, he would make figure eights on her clit to add stimulation. He brought her leg up to his shoulder to go in deeper to hit the spot which succeeded.

“I’m fucking close” he already knew from the way she would tighten around his dick. She was now the one who brought him down to kiss him. Which sent butterflies through him. He released in her and she followed behind. As he laid next to her he brushed her hair behind her ear. She looked straight into his eyes which looked like they were filled with pure love.

“Be honest” he started his sentence

“Yeah”

“Do you want to have a kid” he finally asked, he looked fragile just by thinking about the other option, the bad option

“No -but, but I want to have one with you,” she says smiling at how his almost frown quickly turns into a smile

“Really,” he says a little too enthusiastically

“Yes, seeing you with kids is so fucking hot,” she says snuggling closer to him

“Shit let’s make sure these bad boys are swimming fast enough,” he says while he pushes his cum in her which made her laugh. She tries to swat his hand away as they both doze off to sleep

The day after the sun was coming through the curtains and danced along her skin. He loved the way she slept because she would usually smile through it and after would tell him what it was about. He was playing around with her locket twisting it and flapping it. He finally opened it and to his surprise, he was in it. It was him and Tessa that same picture was also her Lock Screen she would always say that it was her favorite picture of him because he was smiling innocently at Tessa not even caring what he looked like. His messy hair was still curly but slightly wet from coming back from a shower and had a black shirt and pants. she says it's special because he wasn't trying to look good.

“I love you,” she says catching him off guard

“Shit, you scared me,” he says chuckling

“So you’re just not going to say it back” she acted offended

“Love you”

---

“Happy birthday!” Tom and both of your daughter's come up to her in bed. With a tray of food and apple juice because she cannot express enough how much she hated OJ. While she was scanning the tray in front of her, she saw a little box. It was a black small one with a red bow with a card that says to mommy from her daughter's name but she knew it was Tom. She opened it to see a new locket, instead of it only being two-sided, this time it was three. It had a picture of her parents, Tom because he was selfishly keeping himself there forever, and their daughter with her missing both of her front teeth. And on the back it said “I love you, nerd” engraved

“Awe thank you sweets” she says kissing the top of her daughters head and than moved to kiss Tom

“We can try for baby number two later while you wear that locket” Tom says winking at you

[bitimdrake]

I could talk in length about Bruce's emotional abuse and manipulation of Stephanie Brown too. She's not his kid, but he pushed her around like a pawn fairly often in the early days, and used her as a tool to emotionally abuse and manipulate Tim. Super fucked up and not talked about enough.

YEAH. (I'm pretty sure this was part of a string of asks about the other kids from the same anon, but I kept it separate so I could talk about it on its own.)

Sometimes I include Steph in posts talking about Bruce's failures and abuse as a parent and sometimes I don't. Because she's not his kid and never has been (and imo doesn't even have the same level of almost-parental as pre-adoption Tim and Cass, though maybe that's colored by hindsight), but she is a young vigilante he sometimes trained and a Robin, so there are still many parallels.

imo there are basically three things about how Bruce sees Steph, which are what ultimately inform how he treats her (pre-Batgirl, at least; after that he's alright to her and (because?) they rarely interact):

Bruce doesn't want Steph to be a vigilante, is convinced he gets to control that, and pushed it in very cruel ways. This one has little parallel with Bruce's kids, but a lot of parallel with Helena Bertinelli/Huntress, who was a big Gotham player in the same era as Spoiler originally. Basically, Bruce is convinced he is and should be the ultimate controller of all things vigilante in Gotham, that he gets to unilaterally decide who is and isn't allowed to operate in "his" city, and that anyone who goes against him on that is automatically in the wrong. (In fanon, this turns into "no metas in gotham" and I still don't know where that's from, but I digress.) In canon, this typically means Bruce tries to force any vigilante who is not him or the legion of proteges sworn to his oath to give up. For Stephanie in particular, it's because Bruce thinks she simply isn't good enough as a vigilante. (Which, like, come on, dude; that is the most fixable problem you could have.) With someone like Huntress--whose code allows for killing--Bruce is more likely to directly intervene, but with Steph, he mostly just insults her and tells her to go home, and then leaves her alone while she inevitably doesn't. Part of this is simply due to Steph being a Robin supporting character in this era, and therefore Bruce not appearing in a lot of her issues, but the point still stands. He doesn't think she can cut it, and he thinks she is likely to get herself hurt, but it's seemingly not such a huge deal that he has to constantly intervene in person. Even when Bruce does try to fully, 100% blacklist Steph (post-Bruce Wayne: Fugitive), it takes the form of him instructing Tim and Cass to steer clear (or trying to lmao), choking off her supply of equipment, and trying to prove the point to Steph herself so she'll want to quit. (Eventually, Steph becomes Batgirl and Bruce returns from time shenanigans to see her succeeding, and he finally endorses her and approves, even recruiting her to Batman Inc, which is nice for Steph and the ultimate post-Crisis resolution to their relationship. But doesn't erase all the shit before it.)

Bruce, I truly believe, deep down likes Stephanie. This is maybe a harder sell to make, but listen. On the rare occasion he stops stonewalling her--during the first period he trained her, or when she was Robin--Bruce genuinely enjoys her company. I think of the issue where she chattered all night on the comms and he admitted it was nice to listen to, or his enthusiasm in her Robin training montage. Steph is a determined, usually upbeat kid with him and like. That's the essence of Batman and Robin. Of course he likes her. Unfortunately, this does not make things any better. Also unfortunately, or perhaps tied into the last ‘unfortunately’, Steph (canonically) reminds Bruce of Jason, in the era when Jason was dead and gone. If Bruce were someone more willing to deal with his emotions, this might be painful but something he doesn't take out on her--or maybe even sweet and cathartic--but uh. Bruce is. not. a person who deals with emotions. So.

Bruce knows Steph is important to Tim (and vice versa), and knows he can use that. Unlike point one--wanting Steph to quit--where Bruce is fully convinced he's right, I think...he probably knows this part is shitty. He knows that trying to manipulate your (future) son with his (ex) girlfriend is a shitty thing to do. But it's useful to him! It might get him the things he wants! So he does it anyway. Sometimes Steph is a person to him in her own right, but sometimes she is just part of Tim's supporting cast to him, and his manipulation of her is more about manipulating Tim than about Steph herself.

And so you end up with a Bruce who is just constantly jerking Steph around. If he stayed consistent in his insistence that she quit, he would still be a jerk, but I think it would be so much less upsetting? Because instead, he will do all that--and then he’ll suddenly turn around and decide to engage with her and make her part of the team. Only he does this (pre-Batgirll) EXCLUSIVELY when he is unable to have Tim around so it’s. I mean. He’s just blatantly using her as an emotional substitute. And as a tool to try to manipulate Tim into returning.

And then he’ll abruptly decide that actually, you know what, maybe he was right all along as she shouldn’t be a vigilante, and he’ll go back to trying to cut her out. As if he’d never encouraged it in the first place! Most infuriating of all is after he briefly trained her the first time and then would use “she’s not trained enough” as a reason she shouldn’t be Spoiler like! Whose fault is that B!! Because Steph is determined as hell and trying her fucking best to get anyone to train her!

(And then he will stop trying to push her one way or the other at all, but only because he is now focused on manipulating Tim instead and she is just a pawn in that game.)

It’s like. He keeps her on the hook juuust enough for her to still feel like his approval is possible, while revoking it at every turn--and maybe that’s not intentional. It reads to me more as Bruce changing his mind (and probably not even admitting to himself when he’s using her as a replacement crutch, or as a tool vs Tim) than him intentionally trying to foster that feeling in her. But it’s undoubtedly cruel either way.

[bluejayblueskies]

Please say more abt how Martin fits the closed off trait I'm begging 👁👁

Okay, so I got a bit carried away with this and it got quite lengthy....

I've put a TLDR above the cut and the details, transcripts, and general discussion below the cut!

.

TLDR: Martin is at his core a closed-off character who keeps his vulnerable feelings hidden and close to his chest. He instead focuses on caring for others and considering their feelings above his own, particularly in the case of Jon, who he cares for (sometimes to the point of self-sacrifice) throughout the podcast. His arc with the Lonely in season four and his interactions with Jon in season five demonstrate this lack of emotional vulnerability, and it's really only during the moments he spends by himself that we get significant insight into Martin's emotional state and inner thoughts.

.

Martin, to me, is a character who is very used to hiding how he feels. He tends to care for others at the expense of himself, has low self-esteem, and has a predilection towards the Lonely, all of which go hand-in-hand with somebody who is very used to hiding their emotions--particularly the negative ones--because they either think they're not important or that they're inconvenient and inappropriate for the situation. On a textual level, that's probably due to growing up with a sick (and likely unsupportive) mother who he had to take care of, where there was 'no time' for his emotions to get in the way or for him to prioritize himself in any way, shape, or form.

Martin is self-destructive, dislikes moments of emotional vulnerability, and (I would argue) genuinely struggles when he doesn't have somebody else to prioritize over himself. (His mother at first, but as the series goes on, Jon settles comfortably into this role for him.) Additionally, the biggest way that we, the audience, know anything about Martin's emotional state is when he's alone and self-reflecting (such as in MAG 170 and 186 or when talking to the tapes) or when he's forced to talk about something vulnerable (such as when Jon confronted him about his CV).

We don't get much insight into Martin's character between seasons one and three (at least not as much as we get in four and five), but I find myself drawn to this bit in MAG 118, when Martin is talking to Elias:

MARTIN

So what? I don’t get to be angry? I don’t get to burn things? Just, just run around, making tea, while everyone else gets to actually have feelings?

I think two things are important to note here. The first is that Elias is surprised (or least intrigued) that Martin is acting in this way--specifically, acting on his emotions in such a dramatic way. (And given that Martin is doing this as a distraction, rather than actually acting out because of his own emotions, maybe he's right to be surprised.) The second is that this line very much implies that Martin doesn't talk about how he's feeling, not like 'everyone else' does. He doesn't talk about it, doesn't act on it--just 'runs around, making tea.' And when Melanie comes back in after Elias is done, Martin immediately focuses on the plan and whether it succeeded, ignoring Melanie when she asks if he's okay or not. He closes himself off, and as far as we know, doesn't talk about it at all after that.

And then Jon goes into his coma, and we reach season four.

Martin is incredibly closed-off during season four. He's self-isolating, self-sacrificial, and approaching a state of genuine emotional numbness by the time he's cast into the Lonely. There's a lot to unpack there, but I'm going to focus on a few main things, many of which can be drawn from this bit in MAG 158:

MARTIN

It’s not him! It’s not anybody. It’s just me. Always has been. I…

When I first came to you, I thought I had lost everything. Jon was dead, my mother was dead, the job I had put everything into trapped me into spreading evil and I… I really didn’t care what happened to me. I told myself I was trying to protect the others, but… honestly we didn’t even like each other. Maybe I just thought joining up with you would be a good way to get killed.

And then… Jon came back, and… and suddenly I had a reason I had to keep your attention on me. Make you feel in control so you didn’t take it out on him. And if that meant drifting further away, so what? I’d already grieved for him. And if it meant now saving him, it was worth it.

When you started talking about the Extinction, though… you had me actually, then, for a while. But then – (laughs sardonically) then, you tried to make me the hero. Tried to sell me on the idea that I was the only one who could stop it. And that I’ve never sat right with me. I mean, I mean, look – look at me, I’m not exactly a – a chosen one. But by then I was in too deep. So I played along. Waited to see what your end game was, and here we are.

Funny. Looks like I was right the first time. It’s probably still a good way to get killed?

This monologue is a big insight into Martin's thought process during this season, and I'm mostly going to focus on two parts: the self-sacrifice and the prioritization of Jon.

Self-sacrifice

There's quite a bit of discussion about Jon's self-sacrificial tendencies, but less so about Martin's, both in this season and in season five. In my opinion, Jon's self-sacrificial tendencies originate from (among other things) survivor's guilt from his traumatic childhood experience with Mr. Spider, his increasing belief that he's less than human, and the fact that he prioritizes the lives of others over his own. Martin's self-sacrificial tendencies, while very similar, come from the fact that he thinks he only has worth if he can help and care for someone else and the fact that he doesn't think he's important enough to live. (For example, he says in MAG 158 that he's 'not exactly a chosen one' and says in MAG 198 that he's 'not important enough to kill.')

It's a subtle difference between these two things, and I would argue that while Jon's tendencies are more rooted in the 'help' (ie, 'I want to help other people and I will sacrifice myself to do it'), Martin's tendencies are more rooted in the 'hurt' (ie, 'I will sacrifice myself and other people will be helped in the process'). There is, of course, overlap, and it's not a black-and-white distinction between the two, but ultimately, I think Martin is so used to prioritizing others' emotions and needs above his own that when he's left mostly alone as he is at the end of season three, with the only person left to hold onto being in a coma (possibly forever), he falls back into the same patterns of self-destruction and closed-offness, only without the 'help' to go along with the 'hurt' because there is nobody left to help (especially after his mother dies). Ultimately, he joins up with Peter because he thinks it 'would be a good way to get killed.'

Prioritization of Jon

But then Jon wakes up from his coma, and now Martin has justification for his self-sacrifice again, because he can protect Jon by continuing to work with Peter!

... Maybe.

Jon isn't harmed by Peter during season four, sure, but he does climb into the coffin and visits Ny-Ålesund and is tracked down by Julia and Trevor and struggles emotionally and morally with his own humanity and is hurt, in a way, by the distance Martin puts between them. And I hesitate to place blame for the apocalypse on anybody but Jonah, but if we're going to argue in-canon that Jon was responsible for the apocalypse (he wasn't, but that's not the point of this post), then Martin contributed to that blame and responsibility because it was his actions and decisions that ultimately drew Jon into the Lonely and resulted in him getting the 14th and final mark. (Again, I don't think Jon or Martin are at fault for the apocalypse, but if we were to blame Jon, we could blame Martin as well.) It was only after getting that mark that Jonah was able to use Jon to end the world, something that was hugely hurtful for Jon. So did Martin really protect Jon at all by staying away from him and continuing to work with Peter? Or was that just a convenient excuse to keep self-destructing?

Jon and Martin, in my opinion, had very similar arcs in season four. Martin was sinking further into the Lonely and Jon was sinking further into the Eye. We hear a lot more about Jon's emotional struggle with this given that he's the POV character, sure, but Jon also talks about this with other people. He talks about it to Helen (MAG 152):

JON

…

When does it stop?

HELEN

(impatient) What?

JON

The guilt. The misery. All the others I’ve met, they’ve been – cold, cruel. They’ve enjoyed what they do. When does the Eye (inhale) make me monstrous?

And to Daisy (MAG 136):

JON

My – (large sigh) My memories of the coma are not clear, but I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I – I don’t know if I made the right decision; I’m stronger now, tougher, I can – (he cuts himself off) If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever? I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else, so if I can maybe – stop that happening, and the only danger is to me, I – I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario, the universe loses another monster.

But all we really get from Martin are the things he tells the tapes when he's alone and the monologue he gives in MAG 158. It makes sense that he wouldn't be as open, yes, given the nature of the Lonely, but I can't help but think of (MAG 154):

JON

The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?

MARTIN

(no hesitation) You know, I think it always did.

Jon was always curious and hungry for knowledge; the Eye amplified it. Martin was always closed-off and isolated; the Lonely amplified that as well.

But then Jon pulls Martin out of the Lonely, they flee to the safehouse, and three weeks later, the apocalypse begins. Martin isn't as consumed by the Lonely as he was in season four, he's with Jon--the person he loves--for extended periods of time, and they're in an extremely stressful situation that's sure to be incredibly emotionally charged. There's a lot to be said about Jon's emotional vulnerability during season five and how Martin both pressures him for it and rejects it in different ways, but for the purposes of this post, I won't go too far into detail about the motivations behind how Jon is feeling and acting.

I will say, however, that in season five, Martin still continues to place a lot of focus on asking Jon how he's feeling, encouraging (or pressuring) him to share, and getting frustrated when Jon can't or doesn't (MAG 167):

MARTIN

Okay, so how exactly would you describe your current emotional state regarding all of this?

JON

I –

MARTIN

(overlapping) Go on, I’m all ears.

JON

I feel…

MARTIN

(go on) Mhm.

JON

(sigh) I feel… sad.

[Brief pause.] MARTIN

(flat) Sad.

JON

Very sad.

MARTIN

(*very* flat) Very sad.

[He sighs slightly as he says it. Their bags jangle.]

A few moments prior to this, Martin expresses displeasure that Jon is Knowing things about him, specifically pointing out his emotions (MAG 167):

MARTIN

It’s just – it’s weird knowing that you can know literally everything I think and feel. E-Especially since you’re not exactly the most open of people – emotionally, I mean.

I think Martin is making an effort to open up more to Jon. But I still think it's difficult for him to talk about how he feels so openly, and while he is completely in the right for not wanting Jon to Know things about him without his permission, I think it's interesting that the focus is on his feelings and that he brings up how Jon isn't emotionally open immediately after. It scares Martin to think that Jon could know, at any given moment, how he's feeling, and I think it's partially because he's not used to that level of vulnerability. He turns the focus on Jon, away from himself, and doesn't really make an effort to talk about how he's feeling about all of this, instead prioritizing Jon's feelings and mental state like he's grown comfortable with.

And when Martin bottles up his emotions--of which there are a lot, in such a stressful environment, they can explode out in hurtful ways:

MARTIN

(overlapping) I know! I know, okay, I just – (bracing exhale) Look, I j,just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever.

JON

Is that – a joke?

MARTIN

(a bit faster, a bit shaky) No, no, okay? I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!

I don't think Martin really thought about what he was saying when he told Jon, who has a large burn scar on his hand, that burn scars make him sick, and I don't think he meant it maliciously. But he'd spent the greater portion of the conversation talking around the fact that he didn't like burns and that was why he didn't want to go into the building, and so when it finally ended up coming out, it did so in an explosion of emotion rather than a conscious decision to share. Martin doesn't have a good handle on his emotions, and he doesn't have a good handle on sharing them.

(Is it too much for me to say that Martin was more emotionally vulnerable with himself in MAG 170 than he was with Jon when Jon finally found him?)

Throughout season five, Martin asks Jon questions, he expresses frustrations with Jon, he shows discomfort or fear at times, but for as much as Martin feels frustrated that Jon isn't talking about how he feels about their situation, Martin really isn't doing so either. The most he talks about his feelings is in MAG 170 and MAG 186, when he's by himself, and I remember MAG 186 in particular because before that, we really didn't know what Martin was thinking about for the majority of the season! And in this episode, we find out a lot of very important things about Martin's character. Like (MAG 186):

ALSO MARTIN

Look, I know what you know. Maybe I’m just a bit more… open about it.

Also-Martin acknowledges that Martin often doesn't say what he means and hides what he really feels, telling him that it's 'hard to be vulnerable,' and Martin is initially very resistant to the idea. And then, when Also-Martin suggests that Martin wants to stay so that he can be 'quietly sad,' we get (MAG 186):

MARTIN

We could talk to Jon about it.

ALSO MARTIN

We could. But we both know that loved ones make the worst therapists. They’re too wrapped up in trying to stop you hurting to actually help. But hey, we know all about that, am I right?

MARTIN

There’s nothing wrong with comforting people.

ALSO MARTIN

A cup of tea isn’t a resolution. At best it’s a… a plaster. At worst… a muzzle.

This is very interesting to me, because for all that Martin tries to help other people, he also believes that comfort doesn't always help and that you can't be your loved one's 'therapist.' I think this gives a lot of insight into why Martin doesn't share his emotions with the people he cares about, especially Jon; he doesn't want to put Jon in the position where he'll become his 'therapist,' and he doesn't necessarily think Jon can help. So instead, Martin just chooses not to be vulnerable at all, because he doesn't want to burden the people he cares about. But, when it's just him (MAG 186):

ALSO MARTIN

Don’t lie. You don’t need to. Not here. It’s just us.

He doesn't feel like he needs to pull his emotional punches. He can't accidentally hurt somebody or put them in an awkward position; it's just himself. But what's said to himself remains with himself, and (at least on tape), he doesn't discuss any of this with Jon. Not even the bit about, if it came down to it, Martin would have rather had Jon smite him than continue to rule over a domain. He goes right back to being closed-off around Jon, but now we, the audience, know what lies underneath, and how little of it reaches the surface.

In fact, the thing Martin's probably most vocal about is how Jon's feelings about himself bother him (MAG 199):

MARTIN

I guess that’s why it really bothers me, you know? I try, but I can’t actually imagine ever making a decision that I knew meant losing you.

And it… It hurts to know you can.

And I think he has a tendency to use anger and frustration to cover up hurt, shying away from the admission that something Jon's done has hurt him (an incredibly vulnerable thing) and instead relying on the less-vulnerable and more external anger to cover it. This is more speculation than true analysis, but I think that's a lot of what's happening in MAG 200, when he discovers that Jon has already assumed the position of the pupil and has, in Martin's eyes, broken his promise.

.

TLDR: Martin is at his core a closed-off character who keeps his vulnerable feelings hidden and close to his chest. He instead focuses on caring for others and considering their feelings above his own, particularly in the case of Jon, who he cares for (sometimes to the point of self-sacrifice) throughout the podcast. His arc with the Lonely in season four and his interactions with Jon in season five demonstrate this lack of emotional vulnerability, and it's really only during the moments he spends by himself that we get significant insight into Martin's emotional state and inner thoughts.

[sevlgi]

what we want

requested: yes x2

group: blackpink

pairing: jennie x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

contents: idol!jennie, idol!reader, pr relationship

warnings: none

synopsis: Jennie’s lost herself somewhere along the way of achieving her dream. Behind that tough, cruel mask of hers, she doesn’t know what she wants, and maybe uncovering the mask you wear is what will help her realize it.

a/n: this is so much heavier than either of you guys asked for asalknasdfkj... but i wrote my longest fic yet in less than 2 days!!!! i think that’s an achievement :D

word count: 6k

Kim Jennie did not have a good reputation, and she didn’t really give a shit about it.

At least, that’s what everyone thought. That’s what everyone knew, with the numerous articles a week about South Korea’s resident fuckgirl, with Dispatch’s 20 cameramen hired just to follow Jennie. She was careless, she was cold, and she care what anyone else said about her. 

What no one cared about was Jennie’s reasoning. Because while the first time sneaking out to a club and losing herself in fruit-flavored shots and skimming touches was simply for the fun of it, it was the aftereffect that made her keep going. Because with the articles of Kim Jennie’s newest scandal, Blackpink’s album sales shot through the roof, YG’s stocks completely flipped around, and Jennie herself decided it was worth it. It didn’t matter if her members looked at her a little differently, like they didn’t recognize her, or if she was the only one constantly excluded from appreciation tweets on Twitter. If acting out would help promote them more than her agency ever did, she could do it.

And she did. For almost a year, Jennie became Kpop’s most well-known idol, for better or for worse. For almost a year, Blackpink’s sales were unmatched by any group or artist around the world and Jennie couldn’t read her Instagram comments without wanting to throw up. 

It took a year for YGE to finally do something, and by then, Jennie wasn’t sure she particularly cared anymore.

“Jennie.”

“Youngshik.” Her voice was scarily steady and her face just as calm; Jennie knew that the her from ten years ago, the teenager who was accepted into the company under Youngshik’s watch, wouldn’t be able to recognize her as she sat before the man with crossed arms and a blank expression. But as he stared at her with disappointment glazing his eyes, Jennie lifted her chin higher, almost daring him to speak.

When he did, he sounded almost cautious of his words. “Jennie, I know you. This isn’t like you at all, you can’t carry on like this.”

“What do you know about me?” She had to keep herself from wincing at her own tone, sharp enough to draw blood. “Huh? You haven’t cared about me for the past year, haven’t cared about us. And who the fuck said I can’t carry on? I’m doing just fine.”

Youngshik shook his head. “Please. Ch-- your members know. I know. All you may see right now is the attention you’re gaining, the fleeting ecstasy you get every night, but you aren’t doing yourself any favors right now.”

As much as she hated it, Youngshik’s words cut deep. She wanted to scream out that she was doing this for her members, for the company, and that it didn’t matter what her reputation was like, but Jennie schooled herself into the person everyone believed and knew her to be. “I’m the only thing keeping you afloat right now. You’re wasting them-- Chaeng, Lisa, Jisoo. They keep practicing but you waste them. I’m only doing what you won’t,” Jennie defended herself, anger seeping into her voice at the thought of her members.

“Jennie. MNet has threatened to drop you from the next season of Queendom.” The man’s voice was quiet but deadly, and Jennie couldn’t seem to open her mouth at the thought of her members’ practice being wasted because of her. Youngshik took that as a sign to continue, “I realize that what you’re doing is increasing sales, but netizens hate you right now. You know that, don’t you? We’re trying to help.”

“Oh yeah? How’re you going to help?” Jennie sighed. “Lock me up in your dungeon again?”

“Quite the opposite,” he answered, leaning forward. “We’re going to keep you in check. The only thing that Dispatch likes more than clubbing scandals is leaked couples, and that’s what we’re going to give them.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back. “And how is that going to keep me in check? Dispatch already knows I like girls, giving me a well-behaved boyfriend isn’t going to be believable.’

Just as the words left her mouth, a knock sounded on the frosted glass pane in Youngshik’s office door, and the man stood. “You’ll see once you meet her.”

Her?

Jennie didn’t turn even when she heard the door open, or when Youngshik murmured, “Junho, thank you for coming.”

“Of course. This is her?”

“This is her. Jennie?”

She finally turned, face impassive, but Jennie couldn’t stop her eyes from widening when she saw the person standing in the doorway. You-- she recognized you, specifically the polite smile you wore on your face as you offered a handshake. She remembered hearing you be praised for your constant professionalism, your sterling reputation, and your bubbly personality. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Jennie Kim, but I’m assuming you already knew that,” she said by way of greeting. You nearly winced at her flat tone, but the mask remained on and you gingerly took the empty seat just by her. “So. Am I the only one in the dark here?”

“Not anymore,” Junho smiled. Unlike Youngshik, he looked pleasant, a smile crinkling at the side of his eyes, but Jennie disliked him nonetheless. “The two of you know by now that you’re being set up in a fake relationship. Jennie, YGE’s main concern with you is your reputation. You club, you drink, you... sleep with people.”

She simply nodded, waiting for the point. Youngshik jumped in, “Y/N, on the other hand, has a stellar reputation. Never has had a scandal in her career, except when she publicly came out, and even that had a good reception.”

“How nice,” Jennie deadpanned.

Junho sighed, folding his hands in his lap. “Miss Kim. Despite your shortcomings and the methods that you achieved such fame, you are nonetheless the most well known female idol in the world. From this relationship, you’ll gain stability as well as a cover, a perfectly sweet girlfriend who’ll lighten your image up. And Y/N will receive more attention by your side, exactly what we want for her and her group. Is that clear?”

Jennie wished she could say no-- after all, you obviously weren’t going to-- but she also knew that the two men were right. She could profit, achieve exactly what she was trying to do, but with less damage done to Blackpink’s image. And as much as she wished she could rebel, she found herself sighing through tightened lips. “Clear. I agree.”

“You didn’t exactly have a choice.” Still, Youngshik slid a contract and a pen across the table, and Jennie signed in the blank without a second glance. “Good. Though we realize that this relationship is fake, we want you to at least pretend to be in love, so get to know each other. It’ll be a while.”

“Great,” you sighed. Jennie was slightly surprised by the hint of sarcasm in your voice, but she lost interest when you assumed a polite smile yet again. “How do we do that?”

Junho exchanged a glance with Youngshik but answered by himself, “If it was me, I’d start with a coffee.”

“Can I order something for you?”

“I’m good.”

Your smile was tight, and Jennie wondered how many snide comments she could make before you snapped. But apparently, one wasn’t enough, as you tugged your mask up. “Okay. I’ll get something for you when you feel like it, just wait for me in that booth.”

Without something to argue about, Jennie could only obey, sliding into the booth furthest away from any people. She sighed, staring at the ceiling; she hated that you were being pushed into the contract to save her, and she hated even more that she was purposefully being so difficult for you to deal with. But the truth was that Jennie couldn’t let you keep her in check, couldn’t let you get under her skin or change her from the way that she had been for years. No matter what YGE said, she was succeeding, and she wasn’t having the worst time in the world while she did.

“Uh. I got you a green juice, I hope you don’t mind.”

Jennie stared at you as you slid the bottle over the table to her, removing your mask just to flash her an annoyingly sweet smile. “I didn’t ask for it.”

You shrugged, “Oh, I know. But I read somewhere that you liked green juices, and I didn’t feel right letting you- letting my girlfriend go without a drink.”

“Don’t call me that.” Jennie cleared her throat when she realized how cruel she sounded, and rephrased it softer. “Don’t.”

“Okay. I understand,” you mumbled, clasping your hands over the iced Americano you held. “So. When did we start dating?” When Jennie frowned in confusion, you clarified, “We’re supposed to have a believable, synced story, right? To seem more real?”

The other girl bit her lip but nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Would two months be enough?”

Jennie wanted to tell you to stop pursing your lips when you thought, wanted to make you stop looking so approachable and sweet when you were sitting across from the most-hated idol in Korea. But she shut herself up, if only not to offend someone who she’d be spending a lot of time with. “I think so. We could say that we met at the Gayo Daejeon, since that was three months ago. I asked for your number,” you hummed and pulled out a notepad. “And a month after becoming friends, you asked me on a date.”

“Why did I ask you on a date?” Jennie asked, eyebrows raised. 

“I asked for your number, let’s keep it fair,” you answered with a slight chuckle. “Okay. What would you want to do on a date?”

She considered the question, tapping her nails against the table. “The Han River? Lots of people go in masks, so it’s possible for us to have gone without anyone seeing us. There’s food, nice scenery, we could take pictures--”

“You’re a real romantic, Kim Jennie,” you smiled, pen scratching against the paper of your notepad. “Okay. And we don’t live with each other, since you have a dorm... one of us has to be caught on the route between to make it believable.”

“I don’t think we have to.” Jennie crossed her arms, not moving even when you turned your notepad so she could see. “We just need to be seen in public together a couple times, hold hands once. Dispatch will eat it up.”

You sighed softly and tucked the notebook away. “Okay. At-- at least add me on Kakao. So we can communicate and stuff.”

She stood, tugging her jacket on and her hat down to hide her eyes. “Don’t have Kakao. Have a nice day, Y/N Y/L/N.”

And just like that, with a jingle of the front door’s bell, she was gone, and you could only stare at the untouched bottle of juice across from you or the glass door swinging closed.

Jennie liked practicing with her members. Of course she did-- there was no one she loved more than those 3 girls, and spending time with them was always exactly what she needed. And practice reminded her of better, simpler times: learning a new choreo with Lisa for the next evaluation, practicing English with Chaeng, or asking Jisoo for help with vocals. There were memories in the scratches on the floorboards of the practice rooms, and Jennie liked feeling them every time she stepped inside.

But besides that, it was a secure place. No Dispatch, no cameras, and certainly no PR stunt girlfriends. It was supposed to be her happy place, her home away from the dorm, and the last resort for time alone.

Of course, you had to change that.

“Jennie, Y/N’s here to see you.”

At the sound of her manager’s voice, Jennie’s ankle twisted and she fell to the ground, still panting from dancing. Jisoo bent down to help her up, Chaeyoung and Lisa stopping their practices too. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head towards the hallway outside. “Your ‘girlfriend’. She’s here to see you.”

Lisa gasped at that, her head whipping towards Jennie. “Jennie unnie! You have a girlfriend? Since when?”

Jennie winced and waved Jisoo off before walking towards the door. “I... I’ll explain later. Don’t worry about it, keep practicing. I’ll catch up.”

As soon as she stepped outside, she found you standing there, your smile so wide, as if she hadn’t been so cold to you since the beginning. “Hi, Jennie.”

“Why’re you here?” 

You barely faltered at the tone of her voice, holding out one of two bubble teas towards her. “I brought you boba, I thought you might need a rest from practicing. And don’t worry, Dispatch got the pictures they needed, I ‘forgot’ to put on a mask when I got out of the car just outside the building.”

Jennie sighed, but she accepted the offered cup anyway. She was thirsty; all she could hope was that you wouldn’t take it as a sign to keep coming to see her. “And? I thought we agreed that we only needed to be seen in public when our companies schedule it.”

“Well, I’m not just here for the PR,” you frowned. “You’re obviously opposed to actually dating me, or even from becoming friends with me, but it’ll be miserable if we’re both mean to each other. Let’s at least be civil, okay?”

Why? she wanted to ask. How? How can you be so positive even when faced with me? She pursed her lips, taking a sip of the drink. Somehow, you’d gotten her favorite flavor just right, and maybe the sugar rushing in her blood was what prompted her to say, “Civil. Sure. Thank you for the boba, Y/N.”

“Of course!” you grinned. You startled Jennie when you went to take your flannel off, even more so when you reached out to give it to her. “Here, take this.”

“Um. Why?”

Sighing jokingly, you pressed it into her hand. “Next time, you’re coming to see me. If you wear this while you’re caught on film, it’ll raise a lot of suspicions. Exactly what we want, right?”

Jennie nodded at that, closing her fist around the fabric. “Right. So, are you... planning to watch us practice?”

“Oh, no,” you shook your head, waving your hands. “No, I’ll probably just hang around. Unless you want me to?”

Some tiny, annoying section in the back of her mind wanted to say ‘yes’, but Jennie could hear Chaeyoung laughing in the practice room, and the thought of introducing you to her members wasn’t exactly appealing. “No. That’s okay. Thank you for stopping by,” she attempted a smile. Thankfully, you just bowed and waved goodbye again before turning around the corner, and Jennie relaxed with a sigh.

But your smile lingered in her mind. The first time she saw you, she thought it was genuine-- maybe you were just that polite, just that professional, even with how impossible it was. But talking to you on her own, she saw too many false grins, too much effort being put into keeping that likeable, fun personality up.

Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who was lying, but that fact did nothing but scare her more. 

“So. Are we gonna talk about Y/N?”

Jennie sighed, keeping her eyes on the road. “No.”

“Really? Because you didn’t exactly look happy after talking to the person who’s supposed to be your girlfriend.”

The rapper raised her eyebrows even though Jisoo couldn’t see it over the phone. “Well, she isn’t exactly my real girlfriend.”

In the background, Chaeyoung asked, “What? Then why did our manager say she was?”

“It’s a PR stunt,” Jennie said bluntly. Her manager sighed in the front seat but didn’t speak. “That’s it. Y/N has a good reputation, I don’t. I’m in the biggest girl group in the world, she isn’t. We’re benefiting from each other.”

Lisa groaned into the phone, her voice tinny over speaker. “Is that seriously it? I only heard you guys talking, but she’s trying so hard, and you’re shutting her down. It could be good for you, unnie.”

Jennie pinched her nosebridge and pleaded, “Can we please not talk about this? I’m just doing this-- it’s a PR stunt. Nothing else to it. I gotta go anyway.” She ended the call before anyone could say something, leaning back and pressing her hands to her eyes.

“I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to this, Jennie.”

“Please. Shut up,” Jennie groaned, reaching for the flannel on her lap as the car lurched a stop. The smell of perfume swept over her as she tugged the clothing on, leaving her mask off but donning the sunglasses that she’d been paid to wear. “Thank you for driving me, I’ll see you in half an hour.”

Her manager called out, “One hour. Try to have fun, okay?”

It wasn’t like Jennie couldn’t hear the click of cameras following her as she buzzed herself into the apartment building, couldn’t see the flashes half-hidden in the surrounding bushes. But she schooled her expression and let herself into the building, engulfed in silence once again for the 7 minutes before she reached your apartment door.

“Hi, Jennie,” you greeted when you opened the door. It was disarming to see that perfectly crafted, perfectly kind expression, but Jennie followed you inside anyway.  To be honest, the way you decorated your apartment was almost a perfect reflection of the you that you presented-- sweet, comfortable, but a completely blank slate that could be arranged easily. No pictures decorated the walls, just like how your easy smile never left your face, and the only things on your expensive glass shelves were awards and your own albums. But you smiled, “The flannel looks good on you.”

“Thanks. You can have it back,” Jennie mumbled, peeling it off and draping it over one of the acrylic chairs that tastefully decorated your living room. “It’s a nice place. You’re lucky to live alone.”

You hummed, clearing a pile of papers off the couch so that she could sit. “Sure, I guess. It’s a lot lonelier than the dorm, but it is nice to have all the space to myself.”

“Right.” She sat obediently and accepted the petite cup of coffee that you pushed towards her. “So, what are we supposed to do for an hour?”

“I thought we could watch Netflix and grab some takeout,” you chuckled embarrassedly, reaching for the remote. “I can’t really cook, but I’ll pay for anything you want to order.”

Jennie should’ve asked for pizza, jajangmyeon, something inexpensive but universally enjoyable. But the more she looked at you, the more she realized that for all your effort, nothing she did could possibly break you. Making dinnner for you once, even becoming friends with you and pulling away again, wouldn’t change anything when everything she saw of you was... false. So she stood, made her way to the kitchen, and opened to the fridge. “I can cook. What have you got?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you protested and followed her over. “I’m serious, I can pay for anything you want.”

The rapper ignored you and frowned at a tub of kimchi. “How does kimchi jigae sound? You’ve got close to nothing in here.”

You were silent for a moment, but sighed and moved to open your cupboards. “Kimchi jigae sounds great. You’re going to be carrying this dinner, I hope you know.”

“That’s no problem,” Jennie chuckled, turning to you slightly. “By the way, have you got any soju?”

“I thought you’d have a better alcohol tolerance.”

“Why?” Jennie groaned, head clutched in her hands. The steam from the cup of coffee that she convinced Chaeyoung to buy for her was absolutely going to melt her makeup, but under the LED lights of the waiting room, she wasn’t sure she cared.

Lisa sighed and patted her shoulder softly as she passed by. “I mean, wasn’t there a month where you went to a different club every night? It’d be weird if you did that completely sober.”

Jennie frowned; she wished she could tell Lisa that she actually spent every night of that month huddled in the corner with a mocktail, hoping to the heavens that Dispatch didn’t burst their way inside and find her hiding. But she shook it off and replied flippantly, “Drinking a lot doesn’t increase everyone’s tolerance, believe it or not. Maybe Y/N just had really strong soju.”

Before the dancer could respond, Jisoo opened the door and popped her head inside. “Hey, guys, they’re ready for us to start filming. And, Jen-- you have a visitor.”

“Who?” she groaned in answer, struggling to her feet and wincing as she removed her sunglasses.

Her question was answered as she reached the stage, finding a familiar face among the camera directors. “Y/N?” she squinted.

“Hey, Jennie!” you shouted with your hands cupped around your mouth. The smile on your face was a little wider than usual, poked into your cheeks differently. It was pretty, Jennie realized, and more genuine. “Good luck!”

Before she could ask what you were doing, huddling with the cameramen while she prepared to film her first Queendom stage, she was called up on stage. But for once, Jennie could feel a smile tugging at her lips as she got into formation, a smile that she hadn’t been able to pull off for a while.

You startled her by cheering her name just before filming began, and inciting laughter from the crew. Some warm flower blossomed in her chest as Jennie spoke her first line, her voice more steady than it had ever been during practice.

As soon as she finished the first attempt at the group shot, Jennie bent down at the edge of the stage and beckoned you forward. “Hey. What’re you doing here?”

“I’m cheering you on, of course.” Jennie found a banner with her name on it in your hands as you approached, the tip of your nose cold from the air-con in the studio. “You did great.”

“Thanks,” she chuckled softly, feeling the banner between her fingertips. “Where’d you even get this?”

You shrugged, “Bought it. I had to make an account and all, so you better be feeling more energized.”

“I am.” Jennie herself was surprised at how true the statement was; for some reason, seeing your dyed hair in the crowd of cameras was like a shot of pure adrenaline, just more intense and gratifying. She smiled, “I am. It’s really nice of you to come, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you said, waving the banner around with a grin creasing in the corners of your eyes. “We’re girlfriends, after all. And I’m your friend.” At the call of a director, though, you stepped back. “I should let you film.”

“Y/N?” Jennie called after you. When you turned to face her again, Jennie allowed her customary gummy smile to take over her face as she said softly, “You can call me Jen. All my friends do.”

You were too far away for her to hear your answer, but the excited little jump you made as you walked back to your spot kept the grin on Jennie’s face as she stood again. She missed the relieved glances her members exchanged behind her back, but she could feel a new kind of energy coursing through her as the director started his countdown again. And-- she kind of liked it.

You hated the popular belief that idols who presented the sweetest, kindest version of themselves to the internet got absolutely no hate. Fans, family, managers-- they all believed that never letting your smile slip and never having a single scandal would protect an idol completely. When you were deciding on your persona for your debut, you thought the same, and so you forced yourself into the happy, positive personality that the world knew.

However, for all your effort, for all the things you had to endure with that same smile on your face, people hated you. They called you fake, tried their best to get under your skin just so they could see you fall. But it was too late to fight back, because that wouldn’t become the kind, sweet Y/N. It was too late to ask for help, and it was too late to let yourself cry. 

When you met Jennie, you were determined to keep her on the outside of that precious mask you could never remove. After all, what would she understand? She did what she wanted to, didn’t care what people said about her, and she was strong. Jennie was as strong as you wished you could be, and you were sure that she would never understand. But the more that you saw her and the more that you talked to her, the more you understood that you were one and the same. That tough, carefree version of Jennie was what protected her, just like your perfectly engineered smile.

The first time you saw Jennie laugh, you knew that you were in deep. She didn’t know a single thing about you, but she was letting her walls down and letting you in-- or at least, the you she knew. But you liked her smile so much that you wanted to keep it there, at any cost. And maybe it meant sacrificing yourself.

“Are you ready?”

“For what? Walking through the street, undisguised enough that Dispatch will recognize us but no one else will?” At your pout, Jennie stopped her grumbling and laughed softly, still adjusting her scarf in the car mirror. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

A beat of silence passed as she grabbed your hand and led you out of the parking garage and onto Garosu-gil. “Hey. Y/N, I want to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“I... I’m glad it’s you.” Jennie squeezed your hand, her skin slightly cold with the wind blowing softly around the two of you. “I’m glad you’re the one I’m doing this with.”

You wished that she wouldn’t say that. You wished she’d feel anything else towards you-- contempt, hatred, even, despite everything you’d gone through just to become civil. But you squeezed back, flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Me too. You know, it’d be a lot worse if they set me up with a guy.”

“Why would they?” Jennie frowned in answer. “You came out on your own.”

“Unlike you, I didn’t prove it. You know Korea, you aren’t gay until you prove you are,” you sighed, scuffing your shoes against the cobblestones. “They wanted to set me up with a guy at first, but they decided that accepting YG’s offer for me to date you would be more beneficial.”

The other girl paused, and you didn’t quite dare to look up. “Oh. So you didn’t choose to help me, did you?”

You shook your head quietly, expecting Jennie to react badly. But she huffed out a breath and pushed your arm softly. “That’s okay. We’re friends, anyway, and it was hard for you to get us here already. I appreciate you, you know.”

Opening your mouth to respond, you noticed yet another camera flash, just between two buildings ahead of you. “What?” Jennie asked, following your gaze.

“I-- Don’t hate me for this, okay?” you whispered, stopping in the middle of the road. Before she could say anything, you placed your hands lightly on her jaw, pulling Jennie towards you; before your lips actually met, though, you gave her a second to pull away. Instead, she leaned forward just the slightest bit, barely enough to connect.

You didn’t quite dare to move, but Jennie’s hands rested on your waist and pulled you into her, just enough that your lips slotted together. You could barely hear the clicks of the camera, the warmth of the girl that you were kissing completely clouding your brain.

Before anything else happened, you released your grip and stepped away, lips suddenly cold. “I think that’s enough,” you whispered, linking your hands again and lowering your head.

Jennie laughed breathlessly and continued to stroll along when you prompted her to. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Um. Sorry?”

She only giggled harder at that, shoving you slightly. “What are you even sorry for? You’re a good kisser, Y/N.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, heat rising to your ears as you shoved her back. “How do you even say that with a straight face?”

“Hey, I had to listen to Lisa say ‘bitch I’m a star but not Patrick’, I think I can handle this,” Jennie joked. Despite all your effort not to, you found yourself staring at her smile again, losing yourself and any other worries bothering you in it, and her, once again. 

Jennie frowned at her phone-- or actually, at the blankness of her texting history with you. After the little PR stunt at Garosu-gil, you hadn’t contacted her once, and she didn’t dare to surprise you at your apartment or properly ask you what was going on. 

“Haven’t you heard the saying that a watched kettle never boils?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a pot,” Jennie replied listlessly, still staring at her screen. “But I have heard it, yes. I’m just hoping the universe proves it false.”

Chaeyoung sighed and hugged her older member from behind, swaying back and forth. “Why don’t you just message her? Or go see her? Our manager won’t say anything about it if you just say it’s for PR.”

“It is,” Jennie frowned, turning to her member. The Australian girl raised an eyebrow, and Jennie bit her lip. “Okay. Maybe it isn’t.”

“It definitely isn’t,” Chaeyoung rolled her eyes. “I saw those kiss pics, you know. And no one kisses like that if it’s ‘just PR’. You like each other, unnie, and it’s time to face it.”

Jennie swatted Chaeyoung’s arm. “That’s so cheesy, shut up. But... do you really think I like her?”

“That’s a question for you to answer,” the younger girl pointed out. “But I’ve known you for close to a decade. If I’m right about this, and I’m sure I am, everything’s about to change for you.”

“Ugh, cheesy again,” Jennie groaned, but she stood hesitantly nonetheless. “But... I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

On her way down the stairs, the rapper dialed her manager on her phone and held it up to her ear while she waited for the dial tone to fade. “You’re driving me to Y/N’s house,” she said by way of greeting. “And it’s not just for PR.”

She was sure that no car ride had ever gone slower; Jennie fidgeted the entire way, cursing every bus that blocked her way and scowling as the sun began to set behind a set of buildings in the distance. The more she thought about it, the more definite it was-- she liked you, more than she thought she could like a person. And while that fact would’ve scared her, should’ve scared her, it didn’t. Because it was you, and nothing about you could scare her anymore.

Somehow, the process of buzzing herself in at the building’s front, taking the same elevator up to the 67th floor, and hurrying her way down blue-carpeted hallways had become familiar. Jennie knocked persistently on the door of your apartment and called out, “Hey, Y/N, let me in. It’s Jennie.”

It took a while for anything to happen, and Jennie was almost backing away by the time that the door finally cracked open. For once, the smile on your face was missing, replaced by a guarded, harsher expression than the other girl was used to seeing. “Jen. What’s up?”

“Uh,” she hesitated, “can I come in? I don’t think we can talk in the hallway.”

You looked like you wanted to say no, but with a pleading look from Jennie, you backed away and let the door swing open. Jennie shut it quietly, following you into the living room, where you stood with your arms crossed. “So. What can’t we talk about in the hallway?”

Jennie wanted to say outright the words that were beating in her throat, but the expression on your face alarmed her. You were like a stranger-- or, maybe, she realized that you had finally let your mask down. “I... Y/N, are you okay?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you responded. Suddenly, the roles were reversed;  Jennie was the one reaching out for you, maybe even chasing after you, and you were somehow the one who was turning away.

“Okay,” Jennie said quietly. You were about to turn away, probably assuming that she was going to leave, but if Jennie had learned anything from you, it was that she couldn’t give up that easily if she wanted you to open up. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you responded instantly. Your words only hurt more when you didn’t look up from the television, continuing, “I don’t want you, and I don’t want anything from you--”

“You don’t get to say that to me.” Anger was once again rushing through Jennie’s veins, though not the kind of anger she was used to experiencing. No, she wasn’t mad at your words in the slightest, or even offended-- she was simply pissed off about the fact that you were shutting her down, and she didn’t know why. “Not when you were the one who started this. Y/N, you wanted me once, you don’t get to go back on that without an explanation,” Jennie gritted her teeth, gripping your forearms in her hands.

You finally turned when she shook you lightly, your face blank. “What, I don’t get to shut myself down? You did it the entire time I was trying, giving my all so that you’d talk to me or even just be civil.”

Jennie pleaded, “You succeeded, didn’t you? You’re right that I was a total bitch when all you were trying to do was be nice and make this tolerable for the both of us, but you succeeded. Okay? You-- you’ve made your place in my heart, and I’m not even angry about it. I just... I just like you that much.”

A derisive scoff escaped your lips as you twisted your arms out of her reach, stepping away. “You like me? Jennie, you don’t even know me. This me, the smiles and boba and everything, it’s a facade.” You threw your hands up in the air, biting down on your lip before sighing out, “It’s fake. All of it.”

“I know it isn’t,” Jennie shook her head desperately. She searched your eyes, scanned the sea of the color she’d grown to love, for some semblance of the person she remembered kissing her. “Look, you kissed me. And I know it was for the cameras, but you can’t tell me that you felt nothing from it. Y/N, you’re a good liar, but you can’t lie to me, not about this.”

You were quiet at that, glancing down at the floor as if you had nothing to say. “I didn’t,” you finally answered, tone firm. “Maybe you did, but I--”

Unable to stop herself, Jennie rushed forward again and tugged you into another kiss, her hands scrunching into the hair splayed over your shoulders. She was almost afraid that you’d push her away, curse her and throw her out of your apartment, but she felt your lips moving against yours. She felt your hands splay on her back, and she felt tears slipping down your face.

When you finally did push her away, it was gentle, though you were rough when you wiped the tears off your face. Jennie wished you’d speak first, but she brought herself to speak. “If your smiles were fake, think of the real ones you brought to me. Even if my smiles were from your facade, that’s still a part of you. I know that though you weren’t trying to, you let me see the real you. And I’m willing to see the rest of you,” Jennie smiled, clasping your hands within hers. Sometime along the way, she’d started crying too, but the salt of those tears was almost honeyed on her lips. “If you want me to.”

“I do,” you sighed, accepting the kiss that Jennie pressed to your forehead with a teary smile. “I want nothing more than that, Jen. And-- I’m sorry.”

“Why?” she laughed, wiping the tears of your face so much gentler than you did. “I know what I want now. It’s you, and it has been you since you tried buying me a green juice in that damn coffee place. I like you, Y/N. So much.”

You tucked your face into the crook of her neck and snaked your arms around her waist again. “I like you too. More than I ever thought I could.”

And maybe, just maybe, you knew what you wanted too. Somehow, that mask you wore had long been tossed to the side. Somehow, each kiss pressed to your face by the girl you never knew you needed to find lingered on your skin like the touch of a miracle, and the smile on your face was finally, finally genuine like you had always wanted it to be.

[saltybaltic]

hello! if you’re taking requests as of right now, could I request a fic involving an extremely shy avenger!reader having an enormous crush on Nat and it being a running joke among the team because she doesn’t have a clue when it’s so painfully obvious to everyone else? I don’t care how it ends, go wild.... (take that as you will)

Natasha Romanoff X Reader - CONFIDENCE

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow X FemReader Fanfic

Synopsis: You have a huge crush on one of your team mates but you’re too shy to ever do anything about it. Fortunately, people have noticed and you might be about to get some help.

Warnings: None

Words: 989

“You know she likes you right?”

Natasha’s hands stilled on the keyboard for a second, looking up at her friend with a frown, “Who?”

Scoffing at her answer, Clint took a swig of his coffee before responding, “Who? Like you don’t know.”

“Forgive me, I thought everyone on this team liked me.” shot back Natasha, giving him a sarcastic smile and going back to her work on the laptop.

Clint rolled his eyes and placed his mug on the coffee table, flopping down onto the sofa beside the red head and nudging her computer playfully with his foot to get her attention again, “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“And you’re being deliberately annoying.” muttered Natasha, shifting over slightly on the sofa so she was nestled in the corner out of his reach.

“Fine, you win.” conceded Clint, raising his hands in surrender before reaching for his coffee again, “But you should do something about it and stop letting that poor girl work herself into a fluster around you.”

Of course Natasha knew exactly who he was talking about. Everyone on the team seemed to know. In fact the only person who didn’t seem to realise you had a huge crush on The Black Widow was, well, you.

You had always been shy, and although joining The Avengers had succeeded in bringing you out of your shell a little, there was still certain social situations that you just couldn’t handle very well. So it was no surprise that when a beautiful woman flirted with you on occasion, you tended to find yourself reduced to a blushing, bumbling mess.

Natasha wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t deliberately toying with you or taking any pleasure in your squirming. Okay maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Did she find it cute when you would duck your head and fumble over your words whenever she sent a flirtatious comment your way? A little. But she wasn’t doing it to mess with you. She wanted to challenge you, encourage you, dare you to make a move. Because despite what you might be willing to believe, she liked you too. Ever since you had joined the team she had become quite fond of you, finding your quick wit, humour and kindness to others rather endearing. She saw the way you interacted with the others; laughing and making jokes, teasing one another playfully, and generally looking after each other. You had become something of a weakness of hers, finding her eyes drawn to you around the compound and just watching from a distance. All Natasha wanted was for you to finally gather the courage to interact with her in the same way, and she definitely wasn’t the only one on the team that was desperate for you to realise you had a crush.

At much the same time as Clint was questioning Natasha upstairs, you found yourself being given the workout of your life in the gym with Steve. Now they weren’t exactly giving out slots on the team to anyone off the street so you knew you possessed some desirable abilities, but going toe to toe with Captain America was a challenge for anyone on their best day.

Gesturing with your hands for a time out, you sucked in a breath and gripped your waist where you could feel a stitch forming, “Jesus Steve, let’s take five, you’re kicking my ass.”

“You’re doing great though.” encouraged Steve with a small chuckle, tossing you a water bottle from the corner of the gym mat, “I can tell you’ve been practicing.”

You shrugged, “Well as the newest team member, I feel I had some catching up to do.”

“Don’t talk like that, you’re already where you need to be.” reassured Steve, walking closer as he seemed to hesitate for a moment before deciding to speak, “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little more self confidence.”

“I have enough confidence.”

Steve nodded slowly, obviously not wanting to cross a line but still wanting to say something, “Around me? Sure. But you should be more confident around others.”

“Like who?” you asked, watching Steve carefully over your water bottle as you took a few gulps.

“Like Natasha.”

You almost choked on your water, “W-Why ... errr ... why do you say that?”

“You like her, right?”

Scratching at the back of your neck uncomfortably, you tossed the drink to one side, “That’s enough of a break, let’s go again.”

“Hey.” Steve grabbed your arm to stop you from heading back into the centre of the mat and offered a reassuring smile, “Look, I’m just saying. Try not to be so shy around her, she’s not as scary as she’d have you believe. Plus, between you and me? I’m pretty sure she likes you too.”

“I don’t ...” you trailed off in thought for a second. Did you like Natasha? You definitely admired her. You envied her confidence and sass. She was an impressive woman, not to mention absolutely gorgeous. And you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed and flattered whenever she would flirt with you. It drove you crazy with frustration how shy you could be around her and that you were never able to say or do anything in response. It wasn’t lack of desire that was stopping you, of course you wanted to flirt back with her. Who wouldn’t?

A frown started to develop on your face the longer you thought about it, realisation suddenly dawning on you. It was so obvious now. You didn’t just admire Natasha, Steve was right - you did like her.

He seemed to see the lightbulb moment as it unfolded, patting you on the shoulder reassuringly with a small laugh as he motioned you back towards where you had been sparring, “Don’t worry about it, just something to think about. Now come on, show me what you’re made of.”

You let yourself process the discussion with Steve for a few days, keeping mostly to yourself as you thought about it in depth. You almost felt stupid for taking so long to realise, so much of the past few weeks making sense now. There had been more than a few occasions where a team mate had made a teasing comment, all in good fun of course, about your blushes and stuttering around Natasha. You had assumed it was just banter amongst friends about your chronic shyness but now it was painfully obvious that you were the last person in the building to realise you had a crush on Natasha.

Although you had given yourself adequate time to consider your revelation, you hadn’t exactly formulated a plan to deal with it. Unfortunately it seemed that you weren’t going to be given any more time to come up with something, when your quiet evening alone on the sofa was interrupted by the very woman who had been consuming your thoughts.

“Mind if I join you?” asked Natasha, plonking herself down on the sofa beside you without waiting for a response.

Shifting your attention from the movie on the television, you looked across at the other woman and swallowed, already feeling your mouth becoming dry as you silently shook your head.

“What you watching?”

You blinked, taking a moment to inhale a calming breath and internally encouraging yourself before engaging your brain to speak, “I-I don’t know really, it was just on and I kind of got sucked in.”

Natasha nodded, glancing at the television briefly as she leaned back against the sofa. Her arm lay across the cushions, bent at the elbow as she raised her hand and rested her chin on it. Her eyes drifted back to meet yours, watching you carefully, “The boys say I make you nervous. Is that true?”

Panic.

Your first instinct was to run, heart hammering against your rib cage as for the first time, Natasha put you on the spot. You could already feel the heat rising in your cheeks and there was a distinct possibility your palms were sweating.

“I errr ...” you took another breath to compose yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to remain calm, “I suppose it is, yeah.”

Natasha’s lips turned up slightly at that, her chin still balanced on her hand as she studied you, “You shouldn’t be nervous.”

“I shouldn’t?”

Shaking her head, Natasha broke out into a proper smile, “I mean don’t get me wrong, you look cute when you’re nervous.”

At her comment you had to look away, biting down on your lip and pressing the back of your hand to your cheek to confirm the fact that yes, you were definitely getting flushed now.

Natasha chuckled quietly, “Yeah, there it is.”

Hoping to take Steve’s advice and scrambling for all the courage you could muster, you looked back at the other woman and cocked your head curiously, “Do you just enjoy toying with me or ...?”

“Or what?” asked Natasha, the subtle smirk on her face suggesting she knew exactly what you were asking. After a few seconds of silence, she took the initiative and filled in the blanks for you, not wanting to put you on the spot too much given that this was already the longest the two of you had ever spoken, “I’m not toying with you ... I was just trying to gauge whether the rumours were true and if I should ask you out on a date.”

You had to fight not to gasp in surprise, sure that it would probably be the most embarrassing response you could have, “A ... a date? With me?”

“Well I don’t see anyone else around.” joked Natasha, gesturing around the empty room, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Shaking your head perhaps a little too eagerly, you turned your body to face her properly, “No that. Um. That would be nice.”

“Great.” answered Natasha, shooting you a reassuring smile as she went to get up from the sofa, “How does tomorrow night sound?”

“I ... that would. Err. Sure. Tomorrow. Good. Yes.” you could barely speak now, sure this must be some kind of fever dream and it couldn’t actually be happening.

Natasha simply laughed, standing up and leaning over to squeeze your shoulder gently before turning to make her way out of the room, “Yeah you’re still cute. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Unable to do or say anything else, you silently watched her walk away, unable to quite believe what had just unfolded. Natasha Romanoff had asked you out on a date.

As if finally realising what had just happened, you couldn’t help but break out into a smile. If it meant Natasha had finally asked you out, maybe all that teasing from the rest of the team had been good for something after all.

[rain-bow-donkey]

Shadowpeach Week:Day 2

Enemies to Lovers/ Betrayal

Macaque wasn’t above playing dirty to get what he wants. He used whatever he could in his disposal whenever he could. It’s how the shadow monkey survived for so long. It was a useful trait to have if Wukong was being honest. The king would know because he used to use the same tricks before.

Wukong shouldn’t have been surprised Macaque decided to use them against him.

But the sad thing is, he was.

The Great Sage was taken completely off guard as Macaque doubled crossed them. All of them. Him, MK, and the rest of his successors crew. Macaque betrayed them all.

The damn demon pretended to be on their side. That he wanted the Lady Bone Demon to get taken down just as much as them. Yes, Wukong was suspicious at first. But MK talked him into giving Macaque a chance to redeem himself. To prove that he was with them.

So Wukong gave in and Macaque stayed on the ship with them. It was rocky at first. They all where on constant guard around the shadow monkey. Wukong and MK for being targeted by Macaque before and the kids friends probably knowing of said attack.

The king kept a close eye on him. Waiting for the demon to make a wrong move. But Macaque never did. Sure he made snide and sarcastic remarks every now and then, but the shadow monkey never took it too far. Knowing he was on thin ice already.

Wukong was starting to believe that maybe the kid was right. Maybe Macaque really was on their side. That he wanted to help save the world with them.

He should have know that Macaque was only in it to help himself.

But it’s too late now.

Now here Wukong was. Tied up and gaged at Lady Bone Demon’s feet. At her mercy.

He didn’t know what became of MK and his friends. Wukong threw himself at Macaque when the demon monkey turned on them. Wukong knew he couldn’t take Macaque in a fight. Not when the golden monkey was losing his powers so quickly. That’s not what Wukong was trying to do. The king was hoping to buy the others enough time to escape. To distract Macaque long enough for them to get away safely.

Wukong succeeded. And this was the price he would pay for it.

The Lady Bone Demon started down at him. Smiling cruelly as he was forced to look at her from where he laid face down on the floor. He meet her gaze with a glare. Refusing to go down without a fight.

She laughed at his display of defiance. Causing Wukong to glare harder. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Sun Wukong, this is a day I’ve longed to see for quite some time.” She crept closer. Kneeling down to grab him by his chin. Forcing him up on his knees so that he may be at eye level with her. “Seeing you in such a weak state at my mercy is so . . . satisfying.”

Wukong growled at her. He couldn’t do much else with the gage in his mouth.

She chuckled. Finding his unspoken threats amusing. She moved to talk again, probably to insult him, but she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

“I think that’s enough. If we’re done here then we’ll be taking our leave now.” Macaque spoke up from where he was standing behind Wukong. Having watched their whole interaction. The shadow demon looked upset, mad almost. But he was keeping himself in check.

Sighing, Lady Bone Demon released Wukong as she raised herself up from the floor. “I suppose we are done here then. Though you did not retrieve Wukong’s successor for me, you did delay them long enough for my minions to catch up with them.” She turned away from them and made to leave. “You carried out your side of the deal splendidly, Six Eared Macaque. Enjoy your reward.”

Wukong was confused about what they were talking about. Reward? What reward?

The golden monkey didn’t have enough time to think about it before he was picked up and thrown over Macaque’s shoulder as he was being carried out of the Lady Bone Demons lair.

It took a moment for Wukong to put two and two together. Then he finally had his realization.

He was Macaque reward.

Wukong immediately started struggling. Thrashing as hard as he could with the restraints he had on him. It was a futile effort. For Macaque had a strong grip on him. And the demon wasn’t planning to let go anytime soon.

“Stop struggling, Wukong.” Macaque didn’t spare the king over his shoulder a glance. Focusing on marching forward. “There no point in fighting me.”

The Sage didn’t listen. Instead he used all his strength to try to get out of Macaque’s grip.

He needed to get out. To get away from them. From Macaque. Wukong needed to get to the kid and warn him about Lady Bone Demon’s minions.

Who knew how much time they had left?

Macaque huffed in annoyance as Wukong struggled. “What do you think is going to happen? That you’re going to get away from me? Escape to the kid and save him?” Macaque wasn’t trying to sound cruel, he really wasn’t, but that’s how it came out as.

Wukong tried to ignore him and continued his struggles.

“It’s too late, Wukong.”

Ignore him.

“You can’t play the hero this time.”

Just keep fighting and ignore him.

“You lost.”

Wukong shakes his head. Tears slowly staring to run down his face. He was so frustrated and mad. At Macaque. At Lady Bone Demon. At himself.

Wukong should have known better than to trust Macaque again. Gods, he was so stupid to ever believe that Macaque wanted to help them. Of course that other monkey was only in it for himself.

Macaque said nothing was he heard Wukong sniffling. Crying softly was he was carried away. The shadow monkey didn’t want to upset him any further.

Macaque was also upset on how things turned out. He was actually starting to like the little family he found on the ship.

Well, no matter. Macaque got what he wanted. He wasn’t going to let Wukong be taken away from him this time.

[redorich]

What do you think about Protoge!Tommy? I'd think it'd be a bit harder for the hermits to help him compared to Hermit!Tommy.

See, that’s almost kind of what Dream was trying to do to Tommy (at least in my version of the AU). I glossed over it a bit, but Tommy does wear Dream’s mask. Now, say that we start an AU a bit to the left, where Dream got more time to bend Tommy to his will before he lost it and sent Tommy off into Hermitcraft to keep him safe from the dreamon possessing the admin. It’s just long enough for Dream to trust that he can teach Tommy without Tommy using his teachings against him. Tommy’s not broken completely, but it’s enough to start.

Obviously, Dream doesn’t teach Tommy everything. Even if he had the time and the patience, he’s got to keep a trick or ten up his sleeve, so that he can put Tommy back down on the ground where he belongs should Tommy ever get any ideas.

He doesn’t want a useless heir, though, so he puts Tommy through boot camp. Tommy is never allowed more than five or six hours of sleep per night, until he stops having nightmares and he can fall asleep instantly, on the bare ground or buried in the sand or hidden up in a tree. Dream runs him through drills: sword forms, hand-to-hand, ground fighting, all of it. He makes Tommy do them until he can dissociate through the whole kata and still have done it satisfactorily, no matter how much his weak legs tremble from exhaustion. 

He attacks Tommy at random, to train his reflexes (and, not so secretly, to smell that delectable fear). Tommy learns to duck his chin at the slightest move toward his neck, to drop like a stone when he senses someone sneaking up behind him, to follow up his blocks with a punch before registering who or what is attacking him. He learns through painful trial and error how to fall in such a way that maximizes surface area and minimizes the bruising. His awkward somersaults turn into smooth rolls that he can immediately transition into a sprint from. 

Dream asks catch-22 questions and demands answers. Faster, he barks out, pushing Tommy to his limit both mentally and physically until Tommy inevitably fails, just so Dream can punish him. He asks questions that Tommy has no way of knowing the answers to, because Dream has never taught him. He demands Tommy address him as Sir, and punishes Tommy when he doesn’t start a sentence with “Sir”, even after Dream demands he drop the honorific.

Tommy learns the most important lesson of all: life isn’t fair, and he’s not the one in charge. He does what Dream says, and sometimes he gets punished even when he doesn’t do anything wrong, just because that’s Dream’s right. All Tommy can do is go above and beyond, obey orders to a tee and exceed Dream’s expectations, exceed the limits of his own body, in order to measure up as best he can. Sometimes, when Tommy injures himself trying to be somewhere in the ballpark of how good Dream is, Dream makes him stand at attention and reams him, but afterward he makes Tommy lie down and eat food that isn’t raw or just pulled out of the ground, and he runs his hands through Tommy’s filthy hair and speaks cruel things, but this time intersperses them with praise and consolations.

This time around, when Dream finally gets ahold of himself enough to realize he’s about to kill Tommy, that he needs to send the kid away somewhere where neither he nor the dreamon can get at him, things are more difficult. Tommy’s a lot better at fighting, and any excuse to attempt to kill Dream is one he’ll take whole-heartedly. This means that Dream has to take the fight a lot more seriously, and... Well, things happen.

Dream makes a portal to a server unknown even to him. Tommy staggers backward into the portal with wide eyes and a foot of sharpened netherite in his chest.

When the kid disappears through the portal, Dream collapses to his knees on the sand. There’s so much inside his head-- he has no clue whether he succeeded in saving Tommy or succeeded in killing him.

Tommy wakes up in a jungle, still speared upon Dream’s sword. He shudders, but yanks it out-- it’ll make him bleed out faster, but with a big fuck-off blade in his chest it’s unlikely he’ll live anyway.

The sword clatters to the dirt, flickering into incorporeality. Tommy feels no pain. Why doesn’t he feel pain?

He looks down. The giant tear in his fucking flesh is nothing more than an ugly black smear. His entire body is washed out, semi-transparent just like the sword he stole from Dream by virtue of it being in his fucking chest.

Tommy is... He’s like Wilbur. He’s a ghost.

[jangmi-latte]

(Twst Anni!) Oneshot form please! I know I can choose up tot wi characters, but in this case, I’m just gonna choose one for Vil (i cant think of any other lines that appealed to me): “Beautiful flowers are poisonous. But isn’t that just another one of their charms?”

╰──➢    “Beautiful flowers are poisonous. But isn’t that just another one of their charms?”

❥ ara ara you geared something in my brain. may our waiter, vil schoenheit, treat you with this anniversary special dessert!

Another hit bashed his sides as he fell to the ground. No pain did adhere to his figure yet the disappointment of failing yet another training session made him scowl to himself. His foil was thrown across the room in a sign of defeat. His father sighed while you kept yourself sitting on the chair in worry. “Vil,” his father began, helping his son up and continuing, “It’s time for you to rest. You’ve done enough for today.”

“I want to continue, papa,” came his struggling grunts while he stood up. Patting down the dust on his pants, he walked to pick up his foil. However, his papa prevented him from going any further with a tight grip on his wrist. “I said, that’s enough.”

“But I’m not tired--”

You wanted to run and comfort the boy -- your best friend. His father had already removed his fencing mask off of him. “Vil. You need to rest. You’re already frustrated enough to continue.”

Mr. Schoenheit’s eyes glanced at you, nodding his head over at his son while his hand laid at the small of his back. Vil’s face was cast down, hands balled into fists with teeth gritted in frustration. You looked at the older man and quickly set your feet down on the floor and ran over to your friend. 

“Let’s go outside, Vil. The sun can calm you down."

Vil looked at you in the eyes, his expression not even fading — gazing down at your hands holding his. He doesn't know what he’s feeling but immense frustration. Towards who? Himself. He brought you to his home to show you how much progress he did with fencing and yet he just wiped the floor with his failure. The shame of failing his own ability. How did he word his statement again?

“Come to my house! I’ll show you how much stronger I got with fencing!”

Stronger, huh.

“I’ll make you something to drink.” Mr. Schoenheit placed a hand on his son’s head, “You go outside with y/n. It will help you greatly.”

Now both of you sat at the porch of his home, listening to the white noises his little village made whilst drinking some nutritious smoothie. It was quiet between the two of you. No awkwardness, no uncomfortability, just feeling the presence of one another. You gazed at Vil, his blonde locks covering his face yet you could see how he stared at the pavement below him. His lips remain locked around the straw as you watch him subconsciously swallow down his smoothie.

“Vil?” you called.

“Hm?” he responded yet his eyes never left where they desire to look.

Your mouth ran dry; what did you want to say to him? Think, y/n. How can you emotionally support your friend who was disappointed? “You did great back there.”

Really, y/n?

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better,” he exhaled, taking his time to finally glance at you. His glass is now empty and yours still half full. You tripped on your words, scratching the back of your nape. “I didn’t do well. I know that. I just need to try harder.”

“But you really did better. It’s okay to fail, you know. You’re still ten years old.”

“You speak as if you’re any older than me. I’m fine, y/n.”

“You don’t look like it.” You placed your glass on the steps beside you and scooted closer to Vil. “You’re stubborn, you know that. I saw how you wanted to cry back inside and yet you didn’t let yourself. If you want to cry now, then I have a shoulder for you to cry on!”

Vil shook his head in denial, twirling his straw as he looked away. “I don’t like showing signs of weakness. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Sheesh.” You gave up, huffing in defeat while you slurped on your smoothie. You know it’s useless to get into Vil’s head. When he’s determined to do something, you know he wants it to happen. Despite seeming weak already, he wants to stay strong. How poisonous. Even you wanted to keep on going through his head.

You already saw his success by being a child influencer. You were there -- or at least try to be present -- during his stage plays. His movies? Oh, Vil would use his dad’s phone just to contact you and how everything is going. What else does he want? Surely, he would tell you about this and that and how the world of media is different from his little village in his homeland. He failed just ONE round of fencing and now he’s sulking.

Why won’t he tell you his objective this time?

He could beat you in fencing himself. Even his dad would wince every time Vil would attempt to playfully punch his arm. He’s that strong already. What else, Vil. What else do you want?

You wish to know the answer eight years later.

You sat in Pomefiore’s lounge, the leg over your other, swinging in boredom as you scanned through endless magicam content. Epel was so close to looking like a pile of hay with his hands tugging on his hair countless times. Looking at your junior, you sighed and placed your phone down. “Magical pharmaceuticals? That’s Iodine. It can be used to revive dead plants. Wait, why are you studying this? This is for second-years.”

“I wanna prove something to Vil-- I mean, my senior…” he admitted laying his head on his arms in distress. “He said the first step into being stronger is to be smart. So I...well..borrowed some books from other second-years.”

“Be smart? I don’t think Vil would say something like that…” you said.

“I ‘on’t know! I didn’t understand a single w’rd he said s-so I assumed that!” he burst out as he sat back with a scowl on his face. You sighed, scooting closer to the boy and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Just across the room where the both of you sat were Vil and Rook. You can’t hear what they’re talking about yet you could see how focused they both were as they communicated with another third-year. 

“Epel, you know…” you began, rubbing his arm in a comforting way, “Whatever Vil told you, he just wants you to do well.”

“But ‘e’s too harsh!”

“Not everything is going to be easy and Vil just wants to see you work hard. You wouldn’t be able to carry that interviewer’s luggage if it wasn’t for him working out your arms right? He just finds a way to gear you up.”

“He succeeded alright…” he mumbled, following your gaze over to his senior. As he looked at Vil, he remembered how he turned down his magic wheel design in order to bring out his full potential in creativeness. Admittedly, he often misunderstands Vil’s words into something much cruel but people learn from mistakes, right?

With a deep inhale, Epel stood up and collected the books. “Alright! I’ll prove to Vil that I’m gonna be the best. Someday, I’ll… I’ll…”

“Think about it Epel. You still have a long way to go.” 

“Ahhh…” he moaned and nodded. “I’ll be back! I still have some flowers to pick for the experiment! See you, y/n!”

You waved at the departing boy. Adorable. No small body can hold such a big ambition. And just what was still the answer to your question about Vil? What does he want?

“That boy,” you heard the dorm leader sigh as he and Rook walked closer. The latter chuckling to himself as he sat beside you. “He complained again, didn’t he?” he questioned. Nodding as a response, you laid your head on the arm of the couch as Vil eyed you.

“He misunderstood me again, no?”

“He understood afterward. No biggie,” you grinned.

“Either way, you conveyed my message--” He moved his hand, swatting the air in a sign of disregard, “But that won’t be the last time I’ll persuade him to do better.”

“We know,” You and Rook simultaneously spoke. You mentioned how Vil could even tolerate Epel’s attitude and how immune he is to his personality. You remembered how both yourself and Mr. Schoneheit are immune to Vil’s determination and non stop hard work. Is there a difference? Maybe there is, maybe none. That’s a Pomefiore student after all.

No harsh or rude words can knock them down. Determined? Hah! That’s a battle with oneself against the world. How poisonous would a flower be if its beauty and ability are showcased to everyone. Nothing can destroy something so elegant yet powerful when they are their own poison. Being poisonous is something to brag about.

“He’s cute but he’s the first student in Pomefiore that can fight you Vil.”

The young man laughed to himself, smirking your way in delight. “That’s a challenge I am looking forward to. After all, beautiful flowers are poisonous. But isn’t that just another one of their charms?”

© jangmi-latte, all rights reserved. Happy to Serve!

[johnkrrasinski]

illicit affair;

full masterlist

Pairings: Professor!Andy Barber x female!reader (AU) 

Word count: 2,898

Warning: SMUT!!!! fingering, blowjob (male receiving), dirty talk. (MUST BE 18+) 

Summary: you had been crushing on your sexy professor, Andy Barber since the beginning of the semester but he made it hard for you to focus in class. lucky for you, he was willing to give you the best lesson in your life though. 

a/n: this one’s written for @stargazingfangirl18​ and @navybrat817​‘s shameless hoes for chris writing challenge. i picked the prompt “your professor has a different kind of extra credit in mind.” hope you like it! leave a like and comment. enjoy! 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

There he goes again, captivating the entire room with that dashing suit and tie, making it difficult for you to breathe. Andy Barber was the professor of your criminal law class. To say he was attractive would be an understatement. The man is the living embodiment of every girl’s wildest dreams. When you first took the class, with the hopes of becoming a social worker, you didn’t expect it to be this challenging. You were confident in your own work ethic and in being a fast learner. No major was too onerous for you to ace.

Until Andy Barber walked into the class on that first day and you realized he was going to teach you for the entire semester.

You had never had a man spellbinding you this badly before. You had a few crushes here and there, but not once did they make you feel the way Andy Barber does. And you knew that it was inappropriate to lust after your professor but, it wasn’t a crime if he is a divorcé and the whole class could relate, right?

It wasn’t only wrong but it was also cruel and unfair that he succeeded in making you lose every bit of your focus whenever he was around. No matter how hard you try to pay attention to what he is lecturing about, your mind would always drift away to nasty places that you shouldn’t even be thinking about visiting. No matter how hard you try to simply open your laptop and type away the vital points that you would need to memorize for final exams, you just couldn’t. It’s like you were paralyzed by his magnetism and oh, how well did he do it.

Like how you currently had a pen stuck between your teeth as if you were fellating it because you were imagining what it would be like to have those plump lips of his on yours and so your pen had to take the beating.

You didn’t know whether he noticed you at all from where you were sitting, you always choose to sit in the middle row, where you could still see things clearly on the board but you didn’t have to feel so exposed because sitting on the front row means everyone who sat behind you could see every movement you make and you would have to deal with the uneasiness of the proximity between you and your professor gave you and you had no wish to make it worse for yourself.

It wasn’t only that he was insanely good-looking but he was also a gentleman. He always charmed the class with his humorous comments and witty jokes while he was doing a lecture or simply when he called out a student who fell asleep. He always made himself available for his students who were confused about the subject or needed guidance on some complex topics. He always greeted the class with a warm smile and he always tried to understand the struggles of being a college student.

You had lost count on how many filthy dreams you had about this man, and how many daydreams you had lost yourself in during his class or simply when you were wide awake. He truly got you on a chokehold. A part of you would sometimes wonder, how could anyone divorce this man? If he were your husband, you would feel like the luckiest woman on earth. You wouldn’t ask for anything else in life.

“Any question…?” He ended today’s session by allowing the students to raise their hands if they needed some enlightenment.

Several students raised their hands and presented their questions and he answered them all eloquently. When there was no more question asked, he dismissed the class and all of the students got out of their seats and exited the room. You were still stuck amidst of your fantasy where Professor Barber was devouring you like you were the last tasty meal on earth and he hadn’t been fed for a month. The thought of his mouth lapping your juices as his beard creating delicious friction on your inner thigh alone was enough to soak your panties.  

You didn’t realize that the class was over until everyone had left and your professor called out your name. There were only the two of you now in the room.

“Y/N? Y/N! Class is dismissed.” He shook you out of your daydream with the gentleness of his voice.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, sir I was- I’m gonna leave now.”

“Are you alright? You zoned out a little there.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I just- I… I was thinking… of… finals. Yeah, I was thinking of finals.”

“If you need a brief tutor, I wouldn’t mind.”

“No, no! It’s fine, really, I’ll manage. Have a good day sir.” You hurriedly pack up your laptop and stationery and you immediately ran for the door. But you were abruptly stopped by his voice that had slightly shifted its tone.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Miss Y/L/N, do you have a minute?”

Oh shit. This is it. This is where he is going to interrogate you for always being absentminded throughout his entire session and you are probably going to say something really idiotic and you are going to embarrass yourself or you might even spill your own secrets and he is going to get you suspended and then-

“Yes, sir.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Come here, have a seat.” He pulled a chair from one of the tables and placed it across his seat.

You nervously approached him and sat down as your hands trembled because if there’s another word to describe Andy Barber, it would be intimidating. His charisma isn’t only appealing but could also conquer his interlocutors.

“I’ve noticed that your grades have been slipping lately, why is that?”

“I just- I don’t know, maybe I’ve been really tired, sir. College can be really stressful.”

“I understand. But what puzzles me is that I did some background check on you and your grades in other subjects are doing really well. In fact, you had kept a solid 4.0 GPA for two years in a row now. So, what is the problem here, y/n?”

You gulped. Fucking hell, how the hell were you supposed to answer that? “Oh, don’t worry, it’s simply you being so ridiculously hot that you have been distracting me every time you’re lecturing. Maybe, I don’t know, if you could just bend me over on your desk and make me your girlfriend, that might help me take my mind off you.”

“I just- I’ve had a lot in my mind, sir, and it’s just- this subject is really hard,” you spoke meekly. “I promise, I will work really hard on my finals, sir. I won’t let you down.” You hoped that it was convincing enough so that you could carry on with your day and not sit here like a scared mouse.

“Final starts in two weeks,” he reminded you. “How are you going to convince me that you could wrap an entire semester within only two weeks when you have other courses demanding equal attention, y/n?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe I’ll ask a friend to help me study. I’ll do whatever it takes to pass the test, sir. I give you my word.” Goddamnit, what the hell was he doing to you? Of course, you weren’t going to ask for anybody’s help, you were always the one who was giving help to your fellow classmates instead of needing one. Now you were just making silly excuses to get you out.

His brows furrowed. You knew he wasn’t going to buy your answer so easily. Andy took his job very seriously and it disappointed him to the extreme when one of his students wasn’t doing well in his course. It made him feel like he didn’t do enough in educating these young people. So when one of his students didn’t fulfil his expectations, he was going to address it and solve the problem together.

There was a silence that lingered between the two of you until he broke it off, “how far are you willing to go to pass this class, y/n?”

“Anything sir, I-, I care about my grades. I know I don’t show it enough but I won’t fail you this time.”

“Anything?” Suddenly, the expression on his face transitioned into something impish.

“Yeah, anything at all, sir.”

“How about I offer you a proposition?” His tone was sultry.

“You do something for me, and I’ll make sure you get an A+ on your test. You don’t have to worry about failing.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?”

Instead of giving you a direct answer, he stood up from his seat and sat on the edge of the table. His hands were folded on his propped up thigh.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, y/n and I want an honest answer. No bullshit or the deal is off.”

You were taken aback by the word that he just used. It wasn’t very in-character of him to cuss, especially in front of a student. You didn’t know if he was a completely different man outside of the university, so this was certainly something you weren’t used to.

“O-okay…”

“Why are you failing in my class, y/n?”

You bit your lip so hard you thought it might bleed. Your lips quivered as tears began brimming in your eyes. You were scared of telling him the truth but you knew if you lie again, he would see right through you and you would end up failing his class for real and there will be no second chance. You refused to retake the same course next semester when you could be getting closer to getting your degree.

You drooped your head down in defeat. The eye contact was overwhelming you and you sucked it up and gathered every last bit of dignity you had in you to give him an answer.

“I… I’m attracted to you, sir.”

He nodded. What you didn’t see was a wicked smirk forming on his lips, as if he knew what he was going to hear when he made you confess. “Go on.”

“I can’t stop thinking about- about making love to you, sir.” you stuttered your words. You cringed at your own words. There was no way to unring the bell now. You just humiliated yourself in front of the person whose attention you wanted the most. He disclosed your dirtiest secrets and this was going to be your doom.

“Good girl. Now, we better not stall any longer, yeah? I’ve got another class in twenty minutes.” He sat back on the chair and ordered, “get on your knees.”

“Wh… What?”

“You heard me. On your knees, I won’t tell you anymore.” his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t know what was happening but you were excited. You got on your feet and before you could even take a step, he stopped you. “No, no. Crawl.”

You stared at him incredulously as if he had just told you a joke. But you did what you were told to anyway, fearing that you would disappoint him before the act could even begin. You got on your knees with your hands on the floor and crawled to between his spread knees.

You waited for his next instruction with your hands on your thighs as your head hung low. “Take off my pants.”

Without further delay, you undid the zip of his pants and pulled the waistband down along with his boxer briefs, just enough to let his enormous cock spring free. “Good girl. You listen well. Now… you know what to do.” He rested his forearms on the arms of the chair and leaned back on the headrest nonchalantly whilst still maintaining his gaze on you.

Shit, you always fantasized about him using your body but you weren’t actually experienced. Yes, you’ve had a few casual hookups now and then, but it was nothing like this. Your professor who seemed to really enjoy turning you into a puddle by simply commanding you around like his own personal sex slave.

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t act like you haven't watched porn.”

You start by doing what you had learned from a few pornographic videos which is by stroking him with your hand and then you wrap your lips around his shaft. The taste of his pre-cum mixing with your saliva made you moan. His hand then went to grab a fistful of your hair to push you forward until his tip hits the back of your throat.

“Ah, fuck. That’s better.” Then he took the wheel from there, using your hair as leverage to guide you up and down at a moderate pace. He grunted as he threw his head back against the headrest. “Shit, that’s good. Keep going, baby.” A part of you was a tad elated when he praised you for something you had very little experience in. The ecstatic look on his face amplified the dampness in your panties, your body begging for more. He kept using your face to get himself off and you felt him convulsed in your mouth. He quickened his motion and then released deep inside your throat.  

A few seconds later, he pulled himself out after his cum painted your trachea. “Get up and bend on the table,” you did what he says and pressed your cheek on the wooden surface. “Who knew a 4.0 GPA student like you would be such a dirty slut? You might fool everyone but you can’t fool me, baby.”

He lifted the hem of your plaid skirt and smacked your buttocks with both of his hands, leaving a fiery red handprint on your buttcheeks. You yelped as it echoed on the walls. He pushed aside the crotch of your underwear, and he inserted two of his fingers inside soaked holes, scissoring you wide open for him. You moaned in pleasure as you gripped the edge of the table.

“Fucking slut. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me?” You didn’t answer as you continued to cry out. He smacked your left bum once more, “answer me!”

“Yes! Yes, sir.” You stammered between your ragged breathing.

“Is this why you can’t get your shit together? ‘Cause you keep fantasizing about my fingers buried deep in your needy cunt?”

“Yes sir…” your voice quaked.

“Extra points for honesty.” He retreated his fingers and replaced it with his cock. The unwarned intrusion sent a jolt through your body. You squealed in shock as you closed your eyes, trying to adjust yourself to his size. “Ah fuck, you’re so tight.” His hand went to your hair once more and grabbed a fistful of it as he began driving his hips forward. The friction in your G-spot sent electricity through your veins.

He didn’t waste any time by picking up the pace as he lifted your head and brought it closer to his, making you look up to him. “Does that feel good, baby? Is this how you imagined?” He kept thrusting brutally in between his foul words. “yes… Sir. You feel so good around me.” He pecked a brief kiss on your lips and kept pounding you like an animal.

A few more violent strikes and you clenched around him, pushing him to the edge along with you. “Cum baby, show me what a dirty whore you are.” You shut your eyes as you felt the tightening coil in your belly and then it burst, your orgasm dripping all over your thighs. Andy was so close to his climax and a few more deep-seated thrusts, he reached his own and he ejaculated deep inside your womb.

You tried to regain control over your breathing with Andy still engulfed in you. A few minutes later, you both came down from your highs as Andy pulled himself out of you. He put his pants back on and threw himself back on the chair. You stood up on your wobbly legs as you felt your panties squelch with both yours and Andy’s cum blended.

You straighten your rumpled skirt and shirt, as Andy did so with his tie. “You should go, don’t you have another class?”

“I do, but… Did I pass the test, sir?” you batted your lashes at him. The fear and agitation that were there ten minutes ago had dissolved.  

He chuckled at your coquettish remark. He stood up from his chair and closed the distance between you. “Yes sweetheart, you passed the test.”

You beamed as you bit your lip once more. “If you got another test for me, I wouldn’t mind…” you spoke timidly.

“You really are something, aren’t you?”

You shrugged, “I’ve got layers, sir.”

He looked at his watch and realized that he only had five minutes left for his next session. “You are dismissed… For now. I’ve got more lessons that I’d like to teach you, baby.” He winked at you and pecked your lips.

“I’ll be looking forward to our next class, sir.” You packed up your bags and exited to the hall. Looks like you just bent every rule of the university, but you had no doubt in mind that you would do it over and over and over again for your favourite professor.

[stellocchia]

Anyone remembers my Platonic Soulmates AU?

Well, I decided I wanted to write something in it for Wilbur as well because he's just perfect for angst... (also it's technically the second part of This One, but you don't need to read it for this one)

The Anchor

-

Wilbur had always been what his father liked to call “an artistic soul”. He learned how to play guitar and sing at a young age and he’d been very averse to violence ever since. His father was not one to voice his concern, but Wilbur knew that he had disappointed him when he called out his cruel practices in leading the Antarctic Empire. It was fine though because Wilbur didn’t need him.

He set out to adventure, a guitar on his back and a name proudly displayed on his wrist for everyone to see. He deserved to meet his soulmate and of that, he was certain like of nothing else.

Things don’t always go according to plan however and soon enough he found himself broke and raising the son of a fish he stared at longer than it was strictly appropriate. That was not ideal per se, but he knew he could manage somehow. He was the son of the Angel of Death, after all, giving up wasn’t in his blood.

The next couple of years had been hard, what with the low funds and Fundy growing faster than expected, which meant he needed new clothing more often and more food than other babies. Fundy also absolutely hated Wilbur’s cooking and he never held back from letting him know with shrill cries and incessant pouting. Wilbur wished someone would have told him how exhausting being a parent would be, no wonder Phil avoided it like the plague…

Something good did happen however when one day at a market he met a very young teen named Tommy. The boy successfully stole from him, but, upon seeing him break down when he realized he couldn’t afford a meal for him and his child, he came back with a mortified expression and an apology. Wilbur understood though. They were both leading a miserable life so, instead of calling the guards asthe teen expected, he invited him over for a meal.

It took Tommy one try of Wilbur’s culinary expertise before declaring him a lost cause and inviting himself over for supper as well so that he could make something decent. Wilbur didn’t comment on his inability to taste the food when asked how much better their dinner was, but Fundy was full of praise for the first time in his existence, the little shit…

It took a couple more encounters before Wilbur noticed the name on Tommy’s wrist and they were already brothers by then. It seemed perfect like it was meant to be. And, according to the Universe, it was.

Years passed and they got invited to a moderately new Server apparently owned by Dream, renowned all over the System for his hunting challenges.

The news was the best thing that happened to Wilbur in a while. The desire to prove himself had been buzzing under his skin since forever, almost turning into an unbearable scorching fire in recent times. And that was his opportunity to upheld his father’s legacy, he would not let it go to waste.

Tommy was the first to join, though Wilbur was very reluctant to let him go alone. He was still so young and reckless and so painfully kind. Wilbur’s heart ached knowing him alone where couldn’t be easily reached, but he had to deal with the legal procedures regarding the Server transferal, so he’d have to suck it up this time.

Still, his brother and son were there waiting for him when he joined. Tommy had made friends with another teen and, somehow, had a war with the Server’s Admin. Nothing less than what Wilbur expected.

It was fine though, they were finally getting their life in order.

The first thing Wilbur tried was to get a monopoly on potions, which lead to the impromptu formation of a police force, which then lead to the formation of a country and war.

Before he knew it he was one life down, holding his little brother while his second life bled out of him, choking on his tears while the jubilant screams of his enemies resounded behind him.

It had taken no time for him to lose so much, and Tommy coming back from a meeting with the Admin saying how he’d won them independence was not enough to bring back his sense of safety and control. He was lost. It dawned on him then that he had no idea of what he was doing, only moving forward because he had to. It gave him such a sense of dread that he’d often end up crying alone in his office, the comfort of his soulmate feeling too far with a door between them, yet not far enough to hide his shame.

In a desperate attempt of reigning his life back in he proposed an election. It should have been an easy way to consolidate his power and possibly to give him some peace of mind. He’d planned it perfectly, so of course, nothing could go wrong. Turns out he was mistaken.

His second death was from an arrow piercing his heart while he screamed for Tommy, who was already on his last life, to run for his life. In retrospect, he should have expected things to go wrong as that’s what usually happens.

From then his life just turned into a never-ending spiral. There was no one he could trust, no one who hadn’t betrayed him, aside from his soulmate. And, even then, where he once found comfort in it, Tommy’s presence now felt blinding. Like staring directly at the sun after days spent in a cave. Oh, Tommy was as tainted as him, he knew that much, but the boy was so stubborn in his pathetic desire for peace. He refused to understand how that wasn’t an option anymore. L’Manburg, the country they founded and fought for, was now nothing but a corrupted husk of its former self. It was far beyond saving, destruction being the only remaining option. But Tommy refused to understand and, after a while, Wilbur stopped trying to make him. He’d come around to it eventually…

And then came the grand day, his final act! The stage was set and everything was perfect down to the most minuscule of details. Even Philza showed up for the heartbreaking reunion of the century, where he could pretend he’d been a father to Wilbur while stabbing him through the heart. It was perfect and wonderful and he could finally have peace.

Only death was not what he imagined. It wasn’t nothingness and it wasn’t peaceful. Instead, he was trapped at a station, trains passing but never stopping, and lost souls of those who came before him roaming the platform, unresponsive shadows of their former selves.

And it was such a cruel trick, wasn’t it? Showing him what he was to become while letting him keep the mind of who he was. Of course, he did his best not to succumb to the numbness and fade in that state of non-existence, but he was about to give up when Schlatt fell into an eternal slumber. But then something happened, something wonderful, the veil of death retracted for just a moment and he saw his little brother finally succeeding in defeating Dream once and for all. They talked like they hadn’t in a long time and with the reunion came the constant dull pain of a broken bond interrupted too soon.

It was grounding in a way. There weren’t many sensations in Limbo and of course the one breaking him away from his crushing loneliness would be Tommy once more. His one constant. His one anchor to retain himself.

An even better event was when Tommy himself joined him in Limbo. Wilbur couldn’t be more ecstatic! He mostly ignored his brother’s newfound constant fidgeting and shakey breaths he would take from time to time. They weren’t important, what was important was that Wilbur wasn’t alone and his bond stopped hurting. They were together now and nothing could change that! Well… he thought so, until one day a hand appeared grabbing Tommy’s neck and dragging him away, towards the tracks. Wilbur screamed and tried to take a hold of Tommy’s hand, but it was too late and the boy disappeared with the passing of another train.

After that Wilbur almost faded. He almost gave in. Why holding so desperately onto his mind when he was condemned to an eternity of loneliness? His soulmate too far out of reach once more… this time perhaps forever.

But eventually, a train stopped at his station, with Dream as the conductor. Dream, his hero! Taking him away from that nightmare and gifting him life once more!

He’d been grateful at the time. Truly grateful. Even after receiving Ghostbur’s obviously incomplete memories and having seen some of what the Admin had done to Tommy he still was grateful. And then he noticed something on Tommy’s wrist, a scratched-out name that appeared to have once been carved into the skin, and suddenly the desire to rip Dream apart with his bare hands reappeared stronger than ever.

He’d have to wait of course. Gain allies first, strengthen his bond once more, and play his cards right. He’d have to get the Admin to let his guard down with him and then… well then he would find out what happened when you tried taking Wilbur’s lifeline away from him...

[qqueenofhades]

Your majesty, may I humbly inquire if/how you would imagine a reunion of Ivan and Fedyor after the events of season 1?

Also on AO3.

Ivan wakes up on the far side of the Shadow Fold with very little memory of how he arrived there. He lies flat on his back beneath the cold white sun, which drills into his head like a blade, and at last, after a great effort, he vaguely recalls sunlight of another sort, wild and fey, bursting from Alina Starkov’s hands on the deck of the skiff as everything else went to hell. He remembers the Zemeni brat getting a lucky jump on him and shoving him over the rail, and then falling. Swirling, hungry shadows, shrieking volcra, running with his arms flung over his head, knowing only that he wasn’t dying like this, that he had to survive. In that, at least, he has succeeded. His kefta is torn and filthy, his lips are cracked and bloody, his face is striped with an ugly wound that might scar, he reeks of monstrous ichor, and he may or may not have just witnessed the entire city of Novokribirsk being scoured clean off the map, but Ivan Kaminsky is alive.

After a while he sits up, retching and forcing down the reel of dizziness. He squats on his haunches and tries to focus enough to heal his own wounds. Healers and Heartrenders can learn each other’s craft, but Ivan got complacent with Fedyor always around to do it for him, safe in the luxurious privacy of their bedroom at the Little Palace after another hard campaign. As the general’s right-hand man, he is more often on the front lines, and it became an enjoyably erotic exercise for Fedyor to tenderly patch him up, even if the Second Army Healers had already seen to most of it. I do not mend things, Ivan thinks, looking at the rough results of his efforts. I break them.

With a groan, Ivan forces himself all the way to his feet, looks down at his hand, and discovers that his amplifier is still there, the bear claw that was a valued gift from General Kirigan. No, not Kirigan – there was something else about who Aleksander really is, something Ivan needs to remember, but he can’t. But the bear claw was how he took down all those diplomats at once, something that doesn’t bother him, exactly, but what he still needs to reckon with. So, in his usual tidy, methodical fashion, he does so. They were representatives of cruel, greedy, incompetent governments who all want the Grisha dead or exploited, and while they might have been unarmed civilians, how many unarmed Ravkan children have died cowering in the dark because of their soldiers? As for Novokribirsk –

Ivan closes his eyes hard. He knows that one is harder to explain away, but at the end, he still can see the cold, merciless logic of it. West Ravka was a nest of traitors, and General Zlatan wanted every single person on that skiff dead. There is a certain sordid sense, there always has been, in inflicting one strategically planned atrocity to ensure the compliance of the rest. He knows that Fedyor will be upset. He has a soft heart, and having grown up near Kribirsk, he will have heard stories of its Western Ravkan counterpart and the separated families who lived there, dreamed of visiting when the Fold was banished. That –

Fedyor. Ivan freezes.

He doesn’t know where Fedyor is.

He doesn’t know if Fedyor is alive.

Frantically, he searches out through the network of the world, the meshed echo of heartbeats and living creatures that has always been a Heartrender’s particular soundscape, the extra dimension of humanity that he learned to experience as a child long before he had a name for it. Of course he can’t find Fedyor if he isn’t relatively nearby, but Ivan has always believed that no distance, no matter how great, could truly separate them for long. He just needs to start in one direction and work it down. He can’t stop. In all likelihood, Kirigan is dead now. Someone needs to muster the Grisha and rally them against the Fjerdans, the Shu Han, the Kerch, everyone else who will be swooping in to take advantage of Ravka’s stunning weakness. No more Black General. No one to keep them all safe.

Cold panic twists into Ivan’s heart like a railroad nail. It’s not that he didn’t know that Aleksander has – had – that deep ruthless streak, but he understood it. He just wanted to keep safe what he loved, even if it has twisted and calcified into something else, something still darker. Ivan Kaminsky loves two things: Ravka and Fedyor. He doesn’t need anything else. And he too will burn the world down if it means keeping them safe. If that makes him the new Black General, though he would not presume, so be it. Someone needs to do the dirty work.

Ivan grits his teeth, and ventures into the unknown.

It takes a few weeks, searching painfully and slowly down the coast, pelted with wild rumors of Novokribirsk’s horrifying fate and what awaits them now, trying to shut his ears to all of it, until he finally makes it to Os Kervo, on the shores of the True Sea. There is a ship with the Grisha banner in port, and as he gets closer, Ivan knows with a searing jolt that this is it, Fedyor is here somewhere, he is here. He follows heartbeats, stumbling through the streets and pushing people aside, ignoring their dirty looks and their curses. Some of them halt when they catch sight of the black embroidery still faintly visible on his filthy kefta, but others don’t look twice. Until he staggers down to the dock, and –

There he is. It drives the scanty breath out of Ivan’s lungs at a blow. He could stand here forever, looking and looking. But eventually, in a whisper, he has to speak.

“Fedya?”

Fedyor whirls around and stares. He looks like a man who can’t believe his own eyes, who has not even allowed himself to think about the worst, has shut himself down to avoid the prospect. He looks older and colder and harder than Ivan’s sweet Fedya, the man he left behind not the same as the one that greets him now, but it is still him. He doesn’t bother with words. He closes the distance between them in three strides, throws his arms around Ivan’s neck, and kisses him savagely.

Ivan doesn’t give a shit that they’re in public, that everyone can see them, that he himself is weak in the knees and can feel tears running down his unshaven cheeks, the taste of the salt mingling in their kiss. They sway on the spot, unwilling to let go of each other in case they evaporate, until Fedyor finally whispers, “Below. Now.”

They stumble onto the ship and into one of the tiny berths, barely large enough for Ivan to stand upright, but he doesn’t care. Fedyor strips him out of the tattered remains of his kefta and sets to work, as Ivan closes his battered eyes and lets himself sink into the sheer, unbelievable joy of his lover’s familiar touch, the restored wholeness of their two halves. But of course, the illusion that nothing has changed cannot last forever. As he smooths his fingers over the deepest of the volcra gashes, Fedyor says, “Vanya, what happened?”

Ivan stares at the low ceiling of the bunk. He doesn’t know if he can put it into words, doesn’t know if he wants Fedyor to know everything, even as he doesn’t think he can justly keep it from him. He does his best to provide a terse, clinical summary of the events on the skiff, and reaches out to grab Fedyor’s hand before confirming the truth about Novokribirsk. “It’ll be all right,” he says urgently. “As long as there’s you and me.”

Fedyor stares at him. His dark eyes look huge and terrified. “You think that’s all right?”

“No. Not exactly, I just – ” Ivan has never been the best with words, and they are once more cruelly failing him. He puts his other hand on Fedyor’s cheek, turning his face back to him. “I need you to understand that we’re at war. War, Fedya, in a way we never have been before. All the others, they hated us, but Kirigan kept them at bay. Now there’s nothing. They’re all coming for us. Novokribirsk is only the start.”

“And whose fault is it,” Fedyor asks flatly, “that that happened? If Kirigan hadn’t gone mad with trying to expand the Fold, with Alina Starkov – things were stable before! Not good, maybe, but predictable! Constant! Now this – ”

“It was a stalemate before!” Ivan crawls out of the bunk and kneels in front of Fedyor, looking up at him imploringly. “They were trying to smoke us out, wait for us to make a mistake, so they could pounce on us and tear Ravka to pieces! Fedya – look at me, Fedya, darling, Fedya, my heart. Look at me. I will keep us safe. I will keep you safe.”

Fedyor looks at him mutely, tears running down his own cheeks, catching on the dimples that Ivan has always found so irresistible (even if he does an excellent job of pretending otherwise). Finally, with no other option, Fedyor nods slowly, his hands still knotted tightly with Ivan’s. He lets Ivan hold him, and Ivan does so ferociously, wrapping him in his arms and resting his head on Fedyor’s mussed hair and swearing in the dark that he will slaughter the Sun Summoner himself if need be, whatever needs to be done to keep Fedyor Kaminsky alive and whole and happy. Nothing else matters now. Not really.

After that, Fedyor lets Ivan tend to him, and opens up a little, and says that he found Nina Zenik in, of all places, a port city in the company of a Fjerdan drüskelle. She wanted to insist, improbably, that this witch hunter had changed for the better in the course of a few weeks, but Fedyor didn’t believe it. Ivan is comforted to hear him say this, that not all of Fedyor’s old certainties have totally dissolved, that he still trusts their enemies are their enemies. The drüskelle has been shipped off to Kerch, after Nina accused him of slaving in what Fedyor thinks was a calculated ploy to keep the big blond bastard out of the hands of the Grisha. “I don’t understand, Vanya,” he says, his head on Ivan’s bare chest as they lie together in the narrow bunk, naked except for the furs piled on top. “He hurt her, he captured her, he would have killed her as soon as he remembered. Why would she defend him?”

We all defend the things we love, even when they hurt us. Ivan doesn’t say this aloud. He doesn’t want to believe any more than Fedyor does that Nina improbably found the one good apple of an otherwise bad lot. It is easier to think of the Fjerdans as a faceless mass of ice-cold holy warriors, especially since they will be licking their chops at the downfall of the Black General, their archenemy and the king of the Grisha demons. “We do stupid things for the people we think we care about,” he says instead. “And Nina is young. Impressionable. She will learn the truth soon enough.”

Fedyor doesn’t answer, his fingers tracing light circles around Ivan’s collarbone. Finally, he shifts on top of him, his mouth finding Ivan’s with something close to desperation. After they pull back from the kiss, he says, “Promise me that we won’t lose each other again, Vanya. Whatever comes next. We have to do it together. Please?”

Ivan looks at the face of this man he loves so much and so well, who needs to hear this sweet lie no matter whether it is true. And with his own heart, closed and guarded as he generally keeps it, he wants to believe it too. He does. He does. He does.

If only it could make it so. If only he could be sure.

“Promise,” he whispers. “Promise.”