#and that she wants her daughter to yearn only for things that are possible?

[princesssarcastia]

fascinating trend in The Borgias where Vanozza, Lucrezia's mother, nearly always advises her in a way designed to ensure she's complacent, accepting of the lot she's been delivered in life.

Vanozza herself had, from what I can tell, an unparalleled level of freedom in her life. She chose her lover (Rodrigo), who gave her the resources to raise her children, in her own house, where she had the freedom to live as she wished!

But when her daughter ever shows signs of wanting the same, Vanozza cautions her to stop wanting it. Don't resent your father's insistence that you have to marry a powerful man and forge an alliance, Lucrezia. Don't struggle when your husband's king demands you and your husband have sex in front of him, Lucrezia. Don't brood over the fact that your brother has taken over your household and essentially holds you prisoner, Lucrezia; just accept it! Live happily in a cage.

An odd strain of advice from the woman who stormed the Vatican itself to publicly berate the pope when he wronged her.

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

.

.

.

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

[flkwh0re]

Moms Friend

warnings: age gap (reader is 19 and Nat is 39), mommy kink (N), blow job, eating out, fingering, p in v, dirty talk, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cockwarming, a little bit of jealous Nat. That's all!!

Summary: You come home for a bit, and your moms best friend finally makes her move in you.

A/n: This is my first fic i’m posting here!! I apologize if it’s not great!

You had just pulled into the driveway of your childhood home. A few weeks ago you had planned to surprise your mom and come home. Grabbing your bags from the trunk, you walk to the door knocking. You hear your mother shout something incoherent.

"Oh Детка you're home!" Pulling you into a big hug, you catch a glance of your young brothers inside. They see you too running to the door. "Y/n you're home!!" You smile as Billy and Tommy pull you into a big hug.

Vision, your father, steps out into the hall. His smile fades as he sees you. Your relationship with your father is not the greatest, but with your mother it's amazing. Wanda had treated you better than any other mom you could've asked for, her best friend Natasha as well.

It then dawned on you that you haven't seen Natasha in while, so you figured maybe invite her over or ask her if she'd like to plan something. You pulled out your phone, searching for her contact.

After texting her, it was only a matter of time before she answered. You both decided you'd come to her place for lunch while you're mother and father were at work and your brothers at school.

"Y/n honey, tell me how school has been." Wanda asked with a smile. "Just like always, I'm top of most of my classes." You look at her, a proud smile plastered on her face. "Well isn't that just amazing, Vision." She ask him. He returns nothing but a nod, causing a small frown to creep onto your face.

"Oh, mom I'll be having lunch over at Natasha's tomorrow!" You say excitedly. "That's great! She's been asking so much about you, and I just don't know the answer to everything. My girl is a busy girl." She smiled.

Your evening consisted of catching up with your mom, listening to your brothers and all the things you've missed, and your father ignoring that you were even there. You honestly don't know why your mom is still with him, but you know it's probably for the best.

-

The next day arrives soon, and you're on your way to Natasha's house. Your nerves creep. You love Natasha, but there's always been this feeling towards her. A yearning for her. You know you can't act on it, because it's nothing but a silly childhood crush thought something tells you it's more.

You pull into her driveway, the front of her house being decorated with cute fall decor.

Stepping out of your car, the cold air hits your face only making your shivering nervous body worse.

You knock on her door, waiting a few seconds to hear for footsteps. Then you hear them, and Natasha telling you to give her a second. "Y/n!! Gosh I've missed you." She pulls you into a hug, kissing your forehead softly.

She pulls you inside, and quickly helps you remove your coat. Her eagerness to see you makes you smile wide, and laugh. Oh how you've missed her. Nothing or anyone, even your own mother, compares to how Natasha makes you feel.

You catch up with her on everything, while eating the food she prepared. You were interrupted by your friend Kate blowing up your phone with text then a call. "Hold on Nat, let me get this."

"Y/n I am going to hurt you!" She shouts into the phone, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were in town!!" You giggle at her, "Hey don't you fucking laugh at me!" Only causing your laughter to worsen.

Natasha on the other hand was not laughing, more jealous that her time was ruined with you. She hated that she got this way, but she couldn't help it. She tried to stop, you're her best friends daughter. You're also 20 years younger than her. Her thoughts were interrupted by your words.

"Sorry Natty, that was Kate. She wants me to come over as soon as possible." Her face like stone as she replies with, "So you're leaving?" Your nerves taking over again, leaving you silent. You don't wanna leave Natasha, you'd stay there forever with her. "Well not now, but probably soon. I'll make it up though, we can have dinner sometime."

-

Soon, the two weeks of being home quickly passed. You still hadn't made it up to Natasha, so you decided you'd show up to her house.

She opens the door, shocked to your arrival. "Y/n what are you here for?" She asked confused. "Well I never made up time lost with you, so I brought a desert and figured I'd spend some time with you and watch a movie or something." She felt a smile creep onto her face.

You settled down quickly on her couch, her following behind. You had both decided on watching (insert wtv movie).

Time had passed fast, she knew if she didn't act then she'd probably loose her chance. "Y/n come here, sit in my lap." You quickly scurry onto her lap, only to be stopped in your tracks when you notice her hard-on. "You feel that baby? It's all for you." She attaches her lips to your neck, kissing softly.

"Nat, what are you doing? We can't do this." You say nervously. "Says who? You're an adult sweetheart."

Within minutes she has you on your knees, pulling down her boxers. Her dick springs out, your face pulling a shocked look at her size. She brings her hand to your face, guiding your mouth into her length. You bob your head up and down on her. Gagging noises and her moans fill the air.

You bring her to her orgasm, swallowing everything she gave you. "Such a good girl for mommy. Now get up on the couch." You follow her orders and she helps you remove your clothes. Her lips attach to your nipple, while her hand gropes at your other breast.

"How's that baby? Is mommy making you feel good?"She asked in a sultry tone. "So good." She smiles at your weaker state, as she kisses down your stomach. Her mouth reaching your core, and her noise brushes your clit causing your hips to jolt. She attached her mouth to your pussy, sucking and licking.

As she works her tongue, she adds her fingers to the mix stretching you out. Your orgasm crashing in, in full speed.

She stands up, then aligns her tip with your entrance pushing in slowly. Once you've adjusted to her size, she shows no mercy on your pussy. "That feel good baby? Mommy's gonna fill you up. My little bitch to breed." You can't even form a sentence in your fucked out state.

"Aww poor thing is too dumb, can't even form a sentence. Tell mommy you want her to fill you up with her babies." You tried to spit the words out, but it just came out as an incoherent mess and moans. "Cmon baby tell me or else I won't." You still didn't speak, not until she pulled out of you. You gasp and quickly spoke out. "Please mommy fill me up!"

She smirked, then thrusted herself back into you. In only a matter of seconds you could feel her cuming inside you. She continued her thrust, your orgasm quickly washing over.

She placed a soft kiss on your head, then pulled herself out of you. Laying down behind you, she slid her cock back into you. "No mommy! I can't-" she quickly shut down your please. "Don't worry baby, I have you. Mommy just wants to be in you." She kisses your shoulder as you drift off to sleep.

[lyssaluvs]

Just Play the Part

(Luke Castellan x Fem!Dionysus!Reader)

Summary: A makeover from Silena and the Aphrodite girls gives you the confidence boost you need.

A/N: this took me so bloody long it's borderline embarrassing. also luke is so out of character it almost makes me sick but whatever. god this is so short, i'm so sorry.

Warnings: Use of Y/n, reader is described to have curly hair but that's about it.

Children of Dionysus are rare, daughters even more so. As a matter of fact, you were the only one. To your knowledge… Before you came to Camp Half-Blood, you were an only child, and when you arrived, you suddenly had a much larger family that you did before. A father, brothers, it was fantastic, it felt amazing to have the family you had always dreamed of. However, with a somewhat absent mother, apparently no sisters, and not a whole lot of friends, let alone female ones, you had had little to no feminine influence in your life. This resulted in you becoming a bit of a tom-boy. It’s not that you didn’t want to embrace your femininity, you just didn’t know how.

“Oh goodness, those curls are a mess.”

“That outfit certainly isn’t doing her any favours.”

You heard the whispers as you walked past the small group of Aphrodite girls. As a child of Dionysus, you had quite a talent for theatrics, as well as being prone to sarcastic remarks, so you just couldn’t help but snap back.

“Can I help you?” You asked the group of girls, hands on your hips with your brows furrowed.

“Actually, we were wondering if we could help you…”

---

You now found yourself sat in a surprisingly comfortable barber-style chair in the bathroom of the Aphrodite cabin.

“Sorry I got defensive; I’m not really used to talking to girls much.” You apologise to Silena once again. 

“Stop apologising! We love having a new girl to give makeovers to. And who knows, maybe this will give you the confidence boost you need to finally talk to Luke, since he’s obviously too shy to talk to you first.”

You cast your gaze downward as a warmth spread across your cheeks.

“Don’t worry, you’re not that obvious. I just have a knack for these kinds of things, comes with being an Aphrodite kid. Luke, however, is about as subtle a sledgehammer. Please don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” She paused combing your hair to look you in the eye.

You just shrugged.

“The lingering touches when he corrects your stances, yearning stares…” She awaited your reaction and when she was met with a befuddled expression, she continued.

“Oh my god, you’re oblivious. Here’s what you’re going to do. Once we’re done here, you’re going to walk right up to him, and ask him out. There’s no way he’ll say no, so don’t try that excuse. And I’ve seen you on stage, you can certainly play an outgoing character, so if you’re going to use the shy excuse, I’ll tell you to just pretend you’re on stage.”

---

It had been almost two hours and your makeover was finally over. Your curls were healthier than ever, your nails were painted, light makeup had been applied, and you had never felt more beautiful. You looked at your outfit in the mirror, taking note of the way the new flare jeans were much more flattering than your previous daggy cargos, and your camp tee now a size smaller and no longer drowning you.

“You’re lucky orange suits you, now go get your man!” Silena pushed you out the door, giving your butt a playful smack on the way out.

---

Feeling more confident than ever you approached Luke while he was practicing his swordsmanship in front of the setting sun, alone, as he usually was at this time of day.

“Luke”

The brunette boy turned around so swiftly he almost lost his footing. He looked you up and down and swallowed heavily.

“Y/n, you look ama- “

“Do you want to go out with me?” The words shot out of your mouth before you could stop them. Regardless of Silena’s reassurance, if he did end up rejecting you, you wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

His jaw dropped and he looked as though he wanted to say something, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate.  The two of you stood in silence for a few moments as you waited for an answer.

“It’s fine if you don’t. I’ll just go.” You began to turn around.

“YES! Sorry, yes, I want to go out with you. Please. I really want to go out with you.”

It seemed his voice had finally caught up with his mind.

Hmm… He’s cute when he rambles…

@elz-zalarrr this one's for you!

credit to @cafekitsune for the divider!

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Gaze of the Moon (HOTD One-Shot)

Rhaenyra Targaryen x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: You and your wife, the Princess Rhaenyra steal a moment of peace together as you prepare for the coming birth of your child.

Fic type: fluff, romance, reflection

A/N: I had intended for this to be fem!reader x Rhaenyra but it wound up GN. This is also for @hotd-bigbang's March 11th prompt.

HOTD: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Did you know of that tale?" You asked softly, brushing your wife's hair back behind her ear as she lay against you in the moonlight. "About the second moon who cracked open from the heat of the sun and let the dragons out?"

Your wife let out a deep breath, the back of her skull pressing into your shoulder as she leaned back against you to peer out at the sky- up at the full moon above. She was gorgeous tonight. Radiant, round- both wife and moon.

The silver rays caught in Rhaenyra's loose hair, free tonight from tight braids and silk ribbons. The way you knew she preferred it. She'd been a wild child who'd grown into a proper lady, though you knew she yearned for the freedom of manhood. If she were a man, things would be easier. You both knew this but didn't care to dwell on it. There was no changing what was.

Rhaenyra hummed, eyes catching in the moon's gaze.

"I'm sure I remember my father telling me such a story once," she affirmed softly, lip twitching ever-so-slightly into the ghost of a smile. Your wife spent so much time stone-faced under the watchful eyes of the court vultures that even in the privacy of your own quarters she sometimes had trouble letting the cracks through. You treasured each of them like jewels as they deserved to be. "I used to stay up late into the eve and watch the moon- waiting for her to split and for the night to grow dark save for the fire of dragon's breath,' she admitted, eyes drawing closed as she thought on the memories.

"Perhaps one day, my dear wife," you said, pressing a kiss to her head before allowing your own to lean back against the cold, stone wall behind you. "Tell me, what is High Valyrian for 'moon'?"

You'd been learning her family's language for some time now, and you were certainly getting there. It was just that you preferred to hear the words from Rhaenyra's tongue. And truly, who could blame you when her voice had such royal lilt? Her voice was a balm for the mind. Or your mind, at the very least. You could listen to her speak for an age and then some.

"Hūra," Rhaenyra replied, a soft knowing smirk on her lips. You repeated it back to her, testing the syllables on your tongue. You liked the way it sounded, the way it felt. You reached a hand around her to brush over her swollen belly, round with child.

"If we have a daughter," you said thoughtfully, "Hūra is a nice name, do you not think?" Your fingers danced over her belly, and you both let out a laugh when you felt the babe kick from within her. Rhaenyra's hand joined yours, squeezing comfortingly. You hastily added, "It is not a traditional name, but I like it."

"Princess Hūra Targaryen," Rhaenrya breathed, opening her eyes to peer at her belly. "It does have a ring to it," she agreed, "and if the little one's restlessness is anything to speak of, the babe likes it, too."

You both lapsed into silence for a while, enjoying the light of the moon, the glint of the stars and the sounds of the night. It was quiet at this hour. Your favourite hour. What else could you possibly want for than this? A loving wife in your arms, a babe on the way, a flask of wine to share and the gaze of the moon on you?

"I suppose it is only fair you get to name one of our children," she said after a while. You'd almost thought her asleep in your arms with how quiet she'd been. "Why not the first. Get it out of the way, hmm?" She teased. "What if the babe is a boy?"

You chuckled softly, flicking at her arm in reply to her jape.

"Thank you, wife. Your generosity knows no bounds. I do not think the bairn is a boy, but if he is, I am quite fond of Vēzos. Best keep with the theme."

"One has to wonder where this sudden passion for celestial names has come from, my love," Rhaenyra mused. "Perhaps we will have twins. The Maester did say it was a possibility. Hūna and Vēzos. Moon and Sun-" Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably as the babe wriggled under her skin. "I like it."

"Strong names," you added, brushing your fingers through her hair softly, aiming to detangle the few knots that caught in your fingers. "Compassionate names. Perfect for bairns destined for greatness."

You suddenly found yourself hoping for twins. A boy and a girl. Siblings to grow up together and protect each other from the horrors that lay dormant in the realm. You could picture them, age three or perhaps four, playing hide and seek in the gardens. Ages ten and four by their mothers' side on the throne. Ages nine and ten crowned joint heirs to the throne. Ages four and thirty sitting side by side on the throne. Ruling, together. Sun and Moon, over their kingdom. Their birth-right. Protecting each other and keeping each other in check. What was best for the kingdom.

The thought filled you with pride. Oh, yes, you hoped for twins. It wouldn't be long now until Rhaenyra was due. Within a month, most likely. It was part of the reason you both were staying up late at night and enjoying the peace. Once Rhaenyra commenced and completed her labours, there wouldn't be much room for peace and quiet.

And yet, you couldn't wait. You didn't like the thought of your lady-wife in pain, but the thought of your quiet chambers filled with the sounds of a babe or two growing big and strong was perhaps motivating enough for you to bear the thought of her pain. You'd be by her side no matter what, of course. Fuck the Maesters and midwives. This was your wife, your babe. You would be there to support her until she asked you to leave.

"We should retire to bed," Rhaenyra broke your thoughts as she began shifting to stand. "We both need our rest for the day to come. I believe we are making arrangements for catering after the birth."

Ah, yes. The feast the King was insisting upon for the birth of his Grand-Sire. As the birth grew closer, more plans needed to be set. Catering, colours, floral arrangements, gifts for the babe. So many things that Rhaenyra and yourself were set to arrange. You may have enjoyed setting the festivities up, but Rhaenyra would be more than happy to sit out if she could.

You hadn't told Rhaenyra yet, but you'd made arrangements with the cooks to send for the ingredients to make Rhaenyra's favourite sweets. Ones she had not had since she were near a babe herself. The rest of the food, however, you both needed to settle on. A job for tomorrow, quite clearly.

You supported her as she stood, following behind. You stretched out the muscles in your arms and legs, creaking with complaint. You could only imagine how Rhaenyra felt. You left the balcony door open to the bedchambers as you helped your wife shift out of her gown.

Once she was settled into the sheets, Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief. The bed took the weight off her body and allowed her to settle in. You followed, pressing up against her back to keep her warm against the slight chill of the night.

Rhaenyra took your hand and rested it against her belly. You felt any of your remaining troubles melt away for the moment and pressed a kiss to the back of Rhaenyra's neck.

"Good night, my love," you whispered softly, rubbing your thumb over the silky material of her nightdress. "Sleep well, little one."

You drifted off to the sound of Rhaenyra's soft breathing and the quiet chatter of insects out in the gardens below your balcony, dreaming of the bairns to come, and a life well lived.

[egcdeath]

spectator sport

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: you and joel are the most competitive parents in your daughters’ soccer league. as it turns out, it’s not so easy being enemies when your daughters become best friends.

word count: 4.8k

warnings: canon divergent (no apocalypse yay!), rivals(?) to lovers, they don’t really like each other at the start but they also kinda do?, fluff, realizing feelings, domestic moments, yearning, allusions to a divorce 

author’s note: tlou is an angsty masterpiece, but sometimes all i want is a little lighthearted fun. is this the most in character thing?? no! is it more fun to imagine malewife joel in a world without cordyceps? well… you tell me ;) 

part two / series masterlist

“You got it, Chlo,” you cheered from behind a spray painted white line on a cleat-beaten grassy field. You balled your fists as you anxiously watched your daughter chase after the ball with a ferocity, herding it closer and closer towards the goal.

Your daughter had always had a passion for soccer, having watched professional matches with her father since the moment she could comprehend the game, and playing as soon as she could walk. Chloe had leaned even further into the sport following you and your ex-husband’s somewhat messy divorce, which left you in charge of bringing her to practices on Tuesdays, and games on Thursdays. It wasn’t like you minded much, you were always happy to support your daughter in whatever brought her joy. 

“Pass it! Pass it!” a loud, masculine voice interjected as the man next to you shouted at your daughter. 

Joel was not exactly your favorite parent on the team. While most of the parents enjoyed his presence, with his oddly wise advice for the girls and vocal support of the team (it also helped that he was quite easy on the eyes), something about the man had always thrown you off. Maybe it was his stubborn demeanor, or the way that he found a way to argue with you during every single game, without fail. 

Now, as far as soccer parents went, you weren’t the worst. You had your moments of snapping at a shitty referee after a particularly rough week at work, or possibly being a little too enthusiastic when something bad happened to the opposing team, but somehow Joel always managed to do or say something that provoked you just enough to go back and forth with him.

Chloe glanced over in his direction, briefly losing her footing in perfect time for a member of the opposing team to snatch the ball right out from under her. 

There was a collective groan from some of the more intense parents on your side, and you openly glared at them for indicating their disappointment with your daughter’s performance. But this wasn’t their fault. It was Joel’s.

“Great call out there,” you spat, shooting daggers in Joel’s direction as you took a few steps closer to where he was standing.

“Oh please,” you could practically hear the roll of his eyes in his words as he prepared to defend himself from your vitriol. “You think I wanted that to happen? I’m rooting for the whole team, not just my child.”

“I am not just rooting for my kid,” you delivered the statement a little too genuinely considering that the truth was probably closer to the opposite. “But you’re acting like you wouldn’t have felt the same way if it was your daughter.”

“I wouldn’t, ‘cause I understand that we’re probably gonna win,” Joel responded casually with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Well, we would’ve had a much better shot at that if you weren’t so dead set on yelling shitty directions at the girls. Maybe leave that to their coach?”

“Hey, don’t curse! You’re forgetting there are kids around,” one of the fathers interjected, sounding far more offended than he needed to be. 

“Shut up, Mark,” you and Joel said at almost the same time, voices overlapping. Your little spats were yours and yours only, and you’d thought it was common knowledge by now not to interfere when any of the parents were getting into it—but especially with you two. 

As usual, your little back and forth seemed to go on and on. It had reached the point where you weren’t even really sure it had anything to do with the game as much as it had to do with the text you’d received from your ex just a few hours before the game, and whatever bullshit Joel had going on in his own life.

As much as you’d like to say you had self awareness, week after week the other parents shared knowing looks and snickered at your spectacle, yet being the laughing stock of the game didn’t deter either of you. 

This week’s argument was no different. 

To be quite honest, you hadn’t ever really paid attention to those who treated your spats as their mid-game entertainment. Right now, all you could think about was stupid Joel, shouting something stupid at your daughter, making her lose her focus, and miss out on a moment. 

Well, maybe you two had too much tunnel vision, as an uproar of cheers from your side pulled both of your attention from each other, and to the celebrating team on the field. Particularly, Chloe and Sarah high-fiving as they jogged away from the goal. 

Awkwardly the two of you clapped, cheering the names of your respective children. You didn’t miss the slight flush of red on Joel’s cheeks after missing the sight of his daughter working with yours to score, but you would be a liar if you didn’t admit that you felt the slightest hint of embarrassment too.

The game wrapped up soon after, with a quick discussion with the coach before the children were dismissed back to their families. As you waited for Chloe, you didn’t miss the newfound camaraderie between herself and Sarah, with the girls seemingly laughing at something as they made their way over to you. 

Despite whatever negative feelings you may have had towards Joel, you were always happy to see your daughter happy, and if that meant you may have to tolerate the father of her friend, maybe, just maybe, you would stop treating her games as an arena for your shouting matches.

——

As an involved parent, you were no stranger to school fundraisers. For the most part, you would enter a raffle and sit through a catered dinner as the school choir butchered school-appropriate songs, or purchase a handful of chocolate bars from whatever kid was knocking at your door. However, for this fundraiser, Chloe insisted that you volunteer. 

It was a simple bake sale occurring during school hours, and you had the day off. How bad could it really be?

Apparently, really bad. 

Just minutes after you arrived and began to set out the cash box and assorted baked goods, an unwelcome presence joined you, immediately bringing an uncomfortable tension into the atmosphere. If you knew when you signed up for this event that you would be working with Joel Miller, you could guarantee you wouldn’t have been so eager to register.

“Oh, hey,” you tensely acknowledged after a moment, glancing up at the man who was joining you, then back down at the bagged brownies in front of you.

“Hey,” he responded just a second too quickly, then went silent as he seemed to feel out the awkward tension in the room. After a few seconds of heavy silence that felt closer to an hour, he finally added, “Any ways can I help out?” 

Joel gestured to the table where you’d been organizing some of the baked goods. “Is there a method to your madness? Or just…” he trailed off awkwardly. 

It was obvious that he hadn’t expected to be working with you, likely not enthused to be spending a good portion of the day in such close proximity with someone he clearly did not like being around. The situation was almost comical—spending hours in a school with someone that you weren’t sure you could spend five minutes with without breaking into explicit argument. Obviously it would be inappropriate to argue with him in this setting, so you reasoned that for the duration of your shift, you could at least attempt to be cordial.

“Uh, they just want us to keep twenty items out at a time,” you shrugged. You could be cordial. You could just give Joel instructions, then only interact with him when need be. “And to keep gluten free items in this basket. Other than that, everything is set up. The first lunch period’s in about a half hour, so we won’t have much to do until then.”

“Got it,” Joel nodded, pulling out a rather squeaky chair before taking a seat next to you. 

The following few minutes could only be described as painfully awkward. You could cut the tension with a knife as you attempted to scroll nonchalantly on your phone, and Joel uncomfortably rubbed his hands on his jeans. This was going to be a long afternoon.

“So, what made you decide to help out today?” he asked out of the blue, drawing your attention away from your phone and over to his face.

Okay, you could handle small talk without getting into an argument. Besides, it’s not like you had anything to argue about. And to be frank, were your arguments really ever anything of substance? Sure, sometimes you both had done something slightly annoying or antagonistic, but your arguments never really felt that serious. 

“Chloe knew I had the day off and pretty enthusiastically suggested I come help,” you shrugged as almost a means to shake some of your nerves out. “How about you?”

“Pretty similar on my end. Sarah thought it would be a great idea for me to come in today and help out.” Joel looked at you, then back down at his watch, as if he didn’t want to maintain eye contact for too long. 

What a strange coincidence. Both of your daughters suggest you come to their school and work together on something.

You bit back whatever emotion it was involuntarily forming on your lips as it occurred to you that there was not a chance in Hell that this was accidental. Sarah and Chloe seemed to be quite close—you rarely heard a story that didn’t involve Sarah these days—and it was not unlike your daughter to plot schemes to try to fix relationships, a trait you and your ex-husband know a little too well. Clever, clever girls.

“What are the odds this was on purpose?” you asked, finally not restraining your entertainment by this whole situation. How ridiculous. And ironic. How ridiculously ironic. 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say quite high,” Joel pressed his lips together and shook his head to himself. 

And while you’d rather have your child just communicate to you that you’re embarrassing her at games, or that she would prefer you to be at the very least amicable with her new best friend’s father, at the end of the day you couldn’t really blame her for pulling off an elaborate plot. Besides, your feud with Joel was silly and unnecessary, and part of you had always wondered if you hadn’t spent so much time arguing with him, if you two would actually get along. 

“If they did plan this, which they most certainly did, we have some smart kids,” you chuckled softly. “And maybe for the sake of them, we can attempt to be… friendly?”

Joel nodded slowly, “I can do friendly.”

A truce. Although the tension between you could still be cut with a knife, it felt nice to agree at the very least not to start a war at the little table. 

”Can we really blame them for setting us up?” you pondered aloud, “I mean, who would want their best friend’s parents to be enemies?”

“We’re enemies?” Joel asked with a lift of his brow.

“Well,” you paused. You weren’t really enemies. Despite all of the heated arguments, more times than not, Joel provided you a pretty safe outlet to vent your feelings without many repercussions. “Maybe… rivals?”

Joel shrugged, “Maybe. I know for certain I don’t see you as an enemy. Although, I apologize if I ever made you feel that way.”

Was Joel… apologizing? First, working together with the man, and now an apology. Maybe you should’ve gone and visited your psychic after all, with the unpredictable way your week was turning out. 

“I’m sorry,” he admitted, sounding quite genuine. You still weren’t completely sure that this was some weird joke, or that you’d woken up in a parallel dimension. “For always stirring the pot during games. It’s really quite-“

“Joel, it’s really not an issue,” earnestly and without a thought you interrupted the apologetic man, not wanting him to feel the guilt of being solely responsible for your little tussles. “I don’t take anything you say during games seriously. But I also want to apologize. It’s probably not the best to find little things to argue about every week.”

“I just wanted to be clear that I don’t hate you or anything,” he emphasized.

“Well I don’t want you to think I hate you either. If we’re being honest, it’s been pretty nice to be able to inconsequentially blow off steam every now and then. If anything, you’re doing me a favor.”

The corners of his lips turned up and into the slightest smile at your admission, and suddenly it had felt as if a weight had lifted off of your shoulders, and a bit more of the tension had dissolved in the room. 

“No hard feelings?” he offered. 

“None. Maybe the opposite,” you teased.

“Well, you know what they say about love and hate…”

“Now that may be a step too far.”

As it turned out, you and Joel made a pretty efficient bake sale team. Joel helped the kids pick out their baked goods, and you cashed the kids out. Sure, it wasn’t the most complex operation, but it felt nice to be in such a comfortable rhythm, especially considering the majority of your professional work you did alone. 

By the end of your shift, you were far less displeased with your situation. In fact, one might even say that you enjoyed spending your afternoon at the sale with your daughter’s best friend’s father. Maybe Chloe and Sarah’s plot to force you together wasn’t so terrible after all. 

Maybe Joel wasn’t so terrible after all.

——-

Every year, Autumn means one thing in your town: the annual fall festival.

It was honestly impressive the way that the entire community would go all out to put on such a large event in order to adequately honor the season, although part of you was convinced that the whole weekend-long event was an excuse for kids and adults alike to indulge in candy apples and Oreo turkeys and show off unnaturally large pumpkins. 

This year was no different, and as tradition, you and Chloe hauled yourselves down to the festival. It just happened to be your luck that as you were exiting the car, a pickup truck pulling into a parking space caught Chloe’s attention. 

“It’s Sarah!” your daughter informed you, practically skipping over to the vehicle. You followed after your daughter (who just so happened to be much faster than you) as she pulled her friend into a hug the very moment she popped out of the car. 

Joel hopped out as well, glancing at your children who already seemed to be walking off towards the fair, then back to you.

“How are you?” he asked, fidgeting with his keys as he put them into his pocket. It was clear that despite deciding not to feud anymore, things were still a little fresh and weird between you two. 

“Good, good,” you trailed off, nodding slowly as you slipped your hands into your own pockets and began to follow the two girls. Somehow, Joel ended up walking next to you as you trailed behind your daughters, and a light tension filled the air. 

Despite feeling slightly more comfortable with him after your shift together at the bake sale, it was clear that there was still some strange awkward energy between you two. After all, you had only made amends around a week ago, and prior to that, the majority of your interactions had included some sort of verbal altercation.

Walking into the fair, you maintained a less-than-comfortable silence as your daughters chatted and led the way to the field, filled with booths and stations as far as your eye could see. 

After a bit of aimless walking around, Chloe suggested a stop at a cornhole station. Watching your respective children play from the sidelines, you couldn’t help but crack a smile at the pure, unadulterated joy coming from your daughter as her and Sarah bantered with each other and tossed little bean bags. After ending with a tie, the pair began to walk away from where they were standing before pausing in front of you and Joel.

“You guys should play!” Sarah suggested enthusiastically, looking up at her father with an animated look in her eyes. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Joel trailed off and glanced at you as if he wanted to check how you were feeling on the matter. 

Sure, you didn’t have the upper body strength of someone who did construction for a living, but you were confident in your ability to kick some ass at corn hole. 

“C’mon, mom. And you too, Joel. It’s fun! It’ll be fun!” Chloe, ever the instigator, egged you on. 

“Alright, alright, since you insist,” you played up your reluctance, but happily accepted the red beanbags your daughter offered you. “It’s on, Miller,” you said as you approached the boards. 

“Just you wait,” he shot back, matching the overconfident, cocky persona you’d seemed to put on. “Before I embarrass you, I’ll be polite and let you go first.”

“How kind,” you playfully rolled your eyes, but focused long enough to toss the pack not too hard and not too light, and it slid on the board before landing in the hole. “What was that about embarrassing myself?”

Heckling Joel was unsurprisingly quite easy, considering the majority of your interactions prior to the past week had consisted of taking blows at each other. What you didn’t expect was how naturally the banter between you flowed when both of you were able to acknowledge that what you were saying really wasn’t serious at all.

“I think that was called luck. You still have plenty of time to embarrass yourself,” Joel didn’t even miss a beat as he tossed his bean bag with ease, landing right into the hole.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed by his aim, and that your confidence hadn’t slightly faltered. For once in your life, it was possible that a man wasn’t over exaggerating his capabilities.

“Not bad, Joel,” you brushed his accomplishment off as you went to toss your next bag. This time, you weren’t so lucky, and your turn ended with your beanbag on the side of the board.

Chloe and Sarah dramatically reacted from the side, cheering or whooping whenever they saw fit. In a weird way, it was like your roles had been reversed. You and Joel were no longer the overenthusiastic spectators.

“What did I say? Luck,” Joel tutted. “Look, girls. I’ll show you how a real expert does it.”

Turning his back to you and the board, Joel attempted to toss his bag through the board, yet as he turned back around, he found it in the grass between your two boards. 

You, Sarah, and Chloe erupted into laughter at the irony of it all, so much so that Joel couldn’t even help but to join in. 

“Great job, ‘real expert’. Can you teach me your ways?”

You were somewhat stunned with the speed at which the ice had broken between you and Joel. Just a few minutes ago walking into the fair, you were nervous that the evening would be tense and awkward, yet here you were, teasing and laughing right along with each other.

Once your laughter subsided, you both tossed your last bags, with you making it in and Joel missing. After a gratuitous moment of celebration, Joel walked over to you and extended his hand for a handshake. You took up his offer, and firmly shook his hand. 

“Good job out there. You were a worthy opponent.”

“Thank you, Joel. I could say the same, but I won’t. Y’know, since you lost.”

This received a giggle from your kids as Joel abruptly dropped your hand, feigning offense. Maybe it had just been a long time since you’d received any physical affection at all, but the loss of his brief grip stirred something strange deep inside of you. 

Ew. No. 

You could barely tolerate this man a week ago. Sure, he wasn’t terrible to look at, and your daughter had seemed to take a liking to him, but you’d be remiss if you hadn’t thought about all of those charged arguments you’d had during soccer games. You had only just recently considered him to be anything more than a nuisance. 

“Where to next?” Joel asked, pulling you out of your head as the girls began to chatter and move in the direction of whatever booth had caught their eyes. 

That was a train of thought for another time. Maybe you’d let yourself think about it tonight night, as you attempt to fall asleep in a bed that’s far too big for one person and far too cold without someone else there. But not here, where the situation felt like a live wire, and a little too real for your liking. 

——

For the most part, Chloe’s soccer hobby took up more time than it gave you. The time it took going to practices, games, and tournaments quickly added up, on top of working an absurd amount to make sure that you could pay the mortgage and club fees on time and keep your child happy. The one exception to this general rule were team dinner nights—a night where you didn’t have to worry about spending an hour or two in the kitchen, giving you far more free time to do whatever you wanted.

This time around, Joel was hosting the dinner at his place. Clearly, Chloe was excited to be spending the evening at her closest friend’s home, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t the slightest bit curious to see what his place looked like.

And maybe, just maybe, you were the slightest bit excited to see Joel again. 

“Can we just go over early?” she requested as you checked the nearly done cookies in the oven. “Can I go over early to hang out with Sarah? Please?”

You practically could hear the puppy dog eyes in her voice, and when you looked over to her, she was indeed looking at you with a somewhat convincing sense of desperation. It was never easy for you to say no to your daughter, which she unfortunately knew. This time was no different. 

Sighing softly, you conceded, “have Sarah ask her dad if you can come by.”

Chloe cheered as she dashed off to the other room, seemingly reaching out to her friend who very quickly responded, as your daughter was back in just a few minutes with confirmation that she could come by any time. 

Quickly pulling the cookies out from the oven and throwing them into a container, you packed Chloe into the car, and hauled her over to her friend’s house. 

Chloe grabbed your Tupperware and skipped to the door, politely knocking and waiting patiently as you stayed seated in your car, just to make sure your daughter got in okay. As if she was awaiting Chloe’s arrival (and she most definitely was), Sarah pulled open the door the moment Chloe had put her knuckles to the door and welcomed her friend in. 

A somewhat muffled voice from inside called something out, leaving Sarah to relay it back to you: “Before you go, my dad wanted to know if you wanted to stop in for a drink?” she called out, just loud enough for you to hear from your open window.

Any other day, you would’ve said no. But for some reason, coming in and checking in just felt right today—so that was exactly what you did. It wasn’t like you and Joel weren’t in friendship territory with each other. 

While the girls ran off upstairs, you made your way to the kitchen to find a very stressed-looking Joel. He was in complete disarray as he checked the oven twice, then the fridge for something, then stirred something in a pot.

“Hey, you alright?” you asked right off the bat, setting down the container of cookies your daughter had given back to you onto his countertop. 

“Yeah, fine. Just didn’t think about how I was gonna cook all of this in time,” he moved away from the stovetop and towards a cupboard to grab you a glass. “Now what would you like to drink? I’ve got some coke, some juice, something a little stronger…?”

“Just water is fine,” you hummed, awkwardly standing by the counter. “Joel, do you want some help? You know, four hands are better than two. And I’m pretty competent when it comes to reading and following a recipe.”

“Please,” he barely let you finish speaking before he spoke, and desperation was practically dripping off his tone as he passed you a glass of water.

You weren’t sure you expected him to say yes, but you were somewhat surprised when he agreed anyway. He didn’t exactly seem like the type to accept help, let alone ask for it. Joel must’ve been even more stressed than you initially picked up on. 

“Of course. What would you like me to do?”

“Uh, if you could just cut up some of the fruit that would be great,” the man ran his hands through his hair as he approached the fridge once more.

You nodded and walked over to the cutting board where it was clear that Joel had begun to attempt cutting some fruit up, but had been interrupted by one of the many pots on the stovetop or dishes in the oven.

Although you didn’t necessarily envision your evening being spent in a frantic Joel Miller’s kitchen, you weren’t particularly mad at it. It didn’t take long for you two to fall into that easy collaborative rhythm that you seemed to always have when it came to working together. Maybe you weren’t too bad of a team after all. 

By the time the doorbell rang with the first family, you and Joel had just finished up, and your daughters had just about finished setting up the table in the dining room and on the patio. Taking you by surprise, Joel reached out for a high-five, which gave you a hearty laugh as the two of you tapped hands.

“I appreciate your help,” he remarked. “You saved my ass tonight.”

By all means, dinner was a success. Parents and children raved about how good everything was, and conversing with Joel and the other parents was surprisingly easy—despite you not noticing the knowing looks that a few of the more gossipy moms frequently shot each other. 

Luckily, a few families assisted in cleaning things up after dinner before heading out, cutting the time you’d need to spend helping with cleaning pretty significantly. As the night wound down, it came as no surprise when Chloe asked if she and Sarah could hang out for just a bit longer. It’s not like an extra hour would kill you, especially not when Joel was pulling out a bottle of white wine and suggesting sitting out on the patio in the pleasant Austin autumn weather. 

As you got settled into your seat, Joel poured you out a glass before pouring himself some. You sighed contentedly, happy with a rather pleasant evening, but tired from the stress of the day. 

“Thank you for helping me out. There’s no way in hell I could’ve done this without you,” he confessed, peering deeply into your eyes. He looked at you for just a moment too long, the attention bringing a warmth to your face.

“I’m always happy to help anyone,” you smiled shyly under the pressure of his intense look before taking a sip of your drink. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be happy to help Amy. But I’m always happy to help you.”

“Well, I appreciate you,” Joel paused as he drank. “And I wouldn’t help Amy either.”

The two of you shared a little laugh before a rather comfortable silence filled the air. The two of you looked up at the sky, gazing at the stars that seemed to be shining a little more bright than usual.

“I’d like to repay you somehow,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he continued to keep his eyes fixed on the sky. 

“Mm, that’s not necessary,” you hummed. “Dinner was plenty. It was great, and Chloe and I will definitely be enjoying our leftovers.”

“It’s necessary to me,” Joel paused as if he was contemplating even saying the next words. “Would you let me take you out sometime?” 

It was clear that he was looking right at you, nervously anticipating your answer. 

You cracked a slight smile as you turned your head towards him, “That would be nice,” you nodded. “I think that would be really nice.”

[iichfilwypj]

all i need is you | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of demeter! reader ღ warnings: maybe like kisses? i really don't know :( ღ wc: 920

The sunlight was strong and she could feel its warmth on her back through her blouse. However, her attention was focused on the small corner where she had planted the seeds. She crouched down, her gentle fingers brushing against the damp soil as she closed her eyes to concentrate deeply.  

A cold, refreshing energy built within her, as if an icy current traveled through her veins. "Please, please," she murmured repeatedly, closing her eyes tighter, if that was possible.  She could see white dots behind her eyelids; she replaced them with fresh, tall, colorful flowers. That’s the trick, her siblings had told her. To imagine it.

But when she opened her eyes, she was met with wilted flowers drooping downwards. They looked almost disappointed. She felt that way too. Why couldn’t she do this? Wasn’t this all she had to do as a daughter of Demeter? Her shoulders slumped sharply, and she let out a sigh before closing her eyes again –this time to hold back the tears.

She felt the floor beneath her legs hardening and drying, as if the earth understood her feelings and mirrored them. No, I don’t want that! She tried to concentrate once more, her heart raced, beating fast as the anguish within her grew. Fatigue hit her suddenly, making her collapse onto her knees.

“You're pushing yourself too hard,” a voice came from behind her, but she didn’t turn. She knew exactly who it was.

“I just don’t get it” she said, feeling Percy kneel beside her. His green eyes bore into her, she knew it, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. She couldn’t let him see her like this, with her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s so easy for everyone else. Why can’t it be for me?”

The way her voice cracked at the end of her sentence shattered something deep within him. He yearned to dive into her mind and wipe away all her insecurities and fears. He wished he could find the key to her heart and banish all her negative feelings. Hell, he would do anything to stop witnessing the sight before him.

His brain wandered through the various solutions he could offer, but he couldn’t understand what was happening either. So he did the first thing that came to mind.

He took hold of both her arms, gently turning her body until she was facing him completely. One of his hands swept her hair back, using the motion to rest it against the back of her shoulder. His other hand rested on her cheek, slowly caressing the hot skin beneath it. The simple touch seemed to have a calming effect on her, as she melted into the gesture and turned her face further toward Percy’s palm. 

"Maybe you shouldn’t focus on the flowers so much." he said. She finally opened her eyes; he coulnd't undersant how his heart didn’t break when he saw the disappointment shining in them. He could see her pondering his words for a moment. She was confused, how could she do anything right if she couldn't concentrate?

“Then what do—” but Percy’s lips pressed softly against hers, stealing her words. In that instant, as if it was some kind of enchantment, she forgot about everything. Her hands instinctively traveled along his biceps to his shoulders and then up to his neck, gently caressing his dark hair. He deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She felt dizzy and warm, aware that she should pull away to catch some air but not wanting to. In her mind, there was nothing but colors dancing back and forth and an intense scent of the ocean. Feeling more confident and comfortable, she stayed close to him as she shifted to sit in his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

Neither of them could breathe, but that didn’t seem to matter. For a few minutes, their minds disconnected, focusing solely on each other's presence. It was as if they were the only people in that forest. They were alone in their own world, where no disappointment or sadness could get to them. The air around them was filled with love and lust as the boy's kisses traveled down her neck to her bare shoulder. The girl placed gentle kisses in his hair, a little to return the gesture and a little more to silence the soft sounds escaping from her lips.

They only broke apart when she felt something touching her leg, something that was definitely not Percy. She slowly pulled away and opened her eyes, finding her boyfriend’s eyes closed and a pout on his swollen, red lips. She smiled before noticing that something had changed in the forest.

Around them, she could see nothing but an explosion of colors. Countless flowers surrounded them, more vibrant and lively than ever. They seemed to have formed a barrier that divided them from the outside world, hiding them away in their own little paradise. 

She nudged the boy's shoulder, and he opened his eyes, instantly surprised. He looked around before locking his gaze on his girlfriend, pride and adoration shining in his eyes. “I told you it would work,” he said. He leaned in again, stealing another kiss from her lips “How are we going to get out of here?”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around Percy’s neck and throwing herself onto him. They both tumbled to the ground. “I don’t care; just keep kissing me.”

“Okay, ma’am.”

hii! this is my first post ever so it probably sucks ;) also english is not my first language so if there's any mistakes feel free to tell me <3

[a-small-safe-place]

Platonic Yandere Rosalie Hale and Emmett Cullen w/ Adopted!Baby!Reader

Rosalie had traveled to a hospital in a neighboring town to volunteer in the maternity ward. Her motivation wasn't solely selfless; she yearned to be in the presence of infants. Rosalie adored babies for their small size and pure innocence. Occasionally, she'd volunteer in the pediatrics ward, where the sick children often mistook her for a princess due to her beauty. However, on this day, her heart was set on spending time with the babies. It was her favorite pastime, second only to being with Emmett. She would occasionally downplay her attachment when her family questioned her about her frequent visits to the hospital.

As Rosalie left the hospital, an overwhelming urge to cry overcame her, though no tears escaped her eyes. Instead, her venom-filled eyes burned, but she didn't shed a tear. A pang of jealousy gripped her as she thought about how many parents took their children for granted, complaining about the demanding baby and toddler years. Her thoughts drifted to Renesmee, whom she had practically raised during her early, albeit brief, years. However, Rosalie could never be Renesmee's mother, as the girl knew Bella as her mother, despite their strained relationship. Rosalie had even harbored a shameful hope during Renesmee's birth that Bella wouldn't survive, leaving Renesmee to be solely Rosalie's and Emmett's daughter. Yet, fate had different plans, and Rosalie remained without a baby.

Suddenly, a loud cry from an infant in a nearby car disrupted her thoughts. Rosalie couldn't hear the sounds of parents or a running car engine, and the freezing weather made her worry. She exited her car and began searching for the source of the crying, only to discover an infant version of yourself inside a locked car. Your parents were absent, and you were clad only in a thin onesie. Through the window, Rosalie detected the odor of an unchanged diaper.

Rosalie knew she should call the hospital to report the situation, but she feared you would end up back with your neglectful parents. Thoughts of Emmett being a great father crossed her mind; he hadn't been overly involved with Renesmee, except for playtime, but you could be different as their own.

With a swift motion, Rosalie broke into the car, thankful that the alarm didn't sound, given the car's poor condition. She rented a hotel room with you tucked away in her jacket before calling Emmett and sharing her surprise. When he arrived, expecting something else entirely, Rosalie had you dressed in a fresh diaper and cozy footie pajamas. You were notably small and slender, even for a human infant.

Emmett asked, "Babe, what is this?" His tone was a mix of confusion and amusement.

"Our baby," Rosalie declared as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, her eyes fixed on you without interruption. "We don't have a baby," Emmett attempted to argue. He typically went along with what Rosalie said, as she was almost always right, but occasionally he voiced his dissent.

Rosalie's gaze shifted to Emmett. He didn't need to read her mind to grasp that she needed you to be theirs. Without further argument, he sat beside her to get a better look at you. "This is definitely one sweet baby," Emmett observed, running a cold finger down your cheek.

Emmett expressed his concern, "Carlisle will be furious. He might make you return the baby." Rosalie acknowledged this and understood she would face objections from Edward, Carlisle, and possibly even Alice and Jasper. However, she couldn't help but feel it was unfair that Edward could have his human and endanger the family, and then having his daughter, whom he barely appreciated, that also put the family at risk.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes. For now, I want us to be a family: a mommy, a daddy, and a sweet little baby," Rosalie's face lit up when she referred to you. Emmett loved to see his wife so joyful, so he indulged her, understanding why she was so enamored with you.

A few months passed, and you were introduced to the Cullen clan. After some persuasion, Carlisle allowed Rosalie to keep you. The presence of a human infant injected new life into the Cullen household. Rosalie and Emmett spent the most time with you and Rosalie became upset if anyone besides Esme tried to hold you. Edward and Jasper's unique abilities helped discern your needs quickly, even though you couldn't communicate them directly. Jasper secretly enjoyed caring for you without interference from your parents and loved the way Alice dressed you like a doll. Edward and Bella, engrossed in their own activities, didn't show much interest in you. Renesmee, on the other hand, enjoyed having you around, as you allowed her to partake in kid activities she had missed out on. Carlisle and Esme were the perfect grandparents, but nothing could compare to your parents. Emmett and Rosalie adored you. Rosalie was extremely protective and insisted on homeschooling, but she always wanted what was best for you in her mind. You were their angel, and they were determined to protect you from harm.

[tellmeallaboutit]

Raphael/F!Tav: belle de jour

Summary: Raphael obsesses over his sleeping Archduchess wife.

Rating: Mature / Explicit

Trigger warnings: somnophilia (and therefore dub-con), obsessive thoughts, paranoia, power-lust, jealousy, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship, dark Raphael.

Wanted, wanted: little mouse. 

Hair: blonde. Lips: scarlet.

Where is she hiding in his house? 

Why are you hiding, darling? (*)

****

There she lay.

There she lay, his temptress: face down, her hair unbraided, her body naked but for the lace of her knickers, on their enormous four-poster bed.

There he stood.

There he stood at the door, rapt. The red pillow, the excessive, creamy silk pillow she lay on was so soft and deep that her face was almost hidden, but he could still see the high curve of her cheek, her small flushed ear. There was something innocent about the way her legs were splayed, childlike about the way her hands were tucked under her breasts.

Her innocence is nothing but a sweet little lie, and this sweet little thing doth lie, oh doth she lie.

His Archduchess lay there, passive, soft, his belle de jour, his sleeping beauty. A delicate snore escapes her lips. Such a perfectly mortal thing, a defenseless thing, an irresistible bait. 

His Archduchess is elsewhere, in realms where he is barred from entry. Scarcely anything escapes his control now; yet her dreams are her sanctuary. He watches her inhale and exhale in slumber's grasp, he notes the rhythmic ebb and flow of her lush bosom's rise and fall.

Her eroticism is his oblivion.

Her skin, oh her skin, is pure liquid silk and it's so soft to touch and utterly void of even the smallest blemish. He yearns to see this vixen flayed bloody raw to strip her perfect skin of its tyrannical hold over him.

He kneels before her splayed legs like a suppliant, but it's futile to beg for mercy from her: for she, his Archduchess, is bereft of mercy – her cruelty dwarfs his own.

He touches the satin fabric of her undergarments which are dampened by her desire. “What do you dream about, mouse?", he asks, his fangs nibbling the tender terrain of her thighs. "Whom do you dream about?". 

She remains silent, ever the tease, ever the provocateur, and he feels a rush of desire which is almost painful.

Who could she possibly be dreaming about that would cause the wet stain on that beige satin, that nymph harlot of his?

He kneels and he pulls away her knickers to probe her, and his tongue encounters her wetness, thick and syrupy - she is in the middle of her lunar cycle. His body jolts at this realization and aching need - she is fertile - she commands him to perform his duties.

More sons, strong, powerful hellspawns, more sons to pit against each other, to ensure the survival of only the ones who prove their mettle, to ensure his legacy for eons to come. Daughters bring naught but a handful of cubs, his sons will have thousands of women swell for them.

Her eyes flicker half-open and all he can see is the stark white. 

“Raphael?” she asks in her dream, as if not sure; and why is she not? Who else does the vixen expect to lay between her legs in their bedroom?

He lullabies her with his soporific enchantment, not ready to part with the power that is being her voyeur and violator.

“Sleep, my darling wife”, he hushes, and her face softens and her lips part and she tosses her head back and lets a small, child-like whimper. 

He showers his sleeping beauty with lascivious caresses, the skin of her thighs gooseflesh under his fingertips. He is generous with his attention, tasting her juices as if they hold the secret to who occupies her thoughts, as if his tongue could coax the truth from her. 

She whimpers and moans but betrays nothing, her lips and mind sealed. 

She need not tell; he has a vast imagination.

He imagines catching her in flagranti with his own brother, their bodies obscenely knotted, her small hands grabbing his spiral horns and her slim ankles forming a vice around Valefar’s back. He imagines: her crying out vulgarities, his brother flicking his tail in delight. 

Oh, that whore of Babylon, that Messalina, Circe, Jezebel, oh, his bane and downfall, hiding behind her veneer of porcelain skin and rose-tinted nipples and the scent of honeydew.

Wildly, he pursues the shadow of her infidelity. He positions her supine and unfurls her under his weight. Her transgressions, so vivid in his imagination, make a savage out of him.

He imagines how he decapitates his brother before her very eyes and stakes claim on her beside the still-warm corpse. Oh, would she whine and sob and garble apologies and plead for mercy, oh, would he give her none.

He sheaths himself inside of her, in this silky soft scabbard, which is his right, and she gasps and winces and she utters a soft ‘ow!‘, and he tastes the pang of pain off her lips, her Boticellian pink lips, the color of raw rose.

His claws tug at her skin, marring her, and this is his right too. Tears form in the corners of her eyes, and oh! such tears she has! never before had he seen tears of that size and brilliance. His tongue pilfers them from her skin, to which she responds with a slight toss of her head.

He punishes her for the phantoms of any other that might have haunted her golden-tressed little head, and her lax and defenseless body shakes with the cadence of her chastisement.

Many dream of pressing their weight onto her, oh, of that he has no doubt. Other devils covet her, and rightly so; let them squirm in the throes of envy and desire, let them gag on their impotence, and let them watch, for they will never have her because she is his and only his. 

She dares not dream of any other. She dares not think of any other. She dares not look. She dares not dream…

Oh, but she does, the little serpent, the viper. What does she do when he does not look? He recalls his father's frayed lips whispering too near her round little ear as Mephistopheles dubs her his cherished daughter-in-law, and she musters a forced smile. He remembers her overdone laugh at Mammon’s tasteless jest, eyes darting. What does she hide, what does she plot? 

He thrusts her open, he lays her bare, his fingers and tongue and manhood know naught the limits of his possession, and yet the only truth his interrogation elicits are her soft moans.

Oh how cruel she is to him! Always has been. Mocking him even when asleep with that La Gioconda smile of hers. Man covets; woman is coveted. This is a woman's singular yet significant edge. Woman knows of her power and will abuse it given the opportunity.

After all, what's power for if not to abuse? 

He seizes her by the wrists and tries to kiss her, but she tilts her head to the side and his lips meet only her cheekbone. He stares into her soul taking in her lust, pride, ambition; but her soul is not his; it's hers.

Yet.

"I adore you, my little mouse", he breathes into her sleeping face. These insipid, cliche, mortal words mean nothing but he wants to taste them and they taste bitter. He thinks surely now, she would snap out of reverie just to open her lips into a scornful laugh at his confession. 

But no, she sleeps, an expression of capricious boredom on her languid features, her cheeks flushed from his kisses.

She will use this weakness against him. The others will too, those others who always wanted to see him fail, ever since birth. All those others waiting for their turn to mock him, cheering for his downfall.

Weakness is a contagious disease, the most contagious of all diseases. Let it inside his Layer, his domain and his marriage and watch them crumble and bury him underneath.

His Archduchess despises weakness, and so she must, or she wouldn’t be his Archduchess. She cannot know of any of his weaknesses, and she will not. The failures on the Eastern Blood War Front, the rebellions, the debt chokehold Mammon has on him, the legions who still pledge their allegiance more readily to his father than to him.

She cannot know that or... his fears.

What fears?

He has none. He fears not. He, the Archdevil of Avernus, is feared. He claimed his power, he took his thrones, he forced the first Layer to his knees; he needs but to maintain it, to control it, to…

Never let her go.

She will never dare to leave him. She knows that. There is just one escape from him and that is death.

“Do you know that, mouse?”, he says, his thrusts underscoring his question, his hands around her alabaster neck.

She stirs. She moans. He hushes; she should sleep. So he could tell her all the things he shouldn't.

If only he would just have more power. More souls under his command, more treasures in his coffers, more armies marching at his beck and call, more layers of Hells—these are what he needs to truly possess her.

Power is the only thing women ever respect, mortal or not. He's seen this tale play out a thousand times; they chatter of love but only kneel before the mighty. Should a stronger contender emerge, should he exhibit any frailty, they...

No. No. She will never leave him. Nobody can give her what he can.

He feels her walls flutter around him and he knows: she bewitched him.That's why her sweat, her tears, her juices taste so divine, that’s why he is hopelessly shackled to what is between her thighs. She bewitched him to try to weaken him and…

She. Will. Pay. For. It.

"You are becoming a heel, son", he hears his father's acidic voice; he hears it always, every day, a never-ending reminder of his shortcomings. "Let her taste your whip, let her taste it daily, or she will make you a slave to hers”.

The old coot is right. He ordered her to get his firstborn back in their house; and she made her little face, and she pleaded “you promised, Raphael, please, you promised”, and what did he say?

Nothing. He is becoming a heel, a wretched lovesick fool.

He let her get away with too much. What hasn't he given her? The Archduchess swims in riches, his beautiful, passionate, cruel, and despotic mistress who wantonly changes her whims every passing day.

His most prized possession, the crown jewel of his hoard, and yet this treasure thirsts for more of her own.

Women.

They never have quite enough, no matter how much you give them. Glasia sits on piles of gemstones, Fiera has her own temples upon temples of souls, Baalphegor got an entire plane as her tribute. Yet, is their thirst ever quenched? 

Never. There is always another man who could give them more. He needs to compete with everyone, every single day, and he needs to make sure his Archduchess has more today than there was yesterday, so she would never, ever... He dances to the tune of the infernal chant, the empty promise of infinite growth: more, more, more.

He needs more from her too, and he takes more, hips grinding with a savage rhythm, forcing his wife down into the mattress.

You can only hurt those you love, and they are the only ones who can truly hurt you back.

His thoughts wander to her whip, he thirsts for her strike, longing for her to lay pain upon him, longing for his Venus in Furs to mark him as her captive, to see the passion flare in her sharp blue eyes as she raises her unforgiving hand. Oh, cruel thing, cruel, capricious thing, his little mouse. 

Pain is their shared delicacy, both of them the finest of gourmets, and they spoon-feed it to each other every night.

He unleashes the hot poison of his loins into her and her toes twitch, her mouth agape, and there's a strand of saliva down her chin and that too he claims as his own. His thumb rubs her between the legs until he sees right through her body to watch her womb contract; once, twice, thrice, the little ripples through her body, and he is satisfied with her satisfaction. 

He is more charitable than he thinks.

He draws his tongue across her damp brow and whispers words of love that would never see the light of the day. She's already basking in admiration and flattery; no need to slake her insatiable ego any further.

The Archduchess sighs and curls away from him, knees to her chest, leaving him to stare at the cleft of her buttocks and her slit moist with his seed.

She will wake up come morning with a dull ache between her legs and might even have the audacity to reprimand him for his nightly fervor but he knows, he knows, ever since the first day he made her his own: 

She loves it. 

(*)  A play on the poem "Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze" by V. Nabokov.

The still is from the movie "Sleeping Beauty", 2011.

[muffinsin]

Ok, please dont pressure yourself too much! Please delete my requests if there, well, shit.

Anyway, readers been dating one of the sisters for a while n for some reason or another rs mother visits. But rs mother isnt exactly the greatest mother to r and to summarise abuses them, emotionally or physically up to you tbh. Holding them up to ridiculous standards and tells them she wished she had aborted them, generally just being a bit of a dick- making fun of how the reader looks and thinking they have ownership of the reader and her body bc shes their mother. Lady Dimitrescu is not tolerating this in her castle and as much as she wants to ignore it she cares for reader bc her daughter loves them (idk if that makes sense) so she comforts reader like a mother should, praising reader when their mother has just shouted at them or something.

Queue to the sister finding Lady Dimitrescu reading to reader whilst there curled up on her lap with a blanket. (Motherly)

Idk if any of this makes sense, feel free to completely change parts of this.

With fruitiness,

Deluded anon

A rare Alcina post here! Because the prompt was just too adorable and I love this tall murderous woman as a mother figure🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ this one’s quite Alcina centered for once :)

Keeping this Bela/Cassandra/Daniela neutral for once! :)

Masterlists

You know, today is the day your mother is coming over. You know, it was bound to happen, too

The moment she picked up on you living in a grand castle, she suddenly acted interested and invited herself

A declination of her “request” is not possible. Aside from this, your lover is most keen on meeting her

You haven’t yet had the courage to tell her about your mother, nor about the woman she truly is

How can you, when your lover’s mother is just perfect?

Alcina is kind, and caring. She’s strict, but out of love. She shows affection, and she practically showers all three of her daughters in praise. She never fails to comfort them or point out that she is proud of them no matter what

Neither of the Dimitrescu family members notice your yearning look when you watch your girlfriend hug her mother and receive a kiss on the cheek or forehead in return

It’s breakfast time- your favorite time. In general, mealtimes are your favorite. It’s the times of days when all sisters and their mother are together

Alcina never misses it. She always pauses her work, even on busy days, to spend this time with her daughters and you. It feels almost like a privilege to sit among them, sometimes

However, now all you feel is dread, and yet: still hope

Perhaps your mother will be influenced by Alcina, positively

Still, you feel dread knowing she will be here shortly

A few hours later, you stand in the main hall and fiddle with your girlfriend’s dress as you wait for your mother. You know, she won’t be much longer

You almost flinch when the heavy doors open, yet can’t help the involuntary smile when you see the woman that has birthed you step inside

Your smile falters when she immediately begins to complain about the cold and the frustrating path it took to get here. Your girlfriend chuckles nervously, as though unsure what to say, and you can only join in

Then, your expression turns to a hurt one when she begins to criticize things and you already

Starting with the state of your clothes- a little rough looking from your roughhousing with Daniela earlier today

You blush in embarrassment and shame as you’re scolded, your hand squeezing your girlfriend’s tightly

Next, your posture is criticized. You stand straight again, tears welling in your eyes at your mother’s words

Unworthy. Filthy. Ragged. A waste

You’re quick to greet her and ask her how she is doing when she scolds you for this, too

But it seems even that can’t be done right, for she simply starts scolding you for not checking in more often

After all, how is it she only learns months later that you are dating one of the “monsters” of the castle?

Her displeasure makes it quite clear, even if it has been already: she intended for you to work there and earn her money until your demise

You flinch when she steps closer to you, as though to examine you

You spare your girlfriend a pitiful look as she attempts to interrupt, yet is cut off by your mother’s tsks again

She comments on your clothing. One of your favorite outfits, made to ruin by her. The colours, the fabric, the style is all criticized

Then, your body

You flinch when a finger sharply pokes your stomach

“And I thought they would feed you less, here”

The comment stings, and has both, you and your girlfriend, tense up. Her, in anger. You seem to only shrink into yourself

You know, she’s looking for a way to keep back your mother without causing offense. She is still your mother, after all

You hold back your tears when you’re criticized again, your hair, your face, your arms and hands

“I love them and how they look”, your girlfriend protests when your look as a whole is criticized

This makes you jump in surprise, and whimper when it causes your mother to finally turn to your partner

She examines her, as if determining her worth

She scowls at the tattoo on her forehead, yet her features soften at beautiful hair, a regal-looking face, a smooth neck sporting a necklace with a very obviously expensive gemstone

Smooth skin and a seductive figure, a beautiful, if gothic, dress clinging to her and hugging her body and curves perfectly

Your mother laughs for a moment

And it stings when she points out: you’re not at all worth your girlfriend’s time

Of course, your lover immediately corrects this. She assures: you’re her everything

And yet it is only met with a scowl

Your eyes snap back to your mother when she calls your name, her own eyes icy cold

Upon being asked how much money you make, you fall silent

Living at the castle and being in this relationship, you don’t make any. You work, yet not for money, but to support the staff and ultimately Alcina. You don’t get paid, simply work to keep busy and support

After all, why would you be in need of money? Your girlfriend’s money is yours, now. And hers is Alcina’s. Being paid for your work would only come from your own pocket, ultimately

You don’t dare tell your mother about this. You refuse to risk her taking any of the money that belongs to the Dimitrescu family. A warm flutter spreads in your chest momentarily as you realize: it includes you now

Yet, this doesn’t satisfy at all, and you flinch as she throws up her hands and yells

After all, she sent you to this place to earn money for her! And here you are, empty handed and happy? She’s fuming

She screams, calls you a mistake, a waste

When your lover steps in front of you, arms crossed and yelling back at last no matter the consequence, you take it as an opportunity to slip out the room

You run, tears blurring your vision as you sob so violently, your body trembles

You aren’t even sure where you’re running off to, or for how long you have been running

You’re ashamed as the staff sees you sob and run last them. You just want to get out of sight

You’re running fast, and before you know it, push through several doors until you burst into a room

Only when Alcina gasps in surprise at the intrusion do you notice you’ve stumbled, seemingly automatically, into her office

Her eyes are wide, and for a moment she looks ready to strike

Then, her eyes soften. She knows the little human that has stumbled into her study. You are no mere staff member- you are the that has wooed her daughter

She frowns in concern at your state. Your heart beats so fast, unnaturally so. You’re distressed

Your expression is pained, and tears stick to your cheeks and jawline

She can’t help but care for you. You are important to her precious daughter- as such you have grown into the countess quite a lot

You sob quietly as she gets off her chair and moves towards you. A door is closed, and a large hand sets on your backside

It’s guiding you, you realize, towards the large chair in the corner

To your surprise though, she sits down before you can. To your even grander surprise, you’re lifted on her lap

Ignoring the blush of embarrassment on your cheeks, you can’t help but reach out to feel the fabric of her dress

For a moment, Alcina watches you as you fiddle with it. It seems to help you, even as you still cry a little

You feel her large hand on your back, the other set over your knee, covering it whole. Her thighs are large and steady, but comfortable, and there is a warmth naturally radiating from her body that the sisters seem to lack

You feel grounded, with her here. It makes you feel better, even as you sit in silence

You find three loose strands on the dress, and she watches curiously as your fingers immediately move to it

Her hand hovers, ready to stop should you pull like her two youngest daughters like to do

You aren’t, though. Alcina watches in confusion as you begin braiding the little strings between your small fingers

You work gently, and meticulously

When you finish, you trace the tiny braid

“What meticulous grace you possess, little one”, she praises, her eyebrow raised curiously as she traces the tiny thing with her index fingertip

You can’t help but feel a light, happy feeling in your chest at her words, and feel it settle there among the darkness caused by your mother’s words

Your tears have dried, and yet new ones roll down your cheeks at the mere memory of her words just before

You aren’t quite sure you’re ready to share her words yet, but thankfully, there is no need

You feel her move about, until you find yourself pulled close to her, with your head comfortably resting against her chest. It’s rare you feel this at ease, even as sobs wretch your body. You feel warm when her arm slings around you, as though protecting you from the evil of this world

You see now, how the sisters are so devoted to their mother. You couldn’t quite understand from your own experience, but it’s clear: Alcina is different from your mother in every way

You sob quietly as you turn, your body tucked into hers. Due to her height, you fit perfectly against her stomach and chest

You cringe a little as you notice your tears wet her expensive dress, yet as you attempt to pull away, a hand comes up to the back of your head

Not strong, or forceful. Not even threatening. Reassuring, rather. She wants to keep you there

“Don’t mind them, little one. Tell me what happened”, she demands gently

You feel yourself relaxing against her, your hand coming up to hold onto her dress

When you open your mouth, it takes a few second for words to spill out. Then, you can’t stop yourself

You cry as you talk, slurring and stuttering, whimpering and trembling. But her piercing, golden eyes are warm and stay on you, and her arms do not untangle from around you. She does not interrupt you either, and yet it feels like she understands every little of your broken words

Her brows furrow in anger quickly at the words spilling from your lips

How dare someone treat you this way? Alcina thinks a lot of you. Obviously, or else she would not allow her daughter to be with you. She would not have a fool for her precious darlings, after all

Lucky for you, Alcina approves of you. And as such, she is enraged by your mother’s words

“Unworthy?!”, she gasps, utterly shocked upon hearing your mother said such a thing

“I am yet to deem people unworthy”, she protests. A silent, but honest phrase. You catch the meaning: you are worthy, according to all whose opinion matters

You feel yourself calming down a little again as she talks, praise after praise of your qualities falling from her lips

You’re quite surprised she has paid you much mind, really, but feel content in her arms

Eventually, as she talks, you feel yourself calming down

Your head is tilted upwards against her chest, and you feel your eyes slipping shut as she traces your features with her fingertip

Alcina watches curiously as she does this, first tracing your brow and nose, then your cheek

She remembers doing this the first time, with her eldest daughter back when she was a child and experienced distress the first time. Seeing as it calmed her down greatly, it’s now her go-to

And it seems to calm you, too

You don’t notice you’re hugging her and pushed up against her until she shifts her arms and you find yourself curled up in her spacious lap

Through heavy eyes you see her pick up a book, and with a tired smile on your lips, you cuddle closer as she begins to read

You don’t recall the last time you felt this relaxed with anyone that wasn’t your lover

As her words turn muffled the more sleep takes over you, your eyes feel heavier and heavier

Your mother’s words no longer linger on your mind, instead all you focus on is the comfort and love you feel in the moment, the happiness and acceptance

You don’t notice when your eyes slip shut, but with a smile, you fall asleep at last

An hour later or so, Alcina jumps when her door is slammed open again

This time, her daughter is the one entering the room, her fist clenched and a scowl on her face

“Mother, I’m going to kill someone!”

She laughs fondly at the remark, the book clasping close as she rests it on the small, unoccupied space left on her lap

Just as her daughter attempts to sit down there too, she shrieks in surprise and swarms backwards upon finding the space occupied by- you

Alcina smiles at the adorable expression on her face

She pulls you a little closer, then extends her arm and gently pulls her confused daughter closer

“Come here, my little fly”, she coos, sensing the woman’s anger at your mother. As expected, she purrs and eagerly leans into the countess’s touch

Alcina smiles lovingly as she, at last, too climbs into her lap, settling comfortably and purring contentedly

Even in your sleep, you feel your lover pull you closer, and even as you sleep; a small smile shows on your lips

[rubyuji]

Forever (Yoon Jeonghan) ♛ ⚜ ࿐ ࿔ ⁺₊

“What are you so worried about my lady? I feel these suitors aren’t very fit for you this season. Dare I say, and honestly, I might be the only man who would be worthy of your affections.”

Genre: Romance, BSF2L, Slight Angst

AU: Bridgerton/Regency!au

Pairing: Jeonghan x Afab!reader

Warnings: None

Synopsis: You yearned for him every moment he stepped into your drawing room, but did you stand a chance against a princess despite your status as the Diamond of the Season?

Note: This was so short and underwhelming but I liked it and didn’t want to develop a whole backstory for this (yet). I hope you guys like this update (since I haven’t in like nearly a month help). As always, don’t forget to like + reblog as a way of supporting me and other writers!

WC: 1.6k

It was that time again wherein the courtship scene in London was in a hustle and bustle. Families flaunting their daughters whom they have raised refinely until womanhood, and fortunately enough for you, you had harbored quite the suitors for your desirable beauty.

You were unmatched after being crowned ‘Diamond of the Season’ by the queen herself, but with the princess’ appearance, were you truly?

From Lord Choi Seungcheol, Earl of Greenhill to Joshua Hong the Duke of York, none of which could compare to who truly owned your heart. Your own best friend and the only heir to Lord Yoon of Burlington, Yoon Jeonghan, or Jeonghan as everyone in his circle calls him.

Jeonghan had grown up alongside you because of your family’s close friendship. You had grown accustomed to seeing his soft smile and warm eyes every summer whenever your family would go to the countryside to spend time with the Yoon family.

Though, you wish to have not known of the princess in town taking such interest in him. Who would’ve known that a member of the royal family would pin after a simple nobleman? Wasn’t she supposed to be focusing on her roster of royals?

“Jeonghan, why are you in my drawing room? The callers will be coming any second and I can’t afford a scan—“ you pause, taking in your best friend’s sly smile.

“What are you so worried about my lady? I feel these suitors aren’t very fit for you this season. Dare I say, and honestly, I might be the only man who would be worthy of your affections.” Jeonghan says softly, a chuckle following his words as he looks at you, his gaze burning hot.

“I bet Lady Whistledown would cause such a stir if this unchaperoned encounter had gotten out into the public, but let me offer you a proposal before your guests start scrambling in,” you freeze up at Jeonghan’s words.

It was unexpected, with only the two of you currently in the drawing room as your maid had gone off with your mother to check on the suitors.

“I know that gifts of plenty are not what you want, I’ve known you for years darling. I could buy out every florist in London or buy you the finest dresses and you still wouldn’t be satisfied with such material things, that’s not who you are. You want a genuine connection do you not?” Jeonghan takes your hand in his softly and brushes his lips over your knuckle, causing your breath to hitch.

“But, I too, understand why you were crowned diamond of the season. I’d give anything if it were to make you happy, just by your beauty alone. You’ve always been so captivating, my dear,” he purred.

Reading you was no problem for Jeonghan, after all, he was one of your dearest friends with whom you grew up. Though he joked around like this often and anyone would think he was serious, you’ve learned to shrug it off as time passed.

Yet, he never implied if he was joking or not, the thought simply went over your head as this was passed off light banter between you both.

Also as much as you did wish and hope to see your best friend as a possible suitor, you felt like an idiot when someone like the princess was after his affections.

You would never compare to someone of her likeliness or grace, you were only the diamond of the season who grew up in a simple noble household.

“Jeonghan, you never fail to amuse me, my dearest best friend. You aren’t even a suitor nor caller, yet you’re always in my drawing room to watch over me beforehand,” you chuckle, but he only shakes his head with a smirk gracing his features. One you had grown very fond of over the years.

“My lady, these suitors are chasing after you, but none could compare to me when I don’t need to chase…” Jeonghan trails off, wrapping an arm around your waist. Your face heats up and you tear your gaze away from the man in front of you.

“All I need is a few minutes with you, alone, in this very drawing room,” he finishes, face so close to yours that you could only hold your breath and ignore the loud beating of your heart.

Jeonghan then unravels his arm from around your waist and excuses himself whilst making his way out of the drawing room, winking as he leaves you a flustered mess.

That night, at his own mother’s ball, you started to make haste to distract yourself from your cunning and charming best friend. You felt as though Jeonghan was hardly serious, but that moment in the drawing room continued to play in your head in an endless loop.

“Lady Jeon, it’s a pleasure seeing you tonight,” Taehyung, the son of Lord Kim, approached you as you had wrapped up your conversation with another suitor. He was a polite young man, one of the first callers as well to grace his presence. He was also a close friend of Jeonghan’s.

“Pleasure is all mine my Lord,” you say politely, a curt smile etched on your face as you scan the room for Jeonghan.

“Please, call me Taehyung, my lady,” he replies smoothly. As Taehyung continued to converse with you (or chat your ear off rather), more suitors made their way in your direction. This is when your best friend finally makes his presence known to them.

“Y/n, good evening. You look very lovely tonight,” Jeonghan says, taking your hand and placing a kiss on it.

All the suitors disperse one by one upon his arrival, intimidated by his looming aura. Any of the Lords knew not to mess with Jeonghan due to his reputation of being silent but quite deadly.

“Well, you certainly do have quite the charisma, my lord. You seem to have scared away all my suitors,” you scoff jokingly and take in his appearance.

Jeonghan looked ravishing tonight and seeing all the other noblewomen’s eyes on him, you weren’t the only one who thought so either.

Jeonghan continues to keep your hand in his as he leads you towards the dance floor. “May I have this dance, my lady?” He asks with a smirk, and you nod, flustered at his calling.

You were relieved that you had been smart enough to keep your last dance with him on your dance card, hence why you had been actively avoiding any man who had been asking to dance the whole night.

Though Jeonghan was way past using formalities anymore when it came to you, with you being the same, you couldn’t help but buzz at the way the words simply slipped off his tongue whenever he called you that. It was only in the lighthearted banter that you both ever used formalities teasingly.

Dancing with Jonghan felt somewhat of a dream that night, but you were soon brought back to reality, and your senses, after seeing the princess walk in your direction.

She was so beautiful, her hair was done up in neat curls as she donned a baby blue colored dress. Her gaze was set on Jeonghan and you instantly felt yourself panic.

“Please excuse me, my lord,” you say hurriedly, rushing towards your mother in a frenzy. ‘I have to get home,’ you thought.

Jeonghan was confused at your sudden outburst but quickly realized once the princess had tapped his shoulder from behind.

“Jeonghan, I would like to—“ he interrupted the princess, and he was thankful that nobody else had heard him.

Otherwise, he’d rather die than have his name on another Lady Whistledown article for causing such a scandal. It was ungentlemanly and rude towards the princess.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I cannot marry you like you had hoped. My heart belongs to another,” Jeonghan tells her and runs off to find you in his distress. He could deal with the princess later, but right now, you were the most important thing on his mind.

You avoided Jeonghan the rest of the night, going home early and wallowing in your insecure thoughts, but you knew Jeonghan wouldn’t let you get away so easily. That’s why you weren’t surprised to see him in your drawing room once again the next day.

“Y/n, please tell me what is wrong,” he says, worry lacing his tone. You raise a brow and scoff before looking him in the eyes.

“Jeonghan, there is simply nothing wrong I assure you. After all, you are marrying the princess, aren’t you?—“ He interrupts you as he stands abruptly.

“Y/n, listen to me. I am not going to marry her, I have already confessed to her last night that my heart belongs to another,” Jeonghan says flatly as his brows knit. Your jaw drops at his revelation.

Why wouldn’t he? It was a free pass to a better life after all, and Jeonghan was already the perfect partner for the princess. But then you wondered, who does his heart belong to now? You surely had no chance then as you feel your heart start to crack.

He seems to have read your mind because Jeonghan pulls you in by the waist again and kisses you with the feeling of longing. You reciprocate, kissing him back with just as much fevior.

“My lady, if you were always so worried, you could’ve simply just told me.” Jeonghan smiles after pulling away. You avoid his eyes and look at the floor, he always makes you flustered without even trying.

“It’s always and forever will be you Y/n. My heart yearns for you and only you, now let me court you as I show you how much I care for you. Give me this chance to prove to you how much I love you. I won’t let anything get in between us, just let me show you how much I burn for you,” once the words slipped out of his mouth, you knew that no suitor in the world could ever, compare to him.

© rubyuji 2024’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[2ctheocean]

So I just finished re-reading the hunger games trilogy and I feel the need to respond to the claim that "Katniss never wanted kids so she shouldn't have had them". That is factually incorrect. I'm all for female protags never having children, but to label Katniss that way is fundementally misunderstanding her trauma and the healing that has occured in her having children.

Children are not the only way to thrive. Obviously. You can be just as happy childless (if not more so) as someone with a house full of kids. But Katniss, despite her gruff, traumatized exterior, has always had a nurtuering side (as seen by any given interaction she has with anyone younger than 12). That's partially the Eldest Daughter Effect, sure. But there's no reason to suspect she wouldn't want kids in a world where it was safe to have them. We shouldn't make having kids the default option, but we can suspect she would want them based on how much she values family and her personality. If the world was safe.

But the world is not safe.

So, Katniss never allowed herself to want children.

She doesn't even think about allowing herself to want children. Instead, in Catching Fire, she instead imagines a world where Peeta's child could live and grow up safe. She does not picture herself as the mother, because A) She's planning to give her life for his in the arena and B)She knows the second she starts picturing that image, she will yearn for it. And then the capital will rip it away from her.

This is supported in the epilogue, where she describes her overwhelming fear that she will have her daughter ripped away from her when she feels her growing inside her.

For obvious reasons, she closed off the consideration for being a parent while she was very young. She spent so much or her childhood, even before the hunger games, being traumatized by the world. Not just by the yearly reaping and by watching the games, but by extreme hunger. Having children is almost a selfish decision in her eyes, because of the hellish life she's led. She doesn't want to put her children through that. So she takes the choice off the table and decides its not an option. She won't even risk having a husband for fear of having them, why she's never even considered having a boyfriend or a lover.

In short, Katniss recognizes that the world is not safe. That, even if she is the best mother in the world, she cannot protect her children from the capital, from the games or from the world, so having them is something she simply won't consider, because the facts of her world make it the obvious choice. A lot of people who want kids in this reality, where we can largely protect our children, would make the same choice in her world. Gale even voices this mindset, but the idea that things can be any different is so ridicoulous and impossible to Katniss that she cannot allow herself even that. She's too traumaitized to even consider a better world, too hyperixated on the survivial of herself and those she loves that are already here.

But in the epilogue, she's healing. She can focus on other things now. She can enjoy things again. She's not scrambling to survive day to day. She doesn't need to hunt, she does it because she likes it. Slowly, she allows herself to feel safe.

She has bad days, and even describes being afraid of loosing what she has, highlighting that healing is not linear. But she's healed enough to the point that she feels safe enough to want things. Possibilities that she's never considered, never allowed herself to consider, are avaliable. She can finally allow herself to want children.

Because the world is finally safe enough for them to grow up in, and Katniss finally feels safe in that world. She acknowledges that it won't feel like that every day, that it doesn't, because healing is not linear and she'll always have good days and bad. But her healing has reached a point where she finally feels safe enough to want more than survival for herself and the people she already has. She wants to thrive.

[osarina]

Yanzai but it’s just complete and utter horror. I’m thinking this takes place in a no-abilities civilian AU. Dazai is the disowned son of an influential politician, depressed and aimlessly living his life and leeching off relatives who feel bad for him. Reader is the clever daughter of affluent businessmen and has a bright future ahead of her and lives a happy life. All that is turned upside down when she makes the mistake of helping the drunk man she saw passed out on the sidewalk in the more dangerous part of town. Unknowingly she saved Dazai the night he was going to end his life, and sparked an obsession in him that would lead to the ruin of her life.

Dazai already had severe issues in this AU. His parents were cold, detached and dismissive of him. He was pretty much raised by the servants they had. His older siblings simply saw him as competition for any possible inheritances and therefore never bothered building a meaningful relationship with him. His father was strict, had impossible expectations and his anger was downright dangerous. His mother resented him, never addressing him with warmth and was almost never home. Both of his parents busied themselves with bringing home various lovers, it being an open secret in the household. All of this neglect, abuse and his parents adultery severely warped his views on love. He began developing obsessive tendencies, never knowing how to love something in moderate amounts. He always clung desperately to the good things in his life, afraid of losing them. He always chased after the feeling of love, never having experienced it neither felt it for someone…until that fateful night.

He developed a raging obsession and infatuation with reader at first sight, her act of selfless kindness being so foreign to him. He couldn’t help but instinctively crave more of her, yearning to be in her presence once more when they parted. He couldn’t help but follow her home, not wanting to risk never seeing her again. And so camping outside her penthouse apartment became an ordinary action in his bleak, dull life. He began stalking her everywhere, sneaking pictures whenever he could. He hired a private investigator to keep track of her, writing down her schedule based on what he learned, trying to orchestrate bumping into her again. Yet he could never bring himself to do it. He was well aware of his situation. Compared to her, he felt like nothing. He couldn’t compare to someone like her, who to him was like a bright light amidst the darkness. It would be like comparing a candle to the radiance of the sun. Ashamed to approach her, he began stalking her even more intensely. Breaking into her apartment, stealing her intimate items, including things like a few pairs of underwear here and there. Reader felt like she was going insane, having lost items that she logically shouldn’t have lost. It escalated, to the point where he hired some thugs he knew that were involved in illegal activities just to beat up people who interacted with her in an intimate manner or showed interest in her. He couldn’t help himself. This parasocial relationship he had cultivated with her was the first and only thing that had ever cured the loneliness he had felt his entire life.

Recklessly in love and high on his obsession, he began remodeling his shithole apartment just for the purpose of accommodating her. He couldn’t stand to be apart from her any longer, so he decided to act now. Slipping past her in the bar she went out to one night and slipping something into her drink was easy, and following her out into the back alley as she felt sick and wanted fresh air was easy too. So was picking her up and putting her in the car he’d hired and strategically placed there, handcuffing her to the door just in case.

Dazai in this AU isn’t sane in any way, shape or form. He doesn’t want an equal partner, he is obsessed with the image of reader that he formed when he encountered her that night and thinks that he and he only is entitled to her. He is attached to the angelic kindness she extended to him. The first and only act to truly make an impact on him his entire life. He selfishly wants her there to be able to satisfy his desire for love and to cure his chronic loneliness. And if she doesn’t comply and breaks the illusion of this fantasy, he can get violent and unhinged. Underneath it all, he does love her though, in a dark, twisted and wholly messed up way. But there is a genuine fondness and desire to be with her normally. However, it is not allowed to blossom as his obsessive and possessive tendencies are infinitely stronger and aggressive.

When Reader has calmed down from panicking at waking up in a near empty rundown apartment, in a room without windows, chained by her ankle to the bed she’s on and having been left alone all day, Dazai enters. At first she doesn’t recognize him, only having had a single short encounter with him months before. She asks what he wants from her, pleading with him to let her go, offering money, anything. He’s eerily, disturbingly calm, going on about things in an almost casual manner as he drops off a black duffel bag on the ground and begins shuffling around the room. His expression is blank and unreadable, movements calm, and voice monotone when he answers “I just want someone to keep me company” at her questions. She doesn’t know that he’s bursting from the inside out with lovesickness and elation.

And so begins his torment of her. His overbearing clinginess, his suffocating demands for her to love him, to hold him, to affirm how she loves him. His punishments if he doesn’t deem her answers not fitting enough, her embrace not loving enough. He completely forbids her from talking about her life from before the kidnapping, unless it is about their first meeting. He’s so immensely possessive, he drives himself insane with jealousy, able to think himself into a spiral, even though he’s currently holding her in his arms and should not logically have anything to be jealous about. He just cannot handle her not thinking about him. He wants to be the center of her world just like she is his. Hates feeling so vulnerable knowing that he needs her but that she doesn’t feel the same. That he cannot live without her but she can without him. That she’d prefer to live without him. So he plays psychological tricks on her to make her dependent on him. Throwing her into a cold dark room without food and water for days, to seem like her “savior” when he finally let her back in. Showing pictures of accidents he orchestrated in her loved ones lives through his money and connections, to show how he’d saved her from the outside world and that she should be grateful that he took her because look at what’s happening out there.

One time when she mentioned her old life he completely snapped, pinning her down on the mattress by the throat. Tears were steaming down his face, his pupils completely dilated and hair falling in his eyes. He looked completely crazed, screaming on about how he did everything for her, yet it still wasn’t enough? Asking her why she couldn’t just love him. Why she wanted to leave him like everyone else in his life. His hands began bleeding from the scratches she’d left on them as she gasped for air. He abruptly snapped back to his senses after that, and instead began spiraling about something else. Falling to the floor and clutching his head, screaming, retching. All at the realization that he had turned into his father. Reader was so terrified that she eventually had to calm him down herself, something that amplified his obsession with her, and so the cycle continued.

Was this OOC? Maybe, but it’s not supposed to portray him in a sane state of mind. This is a Dazai that’s faaaar gone and shaped differently by the circumstances of life. I wanted to write more because this is barely even scraping the surface of the ideas I have but I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. What are your thoughts?

OOC ????? THIS IS LITERAL ART NONNIE OH MY GOD literally everything from the back story to his spiral GODDDD - dazai being the disowned son of an influential politician is actually peak and then reader as the daughter of a businessman, ready to take over after her father and then everything goes to shit after she helped dazai ITS PERFECTTTT ugh okay let me get into it

his back story actually has me weeping </3 it reminds me a bit of nlh and that's what i use to shape dazai's backstory too - obviously i've changed quite a bit of it in pmreader universe to just help things flow better but the original inspo was nlh </3 but i LOVE that it all warped his view on love and pretty much turned him into what he is. do you imagine he was home schooled or went to school? because either way i could imagine it just making everything worse - whether he's pushed away by his classmates or just trapped in that house 24/7 with only his parents and siblings who can't stand him. also ill have u know that the part where you were like he always clung desperately to the good things in his life made me pout so hard :'))

PFFFF ALSO THE FACT THAT HE LITERALLY BREAKS INTO HER APARTMENT TO STEAL HER STUFF BEFORE EVEN ORCHESTRATING A SECOND BUMP IN WITH HER - and yk what, if he had orchestrated that second bump in, this could've been a totally different yanzai au .. instead of kidnapping her, he could've just inserted himself in her life and then it would've been like a game of cat and mouse because she KNOWS in her heart that something is up with him and starts getting suspicious of the bump ins, but he's just so good at covering his tracks that she can never get any proof of it. and its all just him making her fall for him all the while hiding the fact that he's been stalking her for weeks, trying to rein in all of the obsessive & possessive tendencies until he knows that he has her ... okay okay im getting off track

BUT THERE IS A GENUINE FONDNESS AND DESIRE TO BE WITH HER NORMALLY. HOWEVER, IT'S NOT ALLOWED TO BLOSSOM AS HE OBSESSIVE AND PSOSESSIVE TENDENCIES ARE INFINTELY STRONGER AND AGGRESSIVE UGHHHHHHH and you know what, i imagine maybe once or twice he would TRY to do normal things with her but it always backfires on him because of course she's going to try to use it as an attempt to escape because yk he KIDNAPPED her, but each time he tries and it backfires it just makes him spiral even more

god i don't know which part is worse - the throwing her into a cold dark room without food and water or showing her pictures of accidents he orchestrated in her loved ones lives - i genuinely think both would send her over the edge. i also think the second would be another one that would backfire on him, because he could tell whenever he shows her it, that she's thinking about it for DAYS - eyes a bit faraway, voice distant - and it makes him even more aggrieved because she's supposed to be thinking about how grateful she is that she wasn't caught up in it thanks to him

AND UGHHHH THE ENDING WITH HIM SNAPPING AND HER BEING SCARED AND CALMING HIM DOWN BUT THAT ONLY MAKES THE OBSESSION WORSE ... he convinces himself this is a sign that she really does love him and not that she was literally just scared for her life

NONNIE YOU LITERALLY GET ME LIKE NOBODY ELSEEEEEE PLS YOU MUST RETURN TO ME WHEN YOU HAVE TIME TO WRITE MORE ON THIS I BEG

[desultory-novice]

Off topic here but, How did Raquelle turn out to be such a sweet girl with a father like... THAT!? Dang...

Ooh, Raquelle time~

So, her impressively horrible father, once his power-base was established, effectively spoiled his daughter with (entirely feminine) luxuries from a young age–because what HE wanted was to raise a pretty looking trophy daughter to use as a bargaining chip.

(Her father does NOT drink respect women juice. At all. In fact, evidence would suggest that he was quite possibly a raging misogynist in addition to all his other crimes. And while I haven't set it in stone, let's just say that whoever Racquelle's mother was, she was almost assuredly out of the picture from a very young age.)

However, Rouan missed out on a very important aspect of his "pet daughter" project: providing her with, y'know, anything resembling love. So while he could blithely deliver most material things she wanted, he never managed to win her loyalty, only her passive (and frankly, a bit nervously given, because he was a frightening figure even when he was making a passing attempt at playing father) obedience.

Raquelle, meanwhile, yearned for real love and family. It's probable that her initial bond with the Fontaine siblings came from a place of shallow idealization of the storybook familial love (!) they had for each other! She didn't have it and she wanted to be a part of that. A part of a connection. Adeleine was in the perfect place to receive that connection, and her receptiveness emboldened Raquelle's belief in "love"–though Noir was a harder nut to crack, and it took her a while to learn to "read the room" with his attitude.

Her rich upbringing did leave her with a bit of a frivolous streak and her sweetness can be a bit tone deaf (it may be her own way of coping with life) but after losing Noir and Adeleine the first time to her father's machinations, she determined to grow up fast and learned that it was possible to still love people even from afar.

A small tidbit, but she dressed in mostly hyper femme skirts and dresses when they lived together and while she still adores pinks and pastels and girly things, switched over to pants and more utilitarian outfits later! Kind of a sign of emotional maturity on her part + an attempt to shed her naivete. (Speaking of little design quirks, Noir wore his bangs down all through the period they lived together.)

[Bonus] Summer Trio Trauma Responses!

Raquelle | Fawn Noir | Flight interestingly enough...! Adeleine | Fight (!!!!!)

<gif from notobscurevideogames but I'm too embarrassed to tag for an OC post>

[delzinrowe]

Not ready [PART B] - HEADCANON

A/N: This was requested by @zarazmnie-cos; WARNINGS: None, but you might get your heart broken. F!Reader SUMMARY: When they are not ready to commit to a relationship just yet... INCLUDES: ☆ Choso, Gojo, Geto, Shoko, Nanami, Toji, Utahime, Yaga, Ijichi ☆ → PART A -> If you enjoy my fics, please consider buying me a ko-fi, thank you!

CHOSO… He’s half cursed spirit. That’s enough to make him convinced that he doesn’t deserve you anyways. He’s not fully human like you or others. He might feel human emotions, but essentially he’s too inexperienced to sort out most of his feelings. Emotionally he’s on the level of a child that’s only just learning to deal with certain emotions. But he’s not stupid at all, he knows that he’s not good for you. So no matter how much his heart yearns for you, his mind reminds him that he’s not the right choice for you. He’s not what you need and he’s dangerous. Choso knows that pretty much from the start, he’d put on his apathetic facade when you’re around just so he wouldn’t give you any false hope. But it’s difficult when just your smile melts his heart. At one point he’d catch himself wanting to hold your hand. When he decides for himself that he needs you to realise that he’s not the one for you he’d be plagued by his inner turmoil. It takes him a long time to build up the courage to tell you all that, and he regrets it almost instantly when he sees the fake smile on your lips, while tears fill your eyes and you just tell him everything’s alright. Both of you know that it’s a lie.

SATORU GOJO… For what it’s worth Satoru can be romantic and full of rizz, but a real relationship? He’s not the guy for that. In a different universe, maybe. But as of now, with how things are in this situation? Absolutely not. He’s loyal and he does have a big heart, no one can deny that. But not enough to commit to a relationship, especially when he has such clear goals in mind (turning around the Sorcerer Society). He’s too committed to his students and his goal to commit to something else. He wouldn’t show you any sadness or regret when he lets you down. Moreso, he’d put on a smile to hopefully not hurt you too much, but a few hours later, when he sits in his private room and looks at the sunset he can’t help but wonder if maybe he made the wrong choice.

SUGURU GETO… With his goal of wiping out all non-sorcerers he’s got his hands full. He’s collecting curses left and right, all the time he has is spent with his two daughters. There’s simply no time for a real adult relationship. Not that he would be sad about it particularly. He’s already experienced the pain of being left behind and losing himself in the shadow of someone else. He’s not really fond of it possibly happening again if you decide to leave him behind once you realise what his actual goals are. He’s left you in the dark for most of his plan and his doings, but the risk of you walking away from him is too grave for him to outweigh the happiness you bring him. It’s with a lot of pain (hidden behind his nihilistic smile) that he tells you to find someone more suited for you. Possibly he’d even throw in an insult, just to make it easier for you to hate him and move on. Because after all, he does want you to be happy.

SHOKO IEIRI… Now this woman can be very casual but also stoic, the purpose of both of these traits is to hide her true feelings. She opts to keep her own emotions hidden, showing less of her personal feelings each time. It’s due to this that she often forgets how to engage in her own feelings. If you haven't been in touch with your emotions, how can you distinguish them? It’s become a habit for her, just like smoking. It would even take her a little while to notice that you’d want to be close to her romantically. Having lost too many people and being ridden by waking nightmares of the injuries she has to treat, she’s not someone who easily relies on others. She’s closed off and that wouldn’t change. She’s someone who’d rather sabotage her only chance with you instead of getting out of her comfort zone to be happy. Shoko’s blunt as she smokes in front of you, telling you that there is no chance for the two of you. She’s tactful enough to wrap the words in nice sugar-coating but it doesn’t soften the blow at all.

KENTO NANAMI… He’s strict about it. Nanami doesn’t commit to any relationship as long as he is an active sorcerer. That’s what he swore to himself, and that’s what he holds himself to. It doesn’t matter that your smile is enough to brighten not only his day but his entire world. It doesn’t matter that your soft voice is more melodic to him than any summer symphony. It certainly doesn’t matter that it just feels so right when you hold his hand. He cannot and will not put you in any danger if he cannot guarantee your safety, much less his own. But he’s not the type of person to break your heart in a cold way. He’d invite you for one last date, telling you that his lifestyle is too dangerous to get close to you. It hurts him to see you cry. Oh how he just wants to hold you in his arms and wipe away your tears.

TOJI FUSHIGURO… After the death of his true love he let himself go in the terms that he became reckless and didn’t care about anything anymore. After the marriage with his second wife he told himself to not ever let his feelings come into play again. Even if he didn’t love his second wife anywhere as much as he loved his first wife. He is known to be ruthless, but he’s not truly heartless. Now that you came along it would be difficult for him to hold himself true to his words. You have a way to get close to him and always find holes in his walls. But the life he lives is not a life for you. He’s not willing to get out of this rut that became his comfort zone. He doesn’t show you any emotion when he tells you in a rather impolite way to leave him alone. He’s numbed himself to not feel anything, so he can continue to appear like the heartless and cold assassin for hire.

UTAHIME IORI… You don’t know what’s going on inside her head, she’s not the type of person to talk about everything she thinks about. She’s also trying to be proper and well mannered at all times. Something that drew you in at first, but now it’s the cause of distance between you two. While you’d want to be closer, to be with her, she’d keep you at an arm's length and never tell you why. It’s painful to say the least, since you thought that you guys hit it off well. Eventually however, she’d tell you that she’s simply not ready for a committed relationship. Without any reason, she’s leaving you to guess and assume, albeit it doesn’t matter in the end, things were over before they began.

MASAMICHI YAGA… It should come to no one’s surprise that the man who devotes his life to creating cursed corpses is not particularly the best choice for romantic partners. What many don’t know about him is that he was married once, which ended in a divorce for reasons he doesn’t like to discuss. You wouldn’t be wrong to assume that his countless secrets (about his cursed corpses), his constant working and his dangerous life as a sorcerer in general was the reason for it. Much to his dismay, he it’s become his comfort to work too much and spend every minute creating (or thinking about) cursed corpses. He cannot let you in too much, or else he’d risk you being a target. It all comes down to the cons outweighing the pros of your (could have been) relationship, and ultimately he tells you straight up that he is not ready for this kind of commitment again. He’s stern and reserved as you try to fight the tears but even if you’d yell at him or insult him, he would bear it because he’d know you need this to move on.

KIYOTAKA IJICHI… Ijichi’s entire life revolves around his job, he might seem like someone who’s useless on the front, but practically all the paperwork is on his desk. Outside of exorcising curses he runs everything, even doing paperwork for countless other sorcerers (among them: Gojo and his students), that barely leaves any room for hobbies or romance. Even the fact that he met you is somewhat of a miracle for him, that you want to spend time with him is something he still cannot fully grasp. But as much as he would love to be with you, he’s also immensely anxious and insecure in himself. It’s the first time he’s ever in a situation like this. His work (that he loves) and his insecurities are getting the better of him. He would have immense trouble telling you straight up, because he’s a coward in that sense. He’d write you a letter but eventually with everything going wrong all the time he would lose it somewhere and you’d never know what happened. You’d simply wait for him to contact you, text or call but there’s just nothing anymore.

[yohanseyebrowmole]

Dum Spiro Spero

❛While I breathe, I hope.❜ The son of Hermes and the daughter of Apollo were always enough for each other. What happens when one of them starts yearning for more?

✧ Pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!oc

✧ Warnings: Violence, Major Character Death, possible mentions of substance and/or alcohol abuse, Mild gore, Language, Mature themes.

Any potential triggers will be marked as will any potential mature content!

✧ Status: Ongoing

aesthetics previous // next chapter

The Prologue

His Greatest Lover and His Biggest Regret

✧ He watches as she drops to the floor, clutching the wound on her stomach. 

Blood begins to pool around her, and he hears the boy scream her name as she falls, but he couldn't care less. Did he do this? Surely not.

Her breaths are shaky as she sees the eyes of the man she loves change from molten gold back into the blue she loves so much. 

She watches as realisation sets in and horror-filled tears begin to fall down his face.

He did this. 

She was dying, and it was all his fault.

He runs over and falls to his knees beside her, pulling her to his chest, and for the first time in years, maybe even the first time in his life, he prayed to the gods. He prayed and begged for them to save her. He prayed to her father, whom he knew cared for her, to turn up and save her from the wound he had inflicted.

But he knew they would not come.

They were too busy fighting the chaos brought forth by his own hands. 

He felt a hand touch his cheek and looked at the girl in his arms. She smiles at him. He had done this to her, yet she still smiles at him, like he still means something to her.

He meant everything to her.

Even now, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. A sculpture crafted so carefully by the gods and fate that he cried harder knowing he had destroyed it. 

Luke Castellan wanted revenge but not like this.

Not with the only good thing to ever happen to him dying in his arms.

How could he live a life without her? Even as he feels the rage of the titan within him lashing out, even as he hears his voice screaming in his ears, all he can think about is her. 

In a moment of clarity, it clicks. 

He knew what he had to do.

He presses a kiss on his lover's forehead and lays her down. He asks the boy, whom he knew would make things right, to hand him the knife he had gifted his little sister so long ago. He watches as he hesitates for a moment, and he pleads. The righteous boy hands him the blade. 

He looks down and sees a tear slip out of her eyes. Her hands reach for him, but it falls limp halfway. He watches as it thuds against the ground.

I love you

She breathes it out as Thanatos takes her soul. 

The last words she ever spoke into existence were words of care and of love. The words showed her unwavering devotion to the boy she calls her home, her safe haven, and her reason. He had and would always mean everything to her.

The golden light that always seemed to encompass her flickers, dims, and burns out. Her skin grows pale, and her eyes grow vacant. A final tear falls from her eye. 

He watches as it runs down the bridge of her nose and down the rest of her face. Lifeless. She was dead.

The colours of the world grow dull, birds stop singing, the sun stops shining, and the temperature drops. He did this.

He unbuckles his armour, takes a breath, and buries the blade to its hilt under his left armpit.

Would the gods allow him to pray for her forgiveness? To beg for it? Would he be allowed to fall to his knees before her and beg for her mercy? Would that be selfish of him? Would she ever forgive him? Even if she didn't, he wouldn't blame her; he wouldn't forgive himself either.

She was his truest love and greatest regret.

She has asked him once: If he knew it all then, would he have done it again?

No, he wouldn't have. 

He could have—should have—taken her and ran. Far, far away from this place.

She had always said she wanted to live in a house by the beach. She had wanted a library and a room to paint in. Something small, but with room to grow. 

Somewhere away from everything. 

He should have taken her and ran when he had the chance. 

Instead, she lay dead next to him because of his own foolish desires.

The world flashes gold, and he recalls every moment with her as he crumples to the ground beside her and takes her hand in his.

Luke Castellan should have taken Hannah Gibson and ran. 

☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N

My first official piece of writing getting published on here! I love how pretty I can make it hehe! Wattpad isn't like that <3

Thoughts???

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