#considering how easy it would be to do that and explain everything so swiftly with one simple word mike kept to himself

[ironyscleverer]

Doctor Who as a Post-Colonial Metaphor

Recently I've been thinking a lot about how beautifully Doctor Who reflects the state of post-colonial British identity, and tumblr seems like the appropriate place to share my ramblings. So let’s see if I can explain in a way that makes sense.

I must start by putting on my obnoxious little film degree hat and reminding everyone that sci-fi is one of those genres that is highly political (as most things are, but scifi even moreso). It turns out it's pretty easy to get a sense of people's fears and anxieties by asking them to envision the future, and that's what sci-fi media does; it uses contemporary cultural standards and ideas to create a vision of what futuristic/advanced science and technology might look like, and how people might respond to it. In doing so, it ends up taking the social and political temperature of the time and place in which it's created.

As such, it's very, very common for scholars to analyze sci-fi media through this lens; even Frankenstein, arguably the first science fiction novel ever written, is often interpreted as reflecting cultural fears regarding swiftly advancing science and technology during the early stages of the industrial revolution. The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951) is another great, very blatant example of how sci-fi and politics can interact. In this movie, a Jesus-like alien ascends to Earth during the Cold War to warn the human race about their imminent nuclear annihilation. It seems corny to us now, but it's actually a great movie and I would highly reccomend it. It's rumored that the US Department of Defense read the script and Did Not Like It because the themes were too anti-war.

In other words, despite often being viewed as too “pop,” too goofy, and too unserious to have any deep meaning, pretty much any scifi story can be analyzed within an inch of its life using a meta social/political lens. It's not the only way to interpret sci-fi, but it's by far the most common. One must simply ask, “what does this vision of science, technology, and/or the future say about us as we are now?”

But anyway. Doctor Who. Disclaimer: I haven't watched the classic series so I'll focus on 2005 onward (still post-colonial so it still holds up, lol). If you've seen Classic and you'd like to chip in, please do.

Genre-wise, Doctor Who is more-or-less a space-western, a subgenre of sci-fi that incorporates Western elements—exploring new frontiers, engaging with unfamiliar civilizations, rogue figures, etc. Star Trek is the peak example of this, but there are many, many others.

Of course, the Western genre is dripping with colonialism due to its historical setting of the American West, and the racist depictions of Indigenous peoples. Space-westerns, consequently, also tend to address colonial topics. Sometimes space westerns are just as racist as normal westerns, but sometimes they use the genre reflexively, to question colonial ideals. A more progressive space-western might be more willing to “humanize” the alien cultures they meet, asking questions like, "how does one ethically engage with foreign societies?" or "When is it appropriate to intervene in a conflict?" etc.

Althought these kinds of questions come up regularly in Doctor Who, especially regarding its anti-war messaging (Time War etc.). These themes become doubly interesting when you use them to inform your interpretation of The Doctor, both as a character and as a symbol.

Consider this: The Doctor is the embodiment of an ancient and immensely powerful being with a bloody history. Their kill-count is quite literally somewhere in the quadrillions. Although they are a self-proclaimed pacifist, they are still constantly a perpetrator of death and destruction throughout the series. The Doctor, despite repeatedly and loudly choosing peace, can never seem to keep their hands clean of chaos and suffering. Doctor Who is about an entity that destroys everything they touch, sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. As an allegory for grappling with the legacy of British imperialism, I'd say it's pretty on the nose.

In this sense, not only is Doctor Who a show about colonialism, it is also a show about identity in the wake of colonialism. It's even in the name: "Doctor Who?" Who is the Doctor? What is their responsibility to the universe? What does it mean to be ancient and powerful and drenched in the blood of millions? How do they move on, become better, without falling into the same traps? What does it mean to be British?

These questions come up over and over throughout the new series, from the destruction of Gallifrey, to the Timelord Victorious, to A Good Man Goes to War, the Flux (arguably), and many, many other smaller plotlines I could mention. Even in the latest series with Ncuti Gatwa, the focus on adoption and family is in a similar vein—where does the Doctor come from? What does it even mean to be “from” a place? How much do your origins truly contribute to who you are and who you become?

How the companions fall within this framework is also interesting; if the Doctor is a stand-in for the nation as an entity, then the Doctor's companion, the everyday British person, is the stand-in for the populace. The companions are ever-changing, ever-evolving, constantly renegotiating their relationship with the Doctor. The companion's ultimate challenge is to find how they fit into the narrative of the Doctor's life, and try their best to come out the other end with a happy ending (ha).

Of course, Doctor Who is owned by the BBC, meaning it is quite literally nationally subsudized TV. It is all but directly approved by the British government. As a result, althought the show is actually VERY critical in some places, the Doctor is usually ultimately sympathetic; their good intentions tend to forgive a lot of the problems they've caused. The companion is usually charmed by the Doctors' seemingly endless tragedy of a life. This is a country's state-owned media company working with it's own self-image--it's inherently a work of self-reflection, and perhaps of self-obsession, too.

It would be easy to be cynical about Doctor Who as a product of the BBC, which is state-funded (but notably not owned or directly controlled by the government!). However, I tend to think that just writing it off as propaganda because of this is doing the show a disservice. Yes, there is an inherent privilege and self-centeredness to endlessly forgiving the Doctor, but that's also kind of the whole point; it's a show about coming to terms with one's horrible past. It's a show about learning to formulate a new sense of self. To demand that Doctor Who to be less self-obsessed, to not be about British identity when it is in fact a British show for Brits about Brits, is just a bit unrealistic.

Instead, I choose to believe that Doctor Who can and does use its privilege for good more often than not. The creators tend to be very progressive (as sci-fi so often is) and they can get away with a lot of very progressive messages in the guise of a silly sci-fi show for families. Most recently, I would point to s14e3: Boom, s14e5: Dot and Bubble as examples of thinly veiled rants about the evils of capitalism, war, racism, social media, etc. To ignore or dismiss Doctor Who because it has some form of institutional backing would be doing the actual stories and writers a disservice.

Finally, let me leave you with one last point; One consistancy throughout the new series that I find very charming is the positive effect the companions always have on the Doctor. Companions come and go, which is sad, but they're each special in their own little way, and they each change the Doctor, wearing them down a little at a time. The Doctor is consistently at their worst when they are alone, removed from the people that make them want to be better.

Very often the companion's parting message for the Doctor is "don't be alone.” This can be extrapolated to mean: don't forget we exist. Don't forget to be kind. Even if you can't help your legacy, even if you can't wash the blood off your hands, you can always keep striving to be better. Keep someone around to remind you to be better. And the Doctor, more often than not, does. Because ultimately it is the companions, us the people, that make the Doctor who they are.

It’s this special brand of relentless optimism, this indomitable belief in the goodness of people and the power of that goodness that always brings me back to Doctor Who, one way or another, despite all its flaws.

Edit 11/29: corrected some info about the BBC per the comments!

[christinebloodwrittings]

Something exactly like this

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, police brutality.

Words: 1401

Chapter 2: Have a good one, punk.

Taglist: @lavnderluv @xoxobabe

I got up early, walked to the nearest police station and practically impose that they brought the police officer that hit me without a reason. I managed to get to his superior, explained the situation, placed the evidence and the badge number I memorized. He apologized for the inconvenient, but he refused to make justice on the officer, though I wasn't expecting him to, really, I'm not that naive. I just wanted to be in peace with it.

A good night sleep and two days off work worked like a charm! Due to the bullet wound I couldn't move very swiftly, so I sent my boss photos when it was fresh and bleeding so he would leave me alone for a while, blood makes him sick, talk about an opportunity well taken.

The cut was closed but it still hurt a lot, not enough for me to complain much about it, but if I looked too much at it or stepped too harshly, boy it stung.

"Welcome to Shot's, what can I get you?" I tried to keep myself as calm as I could, but every word that came out of my mouth seemed to catch on fire in the air.

"Y/n dearie, you seem...pissed" my manager approached me attempting a soothing attitude, "Just a bad couple of days, sir, I'll try to swallow it" he shook his head, "With that wound, even I would be in an awful mood, just try to take it as easy as you can, and would you call Jess? She's late again" I sighed, she's an usual at being late, so it was normal for her to send me a message with a lame excuse, all because she fell asleep or her boyfriend is banging her.

"Sorry sorry, so so sorry Y/n" she rushed through the back entrance, collided against the counter, and attempted to hug me but I stepped away, "I heard the manager say you were injured in the raid, I'm sorry honey" That's all she had to say?

"Busy" I whispered and continued pouring coffee for an old lady, when I was finished she corned me at the restocking, "But how are ya'? How did it go with Hobie?" She had the face of a puppy after given it a treat, "You mean after you fucking bailed on me and left me alone? Been better, but what do you mean?" She was stunned, "Wait you guys seriously didn't do shit? That was the whole meaning of the setup!" I was flabbergasted, not precisely anger, but I felt lied to and inclined to punch her in the face.

"The what?" I asked and she immediately regret her words, "Well I thought you could use a boyfriend, and what more cool than someone completely opposite from you?" I wanted to slap the ton of makeup off of her face.

"You mean you wanted me to date an anarchist, crazy enough to go to a raid, who puts his life in danger over the cause every day, fucked up, probably drug user, punk?" In all honesty, he didn't look half as bad, but still not the point.

"Fact number one, everything right but he doesn't do drugs" at least that's a point to his favor, "And two, yes he's a punk, but a kind hearted one, I've known him for a long while now, gotta trust my gut" Now she was going to get the slap for sure.

"Either way, I'm not that desperate, if I wanted to find a guy, I would've already done it" internal slay because it was true, but I was too much of a package to handle.

"You should consider hanging out with Hobie, you two would make a hell of a match" I sighed, she was insisting far too much, "Not intrested, and you're overselling it" thank whatever in existence the manager appeared, "Y/n dear, when you can, I need those boxes to the back, just put them by the trash can" I nodded.

A last glance to Jess's sorry face made me ease my temper, at least she didn't do it with bad intentions, she's just a horrible matchmaker.

I dropped the boxes by accident. When trying to take them all without bending the knee, some ended up further away from my reach, and to top it off my shoe slipped and my bandaged knee hit the concrete. By sheer luck I avoided screaming in pain, my pulse went down to the injured area.

"Need help?" I looked up and it's no other than Spiderpunk, upside down, while holding one of the boxes that went away, "Stalking much?" I smiled, "What is it with you and greetings? Hey there Spider-Punk, how's it hangin'?" He left the box with the others and stretched his hand for me to take.

"Literally hanging, it seems" I sassed him back while standing up, luckly he was so strong. "Now where is it?" He inclined his head towards mine, "What are you talking about?" I scoffed, taking a second to think, and then it hit me. "Well, I saved you from hard work" this man should be a comedian, "Bullshit, but nice try" he snaped his fingers like when a cartoon couldn't do something, "Worth it".

"But you know? It's true, how are you, punk?" I swear I could sense his smile, "Good, how's the leg?" I shrugged, "It would hurt if I tried to kick someone's ass, so you got away, for now" I got closer, just to tease him out, but it backfired, "I would love, to see you try lil' darling".

He was so close I could feel his breath coming out of the mask. I laughed, maybe because he was way more sassy than I anticipated, or embarrassment. The sound of angry customers brought my atention to the door, and I knew it was time to go.

"Have a nice day, punk" I walked a few steps away when he somehow got landed and got enough seconds to grab my hand, "Thought we could chat or somethin', but luck forbid we have a decent encounter right?" He snickered, "Some of us have actual jobs, ya know?" I noticed, he wasn't letting go, but me neither.

"Then" he got closer, his chest inches from me "Some other time?" His fingers got a better grip of my hand, not quite tight, but firm.

"I leave at eight, and curfew starts at ten, you work it around those hours" at ten precisely, the police start the patroll, and they shoot or grab whatever that moves that isn't uniformed.

"Fuck curfew, pigs can suck my arse" I honesty believed him, "Sure, but I won't risk a beating and getting myself violated in the slammer, not all of us have super powers to get away" and all that trouble for his deviant ass? Maybe...

"Yeah, so can I stop at yours?" Why his grip got tighter? And why he's so warm?! Help. I'll be the envy of the groupies that love this guy, like Jess.

But will it be too much of a risk?

"Don't know if I should let an anarchist, the number one enemy of police and the government, inside my house" also wouldn't like to find out what would they do to me if they catch me with such a celebrity.

"I'll bring some crisps then" oh well, what the hell then.

"I'll leave my window open" where did that even come form, that came out way more flirty than intended! Fuck!

I tried to get away but he still had my hand, "You still owe me a kiss" is he serious?

"I don't think I was in certain death just now"

"Does it have to?" He asks. I mean does it have to be certain death? Hope not.

"You act as if you needed it" he got closer, was that even posible? "Jus' like to settle that debt" he placed his hand on a safe area of my waist, putting no pressure into it.

I hunmed and let go of his hand, "Then I'll keep owing you" reaching for the door I heard him ask, "Why's that?" I smiled, already on the other side of the door.

"So you keep it as an excuse" And what an exit, I was actually so proud of myself, but my embarrassment got over me and my face started to heat up.

Damn that masked man!

[mxtxfanatic]

Do you mind if I ask something as a new fan of MXTX works? So if Lan Ying is Jun Wu in disguise does it mean from the start of the story, it's Jun Wu all along? Also, if He Xuan already fulfill his retribution to Shi Wu Du, how come he is still on earth and not moving on?

Also, is it just fanon or canon that Shang Qinghua already "with" Mobei Jun since he was a teenager and Shen Yuan never realized that Luo Binghe loved him all this time?

And is it true that Wei Wuxian never thought of Nie Huaisang as the "masterplanner" all this time and is Jin Ling reconcile with Wei Wuxian at the end?

Sorry for my (many) silly ask...

TGCF Questions:

1) Lang Ying was not Jun Wu the whole time. The ghost boy that we are first introduced to is Lang Ying, who then later gets devoured by White No-Face:

If “Lang Ying” had never existed to begin with and was only White No-Face in his weakened form, everything would be easy to explain. But when Xie Lian remembered the girl Xiao-Ying who had died on Mount Yujun, he wished that explanation made less sense than it did. Xie Lian swiftly thought of another possibility. “Or perhaps...he devoured Lang Ying.” The “Lang Ying” before them was growing taller. His body stretched upward, and the bandages on his face unwrapped and dropped away to reveal the mask beneath. He lifted his head slightly when he heard Xie Lian’s guess and seemed to smile. “You guessed right.”

—Vol. 6, Chapt. 94: From the Sealed Kiln, One Supreme Shall Emerge, official

2) Perhaps he does not feel like his obsession has been resolved. After all, Shi Qingxuan could be considered a loose end, though He Xuan seems to have left him alone since the Blackwater arc. Nothing says that the obsession keeping him tied to the mortal world would find resolution with Shi Wudu's death.

SVSSS Questions:

1) It's fanon that Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun were together for that long. They only officially "get together" (if it can be read as that) in the post-canon extra "Airplane's Fortuitous Encounter." Their business relationship (if one can call it that) is what began when Shang Qinghua was a teen.

2) I'm not sure I get what the second part means by "all this time." Shen Qingqiu realized Luo Binghe liked him romantically the moment Luo Binghe kissed him in the shared dream before the battle over Shen Qingqiu's corpse. After deliberating on it a bit more in the shared dream after the battle, he accepts that there were always signs that Luo Binghe liked him but he chose to not understand them in order to stick to the genre's formula and tropes. This is all in Chapts. 10-11 of vol. 2 of the official translation.

MDZS Questions:

1) It's hinted at throughout the text that Wei Wuxian has his suspicions about Nie Huaisang's actions and motivations, particularly when he questions how Nie Huaisang conveniently shows up during certain key events and is connected to all the key players, but we as the audience are never explicitly told when Wei Wuxian zeroed in on him as the mastermind behind the plot. We only get the confrontation at the end of the main story that Wei Wuxian has been connecting these dots for a minute.

2) Yes, Jin Ling reconciled with Wei Wuxian by the end of the story. He already wanted to reconcile by the end of the second siege of the Burial Mounds, but circumstances prevented him. By the extras, they are regularly meeting up for nighthunts, and Jin Ling goes to Wei Wuxian for help.

[missglittersmiles]

Sound Mind & Heart CH. 1

AOT Various × Fem! Reader

The stars looked exceptionally pretty tonight. The light breeze made the leaves rustle softly. Three people sat on a tree branch closely together. None of them spoke as a melancholic feeling hung over them. They knew this would be their last late-night meeting ever. Graduation was in a few days, and there will be a small celebratory party for the 104th cadets tomorrow night.

It started out with Marco wanting to improve his ODM skills. He knew he'd never touch an ODM gear when he joined the military police. But he wouldn't be given the choice if he didn't improve his usage of it. He'd ask y/n to train him because he saw her sneak into the woods with her ODM gear on after curfew multiple times.

The girl was flattered. "I'll help you train, but you have to agree to marry me." She held Marco's hand like it was made of porcelain. "Don't worry. I'll pay for the rings. Just tell me your ring size, and I'll figure out everything else." He opened his mouth to respond, yet he couldn't find any. The poor boy was too flustered and taken back by her reaction. She let his hand go with a light chuckle. "I'm just partially joking, but you can train with me."

The first few nights were a struggle. y/n couldn't stop babying Marco, like any sudden movement would break him. And using ODM gear in the dark wasn't easy for him. y/n nearly had a heart attack every time he bumped into a tree. Still, Marco was slowly making some progress.

It wasn't long before Jean joined their late-night training. He was moping about Eren getting a better grade than him in their latest test. Marco invited him along to do some extra training with him and y/n. Jean turned down the offer. Explaining that he was good enough to not need extra training, but he'd eventually cave in and join them.

It was supposed to be about improving each other's skills, but it quickly became y/n and Jean teaching Marco the best techniques for using ODM. The two had very different teaching styles. y/n constantly showered him in praise while Jean focused more on the actual training. Leading the two to slightly bicker, though it never got too out of hand. y/n never seemed to take anything seriously.

"Still plan on joining the scouts?" Jean asked. He didn't bother looking at y/n and she didn't look back at him either. They both just looked up at the night sky. Marco stole a glance at y/n, hoping to see her consider her options or hesitate at the very least.

"Yeah. Of course." There was no delay in her response, which saddened the two. Though it seemed to bother Jean more. "You're just going to die out there. Honestly, you're better off joining the garrison. There's no need to play the hero." Marco didn't like Jean's aggressive tone but did agree with him to an extent.

"Aw, are you worried about little old me?" y/n gave him a cheeky smile. Her voice was too light for this important conversation. She swung her legs off the tree branch with a sort of excitement. This seemed to anger Jean more.

"You could have easily been one of the top ten if you didn't sleep through all those lectures. Do you have the same death wish as that dumb suicidal maniac? Or do you really think that there's a future outside the walls?" His irritation hid his concern and fear.

She stopped swinging her legs and looked down for a moment. She stared at the tree branches down below with a sort of thoughtfulness etched into her expression. The two waited for her response, one being more patient than the other. Marco placed his hand over hers and said, "No matter what you do, y/n, I'll support you." She looked at his sincere smile for a moment before returning one herself.

Jean swiftly popped the tender moment. "You're going to support her in getting herself killed?" He pointed out with gritted teeth. Marco looked away, a little abashed. He responded with uncertainty, "No. I didn't mean it like that. You know what I mean."

How the two acted so nonchalant about the whole thing irked Jean. y/n, their friend during these 4 years of training, was marching to their death with a smile. And all Marco would say was essentially measly good luck. Just as Jean was about to spit out venomous words at the two, y/n spoke up.

"There's life outside the walls."

Jean's frustration was calmed for a moment by y/n's statement. The way she said it so confidently made them look at her with curiosity. Waiting for her to explain herself further. "What do you mean?" Marco asked; his eyes were filled with interest. She stared into his eyes as if searching for something. After a moment she'd look back at the sky and said, "I believe." Jean asked her what the hell she meant by that. "I believe there's life outside the walls. That's all." Jean rolled his eyes and Marco thought about the idea.

Marco shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, I guess it's possible." He didn't want to crush y/n's belief because he didn't at least entertain the idea. "The only thing outside the walls are titans and death." Jean snickered at his friends' optimistic naivety. Unsurprisingly, y/n let out a chuckle. Sometimes it felt like y/n couldn't be knocked down, and even if she was, she'd still be laughing to herself. "Yeah, maybe. But how could we know if we don't go out there?" She gave Jean a small smile.

"Don't expect me to cry at your funeral when I hear you got eaten by a titan. That is if you still have remains to be buried." Marco called Jean out for his crass remark. Telling him to apologize for what he said, all while y/n laughed.

She put her arms around both of their shoulders and pulled them close to her. "Jean, Marco…You two have made every day so much better. Honestly, it's going to hurt a lot when we split up, but knowing you two have each other when you become an MP has brought me peace. I think…I think I'd do just about anything for you two." A sniffle came from Marco. y/n could feel his shoulders shake a little; she didn't have to look at him to know that he was crying. She tried to keep up her smile and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"If you'll do anything for us, then join the garrison." y/n quickly blinked away any tears. She didn't want to show how emotional their final time here was making her. She was upbeat, if not wishy-washy. That's how she wanted them to remember her. Not the girl who broke down in tears because she'd be left alone with people like Eren who were crazy enough to join the scouts.

"I said I think I'd do anything for you. And that's not one of them. Hey, but when you become MPs, how about you send me some candy through a letter or something? I’m sure candy from the interior is heavenly. I asked Annie to send me some when she gets there, but you never know with her. Plus, she's greedy with her sweets." y/n started babbling on. Trying to stray further from that conversation. Marco was too busy wiping away his tears, and it didn't seem like Jean was even listening. Too busy thinking to himself.

Just as y/n was starting to reminisce about their first day here, Jean finally snapped out of it. He pushed her arm off his shoulders and gave her an intense look. "If you join the garrison, then I'll join it too." The two looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

"But the whole reason you're here is to live in the interior." Marco stated. He was completely dumbfounded by Jean's sudden shift. Jean let out a frustrated sigh, "y/n, you shouldn't have to throw your life away. There's so many people that care about you more than you realize. The scouts aren't worth your life."

y/n's heart felt heavier with each word he spoke. She could feel her facade cracking under his gaze. Then Marco spoke up, "I'll join the garrison as well! We'll be together till the end!" His voice was soft but held a bright determination. y/n couldn't take it longer and let out a choked cry. Tears streamed down her face.

She swiftly pushed her arm to her eyes. A poor attempt at hiding her tears. She could feel a hand rubbing her back to provide some type of comfort. Yet it only made her cry harder. They were too good for her. So selfless compared to her. She was a mere insect and they were everything but that. Everyone here was so much better than her in multiple ways. It was almost unfair.

After a moment of weeping, y/n croaked, "Write to me how nice it looks in Sina." Jean looked at her disbelief. He and Marco are willing to throw away their dream of joining the military police so that they could be together. Yet she's still determined to die beyond the walls.

Jean didn't doubt her skill. Again, she could have easily been one of the top ten, but she threw it away. She threw away any good opportunity for herself. There was a difference between training dummies and real titans. The thought of those disgusting things getting near any of them sent a chill down his spine. There were so many ways one could die out there. She'd be considered lucky if her corpse wasn't completely eaten. Or maybe she'd be marked as MIA.

At what point should one give up on someone? Jean can't tell if she's stupid or ignorant for throwing everything away. Jean stood up. "You're fucking worse than that suicidal maniac." With that, he used his ODM gear to zoom through the trees and back to camp. The two were silent for a moment. Watching Jean disappear into the night. "I'd tell you to take care of Jean, but I know I don't have to worry about that." y/n said, appearing to be unbothered by the whole thing.

"Of course. You can always count on me, but..." Marco trailed off for a moment. She waited patiently and took her arm off his shoulder. Swinging her legs as she picked at the tree bark. "But promise me you'll come alive back from every expedition. No matter what it takes." She held herself back from recoiling at his words. She subconsciously started twirling a strand of hair with one of her fingers. "I'll try." She said it without looking at him.

"Promise me. Promise Jean. Promise us that you'll live." His voice was surprisingly stern. 'I wanted this to be a nice night.' y/n thought to herself with a sigh. "I promise you, Marco Bodt, my freckled fiend, and Jean Kirstein, my trusty steed, that I'll try to come back alive." She forced a smile. "y/n," Marco said with a frown.

She was quick to interrupt him. "Just smile for me." She held both sides of his face. "Just between you and me. I think your smile looks prettier than Jean's." He scoffed a laugh before pulling her hands off his face and giving her a smile. "There it is! There's my winning smile! Come on, let's head back before someone notices we're out."

"But you'll try to live, won't you?"

"Yes, my dearest. Now stop worrying about that." She hid her slight annoyance behind a laugh and a dismissive hand wave.

Next Chapter

Sound Mind & Heart Masterlist

[crossroadsdimension]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 22

Prompt -- Free Day #3

(FFXIVWrite 2024 Masterpost)

(ARR patches, sometime around 2.4-2.5. No story beats actively mentioned)

Thancred found Cross standing just outside of Revenant’s Toll, looking up at the night sky with a haunted expression.

Unlike the last few days, the sky’s purple haze of aetherial instability had cleared, revealing a clear night sky, with countless stars and a full moon. The wasteland of Mor Dhona, torn up fifteen years ago and then again when the Calamity struck, answered the starlight in kind with a bright, glowing blue that would have blended well with the daylight sky.

It made for quite the sight. But it did not explain why Cross looked so torn.

Thancred walked up, careful to make enough noise to alert Cross to his presence. It was counter behavior for a man with his training, but he knew better than to walk up on a known adventurer with silent feet. Even if that adventurer was young and inexperienced. “Gil for your thoughts?”

Cross shifted slightly, but she didn’t reach for the mage staff on her back as she turned to look at him. She blinked at him for a moment, startled, then sighed and shook her head as she looked back at the crystalline skyline. “Have you ever felt like the world is moving around you and you can’t force to stop, even if you wanted to?”

Thancred frowned at the question. “Can’t say that I have. What brought this on, might I ask?”

Cross sighed again. She kept her gaze on the crystals covering the landscape. “I suppose I thought that, once everything had settled after…after the events of the Praetorium…that I would be able to find some time to myself for a while. That the world would calm down and go quiet, and let us lead our lives as we willed it. But then there was that great and terrible roar, the vision of a dark crystal that I have yet to find an explanation for —” Cross motioned to the air, as though motioning to the vision in question. “And now I am looked to as some sort of savior. Someone who anyone and everyone is coming to for aid. And even then, there are some I have been unable to keep safe.”

The young adventurer turned to look at Thancred. “I cannot help but wonder how my father might have dealt with this fame, if he had survived the Calamity that took him and the memory of him from us.”

Ah. So that is what kept Cross up this night.

“I can’t speak for a man I can’t remember,” Thancred said. “But as for your feelings on our current situation — events progress without our say-so, as we are not the only ones living upon this star. As much as I am certain others would prefer it if events went their way…this is not a faerie tale where we receive happy endings, and that is the end. And besides that, we are only mortal. We cannot save everyone, but that does not mean we cannot try.”

It would be so easy to say Louisoix’s favorite phrase now, but this was not the best conversation for it. Cross was not expressing a reluctance to save, after all — she was requesting time to breathe before the next crisis.

“You are right,” Cross said. “I merely wish that we wouldn’t be moving from one crisis to the next so swiftly.”

“Don’t we all,” Thancred agreed. “We will merely have to rest when we can, and take events one day at a time.”

“Ha.” Cross turned away from the crystals and looked at Thancred. “I hope you intend to do the same.”

Thancred blinked in surprise, then sighed a laugh. “Yes, yes. I will not spread myself as thin as I did before. You have my word.” He motioned back to the gate behind him. “Considering that we are currently out here in the middle of the night, might I suggest we turn in?”

Now Cross sighed a laugh. “Yes, I suppose we should.” She stepped towards the town gate, then paused and nodded to Thancred. “Thank you. For speaking with me. While I cannot say my heart has been made at ease, it has helped to center my thoughts, if only a little.”

“That is likely the best any of us could hope for,” Thancred replied. “But I can ask that you not be disturbed tomorrow, if you wish for more time for rest and contemplation?”

“That would…that would likely do me some good.”

“In that case, I will make sure the others know. But come — let us rest. Whether or not you intend to do things tomorrow, a rested body and mind are important for one’s sanity.”

“Tell that to Urianger. I swear, I saw that man stay up all night once.”

Thancred couldn’t help but grin at that remark. “Oh, he has stayed up for much longer than that before. Would you like to hear of what happened when he attempted to stay awake for an entire week?”

“He did what?”

[salvagedsouls]

The Death of Freyja

warnings for the following: murder & genocide, victim blaming, abuse, child abuse, slavery, war, child marriage, domestic abuse please take care of yourself first. this background has heavily mature content, triggering content, and may be intense. it will be placed under a readmore for initial posting but the post will eventually be made fully visible to the dash later on. if you do not want to read the actual content but would still like a summary, please let me know and i’ll figure out a more sfw/friendly-ish way to explain without going into detail. please please message me if additional warnings or tags are needed. DO NOT REBLOG.

Freyja is a child, one of the younger ones in Vanaheim. She’s raised intensely tied to the magic of her people and their realm, learning quickly and adapting quite naturally even for those close to her age, and her skill develops fast. Once it’s safe and not unwieldy she begins training with weapons as well, finding a particular taste for daggers and curved short blades that match both her speed and are easy to tie with her magic. Her parents, her people, are proud of Freyja for being so powerful without abandoning her own self. She knew that expectations began to rise that she would be able to lead one day, if she truly wanted to.

But she’s still a child when the war happens. Old enough to know the dangers if her people lose but too young to be considered part of the fight. She sees friends give their all to try power defenses and buy time, sees family fall to an army that seems to never end. Sees her world burn as the Aesir chase Vanir out of places good for ambushes, and then driven away from temples that are dismantled and destroyed. The circle that closes around them proves to be a noose, the Aesir army choking off her people and cutting down those she used to be sure could never fall to anything but perhaps age. All for gold, for conquering, and she’s sure it’s because they had discovered they could so they did. The Aesir didn’t seem to care what the costs for everything else would be.

Freyja is part of the group of children that are rounded up and captured, a rather final way of making the adults that are left to surrender. She kicks and screams with an unforgiving hand holding so tight to her hair that some is certainly torn out, her feet barely touching the ground. She feels sick when she sees the way the Aesir leader looks at her, can feel the way her magic tries to protect her from the gaze and the way it breaks when her parents are swiftly deposed right in front of her. Odin there calculating and indifferent as the leather of her clothing soaks in the blood now covering her. 

He’s the one who says taking a bride would end the war. 

Again with the gaze, and he doesn’t seem to notice or care about the tears down her face, though he barks out an order when her brother moves to try protecting her like their parents had wanted to. Only then does Freyja’s voice find words that aren’t half-nonsensical curses, desperate to protect her people. Herself for her people wasn’t so bad a trade after all, was it? She could stop the murdering, the destruction, all of it. Could save their world from a complete wipeout, give the rest a fighting chance to recover. She could protect everyone left; she knew what he wanted, of course.

She could save her people.

Freyja pretends not to hear her brother’s protests or angry oaths, offering herself on the singular condition that the rest of the Vanir, the rest of the realm, be spared. Part of their magic is their word, so if he accepts there’s no running. She knows he knows, can see the way Odin considers very carefully, but still there’s some note of victory when he nods and holds his hand out to her. Expectant. Demanding. The last thing she ever does as a free girl is give an apologetic look to her brother, keeping her eye on him until the pair of them have walked too far for her to still see him. All she can think after that is how small her hand feels in the Asgardian’s, how many steps she has to take just to keep up with him. How her entire being cries out when her feet leave the ground of their realm for the final time and she can feel the pain of the forest at losing another daughter. The king doesn’t even let her see Vanaheim fade into the distance as he takes his leave.

Mere hours later Freyja has been scrubbed clean and dressed in fineries she’s never seen the like of before, in materials she’s never touched in the past. All she had been wearing before is taken away and she never sees it again, assuming it is all destroyed. The few tattoos she already had are covered up by first some sort of concealing make-up and then again with glamours she can’t undo herself, every braid undone and every bead removed. By the time she sees her reflection there’s no recognition of the girl staring back. She looks Aesir, she realizes miserably, and feels hollow inside. She never wants to look at a mirror again.

Is this what it feels like to die?

Freyja looks Asgardian for the wedding, for the horrid ceremony she’d already bound herself to go through because of her word. She can feel herself choking inside as each vow ties her very being to Odin and his control, shrinking her magic to be contained in some tiny, controllable, disposable box. Then he calls her by a new name and every fiber of her being both wants to tear away in disgust and come closer in obedience. He waits until the seal is nearly complete, tying her to this foreign name in this foreign world and to a foreign people while erasing the last connection she was going to cling to Vanaheim with.

He calls her Frigga. He calls her his. She wants nothing more than to cut his head off.

But it's too late. Vows have done it, magic has worked its power, and he was now her husband and king. Her ruler, her controller. Her abuser. The taste that thought leaves in her mouth is bitterer than any poison could be, yet there is now nothing to do but obey her newest duties. She is now a queen by title, but he has clipped her wings of freedom, put her into what amounts to a gilded cage. A cage gilded in stolen gold and the blood of her people. There would never be any escape for her unless he dies, which the Aesir do not do according to the same laws of living that mortal beings do. Her first full night in Asgard is spent lying awake silently crying and full of pain, sure this is what death feels like. But she’d protected her people.

So she thinks until the next morning.

Some high-ranking soldier came to the king with news of a bloodied realm and a handful of leftover living Vanir who had been threatened into submission, waiting to be dealt with as he wanted. She wants to scream and fight, to declare Odin bound by their vows the same way she is, but nothing more happens than a trembling lower lip. He’d stripped her of innocence, of power, of voice. He’d made her a husk that her own people weren’t going to recognise after less than a day apart.

He had killed Freyja and buried her in Frigga the Queen.

The Allmother, companion to his being Allfather. Proof he had defeated Vanaheim and taken what he wanted, evidence she would never again trust him even if she couldn’t act against him. Queens don’t cry in front of slaves, and though her broken heart tries to reach out to what remains of her people, even her brother doesn’t recognise her as she stands in front of them. Then he’s bound from ever seeing her again so long as Odin reigns, and it’s only as he’s being dragged away that horror strikes in seeing what the Aesir did to his baby sister, only as he vanishes from sight for the final time with the scream of a dead girl’s name that Frigga drops her gaze. No one else of the survivors dares to speak toward her again, even though Odin lets them live. She doesn’t look to see who he wants to keep like they’re some sort of collector’s item rather than people, and she doesn’t look when the remaining are exiled and escorted from the palace.

Instead of saving her people, she had broken them. Their realm was broken, forest crying out loud enough she swears she can hear it for weeks before silence arrives once more. All because she believed that everyone was bound by the oaths they make. All because Odin wanted glittering decoration and a bride who couldn’t fight back.

[studiojeon]

use me | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. i think you can read this by itself though :)

| summary | -   Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you.

warnings: language (?), mentions of hook ups and situationships. mentions of emotional trauma.

contents: a compilation of moments that contributed to the growth of their relationship, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read and sus. oc is kinda whipped and scared af. chaeryeong knows who you are and where you live. jk and oc are scared to let each other in. friends to lovers, idol!jungkook x student!oc.

author’s note: i hate this, but i have to get it off my chest. (the narration is off af but if i keep it in my drafts for longer this will never see the light of the day). p.s. thank u so much for the support on the last drabble <3

playlist: rain by trey songz (feat. swae lee). 

words: 4.75k

“JK?” as his broad back faces you, you call out his name timidly, not missing the way he swiftly turns around as soon as he hears his name come from your lips. Hair wet and darker than usual, a very big sweat stain at the center of his hoodie. He had just gotten out of practice, you assumed. 

“___?” he replied with the initials of your name as well, one of his tired grins plastered on his face, he must have been exhausted. You had caught on to him just as he walked out of the practice room in front of the elevator on your way to your office, right when you needed him, but now you weren’t so sure if it was a good idea to pester him. Even so, you didn’t know anyone else you could ask for help, aside from Linh who was currently in her own office doing other tasks you had assigned to her.

“Are you busy right now?” your eyes stare at him shyly, in hopes that he was willing to help you out, because you wanted to be around him, so maybe he could share a bit of his positive energy with you, the past week had been hellish.  “Could use some help returning all those heavy stacks of paper in my office”.

“Of course! Why didn’t you give me a call earlier though? It’s pretty late” he walked by your side and you enter the elevator, beginning your adventure around the company.

Jungkook was fun. Always bubbly and reciprocative, constantly trying his best to make you laugh and make the absolute best of your situation, even if he could be a bit stubborn at times. You liked the spontaneity he provided though, the way he would switch from one topic to another and how he would make silly faces at you whenever you locked eyes. 

He didn’t know, but in pure ignorance, he had just made your day ten times better. 

In the past week, you had received a lot of counterarguments, one by one, on how useless your management tactics were. Granted, you hadn’t expected for your ideas to be welcomed with open arms, but at least you had hoped they would take them into consideration. You had also been assigned a team, in charge of social media management, who worked monotonously and with little to no insertion in the actual target audience… your logic was: how can you advertise products to an audience you don’t even have the mere interest to know? You had designed a strategy, presented it, and no one paid any mind to you. 

But for the most part, you felt lonely. Had no one to talk to, nor go to whenever you needed your spirits to be lifted up.

Chaeryeong was busy busy with group projects and work. To the extent where she would get up at seven in the morning and come back at 12 pm. It wasn’t always like that, so you didn’t worry too much, but the fear she would wear herself off like usual still crowded your mind.

You close your office door with a sigh. Tired from everything, but somehow, your heart a little fuller, knowing that maybe you could use Jungkook in the future to give you a lift. Both figuratively and literally because he had offered to drive you home, being the gentleman he was.

“Why do you look like a sad puppy?” he asked you once you were sitting by his side in his very expensive and luxurious mercedes. Tinted windows and jet black shiny paint covered the outside of his car, the smell of air refresher and pinecone filling the inside. Mans was getting hotter by the minute.

“It’s friday night after the longest week of work. How can I not?” you put on your seat belt and lean back against the leather cushions. He pouts in response to you, with a concerned look on his face. 

For a second you wonder if he did this with most coworkers… being nice to them and offering them drives after having met them just a few times before. Kinda risky behviour, considering his position and squeaky clean reputation. You figure this would only last a bit before he realized he had more important things to be focusing on.

“Do you ever get chased home?” you ask randomly. 

With one hand on the wheel and the other leaned against his door he meditated on his response. “It happened once… And then I moved out, got a new car and everything. Shit was wild” he chuckles and you think that was the first time you had heard him curse, like ever. Jungkook, friendly and everything, wasn’t too big of a talker, but with you he found himself spilling, without giving it much thought. It felt refreshing to hear his voice and listen to his stories and the way he expressed himself. He was more interesting than he seemed, apparently. “Aren’t you hungry, by the way? We can have something to eat before i drop you off”

Traffic was hellish in Seoul everyday at every hour, and choosing to drive through Itaewon on a friday night wasn’t the smartest decision on Jungkook’s behalf, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that. Considering the demands of his job, he probably didn’t know his way around the city that well. You conclude taking a detour wouldn’t hurt. “I’m starving actually.”

He ends up taking you to a restaurant near your neighborhood you had mentioned being good and not crowded at all, the latter catching his attention immediately. It was a modest but nice place owned by a very funny and loud ahjussi. The man had lost count of how many times you had come down from your apartment at 11 pm and asked him to make you vegetarian tteokguk, but they were enough so that he could memorize your five orders by heart and the amount of saewoo mandu you could down by yourself in five minutes. You were making him rich at that point so the least he could do was comply when you gently asked him to shut the place down for you. Jungkook hadn’t asked you, but you knew how things could get awkward and dangerous quickly if too many people found out about him being there. “Ahjussi, you don’t have to” the boy protested as he noticed that the man had shut the blinds for him.

“It’s okay, boy. _____ has been single handedly paying the remnants of my mortgage for over a year now, I don't mind doing this for her.” he joked in his usual nature. already writing down your order and patiently waiting for Jungkook in front of you to voice out what he wanted for a meal. “And well, you and your friends are making our country proud, it’s the least i can do to thank you”

“Ah, thank you.” Jungkook bows to the older man. Your heart softened in your chest, seeing how considerate he was towards other people. He must be great with parents, you think. “Do you really not get that many people around here?” he asked worriedly once he sat back down on the wooden chair.

“We do! But she’s the one who comes the most often” he nods toward you and Jungkook smiles once he found your gaze, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. 

“Can you recommend me anything, miss?”

“Of course, sir. Yeol-ah, double up my order. Drinks are on me today.” You yell at the man’s son in the kitchen, who was still a bit older than you, but also close to enough to let you order him around shamelessly. You knew him quite well, actually. He was Chaeryeong’s boyfriend after all.

The tall boy pokes his head out of the kitchen door with a very confused expression plastered on his face. “Aren’t we supposed to close in like, an hour?” Chanyeol asks his dad in front of you.

“Just go cook, I'll explain later”.

The two men go back into the kitchen and Jungkook looks at you with an amused expression on his face. “What was that?” he laughs.

“I’m very popular, you know?” it probably wasn’t a good idea to go there, but you felt a little drunk on his voice that night, and you also knew your friend didn’t mind. “In fact, Chaereyong from ITZY is my best friend, who would have guessed?”

“Yeah and my son is her boyfriend, who cares?” Byung-ho yells back at you from the cashier, pulling a hiss from your lips. 

Jungkook still continued to stare at the both of you with confusion and intrigue, you guess he thought you were both joking.

“Wait, really?” he utters after a few seconds with big doe eyes and a pout on his lips, a combination that appeared when he was either confused or lying, which wasn’t the case then.

“Yes, my guy.” you laugh. “That juicy legged shortie is indeed my wife”

Jungkook loved the food, to say the least. It was all vegetarian and korean as fuck, a combination he never throught was possible, but downed like thristy camel. He was a loud eater, which was fitting of him and his politeness, something else you had noticed that night. You were the opposite, and actually despised the sounds of other people eating, yet, looking at him enjoying his meal so much made you feel full yourself. He made you feel like a kid in some ways too, brought back the times when being around others wasn’t so hard, and you still could have a sense of security around you. Talking to him was rather easy, maybe because of his welcoming nature, or because in fact he actually was interested in whatever stupid shit you were saying, something most people around you didn’t do. He also, amongst other things, seemed very interested in your job and the likes, always asking questions and absorbing information like a five year old. You had explained to him the five key steps of process design and the psychological effects on marketing in society to which he always responded with wide gentle eyes and attentive nods, not once looking bored or… annoyed in any way. 

Was he like that, with every girl? Because you weren’t anything special, there were many other girls who worked with him everyday and even if you hadn’t seen him in his work space, you could guess by the way most women in your company look at him whenever he passes by that either they were just as captivated as you by his beauty or that he had fucked them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was just trying to get into your pants either, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened to you nonetheless.

“I can walk from here, JK” you mention once you found yourselves walking towards the parking lot. A bit sad about the expense you had just made on food, it was your fault for trying to seem cool and rich, neither of which you were. 

“Oh no, I’m not letting you do that, girlie” he unlocks the door and gets in, not even letting you finish or allowing you to fight back.

“My apartment is literally a block away” you protest in the car anyways. You fear you had been too much of a bother, and deep down, didn’t want him to feel like you were seeking his presence unnecessarily.

“Well, good for you. But, you paid for the food, which was a lot, and i don’t want my sugar mommy walking by herself at 12 pm on a friday night” you first freeze, and then burst a very loud giggle.

“Whatever” you slap his bicep and roll your eyes. “ Next time you can pay if it bothers you so much.”

“So there will be a next time?” wide eyes stare back at you. “Count me in. I´ll pick where we will be going, just lemme know when so i can plan ahead” he rambles, a little too excited about your suggestion. 

He drops you off with a smile on his face and hopefulness in his eyes, promising to see you around the company. You, on the other hand, feel a tad confused as you enter your apartment building. What was going on? 

You had overthought things so much your entire life that it suddenly became too tiring to do. During the past few years you had to learn how to detach yourself and just ride the wave sometimes. Once you had turned eighteen, everything started moving at a very fast pace, the pressure of adulthood fell upon you like a brick and everything was so overwhelming that you started to simply let the course of your existence take you wherever it needed to.

That’s how you ended up going out with Jungkook at least once a week for dinner or a drive around the city for more than two months. Without even noticing, he became so engraved in your everyday life that whenever he’d cancel plans because of work, you’d find yourself with a void in your heart and a rush of boredom filling your senses. Even if you found yourself in your living room with the company of your best friend whom you had seen at most four times in the past two months, you were still wishing you could share that intimate space with him instead, willing to let him a bit more into your life, in hopes that maybe he would do the same. Sue you, you were curious over the most intricate details about his personality, how his personal sanctuary looked and if the smell of his room is just as good as his car’s. You could bet a thousand dollars (maybe a little less, considering the unconventionalism that characterizes him) that he also had a few plants that only remembered to water three out of seven days of the week. 

Hopefully life would draw you closer to more people like him.

"How's your boyfriend doing?" Chaeryeong asks you from the kitchen counter, sweet popcorn cooking in you popcorn-maker. 

You sigh. "What boyfriend?"

She was a lot of things but oblivious, and you weren't either, just when you chose to be. "Cut the bullshit, you know who i'm talking about". The fake red head waits for your response as she pours the snack into a big bowl, and you on the other hand take this as an advange to search around the room for answers.

"He's just a friend" you say. "And he's fine, i guess… He doesn't really talk much about himself" you mention, matter of factly.

Chaeryeong nods beside you, understanding what you meant. Then, proceeds to tell a tale about her experience meeting the dark haired boy. "He's literally so quiet, but like, so incredibly kind. Once he tripped over and fucked up some of the decoration at an award show" she grabs a popcorn and continues her story. "He looked so panicked I thought his eyes were about to jump out their sockets — His eyes are huge, by the way." 

"I know" you smile.

"My point is, he started to help the staff put everything back in order again. I think he's the only idol I've ever seen do something like that… i decided i liked him then" her beautiful features light up with mischief. "I bet he fucks great too."

You slap her leg. Hard.

"I'm only telling you this now so you don't get caught of guard when he actually manages to fuck you," her soft hands run through your messy hair, motherly touches easing the fluster in your body. "You know he's a big whore, right?" She adds after a while. 

You didn't. According to Chaeryeong, who seemed to keep tabs on every single colleague of hers, Jungkook had quite the body count, not that you didn't have your suspicions before. Frankly, she only knew of two girls inside her company who had had some sort of situationship with him, but for the same reason, she also knew he had some history with other girls from different groups. "Yikes" you laugh nervously, in admiration of their ability to remain calm and collected without giving anything away to the public.

Thanks to your friend, you had heard lots of tea about other singers in the korean industry before, most of which were not as sweet or kind as they portrayed themselves to be, some even using their social status to get their way with girls. But for some reason, Jungkook had never made his way to your gossipping sessions, nor any other of his band mates (except for Jimin, who, if you remember correctly, used to have some sort of beef with one of Chaeryeong's company members). You guess it was because of his unproblematic nature that people chose to give him a pass for his sexual endeavors, not that they were of anyone's concern either. 

A knock is heard against your office door. "Miss _____?" A girl with a brown bob cut pokes her head through it, the dim lights of your office shining upon her incredibly healthy locks. "Jungkook asked me to deliver this to you" sliding completely into the room, she places a box with a note on it on your desk.

"Thank you so much" you wave her off as she walks right out. 

The package had a strawberry flavored canned tea and a bento box inside. 

"I remember you telling me you'd never tried tofu pancakes before, so I made some for you last night. Hope you enjoy! - JK

P.S. Text me when you're done, maybe we can hang out tonight."

You felt like crying, in all honesty. The pancakes were heavenly, and he even added some slices of avocado and a few scoops of rice for you, despite not being the biggest fan of the fruit himself. With a warm heart and relief washing over your body because you wouldn't have to waste money on lunch that day, you had had half of your meal before said boy gave you a call.

"Did you like them?" He said almost immediately. "My assistant told me she already delivered them to you" he adds in a rush.

"Jesus boy, calm down." You giggle at his excitement. "Let me eat in peace".

"No, tell me right now." he demands with a fake angry voice. Cutie.

"They're alright".

"Figured… you have no sense of taste anyways" the hangs up. A giggle escapes your lips. Boy was something else.

Later that day, the weekend started it's course. Jungkook had offered to drive you to the Han River, careful to mention the fact he prepared a bunch of snacks for you two just about five times during your call. The place was almost empty, given that the rest of the city was doing something else more fun than staring at the night sky while sitting on itchy grass. Yet, you wouldn't change the setting for anything else. Usually, when you and Jungkook were out, he'd be in silent wary of your surroundings and the people who could be watching you. It broke your heart, knowing that most of the time he couldn't frequent places most regular people had the pleasure of enjoying, like the movies, for example, or a food stand in the middle of the street. Still, in that moment, the handsome man in front of you seemed as relaxed as ever, munching on grapes and strawberries as he sat in silence beside you. 

"This blanket is so soft, isn't it?" he commented all of a sudden, caressing the fabric with his hand. The thing was made out of polar fleece, no shit. You just nodded and grabbed a piece of fruit from his container. "One of my friends gifted it to me on my birthday" he adds.

"I know. It was me".

"Well, maybe you do have a sense of taste after all" he complies as he lays down on the surface, eyes facing the night sky above you.

"Says the one who uses toe socks" you say back, poking his weak spot.

Instead of going back and forth with you as he usually would, he just winks and closes his eyes. He looked so peaceful and serene beneath you, features carefully carved on his face and slightly blushed cheeks from the cold wind. Jungkook was like that, randomly over confident and flirty with you, but just as quickly would refrain from even disagreeing with you in the first place, scared that you would snap at him. He hadn't told you this, but the way you saw thoughts hidden in his eyes whenever you made a statement let you know his true intentions, leaving you to wonder where that came from.

"Are you tired?" You ask after a few minutes. Still with his eyes closed, Jungkook denies.

"I just don't want to look at you right now," he turns to the side, back facing you as an offended expression finds its way to your face.

"Yah" you slap his back playfully, not letting him finish.

"Because you look too pretty." he mumbles the remnants of  his statement.

Your breath catches in your throat as a shiver climbs its way down your spine. Why was he like that? He had no right tugging on your heart strings like that (if he was being serious in the first place because you never knew with him). You sigh, the blush his words provoked stinging your cheeks.

"You're supposed to say I'm pretty too" he turns around with a playful smile, expectant.

"You just go around giving compliments so you can get them back?" you hiss. "Why so insecure?"

"I'm not insecure, at all." He sits up again, ready to fight you and anyone who dares question the grandiosity of the confidence he had worked so hard for. "You can ask Linh about that".

To say you looked horrified was an understatement, hopeful that what you thought he meant was not it. "You fucked Linh?"

"Well, that's not for you to know". 

What a gentleman, you think. And at the same time, ouch. He had just slammed a door on your face.

"That would explain the way she looks at you whenever you come by the office" you realize. Frankly, the girl looked a bit too panicked whenever Jungkook decided to barge into your space, usually bored out of his mind during his english lessons, laptop and notebook in hand, or struggling to get the questions right. 

"Well good afternoon to you too" you ironically greeted once he sat in front of you, frustration written on his face. Linh, who stood by your side, suddenly fidgeting with the papers in her hand.

"Not the time, _____" he slammed both hands on your desk, startling you and your friend beside you. "Why the fuck did you make me enroll into this in the first place?" 

"I did not make you do anything, dude. I just gave you an idea" you excused yourself, eyes back on your computer. You didn't miss the way Jungkook's eyes briefly followed Linh out the room, though. 

His eyes looked back at you, leg bouncing impatiently on the floor as he leaned back with a pissed off expression on his face. You'd never seen him this way, so you took that as a cue to enter under paid therapist mode. "What's wrong?" You questioned gently.

"I feel incredibly incompetent right now." His hands roamed across his face with frustration. A sigh escaped his lips as he held tears back. "School's always been this way for me, always trying my best and constantly underachieving" he explained.

He was obsessed with winning, you’d even go as far to say more than he was with his job (which was a lot). It didn’t root from narcissistic behaviour though, but rather out of external pressure to constantly overachieve and exceed expectations. He was mostly good at doing that, but everyone had an achilles heel, yours was reading for example, his was studying and school.

"Jungkook, you passed most of your classes with more than 90%, what are you talking about?" a fact he had brought up to you randomly when you mentioned absolutely nearly failing most of your literature classes.

"Yeah, except for English." he shook his head in the way he would when he'd feel conflicted or insecure. "I don't know what i'm doing wrong".

"Did you fail something?" you tried to get some more insight into the situation, still unsure of where all his worries came from.

"No, there's just this sentence I can't properly put together" he turned his notebook towards you. "Ah, just look"

There were some words he had to conjugate and properly place in order to form a grammatically correct sentence, more than five attempts written in neat penmanship on the page evidenced the boy's battle with the assignment. He missed one very important aspect of it, though. "There's a fucking word that's missing, dude" you explain, grabbing the pen from his hand and showing him where the mistake was. "It's not your fault, it's the teacher's".

Jungkook's serious expression didn't go away though. "Well, damn".

You had some sort of emotional trauma with having people ask you for help, it made you think that they didn’t actually care for you as a person but rather just your skills. That was the way you’d grown up and what your position in society seemed to be as well, the one you could butter up and taste when you got bored. Heart had been broken many times too, whenever you’d realize what you thought to be a genuine connection was merely pure interest. Those thoughts clouded your head when Jungkook would randomly enter your office with a frustrated expression on his face, yet, that occurred less often than it didn’t. 

Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you most of the time, hence your wish for him to let you in a bit more before you could allow yourself to free fall into whatever was going on between you both.

You reach for the fabric of his hoodie, tugging his sleeve with your fingers just because you really liked the color of it, and maybe because you wanted to feel closer to him. He doesn’t react to your touch, just looks at your hands briefly as they play with the edges of his clothing. “Where did you get this from?”

“An online store, I think.” he replies softly, reaching for your hand on his arm, caressing the surface of your nails. “It’s a unisex brand, i can send you their link afterwards.”

“Is it too expensive?” you inquire, not only to keep the moment afloat, but because you genuinely liked most of his pieces of clothing, especially his hoodies and shoes. Jungkook laughs at your question and looks at you with a smile.

“I don’t think i would know, ____. I’m rich.” he says, playfully. And he was right, what was expensive for you might just be cheap as fuck for him, you wonder if when a lot of money is in your hands you start to become very tuned out from what’s affordable or not anymore.

“True.”

“I can buy you one, though. I don’t mind.” he adds. Soft look in his eyes, a pure and genuine offer that you had to deny.

“I didn’t say i wanted one” you lie, only partially, because although you’d not mentioned it, you did actually want it. “I just think it’s pretty” you finally let go of him.

“Or do you think I look pretty in it?” he pushes, a sucker for compliments.

“Yeah, that might be it.” you admit, because there was no point in denying your irrefutable attraction to the man, as much as you hated to be vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“I think it would look prettier on you”.

Don´t copy or repost please. by studiojeon on tumblr.

[nixie-writes]

I read your rules and hope I didn't break it. how about a GN hellhound reader being the only one who support charlie idea (beside vaggie since she support it) and helping other for their redemption while charlie loved for having someone who like her idea

You're good dear! No rules broken, thank you for the ask! And the continued support, I see how often you like my posts, it's appreciated hon. TW: None!

Charlie w/ GN Hell-hound who supports the hotel - When a Hell-hound, a Hell-born demon of all, arrived at her hotel offering their help she was practically a rainbow of joy. They couldn't go to Heaven but they want to help? She's so happy! - They're immediately hired and Vaggie is a little suspicious at first but she swiftly drops it. They're honest about their support and what they did to get to the hotel and she also appreciates their effort and support. - Charlie believes they'll have unique ideas for the hotel and how to appeal to demons to attempt redemption, so she invites them to every meeting to discuss ideas and marketing campaigns. She loves their suggestions, they're all interesting and helpful. More demons are coming asking for redemption. - Charlie also asks them for criticism, to which they have little to none. They believe Charlie is doing incredible in her work and they encourage her to keep up her positive attitude even in bad situations and continue chasing that rainbow. One day she'll find a bluebird in hand. - Charlie asks them to help her campaign the hotel and they agree. As a Hell-born they understand what appeals to demons of the hotel's demographic and explains how, in Heaven, they won't need their poor vices because they'll be happy and won't need any artificial happiness. Charlie loves that they're appealing to even the negative aspects of demon life. - Charlie will do everything to appeal to the Hell-hound's needs, including specific food, clothes etc. And give them their own room and board placement. She wants them to be comfortable and pleased in the hotel. She insists they get a wage but they're offering their work for charity and though she insists on paying them, she's thankful they don't expect money for their help. They're just here to help her. - They certainly look up to Charlie. Hell-hounds have it hard, their lives aren't easy being at the bottom of the food chain. But being so highly regarded and considered by the Princess of Hell herself they feel very cared for, and they admire that she cares for all her people, including those her father would refer to as 'peasants' and 'not worth the effort'. - Once a soul has been redeemed to Heaven Charlie will immediately thank her Hell-hound friend for their extended help and reward them deeply for their hard work. She wants them to continue helping and redeeming sinners and though neither she nor the Hell-hound can enter Heaven, she believes she's already reached paradise having her girlfriend and best friend behind her in her project. Her father is in shock that she succeeded, even more so because a Hell-hound had a huge helping paw in the work. He'll reward them as well for assisting his daughter in what he believed to be a hopeless pipe dream. Though he despises Heaven for having damned him for wanting freedom, he respects their devotion to his daughter and her work and will treat them with respect as an equal. Perhaps they would be promoted to Overlord of Redemption alongside Charlie, who is Princess of Heaven-Bound Sinners. - With the help of a humble Hell-hound her father has finally found respect and faith in his daughter. Perhaps she was truly a gift from God herself, her Hell-hound friend being one as well. Truly the lights of his life now.

[windblooms]

liyue boys – how they kiss their s/o

liyue boys × gender-neutral!reader; 1.4k words. sfw headcanons of how baizhu, childe, chongyun, xiao, xingqiu, and zhongli kiss their s/o. 

- ̗̀ baizhu  ̖́-

while baizhu’s reputation as the swindler from bubu pharmacy precedes him, even in normal day-to-day matters, he makes an effort to convey his sincerity to you when the moment is opportune.  typically, this is at the conclusion of the day, when the pharmacy takes its time to rest and the buzz of the moon overtakes liyue.

his touch on your wrist is loose, as if he intends to just feel your presence instead of seize it, to observe but not meddle; just as he does with changsheng, he finds great comfort in keeping you tethered to him through this contact.  

when baizhu romances you, it’s in the privacy of your office, or the stocking room – anywhere besides the service area, so you’re the only one who witnesses his dropped mask. 

his lips glide to your temple, serpentine and brisk, peppering short kisses down to your jaw.  his ministrations are rather sensual for a man so weak in composition, especially considering that he’s rather ruthless with his business dealings and doesn’t even spare a fraction of a discount for the desperate – but this gentler display is nonetheless welcome.

“and how can i help you tonight?  no, this isn’t bartering.  i mean this genuinely, for the one who can tolerate my short-comings as forgivingly as you do.  a new box of qingxin arrived this afternoon, and perhaps you’d like a look at it . . . ”

- ̗̀ childe / tartaglia  ̖́-

childe is excellent at the chase, and each time, his catch is you.  perhaps it’s his constant need for stimulus (he’s never been one for idleness) and the subsequent calling in his blood for a thrill.  his penchant for battle has made him flexible to most tricky scenarios, and thus he’s adept to what makes things tick – 

– including people.  and, of course, you. 

his greetings are customarily followed by doting kisses.  they’re gentle on your skin, like the drifting of snowflakes from the sky, yet there’s a bite to them as well, as if he’s nipping at you even without his teeth.  they’re innocently teasing at best, but at worst, grabbing all of your senses with their bold allure. 

“haha, got your attention now, have i?  no need to make that face!  ah, i promise.  be a bit more patient for me, and i’ll give you what you want.”

he prefers to give the kisses that he knows will consume you whole, cushion you in warmth like beach sand in the summer, but just as swiftly drag you undertow – namely, at the corners of your mouth, the height of your cheekbones, the pulses on your neck, and the rise of your collarbones. 

whether he leaves you with flushed cheeks and a stuttering voice, or absolutely breathless, you stir him all the same.

- ̗̀ chongyun  ̖́-

he’s a very straightforward individual, naively so sometimes – inherently wholesome, and that translates over to his relationship with you.  admittedly, he doesn’t display bold affections towards you all that much because he’s, well, shy.  he’d never thought of romantics before he became involved with you, and even then, all he’s heard about couples and love birds are from xingqiu – not the most trustworthy source.

“ah – i do not . . . i don’t have the words to describe . . . i apologize, but i really don’t know how to explain this light feeling in my chest.  but you seem to be happy!  and that’s really what matters to me.”

chongyun pecks you gently, as if he’s dealing with the finest of jade fragments.  very innocently, as well: just as a bird finds satisfaction in a well-kept nest, so does the young exorcist in the pleased reactions he draws from you.  

the two of you have yet to share a kiss on the lips.  and, honestly, it isn’t something characteristic of chongyun to want to engage with.  he has an ample reserve of boyish youth in him, and even at the thought of partaking in such an intimate act (xingqiu teases him to no end for this, but nonetheless chongyun’s perspective is understood) makes him red in the face. 

instead, he settles for your fingers, the back of your hand, and your cheeks.  light in sentiment, like the mild ice-cream he indulges in.

- ̗̀ xiao  ̖́-

if you’re fire, then xiao is afraid that he’s the water that will extinguish your light.  he’s harmed so many others, even when he never intended to, and doesn’t even want to think about you ending up the same way.  so he abstains, for the longest time, until you reassure him that he’s okay, that he’s suffered enough, and that he needs to live, too. 

xiao kisses you like both of you will break.  his lips barely even touch you, as if his presence is only part of your imagination, a fleeting zephyr in the liyue evening; he even hesitates to use his hands at first because only archons know how he’s razed the land with them.  they hover over your hips, and in moments of indulgence, he imagines how it would feel to hold you, unchained from his past.

“you make it easier for me to tolerate the days.  don’t look so concerned – there’s no need for you to worry about me.  you’re the one in the more precarious situation.  but i guess that’s one more thing that’s admirable about you . . . too trusting for your own good.”

in his mind, he cradles your hands, so much softer than his own, with no reason to raise a weapon.  he wishes to keep you that way, safeguarded from the cruelness of the world, and his lips cherish your knuckles, the backs of your hands, and all the way to your wrists.

- ̗̀ xingqiu  ̖́-

“what a thrilling smile on your face!  definitely one for the books.  yes – i’ve decided that you’ll be the inspiration for this next scene i write.  ah, actually, i need to outline it first . . . you won’t mind, right?  perfect, this is just the circumstance i’ve been looking for.”

like fresh flowers in a spring meadow, he’s as exuberant as he is vibrant with life.  he’ll come to you in the mornings, bid you a good day and plant a light peck on the corner of your mouth, delighted at the sight of you.  or, just when he’s stopping by your place, he’ll also make sure to commemorate your meeting with another smooch.  

xingqiu is, admittedly, easy to please when in a relationship, merely because he’s with who he wants the most: you, and his writing, all that he needs.  while he may joke about intertwining you into his writing, he truly does intend to cherish you. 

he enjoys toying with the sleeves of your top when he’s near, just because he can.  bonus points if you let him tug you along, and he’ll even make a show out of giving a playful kiss on the tip of your nose.  they make you feel all fluttery in your stomach, because it’s only something that he would even think about doing – keeping you light on your toes, just like his flexible poise.

- ̗̀ zhongli  ̖́-

his affections are just as proper as his composure.  zhongli’s actions are soft, reverent, and appreciative of your presence.  never once do you doubt his devotion to you when his hand grazes your arm, a finger catching around your wrist, or when he steadies you with his palm on your shoulder.  it might be subconscious on his behalf, but his gentle measures soothe you immensely.

unsurprisingly, his kisses are chaste, with only fondness and warmth behind them.  he adores you like the sun does an open field, bracing your body to his with the slightest of suggestions from his hands on your waist.  zhongli is exceedingly pleased when you reciprocate his physicality, especially when you wrap your arms around his neck in return – the gleam in his eyes betray just as much.

his lips find themselves tenderly on your own, and your forehead and cheeks.  when in more intimate environments, namely either of your rooms, he’ll worship the pulse on your neck, however not in an erotic fashion.  he only ventures there to treasure the flow of life in your body, to revere the rhythm of you.

“times have come and gone.  consider me obstinate in my beliefs, but the one of the things that have remained apparent to me over millennia are contracts.  contracts of business, of relationships, of morals – everything.  promises, if you prefer to call them.  so i promise you this: there is not a day that will go by when i will not devote myself to you, wholly, and completely.”

[pies-writes-and-more]

haikyuu boys as expecting fathers

characters: TimeSkip!Tsukishima Kei, Bokuto Kōtarō, & Ushijima Wakatoshi, all with a Fem!Pregnant!Reader

warnings: pregnant reader and mentions of having a baby so pls be mindful if this makes you dysphoric or if you’re not in a good headspace for it. But otherwise, it’s all fluff so I hope it makes you guys smile!

a/n: everyone around me irl is having babies so here is the result of that LOL i love cute stories about expecting families and shit. All of these are obviously with TimeSkip! characters! And none of the following gifs are mine so credits to the original creators! Hope you guys like it :) 

haikyuu masterlist

Tsukishima loves to tease the shit out of you, and that hasn’t really changed since you started getting bigger. But now, he’ll hide your cravings in the top shelves of the pantry so you have to make him come get it. He can’t help it, it’s that angry pouty look in your eyes - he’s so in love with you, even when you look like you’re about to murder him.

But despite him hiding everything you could possibly crave, he is an absolute sweetheart. He calls his mom every now and then to update her about you and the baby, probably asks about what she liked when she was pregnant. She tells him stories about liking to read to him and his brother, or how she enjoyed a nice bath if she was particularly sore that day. She even joked that she found it really hard to put her shoes on so typically she just wore slippers or easy to slip on shoes.

Cut to the next day, you wake up to Tsukishima reading a book of dinosaur facts to your belly. He’s not so much reading it as he is disputing and/or explaining further the facts that are written in it. He doesn’t notice you wake up while he waves away the book and states, “It’s fine. When you’re here, I’ll just bring you to my museum and I’ll show you in person. I can sneak you out of daycare, just don’t tell your mom.”

You had hoped to be able to keep your independence for longer than this, but found yourself struggling to properly put on your shoes. You huffed, muttering something to your unborn kid about how you’d hold this over their heads forever, and just waddled about with the backs of your shoes folded under your heel. Tsukishima raised an eyebrow as he noticed, waiting for you to sit down in the car before holding the door open and bending down to properly put your shoes on.

“Kei, what’re you doing?” You laughed, watching him swiftly tie up your laces. “They’re fine, they’re old shoes anyways.”

“If you wear your shoes like that, you’ll fall and hurt yourself,” he shrugged. “I can’t have you hurting the little Tsukishima just because you can’t put your shoes on.”

His expression was the same plain emotionless face as usual, but you smiled anyways because here he was, kneeling in front of you and helping you with what is supposed to be a simple task.

The day went on as usual, but you definitely weren’t prepared for your husband to call you into the bathroom and display the little bath he had drawn you with your favourite candle lit.

“Did you do something?” You asked him with narrow eyes, making him scoff.

He rolled his eyes, helping you out of your clothes gently, “Am I really such a bad husband that you think I’d have to be feeling guilty to be nice to you?”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding playfully, “Yup. So what did you do?” You laugh and he just flicks your forehead before helping you into the tub.

You watch as he smirks a bit, holding your chin for a second and watching your eyes, “Well I’m the reason you got knocked up so I supposed I have to take care of you don’t I?”

He doesn’t hold that sultry teasing look on his face for too long, especially when you splash him with water, drenching every part of him you could reach 😂.

Bokuto is in a PANIC the closer you get to the due date. You once just felt a bit tired after vacuuming and the boy thought you holding your front meant you were going into early labour.

“I’VE GOT THE CAR KEYS BUT I CAN’T FIND MY WALLET!!! BABE HAVE YOU SEEN NY WALLET? I CAN’T REMEMBER WHERE I PUT IT. OMG WHAT IF THEY WONT TAKE US IN. WHAT IF THERE ARE SO MANY BABIES BEING BORN WE CANT GET IN. I KNEW I SHOULD’VE TAKEN A CLASS ON BIRTHING BABIES!”

You let him run around because he honestly is so entertaining to watch while panicking. He pouts about it later, talking shit about you to your belly, “Your mom’s a big meanie. You need to be born quick so we can team up on her okay?”

“Kōtarō! Don’t you dare try to turn my baby against me!” You laughed, swatting at his head.

Man is overly prepared for any sort of situation. He already set up all the safety baby measures, like corner cushions and outlet covers, though now he’s considering locking up all the knives into a cupboard.

“Kōtarō... how am are supposed to cook like this?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at the lack of your sharp cooking knives.. and the butter knives.

The grown man just poured some more, “I gotta keep both my babies safe alright? I’ll cut everything for you so you don’t cut yourself.”

Except for the fact that Bokuto is definitely more accident prone than you are and has a few bandaids on his fingers now.

As an expecting dad, Bokuto found himself getting more and more teary eyed at any situation that involved a family or a baby. Whether that was just seeing kids and families play in the park that the two of you walked past sometimes, or seeing a commercial for diapers with happy bouncy babies, you would turn to see a misty-eyed Bokuto who would then turn to you and wrap you in a tight squeeze.

He was beyond excited at this point to meet your little baby - he wanted to know what they would look like. The perfect mix between the most perfect woman in the world and him, who was pretty cool thank you very much. This baby was going to be the cutest most amazing kid ever, who would definitely play a really great game of volleyball, Bokuto was sure of it.

Let’s be honest though, pregnancy is not an easy journey. Bokuto loved seeing you grow the baby but he knew that it was a difficult process for you. You were always sore and at the beginning you were always sick. And there were some days where you literally didn’t feel attractive or beautiful at all, but Bokuto would praise you as high as he always did regardless.

“You are the most perfect lady I have ever laid eyes on. The most gorgeous being to ever walk this universe!” He told you one day, pressing kisses all over your face as you laid across a couch.

“Thanks,” you tried to give him a smile - you always appreciated his compliments, even if you didn’t necessarily agree.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you with a small frown, noting your forced smile.

“I just… feel bleh. Not at all like how you’re saying I look,” you admitted with a small smile.

Bokuto’s eyes grew wide in shock, jumping over the couch to sit down on the floor next to you. He clasped your hands in his, pressing kissing to them gently as well. “I know you might not feel it… but I hope you know that I still think it. I don’t even have to force it. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and that hasn’t changed even though your body is changing a bit. I don’t need you to wear the most perfect makeup or the best dress for me to think you’re gorgeous. You’re perfect just laying here in my old sweats and I’m happy that I get to come home to see you like this every day,” he grinned, touching your cheek affectionately.

You loved this man. He was so sweet to you in every way possible. But sometimes…. sometimes his sweetness just went a little too overboard. You tried to insist to him that you were pregnant but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything. Man refuses to let you do anything for yourself. No lifting boxes, no lifting anything in fear that you might hurt your back.

“Kōtarō, it’s just my purse,” you tried to point out in a laugh, trying to reach it as he held it above your head.

“Nope! Not happening. What if you hurt yourself?”

“... with my purse?”

“Ya!”

“Kōtarō, I have to go shopping for food or we won’t have anything to eat. And baby needs to eat!”

“Well I’ll come with you then!”

“You’ve got practice!”

“It’s fine, I’ll tell them I’ll practice another time! My perfect wife and baby come first,” he’d grin at you and insist on opening all the doors as you two made your way to the car. You fall in love with this man more and more every day, even if he keeps stealing things from your hands.

Ushijima is a really nervous new dad, even if you can’t really tell from his stoic expression. He listens intently to all of the parenting advice people give, bought a few books about newborns, and has hundreds of tabs on his laptop of ranging topics from baby products people insist are necessary, mommy blogs about what is important to do when pregnant, and research that he doesn’t quite understand but feels is important nonetheless.

Ushijima isn’t necessarily a man of words all the time, so you were surprised to find that he started to talk a lot more after finding out that your child could hear him.

“You don’t have to play volleyball if you don’t want to,” he told them quietly one day while the two of you were on the couch. It came so out of the blue that you actually thought he was talking to you.

“Hm?”

“... do you think they’d want to play volleyball?” He asked you sheepishly, glancing at you with a shy expression.

You thought about it for a moment and slowly started to smile, “Well they’ll be attending every single one of your games so I’m sure they’ll be at least interested in learning!”

Ushijima nodded and you watched as a soft smile graced his face. You kept your eyes on him for just a moment longer, seeing a flicker of uncertainty on him.

“Wakatoshi, don’t you dare think for one second you’ll be a bad dad,” you warned him, poking his side and making him jump from surprised.

He stared at you for a moment, blinking, “You know what I’m thinking?”

“I know that you’ve been worried about being a good dad ever since I told you I was pregnant. I know that you’re nervous about being the kind of dad you always wanted to have growing up. I know because I’m terrified of being a good mom too,” you admitted with a nervous sort of smile, interlacing your fingers together. “We’ll be okay together though.”

Ushijima nodded and hummed softly, “We’ll have to take them to France.”

“France??”

“Satori wants to meet them too. He said he would make them chocolate.”

It wouldn’t just be the baby that Satori is constantly trying to spoil, but you as well. He sends over packages of his chocolate for you to try, grinning ear to ear when you call him for a catch-up call.

“Do you like them?” Tendō asked, and you could hear him humming to himself as he moved around a kitchen.

“I love them! But you’re going to make us fat if you keep sending them! They’re much too yummy for me to stop eating!” You laughed, eyes wandering to the kitchen where you knew you still had a few bits of his chocolate left.

“No no no no. I’m just trying to make sure your baby is a cute healthy plump baby! They’ll grow nice and strong!”

It always made you smile, knowing that all these people who loved your husband wanted to love you and the baby as well. Even Ushijima’s new teammates would come by and bring snacks or anything they thought might aid you in your pregnancy. Though, Kageyama wasn’t really sure what pregnant people or babies liked, so he just brought a whole bag of the milk boxes he liked.

“You’ve got to grow big and strong so that I can defeat you in volleyball one day. I can’t defeat your dad right now… cause he’s on my team. But I’ll defeat an Ushijima one day for sure,” he muttered to your belly with a fierce intensity in your eyes that made you laugh, making his ears turn red as he realized that you also heard him (Kageyama, the baby is attached to her, of course she heard you lol).

As it neared your due date, Ushijima prepared himself mentally every passing day. He wanted to be 110% ready so he went over your birthing plan mentally at least 10 times a day and reread over all the articles and information he had gathered over the months. He wanted to be the best father possible, but you insisted to him that you weren’t worried about this at all. After all, he was already the best husband you could ever have asked for.

haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to join!)

@al0ehas @aurumk @neko-chii1 @thisnoodlewritesao3 @satan-ruler-of-hells @trashy-simp @jeppiet @tobi-momo @darkvadeeer @haikyuutothetop @livy384 @babyshoyo @jesssobs​ @b-bakana​

[marwritesgood]

Peach | S. Basett

Pairing: Simon x WOC!Reader

Timeframe: Season One AU

Summary: Y/n tries to ignore her aunt’s words, while Simon prays he is not yet out of time.

PART ONE  //  PART TWO

masterlist

A/N: This fic is just over 8K words

I cannot thank you enough for receiving this mini-series with so much love and support! I am so grateful that so many of you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed creating it.

I hope you like this ending <3

Philippa was still standing on the steps outside her home when Simon arrived. 

He raced through gates atop his horse but, when he quickly realised Y/n was nowhere in sight, he came to a halt. A worker appeared beside him as he came down from the saddle, guiding the horse away so that Simon could approach Lady Bennet.

“Lady Bennet-”

“I take it you hesitated to come here?” Philippa questioned bitterly. She had made it quite clear to the Duke that time was of the essence. Yet, he stood, dishevelled and panting because he was late, despite his delayed best efforts.

“Lady Bennet, please help me,” Simon exhaled, taking his hat off swiftly and holding it to his chest. Philippa had begun walking towards her home before she turned around again.

“Grant me one reason as to why I should help you, your grace,” she sneered. “Did you not possess every available opportunity to make amends with my niece ever since her arrival in London?”

“I did,” he cried, desperate to obtain Philippa’s assistance. “I had every opportunity but, like the fool I am, I took each one for granted. I have been far too preoccupied with affairs I do not care for; I have stupidly disregarded that which matters most to me; my relationship with Y/n.”

He grew quiet for a moment, during which the only sound heard in the cortile was that of Simon’s panting, a consequence of his frantic outburst. Philippa’s cold and glaring expression remained unfazed. She could not yet decide whether she trusted him. 

Simon waited until he caught his breath to speak again.

For any other person in the world, he would uphold his reputation of being reserved and brooding. However, Y/n was not any other person in the world to him. She meant a great deal to Simon, and he was willing to disregard his typical persona, stoicism and all if it meant fixing things between them. 

Even if it meant a vocal revelation of how he truly felt.

“I... I love her,” Simon admitted, the crinkle between his brows a confirmation of his sincerity. Philippa’s scowl faded. “I know I am undeserving of your ladyship’s help... just as I am unworthy your niece, but I can no longer deny the true nature of my feelings for her. Nor can I begin to describe the regret I have for not being here sooner so that I could confess this to her.”

As silence filled the courtyard once more, Simon glanced at the floor beneath him, overcome with regret and sorrow. Had he reached the Bennet home quicker, it would have been easy. 

“Well then... you ought to begin thinking,” Philippa stated flatly, inciting confusion upon Simon. She smirked, amused by Simon’s response. He always was slow to catch on. “Your grace, if I am going to help you reach my niece, the very least you can do is think of what you will say to her.”

A wide grin slowly made itself apparent on Simon’s face. Suddenly the sorrow he felt previously was beginning to be replaced with a newfound hope- one he would, this time, indulge in and act hastily upon. He was not going to allow himself to repeat his same mistakes.

“Alright now,” she smiled. “I presume you have a plan in mind?”

Simon thought for a moment. While he feared he would miss Y/n’s departure, Simon, unfortunately, did not consider what he would do. He began panicking, straining his train of thought as he sought for even a scrap of an idea. 

Then Simon remembered how he found himself in this position. He recounted all the times in his past, where he hesitated. Where became so enveloped in all the matters that burdened his mind, he lost sight of what mattered most to him. 

He refused to fall subject to that mentality again.

Therefore, for the first time in his life, Simon turned to his instincts. Not his desire for perfection. Not his pride or his arrogance or his vengeance. What mattered most at that moment was how he could best apologise to Y/n and prove that he loved her dearly.

“Do you know the man whose proposal she is to accept?”

Philippa nodded. She narrowed her eyes at Simon, curious as to what he intended to do. Lady Bennet knew she would inevitably agree, no matter how strange the plan turned out to be, but she was still greatly curious and the slightest bit concerned.

“Can you delay him?” Simon asked. “By the time Y/n’s carriage reaches her home, it will be dusk; thus, I presume she will plan to meet with her suitor in the morning. I need you to delay that from happening.”

“And what will you do?” Philippa questioned. “Would it not be wiser for us both to leave immediately?”

Simon shook his head. He thought of the right way to phrase his answer. If Simon revealed his plan to Lady Bennet, he knew she would support him wholeheartedly. However, he thought it best to keep the better part of it concealed. It would have more effect that way, he believed.

“There are a few places I must visit beforehand,” he explained.

“You are asking me to delay Mr Graham so that you can visit a few places?!”

“I am asking your Ladyship to have trust in me,” Simon pleaded. “Hurting your niece is my biggest regret. I intend to atone for my mistakes, not repeat them.”

Philippa stared intently at the Duke. It was a massive ask of her; to leave her family momentarily and interfere with Mr Graham’s pursuits. However, every instinct she possessed led her to believe that Simon was sincere. The confidence he held gave her hope that his plan would work. She sighed.

“Then you must leave immediately,” Philippa ordered him. “Visit the places that say you must visit and then race hastily to my sister’s home. I will do my best to delay Mr Graham until then.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Simon cheered before doing just as he was told.

He raced towards his horse and climbed atop the saddle. Philippa dashed inside to organise yet another carriage headed to her hometown. Both equally determined to keep their beloved Y/n from accepting Mr Graham’s proposal.

***

The Y/l/n household was, needless to say, very much hectic. Y/n had arrived home the night before, hoping she would, at the very least, be able to have some sleep before the next morning. That proved to be impossible.

The words of her Aunt Philippa haunted Y/n during her journey home. Then, just as she feared, it continued to do so as Y/n tossed and turned in her bed. Once she finally began to settle, her mother barged in with sever different dresses for her to try on. 

“Sit up straight, dear.”

Y/n flinched at the sudden sound of her mother’s orders. She reluctantly obeyed and straightened her back. When Mrs Y/l/n turned back around, Y/n sighed exasperatedly, slumping her shoulders ever so slightly. Her hands curled into tight fists as she tried to keep herself from dozing off yet again. 

“I do not understand,” Mrs Y/l/n agonised as she paced the sitting room. This was an all too familiar situation for Y/n. “Mr Graham is known for being punctual, yet he is running terribly late.”

Y/n could care less that Mr Graham was late. Not while she was living off of less than an hour of slumber. 

“You don’t suppose I could have a scone while we wait, mama,” Y/n mumbled. She was not particularly hungry so much as she was desperate for some energy.

“Do not be silly, Y/n. You mustn’t risk staining your dress,” Mrs Y/l/n replied. Eager to make sure everything went perfectly, she sat beside her daughter and asked the same question she had asked every hour previously. “Now, have you prepared what you will say?”

“Yes, mama, for the fifth time, yes,” Y/n droned. Her exhaustion only intensified her irritability which her mother seemingly lived to test continually. “I don’t understand your concern with how I respond. It matters not how I respond but that I simply remember to say ‘yes’?”

On any other given day, Mrs Y/l/n would have scolded her daughter. However, for reasons unknown to Y/n, she simply sighed and took hold of her hand. 

“Words hold great power, dear,” Y/n’s mother explained simply. She glanced down at her daughter’s hand momentarily before meeting her gaze once more. “They are a valuable indicator of one’s character. How Mr Graham proposes to you will tell you of his attitude towards you and your future marriage. How you respond will do the same to him.”

Y/n nodded, knowing first-hand the amount of truth in her mother’s statement. 

She did not care for her response to him as she did not care for him or their future marriage. Y/n simply wished to move past what had happened with her and Simon. This was beginning to become clear to her.

“I will respond to him properly, mama,” Y/n assured.

Mrs Y/l/n smiled, lifting her hand to cup the side of her daughter’s face. It was slowly dawning on her that in only a matter of time, Y/n would be married. When Mrs Y/l/n sent Y/n her letter, she knew the issue of her daughter being unwed would resolve itself in one way or another. However, Mrs Y/l/n was taken by complete surprise when Y/n came home on her own accord. 

It was far too out of character for her.

She tried her best to look past it. Mrs Y/l/n rushed to get everything in order for Mr Graham’s arrival. However, it was becoming clear to her that she had been too preoccupied with doing so.

As Mrs Y/l/n struggled to find a way to question Y/n about her behaviour, Mr Graham’s carriage arrived outside her home. Y/n looked out her window and jumped to her feet. Before she could race to the door, her mother held her back.

“Before he comes in, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n began. “Are you... Are you sure you are ready for this? Is this truly what you want?”

Y/n scoffed. Her previous concerns about accepting Mr Graham’s proposal suddenly became easy to look past. Y/n’s resentment for her mother began to surface, adding much to her motivations to go through with marrying.

“Mama, please do not pretend to care about what it is I want.” 

Mrs Y/l/n had not expected her to react in such a manner. She was not prepared to have her mothering methods confronted. Y/n’s mother’s primary concern had always been ensuring her daughter marries. It gave Mrs Y/l/n significant discomfort to realise how this resulted in her overlooking what should have mattered more. 

Not to mention how she only came to realise this just as her daughter was about to agree to marry a man she expressed great disinterest in just weeks before.

Y/n rushed out of the room before her mother could say anything further. As she reached the hallway, Y/n watched the doors burst open. Much to her surprise, it was not Mr Graham alone who walked through. Instead, Mr Graham was with her Aunt Philippa, who relentlessly attempted to guide him in the opposite direction.

“Mr Graham, please, I must show you-”

“Lady Bennet, you have shown me enough gardens,” Mr Graham insisted, trying his best to contain his annoyance. “In fact, I am quite certain you have shown me almost every garden in town.”

“All except the best one, sir, which is located just outside the-”

“- Aunt Philippa, enough!” Y/n shouted. 

Mrs Y/l/n reached the hallway just as Y/n called her sister’s name. Mr Graham exhaled tiredly before holding his hands behind his back and regaining his composure. 

Philippa sighed. Her attempts at delaying Mr Graham by badgering him to stop at all 9 gardens on their way to her sister’s home all appeared to be in vain. Simon had yet to arrive, and it was clear they were out of time.

“Philippa?” Mrs Y/l/n said in shock. Her sister had always made an effort to give notice before visiting.

“Hello, sister,” Lady Bennet replied awkwardly, trying her best to force a smile. 

Y/n had been glaring at her aunt. 

She was furious that after she made clear her intention countless times to Philippa, her aunt still chose to meddle. Y/n felt more adamant than ever to go through, even if to simply spite her aunt. It was due time that they learned to refrain from making her decisions for her.

Even if it meant marrying a man she did not particularly care for.

She forced herself to appear alright, mainly in the hopes that it would influence her feelings. That it would obliviate her concerns. It was her last resort at being ok with what she was about to do. 

“Mr Graham,” Y/n called out. The man stood tall, prompting Philippa to grimace. “You may join me in the sitting room.”

She walked ahead of him, guiding Mr Graham to the room. Once he walked in, Y/n turned around and closed the door before returning her attention to him. She fiddled with her hands while he cleared his throat. 

Y/n was fixated by the words of both her mother and her aunt. She kept asking herself the same question Philippa had. Could she be happy? Could she possibly find any enjoyment in marrying a man like Mr Graham? In living an inevitable future with him?

Mr Graham was exhausted from the long journey he was forced to take with Lady Bennet. For the most part, his mind was blank, aside from his impending desire to return home.

“Is there anything you wish to say, Mr Graham?” Y/n asked. Mr Graham was taken aback. “Before I give you my response, that is.”

Y/n was resorting to humouring her mother’s advice. She wanted to see how Mr Graham was going to ask for her hand so that, this time, she could identify his intentions. Y/n wished to put aside the conclusions she reached about Mr Graham; he was arrogant and ignorant. 

She hoped he could prove that he had one if any, good qualities aside from possessing wealth. 

“Uhm-” Mr Graham coughed. “You will remember my father is the primary supplier of livestock commodities in our town.”

“Yes, I do remember-”

“By livestock, I am of course referring to domesticated animals raised in agricultural settings,” he continued, despite Y/n’s best efforts to get a word in. It seemed Mr Graham believed he had reason to take her for someone simple-minded; reasons Y/n did not care for but absolutely resented. “And by commodities, I mean the products-”

“-Yes, I am aware of what words mean, Mr Graham,” Y/n retorted.

“That you are,” he smiled, patronising her even more.

Outside the sitting room, Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n stood with their ears pressed against the door in the corridor. The more they heard Mr Graham speak, the more concerned they became for Y/n. Philippa’s stomach churned as she thought of her poor niece being wed to such a man. She could hardly believe she managed to last the journey there with him and not be at her wit’s end.

“I was recently made aware of the amount your father is offering for your hand,” Mr Graham stated, wincing as he did so. Y/n knew how small her dowry was, and she was annoyed that Mr Graham unnecessarily reminding her. “And you will be pleased to know that I am willing to look past it.”

“How charitable of you, sir,” Y/n muttered. Mr Graham did not catch on to her sarcasm. He was an easily distracted man, Y/n concluded. One need only groom his ego, even sarcastically, for him to be oblivious.

Y/n was reminded again of what her Aunt

“Yes, it is quite charitable of me,” Mr Graham remarked, smiling as he felt pleased with himself. “In fact, that is the very reason I first asked for your hand. Father believed it a grand idea that I marry a woman of your kind. Should attract a different demographic to choosing Graham as their supplier.”

“A woman... of my kind?” 

The Grahams were the primary supplier of livestock. However, the few other families in Y/n town, who were not white, found livestock commodities elsewhere. It was clear Y/n that they viewed her as a pawn in their pursuit of broadening their clientele.

Y/n could already foresee where the conversation was headed, and suddenly her aunt’s questions held all the more weight.

‘Do you truly believe you will be happy?’

It took her only a moment to think it over. There was no denying that Mr Graham possessed all the ignorance and arrogance Y/n suspected he did, so she considered if it was worth bearing. Would a mediocre future with him be worth having to endure his jabs at her identity, her class and her family?

Mr Graham and his father dealt with domesticated animals for a living. It was clear that they viewed Y/n just the same.

Thus, her mind was decided.

“I expected you to be grateful,” Mr Graham commented, confused as to why Y/n was not flattered that of all the two women who made eye contact with him at the town ball. It was she who received a proposal from him. “You do not exactly have an abundance of suitors lined up at your door. Not to mention, I was generous enough not to withdraw my proposal after you asked for... time to consider your answer.”

Out in the corridor, the two sisters exchanged glances. Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n both argued quietly over who was to barge in and reprimand Mr Graham.

“That is quite enough, Mr Graham,” Y/n hissed, beating both her mother and her aunt to it. Her mind was, after all, decided. 

Y/n had struggled for most of her life with control in that she had little of it. If it was not society dictating how she was to live and breathe, it was her mother. This time would be different, Y/n decided. 

This time, she would be taking control and making decisions based solely on her own input.

“Thank you for expressing your feelings, your family history and your intentions with such candour,” Y/n began sweetly. Just as she expected, Mr Graham took nothing but pride in what he believed was sincere gratitude. “And thank you for being so charitable as to offer a lowly woman such as myself a proposal of marriage.”

Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n listened in with concern. They both knew Y/n too well to believe that she send Mr Graham off with civility and decorum. Y/n was the least bit concerned for either.

“You have been so generous with your time,” Y/n continued. “Therefore, I will not keep you waiting any longer... Mr Graham, I will not be accepting your proposal.”

Y/n took great pleasure in rejecting his proposal. Mr Graham grew pale as he quickly realised what her answer was. He stood on the opposite side of the sitting room, yet Y/n was desperate to further away.

“You... You mustn’t be serious,” he exhaled dumbfounded. The man possessed a great ego when he first enters Y/n’s home. Thus she was determined to shrink, if not demolish it. 

“On the contrary, sir,” Y/n smiled, this time genuinely. “I am perfectly serious.”

“S-surely you have not considered the ramifications of denying my proposal,” Mr Graham reasoned. 

Y/n was far too accustomed to being lectured by white men on not considering her actions’ consequences. They, of all people, she believed, were the least bit qualified to talk another on such matters. Not when they are granted every luxury and advantage at birth.

“Miss Y/l/n, you must know, after two seasons of rejected proposals, it is doubtful you will receive another after me,” Mr Graham explained. He was merely adding insult to injury. “And with a dowry as small as yours, I predict your future will be bleak.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Y/n replied, her head held high as she knew Mr Graham was expecting her to be grovelling. “Perhaps I will not receive another proposal after you. Perhaps I will be doomed to live a life of struggle and severe austerity, but make no mistake Mr Graham. I would sooner commit to the life of an impoverished spinster than I would, ever again, entertain the prospect of being your wife.”

Y/n marched towards the door and swung it open, revealing Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n eavesdropping on their conversation. Y/n hoped that would be the case, as an audience’s presence prompted Mr Graham’s mortification to increase tenfold. 

“I must ask you to leave immediately.”

Mr Graham did not wait another moment. He just about sprinted out the door, determined to never step foot in the Y/l/n home again. Y/n stood in the hallway with a smirk and a proud glimmer in her eye. If she felt as a result of taking control, her only regret was not doing so sooner.

Perhaps Y/n would regret her decision later in her life. Maybe she only created more issues for herself than anything else. However, all that would be affairs she would attend to last, in the far off future. For now, she was happy. 

Y/n headed towards her bedroom without saying a word to her mother nor her aunt. She had not done so on purpose. She was simply desperate to change out of her corset and resume resting her fatigued body. Once Y/n was altered, she sat on the edge of her bed. As she let out an audible sigh, Y/n slumped her shoulders and fell back. 

She had never been so grateful for her mattress.

Y/n closed her eyes momentarily. She was very sleep-deprived, yet she was on an incredible high from the adrenaline of rejecting Mr Graham so explicitly. Before she opened her eyes, Y/n felt the mattress sink at her sides. As she opened her eyes, she realised both her mother and aunt were lying beside her.

“I must apologise to you both,” Y/n explained, reach her arms out to hold each of their hands. “I have caused you both a great deal of grief. And it all appears to be in vain now that I have rejected Mr Graham.”

Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n turned to face Y/n, both with the same expression. 

“You may be sorry for many things in life, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n began. “But you mustn’t dare apologise for denying Mr Graham’s hand... you mustn’t ever.”

Y/n smiled. She was unsure what motivated her motivated to have such a change in character. However, she was far too pleased with it to question it. 

“Any thought as to what you will do now, dearest?” Philippa asked. She looked over to her niece with her brows raised, and her sister followed suit. 

It was clear that neither of them could keep Y/n from doing what she wanted. Therefore, it was decided that both Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n would simply stand aside and hold her hand throughout it all. Y/n thought for a moment.

“Perhaps another season?” Y/n answered.

In an ideal world, Y/n would have opted for something different. Perhaps she would have embraced the idea of being a spinster. In perfect world, such a fate would not be so grim. However, that was not the world Y/n lived in.

And so she opted to embrace the best and only option she had.

“Truly, dear?” Mrs Y/l/n exclaimed. While she was overcome with excitement, she wanted to ensure it was her daughter’s genuine desire. 

“Yes, mama,” Y/n insisted, smiling weakly. She hoped in time the prospect would become more appealing to her. “-and it will be much different this time, hopefully for the better, as I am now willing to comply with you and your rules and your overprotective nature. I want it all.”

Mrs Y/l/n did not take offence. Instead, she simply laughed and leaned her head in to kiss Y/n’s temple. She had raised a mighty blunt and greatly opinionated daughter. 

Mrs Y/l/n was most proud of it.

“I must excuse myself,” Y/n’s mother said. She placed her arms behind her and lifted herself off Y/n’s mattress. “Your father will be delighted to hear the news, I am quite sure.”

Y/n laughed at her mother’s excitement. Once Mrs Y/l/n left to recount the morning to her husband, it was just Y/n and her aunt. 

“I hope you won’t mind me asking, dear,” Philippa whispered, inching closer to her niece. She feared the next subject of conversation would strike a chord with Y/n. “Has any of this changed your feelings... towards Simon?”

“No,” Y/n answered shortly, her voice neither louder nor quieter than previously. “He will soon be a married man, so it is most appropriate I refrain from paying him any mind so as to not remind myself of my feelings for him.”

Philippa huffed, torn as to whether or not she should tell her niece. Would doing so disrupt the duke’s plans? Would it not be better for Y/n to hear the truth from Simon himself when he eventually came? Would he ever arrive?

“I, however, must admit- whatever rage and anger I once held against him has since passed,” Y/n sighed. “You were right in what you said before... Although it will not be me who marries Simon, I do hope to marry someone like him.”

Someone like who he was before he became Duke Hastings, Y/n thought.

“You do?” Philippa smiled. She decided not to reveal anything to her niece quite yet. Lady Bennet was confident such a task should be carried out by Simon and him only.

“Hmm,” Y/n nodded. “Someone of good character and of a kind heart. A man who does not resent me when I raise arguments but rather engages in them.”

“It is the least of what you deserve in a husband, my dear,” Philippa replied.

The two of them shuffled to the top of Y/n’s bed, where her pillows laid. Both were exhausted from travelling in from London and enduring what had been a most eventful morning.

They both remained silent to get some sleep in before Mrs Y/l/n would eventually call them down for breakfast. However, just as Philippa began to drift off, his niece disrupted the quiet.

“Aunt Philippa,” she murmured. “I never did ask you what exactly compelled you to come... let alone badger Mr Graham as a means of delaying his arrival.”

Y/n was unsure what she was expected her aunt to reply. Philippa grew nervous as she tried to respond in a manner that would not reveal the real reason she came to her sister’s home.

“I-I,” Philippa stammered quietly. “-I simply could not sit idle... and let you accept Mr Graham’s proposal.”

Y/n hummed before turning to her side. It was a predictable answer, yet it left her with a bitter feeling of disappointment. She slept without  

Philippa sighed in relief before hoping that wherever Simon was, whatever it was he was doing that moment, that it would not hinder him any longer from finally reaching the Y/l/n home.

***

Y/n awoke from her nap to an empty bed and an open room. She was curious about where her aunt had gone, not to mention why her mother did not wake her for breakfast. The sky had darkened significantly since she first fell asleep, though Y/n was sure it was not yet evening.

She climbed out of bed and donned a simple dress. Y/n could hear the faint sound of her parents talking, so she suspected they were with Philippa. Afterwards, Y/n wandered down the steps of her home and headed to the dining room. The conversation grew quiet, prompting her to call out.

“Have you truly begun eating without me?” Y/n laughed as she pushed the doors open. 

As she stepped inside, a man stood from his seat- across the table from Philippa and Mr and Mrs Y/l/n. He turned to face Y/n with his hands held behind his back.

“Simon.”

Y/n was awestruck. All she could say was his name, and after muttering it quietly when he stood, she found herself left speechless. What could motivation could he possibly have to travel there from London. 

“His grace will be joining us for dinner,” Mrs Y/l/n explained, refuting Y/n’s last hopes that it was not yet evening. “It will not be ready for a small while, so perhaps you could walk him to the garden in the meantime.”

“‘Tis the best one in town,” Philippa commented, a reference to the wild goose chase she led Mr Graham on just earlier that day.

Y/n remained quiet, unsure as to what was happening. She expected her mother to be repulsed by the sight of Simon. Y/n had, after all, rejected countless marriage proposals for reasons involving him. However, she was not repulsed. 

She was smiling. Glowing, rather. Even Philippa and Y/n’s father seemed to be beaming despite sitting in silence. Y/n could not decide whether that should comfort her or worry her.

“He requests a private audience with you before dinner is served,” Mrs Y/l/n continued.

“H-He... does?” Y/n stuttered, looking at Simon in confusion. He appeared to be avoiding her gaze, which further provoked her curiosity.

“I do,” Simon replied shortly.

Y/n turned to her mother in confusion. Indeed, she would not send her unmarried daughter off, with an available man, on an unchaperoned walk without explanation nor context.

“I cannot possibly leave you to make dinner alone, mama,” Y/n stated. The thought of walking with Simon, especially after the nature of their last conversation, left her much unsettled.

“Nonsense, I will offer my assistance,” Philippa responded. Y/n narrowed her eyes at her aunt. She had always avoided being in the kitchen with her sister by all means necessary.

“It is decided then,” Mrs Y/l/n cheered, guiding Simon and Y/n towards the door that led to their garden.

“Mama, it looks as though it will begin to rain,” Y/n whispered, hoping to stop her mother but to no avail.

“You will not be far from the house, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n replied, opening the back door and guiding the two outside. “Should that be the case, you need only take a short walk back.”

Before Y/n could think of another way to avoid the walk, her mother rushed inside, slamming the door close behind her. There was no more avoiding, it seemed. Y/n sighed before reluctantly walking towards her mother’s botanical garden. 

He was initially quiet. Simon had rehearsed what he was to say several times before he arrived. However, it was not until he saw Y/n again that all his prepared words vanished from his memory.

Y/n was conflicted. She was overcome with a myriad of emotions, which always seemed to be the case for Simon. While she was still very hurt by his actions and was determined to voice her feelings, Y/n felt it necessary to first break the ice with civility.

“How long will you remain in town?” Y/n asked.

“I have not yet decided,” Simon answered, after a moment of deliberation. He believed it wise to tread lightly in their conversation, though he too was determined to let his feeling become known.

His answer left Y/n’s curiosity to grow. 

“Why not?” She queried. “I suspect Miss Bridgerton will be eagerly awaiting your return to London.”

Simon smirked. He missed her witty remarks terribly, just as he missed her company. Y/n had not intended for her response to land with such snideness. However, it was clear to her that Simon did not resent it.

“You suspect wrong,” he answered gleefully, catching Y/n off guard. Simon took amusement in her confusion but did not hesitate to clarify the situation. ��She has already promised her hand to another... His royal highness Prince Friedrich. I was informed of the news this morning.”

“You do not seem upset,” Y/n commented as she studied Simon carefully. 

“That is precisely why I wished to speak with you,” he explained. 

Simon stopped walking, prompting Y/n to do the same. They stood by her mother’s hyacinths, specifically the purple ones. Simon took inhaled deeply as he prepared to explain himself and as he hoped, with all his might, that she might forgive him.

“I lied to you,” he began.

“Yes,” Y/n muttered quickly before Simon could continue. Had he genuinely come all this way just to recount their argument, she wondered. “I remember our conversation vividly.”

“No,” Simon cried. “What I meant to say was that I lied to you... when I told you that I was courting Miss Bridgerton and that I intended to marry her.”

Y/n remained silent, allowing Simon to continue.

“She approached me earlier this season,” he explained. “- with a proposition that I pretend to court her. She needed more suitors, and I sought to improve my public image.”

Y/n recalled the countless articles written about Simon, painting him as a stoic and brooding snob. It made sense that he wanted to change this portrayal, Y/n, though.

“I tried my best to put an end to our pretence earlier... on the day you approached me at Hyde Park, in fact,” Simon said. “However, Miss Bridgerton was adamant that it continues until she could attract the attention of Prince Friedrich. And I had already given her my word not to reveal our ruse to another soul.”

Y/n remained quiet as she took in his revelation. The more Simon spoke, the more Y/n understood why he acted so cold to her. He was always most irritable when he was hiding something.

“Peach,” Simon sighed. He reached out for Y/n’s hand, and, to his surprise, she did not pull away. “For all the pain and sorrow I caused you that night at the gala, I am so sorry.”

She squeezed his hand tightly as a way of comforting him. Y/n knew the way Simon could be so cruel to himself. Considering the impossible position he was placed in, she could only imagine the extent to which this had been burdening him. 

“While I wish I had been spared from getting hurt,” Y/n began. Simon winced but nodded. He, too, wished she had not been caught in the middle. “I do understand why you had to lie to me... and I think it unfitting if I were to continue to hold that against you.”

Simon exhaled in relief.

Y/n smiled, comforted by his reaction. She, too, was relieved. After the gala at the Danbury estate, Y/n deemed Simon a stranger, someone she could no longer recognise. Yet, as they stood opposite each other in her mother’s garden, Y/n felt she knew exactly who the man that stood before her was.

The two continued walking across her mother’s garden. After Simon thanked Y/n several times for being so understanding, she recounted her morning to him. Simon struggled to contain his laughter when Y/n explained the 9 gardens Philippa forced Mr Graham to stop.

“So what will you do now?” Simon asked curiously. 

“I will have to endure another season,” Y/n replied. “I have already promised mama I would comply with her this time around. Hopefully, my luck has not yet run out."

Simon nodded, though he resisted the urge to frown. She appeared to be excited. Hopeful, even. He worried this indicated a change in her affections for him. Nonetheless, he cast his worries aside for a moment. Y/n’s happiness was his primary concern.

Simon thought back to the story Y/n told of her rejecting Mr Graham’s proposal. In particular, he remembered the comment Y/n said he made regarding how dowry.

“If that is the case,” he began. “Then I insist on making a donation... to contribute to your dowry.”

Y/n’s feet came to a halt as she furrowed her brows in both shock and confusion. Instinctively, she began devising a way to reject his offer without offending him. Y/n was never oblivious to the significant difference in her financial standing to Simon’s, but she certainly never wanted to take advantage of it.

“It can remain anonymous,” Simon insisted. He knew his offer was far from appropriate as a woman’s dowry was her family’s responsibility. However, that was precisely what Y/n was to him: family. “If you are concerned about what others might say, I assure you I will personally see to it that the donation remains private.”

“Simon, no-”

“- Please, I insist,” he held firmly. Y/n continued to shake her head profusely, but Simon refused to give in. “It is the least I can do after playing such a significant role in hindering you from marrying these past two seasons.”

Y/n paused, taken aback by the fact he knew that. 

“Simon,” she began. Her tone was neither shocked nor angry. “You mustn’t hold yourself accountable for a decision I made. Yes, you may have been the reason for it, but it was I who ultimately made a choice... And I take full responsibility for the position I am now in as a result.”

Simon nodded sheepishly. 

“Regardless,” he said softly. “I still insist... You mean a great deal to me, Peach. Ensuring you have a befitting dowry is the least of what I owe to you, particularly after all our years of friendship.”

The grey clouds grew darker as the weather turned sour, and the day slowly came to an end. However, that quickly became the least of Y/n concerns. Her lips parted briefly, but she struggled to say anything. 

Simon let out a heavy exhale before reaching his hand into the pocket of his coat. He looked at Y/n and smiled. She still appeared adamant to deny his offer of making a donation to her father.

“Do you remember the story,” he began, “- of the first time we played in the maze at Lady Danbury’s home?”

Y/n chuckled, unsure whether he was serious or if the question were rhetorical. 

“Of course you do,” Simon continued, laughing all the while. “You recount it at every available opportunity.”

His laughter was disrupted by Y/n’s fist, gently colliding with his shoulder. 

“Please allow me to finish, Peach,” he cried as he rubbed his shoulder. Y/n rolled her eyes playfully but allowed him to continue nonetheless. “You recount it at every available opportunity, but you always failed to include the part of the story I favoured most.”

Y/n raised her eyebrows in surprise. 

“After I found you in the maze- crying hysterically, I must add,” Simon quipped. As Y/n raised her hand to repeat her previous action, Simon caught her fist in his hand. Their eyes locked as he did so, and the tension between them grew this. Y/n lowered her hand coughed awkwardly, prompting Simon to continue. “I took you to see Lady Danbury’s fruit orchids.”

Simon’s smile grew remarkably wide. He had purposely refrained from retelling his favourite part of the maze story to Y/n. He was most excited to finally do so.

“You ran straight for one tree in particular,” Simon said. Y/n’s brows snapped together as she tried to remember. “I picked some fruit, and we ate it beneath that tree. However, you were still quite upset, and that was when I assured you I never would have left you behind... Do you remember which tree we sat beneath?”

After giving it a moment of thought, Y/n gasped quietly when she finally remembered. She looked back to Simon and smiled. In a quiet whisper, she answered his question.

“Peach.”

Simon nodded. It was after that day that he refrained from calling Y/n by her name. After they left Danbury’s orchids when he chose to instead call her ‘Peach’ to remind himself of that day on of his promise not to leave her behind. Despite falling short on that promise, Simon was determined to fulfil it.

He took a step towards Y/n and slowly replaced his grin to express both sincerity and fear. Y/n studied him in anticipation of what he was to say next. Simon seemed greatly troubled by something, she thought.

“If you wish to find another suitor next season,” Simon started, unable to hide the sorrow he felt at imagining it. He inhaled sharply and, in doing so, forced himself to remain composed. “I will do everything in my power to help you in your pursuits. Whether that be in the form of financial support or advice. Whatever it is you may need from me, Peach... my answer will always be yes.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, and her mouth curled into a frown. She could see right through Simon’s attempts to his sadness. 

“But if there is any chance,” he question, his tone frantic and desperate. He inched forward slightly and deepened his gaze at Y/n before he continued. “If there is even a fleeting chance that your feelings towards me are... are as they were before, then please tell me now.”

Just as he finished speaking, droplets of rain began to fall. They grew bigger and more rapid as time went on, but neither Simon nor Y/n noticed. Both were far too concerned with the affairs of their affections for one another. 

Y/n held her breath as she looked at Simon. Earlier that day, she decided to enter her third season. She had finally come to terms with knowing that casting aside her feeling for Simon would be her best method of moving forward. Yet as they stood in her mother’s garden, she found herself with no choice but to confront them.

“They are,” she confessed, her voice almost overpowered by the sound of the rainfall, though just loud enough for Simon to hear. “My feelings for you, they... they have not changed.

Her words were music to his ears. Simon reached his arm out and took hold of her hand. He felt his heartbeat rapidly against his chest. Despite the cold and wet weather, Simon felt a warm sensation in his chest.

“I must assure you,” he spoke, glancing down at the sight of her hand in his. “This is not a result of impulse or of the heat of the moment. Rather, this is something I have anticipated doing, I... I have desperately hoped to be able to do for quite some time.”

“Simon,” Y/n quavered. “W-What are you referring to?”

Simon looked up at the sky. He laughed as the heavy rain showered over his face, and then he turned back to Y/n. She did not move from where she stood but, instead, studied Simon closely. Her mouth fell agape when, without a moment’s notice, Simon knelt down.

Y/n gasped. There was a loud slushing sound made as Simon’s knee sunk into the mud. He was unfazed by it, which made Y/n shock only grow. He couldn’t be, she thought. It was not possible. And indeed, if he intended to do as she suspected, he would live to regret it. 

In a swift motion, she too fell her knee. Standing up while Simon knelt before she felt all too overwhelming. Y/n was confident he was not serious, despite him expressing profusely that he was. Simon’s eyes grew wide as he looked down and noticed the mud-splattered across the hem of Y/n’s gown.

“Peach, your dress-”

“Never mind my dress,” Y/n croaked. “Simon, what are you doing?”

“What I should have done two years ago,” he replied instantly. 

Y/n clasped her hand over her mouth. Her hair and her clothes were drenched from the rainfall, as was Simon’s, yet neither seemed to notice. He reached out and took hold of her free hand.

“I know I am the least bit deserving of your hand, as well as of course your forgiveness and your friendship,” Simon began. “However, these past years away from you, and these past two days in particular... They have been pure torment. And I have since realised that I would be a fool not to make an offer of marriage to you and hope that you would be so kind as to accept it, because... Well, because I love you, Peach. Fervently so.”

“What... What about your vow to never marry?” Y/n asked.

Indeed he had not thought this entirely through, she wondered. This was the moment, she believed. The moment he would take back his proposal.

“You said before that I have the luxury to choose while you do not,” Simon answered. Slowly, he let go of Y/n hand and lifted it to her face, holding the side of her cheek tenderly. “Well... I believe it’s due time that my choices begin constituting to my happiness... and that of the only woman I love.” 

Tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes and began to trickle down her face as she wept. She felt it surreal, the fact that Simon was offering his hand to her. And as it appeared, she had run out of reasons to argue against it.

“I know I have caused you much suffering,” Simon sighed, rubbing his thumb gently across Y/n’s cheek, wiping her tears away while doing so. “But I am determined to spend the rest of my life atoning for it by doing everything in my power to ensure your happiness... That is if you will have me?”

Y/n thought of her mother’s advice earlier regarding how one’s words indicate one character and their intentions. She thought of how all her past suitors made proposals from a place of arrogance, how they all made the argument that their financial standing was reason enough for her accept.

That was not what mattered most to Y/n.

Love and happiness; that was what she sought most from marriage. After years of being told that to do so was naïve and pointless, Simon was offering precisely that. 

“Yes,” Y/n answered, laughing beneath her breath as she exhaled. She stood up and planted her feet firmly in the mud before reaching her hand down to help Simon do the same.

“Yes?” Simon repeated in disbelief. 

Y/n chuckled and helped him to stand, after which she reached her hands out and placed them on the sides of his face. Even in the pouring raid and even covered in mud from the waist down, he was still so beautiful, she thought. Simon precisely the same of her

“Yes! I... I will marry you,” Y/n declared, her smile growing wider as she spoke. She could not make that statement repeatedly when she would eventually share the news.

Simon wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He leaned closer to her slowly and kissed her sweetly. Y/n held the sides of his face firmly, pulling him even closer to her, causing him to smile against her lips. Shortly after, Simon slowly pulled away, leaving Y/n gasping for air.

“I am sorry it took me so long to do this, Peach,” he said softly, gazing apologetically at the woman he could finally address as his fiancee.

“It does not matter anymore, Simon,” Y/n replied, pressing her temple against his. 

He grinned before leaning in to kiss her once more. Y/n lowered her hands and left them placed against his coat’s lapels. She wished for the moment to last a lifetime. However, as the rain grew heavier and the sky grew darker, Simon pulled away again.

“Perhaps we should return,” Simon suggested, despite much enjoying being alone with Y/n. She immediately groaned at the thought of going back. “I imagine your mother will be quite cross if we miss dinner.”

“Simon... I have waited a very long time for this moment,” Y/n began. “I will not be rushed by you or my mama.”

Simon laughed before kissing her once again. 

When they finally walked back to the house, Simon continued to glance over at Y/n and at the sight of their hands intertwined. He thought of all the different ways things could have ended between them. 

What would have happened if she had accepted Mr Graham’s proposal or even that of her previous suitors? What would have happened if he did, in fact, marry Miss Bridgerton? What would have happened if he had just proposed to her when she first confessed her feelings to him? 

Simon wondered how many times things could have drastically been made different between them. He thought of how many choices, events and actions dictated whether they would ever be engaged.

And all he could do was smile at his beautiful fiancee and be completely and utterly grateful that this was how their story concluded.

@fuckoffthanos @awesomebooklover17 @shadowfoxey @eternallyvenus​ @smol-grandpa​ @deakesthegreatest 

[luvsicksubs]

mercy - levi ackerman

cw: sub!levi, femdom!reader, dacryphilia, spitting, unprotected sex, edging + overstimulation (m. recieving), oral (m. recieving), degradation, a little bit of aftercare, riding, restraints, levi calls you miss 

wc: 2.7k 

a/n: im literally in love with him goodbye everyone. 

Retribution is normally in your bedroom.

A habitual creature at heart and core leaves him stumbling to your quarters in the middle of the night. It’s late - when the rest of his soldiers have fallen into a deep sleep and the entire hallway echoes when he steps. A single flickering candle rests in his palm but he could make it to your bedroom with his eyes closed.

A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he makes it to your door. His heart is hammering in his chest, hand trembling as he closes his palm into a fist and knocks. Always three times, precisely before he waits, taking a sharp inhale to ease the nerves he attempts to push aside. His eyes flutter when he hears you undo the heavy lock on your chamber doors, pushing it open with a faux surprise when you see Levi.

His skin is warm. He’s sure it’s unlikely that his expression is a proper match for how he feels, eyebrows stitched together fitfully. Still, you don’t falter. You greet him with an exceptionally warm smile, eyes full of mirth. He knows you’re not surprised, but you make a game of playing pretend. Levi is half-way between a scowl when he looks at you, never mind his pounding heart.

“Oh? Captain - what are you doing here so late?,” you ask, bemused. Levi considers temporarily turning on his heel and leaving. His frown deepens but it doesn’t seem to discourage your antics and Levi figures that you’ve never really been deterred by him anyways.

You smile wistfully, challenging - damn, you’re going to make him say it aren’t you? Levi misses you too urgently to come up with anything half-way solid and sarcastic. Even his pride, normally stubborn, proves to be wholly worthless today.It’s always that way with you. 

“To see you,” he replies, scrunching his brow together. You take the candle from his hand, noting the way the wax drips down the sides as you place it on the wooden desk in your study. With the lights dim down like this it makes it hard to see, but your hands are familiar. The brush against the shaved sides of Levis hair as you cradle his face in your palm.

“To see me? Aren’t I awful lucky?,” you quip. Your thumb smooths along his cheek bone, and even in the darkness of the hallway - Levi can see light in your eyes. You make everything feel easy and in turn make Levi frustrated. He couldn’t explain it himself. Rather, he places a soft hand on your wrist and closes the gap between you. He can taste your amusement on your lips, the small noise of surprise when he kisses you. Something akin to need flares up in his chest.

He’s just as surprise as you are when he pulls away, inevitably. Your smile is stretched so wide your cheeks sting as Levi sighs.

“Would you let me in already?,”

You grin, stepping aside and letting Levi into your bedroom before locking the door. For all the things Levi is capable of, subtlety isn’t one. He sits on the corner of your bed with his arms  folded in his lap - eyes heavy on your figure. You smile at him.

“Something you want, Captain?,” you hum. Levi says something in his head, a furious blush creeping down his neck as he watches you approach him. Like a cat, or a viper - more like. He spreads his legs for you place your knee between them. You curl your knuckle and drag it along his sharp jawbone, stopping underneath his chin before tilting his expression up towards you. Levi breathes a sigh of relief. 

Levi has never understood religion at its core. The only religion Levi Ackerman has ever understood had been full to the brim with corruption.  

Yet, when Levi is at your waist with his eyes held high, you are something of a deity. A religious altar. There is relief in your all-knowing stature, endless wisdom of all Levis sins. Levi has nothing to hide from you, your gentle prying eyes and loving gaze. Between your legs is an appropriate place of worship. He stares at you, brow hardened until your thumb brushes his lips and he opens his mouth. You smile when he takes you in, tongue soft against the pad of your thumb - there’s something like approval swimming in the sharpness of your expression. 

For Levi, your touch is indeed dominion. An unworthy worshiper who’s  to please the lord that reigns above him, protects him from whatever evil, and loves him wholly. If that is what God is meant to be, then Levi can understand it. 

Dominion. Divinity. God. You. These things are all the same to Levi. Truth awaits him in your quarters, with your dress pants tugged past your thighs and your leg hiked over the bed. The first step to retribution is honesty, Levi figures. 

The words are still hard to get out, but you’re patient. Your thumb presses down on the tip of his tongue, eye brows quirked. Amused. 

“Well? What is it, boy? Is there something you’d like to do?,” 

Your knee presses against the stiff outline in his pants. A choked gasp leaves his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he nods. 

“Yes,” 

“What would that be?,” 

Levi chokes as he feels your knee lift up, grind against the cloth. The contact is so barely there but his body is attuned to your touch. He’s half-hard, gritting his teeth. His forehead falls to your mid-section, brows furrowed as he gasps. 

“I need you,” Levi croaks. His voice is trembling, the brush of your knee against his half-hard cock making it hard to speak. You tilt your head to one side, going hard. You push Levi softly onto his back, hands on either side of his head as your thigh presses against his cock. Levi lets out a sharp gasp - squirming under your curious gaze. 

“Need me to do what, Captain Levi? Answer me,”

“Shit, need you to touch me, Miss,” 

You grin, your expression lit up with pride. You lean down, nose brushing against Levi’s with a smirk. His hands come up to the front of your nightshirt, fisting the fabric. You kiss the furrow of his brow

“Is that so, Captain? Where exactly do you need me to touch you?,” 

Levi whines, throat hoarse as he feel your hands graze over his chest underneath his white shirt, unbuttoning each one slowly. Your mouth singes his skin, open mouth kisses littering his neck. Levi doesn’t even get angry when the hickies you bite into his neck are above the collar - though he’s sure his cadets won’t let it go when he blushes because of them

Right now, all Levi can feel is your hands, pinching and twisting his nipples. You brush them with your thumb, till your tongue laps at the hardened buds. You feel Levi take in a sharp inhale, your hands resting on his rib cage 

“Where do you need me to touch you, Captain Levi? Tell me,”  

“My,” A furious rush of scarlet litters Levis neck, chest and cheeks. Levi isn’t very good at being vulgar with you but your expectation weighs heavy. He shuts his eyes, gasping as your hand slowly travels lower. 

“Need you to touch my, ngh - touch my cock, Miss,” he breathes, barely getting the last bit out, “Please,” 

“Need me? Is that why you came waltzing to my bedroom in the middle of the night Cap? Did you come here just for me wreck you like a cheap slut, Captain Levi?,”  

A soft gasp tears it’s way from Levi’s throat. Humiliation flood his gut, sends butterflies leaping into his throat. Levi nods, peers into your heavy es as the travel down his body with the reminder that here, he’ll always be second place to you. Excitement rushes through him, trying to find the words to say - but it gets caught in chest somewhere. 

Levis response is cut short by your hands, fingers looping into the waist band of his pants and swiftly pulling everything down, all past his thighs. His cock bobs, heavy with pre-cum against his stomach. The tip is bright red, almost purple and Levi feels like he might cum just from seeing your face next to it. He gasps, sitting up and leaning on his hands to watch you with heavy eyes. 

“Beg for it. Captain,” you hum, lazily pumping his cock in your hands “Beg me to make you feel good,” 

“Fuck, please,” 

“Look at me,” 

Levi watches from heavy lids. Your mouth kisses up his thighs, teeth digging into the flesh with your hands finding purpose in holding him down. You’re slow, patient. A small kiss gets placed on the tip, the wind getting completely knocked out of his lungs. Down his shaft, your tongue slides over the vein as you take him fully into your mouth. Sinking down inch by inch, Levi groans as he twitches inside the warm cavern of your mouth. 

You play Levi’s body like an instrument - by now it’s what Levi expects. Still, caught off guard at the way you swallow him down your throat before stopping just as an orgasm starts. It leaves his cock aching, impending orgasm making it feel like he’s ready to explode. He needs it, and he’s going crazy with the way you’re holding it over his head. Bobbing your throat and swallowing, making him feel so damn good, but stopping right before he can release. Frustration bubbling in his gut, Levi chokes out a heavy sob. His hands still at his sides - obedient. 

“M-miss, can’t can’t, fuck - please let me cum, please - shit, I can’t do it,” Levi sounds good when he begs, begs you. He would never be caught begging anyone for anything but he’s pleading through the haze of an orgasm and the carefulness of your touch. Your eyes quirk when his cock is in your mouth, smiling at the tears that slide down soft cheeks and angular jaw. 

“You wanna cum? Couldn’t even make me cum, could you?” You pause, getting up. You carefully undo the belt from his pants that had previously been pushed off before facing him level again. 

“Why would you, mindless little fucktoy like you can’t think about getting off and following order - isn’t that right Captain,” you muse. 

“The chain of command here means you’ll always be below me, Captain - that’s where you  belong,” you say, barely hiding the sarcasm in your voice. Levi feels dizzy. Nodding deliriously, he lifts his hands up. The warm leather wraps around his wrist not once, but twice as you fasten it together. Tied arms fall back onto the bed, and Levi groans as he watches you get undressed. Your panties make a slick sound as you shimmy them off. 

Levi’s mouth waters, smoothing his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches you. Your thighs make it around either side of his. You slide your dripping cunt right against the length of his cock, letting it rest against your navel. He can feel the swell of your clit pulsate, how warm and tight you must be. He’s restrained by the weight of your hips but he bucks them up anyways. 

You lean forward, cupping your jaw in your hands. Squishing his face together, you raise a brow. 

“Open,” 

His eyes widen as you spit into his mouth - cock twitching against your stomach as you do. Groaning - the sound of your laugh making his chest ache. Levi barely has time to watch you. His eyes rolling into back of his neck, thrashing as he feels your cunt wrap around him. 

“Fuck, fuck - it feels so good. W-wanna cum,” Levi admits. You raise a brow. Levi can barely contain himself, the pleasure curling inside of him. It’s all so humiliating, how much he loves it and how much he loves you. You’re ruining him and he loves it. His hypersensitive cock is aching inside of you. So tight - like silk. Everything is blurry. 

“You can cum, baby - but I’m not stopping till I’m satisfied,” 

Your grin is wicked and Levi watches wide eyes as you lift your hips all the way up before slamming them back down again with no warning and no mercy. Levi groans loudly, your hands swiftly on his chest as you bounce yourself on his cock without any mercy. His throat flutters, the need to orgasm growing impossibly worse as you fuck him at this agonizing pace. The sound of dripping cunt riding him fills the room with lewd noises, pleasure thrumming in Levis ribs. 

Your tits are bouncing as you fuck him so roughly - so fast and so hard that each breath feels sharp.  Wet pussy dripping all down his cock, down past his thighs with disregard for Levi’s helpless warnings about just how close he is. It feels so good he’s seeing white behind his eyelids, spine arching off the bed as he breaches his first, painful and broken orgasm. 

Levi can’t get the words out when he finishes, unable to do anything but choke out a loud moan of pleasure, body twitching. Despite the fact he’s just cum you hold up to your promise, not even pausing. A satisfied grin makes Levi look at with pleading eyes, brows furrowing in overstimulation. The way his body is seizing is makes his voice cease. Everything comes out in a silent scream or pitchy moan. Pleasure that’s ruining him, tears of frustration running down his face as his cock remains painfully hard and hypersensitive. 

“Holy shit, shit - wait, fuck,” 

“So selfish captain, telling me stop when you haven’t even made me cum yet,” you say with a heavy pant “Needy fucking cumslut, not even telling me stop are you? Want me to keep going even though it hurts, right? Filthy,” 

Levi shuts his eyes hard. His lungs feel like they’ve collapsed. The smell of sex and your nails scratching down his chest make his nerves stand on end. Everything is hazy - not a single thought in his head belongs to him as pleasure and pain mix and make his skin burn up. The dull throb of pleasure has him hiccuping with an uncontrollable sob. The sound of his broken voice is like music to your ears, your own orgasm impending. You lean back, letting your fingers toy with your clit. 

Levi watches you through lidded, tear-stained eyes. Another weak spurt of cum shoots inside of you, thin and messy. His nails have dug tightly into the palms of his hands, gritting his teeth as he feels you. 

“So fucking vulgar, Captain - this is what you came here for, right? Just here to do what I tell you and take it like an indecent brat,” 

“G-goddamn it, shit,” 

“Cumming twice in one night - you love how much it hurts right? Our Captain Levi is a painslut ‘n a masochist, isn’t he?,” 

Levi’s heavy lids blink up at you, your face twisted up in pleasure as you ride his softening cock. Your fingers dance across your clit expertly, slamming down till you’re fully seated as you get yourself off using his body. He looks at you needily, not much left of his voice. 

“Please, please  use me, make yourself - haah, fuck, make yourself cum,” 

You collapse forward, shockwaves of pleasure ripping through you. You let out a silent scream as you connect your mouth with Levis, moaning into his mouth as you ride the high of your orgasm. 

When you pull away, Levi is still caught in the throes of subspace. You pepper kisses along his forehead and cheeks, cupping his face as he grows soft. 

“So, Captain, how was that? You feel okay?,” 

Levi frowns at you, wrapping his tied arms around your neck. He buries his face in your shoulder, groaning tiredly. 

“It was good. Now untie me,” he demands, though you’re almost positive it’s because he wants to cuddle. You chuckle, kissing the crown of his forehead. 

You lean back, undoing the ties on Levis arms and holding his wrists. He sits up, burying his face in your chest with his tired arms loosely around your waist. Your fingers scratch his scalp warmly, cooing praises about him being your good boy off-handedly before tapering off in idle conversation. That’s how Levi likes aftercare most, the vibrations of your voice as he cheeks are pressed against your tits. 

Levi is hugging you but he’s at your mercy all the same. Aching body, covered in hickies and bruises and nail-marks - he’s at your mercy.

 That’s what worship means to him. 

[akaashisupremacy]

Fated

Summary: You’re dating your ex-fiancee Gojo again, but your relationship hits a crucial crossroad. Do you stay or do you go?

Gojo Satoru  x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: fluff, angst, exes to friends to lovers   

“You’re hiding something from me.” Gojo Satoru confronts you as you step onto the hallway for spare rooms in Jujutsu Tech.

He is in your way. You try not to get irritated.

“No, I’m not.” you snap. It’s been a long day. You don’t need this. You push him aside and keep walking. Gojo is irritably good at sniffing things out.

He swiftly appears before you again and blocks your way, “What is it?”

“I missed my period.” You stop and cross your arms, “If you really wanna know.”

“Oh.” He mumbles softly. He looks incredulous, as if he is yet to be sure of what he just heard. You walk past him.

“Oh.” he repeats again, eyes widening as the weight of your words dawn. He turns to you.

You leave him standing there, arrested and head to your room. You’re too tired for this.

Gojo watches you enter your room and lie down. He tries to offer you something to eat since you look so pallid under the fluorescent light of the room.

“I’m not hungry. Just sleepy.” you yawn, waving dismissively.

Gojo feels obligated to stay. He looks at you quietly from the door, unable to leave.

“This really isn’t the most opportune of times,” he breathes in, “but are you seeing anyone else?”

“No.” you murmur, “I don’t have the time.”

He walks in to sit beside you, making sure to close the door behind him. You roll over to the other side of the bed away from his gaze.

Gojo knows he is not an easy person to be with. He’s your ex-fiancée for one thing, and he struggles with monogamy for another.

Being able to be intimate with you again was a chance only the gods could’ve intervened. And now that chance is starting to fade. He lies down beside you, his eyes towards the ceiling. At the start of your relationship, it was him who was hesitant. Things are reversed tonight.

“I don’t want to talk. Go away.” you cut in before he says anything, “I’m seeing a doctor soon to make sure.”

He nods understandingly and quietly, but slowly pads out of the room. The weight of the floor lightly creaks under his footsteps. The silence between the two of you dominates the hall.

————————————————————————————

There was a time when you were younger that you would visit Gojo in his family home. After dinner, you’d sneak outside to his family garden to capture fireflies in paper lanterns.

That was a much different time of course. Since then, you’ve been arranged to be married, broken up and begun precariously seeing each other again after ten years.

“Why are you wading around in the darkness?” he asks, sitting on a pile of rocks, his hands inside his pockets.

Neither of you are really kids anymore, but your fondness for fireflies remains. On your occasional stays in Jujutsu Tech for your sorcery job, you like to spend your down time in the gardens at night.

“I need a break from people.” you comment succinctly.

You’re both quiet from a moment. Gojo becomes too impatient for you to start the conversation.

“So what did the doctor say?” Curiosity overcame him.

You lower your lantern by your side, making sure to face away from him as you reply, “She tried to ask if I was married and if my family knew.”

You turn around quickly, waving your hands before he can react, “You don’t need to worry. I’m considering not keeping it...it’s too much time and work…and it made me think about us. I think we should just end things…whatever this is.”

Gojo knew that this day would come. Deep down, he already prepared himself for when your relationship would end. Yet instead of acceptance, indignance rises in his chest.

“How could you let me go so easily? How are you done with us?” he finds himself saying.

He knew his disinterest in monogamy would come to bite him back someday, but he hadn’t imagined himself in a deeply romantic and emotional relationship with you when it happened.

You shake your head. The sounds of crickets and cicadas keep the silences from being too empty.

“Every year I used to wait to see if this was the year we reconciled. If this was the year we would fix things, not necessarily be lovers, but to just be back in each other's lives.” You look to the stars, sitting in a large rock beside him, “I waited maybe 11 years to see it happen even if I didn’t know if it would come at all. And I can wait another lifetime to try again. But I think in this life, our time has to end. This isn’t going to work out, Satoru.”

Gojo feels as if his lungs will collapse. It hurts him even more to know that you do love him but you’d rather he be out of your life.

“Why would you wait another lifetime for me when I’m here now?” he murmurs.

“I can’t have you to myself.” you say simply, “I can’t take this anymore. Even if I’m not pregnant, I want to be the only one in your life.”

“You are the most important person in my life.” he grabs your hand to reassure you. You don’t resist.

You face him, tears running down your eyes, “Then I don’t understand how you can say that and still need someone else.”

Gojo feels his chest crushed with heaviness. The weight spreads to his back, his arms and neck. For the first time in years, he feels helpless.

“We knew this was coming.” you mutter, pulling your hand away to make your exit out of the garden.

Gojo does not chase after you. He notices his bandages are wet.

————————————————————————

Gojo walks around in a daze for the next few days. People always say that he is a man who has everything, but for now he is the man with only questions without answers.

How can he make you stay?

“Gojo,” Utahime nudge, “GOJO!”

She sharply jabs a finger by his side to bring him back to reality. He jerks back, accidentally hitting the wooden walls of the hallway with a resounding thud.

“Are you even listening to me?” she hisses. He hasn’t been paying attention at the school meeting and her temper is rising. How can he go around doing the bare minimum and still be so praised. She was ready to throw a fit.

“Well…we’re kind of expecting…but we might not keep the baby…and ahh…” he uses his full concentration to string together his thoughts.

Utahime stops in her tracks and rubs her temples. Every other conversation she has with him always sends her reeling.

She crosses her arms together, “Let me guess, one of you wants to keep the kid and the other doesn’t?”

“OMIGOSH YES!” Gojo raises his hands as if someone finally gets him, “How did you know?!”

Utahime looks slightly alarmed at his expression. Protective of your privacy, she looks left and right to see if anybody is nearby. She shrugs.

Gojo continues, “These past few days have made me realize how badly I want a family with them. I really want this! Except it made them realize they want a family with someone else…and I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to make them feel the same way.”

His voice softens towards the end of his sentence as he slowly sinks back into his thoughts.

Utahime takes a moment before dispensing her bit of wisdom.

“Having a child with someone is an incredibly huge sacrifice. If you really want this…then you have to make a sacrifice equal in weight. Whatever that will be…” she sighs, adjusting her kimono. “And I have a feeling you haven’t properly explained to her what an open relationship is.”

She peers at him from the side of her eye. His guilty expression confirms her suspicions.

Every now and then, Utahime feels envious of his power. However, today is not one of those days. He has some hard choices to face she would not want to deal with.

—————————————————————— “Hey!”

A week after your last conversation, Gojo spots you in the school and immediately rushes towards you.

In panic, you shove yourself into an empty meeting room and try to shut the door. He jams his foot between the ledge and determinedly peers you from the door crack.

“Oh no, you are not shutting me out. We are going to talk like proper adults.” he insists.

Your instincts kick in. You kick his feet and push him back. You bolt the door shut and slump down behind it. You’re safe for now.

“You can’t keep running away.” he breathes out from the other side, “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you quickly rebut, “Gojo, I have no family. There’s no one to help me. I’m going to be alone if this kid comes out of me.”

Your voice fades hoarsely as you utter the last few words.

“You have me.” his soothes in a contemplative voice.

You want to laugh. This relationship was doomed from the start. You were such a masochist for even trying. You must have been consumed with your attraction to him.

Gojo was no different though— he couldn’t help himself. You both want each other too much and now you both were paying the price.

You shake your head, “You’ll just leave me when things get tough. I’m tired of cleaning after your mess. Why can’t you just let me have my way?”

Gojo has no time to be taken aback.

“Because I don’t want a family with anyone else. I’m desperate to make this work with you.” he pleads, “ Don’t push me away. I have my own doubts about myself, and I understand where you’re coming from but I wish you believed in me more.”

You pretend not to hear him.

“I’ll be here for you and our baby, even if it's not always romantic.” he adds, his voice pleading, “I know you’re terrified that I’ll just leave you but…”

You interrupt him by opening the door. As if on instinct he hides his vulnerability from you. His posture leans back coolly, waiting on your next move.

“Gojo, I’m just frustrated to always be at the mercy of your choices. Don’t you understand?”

His lips part slowly, “If you’re not ready for a family, it’s fine. But don't you want to make this last longer?”

——————————————————

“Oh, Satoru, what have we done?” you quietly murmur, staring at the ceiling of his room.

It’s your first night in his faculty dormitory. You’ve never really been before. His room is too close to the principal’s for a casual date night visit.

Gojo’s long switched off the lights but neither of you can sleep.

“What do you mean? The baby or the wedding?” he chuckles.

You shrug, “Both?”

You shift around the sheets, the linen ruffling under your movement.

He crosses his arms and turns to you, “Well, we’ve established that the first one was an accident. The wedding—well—it’s mostly so you and the baby will be under the protection of the Gojo clan.”

Gojo promised to close his open relationship status until your kid is one and you take his word for it. It is perplexing that the wedding was his idea too. However there was something about his sincerity that you could not refuse

“How long till we regret all this?” you half-murmur, half-sigh.

“Honestly, probably every time we hit a rough patch. But we’re not meant to always be happy anyways.” he sighs lying on his arm. It’s an honest enough answer.

You sit up and put your arms around your waist, “Such optimism you have there. So tell me, oh all powerful Satoru, why are we here then?”

“For me, it's to be able to find and meet you.” he says simply.

He catches you off guard with the tenderness of his words. You reach out to touch the side of his face and gently rub your thumb on his cheek. He presses your hand on his cheek.

“If things fell apart again and you had to wait another ten years for us to fix it, would you?”

He asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

Your face flushes under the cover of darkness.

“…Yes, I love you too much. This was never going to be just an arranged marriage for me even when we were younger…then again, I think you already know that.” you admit in a shaky whisper.

Now that you've married him, you've given yourself permission acknowledge your true feelings to yourself. You have always been in love with him. And being apart did not changed that.

Propping himself up by the elbow, you realize his face is so close to yours. You can almost feel the wisps of his long lashes on your cheek.

“I know this isn’t your ideal wedding, but this is more than just a shotgun marriage for me too. You are my fated. And you are the only being I want to go through this with—sorcerer, curse or otherwise.”

You try not to giggle at the mention of curses.

“Through this life and the next?” you said with a small smile.

“Through this life and the next.” he assures firmly, squeezing your hand.

You smile widely and he looks at you fondly. These are your favorite moments with him, when you’re at the brink of losing each other in your gazes.

Gojo breaks your shared reverie.

“Can you kiss me?” he grins cheekily, “As your new husband…”

You kiss his forehead without skipping a beat. He flips over, still propping himself by his stomach.

“So what shall we do on our wedding night? Try for twins?” he smirks.

You roll your eyes extra hard to make sure he sees it. Gojo only laughs.

He shuffles out of bed and tosses you your coat, “Well if you really can’t sleep, we might as well go out and see the fireflies. They look bright tonight.”

You put on your coat and smile.

Another lifetime is too far away.

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

I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. Check out the other parts!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 

A/N: When I first wrote the original four chapters, I had already know that this was how the series would end (even though I didn't plan to write it all the way here). I don't know if I will continue writing. I have some extra material, but I don't really know if I'd like to write it out. If I ever make up my mind to do so, you will see me pop up in your notifs. 

If not, I guess this is the end. if you've gone through all 8 chapters, thank you for joining me in this wild, heartfelt ride! Comment or message to be added to the taglist! Or write down some comments about your feelsssss

Series Taglist: @tokyo-love-hotel@samkysnks@herownescape@cherrianne192@shamelessdonutsludgebanana@kageyamakock@shirostrbl@luvang3l@cloudsinthecosmos@httpjungoo @saturnki  @itstheee-ha-chan@gucci-froggy@soy1melk @dora-the-grownup @cherryonigiri @fiona782 @a--nonymousse @naturakaashi

If you’d like to continue being part of my taglist (JJK or Haikyuu), please let me know! I also write oneshots for both fandoms and soon I’ll be doing BSD too!

[justice4canyonmoon]

Could you write something about Harry being really insecure about his body so you lay him on the bed and praise him? You kiss every insecurity he has and he starts to love his body a lot more

Hi! I wasn't quite sure how to approach this at first, but I think that I figured something out that turned out to be pretty good! I hope you enjoy it!!

Warnings: talking about body image and online trolls, non-sexual nudity, a bit of cursing ig, mostly fluff and a touch of angst

WC: 1.2k

Harry didn’t get it.

People all across the world thought he was attractive. He was considered a heartthrob. He was nominated for awards like “International Crush,” “Best Look,” “Aussie’s Fave Hottie,” and “Best Male Hottie.” Celebrities had crushes on him, people praised him for his looks, and all of his past partners made it very clear how attracted to him they were.

So why couldn’t he feel that way about himself?

For every person that loved him, there was another that hated him. Another one that said he was ugly, that he should cover every mirror in his house, how they didn’t understand how anyone could think he’s handsome. Those comments echoed in the chamber of his mind constantly, affirming his own thoughts about himself. Every time he looked at himself in the mirror, he just… wasn’t happy. And whenever he voiced these thoughts, people looked at him like he was crazy. “How could you think that?” they would say, “you’re super hot.” And that was that. No real encouragement, nothing that would actually help him with the self-destructive thoughts that plagued him every day. It was like no one believed that he could have insecurities. But he did. Everyone does.

It was another day when he was feeling down on himself. His girlfriend was in the shower, and he was getting dressed in their room. He reached for a t-shirt and was about to pull it on when he looked at himself in the mirror. Harry looked over his torso, trying to search for what other people saw in him. For what magazines saw when they claimed him as one of the sexiest men alive, and for what millions of men, women, and everyone in between saw when they thirsted after him. But his search came up empty. All that he could see were the flaws in his body, the things that he hated that perhaps no one else saw. A deep frown was etched across his face before he even realized it, and he barely registered that tears were starting to spring to his eyes. He scrubbed those away quickly, not wanting his girlfriend to see him like this, but he couldn’t erase the frown or the crease in his eyebrows.

It was then that Y/n exited the bathroom, wrapped in only a towel. As she was picking out her clothes from their dresser, she glanced into the mirror and saw the look on Harry’s face as he was clutching his shirt in his hand. Growing increasingly concerned, she set her clothing on the bed and swiftly walked to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head between his shoulder blades.

“Are you okay, Harry?” she asked softly, “you look upset about something.”

“‘M fine,” Harry lied.

He could feel Y/n frown against his skin, “You don’t need to hide from me, Harry. Whatever problems you’re having, I’m here to help you. Just like you help me.”

He faltered for a moment. What if she reacted like everyone else? If she just told him he was attractive and left it at that, without showing any true support? But he decided to voice his insecurities anyway. Y/n was the best partner he had ever had. No matter what version of himself he brought to the table, she was always there for him to lean on, and she loved him unconditionally. Maybe it would be okay.

“Well, ehm, I jus’... don’ really see what people see ‘n me, I guess. Like, people see me as this international heartthrob and I jus’ can’t understand why, ‘ve never seen that in m’self, y’ know? Never found m’self handsome or anything like tha’. And f’ everyone that compliments me, it feels like ten say that ‘m ‘ideous. Sometimes, it jus’ affects me more than other times, and it jus’ came to m’ mind a little more as I was gettin dressed this mornin,” Harry explained, looking at the floor so he didn’t have to see himself in their mirror.

“Harry,” he heard from behind him, “can you look at me, please?”

He turned around slowly, his hands beginning to tremble as he looked Y/n in the eye. Her expression was soft and sympathetic as she gently cupped his face in her hands.

“Baby, I completely understand where you’re coming from. I had a lot of trouble with my body image when I was a teenager. But I promise you, Harry, that you are absolutely stunning. You take my breath away every time I look at you. I know that people love to talk shit online, especially about famous people that they don’t know, but those people are completely insignificant. Only listen to people that lift you up, even if that means ignoring yourself. Getting over hurdles like this isn’t easy, but I can promise you that I will be by your side 100%, and I will do everything I can to help you love yourself as much as I love you. Stopping the negative self-talk that you’ve been giving yourself for years may be difficult, but I hope that if I tell you how amazing you are every day, maybe you’ll start to believe it. You’re so beautiful, Harry, on the inside and on the outside.”

The tears that were in his eyes earlier now started to drip down his cheeks. His heart was so full, it felt like it was going to burst. How did he get so lucky?

“Darlin,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “I-I don’ even know what t’ say. I love y’ s’ much. Thank y’. Y’ support means the world t’ me. “

She smiled warmly, wiping his tears away with her thumbs, “Of course, my love. I’ll always be here for you, and I’m gonna tell you each and every day how fucking beautiful you are.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her tightly, desperately needing her touch. Y/n happily reciprocated, holding him in an iron grip, hoping that he could feel how deeply she loved him. Then, an idea struck her.

“Honey, can you do something for me?” when he nodded, she continued, “could you lay on the bed for me?”

He nodded again, pulling away from her embrace and lying down on the satin sheets. She clambered on top of him, gently pulling off his pants. Harry looked at her, confused. She smiled at him, placing a soft kiss on his lips before moving her attention elsewhere. Her lips darted across his body, planting sweet kisses over the skin. A kiss was pressed to his thigh, another to his bicep, and yet another to his stomach until she was sure she covered every inch of his body. With every loving gesture, she whispered a new complement.

“You are beautiful. You are loved.”

Slowly, in that moment, his insecurities started to fade away. All that Harry could focus on was the gentle press of lips against his skin, and the loving comments that danced across the surface. He began to believe them too, that maybe he truly was handsome. That maybe he could find a way to truly love himself. He knew that that moment would take a long time to get to. It wouldn’t happen overnight by any means, but with the help of his therapist, his incredible girlfriend, and the other people in his life that were important to him, he could complete his journey to self-love and start to see himself the way that Y/n saw him.

[sourholland]

A Royal Convenience || Tom Holland

| Series Masterlist |

Part Two

AN → You might all be wondering where I’ve been, I honestly just needed a bit of a break for my mental health! I’m sorry, I’ve missed taking to you all <3

Summary → When an alliance is made between England and France, you are sent away to marry the crown prince and heir to the British throne. Except both you and Prince Thomas despise each other at all odds, subjected to the hand of the monarchy and unable to stand each other.

Pairing(s) → Prince!Tom x Princess!Reader

Warnings → None

Word Count → 2.0k

“Could one of you run off and find out if my son is planning on gracing us all with his attendance.” Nicola’s voice was assertive, dripping with irritation at the Prince’s tardiness.

A man holding a closed box with an assortment of rings stood off to the side of the drawing-room. He was stiff, awkward even, in the presence of not only the Queen, but the Princess and future Queen of England. His eyes were trained on the freshly polished floors, clutching the velvet.

Behind you stood your newly introduced ladies in waiting, there were three: Lady Eloise, Lady Charlotte, and Lady Andrea. They were very young, pretty, and had very clearly come from aristocratic backgrounds. Each of them held a title, meaning they’d soon enough marry. You’d planned on meeting them for tea, but Queen Nicola figured it would be better to bring them in before you chose an engagement ring.

“Apologies, mum,” Tom came through the double doors, his hair skewed and his shirt disheveled. He bowed, taking a spot beside his mother and averting his eyes from you.

“Thomas, wonderful of you to join us,” she drawled. “Do begin, sir,” she said, motioning towards the man.

He opened the box a bit shakily, dozens of diamonds gleaming. They ranged from color to carrots of gold, each holding a different and more interesting background. You couldn’t help but to reach out and pick up one with a deep sapphire.

“That was once worn by the late Queen Elizabeth l,” he droned on, continuing to tell you about the long history of where the ring had come from and what it signified.

“What do you think, Thomas,” Nicola asked. She was practically beaming at each ring you slid onto your finger. Like no matter which one you chose, none would be the wrong choice.

“It is not I that will have to wear the dreadful thing,” he replied shortly. “Therefore, I should not be the person deciding which one she chooses, though I wish you’d quicken the pace a bit.”

“Since you’ve made it clear that you have no intention on weighing in on the decision, I ask you kindly, Prince Tom, to please refrain from commenting,” you quipped. He took a step back irritably, pulling at the collar of his undershirt.

You reached into the box once more, pulling out a large European cut diamond ring. The several diamonds displayed at the golden band left you lifting your hand, staring at your ring finger absentmindedly. It was classic, yet had too many diamonds to be considered simple. A royal staple, much like the tiara you’d eventually choose to wear on your wedding day.

“This one,” you said. “This is the one.”

The Queen drifted towards you, biting back excitement as she assessed the ring. It was clearly too large and would need to be sized, yet still had the same effect. She held it up as you had done, clutching your hand and motioning towards your ladies to come and look.

“That’s absolutely darling,” Charlotte mused.

“It’s stunning,” Andrea agreed.

The Prince soon enough took his leave, slipping out of the room before Nicola could notice his absence. She looked disappointed when she looked over and was met with an empty space where he’d just stood.

“He’ll come around soon enough,” she said, this was less reassuring to you and seemed more comforting for herself.

-

“Do tell me about yourself, Andrea,” you murmured on, arm in arm as you both perused the large gardens.

“Well there’s not much to know, miss,” she replied swiftly.

“Please, I wish you’d call me Y/N in private company,” you laughed a bit. “I’ve never had much of a thing for titles.”

“Her Majesty would simply chastise me.”

There were blooming flowers and the grass was slowly becoming more and more green. The air was a bit brisk, the cloak draped along your shoulders thinner than you’d like. The soft breeze felt nice, though. Andrea was simple looking, pulled back brown hair and a heart-shaped face. She explained that she was one of three girls, the third daughter of an earl.

“I must admit, I do wish we’d have met under different circumstances,” you mused, plucking a lily from the shrubs.

“I’m not sure what you mean, miss,” she looked over at you a bit sideways.

“I just mean—well under the circumstance that I wasn’t being pawned off on the Prince.”

You fumbled at your skirts for a moment, pressing at the fabrics of your afternoon dress. It was ivory, beautiful, really. Though, much different from anything you’d have worn in France.

“I’m sure His Royal Highness will be as pleased as everyone else once you are both wed.”

“That’s hard to believe,” you chuckled. “He has hardly said a word to me since I arrived in London.”

She looked nervous, like she was afraid to say the wrong thing. Her cheeks flushed lightly, the glint in her eyes a bit brighter. Andrea just looked over to you and gave a soft smile, as if to say everything would be alright.

“Do you think that Prince Thomas is handsome?” You asked, curious of her opinion. You watched her cheeks redden, an awkward laugh escaping her lips.

“That is not for me to judge, miss,” she answered almost immediately.

“No—but, I just want your opinion, do you think he is handsome?” You asked once again.

She hesitated for a moment, “yes, I think the Prince is certainly very handsome.”

You thought for a moment, of his brown hair that had been swept back and so carelessly skewed about earlier in the morning. The way his freckles scattered lightly across his nose like a constellation, you’d only known this from when he’d pulled you in so closely the night before. He wore his signet ring proudly, this amongst what looked like another ring with a crest on it.

“Yes, I suppose he is quite handsome. Though, if I’ve learned anything, it is that looks count for almost nothing when you’re forced to spend everyday with a person.”

-

The quiet clattering of silverware sounded throughout the large room, beside you sat Prince Tom. Down the table were the two older princes, assuming the youngest, Prince Patrick, was still too young. At the head of the table was King Dominic, at his right was Queen Nicola. Occupying the rest of the table was an assortment of dukes and duchesses, earls and ladies.

It had been too late to join everyone for dinner the night before, so tonight was the first time you’d been in everyone’s company. The room was large, grand even, gold trim and deep royal red walls filled with paintings dating back centuries. Candles burned while you ate, attempting to steal a glance at the Prince while he spoke with his brother Harry.

It had taken you weeks studying the British monarchy to completely grasp their political and traditional protocol. You had to learn who to curtsy to and who not to, and then in what order, how to determine the sovereign and whether or not to address someone with a title or not to.

“Tell us, Y/N, how are you finding England?” The Queen chimed, staring at you from her seat across the table.

“Well, ma’am—I haven’t seen much of it, I do hope to see more. It is far different from France, though.”

A quiet murmur spread across the table, “I’ve always found the French quite curious,” a duchess, whom you could not recall the name of, said lowly.

“Curiously dreadful,” Tom laughed to himself in a whisper you were sure only you could hear.

“I’m sorry?” You turned towards him, the sound of your cutlery against the plate louder than you’d liked. “I thought you said something, sir.”

The King looked up at you, the scornful way in which you looked at Tom, seething at his teasing words. You felt the heat in your face spread when you noticed an almost surprised look from a majority of the long and stretching table.

The rest of dinner you kept quiet, avoiding the looks from the prince at your side. He seemed quite bothered, you put your head down and braced yourself once the King stood. Once the King finished his meal, everyone else was finished as well. He stood soundly, the paleness of his skin off-putting, the deep purple crescents underneath his eyes prominent in the candlelight.

You stood with everyone else, retiring to your chambers in a fleeting moment once it was appropriate to get away. The long, narrow halls were ages older than you, the artwork clearly showing that. You recognized past monarchs, the kings and queens of the years earlier. The twists and turns reminded you of a labyrinth, easy to get lost in.

Once you reached the double doors to your chambers, you pulled at them quickly, shutting them behind you soundly and sinking against the wall. The room was still filled with burning candles, the servant at your vanity looking at you curiously.

She curtsied quickly, motioning you off of the floor in a maternal way. You said nothing, letting her help you slip out of the evening gown and undo the tight lacing of your corset. You breathed deeply as she slipped the white nightgown over your head and took down the silver pins from your hair.

“Are you alright, miss?” She asked, the look on her face a bit concerned.

“Yes, just tired,” you excused. “I can put myself to sleep, thank you.”

“Are you sure, miss? I really do not mind,” she trailed off as you waved her away laughing stiffly.

“I am sure, thank you, Anne.”

You stared at yourself in the mirror, brushing through your hair as you sat. Anne had long left, the doors shut tightly and the guards posted at them for the night, however, you turned quickly at the sound of them creeping open.

“How thick in the head must you be?”

Prince Thomas.

“You should not be in here,” you warned. “It’s bad enough to be caught alone in the daytime without a chaperone, but at night—in my bedroom!” Your tone was sharp, your arms wrapping around yourself. His eyes scanned your bare ankles, the curve of your legs underneath the thin material.

“You need not be concerned about your virtue, not after what you decided to pull at dinner tonight, before mother and father! I mean seriously, it’s like you enjoy humiliating yourself in front of the whole family!”

His cheeks were flushed in anger, his eyes fixed on you. You hair was undone, your eyes stuck on him. The silence was deafening, the space between the both of you closing when you stood up and marched over to him.

“I have been here a day. A day! And you cannot allow me the luxury of my own chambers, parading in here like you were not the one who provoked me!” You rammed a finger into his chest, gaze not faltering as you looked up at him.

“I told mother, I told father. You are nothing but a child, a little girl with no clue what she’s getting herself into,” you flinched at his voice.

“I will be your wife—”

“You will be the Queen of England!” He shouted, “the way you acted tonight was not that of a queen, but an eighteen year old girl in way over her head.”

He grabbed the hand that had jabbed into his chest, skewing it to the side. “Do not forget yourself, Y/N. I can promise you this, if you cannot at least act like you have any idea what you’re doing, this engagement is off. I will not tarnish the name of my country, nor title or reputation for a French princess that I had no desire to wed in the first place.”

taglist- @justapurrcat @witchyartemis @keithseabrook27 @clara-licht @dummiesshort @username2002 @imaginationisgrowth @nova-sup3r @jeyramarie @the-avengers-assembling @veryholland

[ootahime]

what is utahime’s role in the future? — a prediction (manga spoilers)

part 1 (unedited)

I WAS ABOUT TO POST IT BUT I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT AND I WAS SO HURT FR!!!!! I HAD REWRITE THIS ENTIRE THING </33

part 2 is here!

in this post, i will be analyzing the information we’ve been given about utahime so far to form a prediction about her future role in the jujutsu kaisen series. if you’re as interested in utahime’s character as i am, please feel free to keep reading :3 (i’ll also be talking about her relationship with gojo a bit too)

soukatsu_ on twt!

kaikaikitan on twt!

utahime iori is a semi-grade 1 sorcerer working as a student supervisor/teacher at kyoto jujutsu high school. she loves drinking beer and going to karaoke. she’s also close friends with shoko and she’s not particularly fond of gojo most of the time. what else do we know about her?

hates sweets (funny she’s the complete opposite of gojo)

she’s great at singing and it’s a huge part of her technique

squabbling with gojo became a reflex :3

everyone absolutely adores utahime

loves watching soccer and baseball

a terrible drunk (worse than naobito zenin)

gojo is her main source of stress

let’s dive into her personality and abilities!

chapter 65

before i get into it, i think it’d be best if i were to explain the timeline because a lot of people seem to be confused about this one particular thing. utahime is born on february 18th, 1987. contrary to popular belief, she is not 3 years older than gojo. it is november 2018 in the story because gojo was sealed on halloween. if gojo was born on december 7th, 1989, that would mean that right now, he is only 28 years old. he has yet to turn 29.

the year is 2007. gojo satoru is a second year at tokyo jujutsu high school. the japanese school year begins in april which suggests that gojo is only 17 at the time (even if it’s not april, it doesn’t look like winter yet so it’s unlikely that he’s already 18). utahime is 20 because it is past february. she is a 2nd grade sorcerer at the age of 20. that’s not bad at all!

chapter 65 introduces young utahime and mei on a mission together within a cursed site. in real time, they’ve been gone for two days which is a cause of concern for gojo, shoko, and geto because the two haven’t contacted anyone since the beginning of their mission.  the two begin to suspect something is wrong because the hallway markers they’ve set in place disappeared, and no matter how far they travel within the halls, the end is nowhere in sight.  mei theorizes that the cursed spirit is overlapping the space as they travel forward.  utahime agrees with this speculation and proposes a plan to escape the cursed spirit’s grasp by moving erratically.  notice how she says that if one of them should escape, they can try to attack from the outside or call for help.  if utahime was not capable of inflicting damage on anything then she would have told mei to escape and attack if she can while she waited to be rescued.  however, she didn’t.  she included herself in the sentence which leads me to believe that she is capable of going on the offense if needed.  

keep in mind that at this point in time, mei is a grade 1 sorcerer.  she is knowledgeable about all things involving jujutsu because she is experienced and skillful.  we can see this aspect of her character illustrated when she theorizes that the cursed spirit is messing with the space they’re in.  she chooses to go with utahime’s plan because she agrees that it’s the best action moving forward.  this verifies that utahime is an intelligent girl that’s able to get along with pretty much anyone.  

her intellect is demonstrated once again in chapter 79.  she was able to deduce the possibility of there being more than one traitor and the fact that one is probably a higher up.  she also narrowed down the mechamaru as the mole of kyoto not because he was acting suspicious but by process of elimination.  she thought thoroughly of his technique and how easy it would be for him to manipulate devices small enough to be undetectable.  

sure you can argue that she should already know all her students’ abilities and whatnot but you have to admit that it’s hard trying to sniff out the traitor when no one is acting suspicious.  in addition to that, how did she know that there was a traitor in the top brass?  i would have never guessed that tbh LOL (maybe bc im an idiot).

okay, now that we have established that she’s intelligent, let’s answer a more important question.  is utahime weak?

chapter 33

if gojo calls utahime weak, does that mean there is some truth to it?  well it is true that she is weaker than him because he’s the strongest and all.  in my opinion, he’s just teasing her.  he probably found that calling her weak is what really riles her up.  maybe i’ll talk about why he loves teasing her so much in a later post.  but anyway, gojo calls everybody and their mom weak.  he even said jogo was weak and we know how powerful that guy is.  gojo’s words alone do not indicate much about utahime’s power.  in fact, i don’t even think he has seen her use her technique yet.  he’s probably only ever heard of how it works.  this is what i think their conversation about her technique was like:

gojo: hm?  ur cursed technique is singing?  can u show me?

utahime: what!  no way!  

gojo: why not?

*one of the classmates tells him that she can only use her CT once in a while because it consumes a lot of energy*

gojo: hahaha!  u have to conserve cursed energy to use ur CT?  why are u so weak, utahime?

utahime: i!  am!  your!  senpai!  respect!  me!

what i’m trying to say is that gojo loves poking fun of people.  we should not believe him when he calls someone weak because compared to him, everyone is weak.  

this is a little off topic but let’s examine him telling her, “and you don’t have the nerves, utahime.”  i think he’s trying to say that there’s no way she’ll ever do something like that because she’s not the type to put her students in danger.  remember the soft expression and relieved smile on her lips when she said that she was glad the students were safe after the kyoto incident?  gojo was directly in front of her so not only did he hear her say that, but he could have seen the look on her face too.  even if he told her that she didn’t have the guts to betray the school to get on her nerves, he knew that utahime simply cared too much about the students so he ruled her out as a suspect right away.  this is why he ultimately decided to confide in her and ask her to help him.  

i’m a person who loves over-analyzing things.  i really enjoy the dynamic between gojo and utahime.  they’ve known each other for more than 11 years and although they always bicker, there is an unspoken feeling of trust between the two.  gojo can do anything and everything by himself because he is truly the strongest person alive, but he still knows when to rely on others.  him deciding to entrust utahime with such a job implies that he believes in utahime’s abilities.

chapter 52

she’s not using any cursed energy here--not to our knowledge at least.  this is just pure skill.  she was able to swiftly evade the swing from haruta.  he was surprised himself considering the fact that he was right behind her.  how do we know her CT isn’t speed?  after haruta swung at her, we can see that some of her hair got cut off.  if she was using her CT then speed should be her specialty.  she should have been able to completely avoid the attack altogether but she didn’t.  of course this isn’t a wow moment because jujutsu sorcerers should know how to dodge attacks, however, i’m just trying to get the point across that she’s not a defenseless person without her technique or others.  let’s not forget that semi-grade 1 isn’t a weak rank either.  you can’t simply be recommended to be a grade 1 sorcerer if you only can support others.  

chapter 48

i want to bring up this panel. it suggests that utahime and takuma are sorcerers who have not experienced black flash and therefore, do not understand the essence of cursed energy as well as those who have like gojo and nanami.  i find it strange how takuma and utahime were used to represent sorcerers who haven’t experienced it yet.  is the purpose to demonstrate that there is a clear difference in skill between adult sorcerers like utahime and takuma compared to gojo and nanami?  i could be nitpicking but the order of todo’s statement doesn’t line up with the sorcerers being shown.  let me explain in depth.  todo starts off by saying, “for those who have experienced black flash as compared to those who have not...” wouldn’t it make more sense to show gojo and nanami on the right side to represent sorcerers who have experienced black flash?  that was mentioned first, after all.  gojo and nanami should appear when todo says “for those who have experience black flash” while utahime and takuma should be shown right after to personify the second part, “as compared to those who have not.”  i’m just making it more complicated than it actually is LOLOL i’m sure it really just means they haven’t experienced black flash yet, which is completely fine.  i also find it fascinating how they used utahime to contrast gojo.  with nanami and takuma it makes sense.  nanami is someone takuma looks up to, he wants to gain nanami’s approval before he deems himself worthy of a promotion. what about utahime and gojo?  what’s the purpose of comparing those two together when it’s obvious that gojo knows more about the essence of cursed energy more than anyone else?  i might be delusional whoops

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let me know what you guys think?  this is only a part 1 so i haven’t gotten around to answering the question.  i’m pretty much done with the second part, i just need to revise it a little.  i think after i post part 2, i’ll try to interpret all the gojo and utahime moments in the manga >.<