#i have one type and its murder wife

[plethomacademia]

Update: this is now chapter 2 of my fic that lets me roll around in the concept of the bard urge, sorry and/or you're welcome

Original post: I had this idea and it came out. I guess I'll have to finally make an ao3 if I keep this up huh. Tweaked a touch from my original posting to make it about planning the House of Wonders heist instead of the crown heist. Content: fem Dark urge (based on my high elf bard) and Gortash have their first one on one chat to plan the heist on the Hall of Wonders. 1700 words of Gortash being thrown off when the vicious Chosen he's seen leading a murder cult takes advantage of a rare excuse to listen to an orchestra. This is the song I listened to while writing this:

When the Chosen of Bane had asked the Chosen of Bhaal for an in-person meeting, he had expected her to decline. Up until that point, they had communicated solely through coded letters. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her in person, each from a distance while she was leading her followers through some kind of slaughter. So when she had not only agreed to the meeting, but suggested they pick a neutral ground not owned by either party, he had been stumped. Where did one take a woman who was usually covered at least partially in blood?

In the end, he had picked his box at the opera house. It was more secure than a random tavern room by far and he often brought guests to it, so a mysterious woman would not bring any kind of notice. Not to mention the entertaining room behind the actual box had plenty of space to lay out a few maps, maybe even enjoy some wine at the same time. All he could hope was that she remembered the clean the blood out from under her fingernails.

He arrived ten minutes to curtain while the orchestra was warming up in the pit. He had expected some kind of guard for her to already be present, but the door was unattended. Perhaps she wouldn't show after all, he thought before gesturing one of his guards to their post. His other guard stood behind him as he knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by an older woman he kept in his employ.

"My lord, the lady arrived some time ago. She is in the box seats." The servant swung the door wide to allow his entrance.

Sure enough, there was a figure seated out in the last row of the box seats. She did not turn despite having to have heard the noise of his arrival. He took that moment to look at the dark brown hair piled on her head, the long column of her neck, the point of her ears. He had seen her before, of course, knew that despite being a Bhaalspawn she was a surprisingly fragile looking high elf. An attempt at Bhaal for once to maybe have a bit of subtlety in his progeny, he thought. But from this angle, she truly could have been any other tryst, whisked up to be ruined in the opera box of a lord.

He dismissed both the servant and his guard with another gesture, walking the short distance to the box. He sat down beside her, expecting her to look up then, to acknowledge that he, the host of this evening, had arrived. But she continued looking down at the paper in her hand. That's when he realized it was the playbill for the opera that would be starting shortly.

He waited a moment. When she didn't look up from her playbill, he cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting --"

"Have you seen this one before?" She turned toward him finally.

He could see that it was her, of course, the Chosen of Bhaal that he had seen disemboweling a person while leading a congregation in ritualistic chant. The hands that he had seen several times up to the wrist in dripping blood, now holding a playbill. Her head that he had seen held back as she shouted about the ecstasy of murder to a rapt audience, now looking up at him expectantly. But at this distance, in this place, all he could think was how had he never noticed before that her eyes were silver. He realized after staring for a moment that not only had she asked him a question, but that the question had been of all things about the damned opera.

"I don't tend to pay much attention to them."

She smiled. "No, I imagine not. I've heard what you tend to get up to in this box." Before he could ask what she meant, she continued. "I haven't seen this production, but it's supposed to be good. The Gazette had a write up about the conductor, apparently he has quite a way about him."

She had already turned her attention back to her playbill and he found he missed it. "And how is it you know what I do in my opera box, Miss … ?" He actually didn't know her name. No one did. She was simply the Chosen or the Slayer to anyone who even knew of her. It was any wonder his first missives even made it to her in that temple at all.

Her nose wrinkled. "Maeve will do. Not a lot of use for formality where I come from." She put the playbill in her lap, folding her hands over it before looking at him again. "You have to know I have people watching you, of course. Just as I know you've been watching me."

"Is that why you brought no guard?"

She shook her head. "Lord Gortash, of course I have a guard. You just didn't see them. That and I know you wouldn't jeopardize our future alliance, of course."

The lights began to dim in the theater as the ushers began to douse the candles. That's when he realized the orchestra has stopped warming up quite some time ago. In all honestly, he hadn't had many expectations when he left for his evening with a Bhaalspawn but this, well. Who could have ever expected this? He found himself on the back foot and yet somehow enjoying the sensation.

"I know this is a business meeting, but I hope you'll indulge me the first song. I promise it's worth it."

He found himself whispering as the crowd settled down. "And you aren't worried about --" He gestured to the crowd.

She shrugged a shoulder. "They'll think I'm like the other women you bring here, I'm sure. Nothing worth noting at all."

Before he could reply, the first note rang out. It was a slow song, starting with just a few instruments, but building until it was thick and full and rich with dissonance. He was hardly a musician, but he had been to enough of these to know that she was right, it was quite good. The song seemed to ebb and flow, swell and retreat, building up the tension only to sigh in relief as the chords resolved. He made an effort to look at the conductor for a while, but in the end his gaze drifted to her.

She never took her eyes off the orchestra, her hands remaining together in her lap. As the song continued, he noticed that she had started to move just slightly in time with it, her shoe slightly moving with the beat without a sound. He saw her hands clasp together in her lap, her fingers tightening together, her throat working as she swallowed, her eyes eventually closing so she could focus solely on the sound. She was absolutely transfixed on the music and he was absolutely transfixed on watching her.

After the last note, the audience broke out into applause. Lord Gortash snapped his face away as Maeve came back to herself, seemed to even remember where she was. There was a flush on her cheeks that felt almost indecent to look at. He made a show of turning towards her, hoping she had been distracted enough to think he had been looking at the show the entire time.

She sighed. "Almost like it had magic in it," she said to no one in particular, before finally turning toward him again.  "Thank you. It's been years since I've heard that."

He nodded. "Happy to oblige. An unexpected surprise, really, that some like you actually enjoys the opera."

If he hadn't been a practiced politician, a person that had scraped and fought his way up the political ranks, he would have likely missed the way her expression changed. He could see the mask sliding in place, her eyes turning distant,  her smile turning sharp. "I've always thought it would be a beautiful thing, to lull so many people into the warm embrace of a song like that, then end all their lives at once. But we're here for business, of course. To discuss our heist."

The moment had been dismissed. And it was for the best, the crowd was settling again and the opera was about to begin in earnest. When they stood, the long slit of her moving skirt caught his eye, along with the flash of a dagger strapped to her thigh. He had seen that dagger before, plucking out a man's eyes as he screamed. A reminder that this woman, despite her pleasure in song, was dangerous.

They retired to the entertaining room, sending all the other people outside for complete privacy. After all, there was no need for security since neither of them would benefit from starting a scene in the middle of an opera house. Not yet, anyway.

The opera was a long one, he had picked it for that reason, and they spent that time pouring over maps, discussing the guard schedule at the House of Wonders, going over the broad details of where the Bhaalists and Baneites would position themselves. She sipped his wine and ate the finger foods left by the servant. But for the subject matter, she truly could have been any kind of tryst.

"That's the last song starting."

He looked up from where he had been gesturing at a diagram. He hadn't been paying any attention to the music at all. "My guard --" he started before being interrupted by a knock at the door. As he had been about to say, he had instructed his guard to let him know when the opera was coming to a close. "Good ear," he conceded.

She stood, smoothing her skirt, making sure her blade was not visible. "Well, Lord Gortash, the plan is sound. You have our thanks for helping us take back what was stolen from us."

He couldn't help but smile. "Splendid. I'm happy to have convinced you to take our aid and, of course, to have finally spoken to you in the flesh."

She nodded. "I expect another letter with details, soon, of course." She was already at the door, opening it, leaving this bizarre evening behind her.

"Maeve?"

She turned, looking at him through the half closed door, her eyebrow raised in question.

"Feel free to use this box any time. I'll send those instructions along as well."

Her eyes rounded a bit in surprise and he caught her looking just to her right, to somewhere he couldn't see. To someone he couldn't see, more likely. But the mask was back on after a moment.

"How generous, Lord Gortash. I may take you up on that." And with that, she turned and left his sight.

[pedge-page]

can you write something where pregnant reader has trouble holding her bladder and joel messes with her a bit? 🫶🏻

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife drabble - Hold It

Notes: This is NOT Piss kink, just a little Joel and Preggo reader torture amusement. I have separate PK x preggo wife request coming up soon

-

The one thing that women aren��t best at as they get older is holding their bladder. When you gotta go, you go.

And the number one thing that having a fat ass baby shoved up your uterus and pushing aside every organ and pressing the full weight of their tiny bodies on—is your fucking already-terrible-to-hold bladder.

Bumping up and down in Joel’s ugly ass truck with suspension that feels like shit because you can feel every single crevice from every single crack in the road does NOT do well for anything except stir up the amount of liquids inside you.

“Joel,” you whisper warningly, legs scrunched together.

Joel knows the difference between your “Joel” with legs scrunched together and the other “Joel” with legs scrunched together.

“You better not have to p—“

“I have to pee!”

He shakes his head with hearty laugh. “I told you to go 30 minutes ago when we were at the stop.”

“I did go,” you retort venomously. “But now I have to go again.”

“We’re 30 miles from the nearest exit. What do you want me to do?”

“Drive faster?!” Are you fucking dumb?

“We’re an hour late as is. I told you—“

“Don’t you dare fucking scold me like a child Joel Miller, this bitch needs to piss and she needs to go right fucking now.”

“You going on the side of the road?” He suggests with half hearted venom.

You whimper and shake your head. You do NOT want to squat down for a piss next to the highway on the road. You wouldn’t do it not pregnant, but definitely definitely not WHILE pregnant.

“Just—just drive faster. And shut up,” you rasp. You hold your hands between your legs and close your eyes, focusing on willing your baby to help you squeeze that lemon for once. “And don’t breathe. Or cough or just —just don’t exist.”

Joel has to wipe his face to hide the smirk on his lips. Your sheer concentration right now, all burled up and shaking side to side has him holding in a laugh.

 He checks his rear view for any signs of cops, then begins to lean into the gas more. You would pay for the turmoil you’re putting his poor truck through—not in any type of obvious payment of course, but in a more satisfying transaction.

Joel balances the wheel with one knee as he opens a bottle of water set on the dash.

He keeps his eyes on the road and makes the loudest, most grating, obnoxious slurping sounds known to man.

Your head slowly rotates towards him as if a killer hawk were seeing prey landed right next to her. He only peeks over and see the absolutely thinnest lined lips on you, and your exceedingly horrifying wide eyes ready to murder him. 

“MMmMM,” he moans, gulping down the bottle with big swallows so you can hear it sloshing down his jugular with each bob.

“You—you shithead,” you snarl.

He raises his eyebrow. “Do you want some?”

You shake your head, neck bowed low because you can’t concentrate on a scolding your asshole husband and holding your urine at the same time.

“M’ gonna ruin your seats.”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be so bad. Got all kinds of your juices on here already, what’s another variety to the blend—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

“Okay okay, I’m pulling off.”

You tumble out of the car before he’s even fully parked, crouching low to the ground begging to God as your last resort to keep. it. In.

Joel just puts his hands on his hips. “You gonna do It through your pants?”

shutupshutupshutupshutup Ohfuckfuckfuck.

He can hear your tiny whimpers, looks down upon his poor little wife and her even tinier bladder about to make a fool of both of them and piss yourself all over your stretchy pants—

He decides you've had enough torture.

“Gas station is 7 feet away, honey.”

You look up and lo and behold, you’re crouched in a parking lot right outside the quaint convenience station, its glowy neon signs and cigarette flyers and “2 for 3” signs illuminating like you had just won the lottery.

“OOHHHH” you gasp, sitting up and holding your vagina in your palm as you wobble into the quaint store like Road Running and down the alley to the bathroom.

Joel comes in afterwards and does the courtesy of buying a few snack for the trip. 

“Pregnant wife,” he muses to the clerk as he slams a few jerky sticks on the counter.

The two of them are startled by a very loud, satisfied moan coming from the women’s toilet room.

The clerk just chuckles and rings up the items.

-

He checks his watch again, tapping his fingers on the wheel impatiently. What the fuck is taking you 20 minutes?

Its not until the gas station door chime goes off outside as the door swings open, and you’re coming out with a 32 oz Big Gulp cup of Frozen Pepsi ICEE while happily waving goodbye to the clerk as you waddle back to the car.

You settle your bumbum into the seat with a little wiggle and slam the truck door closed, sipping away happily with two hands fisting the styrofoam cup.

Joel has one arm over the steering wheel, facing you with a frown and deadpan eyes glancing between you and your cup the size of Africa, your annoying slurps filling the silent car.

You don’t pick up on his silent aggravation at all, offering him a chipmunk smile. “M-ready now,“ you chirp.

He grits his teeth while looking at the cup you can’t even wrap your fingers around. Holds his tongue and doesn’t say anything, faces forward and turns the key into ignition.

-

25 minutes later, with your empty Big Gulp cup rolling around on the floor mat:

“Um, J-Joel,” you warn again, this time voice wavering timidly. “Joel, I have to—“

“NO!” 

- - - -

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[theemissuniverse]

NOOB SAIBOT AND VILLAIN!FEM!READER HATING ON MORTAL KOMBAT 11 CHARACTERS

SUMMARY : just what the title says. You are a powerful sorcerer from Earthrealm. You’re Bi-Han’s consort

WARNINGS : some is suggestive

MASTERLIST 1 , MASTERLIST 2

(Y/N) VS NOOB SAIBOT

Noob Saibot : You have a strange taste in allies

(Y/N) : Cassie is cool, Bi-Han. I’m not completely stone

Noob Saibot : I will never like a Cage

(Y/N) : People say you changed me

Noob Saibot : I made you stronger

(Y/N) : And for that I am bound to you

Noob Saibot : I’ve always known you were a great warrior

(Y/N) : Was it when I beat you at the tournament?

Noob Saibot : That is when I fell in love with you

Noob Saibot : A shadow feels nothing

(Y/N) : So you say

Noob Saibot : But for you - it is different

(Y/N) : You might have some competition, Bi-Han

Noob Saibot : I am not worried of a failed Empress

(Y/N) : I love a man so assured with himself

(Y/N) : You are the only one to see my potential

Noob Saibot : You were worthy of my teachings

(Y/N) : And I will forever be in debt to you

Noob Saibot : Raiden was a fool for not seeing you excel

(Y/N) : His foolishness led me to you

Noob Saibot : I should thank him

(Y/N) : That demon is getting on my nerves

Noob Saibot : There is no reason for jealousy - I care not for her

(Y/N) : Sareena’s soul will be mine

(Y/N) : Kuai Liang mourns you

Noob Saibot : He is wasting his time

(Y/N) : I agree. I like this you better

Noob Saibot : Shao Kahn refers to me as your concubine

(Y/N) : *laughs* You love it

Noob Saibot : Yes. Very much so

(Y/N) VS MK CHARACTERS

Cassie Cage : You and Bi-Han remind me of Morticia and Gomez Addams

(Y/N) : Who?

Cassie Cage : How do you not know them?!

(Y/N) : I’ll have my lover deal with you

Jax : Didn’t Scorpion toast him?

(Y/N) : Didn’t Ermac rip off your arms?

Raiden : I told you that following in line with Bi-Han was trouble

(Y/N) : You are just mad that I am not a lap dog like Liu Kang

Raiden : It saddens me to see you like this

Johnny Cage : (Y/N) and Bi-Han sitting in a tree-

(Y/N) : I will burn your tree to the ground.

Johnny Cage : Sheesh. Tough crowd.

Liu Kang : You were the best female warrior in Earthrealm

(Y/N) : Such a pity that all the women you know are next to nothing

Liu Kang : It is a shame to see what you’ve become

Kabal : You and Bi-Han freak me out

(Y/N) : I’ll do more than freak you out

Kabal : You two are a match made in hell

(Y/N) : I hate bugs

D’vorah : This one does not care for your hate

(Y/N) : The realms will cheer in pride when I exterminate you

Sub-Zero : You and my brother are not suppose to be together

(Y/N) : You share blood. You are not brothers

Sub-Zero : He made you as cold as ice

(Y/N) : Your ancestors mock you

Kung Lao : I don’t need you of all people telling me that

(Y/N) : They beg me to release them from their pain

Shao Kahn : I am quite surprised to see you turn out like this

(Y/N) : I was not surprised to see Kitana become Kahn

Shao Kahn : All you and Bi-Han do is talk

Sindel : I’ve never been attracted to such power before

(Y/N) : You are not my type, Empress

Sindel : That shadow has you wrapped around its finger

(Y/N) : You murdered my lover

Scorpion : I was deceived by Quan Chi

(Y/N) : You’ll be pleading for your life as your wife did

NOOB SAIBOT VS MK CHARACTERS

Cassie Cage : You and (Y/N) make the cutest freak show

Noob Saibot : I will never understand why (Y/N) likes you

Cassie Cage : Because I am the greatest!

Kano : Where’s your girlfriend?

Noob Saibot : My consort pays no mind to you

Kano : Damn. How’d you know I was thinking bout her?

Johnny Cage : There’s no way (Y/N) chose that

Noob Saibot : I cannot believe you procreate

Johnny Cage : Says you and everyone else, former frosty

Noob Saibot : You crave for (Y/N)’s touch

Sindel : I crave her power

Noob Saibot : Only I hold all her power

Noob Saibot : You never appreciated (Y/N)’s gift

Raiden : I did not want her to become the villain she was destined to be in previous timelines

Noob Saibot : You only pushed her closer to me

Liu Kang : You corrupted (Y/N)s soul!

Noob Saibot : You were not a man and did not confront the feelings you had for her

Liu Kang : Who told you this?!

Noob Saibot : Your mother greets you from beyond the grave

Jacqui Briggs : I’ll finish you. Then your little girlfriend

Noob Saibot : You are no match for (Y/N). Do not embarrass yourself

Scorpion : Your lover wants to avenge you and kill me

Noob Saibot : Such a shame your wife can’t do the same for you

Scorpion : Now, I will kill you

Kabal : So do you and your shadow thing tag team (Y/N) or-

Noob Saibot : I’d worry about your lungs giving out

Kabal : Jeez. It was just a question

Noob Saibot : Challenging (Y/N) is a mistake

Sub-Zero : To get to you, I must get to her

Noob Saibot : She will greet you with death

MK CHARACTERS MENTIONING YOU AND NOOB SAIBOT

Kung Lao : So you really did have feelings for (Y/N)?

Liu Kang : It is a thing of the past

Kung Lao : I don’t know if she downgraded or upgraded

Sonya Blade : (Y/N) is not your friend, Cassie!

Cassie Cage : I know she’s one of the bad guys but she makes great smoothies!

Sonya Blade : Why do I even bother?

Liu Kang : History would be different if you didn’t doubt (Y/N)

Raiden : It is a mistake I think about often

Liu Kang : Not often enough

Scorpion : (Y/N) will stop at nothing to get her revenge

Sub-Zero : Rage is an emotion you two share

Scorpion : Her rage has grown too powerful

[miskamix]

i saw your post saying that people who ship incest and headcanon dazai as liking that stuff are obviously going to be harrassed. I don't headcanon dazai as liking daddy kiddy stuff, but i want to ask how you think writing about that makes a person bad. because dazai has literally committed AT LEAST child abuse(akutagawa), 136 murders, 312 extortion cases, 625 cases of fraud and more. but if you think authors deserve to get harrassed for writing about sick crimes like incest because they support or like such things, then why aren't you harrassing asagiri for writing about all those things? and I've seen alot of people that act like sex crimes are somehow different from torture and murder. so I'd like to ask this. do you approve of cheating irl because you act like people who write about sexual related immorality are condoning it and then you say that you might write about cheating in your fic request rules. Also, If you're deep in the bsd community then you may have read no longer human, in which it is heavily heavily implied(to the point that there's literally no other explanation for what happened to her exept rape) that yozo's wife,yoshiko, was raped. do you believe that the irl dazai approved of rape?

I don't mean to come off as rude or argumentative, so sorry if i do, im genuinely curious.

I'm sorry but, are you stupid? you're asking why someone is a bad person for writing incest, pedophilia and rape content. OFC SOMEONE IS A BAD PERSON FOR WRITING THAT KIND OF STUFF. If someone writes it they normalize it, and normalzing disgusting shit like that is VERY harmful.

Its kinda dumb that you are compering Dazai, a fictional character to real people, Dazai is not a real person, so his actions don't effect real people, but people who make incest do effect real people. As someone who is a victim of sa, its very triggering to see incest, pedophilia, rape ect content being made of my favorite character. Making that type of content is normalizing it, and if we normalize kids being raped by someone they're close to, then its gonna end up making younger kids think that its okay if that happens to them.

"but if you think authors deserve to get harrassed for writing about sick crimes like incest because they support or like such things" i never said to harass the writers, i said that if they are gonna write that shit they need to be able to handle the hate, and yes they deserve hate for making it, and saying its for coping isn't a valid excuse, because they are hurting other victims at the same time.

"I've seen alot of people that act like sex crimes are somehow different from torture and murder" They are different, rape is done by the attacker so that they can feel sexual pleasure. And sadly in some cases, like junko furuta, people get raped, tortured and murdered for no reason. But still torture and rape are still different, and i don't know why you're bringing up torture and murder when this is about incest content.

"do you approve of cheating irl because you act like people who write about sexual related immorality are condoning it and then you say that you might write about cheating in your fic request rules." The answer is no, just because i said i MIGHT write for it doesn't mean i will, its meant as "in some cases i might write it" and even if you don't condone incest, rape and pedophilia irl, its stil very much wrong and disgusting and people who write it should really feel guilty about it, if you have thoughts about that stuff you need to seek help, not normalize and spread it around the interent. Also cheating and incest/rape content aren't comperable btw, one is a crime and the other one is breaking someones trust.

Now the book part, i have the book but i haven't read it, and bringing the real life dazai, into this is stupid, he lived over 70 years ago, people thought differently about rape back then so its hard to know. also the book is a fucking autobiography so ofc its gonna talk about stuff that happened in his life

Anyways please tell me if anything in here is wrong or if you wanna add anything to this

Btw saying "sorry if i come of as rude" after compering me to weirdos is something! 🥰

[melancholicstation]

summer wine ( and an angel’s kiss in spring ) — bobby f. kennedy

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-vlovesvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

summary: during a party hosted in light of senator john f. kennedy’s presidential candidacy announcement, bobby and you sneak away into the background and have about as much fun as a person can have at a political campaign celebration🍷🛌 …

tags: 18+, making love against a secretary desk, religious imagery, hair pulling, oral ( female receiving ), unprotected s*x, desk breaking

words: 1783

Sure, you’ll bite: a campaign celebration soirée for your husband’s older brother’s presidential ticket wasn’t exactly your idea of a rousing saturday evening but when jack tells you to be somewhere, well that’s just where you’re gonna be: at least that’s where bobby would always be.

It’s bordering on 2:00 am and you’ve just about tried as many old fashions and sidecars as you can stomach for the time being so you switch to a vintage choosing of dubonnet cherry wine.

You haven’t talked to bobby much all day which isn’t so out of the ordinary: evidently he was a man very much in demand. You’d just become to miss him as his frame comes into your periphery. A sight just calibrated for your oh so terribly sore eyes!

You smile and beckon him over, not unlike calling over an excitable puppy, he’s quick to start into quick jog. The squeaks of his leather derbies colliding with the teak flooring, but being quickly drowned out to all ears by the booming, assaulting volume of irish ballads playing from the far side of the gathering hall.

“Hey Sugar how’re you doin’? Has Mrs Bridges been hassling you about going that murder-mystery bookclub again I—by god I can see in your face, of course she has. How many times?”

“Three times” you say through breathy laughs as you fuss over the positioning of the shark-type collar he dons, eventually laying it flat against his collarbone littered with blonde baby-hairs like a garden of baby breaths.

“Three times this night or this hour my dear?” He says while responding to my incessant fixing and prodding’s by grabbing the hair from the nape, splitting it into two with hands much larger than yours, arranging them across your shoulders.

“Three times this hour” You move to lay your head across his collarbone but close was never close enough for you as of late, you would nest yourself in his ribs if you could tucked around his sternum. “Oh god, my poor, poor girl. I extend my deepest apologies that I wasn’t there to run interference: though I don’t believe it would’ve stopped her pursuits much” he says in a condescendingly charming fashion.

“Oh you’re really sorry” “Terribly so” “How sorry are you?”

“Well if you join me in the back I can show you just how deep my sympathies truly lie.” He exclaims in a tone that balances the intimacy of such an offer with a boyish-like spin.

The brazenness of his offer makes you giggle profusely, calling the attention to older couples who interact with their partners like they sleep in separate beds: so you don’t pay them much mind, a tell-tale sign that bobby’s one too many of the amortised wines served was his rare streak of promiscuity that would rear its head. Much to your amusement as his wife.

You scurry off little teenagers running to make out under the bleachers, you allow bobby to lead you as he’s more familiar with the event space than you were. He leads you into an abandoned looking secretarial office, with a hand curled around the crevice of your elbow like a devout would hold a beaded rosary, a loving kind of possession.

strawberries cherries and an angel’s kiss in spring…

You both look around the room quite impolitely in sheer curiosity: opening rusty drawers, flicking through empty filing cabinets until you both land on a particular item resting on the wall parallel to the door. A slanted front writing desk in a deep caramel tinted mahogany wood. A brass handle dangles in the breeze from the slightly draft coming in through the door.

Bobby and you both grinning and make eye contact: immediately moving to pull down the handle to woefully find it particularly barren: no secret notes or diary entry’s. Your face mirrors each other’s pout, as you try to test the sturdiness of the writing desk. To your surprise it holds its own under the full weight of your hand. Noticing this Bobby catches on, asking “Do ya’ think it’s sturdy enough?”

“Looks sturdy enough to me” you grin as you slowly back your behind up and onto the desk. Your legs finding balance resting on the lower portion of Bobby’s thigh. Slowly your Mary Jane black pumps start to find perch higher and higher on his thigh, eventually reaching the mound beneath his dress pants. You decide to tease him a bit and start to circle your foot around the mound, to which Bobby moans under his breath, shyly and throws his head back clearly overwhelmed. He lets you toy with him for a few short moments until you’re sure he had had enough, and moves to wrap your legs and thighs around the width of his hips. “Ya sure you want to do this here, y’know I could tell Jack we’ve had an issue with the babysitter and need to get home. I—I just quite feel disrespectful taking you in a place that has about 5 distinguishable moulds living in it. “Not that I don’t want to, cause trust me my girl I do it’s just—“

my summer wine is really made from all these things…

“Hush, I don’t care if there’s mould spors I need you on me this instance Kennedy. Depriving your wife! My I can’t think of a more disrespectful act can you Bobby?” You say in a bullish-yet feminine tone that immediately snaps Bobby out of his overthinking spiral: a good trait in a campaign manager not in a husband. Great for Jack, not so much for you.

“Okay—Okay I’m sorry baby you know how I get” “Oh I do now clear your mind of it this instance”

take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time…

“Totally clear” he says in a self assured tone as he moves to delicately remove his dress pants throwing them over the side of the large ottoman that most definitely has some form of bed bug inhabitants. Leaving him in his torn boxers: that he refuses to throw in the garbage disposal, holes that allow you to see the mountain of hair littered going from his belly button down to his significant mound.

In stark contrast he handles the undressing of yourself with the care and devotion of a man who knows his woman only has eyes for him, and vis versa. He neatly dissembles your outfit: a billowing ruffled crepe blouse paired with a pleated black skirt and flesh coloured tights. In his excavation of your outfit he uncovers the surprise you’d dressed on yourself for him to find.

Once he got you down to just your stockings he could see what you longed for him to find since you slipped them on: a bikini brief with embroidered lettering spelling out “bobby’s girl” on the front in lapis blue.

and i will give to you my summer wine…

Bobby’s face morphs into the face of a man starved: finally finding a dam in a four day trek through an unforgiving desert. The underwear is quickly pulled off and placed hastily into the pocket of his suit jacket, causing his pocket square to be slightly roughened up. To your surprise, but not shock as Bobby was always the kind to give before he ever received himself, got down on his knees and started to lap at your cunt ferociously: talk about a man starved. You’d heard the rumours of Bobby far before you had met him in the flesh, far before you’d married and had children with him: Bobby was thought to have been a ruthless character with the temperament of a caged pit bull.

But that wasn’t the Bobby you saw that day you met him for the first time, and it wasn’t the Bobby you were looking at now. Now he was worshipping, and at his happiest while doing it.

Soon enough you felt the inevitable wave of pleasure wash over you, and in that bliss reached for Bobby always wanting to bask in that with the man who made it all possible. “Did that feel good baby?” “So-so-so-so good Bobby you should have shed that humbleness with me a long time ago” You say as you soothingly ( for the both of you ) try to smooth down tufts of his hair, now severely roughened up, and clear away the luminescent substance absolutely coating the entirety of his chin and a portion of his plush, bottom lip.

But just as you get your wits about you, he starts to line up and invades you in the most decedent way a person could be invaded.

“Harder”

To which Bobby lays flat a hand on your chin, keeping your attention fully locked onto him as he bullies his large mound into your cunt at a solid pace but steadily increasing in fervour. As a cause of this the desk starts to rock. Continually ricocheting rhythmic sounds of the desk hitting the skirting of the wall over, and over, and over again.

“Dear God, you’re as tight as ever. You’re killing me” Bobby continues to praise how soft you are, how good you are to him, and how he can only aspire and yearn to make you feel as good as he does at this moment.

when i woke up the sun was shining in my eyes…

A mounting shudder creeps upon you like a ghost in the night, following behind you Bobby shudders and then finally stills, still sheathed inside you.

You both take a couple minutes to recoup which consists: of lots of handholding, reassuring, and kisses upon naps of necks.

my silver spurs were gone, my head felt twice its size…

It is only when you get up, as Bobby gathers both of your garments, that you identify a large split in the wood spanning from the hinges. You laugh at it half mortified and half impressed with the two of you’s strength and call over Bobby.

my summer wine is really made from all these things.

To which he comes over, observes the large spilt that definitely wasn’t there prior and searches his pockets. In there he finds a letter opener and to your surprise carved into the rich wood:

“Y/n and Bobby forever 1960-01-02”

the end.

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

SPY × Family: Chapter 94 analysis unhinged thoughts

hello hello! i am back with my thoughts for the latest chapter! please note that there are spoilers ahead for chapter 94! (Long-ish post incoming?)

Okay, so I loved this chapter. I'm a person who loves locked room murder mystery type stories, so this definitely scratched that itch for me. Obviously, I'm biased.

Analysis (of sorts?):

Right off the bat I can say that this chapter isn't really oriented on emotions or certain character dynamics. It is pretty plot heavy (but. not to the main plot. this chapter in itself has a plot to its own, but I really really liked it).

So the chapter starts with Bondman facing off an enemy in a snowy mountain...

which, of course, inspires Anya to have an adventure of her own. She asks Loid to take her skiing, only to be flatly denied...

BUT! Agent Anya has tricks up her sleeve (threatening to cry), and that works on our dear, super-spy Agent Twilight (he's so weak and stupid y'all.)

side note:

he thinks he's soooo cool. he's not.

Anyway, we get Twilight trying to explain skiing to Yor, which... fails, kinda. we also get gymnastics from Yor, (SHE's the cool one), and a half-baked explanation from her about learning all that from a gymnastics teacher.

The Forgers are trapped in a snowy blizzard, which leads them to take refuge in a lodge. They meet a group of young college students, who regale them with a tale of a bloody snowman who kills people in the dark.

Might just be me, but this design reminds me of Type-F from the new Code White movie (note: this isn't exactly a spoiler, I haven't seen the movie, but this is what's on the wiki and in the trailers). The snowy backdrop + this Type-F-esque design might be a homage to the movie? Probably just me, though, haha.

Anyway, onto the main focus of the story (kidding, it's not):

WE COULD'VE HAD IT ALL..... YOR AND LOID SLEEPING ON THE SAME BED.... WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN....

(jk, it probably wouldn't have happened, but a girl can dream)

"Eh, why not?" Certainly, these words CANNOT exist in the vocabulary of THE Agent Twilight! Perhaps.... no, it can't be... he's finally RELAXED for once? Feeling secure enough to ASSESS THE LAYOUT FOR POSSIBLE ESCAPE ROUTES WITH HIS YOUNG DAUGHTER? No... it can't be possible....

(Sorry, I know I'm unfunny. I don't think that'll change)

But, genuinely, this just shows how at ease he is with his wife and daughter. He might not know it yet, but I know it (← somebody whose opinion isn't worth shit).

Finally, onto the main crisis of the story:

the would-be murderer.

There's something to be said about how he jumped into action to save the guy's life, (as one does), BUT. BUT

OHOHOHO. The minute Yor's in danger (see: the man reached out to grab her but Loid just grabbed his hand) he decides to find the killer to prove her innocence. (You know his adage? A spy should never draw attention to themselves.) The minute his WIFE was in danger he resolves to find the killer and prove Yor's innocence their guilt. HMMMMM. Agent Twilight, you ain't slick. I think you momentarily forgot about about your #1 lesson to never draw attention to yourself just to prove Yor's innocence. OHHHHHH. The fanfiction is fanfiction-ing

(I'M SORRY I'LL TRY TO BE FUNNY FROM NOW ON)

To summarize the rest of the chapter: Anya realises with her telepathy that the killer is the lodge owner, and meddles in the investigation to nudge Loid in the right direction, and the police arrive to the lodge to find the incident resolved. Everyone's happy, right?

Not... really.

Anya's excited because, "Wow, I solved a murder! So cool, best trip ever!"

But Yor and Loid aren't that happy. Loid is worried that this kind of meddling will get Anya in danger... and he's more worried that she isn't really grasping the gravity of the situation.

Which. She kind of isn't. A man was almost killed, but she's not showing any signs of shock? Remember, he was this worried even after the hospital visit where she makes a mess of that sand-model thingie, and after the bus hijacking arc, when she's hyped about the Stella, and he tells her that the Stella was "not for the reckless way you defied those hijackers."

Which.... is a lot of character development from the man who was A-OK with leaving her alone in the apartment, to now how he constantly worries about her wellbeing. Growth.

Also, another tidbit:

I feel like this chapter showcases another facet of his personality. Not Agent Twilight's, or Loid's, but [REDACTED]'s.

[REDACTED] always wanted to help. Even in the War Arc, when, in Luwen where he was staying at his great-uncle's house, we can see that he wants to catch fish for his and his family's dinner, while, in the backdrop, children are laughing and playing. It's always been in his character to help, and, hell, it's partly the reason he is who he is today. Agent Twilight wants to think that he left [REDACTED] behind after that fateful bombing in Luwen, but [REDACTED] is hanging around him like a ghost, and some of his character bleeds through the facade that is Agent Twilight, which is masked by the facade that is Loid Forger.

Final thoughts:

Loved the chapter. It's probably just me reading into it too much, but... that scene where he grabs the guy's hand who was trying to tie up Yor. Hm.

This entire chapter might have been a locked-room murder mystery type chapter, but I genuinely think that it showcases how much of an effect this family has had on Agent Twilight. What with taking Anya on a sweep of the premises to look for escape routes, to trying to prove Yor's innocence that definitely betrayed his number 1 rule as a spy... this man is truly so oblivious, I wanna cry.

(Also: did he not stop for a moment to think that him performing first-aid on the victim, or trying to build a radio from scratch OR playing detective to prove his wife's innocence IN FRONT OF A GROUP OF OSTANIAN PEOPLE would raise suspicions? Obviously, it was all overshadowed by the discovery of the would-be killer, but... at least one person had got to have been suspicious of Loid.)

(Also also: He's so weak. One look at her crying face and he's gone.)

This was just my thoughts from a preliminary read of the chap, so if I get more thoughts, I'll probably add onto it in a reblog or a new post. Tysm for reading! Hope you liked it, and have a great day/night! Remember to stay hydrated!

[anika-ann]

Ochranuj me (Protect Me) - S.R. - part 1/2

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; a part of this pseudomedieval-fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 8,6k

Summary:  Your practice of magic is punishable by death. Your love is forbidden by law; and yet it has been blessed, more than he knows.

When the crown prince is poisoned, Knight Steven Rogers is faced with a choice: will he risk a war or the love of his life?

And what of you? If asked… shall you risk it all? For the lands where you live… for your knight?

Warnings: attempted murder, poisoning, blood, mentions of death, polytheism, mentions of pregnancy (reader/OFC), Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Actual title is Ochraňuj mě (Protect Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a ň in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; fits after the events of the previous instalments

A/N 2: This is one less smut and more plot, forgive me 🤭 I hope you'll enjoy anyway. Yes, the Merlin inspo is real here. Inspo also from Bílá laň by Vesna. For music, check it out here, for visuals here.

Chodila, chodila za tebou bílá laň lásky se napila navzdory všem přísahám. Prosila pány lesa ať ji pustí za tebou zažít si, jaké to je jít za srdce ozvěnou.

Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj, jinam nepatříš. Jako bílá laň svoji duši chraň, ať záři neztratíš.

Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj, jinam nepatříš. Tak ať nepotká tě kříž. (kříž, kříž, kříž) - Bílá laň by Vesna

Boisterous laugh. Wine poured in gallons painting cheeks nearly just as ruddy as the warmth of the torches illuminating the high halls of the Starkerbürg castle painted the walls. Rich aroma of butter, oils, meats and spices flowing in the air, clinking of the most precious silverware and a distant sound of flutes as the musicians tasked to raise the already high spirits could be barely heard over the noise of the feast.

Under the watchful eye of the gods or the only God it was now believed there was, a celebration of peace was raving, everything but peaceful and serene; loud and overwhelming instead, a whirlwind of emerald green threaded with gold welcomed by the steady colours of rich crimson and gold. An anniversary of the peace made between the kingdom of Asgard and Starkerbürg, a party led by Thor Odinson, the king of the lands, honouring the deal his late father King Odin had made right before his passing.

The high table with King Howard sitting at the centre, his son Anthony, the crown prince, by his right, along with the woman he was courting, Pepper of the Potts; on her right, King Howard’s daughter, Princess Morgana. On the king’s left, the guests of honour; King Thor, his wife Queen Jane, and his brother Prince Loki. Knights and warriors of the highest ranks, lords and ladies of nobility joining the celebrations, servants all but running around the hall to tend to everyone’s needs.

Then, a sound of a chalice hitting the stone floor, one that would have been met with more laughter, had it not fallen from Prince Anthony’s hand, suddenly scarily pale and trembling. Cold to touch too, a terrifying contrast to his burning forehead glistening with sweat. Body sliding down the chair, barely even faint frantic motions to his chest.

Brief, deafening silence.

The traitorous calm before a storm would hit and leave nothing but death and destruction in its wake.

Chaos.

Swords drawn.

A wave of threats of violence.

A thundering voice of the King of Starkerbürg himself.

Calls for the royal physician Banner.

Images of peace and joy shattered; a single inconspicuous calm face among the sea of others in the face of a tragedy in making.

“Poison. I cannot determine what kind as of yet. Carry His Royal Majesty to his chambers!” the physician called out, not bothered by the fact he was ordering around knights and other nobility. “At once! There is no time to spare!”

Knights practically tripping over each other to tend to their prince, to their future ruler, to their brother in arms even as by rank he stood high above them. Rustle and grunts; a whisper of skirts as the culprit slipped away in the midst of disarray and cries of fear for the prince and the future of both kingdoms alike.

To think that an attack at the crown happening during the presence of a party of another kingdom – one similarly strong – was but a coincidence, would have been foolishly naïve.

Oh there were no such coincidences; this was but the first step towards a war.

And the perpetrator would be treated with that in mind.

“Aconite, most likely,” sounded the verdict, the words solemn on the physician’s lips as he fearfully raised his gaze to the King hovering over his shoulder as he inspected the second most important patient of the kingdom at the royal chambers.

The dark note in Banner’s voice snapped Steven from the haze as he, Sir Barnes, Sir Barton and Sir Wilson stood along the walls of Anthony’s chambers, tall and menacing, but just as helpless as Prince Anthony’s betrothed seated in the corner.

Whatever poison the physician was talking about, it was not known to Steven; but the message written in Banner’s expression was clear as day and terrifying like a night to be spent in the woods with rumoured presence of ghouls.

Inevitable death.

It was true that King Howard Stark might have yet to comprehend, despite his long years of ruling his lands, that one might catch more flies with sugar than vinegar, gain more by threading his actions with kindness than by spitting threats of violence; but he was no fool. He perceived the solemnity of the announcement and received it with a shadow over his already distorted features.

“This… aconite, Banner. What kind of a poison is that?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, but not bending. Not under the weight on the crown on his head, nor under the weight of the tidings he might be scared to receive. His face was but a mask of stern indifference; a silent warning to Banner to choose his next words carefully.

As if stating the patient’s condition was a choice, Steven thought darkly, his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage as he exchanged glances with his best friend standing by his side. When he looked back at the physician, he could see him swallow dryly even from the several feet distance. Yet, the brave man faced the King with his head held high and his expression filled with sorrow.

“A deadly kind, Your Royal Majesty,” Banner said slowly. Rage flashed on the King’s face, Steven’s stomach dropping at both the sight and the worst tidings brought. Death. “It is made from the nectar-filled blossoms or the tubers of the Aconitum lycoctonum flower. There is… no cure known to man.”

A sniffle sounded in the corner of the room, completely ignored except for Sir Barton’s compassionate glance towards the woman who was on the brink of despair at the mere thought of the man she had clearly already learned to love leaving this world forever.

The King beckoned to the guards standing by the door, making them instantly step forward with their spears ready, heading for Banner menacingly.

Steven’s feet twitched as he wanted to step forward to protect the physician, outrage rising at the injustice even as fear twisted his stomach.

Sir Barnes brushed his hand discreetly to stop him.

Steven gritted his teeth, but stayed put for now, watching the scene unfold with disdain.

Sir Barnes was correct in one thing: Anthony being poisoned and having his life hanging on a thread was horrible enough, and rash decisions and actions such as standing up to the King would only make it worse.

A raging man was an unwise man; and the King was only a man too, even as he compared himself to various deities and had nearly as much power as them – which only rendered him more dangerous. There was no point in scaring the physician to death or even hurting him, but such was the King’s power. Such was his God-given right to punish whoever as he pleased. It mattered little that Banner could barely be blamed for-

-for the crown prince’s impending death, apparently.

“Then I advise you, Banner, to find one fast,” King Howard sneered as the guards stood behind the physician now. “Otherwise, you shall meet the same fate as whoever of Asgard dared to try and rob me of my son.”

The guards grabbed the man’s shoulders and Steven’s hand instinctively went for his sword again; and he was not the only one. Still, the knights stood, hesitant to disobey their King even in the face of the glaring injustice, fighting an inner battle between honour and goodness of heart and the oath they had taken. Their loyalty was to the kingdom and the King represented it most of all, after all; even if he seemed to threaten it the most of all, too, at the moment.

Well, not on Steven’s watch.

“Wait!” he called out as he stepped forward, earning a hard glare from the King himself that should have told him to keep quiet and fall in line, but he could not. Not even for Bucky’s audible sigh behind him. Not when-

“Is there anything we can do for him as of now, is what we are trying to ask,” Sir Wilson spoke up before Steven could, moving to stand next to him.

Steven took a deep breath as his gaze flickered to his comrade, finding his face arranged in a carefully crafted humbleness – as it should be in the face of the ruler even when he was addressing the physician.

Banner’s words were kind, his voice firm and regretful.

“I am afraid there isn’t, good Sir.”

“The Royal Guard and all the knights have a clear mission given by the crown, Sir Wilson,” the King barked as he gestured for the physician to be dragged away, the poor man allowing it without a protest. King Howard’s gaze fell on his son’s pale face as he lied on the bed with nothing but soundless whimpers on his lips, before he snapped back to the four knights present. “Arrest all servants and nobility of Asgard. I shall have the King and his brother for myself. And should my son meet his forefathers, I shall have their heads on a spike by tomorrow.”

With those words, he turned on his heel and stepped out, his leave abruptly followed by Anthony’s wife-to-be rushing to her betrothed’s side, cheeks damp with tears.

Steven regarded the scene unfolding, frozen with horror and unease greater than anyone.

He feared the death of his friend, naturally, as they had just dragged the one single person with any chance of curing Anthony in the whole kingdom away from his bedside.

But Steven feared a lot more deaths too. Should Prince Anthony die, King Howard would unleash pure hell on Asgard and as a consequence, on all Starkerbürg as well.

All the knights knew that; everyone knew that. They all had a heavy feeling in their stomach at the mere thought, their feet slow and unwilling as they left the chambers one by one. Yet, Steven’s heart was heavier.

The thought had occurred to him when he had wondered what exactly the King was expecting from Banner.

To turn back time so the prince had never got poisoned?

To pray to the gods for a miracle?

To perform a miracle himself and cure what was considered uncurable?

The last idea had squeezed his heart in an icy fist, nausea clawing up his throat.

He knew someone who could achieve things as close to a miracle as possible in this realm. He had felt such miracle in his own blood, tissue and cells; he had felt the wonders strong magic was capable of when in the hands of the kind-hearted. He was still breathing solely because of it; and he knew the person who could achieve this closely, intimately even, mind, body and soul, the depth of the goodness of her heart.

Perhaps you would be able to replicate the feat of saving Steven from certain death.

Perhaps your magic was powerful enough to save thousands lives by saving one. Powerful enough to prevent a war.

But hope and miracles were not to be trifled with. Magic was not to be trifled with. Being seen practising magic meant a definite death sentence.

But would it? If it saved the future king’s life?

Surely, he couldn’t risk it; he couldn’t risk your life. Of all the things he had seen in his life, of all the things he had ever had the fortune to hold, you were the most precious one to him. If he brought you here, he could lose you. He could lose you, by his own hand no less, and that would be the highest price to pay for peace he did not even know would settle or not in the end.

No.

That was the one price he couldn’t pay. He’d much rather pay with his own life – but not yours. Gods, never yours.

But if you only could… knew a potion, could do anything at all…

As he marched with his comrades to arrest the innocent – for it could not be the work of all Asgardians at once – his jaw was tense, the dilemma occupying all his thoughts, feeling like it might tear him in half.

Until it hadn’t.

If he did nothing, the war was be inevitable. If he did nothing, he would lose you anyway.

A raging man was a dangerous man and King Stark would burn the world in the wake of his anger and grief, heedless of whoever would burn with it.

Steven stopped dead in his tracks, Sir Barnes nearly colliding with him as a result.

“Steve, what the-“

“I must go,” Steven said in a hushed voice, swiftly changing direction; or attempting to. Sir Barnes’ hand was quick to grab onto his elbow, stopping him, heedless of other knights continuing their path.

“Steve, what in heavens do you mean by that?”

“I must fetch someone. I believe she could help.”

Sir Barnes bewilderment would perhaps be almost comical had it not been for the dread pooling cold in Steven’s gut.

“…she? What—the woman you have been sneaking off to see?” Sir Barnes enquired, causing a startled and utterly confused expression to appear on Steven’s face, a small alarmed sound pushing past the man’s lips despite his effort to remain composed.

Hold on, hold on-- Bucky knew?!

The look Steven received back was unimpressed at best – of course Bucky knew. He knew Steven almost better than he knew himself.

“Save the surprise for another day. How could she possibly help? Is she a physician’s assistant? Or even an apprentice for some insane reason?”

Had Steve had the capacity, he’d glare at Bucky for the offensive tone with which he had asked the question; however, he did not have it and in the brief moment he spent pondering, he realized that Bucky was not opposed to the idea itself. It was simply the ways of Starkerbürg: to try and take a woman as a physician’s apprentice was insane indeed. King had the God-given right to appoint physicians – and King Howard would certainly never approve of a female one.

But that didn’t matter, because that was not who you were.

“She’s… she is a healer.”

“A healer?” Sir Barnes echoed pointedly, doubt colouring his words. “What does than even mean? We do not have time for this.”

Steven huffed, trying to tug his arm free from Sir Barnes’ grasp as his impatience grew along with the number of doubts whether it was ever a good idea to consider your aid; but there were no options. No time to search for them. No time to waste and no time for finesse. He needed to go and he needed Bucky to understand – and more than that.

“She saved my life, Bucky. Back when I fell from the crags into the river… when you thought I was dead-“

“You must have been lucky, fell into deep water. You had superficial injuries. This is a poison. One the best physician of the court claims to have no antidote for.”

Steven swallowed thickly, the heaviest of feelings in his stomach as he chose to reveal his greatest secret as to make a point and be released to act before it’d be too late. “Bucky, I had much more than superficial injuries. She… she helped then. She might be able to help now, but… I will need your help with protecting her should it come to it.”

Bucky looked at Steve as if he had just grown a second head, glancing around nervously as guards and knights alike kept passing them, casting strange looks at them for their stillness. Sir Barnes lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper.

“Are you saying you were wounded much worse and yet she was able to tend to you? In such short time that you were missing then? And that she might be able to help here, now, with a poison that has no known cure?” Sir Barnes demanded hastily, bewildered and clearly irritated. “Are you hearing yourself, Steven? What kind of a healer would she have to be to-“

The almost sardonic voice suddenly fell silent, all blood draining from Sir Barnes’ face when the horrifying realization finally dawned to him. His hand fell limp, finally releasing Steven’s arm.

“Steve, this is not a subject for joking.”

Steven swallowed heavily, heart thundering in his chest, blood pounding in his temples. He shouldn’t have told – but he had to. He had to, right? Bucky needed to understand-

He sighed quietly, whole body strung tight in expectation of his friend exploding in rage – rage he had no time for.

“I am not joking. And you are right, we are losing precious time, I should-”

The sudden grip on Steven’s his shoulder, appearing as to stop him from leaving, was much more brutal than the hold on his elbow had been, fingers digging into flesh even over the layers of clothing.

“You— have you been… lying with a--”

Steven’s voice was quiet, but as sharp and dangerous as the sword resting in the sheath on his hip. “Choose your words carefully, Bucky. That is the woman I love and owe my life to. I would die for her, and I would not have been standing here had she not healed me.”

“That could be exactly what she wants you to think!” Sir Barnes sputtered. Steven fought the urge to roll his eyes – the absurdity of such statement was glaring.

“Oh for heavens-- I might be a fool sometimes, but I am not an idiot-”

“Debatable!” Sir Barnes whispered as madly as if he was in fact yelling. “As you’re proving it this very moment!”

Steven shook his head, the feeling in his gut growing more gnawing by the second, every frantic beat of his heart feeling like a waste of precious time.

“Bucky, you said it yourself – we do not have time for this! I must go. I will get her, but… please. Help me protect her if the King is blind to the fact she uses--- it to do good.”

Sir Barnes simply stared back, the halls empty by now as much as his gaze, however inquiring.

The grip on Sir Rogers’ arm loosened.

Silence stretched. Precious second ticked by, grains of sand in hourglass no one could turn back falling; and with each and every one, Steve’s stomach tightened further with creeping horror.

Surely his most precious, most loyal friend, having been standing by his side since childhood, would not abandon him now? Surely he would not betray him in moments that might be deciding his fate, the fate of his beloved, of the whole kingdom?

“Bucky, please. I swear-- I’m begging you. I need to-- I need to protect her. At any cost.”

“What of your sword?” Sir Barnes asked dully, appearing indifferent to Steven’s desperate pleas.

What of your knighthood? Are you willing to give up that, if you are forced to leave in the darkness of the night and never return to bring your beloved to safety? Are you willing to leave the path of the honorary knight to become a lawless fugitive?

The smile which found its way to the corners of Steve’s lips was soft; sad and torn, for it was the greatest honour to serve, to protect, to help. He had been and always would be grateful for the rare chance he had got.

But there was no greater blessing of the gods themselves than you having entered his life and taking it by the most beautiful of storms. He loved you. He loved you more than anything and anyone in this world and that was what he would not even dream of giving up.

He didn’t respond with words; and yet, the exasperation on his closest friend’s face told him he did not have to. Sir Barnes understood from Steven’s expression alone. He always had.

“Gods, Steven Grant of Rogers, of all stunts you could have pulled to get yourself hanged, you truly had to go and chose the most foolish one. My God- Steven…”

Most foolish one? Echoed in Steven’s head, the words absurd. No. The most gorgeous one, the purest one, the most blessed, he allowed himself to muse. The most honourable one too, no? Love. Where was justice, if love, the purest emotions of all, was considered a crime? Did the new religious teachings not speak of love being kind, patient, knowing no dishonour and wrongs?

That was how he loved you. Wholly and entirely, kindly, patiently, even if passionately.

It was only then when Steven snapped from his haze and finally noticed a trace of hurt on Sir Barnes’ face when it occurred to him why Bucky had taken so long to respond. He was cross with Steven; but not as much for the alleged crime, but for having kept it a secret. Keeping you a secret; the one closest to his heart, his beloved, hidden from the one person he had always trusted with anything.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. No one could know. She’s-- she is too precious. I had to protect her,” he explained softly, urgently. “And I still do. I will, with your help or without it. But… please.”

Sir Barnes continued to regard him, stunned into silence still, expression unreadable.

Then, he shook his head; what might seem as disagreement however, Steve recognized as resignation. He had known Bucky for too long to not be able to decipher which shake of a head was a no and which was an expression of indignation and regret at his own choice of a best friend.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

And with those words, Steve took his hasty leave, his minute relief drowned in the sea of worry when he sneaked into the stables to rush through the gates of the castle, claiming to be running a King’s errand.

Seeking his closeness the pretty white doe having sipped at love all despite her oath, she begged the forest spirits to let her go to follow her heart and its eternal song.

Light breeze caressing your hair like the tender fingers of your lover, brushing away a lose strand from your face. Gentle September sunrays of a late afternoon warming your cheeks, long leaves of grass tickling your ankles and your hands as you gathered brownwort, thyme and lady’s mantle, the smell almost too much despite its pleasant notes. Your hand instinctively laying over your belly as the reminder of why you were gathering these particular herbs blossomed in your mind anew, a smile settling on your face. It was not just the time of year blessing people with abundance of these flowers, a nature’s reminder the time was coming to bath in the blessed lake on the Autumn equinox; it was the sweet secret humming under your heart too, growing stronger and more beautiful by day – and slightly bittersweet for for now, it was only yours to keep, your beloved knight none the wiser.

Steven.

The very reason, you suspected, for the heavy feeling in your heart; the reason why none of the kind offerings of mother nature seemed to sooth a jittery feeling you had woken with up from your restless sleep. Unease had been crawling over your skin; a solemnity’s shadows, despite the beautiful weather and the joyful morning realisation that a barely noticeable bump was now showing on your body, a testament to the blessings of love.

The sky was beginning to colour with sunset with no clouds in sight; and yet, you could feel a storm coming, one you did not feel would be of the refreshing purifying kind. The air did not smell of rain; if you breathed in deeply, it reeked of the very death the wind seemed to whisper about in the tallest of birch trees. A warning; a witch’s intuition tuned to the finest hints of the gods of nature and forest spirits. You had tried to sooth yourself, coaxing yourself into peace by wondering if it perhaps was but a new future mother’s anxiety.

Yet, an instinct as old as time whispered to you to know better.

Which was why the wild stomping of hooves nearing your cabin should have not taken you by surprise. But it did.

You rose from your crouch so fast your head span, gathered flowers falling from your hands at the brief faint sensation; you steadied yourself just as Steven’s horse came into view, slowing into a walk as not to startle you or crush all the blossoms on the meadow.

The silent thank you to the gods for seeing your love alive and well left your lips without prompting, followed by your spine tingling with a shudder of power at its base.

Almost as if the gods blessed you for your genuine gratitude and gifted you with strength. Strength you shall no doubt need, for Steven might be living and breathing, dismounting his mare in a thousand-times practised manner, breathtaking as ever, but the distress on his face and the tension of his wide shoulders told you those shoulders carried the weight of the world at the moment.

Feet waking with motion, you met him halfway as he rushed to you, his arms quick to embrace you lovingly but so tight all air left your ribcage for long moments. Steven’s heart thundered against your ear as you hid your face against his chest. Fresh air had washed his clothes of most smells, but sweat and wine and rich spices still enveloped your senses, a tell-tale signs of the feast which he had told you about being interrupted by something vicious.

Yet, you took precious moments of simply breathing your lover in, basking in the comfort his arms offered no matter the circumstance.

He nuzzled his face in your hair, his chest expanding with a generous inhale, a steadying breath which made his heart race faster, as if attempting to outrun the very storm you had felt arriving.

You ran your hands down his broad back, feeling your own heart leaping into your throat as the silence between you, often so sweet and comforting, stretched ominously.

“Steven… love,” you whispered, attempting to shift in his embrace, only achieving his hold growing firmer, his muscles almost shaking with effort not to let go.

Oh Steven… What a terrible feat had been laid upon him?

“What has happened?”

Finally releasing your body, his hands were quick to cradle your face instead, achingly gentle, even as his eyes roamed your face wordlessly, brimming with so much emotion it stirred your unease further.

“Rytier moj?”

Steven’s face softened minutely, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as tenderly as butterfly wings despite the power – or the lack of it – in his grip.

“My love…”

Lips curling in a tiny smile, you mirrored Steven’s affection, reaching to settle your palm against his cheek, fingers of your other hand carding through his hair; your heart fluttered when he leaned into your touch, a wavering breath escaping his lips before they pressed against your palm to sooth the scratch of his beard against your skin.

Despite the dulcet image he made, eyes fluttering close for a blissful moment of nothing but love shared, you felt his body pulse with anxious urgency seemingly seeping into yours through your fingertips.

“I did not sleep well…” you confessed, his already pursed lips turning down. “I had a heavy feeling in me. Now I know the gods had not warned me simply for their own whims. What’s happened?”

Steven opened his eyes again; with a single caress of the breeze, he straightened, his aura of a knight – a fierce protector, a loyal friend, a humble determined servant – returning with its full force as did his worry.

“I need your help.”

A simple plea.

A simple answer.

“Always, rytier moj. Anything,” you promised.

One would expect relief to fill your lover’s features; instead, dread twisted them into a frown of dismay. Almost as if he had been hoping for your rejection.

Why?

The whisper of death among the trees grew louder, haunting, sending such a shudder through your body not even your lover’s warmth could hope to protect you from it, another urgent question scratching at the back of your mind.

Death, the trees seemed to whisper.

Whose death?

“Oh bosorka moja…”

Not Steven’s. Never. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.

And not your child’s. You’d claw a throat open with your bare hands had anyone tried to take them away. Take her away. You had dreamed two nights prior, dreamed of a girl with Steven’s beautiful eyes and your hair caressed by the wind, her laughter filling the air as he sat her on his shoulders and she placed the daisy crown on his head-

The image had been so full of hope, so bright, so full of promise; it battled the current scent of death fiercely, one blending into another, and it felt like you were stood in the middle.

Your choice. Your power.

Your victory; or your loss.

You gulped, your gentle hold on Steven’s face growing shaky; with fear or the weight of responsibility, you weren’t sure.

“What is it, love? You are worrying me… come in. Tell me what weights down your-“

“Prince Anthony has been poisoned,” he said at last.

The whisper of the wind seemed to turn into a screech of a gale, even as the tree leaves and grass barely rustled.

The Prince… was he the one whose death you felt impending? It must have been.

In a split second, it became so clear why Steven was so shaken.

An impending death of his brother in arms. Of someone whom he served and appreciated.

Of the future ruler; quite possibly caused by the attempts of the party of Asgard.

An act of war.

Should Prince Anthony die, there would be no stopping at one death. Devastating number of lives could be lost. Including Steven’s.

No. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.

But could you stop it?

Stood in the middle. Your choice. Your power.

Could you prevent a war?

Your mind was set into a whirl, various herbs and remedies for different poisonings refreshed in your mind.

“Do you know which poison it was?” you asked urgently, dropping your hands; and confused as why Steven’s remained firmly on your face, his expression speaking of pain greater than before. “Steven, love. What are his troubles? I can send a potion, pass it as a remedy from a physician-”

“Burning feeling in his forehead, weakness of muscles, trembling, cold sweat… he fainted and could not be woken up, only for a brief moment. He had trouble speaking, began to shake, fainted again...” Steven listed slowly, his unease growing with every word.

And so did yours.

Determination bled out from your body drop by drop, replaced by dread, the very weakness your lover was talking about as if settling in your own muscles and bones.

“The physician believes it might have been... aconite?” he added.

You had figured as much, seemingly endless moments before Steven spoke the dreaded word.

Aconite.

The worst nightmare of all living things; the deadliest daydream of those who meant harm and would not stop until their enemy released their last breath.

Death, screeched the breeze in the crowns of the birch trees; the yew trees, the very symbol of passing, joining in.

Death. War. Death.

Your power. Your victory. Your loss.

Your voice shook more frantically than young aspen leaves in the wind.

“Steven… aconite is deadly. I have no potion or salve for this. There is no cure-”

“That is what physician Banner said.”

“But then what…”

Your voice trailed off, words stuck in your throat, air stolen from your chest. A lighting from clear skies could struck you at the very moment and you would barely take notice of such.

It all made sense now. You having lost sleep. The whispers of death. The assumed shiver of power you shall no doubt need. And at last, Steven’s almost palpable dismay when you had said you’d help. That you’d do anything.

He had hoped you’d help.

He was terrified of it all the same.

You could feel blood draining from your face, rushing past your ears; unspeakable horror and determination swept you like the non-existent gale in the tree crowns.

“Steven…”

His grip on your face grew firmer, unsteady but urgent, his forehead pressed against yours as his eyes slid shut, his whisper a frantic promise, a confession and a prayer at once.

“I know. Believe me, my love, I know, and I have never been more scared of anything in my whole life,” he said huskily, barely audible over the wild thundering of your heart, the shaky sound of your quick breaths, even as the rest of the world faded into background, all noise ceasing. Or perhaps even the sparrows forgot how to sing, struck by fear for their life.“I would have not asked this of you if I did not fear that Anthony’s death would unleash a war with Asgard and might destroy us all… and if I did not believe I could protect you.”

“Steven-“

A thumb over your lip, gently pressing to silence your protest, Steven guided you to look up to his eyes, every word falling from his lips an oath signed by his own blood.

“Bosorka moja… I shall protect you, no matter the cost. You must know I would lay my life for you. I will, should it come to it. As long as you are safe.”

Consumed by adoration and terror at once, you slipped from Steven’s hold, shaking your head.

He had not the slightest idea what he was speaking of, the reckless fool.

He had no idea.

And he had no idea whom he would be leaving should he deliver on his terrible promise.

“These words are not nearly as comforting as you believe them to be! How would we-- how would I live without you?” you lamented, feeling the fire of power and indignation burn inside of you, chasing the fear away for several beats of your heart. “And I-- I am not even sure I can heal him.”

“You healed me,” Steven offered kindly, encouraging, confusion and the softest trace of hurt at you having escaped his touch twisting his face. He had no idea. He had no idea at all. “You said I was at the brink of death myself-“

“You were,” you spat, not appreciating the reminder – not of his injuries, nor of your past recklessness, as grateful as you were for the latter, not a single regret in your mind for having risked it all to save the handsome stranger with goodness etched into his very soul, having shone so bright it had outshined your doubts and fear for your life. But this was different. So much circumstance had changed. “But I was… I had faith in your soul, saw your good heart. I believed to be safe from you should I be too weak to protect myself after I casted my spells, and for that, I was able to pour all my magic into the healing. And I-- I was much more careless with my power then… “

You made a pause, inhaling slowly, gathering courage in the face of Steven’s features twisting further with distress.

“But Steven… that was before. I-- before we-“

“What is it, bosorka moja? Before what?”

Your lower lip trembled, regret lacing the soft touch of your fingertips to his face.

This was not how you wished for him to find out. You had told him before, erased his memory to ease his conscience and to prepare for the right moment, a moment fit for such joyful tidings; but much like him, having rushed here asking for help despite the unspeakable risks, you had no other option.

You had no choice.

You had no time.

The deep-sea blue with a forest green shade of his irises brimmed with emotion, tenderness and silent question.

With a lump in your throat, you dropped your hands again, curling them around your middle as if to protect the secret and save it for a reverent moment your love and lover – and your child – would have deserved.

Steven regarded your stance with dread visibly climbing up his throat. You could see it in his eyes, the sudden uncertainty, the questions written in his eyes growing frantic and painful.

Why had you stepped back from him? Why had you evaded his touch? Why did you seem taken by sorrow? What secret had you been keeping from him? For you must have had some. You must have not told him something crucial – and in a dark time like this, it shall come to light.

You appeared so shaken; you appeared scared. Of something he had failed to protect you from?

Or of his reaction to the revelation?

You chose your words carefully, speaking them slowly, even though you could feel him hanging onto every syllable.

“It is not only me anymore who needs to be protected.”

Steven did not understand; that much was clear from his expression, from the step he took closer to you only for you to take a step back, etching his hurt deeper into his face.

“I… I do not understand, my love. Do you have—do you know of someone who could help you? Do they need protection too?”

The they tasted of poison much bitterer than aconite; disbelief and profound pain.

You could almost hear it, the absurd questions he seemed to be asking himself. Was there… was there someone else? Someone else who had earned your love more fiercely than he had? More deserving?

The way your love remained hidden, the distance he still had to keep, laid heavy in his mind, always, now feeding his doubt; his fear that someone else now occupied the space he had so selfishly taken up in your heart.

But had only been here mere days ago, yes? Surely you could have not--- you would have not… or had you? No. That wasn’t possible. You were the kindest most loving person he had ever met, loyal to a fault – and he was blessed to be yours, to be loved, unconditionally, more than he deserved for keeping you his little secret.

You could not read thoughts; but Steven’s always seemed to be laid bare in front of you to card through. Betrayal and resignation all at once, jaw tight to mask his hurt, to hide the very doubt you read so clearly. Doubt, but not of you; of him. He had always carried it with him, the guilt of not providing for you as he imagined he should for his beloved.

Doubt, crystal clear in his gaze. It was possible, was it not? The most wonderful woman he had ever met, finally fed up, the goblet of your patience finally having overflowed, deciding to find a man worthy of you, able to take care of you, truly, one you were willing to-

You could not bear his mind screaming anymore, even as you had not heard a single word, a single thought, all of it but achy questions expressed by his gaze alone.

“No, Steven, I do not--- I merely cannot only think of myself now,” you said softly, searching for words to reveal the secret at last, not, not wanting to and craving it all the same. “I… I need to protect us.”

His shoulders sagged, doubt and heartache erased at once, tenderness at your worry for him melting into his smile.

“Do not fret, bosorka moja. I can hold my own.”

The faint smile in the corner of your mouth hurt, tears burning in your eyes.

“I know, rytier moj… and yes, I meant us, but I--- I also meant us.”

The arm you had curled around your middle shifted. Your palm spread pointedly over your belly as you met his gaze with hesitance and silent hope; for as much as you dreaded revealing the source of your worst fear, the tidings were still joyful. And you hoped with the entirety of your heart that Steven would accept them as such, much like the first time.

But first, he had to comprehend them.

Several rushed beats of your heart it took him; but then he finally did.

Suddenly, it was his turn to stand still and rigid as if a lightning from the perfectly clear skies struck him. And it might have as well.

His voice was barely louder than a breath, hoarse, laced with careful hope despite the glaring truth.

“You—we- are we-?”

A crystal-clear memory of those being the very words he had spoken the first time entered your mind, a single tear spilling over; the awe and reverence on his face mirrored his expression all the same as you confirmed.

“Yes.”

“You are with a child? My child?”

It would have been amusing, the questions, if you hadn’t been on a brink of hysteria and hadn’t there been a metaphorical sword hanging above your heads while you indulged in revealing the sweetest secret there was between lovers.

“Yes.”

Countless grains of sand in hourglass fell, Steven simply observing you, his gaze feasting on the entirety of you with newfound emotion that touched your very soul and made it shiver with delight. He observed you with such adoration and devotion you could only imagine he would show to a deity descending to walk the Earth.

And then he was surging forward, falling on his knees in front you, one hand on your hip, the other wrapping around your lower back to keep you close as he laid his forehead on your belly, shaky, slow and careful; nothing short of reverent. Despite the circumstance, all the tears prickling in your eyes found their release – every inch of your body sang, feeling Steven’s love for both you and the life he had a generous hand in creating.

“Oh bosorka moja… láska moja,” he muttered into the fabric before he looked up, hesitant fingers slipping under, to feel the very bump you had only noticed today. His lips parted in mute awe, eyes turning glassy with sheer delight and wonder at the miracle.

You allowed yourself another moment of basking in his love; feeling the delight spreading through every vein, through every bone and nerve, all the way to your very core and source of power. Your hands found gentle purchase of Steven’s hair as his lips pressed to your belly.

But then, the inaudible crackle in the air brought you both from your reverie, the breeze screeching of death instead of new life returning.

There was no choice; dread filled your being along with a haunting whisper of opportunity from a voice speaking in tongues you barely understood and yet deciphered as guidance.

You must go. You must try. Despite the risks.

Stood in the middle. Your power. Your victory; your loss.

Your only hope and your possible doom.

“I shall try my best to help, even as I do not know if I will be able to. But Steven…” you addressed him softly, revealing one more piece, one more source of joy, “our little girl must remain safe at any cost.”

The hands sprawled around your middle twitched, a single tear escaping him as his eyes shone.

“Our--- a girl? How-“

“It is but a feeling,” you admitted, earning a brilliant smile which lasted too shortly.

You smiled tightly in return, a few more tears rolling down your cheeks as Steven’s hand softly caressed your barely-there bump again, butterflies seemingly to erupting in your stomach, your heart humming.

He rose to his feet with something in his eyes turning steely, his gentle voice once against taking on a heaviness of an oath.

“I will protect you both, even if it should be the last thing I will ever do.”

One wavering breath was all the luxury you granted yourself before springing into action, not allowing yourself to lament at the potential of death weaved into Steven’s promise. You could not afford any more distraction. The hourglass was unrelenting, rushing you.

“I know. We shall get going.”

You could feel his eyes on you, a mute confusion as you ruminated through the cabinets, the fire lit, a small pot placed on it, two handfuls of water, milk thistle, ginseng roots, and sprinkle of uncaria leaves added to the mix.

“You can sit down, love, I shall only complete the potion swiftly and we will be on our way,” you assured him, reaching for a pinch of turmeric to add.

Steven did not, in fact, sit down – if anything, you could feel him grow taller behind you, as if his growing bewilderment added an inch or two to his already impressive height. His stare was firmly set on you, a little burning and slightly insulting since you could almost hear his silent questioning of your sanity.

A potion? But you had said-

You looked over your shoulder briefly, your lover’s body nearer than expected, causing you to need to crane you neck a bit.

“No, there is no potion to neutralise the poison – but this remedy strengthens a body, aids it to fight off an infection and weakness,” you explained, expecting Steven’s face clearing, but not waiting for it do so, busying yourself with reading the mental list of ingredients, recalling every indispensable element. Milk thistle, ginseng, uncaria leaves, turmeric… ah. Yes. Where herbs were concerned, rare or common, that would be all. Only one last ingredient.

A gentle hand on your elbow stopped you as you were turning to the stack of knives, halting your movements tenderly but firmly. Blinking, you lifted your gaze to Steven’s face again, disconcerted by his unreadable expression.

“Is it… safe?”

Had it not been for the large distress he was in, the feeling oozing of him and adding to your own shakiness, had it not been for the tenderness of his touch, you’d feign a slap to chase his hand away at the almost silly question – and at the sudden doubt in your knowledge and power and your reign over it.

“Steven, love, my apologies for the bluntness, but Prince Anthony is on his deathbed, so I cannot very well hurt him further and I shall have you known that this very potion you have drunk yourself-”

“For you,” he clarified, two soft syllables in contrast to your slightly exasperated words, your voice falling silent as sweet worry reflected in his sky-blue irises. Despite the circumstance, your heart seared at the fussing, no matter how groundless and ironic. “I am asking whether it is safe for you and our… our child to prepare that. I know it may seem irrational given why I am here, but-“

It was, you had to admit. And yet. You spent a precious moment, precious grains of sand falling in the ominous hourglass above your heads, placing your palm over his hand, reassuring.

“It is perfectly safe, rytier moj… certainly no more dangerous than rushing to the castle, the very heart of the Kingdom, and attempt to save the prince using the most outlawed practice in these lands,” you added with an unsteady cheekiness, earning an exasperated glare; and a full body shudder he couldn’t hope to contain.

The same tremble ran through your body; and yet, the whisper for caution was overshadowed by a tingle of energy unknown, a wordless encouragement. Almost a haunting promise from the Fate itself that bravery shall be rewarded.

But if that were true, where would the ever-present whispers of death and upcoming end fit in the mosaic then?

Shaking your head as well as the overwhelmingly bewildering sensations off, you charmed a soft smile for your lover and love – for the father of your child, already caring so deeply for the life to be born out of your love – and let your hand fall, turning back to your work as stream began to fill the cabin.

One last ingredient; a life essence to help maintain life.

You cradled the handle of the blade carefully in your hand, turning your other palm against the tip; the knife was out of your hand before you could comprehend how, pressed flat to Steven’s thigh, shielded from your touch.

“I’m sorry. I--- is that necessary?” Steven asked with a painful edge to his voice, his continued concern causing your heart to tremble.

“Yes… it is but a drop of blood, my love, I promise. A speckle of life essence to maintain life.”

His frown deepened as you reached for the knife again, fingers brushing his soothingly as you grasped at the handle. So many emotions played over his features; hesitance, concern, guilt. He must have realised you had used your blood before to cure him before you had even learned his name, another sacrifice having been made aside from having left yourself completely vulnerable to him when you had drained your magic and body alike to bring him from the death’s doorstep where you had found him at.

Then, an almost shy question, as if he felt too bold to even suggest such heretic thought.

“Life essence… would mine suffice, then?”

Where his implication was shy – that his mere mortal, human blood could match yours, the blood of a born witch – his determination was not.

He met your eye, a brilliant satisfied sparkle lighting up his irises when he read the truth in your hesitant gaze.

“Yes… it would. But-“

Your knight offered his left palm outstretched, no further questions. The bottomless trust in his gesture and in his eyes caused a lump to grow in your throat; the mere idea of cutting him, even if it was to only be but a scratch, had ache sting deep within your ribcage.

“Are you cert-“

“Would you rather I lead the cut myself, love?” he asked, his voice tender upon your hesitance, understanding the action would cause you pain – as if you were to hurt yourself instead.

And you might as well.

Your hands were made to heal his wounds, not cause them; your hands were made to erase his aches, not bring them; your hands were made to love, not hurt.

Your read in his gentle gaze as he nearly read in yours: I despise the thought of hurting you, rytier moj; It is but alright, bosorka moja.

You shook your head.

“I-- no. I may do it. I apologize, we do not have time for-“

A hand grasping your jaw, soft lips silencing your apologies; your eyes fluttered close despite seeing right through the trick. You felt the pressure of his hand against the blade, the silent sound of protest earning you a deeper kiss, a softer caress of his lips against yours, tasting sweeter than summer breeze, so achingly tender.

“There you go, bosorka moja…”

With his retreat, Steven ran his thumb over your cheek, smiling; then, he moved his injured hand into yours, leading you above the pot.

Slightly dazed and exasperated still, you sighed and carefully squeezed his wound to indeed only spare a drop of his precious blood.

As you pressed your lips to his fingertips in a thank you, you let your healing power flow through your touch, closing the cut your body should have worn.

“This had better be the only blood spilled today,” you whispered; and prayed too. You met your Steven’s stormy gaze as the contents of the pot sizzled, sweet coppery aroma rising in the air.

“It will, bosorka moja. It will.”

He sealed the deal with a kiss, sweet and desperate and bruising.

And falling on deaf ears, whisper in the crowns of the birch trees, his and your words echoed the very same song.

Blood had better be spilled…

Today, today, today…It will, it will, it will…

Next part

Other headcanon and playlist

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist

Endearments used: Rytier moj (My knight) Bosorka moja (Witch mine) Láska moja (Love mine)

I hope you liked this - let me know your thoughts!

May your November be sweet and cosy ✨

[la-pheacienne]

Alicent is unfortunately not the only lifeless portrayal in the show. I have to talk about my pookie. Daemon Targaryen, a fandom fave, grrm's fave (one of them), legendary, quintessential Targaryen prince, "both a great man and a monster", "the most admired, most beloved, most reviled in all Westeros", "made of light and darkness in equal parts", "to some a hero, to others the blackest of villains" (paraphrazing).

Now that is something isn't it? Except that I didn't see that Daemon.

The deal with Daemon is simple. Book!Daemon was, first of all, fiercely attached to his family and that part is extremely important for his characterization. That man was blindly devoted to his house, to his wife and to their kids, adopted or biological. That was his drive, that was his purpose, that was his inner logic. Secondly, that man was nuts. Genuinely terrifying, the "you touch my kin and you will be sorry you were born" kind of terrifying. The "I will not stop until I turn every single person who wronged my family to ashes, man, woman, or child" kind of terrifying.

And they violated his brother's will. They usurped his wife's throne. They murdered his boy. They dared make a fool out of him and tear his family apart, two clowns barely into adulthood, a whiny nun and an old man who faints at the sight of a dragon. These people did this to him. Like, can you even?

Daemon should be fucking seething. He should be coming down on these clowns like a ton of bricks. The mere mention of his name should make them tremble in terror. Blood and Cheese was his moment, and it was the moment of the Dance. Now Matt did a very good job conveying all of this up until Blood and Cheese but attributing Blood and Cheese to an oopsie severely underplayed Daemon's impact. Of course, the reason the writers made BxC a misunderstanding is simply the fact that they couldn't do otherwise, after what they did with Lucerys' murder. Show!Daemon, as he stands, could not unambiguously and straightforwardly order the murder of Helaena's son without turning into a cartoonish Ramsay type of villain, and this, because the writers have not established one of his two defining traits which is, again, his fierce, blind devotion to his wife and kids. Show!Daemyra is weak, Daemon's fatherhood is downplayed. This is a part of the general problem of the characters of the show feeling flat and vague in their motivations. The show may have included some intellectually stimulating changes, in all its anti monarchy blablabla glory, but in their effort to achieve that they stopped giving the characters space to feel, love, rage and form deep, unbreakable bonds with eachother which motivate the entirety of their actions. In the entire show the moments of pure, unfiltered, real emotion are extremely rare, and Daemon is a victim of that.

Since they have not established that emotional core for him, they cannot go full force on his vilest act either. The two go hand in hand. The one motivates the other. Of course you're gonna tell me that in the show, he still orchestrated Blood and Cheese and he is still technically responsible for everything that happened. Matt was still seething with fury throughout the entire episode. Fine. It is still far less impactful than the book version, far less powerful, far less horrifying, because the motivation behind it is flimsy, because Daemon's characterization is hollow. In the book, Daemon was both greater and meaner. He was just more, in every category. In the show, he didn't give me that "oh my fucking god" shocking moment I felt when I read the source material y'all call boring (!) in comparison to the adaptation.

Daemon's moral core is his family. Period. For his family, he becomes the blackest of monsters, without scruples and without mercy. That's what "light and darkness in equal parts" means. Both are necessary. The show ironically managed to dim both his good side and his evil side and turn this proud, fearsome, horrible, legendary Targ into a whiny man whose toy got stolen. Not the vibe. I hope they do better with the battle above god's eye.

[river-gale]

jane eyre and fairy tale references in the mars house by natasha pulley

Let's talk about folklore! TMH references it near-constantly. This post was originally just going to be me chatting about individual references for fun and enrichment, but now I want to talk about what purpose they serve.

A few of them are to describe situations or scenery:

This one is a Sleeping Beauty reference, used to describe what happens when the internet goes out. Sleeping Beauty is also a ballet with music by Tchaikovsky, completed in 1899; a lot of ballets are based on fairy tales, so it makes sense that these are the stories the narrator picks. The story is from January's perspective, and he's a former ballet principal—it's a neat bit of characterization.

He also uses them to talk to and about Gale:

(If you know a specific Tang dynasty novel this is referencing, please tell me, I will give you my hand in marriage.)

This is the plot of Bluebeard!

The second one here is Selene and Endymion. The first one is Jane Eyre, which is not technically a folk tale—it's a novel, a work of Gothic literature by Charlotte Brontë—but, like TMH, it follows the same archetypal plot of plenty of folk tales. A vulnerable person, usually a young woman and sometimes poor, has to marry someone powerful and monstrous—an animal, a dragon, an invisible god, a serial murderer, a nobleman who's keeping his ex-wife locked in the attic, or in the case of TMH, a CEO who is also a xenophobic demagogue who may or may not have murdered their last spouse. This is why January references Bluebeard. He's in the exact same type of story.

There's an equivalent feminine archetype of the Monster Bridegroom—the Swan Maiden and related tales—but the allusions in TMH tend towards the Monster Bridegroom version, just because it works better for the themes of power dynamics and different kinds of power.

The thing that makes TMH interesting, though, is that it isn't just an Monster Bridegroom folktale from January's perspective. It's also one from River's. January is marrying an incredibly wealthy and influential politician who wants people like him permanently disabled; River is marrying someone with superhuman strength who belongs to the same group as the person who recently ripped off their leg. If we take "monstrous" to mean alien, powerful, and potentially dangerous, then that's exactly what they are to each other—and what the animal spouses in Monster Bridegroom myths are.

And the allusions in the book reflect that, because they're also used to describe January.

Could be a lot of things—many different cultures have Things In Ponds That Eat You, and that's beautiful—but my first thought is kelpies.

A generic one.

January's Swan King thing! (And then they kiss about it!!)

I don't have a quote for this one, but Earthstrongers—and January in particular—are often compared to polar bears. (He's got polar-bear-colored hair.) It's very East of the Sun, West of the Moon.

The double fairy tale plot of this book is super cool—they're each the same fairy tale archetype to each other—but possibly even cooler is that Jane Eyre does a really similar thing with its fairy tale allusions!

The first speaker is Rochester, and the second is Jane. He's her monster bridegroom (due to the attic wife situation), but he frequently alludes to changeling and fairy stories when speaking about her. It adds some depth to the Jane Eyre reference in TMH!

It also recalls this passage from TMH:

Because at their hearts, Jane Eyre and TMH are both stories about class boundaries and power dynamics being transcended by the ability to match someone's freak.

[yanderes-galore]

Silent hill time, so Darling is Silent Hill and meets James. They decide to help each out but it seems like Pyramid Head is fixated on Darling, which makes her terrified (I mean who wouldn't be?) So basically James against Pyramid Head? Since PH is part of James I think that would be kinda hard for Darling. -🐈anon

This has very interesting implications so sure! I am sorry the end is garbage, this was mostly just me exploring the idea since I found it really cool.

Yandere! James Sunderland vs Pyramid Head

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Violence, Trauma, Guilt, Manipulation, Delusional behavior, Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Attempted murder, Dubious relationship.

A rivalry between James and Pyramid Head creates an interesting dynamic.

Pyramid Head is part of James, a manifestation of his guilt... his tormentor.

Having them both go after you is like two sides of one coin.

James may be calmer, softer, and more caring.

While Pyramid Head is rougher, violent, and possessive.

Everyone finds their way to Silent Hill for one reason or another.

Most of the time to find something or someone.

They have a purpose and reason for being there.

You have your own reasons for going but either way... you meet James.

Silent Hill is filled with all sorts of different monsters created by the trauma of others.

Even the people in the town are paranoid, all there for their own reasons.

When you meet James you're weary of him.

Yet the man appears to be calmer than the rest of the people here.

More confused than anything, actually.

With some minor chat about the town and all the weird stuff happening in it you two convince each other to stick around.

James even asks if you've seen the monsters.

Even though I imagine the monsters are different for everyone, for this concept you also see what James sees.

James is mostly a quiet man when it comes to his past.

You don't even learn about who he set out to look for until later.

All he tells you is he's here for a reason... you reply with the same response.

Something brought you here... maybe it was even fate that you met James?

James is bad at consoling others yet he does try to look after you as you travel together.

James is a depressed, delusional, and reckless man.

Despite this, James himself shows the softer side of his yandere type.

He genuinely cares for your safety in this town.

Even more so when he hallucinates to the point of seeing you as his wife.

James feels he should protect you from the horrors of this town.

You're a young woman who appears just as confused as he is...

He just wants to... protect you from these demons.

James himself displays his overprotective and caring tendencies as a yandere.

In a way, him protecting you from the monsters of Silent Hill is like him trying to defend you from his inner demons.

He is the type of person for you to run to when you feel threatened.

He's appears harmless... yet not quite.

James is still the person who manifested Pyramid Head.

A beast you meet later in your journey.

Pyramid Head is a manifestation of James' toxic traits.

When you meet the monster it's stalking you and James from the shadows.

James may even say it's been following him.

Pyramid Head is much worse than normal James.

The beast follows you like a hungry animal.

It lumbers towards you at times with strange deep breathing.

Pyramid Head appears to be overly aggressive, possessive, and violent towards James.

It's an executioner, one made to punish the man of his sins.

Towards James, it yearns to hurt and kill.

Towards you... the beast expresses desire.

It's still rough with you but doesn't entirely try to hurt.

The monster grabs at you in desperation when it sees you, it roughly tries to take you for its own desires.

Pyramid Head is a monster created by James... yet James also tries to defend you from it.

It's sad yet oddly poetic.

Despite this you are correct, this pair up would be difficult as you could never fully get away from them.

James keeps you close to him as he feels he has to protect you.

Plus he begins to see you as the wife he lost to his own selfishness.

James is delusional... maybe his wife really did die.

Maybe you're her reincarnation... and he was meant to meet you (as insane as that sounds....)

As James' obsession gets worse, Pyramid Head gets fiercer.

As the two are connected, both obsessions fester the same.

As James begins to fall more in love with you in his delusions... Pyramid Head grows more restless in pursuing you.

Things may get worse and worse until one of two things happen:

James overcomes his inner demons and sticks with you after...

Or you both succumb to Pyramid Head.

The overall idea of this concept is what makes things interesting.

For the most part it is your typical yandere rivalry.

But the fact it's technically James fighting with himself is what's cool.

Part of him wants to cater and pamper you... hoping to heal his inner pain this way.

The other part wants to harm others to keep what he wants... the part that's a monster.

James came to Silent Hill to find his wife... yet in the end he found you to fill that empty void...

Unfortunately this means you're caught in the crossfire of a war between him and the monster he could be if left unchecked.

[rubberduckearrings]

i never post anything serious on here but the results of the election have genuinely thrown me for a loop!

as someone living in the uk i cant even begin to imagine how scary this is for all the women, lgbtq, poc, disabled, and so many other people that trump's policies target. if you are living in the usa or are just scared, please talk to someone because you are not alone.

HOWEVER!!

if you are reading this and you did vote for trump or support his policies, here is the type of person you've elected to be your president:

said he wanted to "restore germany to its former glory"

said he would be dating ivanka trump if she wasnt his daughter

was walking behind a TEN YEAR OLD GIRL on an escalator and said "i'm gonna be dating her in ten years"

had sex with a porn star and paid her $130 million in hush money while his wife was pregnant

has been found guilty of falsifying business records, conspiracy to defraud the usa, and conspiracy AGAINST the rights of citizens

been accused of sexual misconduct in at least 26 cases, including minors, and has been found liable in court for sexual abuse

is the only president to have been impeached twice (abuse of power and obstruction of Congress in 2019, incitement of insurrection in 2021)

reversed majority of obama's action taken to fight climate change

after george floyd's murder, he ordered the police to clear a crowd of blm protestors with tear gas and stun grenades so he could take a photo in lafayette square

held an INDOOR rally just months after the country shut down due to covid

if that doesn't say enough about him as a person, please take a good look at the project 2025 manifesto, or if you can't be bothered to do that then have a look at some articles like this one:

i mentioned earlier that i live in the uk and at first i thought about how i probably have no reason to be worried. his policies dont affect me. but then i thought a little more about the domino effect this could have. trump's reelection sets a precedent for other countries to follow suit, and this will only get stronger once he starts making the changes he's promised. im scared for my own future, i cant even imagine how the minorities living in america feel right now.

if you wanna help, share the articles, donate to the charities, sign the petitions, attend the protests, just be loud!!! be as persistent as possible about it and people will be forced to listen.

i would also like to add that if you support donald trump please get the fuck off my page i dont want you here. okay bye :3

[komorim]

something more

-> naoya x f!reader (kamo!reader)

[ synopsis. ] naoya had a reputation for being misogynistic, and he certainly didn’t believe that he would ever fall in love with the disgusting creatures called women. the only one worthy of his attention was the strongest female sorcerer, a woman who was nearing in skill to gojo satoru himself. yet the attention doesn’t mean he would treat you any better. but he wished he did.

[ content warnings. ] manga spoilers. misogyny. kidnapping. heavy angst. character death. mentions of child abuse. mentions of suicide. mentions of murder. mentions of attempted murder. mentions of torture. mentions of inhumane experiments. mentions of disability. allusions to sex. miscarriage. description of gore. reader is underweight. reader is older than naoya. belated love epiphany. more pain, possibly more than the suna one :)

[ word count. ] 3.7k

[ author’s note. ] wow. this story went from the original 10+ chapter fanfic to a 3 chapter fanfic to a one shot. after so many trial and errors, i finally decided to make this a one shot, even if that means i’ll have to cut some major plot points. the reason being that this story was developed a bit over a year ago, and i’m honestly starting to lose interest in finishing this as a series. well, here it is!

[ previously named: a cracked shell ]

“i’m home,” naoya says as he slides open the door to your shared room. yet he doesn’t find you in there. he’s confused to say the least. even though you had a small fit with him the other day, it wasn’t nothing serious. you would always pretend as if nothing had happened. you were just like that. you didn’t like conflict, so in order to avoid it, you became somewhat of a pushover when it comes to most things.

your boundaries are set very low, and they continue to lower with every violation of them. it was one of the reasons you and naoya could coexist. he wished for an obedient little wife, and although you weren’t obedient per se, your character in its nature was close enough.

you never acted out of line as you were clear of the troublesome headache it would bring you. and naoya was okay with that.

it would be an understatement to say that his expectations for his wife also lowered. the original idea in his mind was that he would marry a docile, mindless woman who would do everything he asked of her without question. and you don’t fit that description. but he’s okay with you.

you, who is a sorcerer strong enough to rival geto and gojo.

it wasn’t a secret that naoya had always admired the strong. and even if it’s a woman, he’ll show some degree of respect to them as long as they’re stronger or on par with himself.

which is why he’s so lenient with you.

he remembers how miserable you looked when he first met you at the kamo estate when he was eight and you were nine.

the only reason he appeared at the kamo estate was that he heard of a secret kamo child that had been recently escorted back to the estate. though he wasn’t the type to come for solely this minor, insignificant purpose. no, he came since he heard the rumors of what you were.

not only had you inherited the kamo technique of blood manipulation, you also had an immense amount of cursed energy within you. though what made you the most special of all was the essence of your cursed energy.

a cursed energy with scent.

and not only did your cursed energy have a scent to it, the scent was odd. it had the ability to put people in a drunken state upon breathing in the fragrance too much. it was truly odd. something like this had never been seen. it was probably why the kamos were so hell-bent on bringing you back to the estate to recognize you as one of their own.

nine year old you was very similar to how you are like now. quiet, appearing to be uninterested in almost everything, and eerie. almost twenty years later of knowing you, he could never pinpoint exactly what it was, but you always seemed off. it was an eerie aspect that made others uncomfortable in your presence. maybe it was a dominating attribute that came with being that strong.

yet what he didn’t understand was why you always looked so miserable. you were so strong that you could destroy a city and possibly more if you wished. but you were never happy. eight year old naoya thought that if he was that gifted, he’d never have a bad day in his life. maybe it’s because you were born a girl that you are unable to be happy. after all, the elders always spoke of how unlucky it is to be a girl.

that was the first time he met you. only being able to get a glance of your face in a open room. the next time he saw you was at the goodwill event. you appeared to be the same as before. you didn’t speak much, you still looked miserable and unbothered, and you still had that eerie feeling about you.

around this time, naoya had been raised by the zenins’ misogynistic ideals for so long that he has also adopted them himself. and even if he knew that your current abilities can rival even the two most powerful jujutsu sorcerers, you were just a woman. you were born with the right, immense power, but the wrong gender. you were bound to one day become someone’s wife one day, confined to the chains of marriage and the duties of a woman.

your talent and power will succumb to nothing. it’ll all be useless.

maybe that’s when he first started hating you. he envied you for having the power he could not. his eyes grew red at the thought that a woman had received the main inherited jujutsu technique of the kamo clan when he himself only inherited a sub technique of the zenin. he feels frustrated that you have all this power and he’ll never be able to see its full potential since you’re a woman that’s destined to be in a house and nowhere else.

maybe that’s why he was desperate to hunt you down during the goodwill event. he was desperate to prove himself better. he couldn’t stand being weak compared to someone who’s power will become useless one day anyways.

but he lost. zenin naoya had lost. it was humiliating really; the way you barely looked at him as you successfully constrained him, proceeding to leave without a care in the world.

he had felt a new kind of sensation that day. a strong urge to see what kind of faces you can make other than that miserable, unbothered expression.

so when he found out from his father later on that you’ve been engaged to him, he found it perfect. he’ll have the rest of eternity to make you say something, feel something more than hopelessness. you could tell that his preference for said feeling would be suffering, but it’s not like he ever succeeded, so you didn’t pay his unwell intentions much thought anyways.

it was at this point when he finally found out why you always looked miserable. after all, the least he could do as your fiancé was get to know you, albeit you didn’t want him to.

when he heard about your life so far, he laughed a bit. you’re so strong and yet you couldn’t prevent any of the tragic events in your life. the elders were right. a woman like you was destined to live out an unlucky life. but maybe yours was a bit too unfair, even by naoya’s opinion.

secret child born to loving parents, you had been raised without the kamos’ knowledge. at the age of nine, shortly before naoya first met you, an escort had appeared at the peaceful apartment you lived at and supposedly murdered your father. your mother fell into hysteria and blamed your existence for the death of her only love. she looked at you with hatred, with the intent to kill her only child. and when she regained some sense of logic, she would hold you closely and cry. he bets that this on and off behavior you endured also dried you up emotionally. and apparently your mother too, for she committed suicide in her room less than a year later.

before doing so, she didn’t forget to smash a rock onto your head. either trying to take you with her or trying to enact some revenge for the love of her life he doesn’t know. but what he does know is that the damage caused absolutely destroyed your right ear.

irreparable loss of hearing.

however unlikely, it was probably the hearing of your tragic childhood that made naoya show you a bit of kindness after the marriage. he showed some form of respect for you, the one who survived such a past and also you, the one stronger than himself.

you had also noticed this. how he wasn’t exactly like how the rumors depicted him. but you paid no mind, as he still treated you as lesser than. it was to be expected. and although the younger you would scowl at the disrespect shown by someone younger than you, the current you couldn’t care less.

you were only a wife to naoya for one reason. to escape being assigned as the next clan leader.

you could never take that position. not when you saw how the kamo clan had crushed your family. not when you saw how noritoshi hated you for receiving the attention of the elders. you knew about the boy. his mother being a mistress made his standing in the clan awkward. and you knew how much he needed to be the next clan leader in order to reunite with his mother.

so you allowed him to take the position of heir. you declined as your uncle, the clan leader, tried several times to make you the heir. you knew why he treated the two of you so differently. one was the only child of his only little sister, the last blood relation to her on this world, and the other was simply a mistress’s son, albeit his own.

but you couldn’t destroy a family the way he destroyed yours. you didn’t want to watch as noritoshi falls into despair like you. so even when your uncle pressured you with the choice or either marriage or heir, you confidently chose to be married off.

and what a choice it was.

from day one of being zenin y/n, you already disliked the atmosphere of the zenin household. but alas, it was the place where you would be living for probably the rest of your life.

and when the year passed by and you still had no sign of child, the zenin naobito had attempted to have you divorced.

least to say naoya was furious when he heard. why? because he finally had the second strongest sorcerer chained to his side. how was he supposed to just willingly give you up? but he and yourself both know what the cause for your lack of child was.

the fact that naoya refused to touch you.

it’s not like you minded. you had no emotions for your husband; you couldn’t care less if he had someone pleasuring him outside. in fact, you’d probably be better off if he did.

but that wasn’t the reason naoya didn’t want to lay a finger on you. suprisingly, he had more than just one single reason.

one of which was that he still didn’t want to be so intimate with such a lowly creature, a woman. but he needed an heir and he knew this well. actually, it would be best to have his heir be birthed by you. the possibility of your child inheriting some of your incredibly unnecessary cursed energy, or better yet, inheriting your unique scent would be splendid.

but the most important reason was that your body most likely couldn’t handle it. not to mention the mental toll that your past and even the duration you were a sorcerer had on you, you had a more concerning issue. you turned sickly after overexerting yourself during the time at jujutsu high. and although he shouldn’t care so much for a mere woman’s life, he knew that you were different, and he couldn’t afford to lose such a valuable asset like yourself.

he’s seen how pregnancy does a woman over, and as much as no one would believe it, he doesn’t want that to happen to you. either for his own selfish reasons, or for the reason he dreads, the reality was that he was contempt with not having an heir in the mean time.

so divorcing you? absolutely out of the question.

if his father used not having any emotional attachment as an excuse to tear you away from him, he would create that emotional attachment. fake or not, he won’t have anyone thinking of making him divorce you.

so he pushed himself. he pushed himself to treat you as a decent human being, and pushed himself to buy gifts for you when he’s out, going out of his comfort zone to try and pleasure you.

he allowed you and gojo to continue writing letters to each other. although he’s still sick to the stomach knowing his wife is conversing with another man, he knows that ever since you had been more in touch with your childhood friend, your mood became better.

and finally, on your second year of being married to naoya, he was finally able to see a genuine smile grace upon your lips.

it was the wish he had when him and you were still engaged and not yet married. the wish that you could display an expression different than that of your normal, unbothered one.

and it was beautiful.

he knew you were a looker since the day he first met you. and maybe that’s a subconscious reason why he always wished you could show some more emotion. but seeing your actual smile was so much different. it’s almost as if he’s been blind all his life and finally saw light.

and as much as he wants to deny it, maybe he did have a growing place in his heart for you.

so why are you now missing when things were just starting to get better? it wasn’t long after when he first shared a kiss with you and the two of you started acting more like a married couple, and now you’re nowhere to be seen?

naoya first reached out to gojo within two hours of you not being home, and when the white haired man responded with he didn’t know where you were either, naoya almost lost his mind.

she’ll be okay, he thinks to himself. but another voice in his head reminds him of how you’re not in a state to fight. weirdly your physical state has deteriorated the past few days, and you turned into a even more sickly condition.

it isn’t until the next day when he confirms with hayashi, your personal servant, that you haven’t returned during the night does he really lose it.

weird too. hayashi was saved by you as a child, and follows you around ever since to repay you. he’d never leave your side, so why is he still in the estate and you’re not?

hayashi responds to the question with how you were invited out by a letter, and he wasn’t able to see the sender.

it was a dead end.

quite a few months pass by before naoya finally hears about you. by this time, naoya has thinned down quite a bit and also looked abnormally pale. probably from the lack of sleep or the lost of appetite. or both.

and what he heard from gojo made sick to the stomach, so much that he wished to throw up even though his stomach was empty.

you were found.

the bad news? you were found bloodied and very much dead. you were found rotting.

and although gojo was wearing sunglasses that covered his eyes, anyone could tell the way this affected him through the crack in his voice as he struggles to continue on. after all, he already lost a best friend, and now he had just lost his childhood friend; he lost the one that he swore to protect since your parents failed to do so.

not much information was exchanged after the initial news was delivered, for it pained gojo too much to describe the horrendous scene in which you were found in. but he did take naoya to the scene shortly after he delivered one last piece of news that was sure to shatter naoya.

you were pregnant.

naoya wasn’t all that surprised. in the last few months in which you were missing, he thought of you a lot. how you looked paler, sicklier than usual. how you were more sensitive than usual.

and because of his guess, he had treated you much better than before. he knew how you used to get suspended from jujutsu high for being overly cruel when some curse user would overstep your boundaries. and although your sharp edges dulled over the years, he was still afraid you’d have even a sliver of thought to abort it. and he couldn’t let that happen.

but you probably didn’t know yourself.

“we’re here,” gojo announces.

he bids naoya well before waiting outside the warehouse. he already saw it once, and he couldn’t bear to see it again.

naoya braces himself before slowly walking inside. the interior of the warehouse seemed very normal. it looked like a warehouse for scientific research. there were lab tables, and giant fluid cases. the only thing out of the ordinary he noticed was how dirty everything was. there were many blood stains, but he convinced himself that it was too rusty and old to be yours.

as he walks further, that was when he saw it. the small hidden door in the far back. the door was unnecessarily heavy, seeming to made out of hard iron.

even if it was his first time being here, even if he can’t see what’s beyond the door, he knows what’s about to appear before his eyes.

and he dreads it.

but he still pushes open the door that has already been forced open once. it was easy, seeing how the lock had been destroyed completely. but what wasn’t easy was the capacity to handle everything that he saw.

cruel tools that his imagination can help show him what their uses were. red colored stains on the floor and counters. pieces of meat each around the size of a finger littered around the damp and suffocating room.

syringes. tubes of medicine. medical equipment. chains and shackles. bandages, both used and new. disposed pieces of surgeon uniforms, all covered in blood and a weirdly colored substance.

it didn’t take a psychic to know what had happened here. it didn’t take an actor to imagine the performance that undergone here.

the performance of torture. the act of experimenting on a living human being.

naoya’s trembling although he doesn’t notice it. he comprehends the emotions inside him bubbling as anger that someone had dared to lay their hands on what was his. but the truth was that this unfamiliar feeling he had was despair. something his pitiful wife was familiar with, but something he had only now acquainted.

despair over the fact that all this equipment was used on you and despair over the fact that when you were in pain and suffering, he couldn’t do anything about it.

he slowly walks over to the small bed in the corner of the room. he noticed the blood stains on the sheets and the shackles on the headboard and footboard. most of all, he noticed he noticed the small shard piece covered in blood. he knew why it was covered in blood although no one told him.

it was probably what you had used to end your life.

he stares at it with a blank face, and he eventually reached out to grab it, grief and frustration causing him to clench the shard so hard he sees red. but it doesn’t hurt.

it’s nothing compared to the atrocities you endured.

you were missing for months. he had been informed that your death report showed that you had only died a few days ago. to imagine that you had to suffer from these cruelties for months; the only thing in his mind was how strong you were.

he turns around to walk back out. to see you again. he deemed that it was worthless to stay here any longer.

as he was leaving the room that housed your pain, he saw it. the thick notebook filled with notes and scribbles of the things done to you.

from cutting away pieces of you to examine your genetic makeup, to attempting to force the day of labor so they could research his child; every word written was horrendous.

the contents journaling the day it was discovered that you were pregnant were drastically different than before.

at first it was just terrifying experiments performed on you to determine why you had an intoxicating scent to your cursed energy, but then when they couldn’t find anything out, they wanted to try to copy the trait completely. through what? the child you were harboring.

as naoya flipped through more and more pages, he saw how they took their research further and further. and as things failed again and again, their methods only became more inhumane.

when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he threw the notebook behind him harshly, hearing a violent thump shortly after. he met up with gojo outside the warehouse and notices how his eyes were somewhat red.

when he brought naoya to your body, that was when both men couldn’t take it anymore.

your originally sickly features looked even worse. you had grown paler and you looked like you had starved for every day you were missing. all that was left of you was skin and bones. there were bruises on your skin, littering almost everywhere the eye can see. the ones on your wrists and ankles naoya knew were from the shackles confining you, and the others on your body seemed to be wounds still unable to fully heal.

you, who hated becoming dirty, lay there with dried blood and dirt on your body. your skin had turned gray and you felt colder than ice. yet naoya still held your hand, trying to warm it up like he had done so before.

but he knew it was fruitless. you couldn’t possess body warmth anymore, and you had no need for it either.

but as he holds your hand with both of his own, what he doesn’t know—what haunts his mind—is the question of did you wish for him to come to your rescue when you had passed day by day and week by week in that tiny little room.

were you disappointed as days passed and he still hadn’t come?

or did you think he wouldn’t come? did you doubt his love for you and think he wouldn’t care if you were there by his side or not? did you think you were replaceable?

but the fact is that you weren’t. albeit how badly he showed it, he knew he couldn’t lose you.

he smiles bitterly as he pressed his lips to your cold forehead and thinks. maybe the possessiveness he held for you had a different meaning. he realizes that even if he denied to everyone that he didn’t love you, maybe he did.

but it’s too late now. he only knew now. he’s only now understood what it was that he felt when you left. you probably also never knew.

after all, you left without giving him a chance to tell you.

do not copy or repost my works. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated.

[citrinae]

cursed are the ones who ate the fruit.

robin x reader

summary; you always had a thing for passivity. watching events come and go, not getting involved. yet this is soon to change when you slip away from a halloween party to spend some time with the woman rumoured to have bargained with the devil. 

contents; murder, ambiguous morality, college!AU, afab!reader, wc: 1.3. i support women’s rights but most importantly i support women’s wrongs. part of my spooktober nonsense. 

masterlist

“Don't trust Nico Robin,” was the first thing ever told to you as a first-year student. “Whatever you do, stay away from that witch. Nothing good ever comes from associating yourself with her.” Someone said she killed a man, wet and pathetic in his own bed. Someone else insisted she was the reason why the dean's wife ended it with him, going on about how the poor fucking guy was made to sleep in his office for a week until he’d be allowed to return to an empty apartment. 

But one rumour they all seem to agree with is that she sold her soul to the Devil. “Demon woman,” as they described her to you back then. You saw it as a really unfortunate exaggeration; they insisted it was not.

Everyday you see her—dark hair, fitted dresses, leather jackets—sitting all by herself on the marble stairs of the faculty, a portrait of modern tragedy. Most of the time it’s with a book in her hands, and not once have you felt the defiant urge to join her and strike up a conversation about whatever the title unlocks in either of you. After all, you’re pretty sure she noticed you, too, welcoming your presence with a smile each time your eyes happen to stumble upon each other. Always so small, always so sweet, the type of natural innocence making you want to pick it up and brush it like some kind of expensive china. Pushing coins into the rusty vending machine by the dining hall, you sometimes catch yourself scripting interactions in your head. “Is it true?” you’d ask her at some point, leaves creaking under your boot. “That you dealt your soul away?”

The answer never comes, for you cannot quite figure what her voice would sound like. You haven’t heard her talking to anyone before. 

Would she talk to you, were you to get closer?

Despite the number of questions clutching your stomach at the sight of this woman, so lonely and beautiful in the comfortable distance, yet so vile from up close they needed to invoke the Bible to describe the experience, you prefer to believe that you were made for the simpler things in life. So you’ve tried your best to live your college days without thinking much of Nico Robin. Attend courses and sip on cheap booze and make friends like anyone your age would be expected to do. 

It’s this thought that pushed you to this place to begin with, keeping yourself busy by focusing on the multicoloured lights and the threads of fake spider web hanging about some colleague’s rented apartment. Kitsch costumes and plastic glasses, board games and smudged eyeliner, air dense with sweat and perfume. The music is loud, and people have to raise their voices to make themselves clear for important stuff like cigarette breaks or needing to hold a fellow’s hair in the bathroom. Someone compliments your costume; by default you find something nice to say about theirs as well. By the corner of your eye you watch a couple sucking each other’s face off, flushed and lazy on a beer-stained sofa. 

A familiar voice suggests that you gather for some rounds of Spin the Bottle, and a tepid gush of bodies shoots into a circle as soon as it does. This time, you decide to simply watch the game take its course; lifting yourself onto a table, back flat against the window, intervening with a joke whenever you catch an opportunity to. For a moment you think everything should be like this: light and approachable, a recorded show you can skip and rewind to your heart’s content. 

The bottle spins, and spins, and spins. Then it stops. Laughter turns into a muffled series of sounds as you absent-mindedly watch the leaves bend and billow outside the window. 

And that’s when you see her. 

Strands of hair flutter behind the trees. There’s a canvas bag in her hands, and a leather jacket thrown over her shoulders. She looks to be in a hurry. 

Your heart squeezed inside your ribcage, you hurl yourself towards your boots and coat, breathing out an excuse as you leave the crowds. Stairs echo under your feet, your mind blank with nothing but the pressing realisation that tonight might be your only chance to get your answers. Faster you run, over puddles and through brittle trees, cold seeping into your clothes and numbing your fists. You need to see her. No, you need to hear her, maybe even understand her. Behind you the polluted glow of the town fades as you dive deeper into the woods. Something moves into a bush nearby, but adrenaline pulses into your ears a bit too loud for you to care. 

When you stop, your feet feel like they’re about to collapse. You bring your hand to your spleen. Gingerly your eyes climb up the height of Robin’s boots, dark leather stretched to the knees, and when they reach her face, you’re met with a smile different from the one you were used to seeing between classes. There’s something sly to it now, something wicked. Shame clutches your stomach as you remember the stories your colleagues told by the dumpster. “Woman’s fucking bad news.”

“You’re a bold one,” Robin’s voice snatches you out of your head. It’s soft, divine, and your heart stops for a good second as she slightly tilts her head to the side. “Coming all the way here to catch me doing something bad.”

She doesn’t sound mad; if anything there’s a tinge of amusement for you to pick out from her voice. Like she expected you to meet you here, under these circumstances. You cannot seem to take your eyes from the blood under her fingernails, still not fully dried out. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you hear yourself saying. 

Robin’s laugh is melodic, like a bell chime. It makes you feel sick. “Would you tell on me?”

You shake your head.

“Even if you did,” Robin says. “I wouldn’t lay a finger on you.”

Something melts within you as the words leave her. With the courage built by Robin’s perplexing hospitality, you point towards the bag hoisted around her shoulder. “What’s in there?”

“History,” is all she says. 

“Of what?”

“Of this town, our college. Things they don’t want you to know.”

Taking into account the gravity of the situation, you find it hard to comprehend the ease with which she’s telling you all this. Inner cheek pressed between your teeth, a new question takes form in your head: are you really a threat to her? Looking into Robin’s eyes, primed and intelligent, you’re inclined to say no.

Wind blows wrathfully through tree crowns, through Robin’s hair. There’s a numbing chill biting into your bones and for a second you’re sure you’ve seen a pair of horns sprouting from her head. 

Further suspicion lingers on the roof of your mouth. “The dean is dead.”

A second later, “I had no choice.”

“But there’s no evidence that you did.”

“There is not,” she smiles, all warmth. 

“So why are you telling me this?” you ask her, and you can hear her heels press into the ground as she moves forward. 

Robin carefully measures the uncertainty in your eyes, sweeps a cold finger below your chin to align your stares. “Didn’t you want to know me better?”

Heat cuts through your lungs; you say nothing. 

“Besides,” she continues. Freesia and violets in your nostrils; a hint of sulphur you choose to ignore. “Recently I’ve taken quite an interest in you as well.”

And even now, with all the cards laid on the table, Nico Robin continues to stay a mystery to you. Even though you’re certain there’s something evil lurking behind her shoulders, leaning into the undeniable warmth of her words, stars dashing off her eyes with the promise of building something new, something better, you cannot help but wish to keep on unravelling her like a most fascinating riddle. 

[huramuna]

beware the sapphire peak - chapter 3, end.

aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.

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wordcount: 3.7k

you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different.a crimson peak inspired mini series.

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!i don't do taglists right now, so sorry!

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is (it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory, mentions of infertility, murder, depictions of murder/violence, pregnancy

moonlight sonata - beethoven • nocturne in e-flat major, op. 9, no. 2 - chopin

warnings: p in v, face sitting, come eating i guess!, breeding kink

So sweet– she had tasted so sweet to you, like the most saccharine, tooth rotting, sugary treat you’d ever had. A taste that you could get lost in for eons, grasping at the surface that threatened to pull you under, deeper, deeper… until darkness consumed you– and you could only taste her. 

Alys murmured something to you as your mind went fuzzy with panic. What would Aemond think? What would happen now? Would he divorce you? Would he fire Alys? 

Your hands shook slightly, a tingling and eventual numbing feeling coming to your lips, spreading throughout your extremities. Everything was in slow motion, the vision of Alys blurred through tears. “A-Alys,” you croaked. “I-I don’t know what just happened— I-I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, don’t cry, my sweet puppy,” she cooed, upon you again, her scent all consuming and overwhelming and you wanted to kiss her again. “It’s natural.”

“N-Natural?” you whimpered, eyes still misty.

“Yes,” Alys breathed, petting your head. “You know, male lions usually have a few lionesses in their pride— and the lionesses are known to take great affections with each other, too. ‘Tis only natural, to seek the comforts of ones who comfort you.” 

You sniffed, not really understanding what she was saying. The numbness was spreading, your head spinning and feeling like a hive of bees had taken host in your cranium. “I-I don’t… I don’t feel well…” you managed to whisper, clinging to the older woman as you lost feeling in your limbs, an acute pins-and-needles type pain steepling into your flesh, tapering off into icy splinters. 

Now, you saw nothing but darkness, only hearing the hushed whispers of someone faraway. 

You were dreaming now, you were sure— as you walked through the halls, feeling light as a feather. Your hand dragged along the stair bannister, nails tapping to a rhythmic tune that you could hardly recollect. It felt as if you were outside of your body in a slightly pastel toned version of the real world, a skewed view of what was actually real. The shade of carpet was off hue, a lighter, rosy red than it actually was, the accompanying curtains a complimentary shade of pink, when in reality, they were deep crimson. 

Your steps felt effortless, a spring in your step like a young fawn who’d figured out how to use its legs, jaunting through the corridors with ease. You enjoyed your lovely pastel dream world, until you turned and saw the very end of the foyer. 

It was dark, the light sucked out of it like it’d been erased, consumed— a familiar sight of inky black tendrils beckoned from the end of the hall, your feet moving on their own accord now. Your brain, feeling very much like prey, screamed at you. Threat, threat— run, run, run! But you couldn’t, you couldn’t turn, nor abscond. Getting closer, there was an eerie hum, like many voices converging together into a cacophony— you recognized it, fear settling into your bones. It was a dirge. 

Pleasepleaseplease, don’t make me, don’t make me. Save me, save me.

The siren song lured you closer, until you were swallowed by the darkness itself, falling, falling… 

“We are you, Lady Targaryen.” 

“You shan’t leave this place.” 

“You will be trapped and rotted like us.” 

“You’ve fallen for their ruse. A fatal mistake.” 

The fall felt neverending, the breath stolen from your lungs until they felt like shriveled raisins. Hands grabbed at your body greedily, pulling you under the surface as water replaced oxygen in your body– you gasped out, screaming, but no sound came, your arms wouldn’t move, as if they were stuck in molasses.

Other voices permeated your being, familiar ones. They brought a little comfort, but you could only discern bits and pieces of what they were whispering, chattering around you. 

“— used too much, Alys—,”

“— she is perfect—,” 

“— needs to wake up before—,”

Your consciousness, your real life felt so far away now, as your hands reached out to buffet the impact of your fall into the void… you could almost feel the sickly crunch of your ligaments being broken as you kissed the loam, into a darling embrace of nothingness.

You crashed to the ground, body strewn and broken like a porcelain doll– broken, shattered, thrown away. Trapped.

Sitting up from the bed, your bed, you were drenched in sweat. Oxygen ballooned in your lungs with a sharp, audible inhale as you looked around, eyes wide like a newborn fawn, once again. You zeroed in on Aemond, who was sitting in the corner of the room in the reading chair, one leg crossed over another, bobbing with anxiety. Alys was there, too, off to the opposite side of the chamber, fiddling with something on the desk. Her hair, usually well mannered and groomed, was slightly strewn in a loose bun.

The sound of your gasp caused them to be at your side in an instant, one on either side of the bed. Aemond’s hand was entwined with yours instantly.

“Thank God, she’s finally awake,” he murmured, shooting Alys a quick glance, brow furrowed.

“Oh, darling,” Alys cooed, “You took quite a spill in the bathroom– Lord Targaryen found you with a nasty head wound.”

Fell? When did you fall? With a shaky hand, your fingers skimmed the outline of cloth pressed to your forehead– you winced, a sharp intake of breath hissing through your teeth, it was tender to the touch. “When… how long have I been… unconscious for?”

“Five days.” Aemond responded, his leg still shaking as he pulled up the chair, sitting back down in it promptly. 

You felt bewildered by that– five days? Five days you’d been asleep– and your dreams felt like only a moment and an eternity. The distress must’ve clearly read on your face, as Aemond squeezed your hand. You glanced over to him, lines of worry etched into his brow and beyond. He had dark circles under his eyes, likely from lack of sleep. He was, overall, disheveled, a look you hadn’t quite seen on him. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly cloying and full of cotton. 

Alys nudged you, a spoon in her hand. She had soup– when did she leave? – offering it, intent on feeding you like a mere babe. Curling into yourself inwardly, you shook your head. “... m’ fine, I can… I can do it,” you offered, suddenly feeling extremely aware of the heavy mood of the room. They had fretted over you for days, for an accident you likely caused yourself. 

“Come, dear,” Alys urged. “‘Tis wild rice in a nice bone broth.” 

Your indignant streak ended quickly as your stomach audibly growled at the sound of the food. Mustering down your shame, you sipped at the soup, allowing Alys to spoon feed you. Aemond had a faraway look in his eye as he stared at the pair of you.

–

Your recovery was slow and meticulous– you had fractured your leg from your fall, as well as having some nasty bruises on your hip, the purple red hue blooming under your skin like ink from a tipped over inkwell. 

You were utterly dependent on Alys and Aemond as they nursed you back to health, hand feeding you, bathing you, carrying you down stairs– and you let them. You melded into their touch, becoming one with them and they handled you like extensions of themselves, gentle and loving, as not to hurt you any further.

Your head wasn’t completely clear, though– even a whole month and a half after your accident, you still felt like a teddy, stuffed full of wool and hardly sentient. Alys laid you down in the bathtub, the same one you’d knocked your head against apparently, the water warm. It washed over you in waves, heat sinking into your bones and quelling the urge you had to scream, to run– to do anything. The scent of lavender filled your nose as she poured floral oils into the water. 

Aemond was behind her, watching carefully. He was always there, no matter the situation, looming. He was adjusting his shirt cuffs idly, over and over in an anxious habit. He had quite a lot of those, you had noted. Now that you were almost always by his side, you watched him constantly, taking in those little habits. Jaw clenching, eye twitching, rubbing his fingers together, bouncing his leg. Not only those, but he constantly looked to Alys, as if they were communicating with their eyes alone. 

You wondered what they were saying, as they met gazes and then looked back to you in sync while you were in the bath, nude as the day you were born. You pulled your legs up to your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious as they both bore into you, regarding you unabashedly, orbs roving over your figure. Pressing your chin to your knees, you looked past them, the glint of their scrutiny in your peripheral now. There was someone behind them.

Bloody and crooked, dripping water and essence of life, her body bloated and putrid. Her hair was blonde, at one point, at least– it was now a murky gray, stained pinkish with only the notion of its former color peeking through. Her eyes were dark, never ending holes– it was like looking straight into the void itself. Her throat was slashed, leaking the same black ichor that was in your dreams while you were incapacitated. Heavy breathing, jagged and errant, like a broken key on a piano, drowned out the chatter between Aemond and Alys. Her hand, spindly and wretched, squeezed on the frame of the bathroom door as she perched upon it, unable to stand upon the weight of broken, splintered legs. 

“You. Won’t. Live.”

The person you were before your accident might have choked, sobbed– but you were good acquaintances now with the ghosts of the estate, and their never ending threats and prophecy. Your eyes glazed over, a peeved grunt coming from you. “Go away.” you muttered. You were sick of seeing their faces, hiding in plain sight, always leering at you from afar with their grotesque visages.

“What?” Alys asked, taking her hands out of the water and peering at you curiously.

“... may I bathe alone, please?” you sighed, wishing for one moment of peace and quiet and aloneness.

Alys looked back at Aemond and they shared that unspoken connection once again. He nodded slightly, minutely. He didn’t even say anything– he didn’t say much since your accident, leaning on Alys to be his voice. He clenched his jaw, as he does, and left the room. 

Alys planted a kiss on your brow– the sweetness of her perfume felt familiar– and she departed, closing the door. As she left, you reflected on the state of your life. You felt like less than a person, moreso a doll. You didn’t remember falling, and you remembered… kissing Alys. Hardly, it was like a memory fluttering away on a breeze now, but the feeling of it was still there. It flooded back in your mind as you had drank in the scent of her when she got close, your stomach turning into a horde of butterflies. Was that even real? Or was it a figment of your damaged brain, painting a pretty picture for you while you were in a state of stupefaction.

It had to have been an illusion. Surely. 

You supplanted your hand on the lip of the tub after soaking for at least three hours– the water was cold now, turning your slightly warmed stupor into ice. You had hardly walked on your own these past few weeks, and when attempting to, held up by Alys or Aemond. Pulling yourself up with the little strength you had, you stood up. Your legs shook, but eventually found their own as you tested your luck further. One foot on the floor, then the other, toes splayed and wiggling as they touched the cool floor. Something akin to elation came to your chest as you stomped, hiding a tiny giggle. How childish you felt now– but not as bad as you’ve felt during your recovery. You felt less than a child then, moreso a barely living organism, attached to the hip of Aly or Aemond, solely dependent on their care of you.

You grabbed the robe left on the privy lid, snugging it to your form– you considered keeping it untied, to rove around the estate free of inhibition, just because you could. But, you decided against it, tying it taut around your waist. You went to leave, hand hesitating as you went to touch the knob, remembering something… something like a shock touching your hand from before. Shock be damned, you turned the knob. No prick of electricity followed, and you were free. 

Leaving wet footprints on the wood floors, you saw the halls in a new light. ‘Twas no pretty pastel painting, but it was familiar and real. You hummed along, hand tracing the bannister like you had when you dreamt. The estate was very quiet, not even a sound emitting besides the little pitter-patter of your feet– where had Aemond and Alys gone? Surely, with the length they’d kept you, they hadn’t gone far? 

As you descended down one of the far halls you usually did not venture to, namely the Servant’s Quarters, where Alys resided, your ears pricked up to pick up a noise. Like the faraway call of an owl, deep and throaty, you could only hear, feel, the bass of it– it only got louder as you got closer to her room, the door ajar, cracked… 

Peering in, your heart momentarily stopped, breath caught in your windpipe. Alys and Aemond were upon her bed, the top three buttons of her shirt undone. You could see the swell of her breast, heaving as she mouthed Aemond’s bare neck, his tie undone slightly from its spot on his collar, but done tighter just below his Adam’s apple in… a makeshift collar, almost. The older woman pulled on it with one hand, her other down… down… to Aemond’s weeping cock. She massaged it, her hand glistening with his arousal. His face was that of pure bliss and servitude, falling apart in her hand, with her lips against his skin, whispering. 

A gasp fell from your lips and they peered up at you. Aemond’s face turned to that of horror– but Alys’ didn’t change. Her lips just perked into a further smile. “Come in, little one,” she hummed.

Against better judgment, or any judgment really, you opened the door further. Your still wet hair was stuck to your face slightly, peering up at them both through fettered lashes. You should be in hysterics, you should be crying, screaming, cursing, damning them both to hell for– for… this. But, you were doing none of that. You felt… placid, like calm water. 

Alys beckoned you closer. “See, Aemond?” she practically purred, nosing his cheek while offering her hand to you. “I told you, she was perfect.”

“My love,” Aemond croaked. “Are… you well?” 

That was the question of the year, wasn’t it? Were you well? You blinked slowly, mulling it over in your mind. “No. I’m not,” you responded, taking Alys’ hand in your own. “But, I am alright with that. We are all… unwell in our own ways.” 

“So insightful, my little puppy,” Alys pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your mind and soul were utterly enraptured by her. “She knows how to share, don’t you, sweet puppy?” she side-eyed Aemond. “The others didn’t know how to share, did they– so greedy, they were. Not like you,” she spoke of you so reverently, with a honeyed warmth in her voice you just wanted to melt into. 

Your heart was thumping at the sheer taboo of the situation, but you were excited– Alys tugged at your robe slightly, exposing your breasts to the cold air, your nipples pebbling into pert little peaks instantly. She let go of Aemond’s shaft, her hand wetted still with his excitement, offering you two fingers. She didn’t even have to say anything, you just opened your mouth as she rested those digits on your tongue, and you sucked on them eagerly. 

Aemond, all the while, was slightly aghast at it– and even more, aroused. His blood felt like it was on fire as his hand reached out to caress your nipple like he always had before, between his fore and middle finger. You whimpered around Alys’ fingers before she withdrew them, smearing your lips with your own saliva. 

“I’m so happy, my love,” Alys seemed to be addressing both you and Aemond, as she pulled you onto the bed between them, her fingers drawing little circles upon your bare thighs as your robe rode up. “We’ve waited so long for you– but it was worth the wait, wasn’t it?” her lips skimmed one side of your neck, while Aemond nosed at the other. 

You felt all encompassing, squeezed between the two of them– your brain was firing off on all cylinders, every cell of your body writhing in pleasure. “... w-waiting?” you managed to ask.

“Yes, puppy. We waited for you– all of the others were no good, defective– but you are perfect. You desire both of us, yes?” Alys asked, peering up at you.

You nodded without hesitation. 

“You know how much I desire children, but unable to have any of my own,” she murmured. “Will you have a family with us? Like a pride of lions, hm?”

You swallowed, eyes peeling away from Alys, drifting to the door, which was now open. The ghastly figures of seven women hung in the hallway, dead by many different manners. Eyes of the damned stared back at you.

“Y-yes, I want to have a family with you,” you agreed softly. You truly did want it– as you’d become so dependent on the both of them, you would do anything to please them. And you loved them both. You blinked– the figures at the door were gone now. 

Alys hummed in delight. “Oh, my sweet,” she nipped at your skin before pulling you to the side of the bed. “Aemond, I am surprised she isn’t taken with child yet– he is quite virile, isn’t he– like a stud stallion,” she giggled as Aemond came up behind you, continuing to kiss your neck. “I suppose you need to breed her more often, now that she’s agreed.”

You melted into your husband’s touch, you had missed it so sorely– he had been so quiet and solemn during your recovery, like he was mourning something. He laid back on the bed and pulled you atop him, his arousal already prodding at your folds. You ached for him, truly, sighing a little moan into his mouth as you kissed. His taste was so different from Alys’, his was heady and deep, lulling you into a sense of familiarity. Sliding you back, he slowly lowered you down onto his length, stretching you out. You mewled at the sensation, coupled with Alys palming your breasts and pinching your nipples, causing that delightful cocktail of pain and pleasure that you had chased so fervently months ago.

Cursing under your breath, you adjusted to his size, looking down at him as you rested with him to the hilt. His hand grasped your hip, eclipsing you and thumbing at your clit. You rocked back and forth on him, eyes closed for a moment in exhilaration. Once opening them, you didn’t feel Alys behind you, but now she was atop Aemond as well, her bottom half sat upon his face as he serviced her, too– ever dutiful. The sight was raunchy and erotic and made a tingle go through you as you continued your rocking motions, skin slapping upon skin as you chased your high. 

Alys leaned forward, in turn, pulling you to her. Your lips met again and she tasted just as lovely as you remember, so sweet and comforting, like honey coating your lips. The entirety of the situation was catching up to you as your peak hit you like a train, whimpering sweet nothings into Alys’ mouth, your hand squeezing on Aemond’s hip. 

Apparently your peak had started a crescendo, as Alys was next, spilling on Aemond’s tongue and rolling off of him, his face coated in the evidence of her orgasm. Something primal and feral came over you as you leaned down and connected lips with him again, tasting both him and her at the same time– you clenched on his cock that was nestled deep inside of you, and with a grunt, he spilled deep inside of you. 

‘Twas round one of four upon that night.

–

You quite enjoyed the estate, as big and spacious as it was, you suppose it could be considered lonely. You imagined it in its heyday, full of diplomats, royalty, lords and ladies and children alike– but it seemed to be a ghost of its former self. Much like you felt you were– mayhaps not a ghost. You felt more akin to a moth, emerging from your silken cocoon and spreading your wings.

Sitting upon the terrace, it was a full three years since you and Aemond had married. You watched the lawn as your twins toddled on the greenery with an abundance of toys– a boy and a girl that were just a bit over a year and a half old. 

Settling into the seat, you put a hand over your swollen belly– once again round with child. You and Alys were keen on running Aemond ragged until the estate was once again full of children, much to his chagrin– and pleasure. 

“Lemonade, puppy?” Alys hummed, nosing your ear as she offered you a cool glass. 

“Thank you, sweet,” you responded in kind, taking a sip. Your eyes followed Alys’ hand as she gently caressed your belly, pulling up a stool and sitting beside you, one ear to your stomach. She quite liked talking to the children, born or unborn– always chattering, reading stories and telling tall tales. 

Aemond scooped up the twins from the greenery, walking over to the two of you. “Say hello to mummas,” he cooed softly. 

The twins babbled little greetings to both Alys and you, who they both considered their mother. You feared for the conversation that would come in the future where you had to explain that every family was different, and not everyone had two mummas. 

But for now, you’d enjoy blissful ignorance upon the secluded estate. 

Tipping your head back, you surveyed the tall walls of the building. 

Seven windows lined the eastern inner palisade– and with those seven windows, were seven figures, staring back at you. 

[kitkatscabinet]

Stemming from your expansion on older sister!reader to aegon. The end where they're all happy, i feel like gives room for yandere Targaryen household. Like now it's no longer just aegon who is keen on keeping her at home but they all are now, no one wants her gone. Also just imagine someone from the North like a jon snow type person comes and reader starts to feel a little something something for him and maybe they even end up falling asleep one night somewhere together and aegon looses his absolute shit and the rest of the house worries about you leaving to the north of all places, que you being on lockdown while they either send the man away or kill him.

Things don’t fully spiral until Daemon returns to court then it’s all over. There is no taming the beast that he brings out in everyone.

The members of the targ clan have learned to happily share with each other even if certain people demand more time than others. Aegon only truly has an interest in you and has reluctantly grown fond of his nephews.

Daemon and Alicent have to learn to share Rhaenyra even as Aemond plots the murder of the man infringing on his two mums.

Helaena and Lucerys are the most chill by far and they don’t particularly care who the rest of their family spend time with unless someone is upset. Though Helaena defs puts spiders in the beds of ladies that look at her newly betrothed for too long.

Daemon, Aegon and Alicent are the worst by a fucking landslide.

Daemon just wants chaos, Rhaenyra and a relationship with his family. Even if that little fucker with the big dragon won’t stop trying to kill him. For that Aemond is actually one of his favourites to mess with but lord forbid anybody else teases his little nephew. Heads will roll.

Alicent is like the wolf in sheep’s clothing. She’s freakishly possessive with EVERYONE, and with Daemon whispering in her ear like a demon she’s the most dangerous too. Anybody that dares to say anything hurtful about her new wife/wife’s new husband/kids/nephews/nieces ends up with a ruined reputation and a painful death.

Once Aegon gets married to you he becomes infinitely worse. He won’t even let you pee alone, he’s like a cat that will stick its paws under the door and scream if you forget him. But while he’s loudly possessive and very obvious in his anger he’s not very good at manipulating anyone other than you.

So when some honourable stuff lord from the north does arrive and captures your attention with chivalry and pretty stories he almost murders him in plain sight. Daemon and Alicent have to reign him in, and suddenly the entirety of the Targaryen family refuse to let you from their sight. They spread nasty rumours, threaten family members, poison, steal you name it. The more politically savvy members will slyly dispose of the threat to you and Aegons happiness.

[ajthemenace]

Terms & Conditions Apply - Chapter One

Summary: A "Fifty Shades of Grey" type of take on Oberyn Martell. After he buys tech firm Logistica for its assets, the wealthy, powerful and brilliant Oscar Martin takes interest in Cara Kavanaugh, the programmer whose code he wants to use. Although she feels physical attraction to to Oscar, his reputation for being a playboy, a womanizer, and a bit of a snake prevent her from forming any attachment to her new boss. Despite his flirtations, she resists him for months until one night the tension and chemistry between them boils over and the two find themselves unable to keep their hands off each other. Trying not to fall for him, Cara discovers Oscar has more dark things looming in his past, including a dangerous rivalry with fellow tech magnate, Tyson LaGrieve; a wife that died under strange circumstances, and other secrets Cara can't imagine.

Notes: This reimagines Oberyn in a realworld setting, as a powerful tech mogul. When I started writing this, I wanted to explore the dom/sub and BDSM aspects of 50 shades but I chickened out, so it's really just a spicy romance with very light dom/sub under tones. The FMC is autistic coded.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFMC

Warnings: Extreme dipictions of violence, sex and sexual activities, alcohol use, and discussions of violence, sexual violence, murder, etc. Please read responsibly.

Chapter One: The Prince and The Programmer

Oscar Martin .  The world knew the name.  He was synonymous with innovation and technology, but he was just as synonymous with words like affair and scandal. And he was standing less than 20 feet from me.   I watched as he moved through the office.  His company, MarTech, had just purchased the company I worked for, Logistica. The news had broken a few days before, but now it was official. Logistica was a small analytics and algorithm development firm that had some piece of tech or information he wanted.  That was how he did business; he wanted something, he bought it.  The tech and financial papers called him the Prince of Tech , due to his youth and good looks, but he had a reputation for being a viper in the boardroom… and in the bedroom, if the tabloids were to be believed.

He was handsome; tall and slender, about 38 or so, with dark hair, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache.  He moved through the office gracefully, looking around at everything with curious brown eyes.  Those eyes swept over my team in our cubicles, barely registering us as people.  To the likes of him, I suppose we weren’t.  We were peasants.  Cogs in the machine. Not worth bothering with.

But then he paused, and his gaze settled on me. 

I looked away, embarrassed.  But when I looked back, he was smiling at me.  It was a small smile of amusement, but it was definitely there.  He gave me a small wink, so tiny and fast I wasn’t sure if I saw it at all.

Then he turned and followed the group into the conference room. My face felt hot, and I realized I was probably blushing.

“Cara, are you okay?” Lisa Sonnet, my cubemate and colleague asked as she returned from the bathroom.

“Yeah, just feeling a little warm all of the sudden.” I said softly.  Lisa glanced through the glass wall into the conference room at Oscar Martin.

“I can see why, that man is… Oof .”  She said, sitting back down next to me.  “Too bad he only dates super duper models.”

“Super duper models?”

“Like, only the most famous models,”  she said.  “Your Stephanie Allisons and your Nadias and your Tula Faracosis.”  She went on, sitting down.  “The best of the best, with perfectly symmetrical little faces, and tiny perky boobies.”  She continued, gesturing to her own pendulous breasts.  Lisa was in her late 50s and had four kids.  She frequently bemoaned that she used to have a much better body, but her kids had sucked it out of her.

I said nothing. I couldn’t imagine wanting to be involved with a man who was just as frequently on TMZ as he was on CNN.  It sounded exhausting.

“I heard he only dates women until they are 23 and then he dumps them.”  Another team member, Jackie Woller said.  She must have overhead us.  She rolled her chair to the edge of her cube and peeked around the corner at us.  “At the stroke of midnight on your 23rd birthday, he kicks you out of bed unceremoniously.”  she said in a mock ominous, slightly spooky voice.

“That’s Leonardo DiCaprio.”  I said, feeling myself smile a little bit.  I glanced back at the conference room.  Was it my imagination, or was Oscar Martin looking at me?  I ducked my head, counted to 10, and then looked up again.

He was definitely looking at me.  He was leaning back in the chair in the conference room, not paying attention to whomever was speaking.  One of the lawyers, I thought absently.  Our eyes met. He smiled again, and this time, he lifted his fingers in a slight wave.

“Hi,”  He mouthed.

I ducked down behind the wall of the cubicle.

“What’s wrong?”  Lisa said, hearing the ruckus.  Then she looked up. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Oscar Martin is looking over there,”  she said.  “He’s… kinda laughing to himself?”  She said slowly.

“He waved at me.”  I said.  “I’m mortified.”

“We should all stop staring and get back to work before he fires us.”  Jackie muttered.  “Though, he’ll probably do that anyway.  Gut the firm, get whatever tech we have that he wants, and then leave us all on the street.”

I turned back to my laptop; my code was still compiling, so there wasn’t much for me to do. I pretended to be working diligently for the next 45 minutes, and resisted the urge to look up.  However, when I eventually  heard the door to the conference room open, I couldn;’t help myself.

They filed out of the conference room, Oscar Martin shaking hands with lawyers and my boss following behind, looking rather pale. I looked away again, chewing nervously on my bottom lip.  I wondered if my boss had already been canned.  How long for the rest of us? 

“Hello,”  A quiet voice said.  I recognized it, the light hispanic accent wrapping around the word like silk. I looked up to see Oscar Martin leaning on the wall of my cubicle looking down at me. “Oscar Martin.”  He extended his hand.  After a beat, I shook it, but I still didn’t speak.  “And your name is…?” He prompted me.

“Cara Kavanaugh.”  I said quietly.

“Cara.”  He said.  He smiled, a strange look on his face.  Something between surprise and satisfaction..  “It’s nice to meet you, Cara.” He turned back to the others who were waiting for him. “One second.”  He said.  The lawyers nodded.  “I hope I see you around.”  Then he left.

“Did that just happen?” Lisa said, her eyes wide.

“I think it did.”  I said.

“Wow,” Jackie said from her cubicle.

“I caught a whiff of his cologne, ugh, he smells so good.”  Lisa moaned. “Why do you think he was looking at you ? You’re pretty, but you’re no Tula Faracosi.”

I waved her away dismissively, and looked up again as Oscar Martin headed towards the main entrance of the office.  He gave me another look over his shoulder as he went.

What on earth was going on?

After work, I headed to my apartment, idly wondering if I should brush up my resume.  I’d worked at Logistica for about 6 years, starting there right after college. I’d had several positions within the company before becoming the lead project programmer last year.  I didn’t relish the idea of a job search… and while there were no shortage of programming jobs in the world, I had liked working for Logistica.

I opened my laptop, but instead of pulling up my resume, I googled Oscar Martin instead.  His wikipedia page was the first result not from a tabloid.

I read the details about him.  He was 6’1”, Argentinian, spoke Spanish, English, Portuguese, and French, and he had been married once, when he was young.  His wife had died at age 22.  I didn’t possess the Google Sleuthing Skills some of my friends had, so I couldn’t find much else about her.  Cause of death was “unspecified cancer.”  That was tragic.  He had been 24 at the time.  I read about the success of his company, MarTech, and the various companies it had absorbed over the years.  I read about the famous women he was linked to, believed to have dated, rumored to have left broken-hearted.  Taylor Swift’s latest album allegedly had a song or two about him on it. Models, Singers, Actresses all, with beautiful faces and glamorous lives.

And he had smiled at me.  I didn’t think myself unattractive; I have a pretty face, with pale skin, bright blue eyes, and a nice smile.  My hair was actually freshly minted at the salon, and my caramel colored waves were top notch, but I wasn’t a model.  I wasn’t glamorous.  I was a programmer who wrote code. I went to bed at 10:30 after watching reruns of Friends . I had been wearing a men’s graphic t-shirt that said “Tell Your Dog I Said Hi” on it, for crying out loud.  

I made myself dinner - microwaved veggies, minute rice and costco rotisserie chicken, very glamorous- I thought as I sat down to eat, then I watched TV for a while.  Around 7pm, I called my best friend Keith.

“You’ll never guess who I met today.”

“The pope?”

“I don’t think you could be more wrong.”

“Donald Trump?”

“Closer,”  I laughed.  “Oscar Martin.”

“Wow,”  He said.  And then “Oh no,”

“Yeah, so if you know of any outfits looking for a programmer…”  I said.

“I’ll keep an ear out.  So it’s official?”

“He signed the paperwork for the company today.  I suppose it’ll be a few days before we get marching orders.”  I said.  Then I changed the subject.  “How’s Carolina?”

“Doing okay, postpartum has been rough on her.”  He admitted. 

“Can I do anything?”

“Maybe swing by and see her at the shop.  I think she’d like that.”

“I’ll come by after work one day this week.  But let’s let her think it's a surprise.”

“Deal.”  We talked for a bit longer, discussing his infant son and his work, before I finally said good night.

“Thanks for asking about Carolina.  I know you and her-”

“Hey, water under the bridge.”  I said quickly. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

I went to bed that night wondering if my badge would work on the front door of the building in the morning.

The next morning, I arrived at the office and my badge worked.  I was getting into the elevator when I heard someone call “Hold the door!”

I put my hand in front of the door to prevent it from closing, and a breathless Oscar Martin slipped in beside me.

“Good morning Cara.”

“Uh, Good morning.”  I returned, trying to disguise the fact that my breath had caught in my throat.  I studied him out of the corner of my eye.  He certainly dressed like a tech guy; jeans, sneakers, and a yellow, blue and green plaid button down.

“Have you worked for Logistica long?” he asked as the elevator crept up to the 25th floor. His accent was so smooth, giving his voice a musical quality.

“Six years,”  I said quietly.  I felt so awkward making small talk with him.  I felt like Ann Boelyn making cheerful conversation with the man holding the sword.

“That’s a long time in this industry.”  He commented.  “Do you like it here?”

“Yeah, I do, a lot.” I said honestly.  He nodded.  Mercifully, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened to my floor.  I stepped out.  He followed me to my desk. 

“I hope I see you later, Cara.”  He said, and he headed to the conference room, where it looked like a meeting had already started.

“Did you really just walk in with Oscar Martin?” Lisa asked as I put my things down.  I sat heavily in my chair. 

“Yes, why?”

“You rode in the elevator with him?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Ballsy.”

“I was already in the elevator.”  I shrugged.

“He’s looking over here again.” Jackie called in a low voice from her cube.

“This is ridiculous.”  I muttered. “You two are being ridiculous.”  I grabbed my laptop. “I’m going to go work in one of the empty offices.”

Shortly before lunch time, an email went out that there would be a catered lunch for staff, compliments of the new owners.  I rolled my eyes, but I wasn’t too proud to turn down a free meal, so at 12, I headed down to the breakroom.

It was a feast.  Kabobs of shrimp, Chicken, and tender steak, exotic salads, grilled vegetables, rice pilaf and more.  The junior programmers had loaded down their plates and were scurrying back to their cubes, but some of the upper management were schmoozing with Oscar as he stood in the breakroom, a plate in his hand, but not eating.

I helped myself to some food and while I was grabbing a plastic fork, Oscar excused himself from the ass kissers and came alongside me.

“How’s your day going?”  He asked, his accent wrapping around the words in an almost sultry way. It would seem there was no such thing as a free lunch.  I was going to have to pay for it by being polite to my executioner.

“Fine, thanks.  And thanks for lunch.”  I said, holding up my plate.  I started towards the door but he fell into step beside me.

“So you’re a programmer.”  He said.  It wasn’t a question, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Yeah,” I said.

“And you worked on the Omega project.”

“I wrote the code for it, yes.”

“I was very impressed with it.”  He said. “That’s actually why I wanted to buy Logistica.”

“My code?”

“Well, your code, and the program it powers.”  He said. “Would you ever consider coming to work directly for me?”

I blinked at him.

“What?”  He asked, perplexed.

“I do work for you, you own the company I work for.”

“Yes, but I have a need for a programmer outside of what I plan to do with Logistica.”

“What do you plan to do with Logistica?” I asked sharply.  Careful, Cara .  I chastised myself.  Fortunately, he looked amused.

“I haven’t decided yet, but I intend to use your code for a project I’m working on.”  I wanted to ask him if it was for his weapons division, but bit my tongue.

“I get the sense you don’t like me much.”  He went on, still following me toward the office where I had set myself up to work for the day.

“I just don’t know you.”  He was right, I didn’t like him, but hopefully this lie would help me keep my job.

“Well, my offer stands; your work speaks for itself, you’re clearly brilliant.”  He said. “Think about it.”

“Thank you.”  I said, unsure of what else to say.  He gave me a perfunctory nod, and then disappeared, presumably back to the conference room.  After lunch, I was pretty full, and the empty office was starting to feel a little too warm. I headed back to my cube so that I wouldn’t fall asleep. I didn’t have much to work on but I didn’t think this was a good time to be seen sleeping in an office somewhere, even if the new boss had just offered me a job.

“Get lonely?” Lisa asked when I sat back down.

“Hot.”  I muttered.

“The rumor mill is flying.”  Lisa said.  “Three people asked if you got let go.”

“Why?”

“You weren’t at your desk.”

“Jesus.”  I muttered, opening my laptop and trying to find something to do to look productive.  The conference room was empty.

“Cara?”  My boss, Kevin McCormick, came up to the edge of my cubicle.  “Can you come with me please?”

“Should I bring my purse?” I asked.

“Just come with me please.”  Kevin said.

I cast a look back at Lisa.  Her eyes were wide.

I followed Kevin to his office.  A man I didn’t recognize was there. At least it wasn’t Betty from Human Resources.

“Hello Ms. Kavanaugh,” the unfamiliar man said.  He was probably 50, with thinning dark hair, and broad shoulders.  He wore a suit.  “My name is Benton Reavis.  I am the inside counsel for MarTech, and Mr. Martin  would like to extend you a rather lucrative employment option.”  He slid a manilla folder across the table to me.  I opened it.

“The salary is listed on the first page.  The additional benefits are listed on the second.  We are proud to offer you full medical, dental, and vision, plus 12 weeks paid vacation,” He went on, but I wasn’t listening.

$450,000.

“There has to be a mistake.”  I said.

“No, there’s no mistake.”  Mr. Reavis said.  “Mr. Martin was very explicit about the offer, particularly the salary.”

“Uh…”  I stammered.  “I can’t- this is…”

“Mr. Martin has reviewed your entire portfolio and employment history at Logistica, and he’s quite impressed with you.  He feels you’ve been under compensated for your work, and he would like to offer you the position of head of development at MarTech.”

“Can I… think about it?”

Mr. Reavis looked surprised.  I suppose it must have been surprising that anyone would need to think about that salary offer.

“Of course, but please be aware that we are actively recruiting so-”

“You’ll have my answer by tomorrow morning.” I replied quickly.

“Very well. My number is inside if you have any questions.”  Mr. Reavis said.  “I don’t think I need to tell you that this is a very lucrative offer.”

“I’m aware.”  I said. “I just don’t think I’m qualified for it.”

“Mr. Martin does.”  Mr. Reavis said with a shrug.  “He’s very rarely wrong about these things.”  I pressed my lips together, and thanked him for his time.

I tucked the folder under my arm and headed back to my desk again.

“Should I get you a box?”  Jackie asked.

“No. I still work here.”

“What’s that?”  she pointed to a folder under my arm.

“Something about the code I worked on for the omega project.”  I said, tucking it into my bag.

“Uh-huh.”  Lisa muttered. “Keep your secrets.”

Towards the end of the day, I headed towards the elevators.  Oscar Martin was waiting for an elevator himself.

“Going down?”  He asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“To the lobby.”  I said, narrowing my eyes.

Now he laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You don’t hide your thoughts very well, and it’s becoming really clear you don’t like me.  Am I going to get a disappointing phone call from Mr. Reavis in the morning?”

“If you mean, am I going to decline your job offer, I haven’t decided yet.”

“I see.  Can I ask what it is about me you don't like?”

“I told you, I don’t know you.  I just know your reputation.” I said. 

“I see.”  He frowned a bit.  “Well, I hope you’ll allow me to show you the real me.”

The elevator opened then, and he gestured for me to go ahead. I did, but he didn’t follow.

“Weren’t you waiting for the elevator?” I asked.

“I’ll get the next one,”  he replied, and I could tell I’d hurt his feelings. That was surprising.  The elevator doors closed before I could say anything else. I sighed.

Once in the lobby, I headed home on foot.  The weather was nice, and it was only 10 blocks.  At home, I studied the job description.  It sounded like a dream, and if the offer was coming from anyone else, literally anyone else, I would have taken it. But my mother had a saying about not getting into bed with serpents.

I sighed.  I had student loans and my rent was going up at the end of the month.  I needed a new bike and I liked to eat out with my friends on occasion.  This job would open doors for me, too.  Oscar Martin knew EVERYONE in tech.  And the salary , I thought again.  It was almost half a million dollars.  Even after taxes,  I would be set.  I could move to a nicer apartment.  And what if I refused?  Then I’d have no job in a few weeks when he eventually gutted Logistica.  Or worse, he might feel slighted.  A man as powerful as he was could easily make sure I never worked in tech again.

I bit my lip, and then I dialed the number on the business card stapled inside the folder.

“Mr Reavis?  It’s Cara Kavanaugh.”  I bit my lip. “I’d like to negotiate a couple of stipulations on your employment offer.”  If he was going to try to buy me, I was going to make him pay through the nose.

“You don’t feel it’s a generous offer?”

“I do, but I’m very happy where I am, and in order for me to leave, I’d like to ask for two additional concessions on Mr. Martin’s part.”

“And what are those?”

“First, I would like assurances that my team at Logistica be kept on and offered positions in the development group should MarTech decide to do layoffs or liquidation at Logistica.  They are good workers and I would like them to be involved in any project I work on.”

“How many team members?”

“Six.”

“And your second concession?

“A hybrid work model.  I would like to work from home two days a week.”  I said.

“I’ll discuss this with Mr. Martin and have an answer for you shortly.”

My phone rang less than 20 minutes later.

“Mr. Martin has agreed to your terms.”  Mr. Reavis sounded surprised.  “Congratulations, Ms.Kavanaugh, and welcome aboard.  You’ll need to report to MarTech HQ tomorrow morning to make it official and so we can provide you with an updated offer letter to match your requests.  The address is-”

“I know where it is.”

“Please be there by 9am.”

“Thank you.”

I sat down on the couch in disbelief.  I was going to be the head of development for one of the biggest tech firms in the world, at 5 times my current salary. Maybe now my dad would finally be proud of me.  

I looked at the framed photo of Keith and I on my side table.  We had been dating at the time it was taken.  I didn’t have feelings for him anymore, not like that, but I had a pang of loneliness and sorrow when I looked at it.  We had been a great couple, but he had said “It’s like a best friend thing, not a love of my life thing.”  when he broke up with me.  He wasn’t wrong, but I hadn’t felt that it was a bad thing, that we were friends.  So what if it wasn’t this big passionate thing?  It worked.  We had been happy, or so I’d thought. And then he’d met Carolina, and that had been that.

I leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. I hoped I wasn’t going to regret this. It wasn’t like me to make snap decisions, but if nothing else, I would be able to pay off my student loans in a few months, so even if it all went south, that was a silver lining.

There was something eating away at the back of my mind, though.  I was good at my job, but I wasn’t that good.  Unless he saw some potential in the Omega Project that I didn’t.  It worried me.  But this wasn’t a contract, I wasn’t locked in for any length of time, so I could leave if it didn’t work out, I rationalized.

I normally wore jeans and a t-shirt to work, but I thought I might need to look a little more put together for this… I settled on a pair of dark green trousers and a white top, and set them aside for the morning.  I set three alarms on my phone, then I had another unglamorous meal before I called my parents to tell them the news.  They put me on speaker phone so they could talk to me together.

“You have to get everything in writing.”  My dad said when I finished.

“I know Dad.”

“Let me know if you want me to have Murray look it over.”  Murray was the family lawyer.

“It’s fine Dad, I can handle it.”

“They’re paying you how much?”  My mother was in disbelief.

“Almost half a million.  I’m going to run their whole development team.”  I said, reading over the offer letter in front of me. 

“Cara, please don't take this the wrong way, but are you sure you know what you’re getting into?  The things they say about that man on TV.”

“I’ll be careful, mom.”  I promised. “I’m aware of his reputation, but this is going to open so many doors for me.”

“I worry that if it doesn’t work out he’ll-”

“Mom!”  I said.  “Don’t talk like that, positive vibes.”  I said.  I didn’t want to think about what a powerful man like that would do if it didn’t work out.  And I didn’t want to tell her that I felt like I couldn’t say no, either.

“If you’re sure,”  she said, but I could hear the doubt in her voice. “He’s very handsome.”  She conceded.

“I’m not interested.”  I said.

“Good.”  My dad said. “You do your job, keep your head down, and your nose clean.”

“He really said he wanted to buy Logistica because of your code?” My mom spoke again, but there was an ember of pride in her voice. 

“More or less.  I don’t know if he was flattering me or not, but that’s what he said.”  I said.

My parents talked about the offer for more than an hour before finally letting me go.  I went to bed, but couldn’t sleep.  I was too anxious about the morning.  It was late by the time I dozed off.