#i mean. i grew to like him but?? idk how i feel about him living with us

[emmafallsinlove]

my mom’s boyfriend has moved in with us because he got no place to stay…. that’s so weird because the last man that lived in that house was my dad and it was 7 years ago 🫠

[benetnvsch]

.

[yutarot]

1999. l.mk

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ husband!mark, assassin au, romance, enemies to lovers

wc. 10k

warnings. violence, suggestive, lots of fighting, they literally spend half the fic tryna kill eachother idk, mention of alcohol, guns, angst, heavily inspired by +82 pressin and mr and mrs smith (2005)

synopsis. after accidentally nearly killing another assassin, you both get assigned the task of taking eachother out. but what happens when the assassin you’re after turns out to be a lot closer to you than you had ever expected? do you ignore your feelings? or do you listen to your heart, risking both of your lives in the process.

notes — hiii!! i rlly enjoyed writing this it was sooo much fun. i sorta got this idea after seeing the mv for +82 pressin and ive been wanting to write something based on mr and mrs smith for a whileee so it sorta worked perfectly in my head. i hope u enjoy!!! (p.s. thank u @sungbites for being my writing motivation hehe love u)

it’s a night like all the rest, darkness falling through the window like a shadow with nowhere to go: lost, helpless. you’ve always liked night-time, enjoyed the tranquility of the silent hours as thoughts pass through your mind with no clear destination. you lie there, a moment of peace stilling within you as you slowly begin to fall into slumber. 

your peace is cut short, all tranquility lost when a voice from beside you arises. ‘babe, can you turn off the light please?’

you roll your eyes in a secretive protest before turning to face your husband, a smile now plastered on your face. 

‘of course, honey.’

you hate mark. every single moment of every day, you spend each waking hour questioning yourself of why you ever married him. whether in detestation or disgust, you hate him. but your marriage isn't based on love or hate, so you do what you must: you hide it, conceal your hate behind joyful smiles and the blissful art of routine. after all, you’re good at keeping secrets.

abruptly, he rolls back over to face away from you and you do the same.

‘goodnight, babe.’ he murmurs.

‘goodnight.’

you don’t acknowledge each other again, drifting to sleep in nothing but your own mind.

a night like all the rest. 

each morning is always the same: wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30, wave off your husband as he leaves for work at 8, always accompanied by a quick kiss as he walks through the door, and each morning you suppress your hatred just as much as the last. this morning was no different.

as you sit at the dining table, your breakfast laid out before you, you both eat in silence. this is how it’s always been, this marriage, days of simple routine and empty discussion. you don’t know anything about him, not really. yes, you know where he grew up, what movies he likes, what his favourite kind of bread is, but you don’t know what goes on in his mind. evidently, you're okay with that, because it means that he doesn’t need to know what goes on in yours. it’s a marriage of mutuality, an understanding that your life is your life, and weirdly neither of you question it. neither of you question if the love is fake, or if it just isn’t there at all.

however, there’s one, tiny detail which you know you’ll never share with him, a side of your life untouched, undisturbed. on the outside, you’re the symbol of a perfect housewife, compliant, clean and kept, staying home during the day whilst he’s out at work, tidying the furniture and cooking up dinner by the time he gets home. that’s all he sees, thats all he knows. but what he doesn’t know, is that you’re none of that, not a single bit. 

after finishing your breakfast and placing down your cutlery, you look up at your husband. 

‘delicious, sweetheart, just like always.’ he says, reaching for a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. he always did sound patronising when he compliments your cooking, but you give him the benefit of the doubt; its the only thing, besides your looks, that he can compliment you for. it's the only talent you show him.

you feign a smile in response, ‘i know just how you like it.’

‘you do.’ he grins back.

you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this act, pretending like you’re in a happy marriage, and you wonder how much longer he can do the same. but you have to, you’ve done it for the past four years, you can suffer the restriction of a few more. 

all for the sake of concealment.

mark gets up from his seat at the table, ‘i had better go, baby, i can't be late; we had this huge data crash at work last night, and there’s lots to fix.’

‘of course, honey. i'll make your favourite for you tonight.’ you lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek as you hand him his jacket, waving him out the door. 

its tiring, the act of deception. you watch as his car reverses off of the drive of your house before driving around the corner. you wait a few moments, making sure he really is and truly gone out of your sight. or more importantly, you're out of his.

and once you are, your real day begins. 

untying the apron around your waist, you walk steadily and with purpose, climbing the stairs and walking into the room which you call your closet. only it's not only a closet, not really.

pulling back a few items of clothing, you expose the keypay at the back of the room, pressing in the passcode. 

0417. the date you got married. 

the lock springs open, giving you access to your secret, and highly personal safe.

as always, laid inside are two items of significant importance.

your work phone, and a gun. 

you pocket the gun before picking up the phone and selecting the first number in your phone book. 

‘agency.’

you hold the phone to your ear, it doesn’t even ring once before the other end picks up; they expect your call, just as they do each morning. 

‘i am now alone, will be there in 15.’ you speak, before hanging up and placing the phone in your other back pocket. 

the agency is a grand, foreboding building, dark shadows cascading between its outer walls and falling over its glass panels like a shroud. you walk inside, scanning your keycard through the main entrance before making your way to the front desk.

‘yn lee.’ you recite your name. ‘im clocking in.’

the receptionist nods. ‘mrs K wants to see you in her office.’

‘what for?’ you ask. 

the receptionist shrugs, implying that whatever your boss wants you for is confidential, and therefore, important.

after a quick journey to the 10th floor via the elevator, you make your way through the white lined corridor, the shiny black marble at your feet causing each step to echo, bouncing off every wall as you step further and further towards the door looming ahead of you. 

you knock the door twice before she calls for you to come inside, which you do so quickly, closing it behind you. 

she motions for you to sit down, her short, black and perfectly cut hair framing her face and emphasising the gap between her neck and the shoulders of her pristine, grey suit. 

you sit, looking at the woman in the desk in front of you as she speaks. 

‘it’s an interesting life you lead, agent lee.’ she says, head tilting to the side. 

presuming she’s talking about the faux relationship with your husband, you respond quickly. ‘i’d get lonely in that house by myself.’

‘that’s not what i'm implying.’

oh?

she speaks again, standing from her desk as she does so.

‘this job; you’ve been a level 2 agent with us for four years, and despite countless attempts at recruiting you for level 1, you’ve always declined. why is that?’

you take a moment to ponder her question, to truly decipher what she's asking of you. 

‘i'm comfortable.’ you reply. 

‘nothing about this job is comfortable.’

she’s right. your job is to kill. being a level 1 just means you have to do it alone, estranged from working in groups, harder jobs and more secretive clients. you stay silent as she continues. 

‘the reason i wanted you here, mrs lee, is because our agency has discovered an almost identical rival agency in the market. same jobs, same asking price and same level agents. what i mean, in short, is that we now have competition, and that doesn’t happen by coincidence.’

‘you think someone’s leaking intel to a rival agency?’

‘not think, know.’ the red of her lips twist into a scorn of seriousness, as if shes trying to intimidate you. 

‘and you think i have something to do with it?’ you ask, disbelief briefly cascading over your thoughts. 

she sits back down behind her desk, reaching for a drawer and shuffling through files and files of paper. 

‘quite the contrary.’ she replies, and you look at her in confusion before she continues. ‘actually, you're one of the few that i know don't have something to do with it.’

finishing her sentence, she slides an envelope across the desk, nodding for you to take it. 

she gets back up from her desk, looking you directly in your eyes, a shift of tone in the air around you.

‘once i've left the room, you’re going to open the envelope, mrs lee. i have two armed gunmen outside the door, under my command, waiting for you to leave. think of it as a little test of what that envelope contains. and, agent lee?’

you don't say a word, looking back at her to continue.

‘this time, i'm not asking.’

her smile is sickening. but you have no time to reproach her before she's out of the room, leaving you with nothing but the cold envelope in your hands and the ever-impending threat of death which falls over you. 

after your limited amount of time, frozen in your seat, alone in your bosses office, your mind finally goes back to the envelope in your hand. you open it, pulling out the contents inside. your mind is a state of anger; in your hand lies two pieces of paper, one, a picture of a man in his late 50’s, a cool, silver moustache lining his lip, and one, a letter, addressed directly to you. 

agent 1270.

with this letter, i have enclosed a portrait of your first job as a level 1 agent. configurations confirmed him a regular gambler at the artemis casino on 34th street. don’t fuck this up. if you do, i won't hesitate to get rid of you; we have a lot on the line. 

K. 

p.s. my gunmen are inpatient. 

moments after you even get a chance to finish the last word of the letter, two men in black suits burst through the door of the office. you roll under the desk, pocketing both items as gunshots ring out around you. 

‘shit.’ you hiss, reaching for the gun in your back pocket. with no time to waste, you emerge from the side of the desk, aiming your gun at the head of the man furthest to you, using your momentum to swing your heel swiftly into the closest man's chest as your first bullet flies through the air. with one man down and the other one winded on the floor, you take your opportunity, walking up to him as he struggles to breathe. 

you kick the gun out of his hand. 

‘why is she doing this? why make me a level 1 agent?’ you ask, the gun pointed towards the man below you. 

he gasps for air, shaking his head. with nothing but raw frustration and pent up hatred at the woman forcing you to do this, you pull the trigger. 

anger boils within you, years of working for the agency and never have you stooped so low as to have been forced to kill one of your own. she’s testing you, seeing what you can do, and you’re going to find out why.

you find your way to elevator, pressing the button for the 5th floor. checking your freshly ironed suit for any specks of blood or evidence of your previous fight, you step out of the elevator. you’re instantly met with the level 1 offices, people in suits everywhere, some sat at desks and some engaging with conversation. everyone notices you, but noone says a word. its a very private industry, the industry of assassination, no questions are asked and none are answered. 

you walk over to what looks like the main desk of the floor and the woman checks you in, showing you swiftly to your new office. the walls are a pristine white, with a glass desk and an illumination of light that's almost blinding. you set down the documents from K’s letter, examining the mans face. you don't know who he is, you never do, and it’s in your best interest not to care. all that matters is getting the job done, and under current circumstances, it matters more than ever. since, unlike before, it's not only the hidden identity from your husband that's on the line, but as is your life. 

you’re not sat at your desk for long, K’s threat looming over you. 

you check your watch. 3.14pm, exactly 14 minutes since the artemis casino opened its doors for the evening. tonight, you’ll make sure that someone will never leave them. 

after being assigned your own personal assistant, who you've learned to know as agent 4916, you request only three items for your plan to work smoothly and quickly. a dark red satin dress, a vial of poison and it’s respective antidote - not that you expect it to go wrong, but you can never assume the best in a job like yours. even so, you've never once failed a mission, and you were not about to take the risk of failing on the only mission where you don’t give yourself a backup plan; that’s what the knife strapped to your thigh is for.

you thank your assistant with a nod as you step into the taxi you ordered, covering your shoulders with a thick fur coat you acquired secretly from the evidence room. 

‘where are y’ headed?’ the taxi man asks, puffing an exhale of cigarette smoke out of the window. 

‘artemis casino, please.’

the man grins, ‘you a golddigger, huh?’

you roll your eyes, ‘im married.’ men like this disgust you, always assuming the worst of women. if only he knew. 

‘what does he do?’ he asks. it’s at this where your confidence is knocked; you can't exactly say ‘i dont know.’..

so instead you pause, waiting until the car comes to a halt outside the front of the casino before stepping out, replying back with a sly yet dismissive response as you pass him his money through the front window. 

‘none of your business.’

the casino is a lot busier than you had hoped, groups of old men and rich couples sauntering amongst the tables. there’s an indistinct mumble of voices, layering perfectly over the chime of jazz music, not enough to drown it out, but just enough to make you listen out for the instruments. 

you keep your mind fixated on the picture of the man you're looking for, but as you wander around, a sharp eye scanning all the faces, you spot him, sitting and smiling cruelly in a circle around a poker table. you label this as a perfect opportunity; there’s nothing like the emotion of overconfidence to blind a man's senses. 

walking over, you lean a hand on the back of his chair. 

‘that’s interesting.’ you say as you peak over his shoulder at his cards. 

you catch his attention as he looks up at you. 

you continue, ‘i won’t expose you,’ you giggle, feigning emotion comes natural to you now, ‘don’t worry.’ continuing your act, you walk off and head straight over to the bar. 

just as you planned, he walks after you. 

‘what are you playing at?’ he asks. you ignore him. 

the bartender looks at you expectantly, waiting for your order. 

‘vodka. neat.’ the bartender nods but the man beside you turns to you in disgust. 

you laugh at his reaction before catching the bartender's attention, ‘make that two.’ you say.

the man speaks up. ‘wai-’

‘unless.. this man can't handle his drink?’

he stops talking. 

after a moment of silence the bartender brings you your drinks. 

you stand up, your drink in hand. you’ve done this many times before and each is as flawless as the last. 

you walk around him, slowly, and as if unplanned, you trip, your drink flying straight across his blazer, soaking its expensive lining with the sweet stickiness of the clear liquid.

he stands up, a suppressed rage emerging from within him. 

‘oops,’ you say innocently, ‘here, have mine.’

he nods in reply. ‘leave it on the side.’ he says, before storming off to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

perfect.

it's then that you set the final action of your plan into place, it's then that you slip the poison into his drink. 

not wanting to be with him when the poison takes action, you hurry yourself out of view, climbing to the second balcony floor and placing yourself with perfect vision of the bar you were just at, the drink sitting there, a note you placed reading ‘bottoms up, pussy. i'll be watching’, tucked under the glass in attempts to urge him on. 

you watch for a minute, then two, and when it gets to the third, you begin to grow anxious. 

but it’s not the extent of time that makes your worry flutter; it's the sudden man sitting at the bar, at the exact seat where the glass is placed. 

the wrong man.

you can’t see the stranger's face, only the sharp outline of his back as he slumps over the drink, reading the note you placed under it.

you watch intently as he looks around, his face still under too much shadow to properly decipher his features. the shine of his all black suit glimmers from the point of his shoulders as he reaches for the drink. your stomach drops.

shit.

you stand up in vigour as his lips touch the glass. 

you were about to kill the wrong man. 

you were about to kill yourself. 

clenching your jaw with an abandonment of your mission, you stealthily follow the man from the bar as he clutches his stomach, breathing heavily as he swings himself into a bathroom cubicle. you stand outside the door, listening to his laboured breaths and the sudden bang as his body slumps over the toilet bowl. you can’t see him, but you decide suddenly that you can’t let him die, you can’t fuck up this job and kill the wrong guy, you’d look like a fool.

you slide the antidote under the door of the cubicle with your foot, hearing a breathless, pained whisper of ‘the fuck?’ from the other side, but you don't stick around to exchange pleasantries, not when you nearly killed the man. 

you turn to leave, but just as you take a step towards the main door of the bathroom, something on the floor catches your eye, something that the man had dropped in his haste to reach the cubicle. 

a business card.

you pick it up, slowly peeling it from the floor.

your face grows stern.

dread envelopes you. your legs grow weak, feeling as it tries to weigh you down.

on one side is a logo you know all too well, the rival agency your boss had warned you about. 

on the other side, one word and one number. 

agent 1999. 

the man you had nearly killed was another assassin.

an assassin from a rival agency.

and he had just fucked up your job. 

you’ve been sat at your dinner table in silence for the last ten minutes and mark hasn’t come home yet. part of you is relieved, not having to uphold your character as his wife under all the stress that you're under after failing your mission. however, there’s a part of you that’s waiting for him, the abruption in your daily routine throwing you off, despite how much you hate him. 

that’s when you hear the front door click shut, mark coming through to the dining room.

‘honey? what are you doing awake?’ he asks, setting down his briefcase, the tie to match his brown, tartan suit loose around his neck, top button undone. he looks dishevelled, whatever had made him late had ruined him.

you stand up, rubbing your eyes out of exhaustion. ‘you can’t just come home late like this.’

‘im sorry, baby. a lot happened at work, okay?’ he says, walking up to you. he leans forward to catch your eye contact. ‘some idiot sent me the wrong file and the whole network crashed.’

you nod, pushing in the dining table chair as you prepare to leave the room and go to bed. 

‘goodnight, yn.’

‘goodnight.’

you can’t help but feel that something is off. 

like usual, you wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30 and wave your husband off as he leaves for work. each morning is the same, a list of routined actions you perform, a pretend life you wish you could lead. only this morning, you fear it could be your last. 

as you tread down the white hall of the 10th floor of the agency, eventually standing at your bosses door in anticipation, you knock. 

she calls you in and you shut the door behind you. there she sits, black bob swaying above her shoulders and thin, red lips pressed into a straight line of discontent. the bullet holes on the desk from yesterday still remain, a reminder of what your boss had promised would happen to you if you had failed to complete the job.

not only had you done that very thing but to make matters even worse, you had also accidentally held an attempt of assassination on a man from the rival agency.

‘good morning, agent lee.’ her voice is stern, deep.

you nod, taking a seat. 

‘you know why you're here? yes?’

you nod, not daring to say a word.

‘then i believe you understand the vitality of the situation we are now in because of your mistake.’

again, you nod. 

‘words, mrs lee.’ her voice raises, causing you to sit up in your seat.

‘yes.’

she nods, crossing one leg over the other. ‘good. then you shall be pleased to know that i'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself.’ 

your mind is going a million miles an hour, thoughts racing each other in a swirl of confusion. the perplexion must have been evident on your face as K begins to explain. ‘the agent that intercepted your mission is agent 1999 of the sparta agency. we have reason to believe that he is the source feeding our information to his agency, that’s how he knew you were going to be there.’

it all makes so much sense yet none at all. why would a random stranger pick up an unattended drink at a casino and drink it? unless..

a thought sparks in your mind. ‘you think he drank the vial on purpose?’

a small grin peaks at the corner of K’s upper lip before she continues. ‘he gambled that whoever was on the mission would have had an antidote on them. sparta agency aren’t to be messed with, agent lee, they will use any means to intercept our missions, and with this intel they are our biggest liability.’ she rises from her seat, walking to move over to her wall-panel window, scouring the view that lays beyond it. ‘after this, whoever agent 1999 is will most likely be given the task to kill you; they can’t risk the fact that you might know what he looks like.’

her back is still facing you as you reply. ‘but i don't know what he looks like, i didn’t see his face.’ 

she turns in your direction, a smirk which you haven’t seen before now plastering her features. ‘and he didn't see yours either. that’s why i'm giving you the task of taking him out, it’s a race of who can find and kill who first, if he’s smart, he’ll always be where you are, it only makes your job easier.’ 

to take out a criminal is one thing, but to take out a highly skilled assassin is another. you stay silent, conflict in your mind overwhelming you. you love your agency, and you love your job, but you fear that this task is nothing but fated suicide.

K steps back to behind her desk, sitting again to face you as she speaks. ‘if you do this, mrs lee, you would have regained my approval.’ she shuffles through the files on her desk, looking up at you through her brow at her next words. ‘not just anyone can take out two of my men with just a pistol and two bullets. i'm trusting you with this. you have 24 hours to complete the job.’

you check your watch, it’s 10:45 am.

12 hours.

12 hours to take out a high class, heavily skilled assassin. 

she really was testing you.

you waste absolutely no time deciding what you’re going to do, rushing to your office and calling for your assistant. 

‘give me whereabouts on agent 1999 of the sparta agency, i want all the information you can find.’ you say, and she nods before scurrying out the room. 

you’ve never questioned a kill before, knowing nothing but their faces, merciless in all aspects. but there’s something incredibly ironic about this one, something that you’ve never had to deal with before.

he’s just like you. 

your assistant returns and you sort through the printed files until you find his personal profile. like the rest of your jobs, you expect to see his face, printed in the top corner, usually a CCTV picture or a mugshot if you're lucky. but much to your surprise, you’re faced with nothing but a grey square, a question mark placed in the middle, almost mocking your lack of knowledge.

you look up at your assistant, a brow raised.

‘there’s no record of what he looks like. not a trace.’ she says.

you nod, a forced sense of acceptance. this man knows what he’s doing. 

continuing to search the files, one catches your attention: his previous kills. 

671. 

‘he uses a revolver..’ you murmur to yourself. 

this fact, this small, minor detail, changes everything; revolvers are exceptionally loud guns. meaning almost each and every one of his kills would have been done in private, in basements, elevators.

if you want to lure him in, get him somewhere he will follow, you need to find somewhere private, somewhere you can confront him one on one. 

that’s when the perfect idea hits you.

you grab your car keys from your desk drawer, pocketing them in the inner pocket of your blazer. a motel, somewhere far enough from the city but somewhere close enough that he will follow you there. 

you’re just hoping that, right now, he’s sat outside your agency waiting for you to leave, waiting to follow you home. 

but you’re not going home. not today. 

your suspicions are correct when you reach the border of the city, a blacked out mercedes maintaining its speed a few cars behind you. you know it’s him, agent 1999, you don’t need to see his face to be sure.

you pull up to the first motel you see, the lack of cars in the parking lot signalling a perfect place for the job you're about to undertake.

before he can swing into the motel behind you, you step out the car, sprinting to the reception. 

you push open the door in eagerness, rushing to the front desk. the receptionist looks up upon hearing the bell on the door ring at your arrival.

‘one night. please.’ you say before sliding a $100 bill across the desk. ‘keep the change.’

the receptionist looks at you in disbelief as she hands you a key with the number 8 engraved on it. 

you waste no time, rushing round the corner to the stairwell. it’s just as you make it past the line of sight that you hear the reception bell ring, that agent 1999 has come through the front door. 

your curiosity is screaming at you to peek around the corner, to find out who this man is that you’ve been given the task of killing before he kills you. but you refrain, your urge to survive overwhelming you as you begin to climb the stairs, past room 6, past room 7 and past room 8. instead, you go to room 9, placing a gamble that it’s that room that the receptionist will assign him. 

you don’t move, don’t waver from your stance outside his door. 

not even as you hear the door to the stairwell open, not even as you hear the slow, antagonising echo of his footsteps.

not even as he comes around the corner.

fear. 

not the kind that paralyses you, but the kind that makes you regret. that’s what you feel when you see him, that’s what you feel when you look down the barrel of his gun: fear. 

but it’s not the gun that scares you.

it’s who's holding it. 

the assassin you’ve been hired to kill, the man who's been hunting you down, is none other than the man you had least expected it to be.

your husband..

you lock eyes with him, but you see none of his usual warmth, his usual empathy. all you see is the eyes of the man trying to kill you. 

‘mark.’ you breath, raising your gun at him, a mirror of his pose.

slightly, ever so slightly, you see him flinch as you say his name. he’s holding back. 

‘babe.’ he says, sarcasm lining his tone. ‘why aren’t you at home?’

a smile of annoyance lines your lips, eyes rolling. ‘could ask the same of you.’

you’re ever so aware of the guns you have pointed at each other. his eyes never leaving yours, he speaks again. ‘i have important business to attend to.’

of course you do, you think to yourself. 

its a pity you never liked him, never got to know him. atleast now, you understand why.

‘as do i.’ 

suddenly, gunshots blast through the air. 

amidst the confusion and fear of who shot who, you run to the door labelled ‘8’, turning the key and quickly running inside. but your attempts to shut mark out are quickly abandoned when he swiftly places his foot between the closing door and it’s frame.

you jump back, reaching in your back pocket for the small knife you stashed earlier, hiding around the corner of the room. he kicks the door open, standing in the doorway, gun still in hand. he walks in slowly, treading lightly as he scans the room with his aim. 

but just as he gets into the room, you stop him, grabbing his arms from behind him and twisting the gun out of his hand. 

he attempts to kick you off his back, mind increasingly aware of the knife you have placed to his throat.

hesitantly, he turns, putting his hands up. 

once you’re face to face, you take no time in tackling him. he grunts, the wind knocking right out of him as he hits the floor. 

straddling his waist, both of your faces are emotionless, void of any of the pretend love you were used to maintaining.

‘did you know?’ he grunts, breathless, eyes glancing slightly at the blade you have pressed to his throat. ‘did you know it was me?’

you push the knife closer to his skin and he winces. 

‘answer me, yn.’ his voice is hoarse, struggling to speak. 

you take a deep breath, deciding to tell him the truth. 

‘no.’ you say, but curiosity peaks in you again, and this time, you’re taking no chances at missing out. ‘did you?’

his jaw clenches.

with a sudden sense of energy, he kicks you, causing you to fall on top of him, your knife going slack in your hand as he knocks it to the side. he flips you both over in the process so that he’s now above you, taking a hold of both of your wrists. 

‘no,’ he says, anger lining his words. ‘well,’ he chuckles, ‘i knew one thing.’

you furrow your brows. 

he continues, ‘you’ve always hated me. i’ve always been able to see it in your eyes. you detest the thought of ever marrying me.’

you go to speak, but before you can reply, he cuts you off. 

‘i wouldn’t worry, it’s a mutual feeling.’

with that, you reciprocate his anger. all those years of marriage, of putting up with a man you hate in order to give yourself a sense of security, all of it, has come down to this. pushing him off of you, you crawl to his revolver, laid out across the other side of the room. 

your hands gain purchase to it, lifting it up to point at him. 

your finger rests on the trigger. he’s in perfect shot. there’s no one around, you would complete your mission and regain your boss's trust back. but somehow, something stops you. 

as you look into his eyes, the deep brown hue of his pupils looking at you in disgust and anger, you snap. 

you just can’t do it. 

because whilst his eyes may be looking at you in a new light, it’s those same eyes you have grown accustomed to seeing everyday. nearly every other set of eyes you see, looking back at you, you only get to see once before they’re closed forever, no one being granted the experience of ever viewing them again. but his, you’ve always known that, no matter what, you’d see them at the end of the day, that you’d wake up to them after every nightmare. 

you just don’t think that you could let them go. 

that you could let him go.  

he notices your hesitation, a hint of a smile now making it’s way to his features.

‘you can’t do it, can you?’

you stay silent, finger still hovering over the trigger. 

‘over five-hundred kills and now you’re hesitating.’ he taunts. 

you stay still, shaking with anger. ‘you’ve done your research.’

‘had to make sure i knew what i was dealing with. although, nothing could have prepared me for this.’ he laughs, as if this whole situation is funny to him. 

‘okay then,’ you say, lowering the gun. turning it in your palm, extending the handle out towards him. ‘kill me.’

he looks at you, a stern expression on his face, as he takes the gun from your hand. 

but what he’s not expecting is for you to put your palm to his shoulder, making him sit himself down on the bed as you climb to straddle his lap. 

he looks up at you, a mix of hatred and annoyance lining his features. slowly, you take his left wrist, guiding his hand to hold the small of your back. his eyes travel to the curve of your waist before looking back up. even slower, you take his right wrist, the one holding the gun, moving it so that the barrel presses firmly against your temple.

you let go of his wrists, the index finger of his left hand drawing circles on your skin, something he used to do years ago, in the age where you used to cuddle up to each other to watch movies. then, you accepted it because you had to make eachother think you loved the other. now, he’s doing it because he knows you don’t.

his face is close enough to yours now that you see the golden specks of his eyes as he looks at you, they swim in the pool of colour, drowning in the light that reflects off of them. 

gun still pressed to your temple, mark lets out a deep breath. ‘you really want this?’ he whispers. 

barely there, you nod, eyes falling to his lips. 

he chuckles, hand at your waist now tracing its way up to the back of your neck. 

his eyes flutter as he leans in. it's smooth, gentle but so incredibly angry as he kisses you. in all the years of your marriage, you’ve never kissed mark like this, never shown him enough emotion to be able to connect this deeply with him. your mind soars into a place of nothingness, beyond your world of killing and death, but it’s quickly brought back when you hear a sudden click from the pressure at your temple. 

the gun.

you pull away, marks face a look of irritation as his eyes travel between the empty gun and you.

he had tried to distract you. 

he had tried to kill you.

you slap the gun out of his hand before climbing off of him, dashing for the half open door. 

you hear his footsteps clamber after you, chasing you down the motel hall. sprinting down the stairs, knowing he’s behind you, you keep running and running and running. 

but it's not the fear of death that's urging you on, it’s the fear of knowing you didn’t have it in you to kill him.

and he did.

you didn’t go home to cook dinner that night, the image of his eyes on you scarring your memory, the feeling of his lips invading your mind. 

instead, you go home with nothing but one intention. 

this time you’re not going to let him distract you. this time you’re not going to let him leave. 

his eyes were not going to stop you. 

driving down your street, an invigorating anger consumes you. a resurgence of betrayal floods your actions as you press down on the gas pedal as though your life depends on it. all because now it’s evident that if you don't kill him, he will kill you. 

pulling your car sharply around the corner and onto your driveway, you step out the car, pistol in either hand. you scan the building with your eyes, the warm exterior of your house now a cold shell, a place for death.

someone, tonight, is going to die here, and you will not let it be you. 

as you creep around the house towards the back door, silence swarming you, you see a sudden flicker of light from the kitchen. 

there he is, usual home comfort clothing, usual messy hair. to him, you’re not a threat; he’s seen it first hand, witnessed your hesitation. 

but not anymore, not after he had tried to kill you. you won’t let him take your life away from you anymore than he already has. 

you slowly walk towards the back door, twisting the handle to pop it open, but just as you do, the kitchen light switches off. the entire house turns to black. 

he knows you’re here. 

you walk inside, past your immaculate kitchen, past the stairwell. but it’s when you get to the living room that you hear a shuffle amongst the furniture. 

and you’re right next to the light switch. 

you reach your hand towards the switch, inches away from turning the light on before a hand clasps around your wrists. you twist, shooting blindly at the figure behind you, an attempt to defend yourself. 

‘nice try, honey.’ you hear his voice whisper from beside you. 

you turn again, trying to gain an idea of where he is, but before your eyes can focus, a rally of gunshots explode at the wall beside you. unfortunately for mark, he misses, similarly blinded by the darkness surrounding you, but fortunately for you, the fire of his revolver illuminates from the barrel, signaling exactly where he’s positioned from across the room.

moving before you can even think, you run towards him, launching yourself in his direction. you meet the hardness of his shoulder as you knock you both onto the floor, rolling away from each other. you attempt to regain your balance on your feet, but a sound from across the room stops you in your tracks: the chilling swipe of a knife being drawn from the kitchen drawer.

mark has never deviated from his selected weapon before. 

he is desperate.

still unable to see each other, you speak out as you eventually stand up. 

‘have you ever considered couple’s therapy, sweetie?’ you taunt, hoping a joke would distract him as you crawl across the room to find one of your pistols. 

he laughs in reply, ‘with you, or the fake wife i’ve been married to for four years?’

‘i have no idea what you're talking about.’ your voice is sweet, an innocent persona you’ve been willing to upkeep. 

his voice sounds closer, raspier. ‘you know, i always wondered why you hated me.’ he says, the sound of his words circling you as you freeze. ‘i thought, maybe you knew what i did for a living, that you despised me for it.’ he stops walking. ‘but now i know that you really do just hate me.’

with that, he lunges in your direction, circulating his arms around you from behind, knife held firmly against the front of your neck. you feel his breath on your cheek, hear his heartbeat. 

and it’s racing.

‘you won’t do it.’ you say, fear consuming you. 

you feel his lips twitch into a smile from beside you. 

‘you’re naive, baby.’

‘then do it.’

there’s a moment of stillness, mark’s breath halting, his heart still pounding. 

the pressure at your throat lingers, but it doesn’t increase. 

instead, it’s the silence that speaks volumes.

the knife drops to the floor, clattering at your feet, his arms still enveloping you. 

he turns your body by your shoulders, and the stillness of the room allows your eyes to focus.

there he is, hair dishevelled as he looks down on you. it’s almost impossible to tell, but amongst the flood of darkness you think you see a hint of a smile in his eyes. 

he looks down at the floor, his arms falling to his sides. 

‘im sorry, yn.’ he says. 

you furrow your brows in confusion. 

‘wh-’ 

but before you could ask what he means, you feel the warm embrace of his arms around you, head falling into his chest as he pulls you towards him, a hand running through your hair. 

you stay like that for a moment, basking in each other's comfort, memories of the start of your marriage flooding back to you. 

it’s now that you realise the extent of your fear, it's now that you realise what you really feel. 

it’s not mark’s eyes that reel you in, not the warm brown or the golden specks that you urge to drift away with, no, it’s just him. 

the man you have despised for all these years, for this entire marriage, is the man you don’t.

before you could have it in your heart to figure out why, a high pitched screech blurs around you, a whistle you both know all too well. 

‘yn!’ mark pleads, pulling your wrist towards him as he ducks behind the wine cabinet, its bronze structure serving as the perfect shield as he holds your body towards him. 

you don’t know why, but you trust his embrace.

as if perfectly timed, the hot surge of the explosion traces your skin as the kitchen falls to ruin, the cabinet protecting you both from the heat of the blast. it’s only a small explosion, erupting only a meter within itself, but your heart pounds at the nature of it.

you look up at mark as you pull away from each other. 

‘that wasn’t me-’ you begin, but a shock in mark’s eyes stop you from talking.

you turn, facing the direction of the explosion. 

emerging within the rubble of your kitchen wall, is a figure. 

the smoke conceals them, hiding the details of their features from you. 

but as the second figure emerges from the dust, you recognise their silhouette almost immediately. 

agent K. your boss.

‘fuck.’ mark mumbles to himself as he holds an eye contact with the first person so extreme that it has you questioning. meanwhile, you do all you can to avoid K’s glare, feeling her eyes burn into your skull.

both yours and marks. 

K and the man you don’t recognise both stand in what’s left of your kitchen, eyes trained on the proximity of you and the man beside you.

you don’t dare to speak first. 

‘agent 1270. agent 1999.’ K begins, breaking the silence. 

you check your watch, fear and terror consuming you as you read the steady pace of the clock hands.

10:44 pm. 

it’s been exactly 11 hours and 59 minutes. 

you’re completely and utterly fucked.

K continues, ‘there's a little someone i would like you to meet.’

after her cue, two men in black walk towards you, dragging a half limp man between them,  black cloth over his head as they place him on his knees ahead of you. 

after receiving a nod from K, one of the two men reach for his hood, lifting it off his head and revealing the terrifyingly familiar face of the man it belongs to. 

he smiles, his silver moustache smiling with him. 

it’s him, the man you were supposed to poison when you had accidently poisoned mark instead. 

mark clenches his jaw beside you, hands digging in his pockets as he glares at the man in front of him. 

and suddenly it all pieces together. 

your mind draws back to your conversation with your boss.

‘it’s a race of who can find and kill who first.’ 

that is what she told you when she gave you the task of killing mark, that is why she gave you the job. 

because he was set to kill you too. 

you were set to take out eachother.

‘this was your plan all along.’ you say, eyes flickering between K and the stranger beside her, completely ignoring the man as he gets dragged away again out of sight. ‘this is what you’d hoped for. you knew, this whole time, what you wanted.’

mark looks at you, and you can see the pieces falling together in his head. 

K looks angry, livid even, but it only adds fuel to your flame, so you continue.

‘there was never a rivalry between our agencies, was there?’ you ask, not waiting for the answer; you already know what it will be. ‘there was never any competition.’

K’s anger slowly morphs into a smug look of distaste as she begins to speak, slowly walking towards you. 

‘mrs lee, do you really think i would have assigned you such a task? you, an inexperienced solo assassin set to murder a gambler at a casino?’ her eyes search yours. ‘it was all under the plan i had constructed. i instructed you to slip poison into the gentlemans drink, under oath that if you fucked up i would get rid of you, and agent H here,’ she points at marks boss beside her, ‘was to instruct agent 1999 to take a sip of the drink, reasoning it as an interception of rival plans and promising him an antidote he wasn’t going to receive. killing both of you in the process.’ you feel the anger in mark shift beside you. ‘what we didn’t expect, however, was for you to give it to him yourself. so, by all due means, we had to improvise. if we couldn’t take you out, then you would have to take out each other.’

by this point, K is directly in front of you, the scent of her navy suit filling the air around you with an aroma of sweet spice. 

but as you look into her eyes, you decide that, really, you’re not scared of her. 

you peek at mark beside you, his attention elsewhere, trained on his boss as he remains across the other side of the room, a smug look on his face.

mark speaks up. ‘why? why go through all that trouble to kill us?’ he says, directly aimed at his boss.

agent H comes forward, until eventually, he is side by side with agent K. 

your boss smiles, ‘because marriage is a dangerous sport, agent 1999.’

your heart thumps in your chest, your skin crawls.

she knew. 

she knew everything. 

‘a distraction.’ she sneers, ‘a liability.’

you don’t say anything, you can’t.

‘and though you liked to pretend you hated it, mrs lee, i knew, truly, deep down, there was a vow more important to you than any job you could have been given.’

the silence is deafening, scorching the air around you. 

but its not K that finishes the sentence, it's the voice of the man beside you, the voice of the reason behind all of this. 

he’s breathless, but the words are laced with nothing but raw honesty as he whispers them, a realisation sparking from within him.

and now he’s finally aware.

‘till death do us part.’

it’s only after those words are uttered that the whole world breaks loose. 

shots erupt from wall to wall, glass smashing around you as you follow mark, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist. 

you both burst out the door, his hand letting loose of yours so that you can sprint your way over to mark’s car. 

‘get in!’ he yells at you from the driver's seat, but your mind betrays you, a plan of strategy forming in your wits.

‘hang on.’ you yell back at him and with little time to spare, mark rolls his eyes.

he rolls down the window. ‘we don’t really have time for this, yn.’ mark grunts through his teeth, anger enticing him to just drive off without you, to let you die. but he can’t, not like this.

you ignore him, legs close to giving in as you run to the keypad on the gate to your driveway. urging mark to drive through, you press in the numbers, closing the gate before climbing over, jumping into his car on the other side.

‘go, go, go.’ you yell, gunfire belting off the metal of the cars exterior and you shut the door.

skidding the car round the exit of the street, the rubber of the tyres producing a thick layer of smoke behind you, mark calls over to you, ‘what did you d-’

but before he could finish his sentence, your entire house explodes in a massacre of flames. 

you grin at him in succession, ‘self destruction code.’

he laughs back at you, ‘you’re crazy.’

‘i know.’

as you begin to gain speed on the highway, mark sliding the car skillfully between the cars around you, you start to notice three other cars doing the same behind you, gaining speed, and the familiar black tint of each window signalling who they belong to.

‘shit, they’re after us.’ you wince, mark looking in the rearview mirror and cursing at the sight. but before he can suggest anything, he peeks over at you, watching as you reach under the seat and find yourself a set of machine guns.

noticing his questioning look, you turn to him, ‘what? that’s where they are in my car, so i could only guess.’ you shrug.

he laughs, in awe at this new version of his wife, ‘i think i can get used to this side of you.’

‘you’d better.’ you reply, before reaching up at the sunroof and pulling it across, making a gap for you to emerge out of. manoeuvring yourself so that you're kneeling on the centre console of the car, you push your upper body out the top of the car, aiming the gun at the cars chasing after you. 

beginning to fire your guns, aiming for the cars’ tyres and successfully stalling one of the drivers, you seem to start to lose your balance.

‘mark!’ you call. 

‘you okay, baby?’ he yells back, noticing your struggle.

you roll your eyes. ‘you’re driving like a coward’

‘you’re kidding, right?’

you look down at him, peeking your head back through the sunroof. ‘let me drive.’

he sighs in acceptance before you reach your legs over to his side of the car, swapping places with him. 

but mark has better ideas. 

‘open the trunk.’ he demands, picking up both machine guns from the passenger seat and climbing to the back. 

you press the button, the trunk opening up and giving mark a full view of the cars behind him. 

you speed up the car, weaving through the traffic in an attempt to divert their bullets. 

‘it’s too busy, babe, i can’t aim like this.’ he yells back to you. 

‘hang on.’ you call as you speed past cars until you find a junction in the road. you turn the car, slipping across it and nearly flipping the car in the process. 

‘holy shit.’ mark yells, clinging onto the handle on the car roof.

you laugh, ‘sorry.’ 

now with a clear aim of the cars behind you, mark crawls on the backseat, shooting desperately after them.

you begin to grow eager, listening as mark wastes all the bullets you have at your disposal. that’s when an idea begins to form in your head, an impossible yet incredibly daring plan. 

amidst all the chaos, you call for him again. ‘mark!’

‘yeah?’ he says, ducking behind the seats to avoid the other cars’ oncoming gunfire, panting in exhaustion. 

‘you got any explosives?’

mark’s head tilts, ‘under your seat. why?’ 

you reach under your seat, grabbing the grenade and passing it back to mark. 

‘i need you to open the left door at the back.’ you yell, and he does so, other hand holding on by the seat belt to keep himself upright. 

you continue, ‘when i tell you to, throw it out that door.’

‘shit, okay.’ he replies, leaning back against the seat, wincing in pain at the strength to keep himself going. 

noticing a straight length of road up ahead, you ready your hand on the car’s parking brake. when you gain enough speed, you quickly turn the steering wheel to the left, forcing the car to a stop in the process. in a whirl of gravity, the car spins on its side as the cars behind you are forced to stop. it's then that you call for mark to throw the explosive. 

a bright white light erupts from beside you, a hot breeze brushing past your skin.

the cars go up in flames, both of your bosses inside them. 

it's over.

everything is over.

after a few moments of tranquility, mark is already outside the car, pulling you from the driver's seat and bringing you to your feet. 

‘you okay?’ he turns to you, eyes searching yours in a second of sincerity that you’ve never seen from him before. 

it’s cruel, the way he looks at you, as though nothing has changed, as though you're still that same innocent wife you once were. the thick atmosphere of reality struggles to set in between you as you look back at the damage you’ve made.

both physical and not.

‘they’re gone’ you whisper, ‘it’s all gone.’

he feels everything you feel, he always has, every thought, every emotion, all of it. so he does what he knows he also needs the most, as he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head and wrapping his arms around you in warmth. he knows you're hurting, and for once in his life, he has the power to stop it. 

side by side, you walk. not a word is uttered, not a thought exchanged. you don’t need to, you both understand. it’s bittersweet, but yet terribly foreboding, so you don’t say a word. 

you had managed to find yourselves in a nearby town, not a care where you had ended up, home no longer a fortified place, destroyed and abandoned. you stand, complete yet broken, at the front of the town's local church, looking up at the grand design of its wooden doors. 

it’s as if you both had gravitated here by some external form of fate, woven into your lives, repeated like a mantra, forcing back to you everything you had seemed to have forgotten. that’s how you find yourselves where you are now, feet facing each other as you stand at the altar at the front of the church hall, the echo of the stone walls reflecting your silence. 

for once in your life, you look into his eyes knowing that they’re his.

‘till death do us part.’ you whisper, and you know K was right; you do mean it.

he smiles back at you, dimples showing.

‘till death do us part.’

mark looks at you, really looks at you, a softness in his features and a new found sincerity in his heart. 

it was at that exact moment that you realised why you had hated marrying mark lee.

it was attachment: something so incredibly forbidden yet increasingly enticing. all you wanted, all you really wanted, was to love in honesty, but it wasn’t mark that you wanted to love.

it was agent 1999. 

two weeks later 

the room is plastered in an ugly hue of grey, carpet stained and window forcing a breeze to flow through the curtains. mark sits beside you, listening to the question of the woman before you. 

‘so, what made you both want to come here for couples therapy?’

mark turns to you, a smirk lining his lips. you smile, trying to conceal your laugh.

‘i guess you could say we kept a few secrets. isn’t that right, mark?’

he looks at you, eyes wide and heart full. 

‘something like that.’

[ferrarifudds]

Hiiiii! i was so obsessed with your lando cooking one but i have another idea kinda where’s its a little similar but reader is his private chef or something ??? Plz i love you’re writing so much 🥰

Stay With Me. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Privatechef!reader

Summary: When he finally musters the courage to talk to his private chef and eventually invite her to stay for dinner.

Word Count: 2.3k

Disclaimer/s: flufffff :3 meet cute ,, ish??? and forced proximity almost (not at all) Just Squint idk

Vera’s Voice! LOVE THIS REQUEST AYYEEE , hope u enjoy!!!! thank u for reading my fics!!! mwaaahhh

Lando never thought he’d end up with a private chef.

The idea sounded unnecessarily extravagant when his management first proposed it. He wasn’t a picky eater, and takeout worked just fine. But after months of rigorous travel, racing every other weekend, and well… his need to somehow always mention the disgusting food pile in his pantry on live streams… his team insisted on the idea.

It wasn’t about luxury, they claimed—it was about nutrition, recovery, and convenience. Lando reluctantly agreed, figuring it would be just another stranger in his house.

And that’s exactly what you were.

The first time you arrived, Lando only caught a glimpse of you—a short, polite nod as you introduced yourself by name.

You didn’t linger. No small talk, no unnecessary pleasantries. You brought bags of fresh groceries, prepared everything with quiet efficiency, and left him with neatly plated meals stored in his fridge.

And this routine went on for weeks.

Lando grew used to hearing the door click open mid-afternoon, a soft shuffle of feet in his kitchen as you unpacked your things.

He kept his distance, a little unsure of how to approach you. You worked so intently that he didn’t want to interrupt, and honestly, he didn’t know what to say.

So, he settled for his usual routine: nodding, mumbling a quick thanks, and letting you go about your work.

But as the weeks passed, he found himself oddly intrigued.

He noticed how precise your movements were—the way you diced vegetables or measured out spices. He caught whiffs of garlic and herbs wafting through the house, making his mouth water.

Once, he saw you pause by the stove to taste a sauce, your face lighting up with the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pique his curiosity.

He wanted to know more about you.

It wasn’t until a quiet Tuesday afternoon that Lando finally mustered the courage to do something about it.

You’d just arrived, placing your bags on the kitchen counter and rolling up your sleeves. Lando was sitting on the couch, his laptop open in front of him, pretending to be preoccupied.

But he wasn’t working.

He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the keyboard.

Finally, he took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over.

“Hey,” He said, voice a little shaky.

You turned, startled. “Oh. Hi.”

Your voice was soft but firm, and your eyes quickly darted back to the chopping board as if you didn’t want to intrude.

Lando scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself. “I was, uh, wondering…” He hesitated. “Do you ever get to eat what you make?”

You blinked, genuinely surprised by the question. “Not usually,” You admitted. “I just cook for you.”

“Oh.” He shifted on his feet, feeling a bit awkward. “Well, that doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I don’t mind.”

Lando cleared his throat. “Still, you’ve been cooking for me for weeks, and I don’t even know if you think it tastes good.”

You laughed at that, a quiet, melodic sound that made Lando’s chest feel a little lighter. “I taste as I go. You haven’t complained, so I assumed all was fine.”

“It’s more than fine,” He said quickly, then winced, realizing how eager he sounded. “I mean, it’s really good. Like… amazing.”

“Thank you.” Your cheeks flushed a faint pink, glancing back down at the cutting board to hide your sudden blush.

Lando watched you for a moment, then blurted, “Can I help?”

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You want to help?”

“Yeah,” He said, trying to sound casual. “I feel bad just sitting around while you do all the work.”

Your lips twitched, almost as if you were holding back a laugh. “Well that’s technically what I get paid for…so..”

“Well, I don’t mind lending a hand..” He stepped closer.

“Um.. Alright,” You said slowly. “But I don’t think I can trust you near a stove from what your management told me, so how about slicing and dicing?“

“Sounds good.” He flashed a smile, quickly coming to your aid.

And Lando wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to help, but you quickly realized he was hopeless in the kitchen.

He now stood next to you, an apron tied loosely around his waist (as he insisted to feel official), struggling to peel a carrot. His grip was awkward, and the peels kept getting stuck in the blade.

“Like this,” You said, stepping closer and wrapping your hand around his to guide him.

Lando froze at the contact, his pulse quickening. Your hand was warm against his, and for a moment, all he could focus on was the soft scent of your vanilla shampoo and the gentle lilt of your voice as you explained the technique.

“There,” You said, releasing his hand. “Try now.”

He nodded, a little dazed, and attempted to mimic your movements. The carrot peeled more smoothly this time, though not without a few mishaps.

“You’re a pro.” You complimented, earning a wide smile from him as he continued.

Lando watched you, his confidence growing with each little laugh he managed to pull from you.

The atmosphere felt easy now, the awkwardness from before fading into something warmer. He grabbed another carrot and set to work, determined to keep up with you.

As the meal came together, the smells filling the kitchen made his stomach growl audibly.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” He admitted.

You flashed him a smile before you mindlessly tidied around the kitchen, thankfully washing dishes as you cooked. You made sure to plate his food, sliding a portion toward him as usual.

But before you could reach for your bag and finish cleaning up, Lando hesitated, leaning against the counter.

“Wait,” He said suddenly.

You paused, glancing at him. “Hm?”

“Stay with me.” Lando said almost too eagerly, quickly catching himself before stuttering. “Like stay for dinner.”

You felt your eyes widen at the offer, your heart skipping a beat. “Oh, I don’t usually—” Your voice started, but he cut you off, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“I insist.” He smiled before shifting on his feet, suddenly shy. “You’re always here, making these amazing meals, but you never eat them. It feels wrong. Like… you deserve to enjoy this too.”

You hesitated.

The idea of sitting down to dinner with him felt… different. But there was something in the way he looked at you—hopeful, genuine—that made it impossible to say no.

“Um.. Okay,” You said softly, nodding as you set your bag back down.

Lando’s face lit up, and he immediately set about pulling plates from the cabinet, his excitement almost contagious.

And it was… nice.

You sat across from each other at the small dining table, sharing the meal you’d just prepared—a hearty steak, (opposed to the salmon you were incredible at making but you were instructed to never prepare him seafood), roasted vegetables, and a side of creamy mash. It wasn’t anything overly fancy, but it was perfect, and Lando couldn’t stop himself from saying so.

“You’re too kind,” You said, your tone teasing.

“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I don’t know how you make the vegetables taste this good. It’s like magic or something.”

You laughed again, a little less reserved this time. “No magic. Just practice.”

You talked as you ate, the conversation flowing easier than Lando expected. He learned that you’d gone to culinary school, that you loved experimenting with new recipes, and that you preferred baking to cooking.

And to his surprise, you were extremely funny, with a dry sense of humor that caught him off guard.

“I’ll need to try your pastries one day then?” He said with a quirked brow as you shook your head.

“Unfortunately, not on the nutrition plan your management gave me.” You bit down a laugh.

“One cheat day won’t hurt…” He pushed for it.

You sheepishly shrugged. “I’ll consider.” Another laugh escaping your lips as he let out a stupid groan with a roll in his eyes.

And, for the first time, Lando felt like he really saw you—not just as the chef who came and went, but as someone he genuinely wanted to know.

When the meal was finally over, you started to stand, reaching for the dishes, but Lando stopped you.

“I’ll take care of it,” He said.

Your brow furrowed. “But—”

“You cooked. I’ll clean. That’s the deal now.”

You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay… Thanks.”

Soon, you grabbed your bag to leave, Lando walking you to the door, feeling an odd pang of disappointment as you stepped outside.

“Same time tomorrow then?” You asked, glancing back at him.

Lando grinned. “Only if you’re eating with me again.”

Your smile widened, and for the first time, you didn’t look like you were in a hurry to leave.

“Deal,” You tried to hide your excitement.

“Goodnight.” He smiled.

“Goodnight.”

And as you walked off while he closed the door, Lando was already looking forward to tomorrow.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!! ^_^ and please lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tags list :D

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[jellitchi]

hello friends heres some more artist au ,,, i have A huge infodump under the cut ... u were warned

uhm mumbo is a tattoo artist in this au, hes the towns electrician primarily but he does tattoo work too. hes terrified of needles on his own skin but really enjoys the process of tattooing. i think he mostly does geometric stuff. probably hrm.

gem runs and owns the fishing dock/bait shop. shes born and raised in this town so shes been here her whole life. shes okay at painting but her real passion is with clay- specifically sculpting. shes taking a pottery workshop w grian but she like the freedom sculpting has that the wheel cant really give her...? if that makes sense.. she still likes it. when she paints she gravitates towards gouache and watercolors, she likes the fluidity she can achieve w em. also is very fond of how gouache lets u set it down then return and reactivate it w water again lol

pearl is a relatively successful artist, shes constantly traveling for art shows and also to host workshops/look for inspiration. she used to paint a lot, thats how she kinda got her fame... she used to paint this one girl a lot idk she has curly orange hair and freckles and shes always painted really beautifully. then stuff happened and now pearl mostly sculpts now. she still paints and her paintings are her most popular works but shes more into working w clay.

hm more abt this au, pearl and grian are siblings and both grew up learning oil painting. jimmy is also in this au im still figuring out a role but hes their cousin— basically brother— i was thinking pearls manager js coz i think itd b funny lol.

the setting is a small coastal town hrmm havent thought too much else abt it, was mostly pulling from coastal norcal ish...

in this au scar and grian are really really tight and have been living w each other for like 5/6 ish years. i dont think they officially get tgt... they think theyre woke asf n say they dont like labels (kinda kidding) the real reason is just timing. whenever grian is sick of running circles and works up the courage, scar usually has some complications hes working through and grian feels like hed just be another stressor added to his plate so he just wills it away... then when scar is like Im gonna do it. Im gonna tell him. Grian is experiencing sum kinda dilemma and is rly stressed so then scar is like well it can wait... (this goes on forEver.) whenever they do sync up, usually theyre far too scared about ruining their friendship and having to find a new roommate or something. they both r very important to each other and if bottling up their feelings means they can hold onto each other and keep each other around then thats what theyll do...! yeah theyre doomed🤦‍♂️.... they still basically do romantic activities tgt- they just think its normal coz its them.... also everyone around them thinks theyre secretly dating or smth anyways Yeah this is the au in a nutshell im such a sucker for long term pinning friends to lovers or whatever😭😭😭😭😭...

[flicklikesstuff]

Have you guys ever thought too hard about Crunchy Chip’s over-the-top avoidance of sweets? Because guess what?

I SURE did-

We all know that eating sweets in the Dark Cacao Kingdom isn’t as unforgivable as Chip makes it out to be. The citadel literally has some sweets stored that Fishgatto took in his benefit before.

Caramel Arrow’s fav drink is literally brown sugar milk tea (Like meeeee :D). Not even Dark Cacao himself is strict on it since he has given Chip a pass on the treats a number of times.

As far as I know, I believe no other Dark Cacao denizen is actually that strict on that rule? (I may be wrong idk)

So then, why is Chip like this?

…….

This is going into more theorising territory, but it’s been heavily implied that Chip has spent his entire life (if not ever since his childhood) in the wild. His voice lines point to this. He lives in the mountains, can set up camp by reflex, hunts with the pack, and overall just has a love for being outside.

Also, most likely raised by wolves even? I feel like his story below was meant to be about how he first met and was saved by Dark Cacao since it parallels the bit when Wildberry shares how he first met and is taken in by Hollyberry. While it’s not stated how old he was in that time, I’m going to assume somewhat young enough near Wild’s age if we’re seeing the two stories as parallels?

(After all, this sequence is meant to show why these two cookies are the best, most loyal options to be entrusted with their monarch’s soul jam. It makes sense to me that they’re parallels of a first-meet.

AGAIN, this is my interpretation only!! This story could really be taken as something else too.)

And I’ve been thinking. Assuming IF Chip has spent his childhood in the wild, he must’ve been isolated from cookie civilisation/cookie social circles for a period of time.

Until he was ‘saved’ and then taken in to train and become a warrior and Cream Wolf Captain. With his childhood spent not growing up in a typical cookie home and instead, his heart being always in tune with the wild more, there’s bound to be some dissociation with his fellow Dark Cacaoians.

(This is also the guy who doesn’t know what a delegation is despite being a man in his mid 30s tops. Adding more into my theory that he’s somewhat detached from society.)

………..

Getting to the point, what if this isolation is the explanation? Chip has mentioned that his job has him needed at the kingdom’s borders, thus making him even more distant from other cookies.

And even then, the others even agree so that his rightful place and the place he’s most expected to be in, is in the mountains.

Not saying that this is a bad thing. Not at all! He loves his job. I’m sure Chip loves being in the mountains with his wolves. He’s mentioned how he’s missed and is fully content being there a bunch.

It’s just that…. Does he ever feel a longing to belong? After all, it’s an ingrained thing to desire connections. Not just with the wolves but also, with his very own people too. Does not growing up among other children cookies just like his other fellow warriors had, ever get to his head sometimes?

Does it ever make him feel….isolated and distant in a sense?

Unless, this could be fixed of course. He could really, really, really commit to the values every warrior should have. And Discipline is one of them! If he’s dedicated to the bit, then he could convince himself that he truly does belong and IS a Dark Cacao warrior.

He’ll prove it if he must! To the king, to the others, to himself!

He feels the need to greatly appeal and prove to Dark Cacao so much that he does have a place in this kingdom after all. Why wouldn’t he? He’s kept strict to every rule and expectation, right??

If we consider that the theory he grew up isolated in the wild as a kid could be true, this means Chip has felt like an outsider ever since he could remember.

Being a Dark Cacaoian by blood/jam. But at the same time, still not fitting in. Its tough. (Not projecting nope.)

Btw, this may or may not reminded me of someone else….

Mr. “Would rather be in the silence of the Royal Gardens than loud-ass parties and talking and I’m fully aware how weird that sounds coming from a Hollyberrian cookie.”

*coughs coughs*

Totally not spreading my Wildchip propaganda but I just thought it’d be neat if they talk about how they love their respective kingdoms and would die to serve them but also-also, it lowkey feels weird and kinda hurts to not actually fit in with your own fellow cookies. Also WHAT, you’re an orphan adopted by your Ancient too???

………….

So anyways, I probs dug too deep into what should’ve been a comedic trivial thing of a character and made it into a mini sad-fest. Whups.

Though, it could also be simply that Chip’s just really dedicated while silly about it buuuuuuuut, that’s not as fun to analyse.

TLDR: “I didn’t have normal childhood like other cookies so I sometimes feel like not truly belonging but that’s not true because I DEFINITELY am a Dark Cacao Warrior and I can prove it by overcommitting to the bit.”

Btw, Happy late Bday Crunchy Chip <3 🎉💖

[ryewwww]

Umm, I loved bully gojo and 2 , what happened after he kidnapped her and yknow , non conned her , like is he just obsessed with her , ORRRR , is he obsessed with her aaanndd IN LOVE with her ? Will he force her to be his girlfriend and future wife. Will she try to pick herself up and make a good life for self even though gojo literally exists. Hmmmmmmmm???? Idk but anwyas that story atteee . Stay sexy , ..sexy 🥰💓

⚠️: NON CON, Kidnapping, Mean!Gojo, physically, mental and emotional abuse, manhandling, bullying, biting, groping, size difference, pregnancy sex

-> THIS IS REALLY DARK AND FUCKED UP PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK !

-> Idk why but everyone ate that Gojo fic up for some reason😭

-> part 1

Oh boy, he is more than obsessed with you

You made it too easy for him

With your family being out of the picture and you having quite literally 0 friends

Isolating you… well you already did that to yourself

Your reputation at school burned to the ground the moment he decided to leak your sex tape

So there’s no going back to uni

He handed in a resignation letter on your behalf and though your boss was concerned, Satoru assured her that you’re alright, but your morning sickness has been brutal lately

She raised her eyebrows and smiled, telling Satoru to pass on her congratulations to you

Your roommate at your dorm didn’t give a crap (she has a big, fat crush on Satoru and when she found out he slept with you, she wanted to kill you.)

That urge only grew stronger when Satoru stopped by your dorm to move your stuff out and when she asked him why he was the one moving it, he simply stated,

“Well, she’s pregnant with my child so she’ll be living with me so I can take care of her.”

Safe to say your roommate spent the night ripping her hair out of her scalp

And you. You’re sitting in the sunroom with a cup of warm tea and a side of prenatal vitamins in front of you

You’re in deep thought when the door swings open and a tall figure enters in

He sits next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you onto his lap so that your back is relaxed on his chest

“Did you take a look at the blueprints?”

“I did but… what’s wrong with this house?”

“Nothing. I’d just like a bigger home to raise our family in.”

He’s met with silence

“You haven’t taken your vitamins.”

“I will, I just, I haven’t been feeling too good this morning.”

To that he hums and leave a kiss on your neck

“How’s the dress shopping going?”

You pause and put your hands over his

“Don’t you think we’re rushing this? Why can’t we wait till after I’ve given birth?”

“I don’t wanna wait that long.”

You wanted to ask him why, but you knew it would result in the back of his hand meeting your soft cheek

You had already experienced Satoru’s aggressive side and you’d rather not deal with it until this baby is out of you

“I’m sorry, but I need to pee.” You squeak, escaping his grip and leaving him alone in the sunroom

5 days passed, and it was a big day. Your wedding day. Even though it was put together on such short notice, it turned out marvellous.

For a girl, her wedding day is supposed to be one of the best days of her life, right? It’s supposed to be magical, exciting and memorable… right?

So why are you sitting on a chair labeled “bride”, with your hair and makeup complete, staring at a one way bus ticket to the neighbouring city?

That leaves right when the ceremony starts

You had known about the bus ticket. Actually, an unexpected someone had given you the bus tickets.

Suguru, Satoru’s ex-bestfriend.

They had a huge falling out over a business deal and even mentioning his name sets Satoru into a rage. Especially if it’s his fiancee.

So as a lick back, Suguru offered to help you escape him. And maybe by the end of it, you’ll warm his bed once or twice, or better yet, marry him.

From Suguru’s perspective, it was the perfect revenge. Nobody knows Satoru better than himself. He knows exactly how he thinks and what steps he would take to find you.

He also knew that today would be the only day that Satoru wouldn’t be breathing down your neck because you were getting ready to be his bride.

At first, you didn’t believe it. But Geto is convincing. He thought about everything — down to the last little detail. He made you picture a life where you’re far away from Satoru and given a chance to start fresh again.

Going to the neighbouring city means you could have an abortion so you won’t be tied to the blue eyed monster for eternity.

Geto left his number on a sticky note that was attached to the bus ticket. You walk over to the landline and dial his number. After a ring, he picks up and once he hears your sweet voice, he smiles.

“Meet me at the corner of Xander’s street, there’s plenty of trees there to keep you hidden.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest and the tips of your ears were hot. You knew. You knew that if Satoru had the slightest hint about what you were about to do, he’d drag you to hell and back. But the idea of marrying him, having his child and building a home for your family, was far more petrifying.

You slip into some shorts and a tank top before sliding out of the bridal room and using the nearest exit to leave the venue. You scurry along the trees, hoping and praying no one sees. The corner of the street was quiet and secluded. You had plenty of cover and you waited until a blacked out Range Rover pulls over.

The window rolls down and it’s Suguru. He tells you to hop into the back seat quickly before anyone sees.

You do what he says, except when you open the back seat door, you’re met with icy blue eyes.

Your breath hitches and before you know it, you’re being pulled into the car with Satoru screaming at you.

“You fucking lying whore! How fucking stupid can you be, hm?”

He placed you on your back and wrapped his fingers around your neck, slightly chocking you

“When Suguru told me that you accepted the bus tickets, I let it slide. I let it slide because I thought you were smart enough to know not to cross me. But you, you fucking bitch, you really tried to leave me at the alter! You really thought you could get away from me?”

He tears your shorts apart, revealing your white undergarments that you were supposed to wear under your wedding dress.

You couldn’t help but cry, spewing apology after apology. But he wasn’t having any of it. He unbuckled his own pants, pulling his thick cock out of his trousers. He spat down on it for lube and without a care in the world, entered into you.

“You stupid bitch- you thought you could run away and abort my baby?!”

He leans down, his hot breath tickling your ear as he tugs on your hair to expose your neck.

“If you thought, even for a second that you could hide from me and live a normal life after killing my child. You’re just as sick as me… And clearly, you don’t know who the fuck I am. So let me teach you.”

He lifted your legs to mating press, ruthlessly thrusting into you while you sob beneath him. You try resisting by attempting to pry his fingers off the bottom of your thigh, but he has a death grip on them

“P-please stop… It hurts — I can’t move or b-breathe properly.”

You hiccup, but he ignores. Instead, he picks up the pace, making you cry even harder.

“I’m s-sorry please! Please it hurts! I can’t-”

“Shut the fuck up and take it. Or I’ll ask him to shut you up with his dick. I bet you’d like that, you fucking whore. So eager to leave me, is it because you have the hots for my best friend?”

Your eyes glance at the rear view mirror, and sure enough, his eyes are glued on you

Which only makes you sob harder. Hearing no response from you angered Satoru. Did you really like Suguru? He pressed on your neck, and by the look of his eyes, you knew he was waiting for an answer.

“N-no! I don’t- I swear I- I’m just not ready to be a mother, please!”

“I don’t fucking believe you.”

According to Satoru, the entire thing was a test for you. The falling out, Suguru giving you the bus ticket to help you escape, and meeting you at the corner of the street— it was all apart of the test. And you failed it. Miserably.

“And here I was, thinking that I had trained you to know better. To know better than to leave me. But you prove me wrong again and again.”

He finishes inside you. Suguru pulls into the back of the venue. Satoru pulls you up right and lays his forehead against your own.

“Go get your hair and makeup re-done. The next time I see you, you better be in your gown walking down the aisle to wed to me. Do you understand?”

“Mmh”

“Words”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good.”

Apologies for any mistakes. It’s pretty late. Also have mercy on me, I haven’t wrote anything in 9 months so it’s a bit rusty😭

[kimberly-spirits13]

Growing Up in the Justice League HC

Purely self indulgence cause I've been on this and idk why so bear with me here

I can just easily romanticize growing up in the Justice League too easily and it would be a problem

you're brought in at as a baby to be trained by Diana

Apollo brings you to her and tells her that you are an ancient being that regenerates as a new person when you die and this is the form that you have taken. As you get older, you will remember the skills and memories of your past lives but you will have to be raised with someone who can handle you

Diana just loves babies so she had no problem with that

I'd say the league has been established for some time during this point and everyone knows each other's identities in the core group

You grew up in Paris and New York being raised as a mama's child

Bruce is the closest you get to a dad and he does his best

SPOILS YOU ROTTEN

all the Barbies and Legos and whatever toys you'd want as a child

They know that you've been trained as an assassin, wizard, queen, knight, sorceress, scientist, all of these other things that can be traumatic so they just want you to have a great, decent childhood

when you start remember things they begin training you to be a hero

It's like PE and recess all in one since they're really just trying to figure out what you can do

Clark treats you like a fragile piece of glass up until you're a teen cause teenagers confuse him and he just cannot not see you as an innocent beep boppin child sometimes

Barry keeps up with the culture and knows all the songs from your favorite childhood movies and tv shows that you grew up watching on the massive computer in the watch tower when you were up there

will dance to any Barbie song since he knows them all by heart

Hal makes fun of you two but secretly enjoys the movies and is very emotionally invested in Princess and the Pauper and Diamond Castle

Diana and Bruce make sure that you have a great education and training

They are the mature parents of the group and want to make sure you're a functioning member of society

you've got a bag full of grandparents in the Kents, Allans, Princes, Alfred and they all love you to death

Alfred teaches you to make the best tea and gardening, Ma Kent teaches you to quilt and make bread, Pa Kent teaches you how to drive a tractor and farm, Hippolyta teaches you about the Greek gods and ancient cultures and how to ride horses, the Allans would have loads of board games to play and love having you over

Once Young Justice or Teen Titans comes around you don't join since you're officially a Justice League member and get along better with the adults since you were raised by them

That doesn't mean that you don't like or hang out with the kids, it's just that you have better inside jokes with Hal and Barry

When Superboy comes around and the League disappears, you were the only one not taken by the portal since you were helping out some civilians

You knew that Clark wasn't dead and you knew the League was somewhere

What kept you afloat was humor and Kon attached to that since he just needed someone that wasn't insane in his life

you probably won't develop romantic feelings for each other but it's more of a camaraderie since you were both raised in a really unorthodox way

when the league finally comes back, you say it's the happiest day of your life and rant to them that you were the only one who knew they weren't gone but no one understood it

Hal and Barry are known for having a thing for chicken tenders and make sure to instill an addiction in you for chicken tenders

Arthur (Aquaman) really really really likes them too but he doesn't realize it until he comes to the League

Clark would be the one to take you out for ice cream randomly or if you're having a bad day

the mother hen therapist type

You're America's favorite Justice Leaguer and often go viral for in uniform interactions with the League

Dancing with Flash at a Presidential ceremony because the music is too beep boopin good and you can't help but bop around a little bit

Media also loves you as a civilian and it's been suspected that you are the love child between Diana and Bruce since I mean- that would make the most sense

it's a running joke in the league

[youremyheaven]

The Scarcity Mindset & Repellence of Mars Influenced Individuals

I get a lot of questions about how Venus is "internally corrosive and externally pleasant" whereas the opposite is true for Mars.

Mars is "externally corrosive" and internally pleasant. What does this mean? Let's dig into it

Mars is a planet that is associated with asymmetry and ugliness.

All Mars ruled nakshatras belong to the Vaishya caste. Vaishya caste is in the middle of the caste hierarchy. They have to earn their keep in society. They don't enjoy the benefits of being upper caste like the Brahmin or Kshatriya naks and they're not outcaste or the lowest caste either, so there's no solidarity there. Being in the middle of the ladder means that you can lose your position or status in society at any time. You worked hard to get where you are and you weren't handed things on a platter like the Brahmin or Kshatriya caste naks, you don't benefit from the privilege of being born into a certain family or background.

However, unlike the Shudra or Mleccha caste naks, you haven't been "othered" by society. So you still enjoy a place *in* society but you have a deep resentment of elites and elitism and anybody above you on the ladder because you feel like they're all super fake and ignorant and you have experienced some amount of bitterness bc while you seem to fit in among people like them externally, you don't feel like you're internally sophisticated enough to be around people like them. This deep resentment and insecurity is a defining Mars trait.

Mars ruled individuals lack refinement externally and they have never known what its like to have "enough" so no matter how much wealth they accumulate or how much they achieve, they still inherently feel "less than" others. This does not prevent them from being cocky or confident or brash, their external demeanour may seem fine unless you put them in situations that specifically trigger them. i have known several Martian individuals, men and women, who are highly educated, well travelled, from families that are doing good but who still for whatever reason, never ACTED like it. I dont mean to say they were humble or modest because they weren't. But they were always a bit insecure about...really random stuff. A guy who made crores would complain about how expensive soup was and how he grew up eating rice and curry like a regular Indian guy and isn't used to all this "fancy" stuff. Mind you, he attended an uber rich private ELITE boys boarding school that several politicians and actors went to and RODE HORSES (fancy rich ppl stuff??) throughout his growing up years but he feels awkward having soup??? bc its suddenly too posh for him???

ive had another friend who once said she's never had french toast. like girl you've lived in multiple countries and have a schengen visa, why are you acting like a french toast is gonna break you 😭😭

this is what i mean when i say Martians lack refinement. they dont know how to behave normally or fit in with the rest of society. they could be MILES ahead of everyone in terms of career, success, wealth etc but they do not know how to physically act like it. it could be the way they dress, behave, carry themselves etc but they lack grace and social charisma. people look down on them because of it. they have a huge victim mindset and have never in their life gotten over ANYTHING. they hold grudges till the day they die. they're so fragile and sensitive, they will REMEMBER shit forever. they cannot LET GO or MOVE ON.

they think they're the outcast and that people can sense that about them and hence why they're treated the way they are but little do they realise that theyre stuck in these feedback loops of their own creation. THEY act weird and insecure and cause others to frown at them and they feel alienated as a result of it. They're just doing it to themselves.

Sandra Bullock, Dhanishta Moon & Mrigashira stellium

Idk how many of you have watched the Miss Congeniality movies but its a classic "ugly duckling" type of film. The unrefined, ill-mannered and socially awkward Martian woman, played by Sandra is transformed into a pageant contestant.

If you watch the film, you'll know what I mean by Martians lacking social grace. Forget manners and the way they dress, but even the things they say and how they say it is soooo crass and uncouth.

They're blunt to a fault. They do not know how to say things in a polite manner and are casually cruel in the name of being honest. Like they will be rude asf for no reason or ask really invasive questions. The sociopath guy I dated casually asked me how often I groomed myself 🤡🤡and I had known him for less than a week (yuck). Another Martian would casually ask me about my mom (who is schizophrenic and ill) despite knowing that its a deeply triggering topic for me.

Martians lack tact. And this is their biggest failing.

One of the best examples of a quintessential Martian man is Dr Gregory House from the show House, played by Mrigashira Sun & Mercury native, Hugh Laurie

Dr House is a piece of shit, a complete jackass, narcissist and extremely arrogant and rude. Arrogance is another defining trait of Martian men.

Kanye West, Mrigashira Sun

Do I really need to explain?

Kanye is known for how he lacks any and all sense of social courtesy and speaks his mind when he really probably should just stfu. Also, total narcissist

His daughter, North West, Mrigashira stellium (Sun/Jupiter/Rising) is also really blunt and straightforward even though she's just a kid.

Take a look at this clip and you'll know what I'm talking about

Sacha Baron Cohen, Chitra Sun & Mercury, Mars in Dhanishta

The kind of comedy that Cohen employs where he brutally makes fun of everyone in a way that is straight up crass, rude, insensitive and extremely offensive is very Mars coded

Usher, Chitra Sun, recently went viral for acting like a complete asshat. He made the doorman open the door for him even though he could just open it himself. One thing about Martians is that they are extremely entitled.

Martian men are also extremely "pseudo Nice Guys". They know how to ACT like a green flag and say all the right things and behave like they care about others/are feminists but they don't have a bone of decency in their system.

Justin Baldoni, Chitra Moon (he's also a Shravana Sun which explains his manipulative tendencies)

He really sold himself as the Mr Nice Guy feminist liberal before being exposed as a piece of shit

Cole Sprouse, Chitra Moon

He's another one of the pseudo nice guys, except Cole is also very pretentious, entitled and full of himself. He represents the repellence of Martian people because he's so thoroughly unlikeable.

Ashton Kutcher, Dhanishta Moon

He is friends with two known rapists (Diddy & Danny Masterson) he may have killed his ex girlfriend and covered up his crime (pls look it up, its absolutely insane). And he runs a company that is supposed to help victims of child trafficking but given the context, could potentially be a front to cover up something. The man is SHADY as hell.

Also, like I said Martians have no manners and are very unkempt, messy and squalid. They are GROSS and disgusting (obviously not everyone, so dont come for me)

His wife Mila Kunis, controversially said:

"I didn’t have hot water growing up as a child so I didn’t shower very much anyway, I wasn’t that parent that bathed my newborns, ever,”

Kutcher further said:

“If you can see the dirt on them, clean them, otherwise, there’s no point.”

Kutcher said he does wash his “armpits and my crotch daily and nothing else ever,” and has a tendency to “throw some water on my face after a workout to get all the salts out.”

NASTY if you ask me

Anderson Paak- Dhanishta Moon

Again he presents himself as a "nice guy" but he was a chronic cheater and is divorced from his wife of 13 years, Jae Lin. He even sings about it EWW

The Weeknd, Dhanishta Sun

His entire character and the whole show of The Idol is very Mars men coded (ew)

He only sings about abusing drugs and ruining relationships and its getting old but thats as Martian as it can get

Eminem- Chitra Sun, Dhanishta Moon

I mean..this is pretty self explanatory. He disses and roasts EVERYONE. He is blunt AF and will NOT hesitate.

Conan O'Brien- Dhanishta Moon

Unsurprisingly, a lot of standup comedians are Martian. I haven't heard anything problematic about Conan but the man is honest as hell

Jesse Tyler Ferguson- Chitra Sun

I absolutely adore his character on Modern Family and he's the meaner, more blunt and "honest" of the characters but he's still not a bad guy (probably bc he's a fictional character and written to be charming)

Jason Segel- Dhanishta Moon

His character on Shrinking is very Mars coded.

David Duchovny- Dhanishta Moon

His character on Californication is also peak Mars

Venusians are internally corrosive which means they can be absolutely horrible people who don't care if you live or die (extreme) or privately battling their demons but on the outside they are pleasant, gracious, a joy to be around and very likeable.

Martians are the OPPOSITE. They might save your ass and help you out when the time comes and have good intentions at heart but outwardly they COULD have disgusting mannerisms, be very crass, rude, unlikeable, unhygienic, unkempt etc. This is because of many factors, such as Mars being the soldier and them always having a survival mindset and thus unable to really indulge in or enjoy anything. It could also be because they're lower caste nakshatras, sitting at the bottom of the hierarchy and always feeling like the outcast.

To all my Martian girlies, I hope you know that you are ENOUGH as you are. You don't have to feel like you've got to save everything for a rainy day and that it's okay to indulge every once in a while.

[spareham]

fascinated by devon because she's like the only character with any goddamn sense but also why the hell did she marry that man?

i would love to talk about this..... bcos honestly idk i just.. feel like i get them, mostly cos the show is asking me to believe it and i enjoy stories most when i go along with what theyre telling me until theyre done telling me about it.

but for real here's my take on devon & rickens relationship: when ricken and devon met, ricken was a lil rich boy who loved to write (poorly) and was always a little too privileged and weird, but ultimately very personable/funny and like... puppy dog level head over heels for devon. first love type shit on his end. i think they were probably young and it was probably an honest friendship that grew into a relationship at devons pace, and while ricken was (and still is) ridiculous and a little lost, that doesnt stop devon from loving him. then gemma and she and mark and ricken became close knit, a real ass family spending a lot of time together and devon & rickens relationship became better because of it. and then gemma died c: and devon had to get really fucking serious about caring for mark AND ricken.. and thats the devon we see today, grieving and carrying it all.

AND ricken is grieving... we see him cope with any negative feelings (insecurity etc) with false bravado and overthinking. And ricken who is both grieving and dealing poorly with the grieving people around him is in an ego-driven rabbit hole exacerbated by the random boderline-sycophants who bring out the worst in him.. but the ego rabbit hole friend group makes him feel wanted/loved/important so he's coping poorly and spiraling by playing into it without regard to how it affects devon and what it really 'means' about who he is/what he's achieving (he's not very introspective or self aware even tho he thinks himself to be!!) idk i just think that while ricken is like.. maybe the worst version of himself he's ever been at this point in their lives, he also wasn't ever some incredible amazing superhero person to begin with... he's kinda just a dope. and devon loves him. and he's wealthy lmao. and i just feel like even though they aren't some storybook fairy tale mark & gemma type romance, devons an extremely pragmatic person and wouldnt be with someone she didn't Want to be with. I don't think she'd take as much crap from mark as she does if she wasn't sure about ricken. but idk im prepared to eat my hat cos frankly i think they should open their marriage and devon should date women but thats just me

ANYWAY: Jen tullock talked about a lot of these things on the severance podcast ep she was on, and also a lot of my opinions were informed/solidified by He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother by cassiandor on ao3 and i think everyone who loves devon should read it.

[walkingzombiegirl]

hiii can i request some fluff with toge inumaki and fem!reader? like headcannons on how it would be like to date him and how their relationship grew? i love your works you do such a great job! <3

━ 𝘿𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙄𝙣𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 - Toge Inumaki x Fem!Reader

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 - Headcanons for dating your favorite partial mute!

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - Cursing? Maybe? Alludes to death

𝗲𝘅𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘀 - My brain ran out of ink I might add more

You guys met when you joined the school as a first year and the first thing you seen was a talking panda

A surprise fr

But then you met him, and it was bonito flakes at first sight

Okay no more jokes

But seriously he was really cute and you were extremely awkward around him for the longest because it's already hard wondering what your crush thinks about you

But you couldn't physically understand yours

Not at first I mean

Inumaki thought you were also also very pretty however he knew that there was definitely going to be a barrier until you began to understand him like his friends did

It's when the notes began

He first began them when he asked you for a pencil right before an exam and it carried over

Each time he needed to communicate with you, he'd write a note

You'd pass them back and forth in class as well, when you were supposed to be being quiet

Gojo pretended he didn't see that part

Until finally his words, though very few, began to click

Like Groot, you caught on, faster than anyone else had and even Maki was impressed with that

He still likes leaving you notes though

Especially in your desk or just around where he knows you and you only will find them

And one day, a note on your desk said, DATE? YES NO

Panda couldn't stop giggling, so you knew something was up

Obviously, as seen above you said yes

I could just imagine all the ways he'd show his love without speaking it for the most part

Like the notes

Also a firm believer that he's very much a hand holder as well, he likes playing with your fingers

Also stares a lot

Especially when you're talking and telling something bro gets extremely zoned in and stares you down like you've hung the sun and stars and are the best thing that's ever happened to him

Which you are

He's whipped

All his friends know this as well, they love it

You don't get to see much happiness often in their world, all you really have is each other and long live happy relationships as long as they last

He likes taking walks, the clear his head since y'know, saying certain things might murder everyone in a few mile radius

They're very personal to him

So he starts taking you, and sometimes it's silence, sometimes he likes just hearing you talk because it helps calm him

Sometimes you both share earbuds

Whatever it is they're some of his favorite things ever and he'll take secrets pics of you if you skip ahead

Great insta posts the man CAN take a photo

He's the type of boyfriend to get in the most awkward poses if you need a good selfie

YES GIRL GIVE US SALMON

*squats*

He truly loves you and worships the ground you walk on

DIY king also btw

Idk why that thought just popped in my head but I feel like he truly can do anything if you ask him

Build you a bookshelf? Five minutes, no sweat, zero mistakes and it's done and he just stares at you like :3

Great listener obviously

HIS BITCH POSE IS NASTY

if you say something even remotely untrue he gives you the biggest most diabolical silent side eye ever seen before

Shakes the ground

Eyebrow game is strong, very expressive man it's very attractive

My thoughts are running out but he's just a king of being a boyfriend

a/n: best friend break up!!!!!!!!!!! THEY STUICJK

[lullxby]

OMG, hiii!!! Never saw anyone taking requests for Niccolo before. 👀

How about Next-door neighbor Niccolo hc? Being able to see his window through yours 😮‍💨

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ NEIGHBOURS (n.g.)

summary : in which a certain boy spent his whole childhood trying to get rid of you, only to realize that was the opposite of what he wanted.

w.c. : about 1k

a/n : eughhh i hate how this turned out but i told myself i had to get smth out

lowkey loved this request tho ty! 🫶🏻

also i might’ve spelt neighbours wrong idk

wattpad: poet1cmystery

warning(s) : stalking? bru idk 😭

| baby masterlist | navigation |

niccolo govender had known you since you were both children. for almost his whole life you had lived beside him. your families were close, which meant many nights were spent having dinner together. despite trying to get rid of you, it seemed he never had been able to escape the sight of your beaming face.

so, when the two of you were younger, you were close. but, with age, you guys grew apart, and now only spoke at aforementioned dinners. he hadn’t tried to stop it.

that didn’t mean he forgot about you. he’d see you in the halls, talking to your various friends. sometimes you’d wave to him. sometimes you wouldn’t.

lately, he’d see you at his house more and more. you began getting closer to camila, and spending more time with the girl, consequently seeing niccolo more often.

it all led up to one night, one life-changing night in nicco’s mind.

he had been lying in his bed, then saw a bright light flickering on and off from outside of the glass pane. after a few moments of the interruption, he pulled back the fabric of his curtains, coming face to face with your tired frame, a yellow flashlight in your hands.

he noticed how your grin spread as he locked eyes with you, your pretty smile reaching your eyes.

the sight puts a smile on his own face.

you gesture for him to open his window, as you slide open the glass on yours. he chuckles a bit at the request, but fulfills your wish anyways, giving you space to crawl across the old tree separating your houses, and into his bedroom.

his bedroom, where you had spent countless nights before, and were about to spend another.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

another time your parallel windows came in handy was when he was lost deep into the video hame he was playing.

you had been blowing up his phone, calling him, texting him, anything to get the boy’s attention. all of your extensive efforts proved to be futile when you went without answer for nearly an hour.

his eyes were glued to the screen in front of him, until he saw another flashing light from outside of his dark window, illuminating the bare branches of the tree in front of it.

after he finished the round, he took off his headset, thanks to the incessant flashing going on. he was worried you were in some sort of danger, and that was the only reason you could get his attention.

the thought didn’t make sense, but it was the best he had. but, instead of your expected pained imagine, he just saw you, holding up your phone and pointing at it. you mouthed the words ‘answer me,’ still jabbing a finger at the device.

he made sure his window was unlocked as he had left it, just incase, even in the dead of a wintery night, you’d want to sneak over to his house.

the fact he had ended the game for no reason made him roll his eyes, but he couldn’t help but have a growing smile at the fact you wanted to talk to him so bad. he liked feeling important, and that was exactly how he felt with you.

that was all it was, he had convinced himself. he didn’t like you. he just liked being feeling needed, special. it had nothing to do with the fact that his heart rate would pick up when you smiled, or the way his jaw would unintentionally clench when he saw you with another boy.

you just made him feel special. that was all he wanted.

right?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

the most recent instance of your windows proving useful was something that benefitted him.

it was a bit past sunset, though not too late one summer evening. he had been sitting by his window, debating on going over to your room. despite living next to each other, he hadn’t seen much if you lately.

or heard much from you. he hated how much the fact worried him.

suddenly, your bedroom light flickered on. your curtains were sheer, making it easy for nicco to invade your privacy.

he knew it was wrong. god, it was so wrong, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

you stumbled in, being slightly pushed by a boy who looked to be a year or two older than you. you seemed to be enjoying it… sort of?

like it was your birthday, but you didn’t get the gifts you had wanted. still happy, but mildly awkward or upset, if that made sense.

before he knew it, he was walking through the night air, pounding at your front door.

it took a few moments, and a few more knocks, but eventually he was greeted with your familiar face.

shit.

he had just come over here, for no reason. he didn’t know what to say. you looked jaw-dropping.

how did he not notice that sooner?

his eyes ran over your figure, his mouth opening and closing multiple times. here he was, the typically rude, stand-offish boy, looking like s fish in front of you.

“my uh, my mom wants you.”

your eyebrows furrow. that was the worst thing he could’ve said. his mom wasn’t even home.

what the fuck was he thinking by doing this? what did he think would happen?

well, now you were shooing the other guy out of your house, small mumbled apologies tumbling past your lips as you slipped on a pair of shoes.

the guy was pissed, but got out after seeing niccolo glare at him, the act going unnoticed by you.

he walked back towards his house, you following him along, probably expecting some emergency.

safe to say, even with his parents and sister out of the house, you still spent plenty of time in his room.

divider made by h-aewo!

niccolo govender taglist: @trentknd @waterisnotreal0 lmk if you’d like to be added!

[drakoneve]

A Dragon's Wrath

Request: hello hello, how are u? Idk if u write for Harwin Strong, but I'm obsessed with this man, so if you're not taking requests for him, forgive me for being rude. So I wanted to make a request where the reader is the younger sister of Rhaenyra Targaryen, also daughter of Aemma and Viserys. She married Strong, and lives a dream life with him (they love each other very much, so please, Rhaenyra's children are not his 🫠) and the legitimacy of their children was questioned, of course the queen would never imagine that Harwin had a birthmark, which none of his brothers inherited from Lyonel, he being the only one to have it and ALL THE CHILDREN OF HARWIN AND THE PRINCESS HAVE THAT SAME BRAND, JUST LIKE THE FATHER'S. Maybe I went on too long and was stupid, sorry, you can do whatever comes to your brilliant mind, I just really wish the legitimacy of the children of the OC was proved by legal means and gave no right to be questioned even by the queen. Thank you for your attention, I understand if you don't want to do it 🤍.

pairing: harwin strong x targ!fem!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: mentions of childbirth, alicent being snakey

a/n: first harwin fic, harwin girlies lmk what you think!! for the sake of this fic, Rhae's children have Targaryen silver hair

In all the years the pair were married, King Viserys and Queen Aemma were blessed by the Mother with only two healthy, living babes. First born has been your elder sister Rhaenyra, whom you followed two years later.

Growing up the two of you remained close through your lessons and dragon riding, but as Rhaenyra grew older she would end up spending more and more time with her lady in waiting Alicent Hightower. Rhaenyra and Alicent being two of the only other girls your age in the Red Keep and their refusal to have anyone join them in their activities, you felt somewhat dejected by your sister's budding friendship.

This is what led you to find solace in the Red Keep's training yards. Day after day you watched knights, and knights in training, battle it out in the yard while you worked on your studies. It was there in the yard you saw him for the first time- your future husband, Ser Harwin Strong.

At the time you had no idea you would end up marrying him, of course, but you should have.

You'd heard all about Ser Harwin Breakbones, son of Lyonel Strong, one of your father's most loyal council men. Harwin's reputation truly preceded him and was rightfully earned.

You hadn't noticed it at the time, but you'd abonded your books and parchments in the stands by your supervising Septa as you approached the rail separating the stands and the training yard in an attempt for a clearer view.

Harwin stood taller than his opponents, shoulders back, sword in hand ready to defend himself. He watched his opponents carefully, calculating their next move. His short brown curls were halfway pulled back out of his face with a tie, exposing Harwin's jawline, much to your own enjoyment.

That afternoon you watched Harwin take down man after man without so much as a proper blow to his own body. He wielded his sword as if it were an extension of his arm in fluid, rushing movements.

When he had finally finished for the evening you applauded him, finally grabbing his attention as he had held yours.

"You are quite the swordsman, Ser Harwin!" you call out to him. "I feel much better knowing there are knights as skilled as you protecting my home."

Harwin grinned largely at your praise, twirling his sword in his hand for show as he approached the rail you supported yourself on. "I mean only to ensure you are safe at all times, my princess."

You smiled down at him now that he was almost right below you. "Well I have no doubts of your capabilities, Ser. I have a feeling you will do great things here, should you wish."

"You are too kind, princess," he chuckles. Then he looks up at the sky, towards the sun on it's way to set. "It is getting quite late, princess. Shall I escort you back to your chambers?"

The excitement and hopefulness in his face brought butterflies to your stomach.

"I would like nothing more, Ser."

After that night it was scarce the two of you weren't side by side, which all but pushed your fathers to wed the two of you.

Now you stood in those same stands, watching Harwin in the yard yet again, but now he's joined by your two eldest sons. Maevor has just passed his tenth and second name day, and Daeragon his ninth. Your two youngest babes, however remained with you and your maid and close friend, Malina.

Malina had first been assigned to you after your marriage to Harwin, and she'd stood loyally by your side as you birthed all of your children.

Malina's elder brother Ellion, a knight of the City Watch, stood closeby on the order of Harwin. He'd been one of Harwin's best men as you'd heard him compliment the younger knight on many occasions in the past. Being a Targaryen princess and wife of the Lord Commander in such uncertain times in the house of the dragon could be dangerous, and Harwin meant only to protect you and your babes.

Your first daughter, eldest of your month old twins, Naelora cooed softly in your arms as she played with the loose sleeve ends of your dress. You indulged her for a moment, raising your arm to lift the sleeve from her reach to tease her.

She gurgles in laughter, stretching her chubby little arms to grasp your sleeve once more.

The moment is over by the approach of Queen Alicent's lady in waiting, Talya.

"My apologies, Princess," Talya bows to you first. "But the Queen has requested Malina's presence for this afternoon."

Why would the queen need Malina specifically? Surely she could find another maid within the Keep to aid her?

Malina looks to you, pale brown eyes silently asking to stay. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, of course. After giving birth to your second son Daeragon, Queen Alicent began requesting Malina's presence more often.

Still sore from your labors, Harwin had taken the day off to aid you and watch over Maevor to allow you to rest.

You watched happily from your spot on the bed as Harwin held little Daeragon, to introduce him to his elder brother. Maevor, a boy of three years, stood as high as he could on his toes to get a peek over Harwin's bulk of an arm to get a glimpse of his brother.

Then your chamber doors open and Malina returns to your side after serving the queen all day. She approaches the foot of your bed, hands clasped together in front of her with her eyes cast slightly downwards.

"Malina, you needn't worry about me," you begin to dismiss her kindly. "I'm sure the Queen-"

But Malina shakes her head, brown curls following her, still refusing to meet your gaze. "I need to speak with you, Princess. And you, Lord Harwin, in privacy."

You share a concerned look with Harwin, who's joyfulness has been replaced with worry. In the time she's served you Malina had never been afraid to look you in your eyes.

He wastes no time escorting Maevor to his chambers just off your own, and placing little Daeragon in his crib next to your side of the bed. Harwin returns and stands dutifully on the other side of you as if protecting you.

"What is it?" you ask, and pat the bed in front of you for Malina to sit.

Malina makes no move to sit on your bed. "My princess," her voice wavers nervously. "I have served your for near half a decade now, and I know you to be the most true and kind person I have ever had the pleasure of serving-"

"Malina," Harwin interrupts sternly. "Speak it plain, what have you heard of my wife?"

Your heart thudded hard in your chest as you instinctively reached for Harwin's hand. He intertwined his fingers with your in an attempt to comfort you.

Malina takes in a deep breath before finally looking up to meet your gaze. "Queen Alicent requested my presence after your labors today for questioning."

"Questioning?" you tilted your head slightly. "About what?"

"Your sons," she answered swiftly. "She... She wanted to know if this babe looked like Harwin or..."

Harwin pulled his hand from yours, placing it on the hilt of his sword. "Or who, Malina?"

"Ellion," Malina whispers. "The Queen seems to believe that you spend too much time with Ellion, princess. She asked if I knew of any relations between the two of you, but I swore to her you are deathly loyal and would never-"

You move from your spot on the bed to bring yourself to stand. Harwin aids you as you steady yourself, then reach for Malina's forearm.

"You needn't explain yourself to me, Malina," you assure her. "I know you to be true to me, and you are one of the kindest ladies I know. You should go, retire for the night. We shall do the same."

Malina apologizes the whole way out your chamber doors despite your assurances. Harwin begins to strip his armor as you settle yourself back into bed.

Daeragon's crib sat just off the side of your bed, close enough for you to have a view of the newborn's little face.

Harwin soon joins your side clad in his nightclothes. You can feel his gaze on you, but you refuse to meet his gaze. Emotions ran rampant through you. You knew it must be the strain and high emotions of you and your new babe surviving the day, but you couldn't stop the rush.

It's when the tears begin to fall from your lilac eyes that Harwin wraps you up in his arms and pulls you back against him.

"My love," he cooes. "Sweet girl, do not worry yourself with the opinion of a misguided, jealous woman."

He raises his right hand to show off the inside of his right wrist, showing off the small, discolored patch of skin he inherited from his father, Lord Lyonel. A small, almost missable, seemingly insignificant patch of skin both Maevor and Daeragon had inherited.

Harwin leans in close, placing his lips against the shell of your ear. "We know I have fathered your sons, my love. Do not worry yourself with this, it is not worth it."

"You're right, husband," you hum, settling into your husband's arms for the night. "I'm just glad he's here, and healthy."

He kisses your temple softly. "You did that. You made him the healthy babe he is."

As you promised Harwin that night, you did your best to ignore the rumors pursued by Alicent. In the years following Daeragon's birth you'd heard more whispers within the court questioning your son's parentage, though you said nothing.

You tried your best to pay them no mind, other days they really got to you. But for now you simply obliged to the queen's wishes.

"Ser Ellion," you motioned your friend forward with one hand. He looked much like his sister as they shared the same nose, and brown curly hair, though Ellion's eyes were an elegant green. Still, no man in the Seven Kingdoms could come close to Harwin in your eyes.

"Would you mind taking my sweet Raemor from your sister? I'm afraid I cannot tend to both babes at once."

Ellion nods and leans down slightly to make a peaceful transition from his sister's arms. He wore an awkward grin on his face as he cradles the blanket wrapped babe the best he could in a full suit of armor. "It is an honor, Princess. Though I'm not certain he will be comfortable against such steel."

Malina bows and takes Talya's arm in her own. You know Malina's dislike for the woman, and you can only guess she's done this to ensure Talya is led away from you and your family.

You shake your head in response to Ellion yet keep your attention on your daughter in your arms. "It is no issue, Harwin holds them in his armor every day. He has with each of them."

A moment passes in silence and you look up to your husband and eldest children. Maevor's brown curls are just long enough on the top to be tied back while leaving some down thus his hair is relatively tame. Daeragon's, however, is tousled and absolutely untame.

Both boys are breathing heavier now, their cheeks flushed. But the beautiful, pure look of excitement on their faces melted your heart. They knew their father was Lord Commander of the City Watch, and that Harwin worked hard for his family at his very important job, and they treasured their father for it.

After taking them to see Harwin train with some of the new recruits of the City Watch two fortnights ago had been a mistake on your part for the boys had not shut up about training themselves. At first you had been hesitant, of course other Targaryen princes had been taught to fight years before your boys, but you were afraid of the things they might encounter so instead you encouraged them to spend time in the libraries and their respective dragons.

As a result the boys were extremely well read and years ahead of their pupils in their studies. Maevor is practically fluent in Valyrian now, and Daeg is not far behind.

Their insistent pleading had wore on you though, and you gave in to them with Harwin's reassurance he would personally oversee their training. In the end, Maevor and Daeg's immediate joy at being granted permission made it worth it in the end.

Harwin and the boys were cleaning their training gear and putting it away.

Ellion clears his throat, pulling your attention from your family. "I fear something is happening, Princess."

"What do you mean?" you ask, standing from your seat and brushing your skirts with one hand.

"I have been approached twice now," he explains carefully, watching who was sat in the immediate area. The closest people sat on the complete opposite of the training yard in those stands. "Once by a fellow knight, and then by Talya herself. I only mention this as a warning, Princess."

Harwin and the boys are nearly there and you don't want the boys to hear such slander.

"Thank you, Ellion," you force a smile to give him. "And I apologize for what has been whispered around court these last years, but I plan now to make it right."

Harwin approaches you then, slinking one arm around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. "Come, my love, the boys need to bathe and our littlest ones must be ready for their nap."

Maevor perks up, "Mother, may I carry Naelora back to your chambers?"

Your hearts melts at the question, Maevor ever the doting older brother. You grant your son permission, gently reminding him to hold her head carefully.

"And I shall take Raemor from you, Ellion. I thank you for your services for today."

He bows respectfully, "Tis my duty, and an honor."

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

Once the twins are down for their naps and the older boys off to the bathhouse with Malina you informed Harwin of everything that had transpired this afternoon while he trained with the boys.

His thick brows furrowed almost immediately, angre written upon his face. Harwin had shed his armor by now, settling for more comfortable leathers for the evening. His sword however, stayed attached to his hip with one hand gripping the hilt.

"I am sick of hearing your name and reputation tarnished by fools!" Harwin seethes, angrier than you've ever seen him. "I have half a mind to slay them all down for even thinking such things of our children, of you."

You shake your head softly, approaching him to cup his face. You press your forehead against his own, something you've always done to comfort him.

"I have a plan, my dutiful husband," you assure him. "I happen to have a wonderful relationship with my father by law, if you must know. And I just so happen to know that a Small Council meeting starts in mere minutes."

Harwin eases a little, but now he's wrought with confusion.

"What have you planned, my love?"

You smile mischievously and press a sweet kiss to your husband's lips. "Just you wait husband, I first require our Maevor."

The boys are back from their baths by now as you can hear them bustling about Daeragon's chambers, which is the adjoining room to your own.

You knock before you enter as you always do, to the sight of your boys on Daeg's bed, books sprawled open before them.

"What have we there, byka zaldrīzoti (little dragons)?" you ask as you join them on the bed.

Daeg pulls the leather bound book to cover his lap to show you. "The Histories of Old Valyria!" he chimes. "Maevor was reading it to me in Valyrian."

You stroke Daeg's plush cheek with one hand, still able to see the babe he used to be in his face, and take Maevor's hand in your other.

"He's smart, your brother," you 'whisper' to Daeragon. "I would study hard, my Prince."

Maevor breaks his hand away to rustle his brother's brown curls. "Muña's teasing, Daeg. You are smarter now than I was your age."

You swoon, heart melting at the relationship between your boys. "Oh my sweet Maev," you kiss his temple. "Might I borrow you for a awhile, I have something important to discuss with the Small Council and I need your help."

Maevor's brown eyes widened slightly, "Of course, mother."

"Have no fear, sweet boy, I have a plan."

And you sure did. Once you explained what you could to Maevor while sparing his innocence best you could, he'd been more than willing to join you.

You squatted down to be closer to your son's level, Harwin by your side. "You are special, Maevor," you explain to him. You grab Harwin's right hand and Maevor's to put them side by side. Both birthmarks were near identical save for Harwin's being larger and slightly darker than his son's. "Each of my babes have this mark, all from Harwin, who inherited it from your grandsire, Lyonel. Do you understand?"

He nods, but says nothing. Harwin crouches down next to you, reaching to cup his eldest son's face.

"I wish we did not have to burden you with such a task, my boy," Harwin admits grimly. "I want you to know we are only doing this because we love you children, and I love your muña too much to let people speak of her in such a way any longer."

So the three of you set off, accompanied by Ellion as Malina had stayed behind to watch the twins and Daeragon.

Despite the Kingsguard outside the meeting room of the Small Council, you march right past them and push the doors open yourself.

Each member of the council turns to you now silenced. Otto sat up straighter in his seat as he looked towards his daughter. Alicent looked shocked to see the group of you, and you noted her visible nervousness.

Lyonel stands and comes to Harwin's side, demanding answers most likely. Harwin begins whispering in his father's ear, explaining the situation.

"Sister," Rhaenyra stands, hand placed over her round stomach. "What is wrong?"

You cross your arms over your chest, eyes blazing as you glare at the Hightowers at the table. "Since the birth of my Daeragon I have endured vile slanders against not only myself, but my marriage, and every one of my children."

Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

"Princess," Otto pokes in. "I can assure you-"

"Assure what?" you snap, slamming down on the table to lean towards the Hand. "Alicent has been the one to pull my ladies from me just after giving birth to insinuate my babes have been fathered by knight of the City Watch who is not my husband. Even now, a month after having my twins, I am approached with more blasphemy. No more."

You usher Maevor forward, who happily extends his right arm before you have to ask. Harwin joins you, followed by Lyonel, both of whom put out their wrists as well.

Alicent's mouth widens in shock before she grits her teeth. Even Larys' wears a look of shock as he checks his own wrists, coming up with nothing.

"I am tired of my children being put under scrutiny," you say finally. "And of my loyalty to my husband being questioned. Now, if you all do not mind, I would like to enjoy the rest of the day with my family undisturbed."

You step back from the table to leave when Rhaenyra wraps you up in a hug. "I am so sorry, sister," she whispers.

You assure her with a simple kiss to the side of her head before reaching for Maevor's hand.

The boy is practically bouncing on his feet as the two of you make your way back to your chambers, both Harwin and Ellion following close behind.

"She is very scary, your wife," Ellion admits to Harwin lowly. "I would to want to be on the receiving end of her wrath."

He only chuckles, "No, nor would I."

[strangesuki]

agree to disagree?

❝i love you; by extension, i hate all other things❞

❝i forgive the world because it has you❞

pairing : euijoo x reader, est. relationship

genre : fluff, comfort, grumpy!reader x sunshine!euijoo but you don't exactly get to see much of his sunshiney side in this so more like subdued sunshine? sunshine but it's a cloudy day kinda vibe? idk what im on about but you get what i mean 😭

prompt (?) : i saw a post the other day about something hozier said in an interview (1st quote from above) and was reminded of another quote (2nd one) that felt like its perfect companion quote and i was like omg someone should write a fic using these two! then i was like wait i can also do that. so here we are. i kinda wanna write an angsty version but maybe some other day

warnings : one instance of bullying mentioned, one cuss word, not proofread

word count : around 800

you had an okay childhood – nice parents, good friends, financially secure environment, fun memories. and so to an outsider, it doesn't make sense why you grow up angry at the world. but those close to you know that it's because you also grew up watching the hypocritical ways of the world that preached kindness on one hand while making the lives of those who chose to walk down that path perpetually miserable. well actually no, scratch that, that makes it sound like you're some sort of good samaritan who is deeply concerned about the well-being of the general public – you're not that philanthropic.

you're really only concerned about one person in particular – byun euijoo. your childhood best friend/love and light of your life. beautiful, soft, kind, and altruistic to a fault. you honestly still can't comprehend how he can wake up everyday and choose to be good despite how brutal the world is to him. all your life, you've grown up seeing him be kind and compassionate to everyone, but most infuriatingly even to people who don't deserve it. and so, because of him, you have a bone to pick with the world and its unfair ways. euijoo does not usually complain and bears it all silently, because he wants to keep the peace, and you hate it. doesn't he have you? all he has to do is tell you, because you would go to war for his peace if that's what it takes.

but that's precisely why he doesn't tell you – because he's afraid you'll get yourself into trouble trying to get even for him. like when you were 5-years-old and you bit a boy's arm because he stole euijoo’s favourite toy and claimed it as his own. or the time in middle school when the class bully tore up his notebooks before the final exams just because he had helped a girl the guy had happened to have a crush on – the next day, you tripped him. he fell and ended up with a bloody mouth and a chipped tooth. or the time in high school when euijoo worked part-time at the local supermarket and the owner fired him without pay after making him work overtime for months and then claiming he had stolen money out of the cash register. there were no cctv cameras so everyone just took his word for it. you threw a rock through the glass front doors.

granted, you are not as…violent as an adult, since that tends to have serious consequences. but by no means are you any less scary.

he doesn't like to complain, but that doesn't mean he's never affected by it – he's only human, after all. there are days when his smile doesn't shine as bright, like today. days when everything feels a little heavier. when you open the door to him tonight, his eyes lack their usual glint, and his smile feels subdued. it's not everyday he lets his weariness show. it's not everyday that he walks over to you like this and wordlessly slumps onto your shoulder, seeking comfort in your arms. he rarely lets you see how draining it is, so when he does, you know it's worse than usual.

blood rushes to your head as you feel a surge of rage, and your hold around him tightens. “what happened? i'm gonna kill the bastards i swear,” you fume.

euijoo lets out a tired chuckle and rubs your back in an attempt to calm you. “i didn't even say anything and you're already plotting murders?”

“fine. i'll do it after you tell me. spill.”

“hmm, let's just stay like this for a while?” he murmurs with a kiss, breathing in your scent and trying to forget about everything else.

you sigh. you suppose vengeance can wait. for now you will be his solace. you comb your fingers through his hair, and he smiles knowing that for tonight you have given in. the weight feels lighter in your embrace.

“do you think i'm a pushover too?” he asks after a while, his voice quiet and muffled.

your fingers in his hair freeze for just a second before continuing. “no. i think you're too nice for this wretched world. it doesn't know a thing about kindness and certainly doesn't deserve yours.”

“you have got to stop making me sound like i'm a saint or something,” he mumbles with a laugh, before settling into silence again. and then, “’s not so bad, you know,”

“what?”

“the world. i like it because it has you. i try to be kind because it has you.”

your eyes sting. “well i hate it for not being nicer to you,”

“debatable. it gave me you.”

“agree to disagree?”

“deal.”

divider credits: @/strangergraphics

[hatsbuckets]

Horny asks or som'n som'n I saw earlier and just, my thoughts went sideways earlier.

So som'n som'n a) vampires when they yawn do it like snakes where their fangs come out and stuff

Som'n som'n b) vampires who need extra salt in the winter, cause good vamplings that don't hunt humans, can gorge on animals they find all they want and desperately need more salt intake. What better substitute then salt or cum. Their body would happily, and kinda really needs it anyways, absorb it from any possible source.

C) little fat gorged vamplings all too happy to be dicked/pussied down and suck off anyone the little bloody sluts.

D( no I don't know where I was going with this, just woke up from a nap but enjoy that idea. 🙂‍↕️

Reading this was like getting punched in a boxing match but in like a really good way. Like Wham. But also wham ! And it kept getting better. About to CoD and 141 ur idea hottie nonny 🙏 this was so fun to write up omg it just got longer and longer. I want more.

I wrote this for the entirety of the last basketball game. Quick and unedited.

18+ smut at the end.

Imagine like, a world where Vampires are integrated-ish, vampires make up about so about 3-5% of the pop. (250-300 million), more than enough that they become a regular part of society. (pretend all the legal/cultural stuff solves itself mostly womp womp)

In this world, attack dog vampires are favored. Vampires utilized for military, policing, PMCs, security. Vamps have other jobs in the world of course, the notable ones include being paid universal blood donors (this is an idea I've been obsessed with since I've discovered vampires as a kid but idk how to explain my reasoning. Like you only get turned vampy with bite and blood, but blood alone is good), sex workers who know their niche, dangerous/high risk jobs, and an all-vampire UFC type fighting ring where fights are crazy and so cool.

Important note, biting & the biting vampire's blood turns people. Not just a bite. It takes both.

Anyway, back to our boys. Price, who's as human as they come ("booooo Hat whyyy" shhhhhhh). He's been in long enough to have seen his fair share of Vamps. They get treated pretty rough in the military, blood lust can become an issue if they don't train 'em hard and keep 'em on a leash.

Vampire Ghost who got turned by Roba. (Roba didn't know what he created. Thought he killed Ghost, turns out he made a vampire. Something something Ghost as Roba's spawn eats at Ghost for years). Ghost comes out blood fuckin' thirsty and raging. Kills Roba and everyone. He gorges for days on the bodies in his wake before Price finds him. Price helps him fix it as best he can. But Ghost's days on fresh blood in his rage is near irreversible. He can live on animals, needs human blood to thrive. Price let's Ghost use what he needs. Ghost is near toxicly dependent on Price for emotional, physical, and sexual stability. It's a dangerous relationship. Price knows that. But no one's denying that Ghost, flaring his fangs like a damn demon, mask cut or modified so that when it happens it works, is a scary, terrifying fucking beast in the field.

Vampire Gaz who grew up a natural born vampire. His family is ancient. Well known family, renowned for their service and deeds to humanity, and vampires. He knows how to take care of himself. Knows what animals are his favorite. He's a balancing force on the 141. He has his moments, like any vamp, but Price knows that a good meal normally calms him down. Or a good fuck. Gaz'll take both. Flares his fangs when he's feeling threatened, but grew up with the vampire culture to know, when how, and what it means. (Unlike Ghost, who's just a scary, biting dog)

Human Soap (I'm sorry I couldn't help myself) who grew up around enough vamps to not be worried about it in the slightest. Joining the military only exposed him more. And as he understands it, it's only right to let your vampire brother in arms suck your cock to make sure he's okay in the winter. (*Cough* Whore.)

Then he gets the invitation from the Captain. And joining the 141, full of the most elite vampires in the world, is a crazy time. These bastards are fun. They snarl at the enemy when shit hits the fan. Gaz's lip twitches when Soap annoys him, exposing his left fang. They fight damn fuckin' good.

And at this point, Ghost has chilled tf out and leads his unit well. But Soap notices the tension after missions. Soap notices when Ghost disappears for a night or three with Price. Soap knows, eventually, what it means. (Price either hides the bites well, or Ghost isn't biting his neck. (thighbitesthighbitesthighbites).)

As time passes, the vamps do get protective of their humans on the 141. Gaz does not miss the opportunity to explain that it's an instinct: protect your humans because they're your source of life.

And Gaz is protective at worst. A little defensive, but he knows how to control it, what it is. Knows that when he exposes his fangs at Alejandro (and Ale does it back) there's no hard feelings, it's just posturing, just making sure Ale knows that Price and Soap are his.

Price lets it go. Soap adores and teases the affection from Gaz.

Ghost, on the other hand, doesn't know better, well logically he knows, but damn if logic isn't stronger than his blood instinct. Damn if it isn't Price who keeps him fucking alive so any threat to Price is a direct threat to himself. (But also hnnnggg ghostprice)

And then, eventually of course, Johnny happens. In this universe, after an event like Alone in Las Almas, Soap and Ghost are exhausted. Ghost hasn't seen Price in at least 2 weeks, maybe more, he's itching for blood, for something. Soap's bleeding wound doesn't help at all. Ghost can smell him the entire truck ride. Hear his heart hammering to keep up. Can see how much calmer and dazed Soap is and something in him screams prey.

He can't, he won't. But Soap knows, and Soap might not understand it but he'll be damned if his lieutenant is suffering and holding on by a thread. He lets Ghost patch up his arm. Lets him lead and lead and take back the Vaqueros (or something) (haha slowburn). And when it's over. When they get someplace truly safe. When Ghost begins to retreat but Price has shit to take care of and paperwork to do before they meet with Kate later...

So Soap follows, and pesters. He's rough on Ghost, scolding for not taking care of himself.

Ghost is quiet, half flaring fangs just to warn Soap to fuck off.

But Soap won't. Of course not. But Ghost isn't going to drink Soap's blood. He won't. Refuses.

That's how John "Soap (whore)" MacTavish ends up braced against a wall getting his cocked milked for all it's worth.

He's come three times already, just Ghost's mouth around him, wet and hot. He's shaking, crying, whining, begging Ghost just to fuck him. To fill him. To finish this.

Ghost's only reply is lick from the base of Soap's cock to swirl at the tip. He knows his fourth orgasm is on its way, one thigh lifted on Ghosts shoulder. And when he shatters, not an ounce left to give, balls sucked dry, Ghost lets him collapse into his arms.

Ghost carries him to his own quarters. Lays him in bed. And holds the quivering, shaking, crying Scotsman in his arms. He can't offer much warmth, doesn't know how, doesn't know that Soap wants to hear they're both okay. That he's better. That Soap is an angel and more than Ghost deserves. How could he?

...

Soap wakes to an empty bed. But the nightstand holds a note from Price, just a "thank you" scribbled quick, and his favorite alcohol, the expensive kind.

...

note: this absolutely takes some inspiration from @/bluegiragi 's Monster AU. If you haven't read it FUCKIN GO READ IT. >Tumblr link< It's my favorite fan comic rn ngl

[gatorbites-imagines]

hello! CAN you write reader with Moon knight? (Marc, Steven, Jake)

Moon boys x male reader 

Headcanons 

Idk, I've been feeling fluffy and yearning for cuddles and snuggles so... Moon boy loving... 

I'm not the most knowledgeable about DID and the different roles alters play in a system, so I won't be going on about that. But I do believe that the boys have different roles when it comes to the moon knight system, but just what, I'm not sure. 

On to the cuddling and snuggling, cuz I've been feeling like an exposed nerve for the past week, and demand it. So y'all will have to live through that. 

Steven has the easiest time being affectionate and physical with their lover. He doesn't carry the same apprehension as Marc or Jake. He also has the easiest time talking about his feelings and needs. 

Their body temperature doesn't change depending on who fronts or anything, but I do think that stuff like their body language does.  

Steven isn't tense like the other two, and doesn't prowl like Jake and Marc can end up doing. He doesn't always look on edge and on the look-out for danger. After everything in Cairo, yeah, he's more aware, but he doesn't let it take all his peace away. 

Steven seems like the type of guy who snuggles close, like he's trying to crawl inside you. He tucks his face into your neck, arms and a leg thrown over you when he's feeling extra snuggly.  

When he gets comfortable, Steven lets out a loud puffed exhale and just melts. He always looks so damn pretty when he sleeps. They all do, if I gotta be honest. 

He likes talking before you guys go to sleep, and after reading it in a book or on some blog, he also doesn't like going to sleep when you guys are mad at each other. This also means he fronts if you are having struggles with either Marc or Jake, so you guys can talk it out too. 

His accent gets thicker in the morning or when he's really sleepy. It's kinda funny how British he can sound. You swear his hair is always more ruffled than Marc and Jake in the morning too. 

Marc doesn't sleep well, and suffers from insomnia and different anxiety and paranoia. Along with the nightmares expected of someone like Marc. 

I could imagine that in the beginning your guy's relationship, he would always be the big spoon or would stay up longer than you, to make sure you guys were safe. 

There would have been nights where he didn't sleep at all, and just laid there awake, listening to you breathe beside you. 

But when your relationship advanced, and the moon boys grew more comfortable, Marc would start allowing himself to be vulnerable. Its very small steps at a time, like sleeping with the lights completely off, or letting you be the big spoon. 

Under all his sharp edges, Marc would be touch starved. They all would. So, when he starts actually receiving cuddles, snuggles and kisses from you, Marc finds his heart almost aching. 

I could see this resulting in him trying to pull away for a period of time, because he's just not used to feeling so safe and cared for. We fear stuff we aren't used too, and especially because it makes him feel so small and vulnerable.  

But when Marc starts accepting it, he becomes a real snuggle-bug. You help ground him, better than anything has before, and being held by you can be the one thing holding him together some days. 

Likes laying with his ear against your chest when you guys sleep, so he can fall asleep to the sound of you breathing and the beat of your heart. 

He isn't much of a talker at night, but he does want to hear about your day. At some point you realize this is the easiest way to make him fall asleep. One time you were able to make him fall asleep explaining the plot of your favorite anime and everything. 

Jake takes the very longest to sleep and cuddle with you. For a good chunk of the relationship, I don't even really see Jake fronting that much. And when he does, he doesn't speak much, and doesn't hold or kiss you. 

Of course, you don't mind this. You don't want to force Jake into anything, but there are times you just yearn to hold and love him too, because you can just see the pain in him whenever he does front. 

It starts very small, like Jake fronting when the other two can't, and just being left alone with you for a while. You guys just sitting beside each other, or eating dinner on the couch and watching a movie. 

Like Marc, Jake would stay awake almost guarding you, and the other two, when you sleep. But he doesn't hold you like Marc does, instead he sits on the bed side you, sometimes holding your hand. 

The cuddling starts out small, like you falling asleep on his shoulder, or Jake fronting when you were already cuddling Steven or Marc. 

He seems the type to hold your hand and kiss the back of it before mumbling some affectionate words in Spanish, instead of the overly physically affectionate type. 

I dont think Jake ever gets as comfortable as the other two, but he grows more affectionate over time. He even ends up lying in bed with you every now and then and rests his eyes. 

He never sleeps fully, but he gets very close when you start running your fingers through his hair, or running your fingers over his facial features. 

It always ends up with Jake kissing the tips of your fingers when you start brushing his bottom lip. He normally has a furrow in his brow and a tight expression, but in moments like this, Jake lets most of the tension melt out of his body.