#i spent so much time agreeing with her and lying to agree with her

[sincerely-sofie]

Iunno if you answered this before but: How did The Fox react to DatM!Firn taking their child and running back to the cult? Was there an argument or discussion before hand? Does The Fox wish to be part of his child's life but can't because he's aware of how bad Firn can get with dudes that can't take a hint?

I'll be honest, the more time I've spent pondering the idea of Firn ditching her husband and taking their kid with her when she does, the less in-character it feels to me! Firn spent much of her life defying gods at this point in Death and the Maiden, and she doesn't even see the Fox as a god as much as she sees him as her weird husband who's a little awkward or sinister seeming at times, but ultimately means well. She'd be fine discussing any concerns she has with the Fox directly, and he's happy to resolve things as best he can. Heck, there's even guidelines they agreed on for what constitutes an ethical case of cannibalism. They're capable of resolving their issues.

I think I need to retcon that plot point— instead of running away to the flock, Firn avoids it as much as possible. 

The Fox doesn't really understand her distaste for the Sheep. He doesn't even know she was exiled, let alone much of her backstory beyond her service as Narinder's vessel— and he doesn't ask about it. If Firn wanted him to know something, surely she'd just tell him about it. For now, he knows she doesn't seem all that eager to reunite with her kin, though she eagerly teaches their son all sorts of their legends and traditions. 

Sokos wants to know more about his mortal heritage and meet some of his relatives, but Ma always gets really quiet and sad when he asks to visit his grandparents, so he's growing more and more hesitant to repeat the same question as time goes on. But Ma always says that she's working on it, and that he'll meet them soon. He can be patient. That's the most important part of hunting, after all. He just hopes Ma isn't lying when she says that stuff.

[motionpicturesforcarrie]

now that im not busy i have too much time to #mull things over

[bananastarlo]

I see you

childhood friend yandere x shy reader

You two are in the same daycare. He is the complete opposite of you — a loud, confident boy who charms both the adults and the other kids with the big grin he always enters the room with.

You, on the other hand, didn’t stick out too much. Always a bit more hesitant and shy around new people.

One of the things on the agenda today was a field trip.

Having arrived at the destination, the caretakers gave you instructions:

“Okay, little stars. Today is a wonderful day to play a game, don’t you agree?“

The others cheered in agreement.

“We hid clues that you’ll be able to find in this area! So get in pairs, if possible with someone new!“

As the childcare worker claps in her hands, the children scatter around, most of them sticking with their usual friend groups.

However, you stayed back. Nobody came up to you, and you were too anxious to approach the others, fidgeting with the sleeves of your shirt while focusing on the ground with your head low.

The caretaker took notice of your little form and exchanged worried glances with the other adults, slowly drawing near and crouching down to your level.

“Hey, have you found a partner yet?“

You shook your head no.

Reaching out her hand, she kindly offered to find a partner for you.

Yet, before you could take her hand, he appears in front of you — scraped knees, a backwards cap and messy hair — flashing you a boyish grin.

“Come on, let’s go together!“ he chirped, eyes glistening with fondness while yours lit up with happiness.

He took your hand and led you to where his friends were. They couldn’t understand why he refused their offer to pair up, until you showed up, shielded by his body.

As you both were hunting for clues, you felt yourself growing more and more relaxed in his presence.

He always protected you from slimy bugs and held your hand so that you wouldn’t get lost without him.

“You’re now my best friend.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, because he wouldn’t accept you saying no.

And you smiled.

“I like that.”

And the smile you gave him was so genuine, he felt his own heart beating a little more than usual.

You spent the rest of your childhood years sticking to him like glue. You admired him and his presence.

One day, when you were older, you spent time at his house. It was basically yours as well, with how much time you spent there.

Lying next to each other, you faced away from him while he stared at your back, too scared to move.

At times, he could be quiet. He could be soft. But only you were allowed to see this side of him. Only you deserved it.

As he listened to your slow, rhythmic breathing, you turned around.

You weren’t expecting him to be so close — your noses almost touched.

And your stomach flipped at the sight of his half-opened eyes that now widened as much as your own.

He saw it — your pupils, dilated.

His heart began hammering against his ribcage, and he pressed his face into the mattress.

“What?“ you murmured softly.

“N-nothing! You just threw me off guard.”

His response made you chuckle. It was cute to see him without his usual confident tone.

As older teenagers, you both started to see each other differently.

Behind his golden-boy personality and sheepishly handsome face, there was something deeper, a protectiveness directed at you.

He saw you as a woman now. And you, well—

You planned a movie night. Just the two of you.

You’d both been so busy lately, you started to miss his annoying voice and the way he always made you feel right.

As the movie played, you became bored and decided to mess with him a little, just enough to get a reaction.

“Heeey,” you utter, laying your leg on his.

He grinned, showing the dimples you adored so much on him.

But as you started to snuggle up even more and chose to playfully ruffle his messy hair, he became serious.

His hand gently gripped your wrist halfway, and your smile dropped.

“Do you not realize what you’re doing to me? That’s not fair,” his voice croaked — low, with a dangerous hint.

You became nervous and replied, laughing the awkwardness off.

“What do you mean? I’m just playing with you.”

He sighed, propping himself up on top of you, which knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“I’m not the little boy anymore who took these things as innocent gestures. Please acknowledge me as a man. And if you were to do that with every man while being so oblivious… I would rather keep you locked up. Do you understand?”

You couldn’t deny the way that made you feel — more than it should.

[chocolilies]

─── messy sheets. ꒱

( ୨ৎ. roronoa zoro x fem!reader. . .ᐟ

one of zoro's many favourite things about dating you is how you pick up on each other's mannerisms.

◟ꪆ୧ nsfw (afab!reader, thigh riding, groping, fingering) porn with a tiny bit of plot, though the plot is mostly fluffy! based on this request! spreading my titty fiend!zoro agenda... reblogs and comments are appreciated a lot!! (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾∇⁠＾) !

w.c : 3.2k.

also on ao3 + op masterlist !

“don’t ever come back here again!”

“you don't own the ship, asshole! I'll go wherever I want!”

dodging a kitchen knife, zoro slammed the door to the galley shut, stomping down the corridor as anger seethed through him. 

“can’t even get a drink in peace,” zoro growled as he clutched at one of his swords, pushing open the door to your room, having half the mind to turn back around and slice the cook up a bit until he set eyes on your bed. 

he found you sprawled out horizontally over the covers, one of his too-big-for-you shirts pulled over your sleeping body, head falling off of one of the pillows, while you hugged the other tight against your chest. 

now, one thing zoro loved about dating you was seeing just how much you influenced each other. 

when you’d both first joined luffy’s crew, you’d snap and whine at him for napping at the most random intervals of time, kicking him awake or simply complaining very loudly with nami about how he used his free time, driving the swordsman up the walls. 

yet after all that time spent grumbling about his sleeping habits before you’d gotten together (and maybe a bit more after that), here you were. messily spread out on your shared bed with drool running down your chin, taking one of those naps you once objected so much against. 

he held in a laugh, his tiff with the cook fizzling away in his mind as he took in your sleeping figure, the light from the afternoon sun shining into the room and hitting you in an almost angelic way, which for zoro, you were nothing but. 

he carefully propped up his swords against the wall, shaking his shoes off before silently moving towards what you’d both silently agreed on was his side of the bed, though thanks to the way you had moved around in your bed, were now occupied by your bare legs. 

zoro had once heard about how you moved around a lot during your sleep, having heard nami’s complaints about your sleepy kicks or slaps back when you used to share a bed with her, always laughing loudly at the way you would shy away from her in embarrassment, unaware of how squirmy you were asleep. 

surprisingly enough, though, the moment you started to sleep alongside zoro, you stopped moving. maybe it was because of his incredible pain tolerance (since one slap from you would hardly register as painful) that your movements didn’t stir him awake, or maybe it was because of the unyielding grip he had on you the moment his arms found your wriggly body. 

he found it hilarious that it was the latter. 

zoro carefully took both of your ankles in one hand, pushing your legs and subsequently moving your body so you were lying in a more “appropriate” manner, though considering the many times he’d ended up horizontal on a bed, he shouldn't really be judging. 

once he’d made enough space for himself, he let go, kneeling on the mattress before pulling his shirt and haramaki off, polloping himself down on the bed as soon as he’d flung them across the room (something he knew he’d get reprimanded for later).

a grunt left him as he tried to get comfortable, arms immediately spread out instinctively to find your body, wrapping them around your waist and dragging you across the already messy covers into his chest. 

you let out a whine as the rough movements forced you to let go of the pillow you’d been cuddling, though seemed to immediately calm down once you subconsciously realised whose arms you were now in. 

“messy girl,” zoro murmured as he looked around the state your bed’s covers were in after what he assumed had been less than an hour (he clearly recalled you screaming at luffy for something or other a bit before he’d wandered into the kitchen), craning his head so he could press a sloppy kiss against your cheek. “mean, too. napping without me…”

he adjusted the arm underneath you so it was right against your neck, not wanting for you to grow uncomfortable with it digging into your waist, watching as you immediately rested your head against his warm bicep, letting out a soft noise of content. 

his other arm, though, had completely other plans. he moved it from its place around your waist, dragging his hand underneath the oversized shirt of his you’d stolen, placing his warm palm right above the elastic band of your panties, chuckling as your body shivered in response. 

one thing you'd quickly learned about zoro the moment you'd started dating was that he loved your tits. 

he'd once “joked” about throwing all of your bras overboard one day in which you'd walked out of your room without one, eyes trained to your chest each time you walked by, not shying away from showing his attraction to you in that state, though you (and everyone else who had heard his proclamation) knew he was fully capable of doing it. 

zoro's hands were on you every chance you got, taking your tits into his hands and squeezing like they were stress balls, thumb and index slowly working on your pebbling nipples, chin perched on your shoulder and just watching, never making a sound except for the sighs or grunts that would leave him in response to your own whimpering noises. 

sometimes it wasn't even sexual. sometimes he just found comfort in groping you, playing with the flesh as you say in his lap working on something or as a stress reliever after a particularly gruelling battle. 

this, he thought as slid one of his legs between yours, was not one of those times. 

zoro leaned down to press kisses to the exposed skin of your shoulder, leading a trail right up to the spot behind your ear, smirking as you shivered in response to the soft blow of air from his breathing. 

“...’ro.” you mumbled sleepily, hand moving to cover the one that had started playing with your tummy, stirring awake due to his movements, completely different to how zoro could sleep through wars if he wished to. 

“mornin’,” he joked breathlessly into your ear, deciding to continue teasing as he nibbled at your ear lobe, making you squeak and try to move away. “hey, hey, stop moving.” 

“stop bitin’!” you slurred out tiredly, swatting at his face with a huff, knowing it was probably pulled into an annoyingly smug look. 

“can't… ‘specially not when you look this cute in my shirt, all sleepy…” 

“you get turned on by the weirdest things…” you groaned, already feeling his hand start to move up your abdomen, going directly towards his two favourite things. 

his teeth immediately sunk into your neck in response to your little insult, taking advantage of your body's natural reaction to the pain to finally grab at your tits, tugging at your nipple almost immediately, his other arm moving from the position he'd previously put it in to grab at your other tit, not wanting to leave out any of your two girls.

“you’re so pervy, zo… y’re no better than-” your words were cut off as you moaned out in surprise at the immediate attack on your slowly pebbling nipples, the action sending shockwaves through your body, arms lying stiff at your side as you tried to decide what do with your hands, teasing words fizzling away in your mind, too busy enjoying the way your boyfriend was massaging your chest. 

“don't.” zoro growled into your ear with a pinch to your nipples, a high pitched whine leaving your mouth at the little retaliation, knowing full well what was about to leave your mouth, not wanting to think about the perv-cook when he was in the middle of playing with his girl's tits. 

“m-meanie…” you gasped, back arching at the slight pain that accompanied the pleasure that rushed through your body at his actions, feeling the leg that he'd slipped between your own start to move, the coarse material of his trousers along with the pressure of his thigh pressing tight against your panty-clad core. 

“yeah? ‘m just a big meanie?” zoro grunted, licking at the spot he'd previously sunk his teeth in, slowly but surely moving his thigh back and forth, loving the way your tiny frame jumped and shivered at every stimulation he gave. 

“y-yeah-” breathlessly, you started to move down to meet the movements of his stiff thigh, muscles rippling between your legs despite the little effort it took for him to move like this in comparison to you, who was already growing tired from the constant movements without the help like you usually had. 

“this is me being nice,” he licked a stripe up your neck to the spot behind your ear, where he pressed a very uncharacteristically sweet kiss to, your mind flowing with confusion as to how he could focus on kissing, groping and grinding into you all at once. 

well, considering you were dealing with a man who fought with three swords, you shouldn't be surprised at his dexterity. 

each movement of his thigh against where you needed him most sent waves of pleasure through your tired body, and you could anxiously tell that you were leaving a damp spot on his trousers by the way you were dripping, your boyfriend's ministrations enough to get your pussy soaked. 

it also didn't help that each time he pulled his leg forward, his knee would bump against your already throbbing clit, sending shockwaves up your spine and forcing whines out of your wet lips, saliva pooling in your mouth and threatening to slide down your chin like it previously had been doing during your nap. 

“y’really don't want me to be mean,” he taunted, leaving more kisses across the expanse of skin his too-big shirt exposed for him to touch, fingers letting go of your already abused nipples, a sigh of relief leaving your parted lips at that, focusing instead on groping at the rest.

at your lack of response, zoro grinned, basking in the sounds you were making before he slid his leg out of yours, not missing the way they immediately tried to press down onto it, a horrified sound leaving you at the sudden lack of pleasure. 

“z-zo!” you exclaimed, trying to turn around to look at him, but by the way he had you pressed tightly against, you found that movement to be impossible. “wh-what was that for?” 

your whines were music to his ears, ignoring the way you were squirming in his arms, though his hands continued to play with your tits. “what was what for?” 

he acted like he hadn't just put a pin in your pleasure, instead moving to grind his front against your backside, evidence of his growing pleasure pressing into your ass. 

“mean enough for you now?” 

you whined at his taunt, a gasp escaping you as one of his hands let go of your tits, confusion filling you as to what that lonely hand would be getting up to. 

“‘m sorry!” you whined, finding it slightly ridiculous that you were apologising for simply implying that your boyfriend was being mean, though you would've done anything to get that beautiful pleasure back. “please- please…” 

“please what?” you could hear the smirk in his voice, though by the way his hand was already trailing down your stomach towards your soaked cunt, you knew you wouldn't have to do any more begging except to please him. 

“touch- touch me, pleaseee…” you begged, even though his index and middle finger were already teasing the spot right above your clit, tracing the soft texture of your panties, trying to discern which pair you'd worn that day. 

“there's my girl.” he grinned, pride filling him up as he finally got that initial brattiness out of you, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek as his fingers went up to the elastic band of your underwear, reaching his hand under it and running over your pubic hair, fingers sliding right between your soppy folds. 

your breath hitched in your throat as he immediately found your tiny bundle of nerves, already an expert on how your body worked and what you needed from him, rubbing slow circles into it like he knew you liked, a sharp contrast to the way he'd previously been grinding his leg against it. 

your legs twitched with every movement, your pleasure picking up from where he'd left off, tummy growing warm as he toyed with you, and though you could feel yourself slowly making your way up to your orgasm, you knew zoro wouldn't let you cum just like that. 

“shit, she's a messy girl, jus’ listen to her…” he murmured, referring to the sounds your cunt was making with every move of his finger, adding a second one in hopes that the cacophony of sounds would increase. 

“don't teaseee…” you drawled out, lolling your head back against his shoulder as he peppered kisses all over you, sliding his fingers around the erogenous zones around your clit, sparking pleasure all over you. 

“‘m not teasing.” he grunted, his hips jerking slightly to make contact with your ass, rubbing his erection against you in tandem with his own fingers, though still completely zeroed in on your pleasure. “I jus’ know what she wants.” 

you puffed out your cheeks, though whatever you were about to snap back died in your throat as he finally slid his fingers down to your soaked entrance, teasingly running his fingers around the ring of muscles. 

“fuck, y’feel tight.” zoro groaned, the heel of his palm pressing right into your clit, stimulating your little nub with each twitch of his fingers. 

“gonna fuck me open?” you jeered, out of breath at the continuous amount of pleasure being forced onto your sleepy body, another wave of slick leaving your cunt at the thought of getting fucked. 

“fuck, I wish…” zoro rasped, cock twitching against your back at the shared idea, shaking his head slightly, too comfortable in this position to move around. “not today, though. ‘m just enjoying playing with your little cunt for now.”

he slipped his middle finger into your hole before you could even reply, though he knew you had no qualms with his reply, always admiring his hands and exclaiming how much you loved having them on your pussy. 

his finger immediately found your g-spot, arching it to rub against the spongy spot that made your toes curl, palm still grinding against your clit deliciously. 

“s-so good!” you cried out, one of your hands grabbing at the arm he'd shoved down your panties, nails digging into his tanned skin in pleasure, though no pain registered, too busy playing with your cunt to focus on it. 

“yeah? ‘course it is, it's me.” he said, ego inflating at his own words as you twitched in his arms, slipping another finger into your tight heat to join the attack on your g-spot, his other hand still playing with your tit, warm pleasure building up in your tummy as he worked you out. “‘know you better than anyone.” 

fuck, it almost pissed you off how right he was. 

“no one like me, right?” 

“no one!” you cried out on instinct, moving your hips in tandem with his hand, amplifying the rising pleasure and grinding back on his stiff cock at the same time. “only one for me, zo!”

“atta fucking girl.” he spat out, breathless from the possessive talk and the own pleasure that was rushing through his body, pre leaking from his tip and forming a wet patch against his trousers. “y’close?” 

“mhm!” you shook your head up and down aggressively, moans and whines tumbling out of your mouth as you neared your peak, hand pulling at zoro's arm to alert him of it and ask that- 

“I got you, don't worry.” he sighed, knowing what you wanted before you even said it out loud, pulling his fingers out of you with a loud squelch, pressing his wet fingers against your clit like you wanted and rubbing quick circles onto it, your legs shaking as your hips tried to keep up with the sudden switch in stimulation, though thankful for the help, as it was what you needed to get where you wanted to the most. 

“fu-fuck, zoro! m’so close!” 

zoro knew what that meant. already too familiar with your body and your needs, he knew that that meant to continue whatever he was doing. not to speed up, not to slow down, not to switch techniques, just keep doing what was making his girl scream. 

“it's okay, I got you,” he almost purred, grip tightening on your tit as his hips jutted out to search for stimulation on his leaking cock, although he knew he'd probably be able to cum just by witnessing your orgasm alone. 

“oh god, oh god-” zoro grunted at your words, knowing that he'd usually let out a teasing ‘god’s not fucking you this good, baby’, at your whiny words, smirking as you immediately changed your tune. “zoro! oh, zoro, zoro!

your mouth flew open in a silent scream as you finally reached your peak, riding out your orgasm with help of zoro's fingers, that were quickly covered in slick by the way you'd came, soaking both his hand and your panties, probably even leaking onto the already messy covers. 

you whined as the hand that had been groping you moved to grab at your neck, moving your head painfully to a side so zoro could slot his lips against yours, drinking up your moans and whimpers as you swapped spit, eyes wide open and taking in the way you were falling apart on his fingers. 

you quickly found yourself twitching in overestimation once your orgasm washed away, whining into zoro's mouth, a telltale sign to slowly stop his ministrations. 

“hey, hey…” he shushed you as he leaned back, letting you lie down properly as he propped himself up on the bed, watching you shiver in the aftershocks of your orgasm as he pulled his fingers back from your perky clit, leaning back down quickly to press a kiss between your furrowed brows. “y’okay?” 

you hummed in response, cracking your eyes open to take a look at your grinning boyfriend, his face flushed and sweaty as his chest rose and fell with each quick breath, almost like he'd- 

“zo, just by-?”

“just by seeing you, yeah.” he exhaled, eyes flicking down to his bulge, cock softening against his trousers as he himself came down from his high, bringing the fingers he'd used on you up to his mouth and licking them clean, eyes darting around the room as if he wasn't in the middle of licking your juices off his fingers. 

“don't goooooo…” you whined, knowing he was probably looking for the closest thing he could use to clean you up, much rather preferring cuddles with your boyfriend to a dry cunt. 

you outstretched your arms out to him and made grabby hands, watching as he grinned in response to your need actions, landing on top of you with a grunt and resting his head right on the tits he'd previously been attacking. 

“brute!” you gasped, hands finding solace in his hair and running through his green strands, pouting down at your boyfriend. 

“mmm… next time don't let me suck your tits, unless you wanna see a real brute.” 

[clockwayswrites]

Distracting Birb! Part 28

*throws this and runs* Masterpost

“So what did you find out?” Tim asked as he spun around. He was at the computer, of course, and looked most of the way to villainy backlit by the large screens.

(Dick loved his little brother, but villainy really wouldn’t be the most surprising outcome for Tim.)

“What makes you think we found anything?” Jason answered, just to be impertinent.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t have called us all down to the Cave if you didn’t have anything.”

Jason scoffed. “You underestimate how willing I am to waste your time.”

“Boys,” Cass said calmly, ending the growing argument with just that word.

“Duke still out on patrol?” Dick asked as a distraction.

Tim glanced over his shoulder and back at the screen. “On his way back. He’ll be here in fifteenish.”

Best not to wait in case Danny woke, Dick decided. They’d be sure to fill him in. “Okay. Well, Danny was not lying, he has a lot of plants.”

“Dick managed to turn on the watering system. We’re all very proud of him,” Jason said flatly.

The siblings all golf clapped, which Dick took a dramatic bow to. “Thank you, thank you. Otherwise a pretty normal apartment. Comfortable, a little nerdy, and not fussy.”

Jason nodded. “There’s a hero—not sure if someone real or fictional—that we saw a few times. Someone called Phantom.”

Obliging, Dick sent the photo of the mug from the bathroom up onto one of the screens. Tim spun back to the computer and started searching.

“There were also a lot of medication in his cabinet; vitamins and several prescriptions also. Some of them had weird labels.”

“Damn, Dick, you couldn’t have gotten a clearer photo?” Tim asked as he squinted at the new set of images.

“As much as I hate to defend Dick,” Jason said as he added photos of his own to the screen, ‘that is a clear photo. Danny was writing in the same language along with English in a bedside notebook of his.”

“Are you in need of glasses, Drake?” Damian asked as he looked from the photos to Tim with a judgmental brow raised.

Tim flicked him off, which Dick considered telling Tim off for (Damian had enough bad habits), but was actually curious about this. “No. The text looks glitched out.’

“No,” Damian said slowly and with a scowl, “it is clear. Odd, but clear.”

“Cass?” Dick asked.

She moved a step closer to the television, head tilted. There was a long, quiet moment before she lifted her hand a gave a so-so motion.

Tim looked from her, to Damian, to the screens. “…Dick?”

“So that’s the thing, it looks wrong to me too. If I look at it too long it’s like it gives me a headache. Jason can read it though.”

Jason snorted. “That’s taking it a bit far. I feel like I should be able to read it. I can get a word here or there maybe.”

“Like it whispers,” Damian said, the quiet words oddly poetic for the youngest of them.

“…yeah, like it whispers,” Jason agreed, just as softly.

“Right, okay. Freaky language that only some of us can even see, much less read, and those who can have spent a lot of time in or around the league,” Tim said. “How concerned do we need to be able this? To we need to be concerned about this? I feel like we need to be concerned about this.”

None of them had an easy answer for Tim.

All of them were grateful for the roar of Duke’s bike interrupting the conversation as he pulled into the cave.

“What are you all looking some grim about?” Duke asked. He yanked his helmet off and took a deep breath, like he hadn’t been able to breath in hours.

It was a feeling they all got. Even a good patrol was draining and Duke had been actively on follow up over what had gone down today with the Mad Hatter. Dick tossed a towel Duke’s way and went to grab a drink for the other from the food safe fridge.

“Stuff from Danny’s place. Take a look at the screen,” Jason said.

“Danny? I thought that we liked the guy,” Duke said, accepting the drink with a grateful thank you. He drained half of it his the way to the screens. “Shit, that’s a lot of meds.”

“Take a closer look,” Jason said, though not unkindly.

Duke stepped closer to the screen.

And went alarmingly still.

Dick resisted the instinctual urge to reach out and grab him. “Duke?”

Duke gave an answering hum and turned his head, just slightly, towards Dick. His eyes never left the screen. Dick wasn’t sure if Duke had really heard him. It was Jason who ended up acting, ended up listening to that instinct. He stepped between Duke and the screen, blocking their newest brother’s view. Duke sucked in a sharp, startled breath.

“What?”

“Hey, come on, have a seat,” Jason said and guided Duke backwards into one of the chairs at the table.

Tim swiftly cleared the photos from the screen.

Duke shook his head. “Sorry, man, I don’t know what… that, huh. What did those look like to you all?”

“Magenta tinted pill bottles with different levels of medication in them,” Tim replied calmly. “Dick and I can’t read what’s printed on them. Damian, Jason, and maybe Cass can a little which means it might be League writing of some sort.”

Dick leaned against the table. “What did you see, Duke?”

“Magenta tinted pill bottles with something in them. Like whatever it was my powers were weird about it. I’d have to see them in person to know anything about why, I guess, but they were… I don’t know. But whatever that stuff was I don’t think it’s League because I don’t think it’s human. I don’t think it’s earthly.”

“Well, fuck,” Dick said with a sigh.

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

[peachessndreamss]

Weirwood Tree

Summery : While in labour with their second child, Cregan and his wife take s short walk to the Weirwood tree to help get things moving.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Pregnancy and childbirth (nothing explicit)

Word count : 3k

A/N : Turns out you never shake being a Stark girl, Ily Cregan so much.

“I’m sorry t’say it, my lady, but your labours have slowed up,” the midwife said softly as she drew the sheets back over Lady Starks bent knees before dipping her hands in a bowl of water. 

“Slowed up?” Lady Stark repeated incredulously, dropping her head back on the feather pillow, “but it's been hours already,” she added, tears burning her eyes. 

The second child of Lord Cregan stark and his lady wife was in no rush to make their way into the world. Despite the frequency and strength of her earlier pains once the midwife and maester had been sent for, everything seemed to have come to an uncomfortable halt.  

The midwife had brought her ancient grandmother along with her, known through Winterfell and the winter town as Auld Joan, she had been a midwife in her own time and had delivered Cregan's father and uncle. She was mostly blind and deaf now but still attended births but spent most of the time sitting as close to a heat source as possible and dispensing wisdom if necessary. She was currently sitting in a chair next to the roaring fire, her ancient hands clasped on her lap, knuckles bulging out of shape and fingers curled like claws. 

“I know it's been a while,” the midwife said soothingly, placing a warm hand on Lady Stark's knee, “but sometimes it's just like this,”. 

“The last one wasn't like this,” Lady Stark grumbled, her mood darkening as she tried to shift around into a more comfortable position. 

“You mustn't compare one with another,” the midwife soothed before touching a cold cloth to the lady's forehead. 

“A walk will geyit moving ,” the old woman wheezed from her seat by the fire, “no’ this lying about,”. 

The maester, who had been mostly disinterested in proceedings up until this point shot the old woman a dark look, he was standing in the far corner of the room, a leather case of vicious metal tools clutched jealously to his chest. His grey robes matched his grey and sickly looking skin. He wasn't particularly interested in births or deaths or the everyday ailments of life and resented being summoned to the birthing room of any woman. 

“This position is agreed upon as being the correct way for labouring mothers,” he said coldly in a clipped southern accent. 

“Agreed by men who know nothing about it,” the crone grumbled. 

“What does she mean?” Lady Stark asked the midwife who was now gently feeling the swell of the lady's belly. 

“Baby's not quite in righ’ place, that's why things have slowed,” she explained as she pressed on the left side of the belly, Lady Stark winced, “but grandmother thinks a little walk might get things moving again,”. 

The midwife glanced over at her grandmother who had closed her eyes and was now looking peaceful in the flickering light of the fire, she looked back at her lady and dabbed the cloth over her cheeks before putting it back beside the bowl of cold water. 

“What do you think?”Lady Stark asked. 

She shrugged, making a point not to look towards the maester before replying. 

“It helped me with mine, and it wouldn't do you any harm,”. 

The maester opened his mouth to disagree and lady stark held up her hand to silence him. 

“Just walking through the keep, out into the godswood for the fresh air should do it,” the midwife continued. 

The lady nodded and lifted herself up onto her elbows, she addressed the maester, privately enjoying ordering the sour faced man about. 

“Lord Cregan is outside the door, fetch him in,” she said. 

Cregan Stark had paced the halls outside of his wife's rooms since he'd been asked to leave them several hours before. While he wasn't accustomed to being removed from parts of his own castle he respected that father's, even lords, were not expected to be present at the births of their children,so he was surprised to hear the door opening when he was fairly certain nothing much had happened yet. 

“My Lord?” The voice of the maester echoed off the walls as the lord strode into view, “your wife would like to see you,”. 

He nodded, his face stern as he stepped past the man and into the warm, dark room. 

“Seven Hells,” he murmured as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, instantly feeling the heat of the room rolling over him like a wave, sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip. 

As he looked around the room he was surprised to see the midwife helping his wife into her fur boots, a long, heavy cloak already covering her shoulders. 

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She turned her flushed face to him and smiled. 

“Yes, we're going for a walk,”. 

Cregan’s brows rose but he nodded without further comment, knowing better than to ask questions.  He watched nervously as the midwife helped his wife to her feet, ready to spring forward at any moment if it looked like Lady Stark might lose her balance. 

Once he was happy she was safely on her feet, Cregan stepped towards them, offering his arm to his wife, who took a small step and linked her arm through his. 

“Twice around the godswood’ll do it,” Auld Joan spoke from the chair, she opened one ancient eye that could just be seen through the folds of skin that made up her face. 

“Or as far as you need’t,” the midwife added, her eyes flicking towards the maester. 

From the darkest corner of the room the maester muttered under his breath “foolishness” but no one else could hear him or pay him a moment's more attention. 

As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell stepped out of the stifling room and into the cooler corridor of the keep they both gave a sigh of relief. As they walked they instinctively drew closer to one another. Finding comfort and strength in each other's presence. 

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Cregan said as they stepped through the door of the keep and into the much colder air of the inner bailey. The ground was a mess of mud, straw, snow and grey brown slush that cracked and crunched under their boots. 

“Yes,” she agreed, her hand tightening on his arm as her foot slipped a little on a patch of hidden ice, “Auld Joan felt this would be the best way to get things moving again,”. 

Cregan nodded, “She's seen a fair few babes born in her time, she knows what she's talking about,” he paused and took a deep breath of cold air, “I think she might have even delivered my grandfather,”. 

“Surely not!” She exclaimed, looking up at her husband's handsome profile, “that would make her more than a hundred years old,”. 

“I've heard of stranger things in these parts,” Cregan said with a shrug. 

They walked quietly together, moving slowly and carefully through the slush.

“Not as easy as last time then?” He asked as they made their way past the archery butts where the young men of the household were practising and past the stables with their snorting horses and young boys shovelling straw. 

“No, this one seems to have an obstinate Stark streak in them already,” she replied with a soft laugh that sounded like music to Cregan's ears. 

“I seem to recall your own family are known for their stubbornness so I won't be taking all the responsibility for that,”. 

“Pigheadedness, I believe my father called it,” she replied with a laugh, Cregan gave his own snort of laughter. 

“Your father certainly has a way with words,” he agreed. Recalling a few choice phrases her father had used for him during their courtship. 

As the pair crossed into the godswood the sounds of the keep and the town beyond the walls seemed to fade away and they became the only two people in the world. The ground was covered in a dusting of snow which had frozen overnight and now crunched under foot. From the dark canopy of the trees small birds sang between themselves and bounced from branch to branch, leaves rusting and falling to the ground in their wake. 

“Aly is worried we won't have enough time for her when the baby arrives,” Lady Stark said as they passed under the first dark boughs, “she kept asking me if we were going to send her away when I was putting her to bed last night,”. 

“She's a sensitive soul,” Cregan replied with a soft laugh, his mind wandering to the little girl who was at that moment playing in the same nursery he played in as a child, waiting for his own younger sibling to be born. 

“I dread the day we do need to send her away,” she lamented, drawing her body even closer to his in the cold air. Her free hand resting low on the swell of her belly. 

“We've many years before that day, my love,” he soothed, “and perhaps many more babes to fill our home,”. 

Lady Stark laughed softly, feeling the dull ache of her labours growing in strength as they followed the well known path through the trees.

“You are insatiable, always wanting more,” she said softly and Cregan laughed. 

They had been married 6 years and now were as comfortable with one another as any married couple could expect to be. Having been friends before they’re union had made things easier but the months after Cregan’s return from war had tested them to their limits. The time spent apart had been long and difficult for the both of them, when Cregan had left he was already old beyond his years but on his return he was darker and colder than the longest winter night. He’d forgotten laughter, softness and gentleness and his first few months back in Winterfell had been fraught as the two learned to live with one another again and find their way back to the happiness they’d briefly shared before the dragons tore the realm apart. 

The followed a well trodden path through the woods, her arm wrapped tightly through his and his hand resting over hers, warm and solid. As they walked, Cregan listened to her breathing, noticing every change to her breath and hitch in her voice. He was ready to take her in his arms at any moment to rush her back to the midwife if was necessary. 

They turned a corner in the path and were now on course to the weirwood tree, its ancient face seemed to watch their approach and its blood red leaves reflected in the black water at its roots. 

Suddenly Lady Stark stopped, her free hand going to her belly with a sharp intake of breath, she groaned, her teeth biting into her top lip as a strong contraction wracked her body. Cregan tightened his hold on her, fear gripping at his heart and twisting his stomach. 

After a few seconds of pain her face relaxed and her eyes opened, her cheeks were flushed with colour and despite the cold there was sweat at her hair line. 

“I think this might be working,” she said with a small smile, “or perhaps the baby can feel the tree,” she added, glancing toward the weirwood. 

“A good Stark then,” Cregan replied, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn’t feel. 

She stepped toward the tree and he followed her closely, never letting her more than an arm's reach from him. Once close enough she placed her hands on the tree, feeling the rough bark rasp against her skin. 

“Do you think the old kings of the north were born under this tree?” she asked, turning her face up as a shaft of wintery sunlight broke through the dense leaf cover, “snow and leaves for their midwife?”.

Cregan raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment before replying. 

“They were certainly conceived under it,” he smiled.   

“Yes, I remember the stories,” she agreed, turning to look at her husband and seeing the playful glimmer in his eyes. 

During the long months of the war she’d found comfort in the thousands of books in the Winterfell library, starting with the histories of the North going all the way back to the first men and how those ancient kings of the North did everything important in their lives in sight of a weirwood tree, they were born, married, made oaths and died as close to the trees as they possibly could. The histories had included stories of rituals the ancient peoples had contrived to conceive their children under the boughs of the weirwood trees, they believed these children would have the gifts of prophecy or live impossibly long lives because the powers of the tree flowed through them. 

“Perhaps, when you’re healed, we should try it ourselves,” Cregan teased. 

“When this one is delivered I’ll let you know if you’ll be welcome in my bed again,” she replied with a sly smile, before adding “my lord,”. 

Cregan gave a bark-like laugh, stepping closer to her and slipping his arm over her lower back and around her waist. She turned to face him, moving her hands from the ancient and cold bark of the tree to the living warmth of his shoulders, she studied his features before taking a deep breath and letting her forehead press against his. Another contraction wracked her body, she groaned and gripped tightly at the fur and wool of his cloak, taking strength from his body into her own. 

“I think we need to go back,” she said softly, their foreheads still pressed together. 

“I think so,” he agreed without hesitation.

Keeping his arm wrapped around her waist the two of them turned, she leaned heavily on Cregan as they completed the loop around the godswood and headed back through the castle courtyard. The space now almost completely empty as most of the household had been summoned for the midday meal. 

The progress was slow but they soon made it back to Lady Stark’s chambers, the room was cooler now, the windows had been thrown open but the coverings drawn across them to keep the room dark. The two women were sitting by the fire, talking quietly while the maester was still standing in the corner of the room, glaring. 

The midwife jumped to her feet and took Lady Stark’s arm, allowing her to slip from Cregan’s hold and move toward the bed. 

“How are you feeling my lady?” the midwife asked softly. 

“It helped, the pains are coming much more quickly now,” the lady replied. 

“Baby will be here soon,” the midwife agreed, “perhaps before the noon meal is over,”

Lady Stark glanced over her shoulder at her husband pausing by the door. His broad shoulders blocked out almost all of the hallway behind him.

“I want you to stay,” she said softly as she was helped back onto the bed. 

He smiled but shook his head. 

“This is not my place” he said softly, as he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and in his eyes as he fought the sudden overwhelm of emotions. 

“Thank you, my lord,” the old crone said from her seat, “we’ll take care of them,”.

Cregan nodded, knowing well enough when he was being asked to leave, he gave his wife a final look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself and resuming his pacing. He wondered if his own father had paced nervously or if he had taken to the woods to hunt until the deed was over with and the child was cleaned and neatly wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t imagine being any further than the castle gate while Lady Stark laboured. 

As the midwife predicted the midday meal hadn’t finished before there was the high pitched, squalling cry of a newborn that caused Cregan to stop in his tracks and lean heavily against the wall of the hallway, his hand clutching at his heart that was beating fast enough to burst. 

The door to the chambers opened and the midwife stepped out, a smile on her face as she saw her lord in a moment of unguarded emotion. 

 “A son, my lord, hale and hearty and with plenty to say for himself,” she said, the sounds of the crying child still coming clearly from the room behind her. 

“God's be praised,” Cregan said, his voice cracking with emotion. 

“Come meet him,”. 

Cregan felt his knees turn to water when he stepped into Lady Stark's rooms, the sight of his beloved wife cradling a squalling newborn was a joy that pierced his heart like an arrow. 

“Your son, my lord” she said with a tired smile, turning the bundle just enough for Cregan to be able to see the child's face. 

He stooped and took the child, cradling him close to his chest, for a few seconds the child stopped wailing, his blue eyes opening wide and taking in his first sight of his father. The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, Cregan's own eyes filling with tears. One hot tear was about to track down Cregan's face when the baby in his arms screwed his eyes shut, opened his mouth and started to howl, his cries even more desperate than before. 

Lady Stark laughed from her seat on the bed, holding her arms out to take the child back. 

“Give him back, you're upsetting our son,” she said, grinning at Cregan who jealously clung onto the child, rocking him gently and trying to sooth the screaming babe. 

“Sorry my boy,” Cregan said softly, “but you'll just have to get used to me,”.

[yourauthorjen]

| YOURS | — joaquin torres

(requests open)

masterlist

| synopsis: | a family was something you never thought could be a possible, but after joaquin torres you seemed to think differently.

| includes: | husband!joaquin x reader, a bunch of fluff, children, and chaos

| word count: | 1.6k

| a/n: | this was from this lovely request! thank you so much for your idea! the main headcanons i focused on were morning chaos and supportive husband and dad. also i feel like joaquin would be such a girl dad.

THE IDEA OF having a family always made you shiver.

Whether it was because of the stress from the children or the bone chilling possibility of not being good enough, you never wanted to consider that idea.

That was until Joaquin walked into your life, bright eyed and charming, stubborn but absolutely heart aching in a way that you could never forget. And ever since you two had been together, every night was spent with him mapping out the possibilities of the future. He'd lace his fingers with yours and he'd ramble on about all the different lives you could have together.

He'd tell you about the a house with a picket fence or maybe an apartment filled with toys and two small children with your eyes and his crooked grin.

The first time he had brought it up you listened to him in silence, heart thundering, and slightly terrified. You didn't know if you deserved all that but he made sure he believed enough for both of you. Joaquin never pressured you, he just smiled and held your hand tighter every time you wavered.

It took another three, four years before you agreed, and somewhere along the way — between sleepy kisses in the kitchen and long car rides where he sang off-key just to make you laugh — you stopped being afraid.

When you first felt your oldest stirring inside of you, you were consumed with cold terror and sleepless nights. It was always a string of "what-ifs" and "am I making the wrong choice?"

But Joaquin was always there, to kiss your knuckles when you couldn't sleep, or doing your share of chores when you were too exhausted to keep yourself awake.

Sam was there to help you as well, dropping by ever so often with Sarah who had made frozen dishes or to take you out shopping while Sam just teased you, joking about how you better hope that the baby didn't snore like Joaquin did.

Obviously, Joaquin's family came over too. The crowd of aunts and uncles as well as his mom all came over to gush about your new child while also bringing in enough diapers and baby food to last an entire apocalypse. They offered home cooked meals, clothing and obviously a long string of baby names, which was a whole other story.

It was bittersweet seeing his family squished into your apartment when your own deadbeat father couldn't even bother shooting you a text, but still, it was heartwarming having such a loving family in a way you always longed for.

And now, your life was different.

Shoes and toys littered the house, lying in every unoccupied corner of the house. Drawings full of crayoned scribbled were plastered across the fridge, taped to the wall and piled atop the coffee counters, all with stick figured drawings of the four of you, standing beside a house with a triangle for the roof.

This morning was no different than other mornings, you woke up to the soft scent of soap and cinnamon as soft kisses brushed your cheek then up to your forehead, before a chorus of sleepy giggles and hushed whispers barged into your room scrambling onto your bed as Joaquin groaned into your hair, his arm tightening lazily around your waist like he thought he could shield you from the onslaught.

But your oldest was determined, climbing right up onto the bed and tugging insistently at the blanket. Your youngest followed, less coordinated but no less enthusiastic, tripping over her own feet and landing in a heap at the foot of the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

"Get up," they both sang in sync as they bounced on the mattress eagerly.

Without loosening his grip on you, Joaquin turned slightly, catching your mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hip, completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around you.

"Your breath stinks," you snickered pulling away from him as the kids continued dancing around the bed— one trying to climb onto Joaquin’s back, the other flopping dramatically onto the pillows, narrowly missing your head.

He let out a chuckle as he rubbed his eyes, "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

You rolled your eyes, "Really, Sherlock?"

"Who's Sherlock?" your youngest asked wriggling between the two of you, eyes wide and dark hair a mess. She was like a copy and paste of Joaquin, unrelentless energy and big innocent eyes with a headful of curls. Meanwhile your oldest had your eyes, but less energetic than your second, still she piled on top of her younger sister trying to squish between the three of you, determined to snuggle into your arms.

"Sherlock," Joaquin said, "Is my only chance for a few more minutes of sleep." He shifted slightly, trying to nestle back against you, but the kids were having none of it.

"Noooo!" your oldest protested, her hands pushing against his chest as she wriggled closer. "We want pancakes!"

"Pancakes!" echoed your youngest, her little face lighting up at the mention of food, her hands tugging at the hem of your shirt, demanding your attention.

Joaquin looked at you for help, but you just shrugged as if to say this is on you.

"You three have no mercy," Joaquin muttered. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to wrangle them back into some semblance of order.

You laughed, head tipping backwards as you hoisted yourself out of bed. "Okay then, I guess we're making pancakes today."

Joaquin groaned as you gently pulled yourself out of his grasp, his lips forming a pout as you picked up your youngest, placing her on your hip. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath, though the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as you shifted your daughter higher on your hip. "Suck it up, soldier. You're on kitchen duty."

Joaquin groaned even louder as your oldest tried to pull him up. "C'mon dad, we can do them together."

"That's the spirit," you cheered making your way into the kitchen. The morning light had spilled onto the wooden tile of the floor casting a soft glow as you set your daughter down onto one of the stools, Joaquin and your oldest trailing behind you. Both looked as sleepy as the other but a wide smile was still stretched across their faces.

"Okay team," Joaquin yawned, "You're gonna get the pancake mix—" he pointed to your youngest then to your oldest, "You go get the eggs and you—" he paused staring at you his eyes entranced as you leaned against the counter, sunlight kissing your face as you tossed your hair into a bun.

"What do I do?" you teased, cinching your apron tighter around your waist as his jaw went slack.

He cleared his throat, "You," he said, pointing the spatula at you like a sword, "are on official supervision duty. And looking way too good while doing it."

You snorted, reaching over to flick a little bit of flour from the counter at him, laughing when he pretended to stagger back in pain.

Your youngest clapped her hands in glee, while your oldest rolled her eyes like she was already ten years older than she really was. "Dad's being weird again," she whispered loudly to her sister, who giggled into her hands.

"Hey, weird is a Torres family tradition," Joaquin defended, setting a bowl down on the counter with a clatter. "You're just lucky you inherited it, too."

Weird was correct, because not even ten minutes later the kitchen was already a mess. Your youngest insisted on stirring the batter, which mostly resulted in flour puffing up into a cloud around her and your oldest took her self-assigned job of "egg cracker" very seriously— which meant you fished out a few too many shells from the mixing bowl.

"Okay," you said briskly, "Now that that's done, Dad’s in charge of flipping, but he’s banned from stepping a foot away from the stove."

"It was one time," he whined, "I didn't mean it."

"Joaquin, you burned an entire batch of pancakes," you deadpanned, "In front of your own mother."

"It was an accident," he sputtered.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face, "Hey, eyes on the stove soldier, we are not setting the fire alarm off again."

He laughed while your youngest sang a made-up pancake song under her breath, swinging her legs from the stool, while your oldest stood proudly at Joaquin’s side, offering enthusiastic and very loud coaching advice on when to flip the pancake.

You didn't even realize you were smiling until Joaquin caught your eye across the stove, flipping a perfect pancake with a flourish just to make you laugh. His smile— soft but full of so much love it ached was aimed right at you, like it always had been.

This was the future Joaquin had spent his nights rambling on about, and somehow, against all odds, it was yours too. You wrapped your arms around Joaquin's waist, hugging him tightly as he hummed under his breath, then leaned down to press a kiss to your hair.

"See," he murmured, voice warm and low just for you. "Told you you'd make something good."

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in— sweet and clean and that unmistakable feeling of home you never thought you'd have. His arms tightened around you briefly before he pulled away just enough to resume flipping pancakes, your oldest still enthusiastically coaching him from the sidelines.

Your youngest started singing her song even louder, and off-key, leading Joaquin to joining in with a off-tune harmony that made both kids dissolve into giggles.

You leaned back against the counter, watching the the three people you cherished so much bubbling around the kitchen. You had made something good. It was painstakingly beautiful, and you loved it. It was something that you would do everything to protect, and it was something you wouldn't trade for the world.

[maddilynmuse]

Memory of Liar

Another fic for @mari-lair ‘s Siffrin? More like Sif’s Out AU based on this memory exclusive to it. This one got a lil long, as I think y’all can see. Also I enjoy writing Odile. Apologies for any formatting opposed, I wrote this on my computer but had to upload on my phone.

No major CW’s beyond just “Odile questioning Siffrin’s mental health.” Enjoy!

It hadn’t been too long since that one loop. That loop where they found out just how good Siffrin was at pretending to be fine. How convenient that not long after, Odile got a skill to deal with it. Memory of Liar. It allowed her to know when Siffrin was lying (albeit not by omission, but still). Ideally, it would be a niche skill at best, one to keep on for a loop or two and forget that she had-

“Hey Odile!”

Siffrin began his usual greetings. Seems Mirabelle reminded him about the clocktower “sleepover” this time. She must be feeling nostalgic; they’d all planned to meet up at the clocktower afterwards anyways, so there was no need to send Siffrin on a quest to go talk to them all, but given how low he got, how useless he felt, it made sense for her to give him a task. Would it be too cynical to say Mirabelle was establishing a baseline? Perhaps.

“So, what will you do after?” Siffrin asked her.

After. Gems, at this rate such a thing felt laughable, but she bit her tongue well enough. What had she planned to do after this? So much time had been spent on loops and the breaking of them that leaving Dormont was starting to feel like more of an impossibility than beating the King ever had been.

“I’ll probably go back to Ka Bue,” she said. It seemed like the next most logical step. She had a home there, after all. Besides, it might be nice to get far, far away from Dormont.

“And wrap up your research?”

“Research?” Oh, right. Her fake research.

“Your research into cultures-ology?”

Had he said that last time? When was the last time Mirabelle called for a sleepover? Gems, she didn’t like this.

“Cultures-ology isn’t a field of research, Siffrin.”

“But it is the field of research you spent your life trying to create…”

“No,” she said bluntly. He looked a little put off by that, so she changed the topic the most natural way she could. “What about you? What will you do after we beat the king?” If they ever get to leave Dormont, that is.

“Come up with my own field of research.”

… huh?

Something about what he said there, it sat oddly in her gut. It felt… wrong. But how could-

Right. Memory of Liar. He was lying. Of course he was, why wouldn’t he be? She knew from the start that was likely a joke, and a joke could count as a lie, she supposed. Maybe this ability wasn’t particularly discerning. She’d have to test that too, wouldn’t she? Would it activate at anything that wasn’t true? Or would it only activate if Siffrin was actively trying to deceive?

As Siffrin walked out again, only then did it occur to her… what did the rogue intend to do when he got out? Well, a question for the others, she supposed.

------

They were back at Dormont. It wasn’t of much use, asking the others. Bonnie and Mirabelle couldn’t remember off the top of their heads, but apparently Siffrin had told Isabeau they intended to start a comedy club… That sounded considerably more likely than them going into research, but she was still inclined to double check. It was nothing wasting a whole loop over, but they’d agreed that next time they looped back to Dormont, Mirabelle would tell Siffrin about the clocktower, and Isabeau and Odile would “switch places,” so to speak. She needed to be the one to hear him, so she had to come last.

As Siffrin got up sleepily, almost tauntingly laid back, he greeted Mirabelle saying the nap was a solid 9 out of ten… The thought that their rogue was rubbing in their lack of exhaustion was illogical, something she knew all too well, but maybe she wasn’t in a particularly giving mood as she squatted in the bushes against the protest of her knee. A few more pleasantries were shared and…

“Where will you go after?”

“Oh! You know… maybe a pilgrimage? I-I suppose this all kiiiiiinda already counted as a pilgrimage, but, um… does it?” Does it if she only half remembers some of it, so much time taken over by these last few days? Or was Odile projecting here?

It didn’t matter.

“What about you though Siffrin. What will you do after?” Mirabelle asked.

Odile watched him like a hawk as he had his little smile, looking up to the sky, and, “Go on a pilgrimage too, maybe.”

“Oh! That’d be lovely,” Mirabelle said.

If only it were true.

Odile waited for them to get to the store—the store she often started at but currently housed Isabeau—forcing herself up and stumbling like a drunk from the woods, knee seizing up all the way. Mirabelle rushed over, using a bit of healing craft on her.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, I’m fine…” Odile said, though sighed in relief at the healing craft easing the pain.

“… so?” Mirabelle said.

“He was lying. He has no intention to go on a pilgrimage.”

Mirabelle sighed but nodded. Neither of them were surprised, really?

“Can you even go on a pilgrimage if all you do is travel anyways? What’s even the difference?” Odile muttered to herself. “Ah, no use now. I have to catch up before Isabeau runs out of ways to stall.” Thankfully it was a short walk. The door was open, she simply had to linger near it.

“What will you do after?” Siffrin asked Isabeau.

Seems she was right on time.

“Eh, I’ll probably just go back to Jouvente. Not sure about rejoining the Defenders, not after they left Mira, but maybe I’ll try some clothing design?”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were interested in that. That sounds great, Isa!”

“Heh, thanks Sif. But what about you? What will you do when we beat the King?”

Assuming Isabeau did a good enough job of recapping what he said before, presumably Siffrin’s answer would be the same…

“Start a comedy club!”

… that one wasn’t true either? She’d honestly thought it might be, or at least that it was fifty fifty, but no. Almost a shame, it fit all too well. Then again, it meant more people were spared his puns…

She tuned out the rest in favor of trying to get a head start on making it to the East side of town. Siffrin tended to dawdle when left to his own devices, but still would be nice to find a way to listen in that wouldn’t be physically painful this time…

Oh right. There’s a building here, right near Bonnie. She’d basically gone blind to it, considering it no more than any other house: pointless. Though she did know the open phrase, well, the only thing of value was the “Long Thingy Thing” (as Bonnie put it), and they didn’t really need to go through the trouble of crafting a bomb at this point. That said, she did know the open phrase, so she could probably get inside, and she could hear Bonnie, but could she hear Siffrin? Then again, once Siffrin was near Bonnie, she could sneak closer.

And so she did. It went off almost disappointingly easily. Gems alive, what she wouldn’t give for something to go awry in a way that would let her dig her teeth into something again. But no, no. This was more efficient. (Everything was efficiency these days, that’s how Siffrin got so bad).

She crept closer as the two talked. Siffrin was needling Bonnie, and Bonnie was rising to the bait. Was it genuine irritation and stress, or just their mimicry of it? She wasn’t sure, maybe both. Not too long in, the question came up.

“Well what about you, Frin? What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll go to space.”

… she didn’t even need the Memory equipped to know that that was a bald-faced lie, but she supposed that confirmation was nice? Well this one was a waste of time. Best to try to slip out towards the favor tree and play her own part.

Four different answers, none of them true. Why would he hide what he intended to do after? Maybe earlier in their adventure together she would’ve assumed that it was for nefarious purposes, but if he was an assassin on the behalf of the King or anything like that, he’d probably have done something to stop them on at least one of the occasions that they killed him. Whatever happened with Euphraise usually seemed centered on him, but he always looked shocked, so it was unlikely he expected it any more than the rest of them had the first time.

So if not foul play, then why? Some charitable part of her mind wanted to say his plans were just embarrassing, but…

As they’d recently learned the hard way, their little rogue wasn’t nearly as fine as he seemed. All it took was one day of them taking the lead a bit too much for him to consider himself a useless idiot. He rarely spoke of home. Never spoke of loved ones, at least not for more than a few sentences. He’d taken losing his eye almost too well. She wouldn’t say that he was at risk of becoming a Sadness or doing something willingly stupid, but the more she thought on it, the more things painted a picture she didn’t like the look of, but couldn’t afford to look away from either.

If she didn’t know better, she could mistake him for a ghost. A spirit. Maybe even some Expression. Nothing but a being floating through to help. But she’d seen him eat, seen his blood splatter on the floor, heard his gasps and screams at hard hits. She’d seen him lose an eye. Ghosts didn’t do that. He was flesh and blood yet missing so much he seemed almost insubstantial. Was he aware of this one some level? And what could do that to a person? Gems alive, she knew he had bad memory, but maybe she should’ve been delving deeper into it. Why hadn’t she? It wasn’t like her to see something so strange, to see someone start stories over and over that never reach an end, to see him speak of things and lose his train of thought halfway through, and she just…

Never questioned this?

Gems alive, her head was pounding along with the beat of her heart, but she screwed her eyes shut and blocked the world out, determined to follow this rabbit hole down. Something was wrong here, and maybe if she could puzzle out what, if she could find the missing piece, she could somehow make him whole again and, expressions willing, maybe that’d be the key to fixing this whole mess. Maybe it’d set them free. She just had to figure out why-

“Hey, Odile, are you okay?”

She jolted, whipping her head around to see, “Gems, Siffrin. You startled me…”

“Sorry,” he said. “Thinking on your wish?”

“Hah, no, I already made that,” she said. A stupid wish to win a coin flip that came to nothing in the end. And unimportant. She had to figure out… figure out…

Had to figure out what Siffrin intended to do with his life, right? Yes, that’s what she’d been doing.

“I was just… trying to figure out what to do afterwards,” she said. Maybe it was manipulative, but if she pretended she needed suggestions, maybe he’d offer something more tangible?

“Hmm? You don’t already know? I figured you’d wrap up your research.”

No, that’s right. He already had that idea in mind, didn’t he? She let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll let you in on a secret. There is no research, Siffrin. It was just a convenient lie to explain why I’m here.”

He looked at her with a hard to read expression. “But… huh???”

They were off balance. Good. Maybe it’d trick him into saying something real.

“Yes, yes, sorry to give the game away, but I guess I realized that if I don’t admit it now, I might never. And I wouldn’t want to actually beat the King and then have to figure out what next. Plus I figure if I have a plan for after, if I have a goal, I might be more driven to reach it. Whatever helps, yes? So, any ideas?”

He was looking at her like she’d grown a second head, clearly thrown off. “You could… actually start researching something? Or, um… aren’t you writing a book?”

“My journal? That’s just personal notes. It’d be nonsense to anyone else.”

“Oh.”

She waited but, no, they weren’t offering anything up, were they. She’d have to take the offensive.

“What about you, Siffrin? What do you plan to do after?”

“Oh, uh…” he looked around and shrugged. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

… not a lie. Interesting…

“Oh? Why not? I mean, you’re not even from Vaugaurde, you must have joined for some reason, right?” She could list theories, but that’d likely give him an out. She was wise to his game. At least half his answers, maybe more, were just mimicking what the other person intended to do. Otherwise it’s just what they’d most likely want to hear, save for perhaps telling Bonnie they’d go to space. An interesting outlier, that one. It seemed innocuous, but maybe it was important?

No, focus now. Theorize later.

Siffrin squirmed a little and finally chuckled awkwardly, offering an awkward shrug. “I didn’t really have anything better to do…”

And gems alive, he was not lying.

“I… see.”

Maybe she should let him go, but she needed to know one more thing first…

“And after we all go our own ways, you’ll be alright, right?”

“I guess I’ll go back to how I was before.”

Not a lie, but not an answer either. “And were you happy before?”

“Of course!”

She needed to talk to the others about this.

——————

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

[strwbyoons]

LITTLE THINGS

STARRING ... BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!M. YOONGI X READER

WORD COUNT ... 4.7K

SUMMARY ... it was the little things.

NOTES/WARNINGS ... happy min suga day everyone!!! a double update today, wowww. slight(? five years) age gap. based in the 2000s. growing up with yoongi and reader. underaged drinking. slightly suggestive towards the end. let me know if i missed anything.

playlist : crush (david archuleta). you belong with me (taylor swift). do i wanna know (arctic monkeys). just a little bit (maria mena). somewhere only we know (keane). teenage dirtbag (wheatus). the only exception (paramore). cigarette daydreams (cage the elephant). hate that you know me (bleachers). kiss me slowly (parachutes).

the first time you swore marriage to yoongi, you were five and he was ten. you, his sister, and him were all at the playground, and you and his sister had decided to just spend the day trip in the sandpit.

your loving declaration was made shortly after yoongi hit one of the other boys there in the face with his skateboard after he made you cry by saying that you had cooties.

the first time yoongi swore marriage to you, you were eight and he was thirteen. you and his sister were sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, cutting pictures out of an old magazine, when the topic of boys being gross came up.

"they are," you insisted, wrinkling your nose as you snipped a model’s head clean off his body. "all of them."

"not all boys are gross," yoongi said from where he was lying on his stomach by the door, flipping through a comic book. he didn’t even look up, just turned the page like this was a casual debate he was only half-invested in.

"yeah, they are," you shot back.

"you’re marrying me," he said simply, like that settled it.

"i am not." you stuck your tongue out at him.

"guess i’ll just have to marry you instead, then," he said, propping himself up on his elbows and smirking.

"ew," his sister said.

"yeah, ew," you agreed.

yoongi just laughed, flipping another page with a half lazy smirk.

you were thirteen when you stopped idolizing yoongi and started seeing him for what he was—your best friend's older brother.

maybe it happened gradually, in the way he stopped lingering in doorways or teasing you when you and his sister whispered in her room. maybe it happened all at once, the day he turned eighteen and left like it was the easiest thing in the world. either way, by the time you realized, it was already too late.

he was gone. not gone gone, but whisked away into adulthood like it had been waiting for him just beyond the front porch. he stopped coming home as much, stopped letting his sister drag him into your sleepover games or chase him down the hall when he stole a hair tie off her wrist.

"he's so annoying," his sister huffed one day, flopping onto her bed after yet another unanswered text. "it's like he thinks he's too cool for us now."

you just hummed, staring at your phone screen, at a group picture taken last summer—the three of you, arms slung over each other's shoulders, sun in your eyes and sand stuck to your knees.

maybe he did think he was too cool for you now. maybe he was right.

he would come home every summer, but those summers were never actually spent at home. you'd catch two-minute glimpses of him before he’d run off to some party or to skate with the other boys.

sometimes, you’d see him in the kitchen, rifling through the fridge for something to eat before disappearing out the back door. other times, it was in the driveway, slamming the car door shut while some guy leaned on the hood, waiting for him to hurry up.

"yoongi," his mom would call after him. "you just got here!"

"i know, i know," he’d say, already halfway down the front steps.

he never looked back, not even when his sister rolled her eyes and mimicked his voice under her breath, making you laugh.

but sometimes, if you stayed up late enough, you’d hear him come back. the rattle of the doorknob, the creak of the stairs. the sound of his skateboard dropping to the floor just outside his room.

once, when you were sixteen, you caught him on the front porch lighting a cigarette.

"that’s bad for you," you said, stepping outside.

he glanced over his shoulder, barely reacting. "so’s fast food, and i don’t see you giving up mcdonald’s."

"that’s different."

"not really." he took a slow drag, blowing the smoke into the warm night air. then he looked at you properly for the first time all summer, eyes flicking down like he was seeing something new. "you got taller."

"yeah," you said, crossing your arms. "it happens."

he huffed a little laugh, pressing the cigarette to his lips again. "guess it does."

the first time yoongi sees you drunk, you’re seventeen.

his sister’s sleazebag of a boyfriend had invited the two of you to some rager in his backyard, and—against your better judgment—you both went. one drink turned into three, cheap booze and cruisers passed around like candy, and before you knew it, everything was a little too funny, a little too bright, and walking in a straight line became a distant memory.

yoongi had to be called to pick you up.

"she’s fine," his sister slurred into the phone, waving you off when you giggled at absolutely nothing. "we’re both fine. just hurry up."

he showed up fifteen minutes later, standing in the middle of the chaos with a look of absolute disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. some guy slapped his shoulder on the way out, muttering something about taking a shot, and yoongi ignored him completely.

"we’re not even that drunk," his sister insisted when he found you both slumped together on the back steps.

"yeah?" yoongi scoffed, hooking his hands under your arms and hauling you up first. "you can barely keep your eyes open."

"neither can you," you mumbled against his shoulder, words slurring together as he steadied you.

"that’s because it’s two in the morning," he said, half-dragging, half-guiding you toward his car. "come on, let’s go before i have to deal with any more of these idiots."

you blinked up at him once you were in the passenger seat, head lolling against the window. "you’re kind of mean."

he rolled his eyes, reaching over to buckle you in. "and you’re kind of wasted."

you frowned. "i was having fun."

"i’m sure you were." he shut the door with a sigh, rounding the car to help his sister next.

you don’t remember much else. not the drive home, not the way you leaned your head against the seat and mumbled something about how he smelled like mint and cigarette smoke.

but you do remember this—yoongi didn’t laugh at you that night. didn’t tease or call you a lightweight like you thought he would.

he just drove you home, silent, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

the first time yoongi brings home a girlfriend, you’re eighteen.

it’s the middle of july, hot enough that even the a/c struggles, and you and his sister are sprawled across the couch, flipping through a stack of magazines you found buried in her closet. it’s a slow, lazy afternoon—until the front door swings open, and yoongi walks in with her.

she’s blonde. tan. wearing a rhinestone-studded tank top that says JUICY in bubble letters across the front. her white miniskirt is just barely hanging on, and her lip gloss shines like it was applied with a paint roller.

his sister freezes first, fingers tightening on the magazine in her lap. you feel it a second later, the way the air in the room shifts.

"who’s this?" his mom asks from the kitchen.

"this is sena," yoongi says, arm slung low around the girl’s waist.

"hi!" she chirps, all smiles. "it’s so nice to finally meet you guys!"

his sister leans in, voice low. "she looks like she’d be on girls gone wild."

you press your lips together, flipping a page. "swear i’ve seen her in hustler."

yoongi hears. of course he hears. his head snaps toward the both of you, eyes narrowing in warning. his mom’s hard look follows right after, the same one she gives when the two of you are this close to getting grounded.

but the girlfriend just giggles, leaning into yoongi’s arm like she didn’t just hear you indirectly call her a porn star.

"yoongles, they’re so funny!" she coos, poking his cheek with a manicured nail.

his sister chokes. you slap a hand over your mouth. yoongi just closes his eyes for a long, long second, re-evaluating every decision that’s led him here.

his mom sighs. "well, sena," she says, ever the gracious host, "do you want something to drink?"

sena beams. "oh my god, totally. do you guys have diet pepsi?"

yoongi’s sister makes a strangled sound and bolts up the stairs before she completely loses it. you barely manage to keep it together long enough to watch sena drag yoongi toward the kitchen, still giggling, still calling him that.

as soon as they’re out of earshot, you grab your phone and text his sister, only two words:

yoongles. help.

there were many girlfriends after that. a new one almost every two months.

some were blonde, some were brunette, some had the same rhinestone-studded tank tops and miniskirts, and some wore ripped jeans and band tees like they were too cool for the rest of the world. none of them lasted.

yoongi was home a lot more now, at twenty-three, taking a break from college. no one really knew if it was temporary or if he was done for good, but he never said much about it. just shrugged whenever his mom asked and said something about needing time to figure things out.

whatever figuring out he was doing, though, it didn’t stop him from sliding right back into old habits. back to the skater boy that left his dirty socks in the living room and took too long in the bathroom.

"he’s so annoying," his sister groaned one morning, kicking at a pair of his sneakers abandoned by the front door.

"you’ve said that every year since you could talk," you muttered, flipping through the tv channels.

"yeah, and he gets more annoying every year."

you hummed, pausing on mtv cribs.

yoongi was still asleep upstairs, last night’s girlfriend long gone, leaving behind a stray bobby pin on the coffee table and the faintest trace of vanilla perfume in the air.

it was always like this now. he’d crash at home for a few months, fill the house with girls and late-night cigarette smoke, and then disappear again just when you started getting used to him being around.

but for now, he was here. twenty-three, aimless, and completely unaware that yoongles had officially become a household joke behind his back.

your first boyfriend comes into your life at nineteen.

he’s nice. polite. a little vanilla, but sweet in the way that boys who don’t know how to be anything else are. he opens doors for you, remembers your coffee order, and always texts you good morning and good night.

"you’re so going to marry him," yoongi’s sister teases one night, sprawled across her bed with a bag of chips between you.

"right?" you giggle, flipping through a magazine. cosmo, this time. ten ways to know he’s the one.

"he’s so boring," yoongi mutters from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

you and his sister share a look before bursting into laughter.

"he’s nice," you correct, tilting your head at him. "you wouldn’t know what that looks like."

yoongi rolls his eyes. "you’re gonna be miserable in a year."

"you’re just mad i actually found someone who wants to date me."

he scoffs, but doesn’t argue. just watches as his sister steals another chip from the bag and nudges you with her elbow.

"remember when you were five and promised to marry him?" she grins, jerking her thumb toward yoongi.

you wrinkle your nose. "i was a kid."

"still happened," yoongi says, so annoyingly smug about it.

"doesn’t count," you shoot back.

his sister nods, backing you up. "yeah, childhood delusions don’t count."

"whatever," yoongi mumbles, pushing off the doorframe. "don’t come crying to me when you realize i was right."

he disappears down the hall, and you roll your eyes, turning back to your magazine.

"he’s so weird," you say.

his sister snickers. "he’s so jealous."

"he's so gross," you say, wrinkling your nose as you pop a chip into your mouth.

"right?" his sister snickers, shoving another handful into hers. "like, who even says that?"

you shake your head, flipping another page in your cosmo, but your mind is still half-stuck on it—on the way yoongi had leaned against the doorway, arms crossed like he was so sure you’d regret dating someone who was, for once, actually nice to you.

like he knew something you didn’t. like he thought it was funny.

it wasn’t. it was weird. he was weird.

and yet, later that night, when your boyfriend texts you something sweet, something corny and cute, you hesitate before answering.

because suddenly, yoongi’s voice is stuck in your head.

"you’re gonna be miserable in a year."

weird. so weird.

your first heartbreak comes later that year, getting dumped after refusing to put out.

it’s not dramatic. no screaming, no public fight. just a quiet, awkward conversation in the front seat of his car, parked outside your house.

"i just think we’re in different places," he says, hands tight around the steering wheel, like he’s bracing for impact.

"yeah," you say, voice flat. "guess so."

and that’s it. he drops you off and drives away, and you stand in the driveway for a full minute before going inside like nothing happened.

his sister is the first to find out.

"that asshole," she huffs, throwing a handful of popcorn at the tv like that somehow avenges you. "i always knew he was too polite. like, fake polite. like one of those guys who probably tells people he’s a feminist but still reads playboy mags."

you groan, flopping onto her bed. "he does not have playboy mags."

"bet he does."

you let out a weak laugh, staring at the ceiling. you’re not going to cry. not over him. it’s just—it sucks.

the next person to find out is, unfortunately, yoongi.

he’s home when it happens, freshly twenty-four and still lounging around like he has nowhere better to be. you don’t tell him, obviously. his sister does, loud and unfiltered, while you sit at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and pretend not to care.

"she got dumped," she announces, stealing a spoonful from your bowl.

yoongi, who’s digging through the fridge, snorts. "called it."

"fuck off," you mutter, shoving cereal in your mouth so you don’t have to say anything else.

but yoongi just leans against the counter, watching you with that same smug expression, like he’s been waiting for this.

"should’ve married me when you had the chance," he says.

you glare. his sister wheezes.

"oh my god, you’re so gross," you groan, pushing your chair back. "i’m leaving."

"good," yoongi calls after you. "don’t come crying to me!"

you flip him off over your shoulder. his laughter follows you all the way up the stairs.

you do, in fact, go crying to him.

a full year later, the night his sister leaves for college with a hug, a promise to call you every day, and an assignment to take care of yoongi for her.

you were the wrong person to choose for said assignment.

because first of all, who takes care of yoongi? no one. the man is self-sufficient to a fault, fueled by nicotine and whatever questionable food he picks up at the convenience store at ungodly hours. and second, you have your own life to deal with. your own problems.

like the fact that, hours after his sister’s car disappears down the street, you’re inexplicably, overwhelmingly sad.

the house is too quiet.

the realization hits you all at once—your best friend is gone, off in some dorm room, making new friends, starting a new life, and even though she swore you’d always be her person, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s not here anymore.

so you do what any emotionally stable, well-adjusted adult would do.

you cry about it.

and—because you’re terrible at making good decisions—you cry about it in yoongi’s room.

"you’re so dramatic," yoongi mutters, handing you a tissue as you curl up on the floor beside his bed.

"am not," you sniff, blowing your nose miserably. "you just don’t get it."

"i get it," he says. "i just don’t think it’s worth ugly crying over."

"fuck you."

he smirks, sitting back against the headboard, lazily flipping through a notebook. "not even gonna buy me dinner first?"

you throw the tissue box at him.

he dodges, barely, but there’s amusement in his eyes when he glances down at you again, tapping his pen against his knee.

"she’ll be fine, you know," he says, voice quieter now. "you will too."

you don’t say anything, just sniffle again, swiping at your damp cheeks.

a beat passes. "you can stay, if you want."

you blink. yoongi never offers things like that.

he doesn’t meet your eyes, already scribbling something down in his notebook. "just don’t—" he cuts himself off, sighs. "don’t cry on my floor all night, okay?"

you huff, curling deeper into yourself. "no promises."

he rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t tell you to leave.

somehow, you end up in his bed.

you don’t really know how it happens—maybe you got tired of the floor, maybe yoongi got tired of hearing you sniffle—but at some point, you end up curled against his side, face smushed into his hoodie, still crying like some pathetic, abandoned child.

"jesus," he mutters, hand hovering awkwardly over your back. "you’re actually so annoying."

"you offered," you croak, voice muffled against his chest.

"yeah, well, i take it back." but he doesn’t move you. doesn’t shove you off or complain when your fingers clutch at the fabric of his hoodie because you need something to hold onto.

instead, he sighs—long, put-upon—and lets his hand drop against your back, an awkward, barely-there pat.

it’s dumb. the whole thing is dumb. you’re an adult now, and your best friend is literally a phone call away, and yet here you are, crying like a baby in yoongi’s bed.

but he doesn’t kick you out. doesn’t make fun of you like he normally would. just lies there, letting you fall apart on his hoodie, his hand never moving from your back.

"yoongi?" your voice is small, choked.

he shifts, chin resting against the top of your head. "what?"

"thanks."

he exhales sharply, and for a second, you swear you feel him smile.

"whatever," he mutters, voice softer than it should be. "go to sleep."

and—because it’s yoongi, because he’s warm, because his hoodie smells like laundry detergent and cigarette smoke and home—you do.

when you’re not sleeping in your best friend’s bed, you’re sleeping in yoongi’s.

it’s not on purpose. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

the first time, you’d been too exhausted to go back to your own room. you’d fallen asleep curled up against his side, and when you woke up in the morning, he was already up, sitting at his desk, acting like you hadn’t just drooled on his hoodie all night.

the second time, it was his fault.

"you’re just gonna cry in my room again anyway," he’d said when he saw you hovering by his door, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like some kind of orphaned child. "just get in bed and shut up about it."

so you had.

and then it just...kept happening.

some nights, you still slept in your best friend’s bed out of habit, curling up under the same floral-patterned blanket you’d both been using since you were kids. but most nights, you ended up in yoongi’s instead.

"this is getting weird," he’d grumbled one night when you crawled under the covers beside him, poking at his ribs until he moved over.

"then kick me out."

he sighed. "too much work."

and that was that.

there were rules, though. unspoken ones.

you didn’t talk about it. not in the morning, not when his mom raised an eyebrow at the way you emerged from his room stretching, not even when your best friend teased you over the phone.

("ew, you’re sleeping in yoongi’s bed?" she’d laughed. "have some self-respect.")

you didn’t cuddle. you weren’t like that. yoongi kept to his side, you kept to yours, and that was that.

and, most importantly—it didn’t mean anything.

because if it did, then you’d have to admit that something had shifted. that somewhere along the way, the teasing, the eye-rolls, the years of bickering had stopped feeling so familiar, so easy, and had started feeling like something else entirely.

and you weren’t ready for that. not yet.

the first time you realize something’s changed, it’s at a party.

it’s one of those loud, hazy, sticky summer nights, the kind where the air is thick with humidity and the scent of cheap beer and cigarette smoke clings to your clothes before you’ve even stepped inside.

you don’t know why you came. maybe because your best friend begged you to actually go out for once, or maybe because you knew he would be here.

yoongi isn’t hard to find. he’s never hard to find.

he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, lazily sipping from a red cup, one arm draped over the back of some girl’s chair. she’s pretty—they always are—laughing at something he just said, leaning into him like she wants to be the next one.

you tell yourself you don’t care. that you’ve seen this before, that it means nothing, that you have absolutely no reason to feel the way you do right now.

but then he looks up.

his eyes find yours across the room, and something in his expression shifts—just barely, just enough for you to notice.

and just like that, you’re somewhere else.

somewhere months ago, slipping under his blankets, stealing his warmth on cold nights. somewhere in the early mornings, waking up to the sound of his deep, slow breathing before slipping out of his bed unnoticed.

somewhere you shouldn’t be.

but you’re here now, in a room full of people, and he’s still looking at you.

you swallow, breaking eye contact first, pushing past bodies and slipping outside.

you don’t run, exactly, but it feels like you do.

the air is cooler out here, quieter, and you take a slow breath, pressing your hands to your flushed cheeks.

and then—"running away?"

yoongi’s voice. behind you.

you turn, and he’s standing in the doorway, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other still holding his drink.

"no," you say too quickly. "just needed air."

"bullshit." he steps closer, the warm glow from the porch light casting soft shadows across his face.

you roll your eyes. "why do you care?"

"i don’t," he says, but he doesn’t walk away. doesn’t leave you alone like he should.

he just watches you, like he’s trying to figure something out.

and then—"you look good."

your breath catches.

it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, because he’s probably said that a hundred times to a hundred different girls, but this time it’s you.

and it feels different.

"you’re drunk," you mutter, arms crossed.

"not really."

you don’t know what to say to that.

so you say nothing, looking away, looking anywhere but at him.

but then—his fingers graze your wrist.

just barely. just enough.

and suddenly, it’s very clear that something between you isn’t the same anymore.

the first time you kiss yoongi, it’s his birthday.

he’s turning twenty-seven. his hair is still bleached, the pale blonde grown out a bit at the roots, and he looks different now—older, sharper—but somehow still the same yoongi you’ve always known.

there’s no party. no drunken celebration or crowded apartment full of strangers. just a quiet night at home, the way his mom prefers it. the way he prefers it. dinner, cake, a movie. the whole family—plus you, of course.

his mom had gone to bed hours ago. his sister was passed out on the couch, curled up in the same blanket she’d been buried under for most of the movie.

and you’d just wanted a drink of water. but when you turn around, glass still in hand, he’s there. leaning against the counter, watching you with that lazy, unreadable expression.

"where’s my present?" he asks.

you blink. "you already opened my present."

it’s true. you’d given him a new set of headphones, something he’d offhandedly mentioned needing months ago, and he’d actually smiled when he unwrapped them. a real one.

but now he just hums, stepping closer. "not that one."

"what—"

and then he cuts you off with a kiss.

it’s soft, at first. hesitant, testing. but when you don’t pull away—when your breath catches, when your fingers tighten around the glass still in your hand—he presses in deeper, tilting his head, lips parting against yours like he’s been waiting for this.

you don’t know who moves first. don’t know if you drop the glass or if he takes it from you, if you step closer or if he pulls you in.

all you know is that it’s him. yoongi.

his hands on your waist, the faint scent of birthday cake and cigarette smoke clinging to his hoodie, the way he exhales so softly against your lips before pulling away just enough to look at you.

yoongi lifts you like it’s nothing.

hands firm at your waist, he hoists you up onto the counter, slotting himself between your legs before you can even catch your breath. the cold marble is a shock against your bare thighs, but the warmth of his hands is hotter, grounding, spreading heat everywhere.

you’re wearing an oversized band tee—his band tee. he notices. his fingers slip beneath the hem, just barely, thumbs brushing slow circles over your skin.

"you’re such a thief," he mutters, mouth ghosting over yours, not kissing you yet, just lingering.

"you gave it to me," you breathe, blinking up at him.

he huffs a soft laugh, lips twitching. "you stole it."

"and yet, you never asked for it back."

he hums, tilting his head. "maybe i liked seeing you in it."

you don’t have a chance to process that, because then he’s kissing you again. deeper. slower. hungrier. you don’t even realize your hands are in his hair until you feel the strands slipping through your fingers.

yoongi groans, low, deep, and the sound goes straight through you.

his hands tighten on your thighs, pressing you closer, and you feel it, the way his fingers tremble, just a little, like he’s holding back.

you don’t say anything. just pull him in, legs wrapping around his waist, fingers tugging him even closer.

"yoongi," you murmur against his lips after a moment, breathless, dazed, hands still tangled in his hair.

"mm?" he hums, mouth trailing, kissing along your jaw, slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. and maybe he does. maybe you do.

except—

"your sister is in the living room," you remind him, voice barely above a whisper, fingers tightening against his hoodie.

he stills, and there’s a beat of silence. then he groans, low and frustrated, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

"you have the worst timing," he mutters, his hands gripping your thighs, debating whether or not to just pretend you didn’t say anything.

you laugh, breathy, threading your fingers through his hair. "we’re in your mom’s kitchen," you point out. "next to the fridge. literally anyone could walk in."

he huffs, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look at you. your lips are swollen, your shirt is crooked, still drowning you. and suddenly, he wants. wants to stay here, wants to ignore reality, wants to kiss you until the sun comes up.

but you’re right.

(you’re always right, and it’s so fucking annoying.)

he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. "fine," he grumbles. "you win."

you grin. "i always do."

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it, stepping back, hands slipping from your thighs way too slowly, like he doesn’t really want to let go. "come on," he mutters, offering a hand. "before you ruin my life even more."

you take it, hop down, straighten your shirt, and try not to laugh at the way he adjusts his way too obvious boner when he thinks you’re not looking.

"hey, yoongi?" you say as he leads you out of the kitchen.

"what?"

you smirk. "happy birthday."

his eyes flick to you, and something shifts again, something deep, something you don’t have a name for yet. then, his mouth quirks into something almost fond, and he squeezes your hand before finally letting go.

"thanks, brat."

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie

[jjscrybaby]

prompt 5: ‘they’re all lying’

jj maybank x fem!reader | fluff | (meeting the pogues, anxiety, jj being adorable, drinking, mentions of weed, embarrassing stories.)

not proofread! send reqs!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“I’m nervous,” you admitted softly, JJ’s hand in yours as the two of you walked down the street towards the Chateau.

The blonde let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles. He gave your hand a squeeze, trying to comfort you so you didn’t take offence from his amusement. “You have nothin’ to be nervous about.”

“I do, J!” You bickered, pouting over at him with a look of irritation. He laughed again, making you pull your hand away from his. “It’s not funny.”

He stopped walking, grabbing your waist so that you would stop with him. His hands rested on your hips as he smiled down at you. “I’m sorry, baby, you’re right, it ain’t funny. But trust me, you don’t need to be scared. All we’re doin’ is sitting around drinking beer.”

“They’re gonna be judging me the whole time, making sure I’m good for you,” you argued, avoiding eye contact with him.

Deep down you knew you were over-reacting. JJ’s friends, the Pogues, were known for being the most chill group around the island. All they did was smoke, surf and drink. But this was different than meeting any old boyfriend’s friends; you were meeting his family. You were well aware of JJ’s childhood — his mom leaving and his dad being an asshole — so you also knew how much his friends meant to him.

John B had been in his life since he was a kid, and the others came along throughout the years. He talked about them like they hung the moon and the stars, and all you wanted was for them to like you. You’d been putting it off for weeks, always coming up with excuses so you didn’t have to tag along but he could see straight through you. It was the most annoying thing about him.

“I promise, sweetheart, they’re gonna love you,” he soothed, one of his hands moving up to run through your hair. You swatted his hand away, having spent half an hour perfecting it.

“What if they don’t?” You asked quietly. Your biggest worry wasn’t that they weren’t going to like you, but that JJ would agree with them.

As said, he can see right through you, so the question sent all amusement off his face. “Hey. You don’t need to worry about us, okay? You’re my girl, right?” You nodded slowly. “Then there’s nothin’ to worry about. Now come on, let’s go get some booze in you.”

“Okay,” you hum, re-taking his hand to make the rest of the walk.

You weren’t even in the backyard before you could hear the sound of laughter and chatting, JJ gave you a reassuring smile and lead you around the side of the house to where they were sat. Kiara had her legs thrown over Pope’s lap, a joint in hand, John B was sipping on a beer and talking with Pope and Sarah was on her phone next to him. Very chill.

“The main attraction has arrived!” JJ yelled, getting all their attentions and a glare from you.

“There they are,” Kiara grinned lazily over at the two of you. He lead you closer and she held her hand up in a wave. “I’m Kie, nice to meet you.”

You introduced yourself, giving her a shy smile as John B stood up and threw his arm around your shoulders. “So you’re the girl that JJ’s utterly obsessed with?”

“Uh… I hope so,” you laughed, making the rest of them chuckle too.

“Come sit,” Sarah instructed, tapping the space beside her. “We want to hear all about how JJ is as a boyfriend.”

You looked back at JJ, who gave you a nod. Sarah beamed as you sat down beside her, instantly asking you every question that came to her mind to do with you and JJ; how you met, who initiated the first kiss, what his love language is. After Kie wasn’t quite so high, she came and joined the two of you to get in on the details.

A couple hours had passed, you were having fun with the girls as the three boys listened in every now and then — just to have some extra ammo to tease JJ with later on. It was the time of the night that you were all buzzed and the embarrassing stories had begun.

“He had this serious crush on her, no need to get jealous he was only nine, but he decided the best way to get her attention was dump mud all over her at recess,” John B explained, a wide grin on his face.

You giggled as JJ covered his face with his hands, embarrassed. “Did it work?”

“No!” John B exclaimed, chuckling. “She told the teacher on him so he put bugs in her pencil case.”

“What a romantic,” you teased, turning to a red-faced JJ beside you. He flipped you off, and then turned to John B and kept it up.

From that story, more just came to the Pogues. They spent the next excruciating (for JJ) hour telling you everything they could think of. There was the time he got caught pissing in a bush by an elderly couple and tried to explain it away by saying his pants fell down. Sarah was so excited to tell you about him accidentally wearing Kie’s jeans to school after a heavy night that she fell right off her chair.

You were leant against JJ’s shoulder, giggling still. The stories had died down, but every time they replayed in your head you’d fall into a fit of laughter once again.

“They’re all lying,” JJ stated, sipping on his beer with a small smirk.

“We have photographic evidence,” Pope argued, pulling his phone out. JJ was tackling him to the ground in seconds.

You weren’t sure what you’d been so worried about, in reality JJ should have been the one panicking.

[sylviaplatypus]

from what i can tell the reviews about this are mixed but tbh i was personally a huge fan of joe and nicky’s characterizations in this film. spoilery highlights after the cut

nicky basically “back in my day”ing nile for her question about whether the guard ever gets time off like the grandpa he is

the glimpses of how truly unhinged a millennia of being immortal has made them: laughing about booker getting his head blown off by a cannon, their shared amusement at joe’s funny guy bit with his severed thumb, the gleeful competitiveness over who drives which car, nicky teasing joe for not hot wiring his car as fast, playfully racing one another with their stolen vehicles. all while in the middle of a goddamn heist where bullets are flying everywhere lmaooo that’s deranged behavior and i love them for it.

speaking of the cars!! how even their driving is perfectly in sync!!!!!

i’ve seen a few posts saying that it was obvious nicky knew something was up with joe after he deflected nicky’s question about the mysterious text, and i totally agree, but i think he knew way sooner. that look he gives joe after nile asks if they think booker is doing okay is very Telling (citation: i’ve been with my spouse for a decade and can tell right away when something’s off with them, imagine that compounded by a literal thousand years!! i wouldn’t be surprised if nicky’s been suspicious of something since the moment joe made contact with booker)

the fact that joe crashed their goddamn car because he was looking at nicky instead of the road. relatable. 

the old married couple energy being so strong it almost blew me off my couch!!! bickering about snoring and sleep talking before going to bed at the same time, i’m weak

nicky’s loaded “huh, okay” to joe’s announcement that he needs some time alone. kudos to luca marinelli for being able to imbue a couple of filler words with such meaning. that meaning ofc being that nicky knows his man too well to believe he’s telling the truth about wanting to be alone. 

nicky’s little whispered “te amo” when he and joe part ways, sobbb

“we’re following him” / “what?” genuinely made me laugh out loud 

fully believe nicky would have been fine with joe going his separate way for a bit if he truly did need a little time and space. but i love that he follows him (and forces nile into a Situation in the process lol) because at this point he’s probably known for months that something’s been off with joe, and now he’s lying??? about needing something nicky would be willing to give him if joe were only telling the truth?? ofc that’s the tipping point for nicky.

not really a character development choice, but i am genuinely curious about why joe is bringing booker lemons. is there reason to be concerned about booker’s citrus intake?

the conflict is delicious to me!! love to see my favorite fictional ships argue because those moments reveal a lot about who people are, individually and as a unit. and joe and nicky fight like the old marrieds they are, like two people who are unflappable in the certainty that their foundation is too solid to crack under the pressure of a prolonged disagreement like this. it reminds me a lot of one of my favorite quotes from the haunting of hill house: “you fight with love. you're on the same team even in the middle of a fight. during the fight, you're forgiven. there's no fear. there's no danger. you're safe. it's a beautiful way to be.”

speaking of the Argument, my personal old married take is that it wasn’t joe being in contact with booker that upset nicky as much as it was the extended lie of omission joe told by not letting nicky in on this fact sooner. nicky has spent six months believing they were on the same page, that they’d both agreed to the terms of this painful exile - painful not only for booker, but for them as well because it meant losing a brother. nicky sat in that pain alone for months without realizing it, all because, as nicky pointed out, joe assumed he knew how nicky would react instead of talking with him. they’re supposed to be a team, and joe left him in the dark on this one! so it feels like it's not so much about his anger that joe is talking to booker again and more about joe shutting nicky out of his very understandable struggle with their decision to cut ties with him. 

yusuf went to see him! yusuf!!! (cue hilary duff’s this is what dreams are made of)

truly unwell over the cliffs of moher backstory and how beautifully it sums up their characters, their relationship, and the nature of this conflict arc. the game was playful and competitive like they've been shown to be, but when it came down to following through, nicky was too stubborn, steadfast, and consistent to give up first - just like he couldn’t move past what booker did as easily as joe, just like he waited until joe came to him to put a punctuation mark on the argument and finally tell nicky what’s really been bothering him. 

“talk to me,” nicky says and nothing else - and when joe does, he meets him with understanding but also objective facts. it’s a beautiful counterpoint to joe’s romantic monologue in the first film. no flowery prose, because nicky isn’t a poet like joe, but still just as moving in its simple truths (things end, and so will we eventually. but this thing that i feel for you because i know your heart isn’t an arbitrary happenstance. it’s a deliberate choice made countless times over countless years. and everything that’s a product of that love will ripple outward through eternity). 

 every battle couple moment. every single one of them.

joe kicking the guard onto nicky’s sword was definitely a precursor to the make up sex they need to have and i’m so glad that, if nothing else, we can all agree on this.

[bananastarlo]

yandere Isekai trope

What if you wake up in another world and nothing is quite as it was before you fell asleep? Everything looked different—hell, even you looked different, wearing a strange school uniform.

That’s when a screen appears before you:

“In order to leave this place, you must get along with the yandere of this universe and identify—plus avoid—their darling. Good luck, and don’t get yourself killed.“

So that’s why you’re standing in front of the classroom the screen assigned you to. Peering inside, nobody seems to notice your presence. You take a seat and inspect every person carefully… 

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Is he not in this school?

But then he walked in, head slightly bowed to avoid drawing attention to himself. Yet somehow, you knew it had to be him. It was a gut feeling, strong and undeniable. The boy was quite tall and lean, with little muscle, a gentle appearance, and hair that fell over his face. His expression was unsure.

He’s supposed to be the yandere? You smirked to yourself. Definitely manageable.

As he took his seat, you came up to him and warily sat yourself down next to him. He didn’t even bother glancing up, absorbed in whatever he was sketching in his notebook. 

You’d figured you should try befriending him—gain his trust so he (hopefully) wouldn’t hurt you.

Your first interaction with him was short-lived 

“Hey, I’m new here. Uh…what’s your name?“

…

Shit. 

You take a peek at his notebook.

“That’s a really pretty drawing! You’re very talented!“

“…Thank you.“ 

Were you the first person he’d spoken to? It sure felt like it. You almost felt bad for him.

As time went on, you tried every tactic to win him over. After countless failed attempts, you finally earned his tolerance, maybe even fondness. Now, he even waits for you after class, which was…kind of cute. You learned his name was Luca, a shy boy who loved to draw and read comics.

It made sense for him to be a yandere, you thought. 

Eventually, he grew clingy. You didn’t mind. If anything, his attachment meant he wouldn’t turn on you later…right?

But you’d be lying if you said he hadn’t grown on you, too. If not for the yandere thing, you’d actually enjoy your late-night talks (it’s more of a one-sided conversation, but oh well…) and the times when you did school projects together at your house and he gets flustered by being in your space. 

But you’re forgetting something really important, aren’t you? 

“Hey, my name is Lola! It’s nice to meet you all!“ 

She was an awfully cheery girl who just transferred here. The kind of girl boys fell for. Even…

You turn your head to study Luca’s reaction.

His expression was unreadable, but this has to be her—the darling. Now, you just had to avoid her as much as possible.

“Thank you. You can sit now. Uh…you! You’ll show Lola around and partner with her for the upcoming project.“

The teacher pointed directly at you.

Aw, shit.

Arguing was pointless, so you agreed. But you could feel Luca’s glare burning into you as Lola beamed beside you.

“I hope we become good friends!“

You spent the rest of class ignoring him, but dread coiled in your stomach. 

After class, as everyone scattered, you grabbed Luca‘s wrist before he could leave. “Listen, I…I really like you. I don’t want anything to change what we have. Once I finish what the teacher asked, I‘ll stay away from her, okay?“

He blinked in surprise, then smiled. “I-I didn’t think you’d understand. Thank you so much.“

And with that, he left.

At least that went well.

Or so you thought.

Lola was determined to befriend you. No hint, no brush-off worked. The more time you spent with her, the more Luca withdrew. His distance made you paranoid—rightfully so.

Today was another dreadful day and you were the only one left in school working on an assignment—too scared to walk home now that it was already this dark out. After packing up, you sighed and headed out—until a strange noise made you stop in place. 

Against your better judgement, your feet dragged you to the source, scared of what you would find.

That’s when you saw an open classroom and heard a piercing scream from inside. Your stomach dropped and hands started shaking.

There he was, repeatedly stabbing a person, who was so familiar to you, you almost threw up. Lola. Luca was hunched over her. He must’ve heard you, because his head slowly turned, blood splattered across his face.

“You? My darling… you weren’t supposed to see this.“

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!“ You backed away.

He looked like he was the one who had just been stabbed. His lips trembled.

“W-What do you mean? I did this for us! She wouldn’t stop bothering you! She deserved this—ALL OF IT! She wanted to take you away from me, can’t you see? You told me you didn’t want anything to change what we have, so please, please don’t look at me with that look. I love you so much, please…“

What have you done?

[ur-sick-and-married]

BABY FEVER

(Kate Martin x reader)

TW: Mentions of IVF.

Summary: Your girlfriend Kate has baby fever…

Author’s note: Kate is a golden retriever girlfriend and I will not be convinced otherwise.

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

Since the Las Vegas Aces season was over, you could spend so much more time with Kate, your girlfriend. After a week of alone time with her, that you spent reconnecting, you two visited her sister. Which meant you got to see her nephew.

At the end of your first full day with the little family, Kate was quiet as you two made up the bed in the guest room.

“Kate?” You said, watching her.

“Hm?” She finally looked up.

“What’s up, babe?” You asked softly.

“Nothing’s up.” She shrugged, lying. “Why?”

“You’re being all weird and quiet…” You commented.

She sat on her side of the bed, and you sat beside her.

“I want one…” She whispered, looking at her lap.

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“I want a baby.” She said softly. “With you.”

You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to laugh or cry.

“Kate…” You smiled a little.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” She was genuinely surprised. “I just look at that little baby and I want one.”

“It’s only your first year in the WNBA…” You whispered.

“I know, I know,” She groaned.

“Babe…” You grinned, watching her flop back on the bed. “I think you have baby fever.”

“I do.” Kate agreed. “I’m very sick with it.”

You laid beside her, your head on her chest. You couldn’t help but find this amusing, yet endearing.

“You haven’t even popped the question…” You teased.

“Oh, please,” She scoffed. “We’re basically married.”

“You know us having a baby would be difficult, right?” You whispered.

You knew your only option if you wanted a baby that was truly, biologically yours was IVF. And you knew how scary and long the process was.

Kate nodded, silent again.

It was quiet, then she spoke very softly, “But I’d do all that. I’d do whatever. I just want a little baby…I could teach them about basketball. You could come to my games with the kid. Everyone would love you. Well, they already do, but you know what I mean.”

You felt tears in your eyes now. Having a child with Kate was your dream.

“Oh, God, don’t cry!” Kate yelped, pulling you close and holding you tightly.

“I’m not crying.” You mumbled into her chest. “You’re…so cute.”

“You’d be so cute with a little bump…” She lightly touched your stomach.

You let her wipe your eyes.

“Listen, Kate,” You whispered. “We’re gonna have a kid one day. But that’s other stuff that has to happen first. So until we have our own baby, we can just babysit all the damn time.”

She thought for a moment, then sighed, “Deal.”

“Deal? Really? That’s what you say?” You groaned.

“What else do you want me to say?” She laughed, grinning.

You laughed too.

[russo-woso]

First appointment

Y/N has her first appointment and sees her baby for the first time

4 weeks 5 days

After confirming with the clinic that the pregnancy test was positive, they insisted you came in and had a scan done so they knew you were definitely pregnant.

Clearly a sixteen year old who was just starting her career was lying about being pregnant.

You were going to decline the offer, not wanting to step foot in that place again but your lawyer had told you it was a good idea and could be used as evidence later on.

It still took a bit of reassurance from Leah and your mum but eventually you agreed.

Everything was still up in arms. The clinic were still blaming it all on the system error but you found out that the doctor that did the procedure should have clarified your name and age before starting.

You had spent many nights crying into your pillow, the stress from everything affecting you greatly.

Leah had been your rock though. Every night she’s climb into your bed, stroking your hair as you fell asleep.

After seeing how worked up you had gotten yourself because of the legal side of things, Leah decided to keep it away from you.

You no longer knew what was happening and instead, Leah and your parents were the lead case handlers.

Leah had tried to sit you down a few times and ask if you had decided to keep it or not but every time you didn’t have an answer.

It wasn’t a simple choice.

You felt a small connection to the baby, it was your blood, it was your baby. However, your career was just starting and you couldn’t afford to be out for a year.

But you could imagine a future with a baby, with your baby.

“Kiddo, you ready to go?” Leah asked, pulling you out of your thoughts as she walked into your room.

You reluctantly nodded, just a small and swift movement that Leah barely saw.

“Look at me, kiddo. I know it’s scary going back, but I’ll be there with you the whole time.” Leah reassured you, crouching down in front of you and taking your hands in hers.

Your sister was your safe place, the person you go to whenever things get hard so having her there definitely made it that little bit less daunting.

“I can always reschedule it for another day.” Leah suggested but you shook your head.

“I’d rather get it over and done with.”

“Okay then, kid. Come on then.”

Leah wrapped her arm round you as you walked out your room, offering that bit of support and comfort.

“You go sit down, I’ll sign you in.” Leah said, going your separate ways as you walked to the waiting room and Leah going to reception.

“That didn’t take long. The receptionist said that you’ve got a completely different doctor today.”

You hummed, too lost in your thoughts to respond.

“Le?” You began, Leah turning to face you waiting for you to continue. “If I do have the baby, will you kick me out? Because the baby will cry and I don’t want you not getting any sleep and then—”

“Woah, woah, kiddo calm down. Of course I’m not going to kick you out. You’re my baby sister, Y/N. This isn’t your fault and I’m not going to let you think it is. The baby is my niece or nephew and I’ll love it just as much as I love you. Maybe even a tiny bit more if it doesn’t have your attitude. But there’s no way I’m kicking you out.” Leah explained, resting a hand on your leg that bounced with nerves.

There was a moment of silence before your name was called by a doctor.

Leah helped you up, both of you walking to the side room.

Inside was a bed with a few chairs and a tv on the wall connected to a monitor.

“I’ve looked back at your files and the embryo would have fertilised four and a half weeks ago so you might not be able to see much, if anything, on the scan but I will be able to see the amniotic sack which will confirm you are pregnant. Am I okay to just lift your shirt?” The doctor asked and you nodded, pulling up the shirt yourself.

She applied some gel before turning the monitor on.

Your eyes focused on the screen in front of you, the doctor now moving a probe along your lower abdomen.

You reached for Leah’s hand, wanting to know she was close.

“I’m here, bubba.” She whispered quietly, clearly seeing how nervous you were.

“It’s very early but I can see the baby just there.” The doctor said, pointing to a tiny, barely visible dot on the screen.

“That’s your baby.” Leah told you quietly, her voice sounding emotional as she spoke.

“The amniotic sack is surrounding it and the lining of your uterus has thickened so you are definitely pregnant. The measurements of your uterus are looking all good. At this moment in time, I haven’t got much to tell you in regard to the embryo. Now, due to the circumstances, I have to ask you a question that may be a bit of a difficult one to answer. I can wait a few days for a response so there’s no rush or no need to answer straight away. We can offer you an abortion if you want. The baby’s still small enough to do an abortion.” The doctor explained, still keeping the prong on your abdomen.

Your eyes kept glued to the screen in front of you, more specifically at the tiny blob.

You kept quiet, gathering your thoughts before taking a deep breath in.

“I think I want to keep it.”

You felt Leah’s hand squeeze yours.

“Yeah, I want to keep it.” You repeated, sending a firm nod to the doctor.

“Okay. I can print some pictures for you and then when you head out, could you sign the sheet declaring you’ve declined our offer of an abortion?”

You nodded, pulling your shirt down and sitting up.

“Are you sure you want this?” Leah questioned

“I want this. I mean, sometimes you’re a bit boring so at least I’d have someone else around.” You joked, sending her a small smirk as you stood up.

“I hope this baby doesn’t get your cheek. I don’t think I could cope with two of you.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad.” You defended yourself, playfully shoving Leah.

“You’re not that bad.” Leah admitted, pulling you in for a side hug. “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

“Thanks, le. I don’t think I would’ve said yes if you weren’t gonna be there.” You revealed, hugging your sister tightly.

“Right. There are the pictures from the ultrasound. I’ll lead you to reception.” The doctor said, handing you five small pictures before opening the door and leading you out.

You signed the paperwork before finally leaving the building.

“You jump in the car and I’ll call mum and tell her how it went.” Leah told you whilst you jumped in the passenger seat.

You stared at the pictures in your hand - the tiny blob evident in all of them.

“We’ll get through this won’t we blob?”

[lady-ashfade]

Hi! I loved your comfort goddess post! If your still taking requests, could you do one where Fem! Motherly Goddess reader is the wife of Ares and watches over his children with intense care. Especially Clarissa (if your comfortable with adding a dash of favoritism with Clarissa lol). And the Ares kids are possessive of their Motherly Goddess even though she literally only cares for them at the camp and how the other campers see this. ^^ thank you!!

Divine Mother

Yandere Ares!Cabin x Stepmother!Goddess!reader. (Platonic!!)

-£ Warnings: Yandere Tendencies, Reader taking care of her child, Cheating, Obsession, Jealousy, Fighting.

Many centuries ago you had be punished for your husbands doings.

Ares had upset Hephaestus by having a affair with his wife, Aphrodite. and you knew your husbands actions but you cared little about them, because his attention wasn’t on you. and you didn’t hate Aphrodite for it and you actually liked her, even had tea meetings with her at times.

Hephaestus was so upset he was going crazy in anger, so Zeus needed to punish his son. And that meant with you because he knew how much his son cared for you. So, you were sent to watch over the demo gods with Dionysus.

You spent years caring for all the children of your family and cared for them.

And for centuries it was Ares kids who took up most of your time. Their anger and hotheaded nature made your attention be placed on them mostly.

No matter what time it was, your husbands children need something.

When Clarisse came in things took a heavy turn. They became more needy and clingy to you that you constantly had to break fights they had started.

They seek your praise more then their fathers.

Asking for your blessing each capture of the flag, every fight, every mission, anything they need.

“Did you see that?” One of the younger children ran up to you with armor half the size of himself. “I would have killed him if it wasn’t a dummy.” You just patted his head and gave him the slight bit of praise.

But, Clarisse. She was at your side almost always. Even fighting with her siblings for you and she didn’t care. She was better then them.

When Percy arrived at camp she couldn’t believe her ears when you agreed with the stories of him killing the minotaur. how dare he? he wasn’t special and worth nothing to have you talk about him.

she hated him so much more and wanted nothing more then to have him say he was lying so she could drag him to you. and have him bow at your feet to apologize.

He was a fake.

Any bad emotions you could sense them. So when you felt a overwhelming sense in the bathrooms in camp you followed to find out what was happening. That’s when heard a loud noise.

Rushing in you see three of them on the floor and the new kid in the stall, door broke and water overflowing throughout the place. Clarisse was soaked and looked like she was about to attack him, you knew she was probably causing problems before you came in.

“Clarisse,” Your stern voice echoed through the place and made everyone turn to you and their faces worried. “What did you do?” You glanced at the two beside her as you crossed your arms.

they tried to explain but you grabbed them and started to scold them and take them back to their cabin. a goddess yelling at you was scary. and having the one who is know for her calmness was even scarier.

the whole cabin was out for Percy when capture of the flag came but Clarisse and her team were going for him. he made them look like fools in front of their mother? he was a dead man.

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐭

Summary ➳ Gambit lends an ear and his comfort to you. 

(A/n) ➳ I feel like I spent too much time writing this because I wanted to get his accent right. But I thank all those who gave me advice, especially @a-roguish-gambit. I also started playing RDR2 so you guys can expect content for the game soon too!

Word Count ➳ 1.1k 

Content Warnings ➳ Female Reader, swearing, violence, blood, pet names (cher), mentions/fear of abandonment, light sexual content, cock blocking??  

It wasn’t your choice to be pushed into the Void after Wade and Logan. When you watched their bodies disappear, you too were taken to the Void without putting much of a fight. And from the moment you arrived, you knew you were over your head. 

From the moment you arrived, Wade and Logan’s bickering and banter was constant, and their fights weren’t often but deadly. You stood on the sidelines whenever they fought because you knew they could easily take you out. 

Especially now.  

What was supposed to be a ride to find the Resistance members became a bloodbath, the first sign of a fight starting was your cue to leave the car and wait for them to calm down. 

You sat against the tree, watching the two grown ass men throw kicks and punches that could kill a person with ease. Logan's claws pierce Wade’s body and how Wade’s katanas and knife slice through Logan’s outfit and skin.  

“Guys, seriously?” You muttered, this fight would’ve been much entertaining if she had food with her. You were tired of it, physically and emotionally, and you weren’t surprised when you fell asleep to the sound of them battling.  

But when you awoke, you were in a different place. Some kind of hideout.  

But with three others who you learned to be Blade, Elektra and Gambit. All of them talked about getting back into Cassandra’s lair, but Wade did most of the talking as Logan did all the drinking.  

“You?!” Wade suddenly shouting in some kind of encouragement, pointing directly at you.  

They all stared at you, waiting for a response but you had no idea what they were agreeing on, going back in her lair or getting a way out.  

“It’s the same thing, kid.” Logan interrupted your thinking, as if he read your thoughts. But it seems he was tired of the fighting and wanted to a seat to drink in peace.  

“Sure, I guess.” You said, mainly to get the stares off you. 

Everyone agreed that they would set off early in the morning, giving you the chance to look around the hideout. You peeked your heads in the room as you already felt like you were trespassing, so you promised yourself that this would be the last room before you ate something. 

“Bonjour, cher.” Gambit’s voice made you jump, quickly pulling your head out to turn and look at him. “Ain’t polite to be peekin’ in on folks, now is it?” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

Gambit reached out to push the door open further. “Ain’t no harm done.” With a wave of his hand, he welcomed you in. “Don’t be shy, cher.” 

You walked in once you got his approval, he followed right behind you, closing the door with a click. The room was not what you expected, with mismatched furniture and some playing cards lying around, it spoke of him.  

It was Gambit’s space, and it felt like an extension of him. 

“So, how long you been stuck in dis here Void?” Gambit asked, sitting on his couch and patting the cushion beside him.  

But you shook your head, choosing to lean against the wall. “Not long. I got caught up in Wade’s mess.” 

Gambit raised an eyebrow, his expression changing to surprised. “You’ new to all dis chaos, eh? Coulda fooled me.” He grinned.  

You shrugged, trying to laugh. “More like I got dragged into it. Wade... He stopped getting in trouble for some time but this time, I wasn’t quick enough to dodge it.” 

“If dere’s somethin’ on your mind, cher, you can talk. Sometimes it’s easier t’spill your guts to a stranger.” Gambit noted. 

You looked at him, seeing sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, you hesitated, but you broke. “I’m worried. Scared.” You admitted, whispering. “That this plan won’t work. If it doesn’t, everyone in my universe... They’ll forget me. It’ll be like I never existed.” 

You didn’t mean to say much, but once you started, you couldn’t stop. “I’ve been abandoned once before, left to fend for myself. I worked so hard to make a name but now it’ll be for nothing. Everything I’ve done, everyone I’ve known... Gone. Just like that.” 

You felt embarrassed after you finished ranting. Your eyes widened as you raised your hands, stumbling over your words, a poor attempt at explaining yourself. “Shit! I-I know you said-” 

But before you could finish, Gambit was there in front of you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around you like a shield, protecting you from your worries.  

“It’s alrig’t cher. You’re alrig’t.” He whispered, his voice soothing as he held you close. “You ain’t gotta apologize for feelin’ like dis. Everyone gets scared, even Remy.”  

You felt yourself slowly relax in his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed you a little. In that moment, you didn’t care about the fear that’s been eating you away.  

You hesitated at first, but then you wrapped your arms around him. You both stayed like that for a while, neither of you saying a word, just taking comfort in each other’s company. 

Eventually, Gambit pulled back slightly, just enough so he could look down at you. You met his faze, your breath hitching as you realized how close you were. 

And then, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. It was slow soft at first, a mere brush of lips, but it deepened as the seconds passed, both of you losing yourselves in the moment.  

You felt his fingers running through your hair as you reached to cup his face. You shut your eyes, your hands moving to his coat and attempt to take it off him.  

The door flew open with a loud slam. You jumped, darting away from Gambit. 

“Hey, what’s going on in here?!” Wade shouted as he strutted into Gambit’s room. His tone was annoyingly cheerful. “We don’t have the budget for intimacy coordinators! Johnny must’ve taken it all.” 

You cleared your throat, crossing your arms as you felt your face become warm. “Wade! I... Uh... Nothing, nothing’s going on.” 

You could tell by how the whites of his suit widened that he was smirking under that dammed mask. “Oh really? ‘Cause it looks like I interrupted something juicy!” 

“Jus’ havin’ a lil’ chat, mon ami. Nothin’ to get excited ‘bout.” Gambit fixed his coat, seemingly normal. 

Wade then shrugged, turning around. “Alright, but if I hear any smoochin’ sounds, I’m comin’ right back!” 

As soon as the door closed behind Wade, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heat still racing from the near discovery. You glanced at Gambit, who was watching you with a smile, and couldn’t help but laugh. 

Gambit stepped closer to you, hooking his finger under your chin to have you look at him. “As we were, cher?”  

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.