#my precious daughter who has done nothing wrong

[mintsussy]

💜

[hivemuthur]

Hey! I was the one who wanted to request an arrange marriage (regency era) au with viktor and reader. I would like the reader to be bubbly and artistic (for painter/drawer), if that’s okay?

If you’ve watched bridgerton, perhaps reader would be apart of that family? But if you haven’t, that’s fine, just ignore this part lol

Hi Anon! So... this is happening. People this is my take on Bridgerton-inspired regency AU :v more under picture!

A Deer and a Man - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature (overall explicit) - tho this chapter is a little pornographic, there is some naked wrists, running around in nightgowns and men with loosened cravats, so proceed with caution :v

Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 7,7K (it will be this long, sorry!)

tag: #d&m

summary: You are the eldest daughter of a noble family, soon to be married to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region—Viktor, the adopted son of House Talis. The arrangement is simple: a marriage that secures your family's wealth in exchange for access to Hextech. What could possibly go wrong?

author's note: Anon, forgive me, but I wasn't able to write it precisely into the Bridgerton universe, I don't know it nearly enough. Also, I got brain damaged while writing it and included the artist part as a pianist, as this is the subject I know best. Super special thanks to @mithrava who helped me with details (I almost squeezed our poor girl into a corset, but she fucking hates bras anyways) and to @rennethen who beta reads and brainstorms the ideas with me!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

The first look into the mirror in the morning is always suspended between a thing in bloom and a thing fading away. What blossoms is the vision of yourself, wrapped up in a short stay, your form sculpted to society’s liking, cheeks brushed with a becoming rose tint, hair pinned into a careful bun, soft tendrils escaping to frame your face. The self that fades is the girl who may draw a full breath, whose flushed cheeks owe nothing to powder but to joy, whose wild curls defy taming. You greet her each evening and bid her farewell each morning, so that the lady—your family’s prized jewel—might step into the light. Mostly.

That is, when you were not hunched over the piano, playing Appassionata with a furious fervour instead of what your mother deemed proper, like some dull Hummel or Clementi. How utterly boring and soulless they seemed, that you could almost hear your night self scolding you each time your fingers reluctantly touched the keys to play one of those Sonatinas.

Running was also a thing you had to avoid, for the most part. Eating a whole apple was strictly vulgar. As for a whole egg—well, that was something to be done in the strict privacy of the kitchens, once you’d managed to filch one without the cooks noticing. Yanking your skirts up while sitting on the grass and scribbling was also one of those moments when, if your mother had caught you, she would have been most displeased, to say the least. All in all, you had precious little time to let your night self emerge during the waking hours. She was continually suppressed by the version of you that took small, delicate bites, drank tea from a tiny cup, and sat upright while playing agreeable tunes.

Today, of all days, it is imperative that your night self remain firmly in check, while your day self does her utmost to impress the very man you have already deemed beyond salvation—without so much as laying eyes on him. A rare occasion indeed, where both versions of you are in agreement.

He has but one benefit of the doubt, and that is Jayce Talis. A brilliant inventor you once encountered when you slipped away from your mother and sisters while running errands in town. Back then, he had been mocked and overlooked as he tried to preach his discoveries from a modest tent set up on the way to the pharmacy. Someone particularly unkind had flung a fistful of mud in his direction, which Jayce avoided with such grace that your eyes had lit up.

You had been so young then, perched atop a crate of peaches, listening from afar, watching him wave his hands about, utterly bewitching.

"Is this truth you are speaking? Absolutely fascinating," you had said, once you had mustered the courage to approach him and give voice to the questions grinding in your hungry mind.

"It’s all possible, Miss," he had replied with a brilliant smile. "Take a pamphlet. I am here every Thursday."

But before you could so much as tell him your name, your mother had seized you by the ear and dragged you—nearly by force—into the nearest perfumery. Huffing and sighing in disapproval, she had straightened your dress, grumbled about the mud on your shoes, and scolded you for indulging the poor man’s delusions.

Little did she know.

Five years later, Jayce Talis is one of the most sought-after and highly regarded inventors and scientists in the entire region. Yet it is not he whom your family desires—not exactly. His research and the opportunity to invest in it—now that is what truly entices them.

And standing beside Jayce is his partner, Viktor. A stray, adopted by House Talis as though he were its own son. Apparently just as brilliant, undoubtedly just as sought-after.

"A good match," your mother says with a firm tone.

"A bright future for you and your sisters," your father says, his voice tinged with sadness and apology.

Of all men, you had thought him the one who would never betray you. And you tell yourself it is only one part of you that he has betrayed. Yet it wounds you so deeply because it is the part he always claimed to love most of all.

The real part of you.

You push her aside as you tuck a loose lock back into your bun. Fill your lungs with as much air as your short stay allows—nearly not enough. Then you answer your mother’s call with a rehearsed, “I will be right there, Maman!”

One last glance in the mirror—oh, no. You forgot a smile.

So you plaster it back onto your face, let the stale air escape your chest, and run—no, walk—downstairs. And the noise is already there as they all exchange their exaggerated good afternoons—your sweet father, your benevolent mother, your silly younger sisters, Jayce and Viktor. You hear their voices, your mother chuckling politely at Jayce’s remarks about bumpy roads, Viktor’s reserved greeting with a lilt of an accent that makes your ears perk up. Pretty.

Your eyes land on Jayce first—his frame broader than you remember—and something swells within you. Not sultry, just pleased to see this once-boy now a full-grown man, taking up the space he was always meant to claim.

And next to him—oh.

Emerging from your father’s embrace is Viktor, visibly startled by the stark contrast between your official mother and your matey father, who claps him on the back, smiling with flushed cheeks. Happy, relieved, because the boy who will marry his daughter is a slender, gentle man with kind hands and bright eyes. Your father breathes deeply, granting himself absolution for sending his eldest away into the arms of a stranger.

And the man at the bottom of the staircase looks nothing like the monster you painted in your mind. His frame is lithe yet full of quiet strength, supported by a cane. His face, all sharp angles, is touched by shifting light and shadow with every expression he tries to suppress. Lips small and tender, nose a work of the most skilled sculptor, eyes the colour of your father’s favourite bourbon—and your favourite honey, the one from summer flowers. His leg is hugged by a strange contraption of a brace, and you feel a weird sense of camaraderie—both of you constricted in some way.

"Hello," you say in your rehearsed voice, though it wavers slightly at the touch of his hand on yours. Your heart stumbles between beats when his lips press to your glove, his thumb steady on your knuckles.

"I am so glad to finally have met you, Miss. I have heard so much about you," says Viktor, holding your gaze. His composure settles back into place, his eyes drilling into you. And beneath his voice, a hint—suggesting he has heard more than just that you are a sweet young lady.

"Only good things, I hope?" you ask. And truly, the hope lingers in your tone, even though you know Jayce has told him what a wild thing you are when nobody is watching.

Briefly, you wonder—what would it be like to be asked by this man to marry him, had your families not decided your fate for you? Would you say yes, tears in your eyes? Or would you smile gently and tell him a polite maybe? Would you challenge him or take him in without compromise, had you met and known him before everything was resolved for you?

"Only good things," Viktor says with a false, polite smile as he releases your hand. And the falseness of it stirs something within you—a worry, a flicker of fear.

What is this man like when no one is watching?

You have heard almost nothing—only mentions of his brilliance and good behaviour. But if they are as much half-truths as the mentions of your brilliance and good behaviour, then this arrangement could be either a blessing or a curse.

Not that it matters. If you ever wanted to be married, which you still do not. You merely accept your fate for the sake of…

For the sake of your family. Of course.

The exchange of pleasantries has barely settled when the butler steps forward, his voice measured and precise. "My lord, my lady, refreshments are prepared in the drawing room."

"Ah, excellent!" Father claps Jayce’s shoulder in a display of easy camaraderie. "We have much to discuss, Mister Talis. Shall we?"

Mother inclines her head gracefully, extending a gloved hand toward the open doorway. "Come, gentlemen. We shall not let business keep us from our tea."

The procession to the drawing room is orderly, Father leading Jayce in enthusiastic conversation about the boundless opportunities ahead. "A partnership of this nature is unprecedented, of course. An investment in the future—our shared future."

Jayce responds with the confidence of a man accustomed to admiration. "Precisely, my lord. With the right support, we could revolutionise industry as we know it."

You follow with measured steps, Viktor at your side. He has not spoken since the introduction, his expression composed, though his eyes—deep, contemplative—move with interest over the fine furnishings of the room.

As everyone settles, tea is poured, the gentle clink of porcelain filling the brief lull in conversation. You accept your cup, watching as Viktor does the same, his fingers long and careful around the delicate handle. A man of precision, no doubt.

You lower yourself onto one of the chairs as a maid pours the tea, your hands folding neatly in your lap as you watch your father and Jayce fall into an easy rhythm of discussion. They speak of investments, of Hextech’s promise, of the ways in which your family’s patronage will shape the future. You hear none of it.

“You must find this arrangement rather inconvenient,” you say to Viktor, keeping your voice light as you turn toward him.

His eyes sharpen, though his smile remains polite. “How so?” His hand playing with the cane stills, long fingers extend idly toward its wooden pole.

You tilt your head. “To be bound to a wife you do not know. And for science, no less.”

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, setting his tea down. “Science is a noble cause, Miss. Perhaps even nobler than marriage.”

A test. You recognise it as easily as you recognise your own reflection.

"Then I suppose you have the better end of the bargain," you say, knowing it’s in fact, the exact opposite.

What Viktor doesn’t know, is that your mother has ensured the bargain benefits your family far more than it does the inventors. And looking at both of them—Jayce, hardly containing the beam on his face, and Viktor, observing everything reverently—you feel a pang of guilt, followed by a flicker of anger at the injustice.

A plan formulates in your wicked brain faster than you can blink.

Viktor’s lips press together, but amusement flickers in his gaze. “Perhaps we both do.”

Whatever he means by that, you don’t get the chance to find out. Your mother’s voice cuts through the conversation, her smile as polished as the silverware. “My dear, do spare Mister Viktor the interrogation.”

You return her smile, though yours is sharper. “I was only ensuring he is as clever as they say.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow slightly before she turns back to Viktor, seamlessly redirecting the conversation to something safer. "Dearest, I do believe Mister Talis was about to ask your thoughts on Clementi’s compositions. Such refined taste in music is most becoming."

A deliberate redirection. A warning.

You inhale, curbing the temptation to press further. "Indeed, my lady Mother." Turning to Jayce, you summon a practiced smile. "I do believe his sonatinas have their merits. Though, some find them rather—predictable."

Viktor’s gaze lingers a moment longer, unreadable. You have tested him, and he has not recoiled. A curiosity, then. A mystery yet to unfold.

You spend the rest of the afternoon refreshments chatting to Jayce about mediocre music, wondering if he is as bored as you are. He is ever the gentleman, offering the occasional enthusiastic nod or agreeable remark, though you catch the way his gaze strays toward the conversation between your Father and Viktor. You, on the other hand, attempt to suppress yawns, stuffing your face with biscuits only to receive a sharp, silent scolding from your mother—her ever-composed expression unchanging, yet her message perfectly clear in the slight arch of her brow and the subtle narrowing of her eyes.

Jayce, for his part, is far less burdened by such silent reprimands, complimenting the food with an easy charm that has even the servants standing a little straighter. "Absolutely delightful," he declares after a bite of pastry. "Your cooks must be geniuses, my lady."

Mother responds with a gracious nod, her practiced smile unwavering. "We do strive for excellence."

Meanwhile, across the room, Viktor exchanges politeness with your father, and—intriguingly—seems to warm to the conversation. While his initial responses are careful, measured, there is a spark of genuine enthusiasm as the subject shifts to research. Your father, less constipated than your mother in matters of etiquette, easily shakes off formality, allowing his hand to linger on Viktor’s shoulder longer than necessary—a gesture of camaraderie and gratitude.

As the discussion unfolds, Viktor’s composure loosens. He leans in slightly, his hands moving as he speaks, his eyes lighting up with the excitement of a man entirely lost in his own world of ideas. His voice, once restrained, now carries a lilt of passion as he explains the intricacies of Hextech and its boundless potential. You watch, fascinated, as the façade slips away—just a little—revealing something softer beneath. And how lovely he looks when he forgets himself.

Dinner proceeds without any great disturbances, save, again, for your mother’s silent rebukes whenever you take too large a bite or drink too greedily. Conversation flows between the three men, animated and full of promise—the future, progress, the shape of the world yet to come. All three desire it in their own way, though you suspect Viktor’s hunger for it is of a different nature than the others’.

And then, of course, comes your turn to be put on display. After dinner, Mother’s hand lands lightly on your wrist, her voice smooth as silk yet firm beneath the surface. "Dearest, why don’t you show our guests the depths of your talents? A sonatina, perhaps? Something refined."

Refined, meaning dull. Predictable. A test, as everything always is.

You rise, crossing the room with measured steps, already feeling Viktor’s gaze on you. He has seen something of you in conversation—but now, he will listen.

And so—you play the godforsaken Sonatina, your skin pulled tight over your face, eyes hooded, fingers moving with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner serving a sentence. Your back aches from keeping your spine stiffly straight, and despite your best efforts, your brows begin to furrow in ironic frustration. You only realise it when your mother clears her throat—pointedly, just a touch too loud.

You correct yourself immediately, smoothing your expression, though you swear you hear the ghost of a chuckle slip past Viktor’s lips. How dare he.

"How lovely," Jayce says, his smile wide and honest. You return it with one of your own—entirely dishonest—as you offer an insincere, "Thank you, Mister Talis," and bow politely. Viktor nods and swallows, and for some reason, you catch the way his throat bobs.

"Gentlemen, I believe it is time to discuss business. Let us move to the smoking room," Father announces, beaming. You can't suppress the sigh that escapes you. Soon—very soon—your night self will be free. She has been clawing at the edges of your skin for hours.

"Goodnight, my dearest girls," Father says warmly, pressing a kiss to both your forehead and your mother’s—a gesture so private, so natural, it earns him a scoff from his wife and a kiss on the cheek from his daughter.

Pleasantries are exchanged, and as soon as the men are out of sight, you bolt toward your bedroom. Your mind is already racing, gears grinding. Your feet slip from your heels, and you clasp them in your hands as you take the stairs two at a time. Every step sheds another layer of constriction—the short stay, the chemise, the pins biting into your scalp, the suffocating weight of your skirts. Off, off, off. The blush, the powder, the pretence. Her watch has ended for today.

You shake your hair loose from its updo before you even reach your door, already calling for your maid the moment you step inside, clawing at the laces of your gown in desperation.

“Miss, why the dramatics?” she teases, catching up with you in the corridor.

“Peggy don’t test me. I can’t breathe,” you whine, slumping onto your vanity chair, hands pressing against your ribs to emphasize the urgency. “I am convinced that in hell, everyone wears a short stay.”

Peggy chuckles but says nothing more as her fingers work deftly at the laces, loosening them with a care that speaks of years spent tending to you. You feel the tension ease, your ribs finally expanding without resistance.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice light but expectant. “How was the evening?”

You hesitate. The words sit heavy on your tongue, as though speaking them aloud would solidify them, make them real. And you are not quite ready for that. Instead, you exhale slowly, composing yourself before replying, “He is… nice.” That is all you can manage.

Peggy hums knowingly. “From what I managed to spy, he’s also rather handsome.”

You scoff, turning your head away. “Is that all that matters?”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” she says with a grin, but she does not press further.

At last, the constriction gives way, and you take an exaggerated breath, filling your lungs like a drowning woman reaching the surface. Then, without ceremony, you slide off the chair and sprawl flat on the floor, half-dressed, limbs flung out like a marionette with its strings cut.

Peggy, unfazed, picks up your nightgown and drapes it over you as though covering a corpse. “God, grant rest upon my poor mistress’s soul and let her eternity be free of the constriction of breast support,” she intones in mock solemnity.

Laughter bubbles up from your chest, unrestrained and real. You lift an arm weakly and wave it in her general direction. “Saint Peggy, patron of weary ladies, I thank you.”

She curtsies dramatically. “As ever, at your service. Call on me if you need anything.”

“I expect I shall sleep like a log.”

“Good. You’ve earned it, I think.” With that, she takes her leave, pulling the door shut behind her.

Silence settles over the room, thick and absolute. You are alone.

For the first time since the day began, the weight of it all presses down on you. The evening, the introductions, the expectations—your mother’s sharp gaze, your father’s quiet resignation, the way Viktor’s eyes had searched yours with something unreadable. It is real now. You are betrothed.

You swallow. A part of you wants to dwell on it, to trace every moment back and find meaning in the way Viktor’s lips had pressed to your glove, or how he had looked when he spoke of his work, his façade slipping just enough to let something genuine through. But you stop yourself before you go too far.

No. There is still one more thing to do tonight.

You push yourself up from the floor, shaking away the thoughts. The night is not over yet.

Barefoot and silent, you slip from your chambers, the corridor dimly lit by the soft glow of sconces. The house is quiet, the faint crackle of a dying hearth the only sound accompanying your careful steps. You know this path well—the precise places to avoid so the floorboards won’t betray you, the door handle that needs an extra nudge before it turns smoothly.

Inside, your father’s study smells of ink, aged paper, and a lingering trace of cigar smoke. The large mahogany desk dominates the space, neat and orderly, save for the glass of brandy he left half-finished. You move swiftly, rifling through the stack of documents until you find it—your contract, tucked within a leather folder. The paper is thick beneath your fingers, the ink crisp and unwavering in its certainty.

You sit at his desk, candle alit, quill and ink poised above parchment. The contract lies before you, its neat, formal script a reminder of how little say you had in its creation. Pushed through by your father but shaped by your mother’s precise demands, it is, at its core, a transaction. A business arrangement designed to favour your family above all else.

Your eyes skim over the terms, and irritation prickles beneath your skin. The imbalance is glaring. The investment into Hextech is substantial, but in return, the Talises and your future husband receive only what your mother deems “reasonable compensation.” No direct ownership, no authority over the funds. Your family retains the power, and Viktor and Jayce are little more than beneficiaries at your parents’ discretion. A gilded leash.

You press your lips together. No. This will not do.

Dipping your quill into the ink, you begin to amend.

First, the finances—your father’s control over the investment is reduced. Instead of an allowance doled out at his leisure, the funds will be released in agreed-upon increments, ensuring neither Jayce nor Viktor are forced to beg for what is already promised to them. They will have the freedom to allocate resources as needed, without interference from your family.

Next, ownership. The contract had positioned your father as a silent but permanent stakeholder, yet he has no knowledge of Hextech, no hand in its creation. You strike that out, altering it so that once their research yields results, patents and profits remain in the hands of their rightful creators. Your family will receive a generous return, but not at the expense of their autonomy.

Then, Viktor himself. The terms outlining your marriage are, predictably, cold. Your mother’s hand is evident in every word. You are to be an asset to your husband, a guiding influence, ensuring that he remains focused and socially presentable. It is not about companionship—it is about control.

You set your quill down, flexing your fingers before taking it up again. You cannot undo the engagement, but you can redefine it. The clauses regarding expectations of your role are softened, turned into vague suggestions rather than obligations. Where once it stated that your husband must be “encouraged” to attend events and maintain appearances, you adjust it to read that he may do so at his discretion. No doubt your mother will notice this change, but you will cross that bridge when you must.

By the time you finish, the candle has burned low. You lean back, studying your work. The contract remains an arrangement, a tether you cannot sever, but at least now, it is fairer. A step closer to something tolerable.

You blot the ink, letting the parchment dry. The night stretches on, silent save for the scratching of your quill as you forge your own small rebellion in ink.

Once you deem it ready, you sneak back out, guiding your footsteps toward the guest bedrooms. An unthinkable mésalliance, your mother would say, but you feel that both Jayce and Viktor should be made aware—if your plan is to work. You step carefully, your bare feet growing dirty from crossing the house without slippers.

Muffled conversation filters through the door your mother assigned to Jayce. His voice is slightly raised, Viktor’s quieter, edged with irony. They are discussing the evening.

One proper breath, and then a knock on the door.

The hum of conversation ceases instantly as heavy footsteps approach. The door cracks open, and Jayce’s eyes widen—because there you stand, in nothing but your nightdress and a loose cape that does little to conceal your state of undress.

His mouth falls open, and only a small, startled sound escapes his lips.

“Let me in!” you whisper sharply, glancing down the corridor with nervous urgency.

“Oh, Miss, forgive me, but this… is very inappropriate,” Jayce says weakly, though he makes no move to stop you as you push past him and step into the room.

The air is thick with the remnants of their earlier conversation, the scent of brandy lingering. Viktor sits slouched in an armchair, one elbow propped on the armrest, fingers pressed against his temple as if warding off a headache. He watches you, silent, unreadable.

Jayce, on the other hand, is all frantic gestures and hushed protests. “You must go back to your room. If anyone—God, if your mother—” He exhales sharply, rubbing his jaw. “This is madness.”

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Fuck the polite society, Jayce. Do you want to be a slave to my mother, or will you read what I brought you?”

At that, Viktor’s lips quirk—barely. “Quite a mouth you have there, Miss.” His voice is smooth, carrying none of Jayce’s flustered panic. He rises from his chair, extending a hand.

It’s only then that you truly take him in. His shirt is undone at the neck, the cravat abandoned somewhere, his hair tousled prettily as if he’s raked his fingers through it too many times. A flush warms his cheeks—alcohol, no doubt, courtesy of your father.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before placing the document in his outstretched hand. Your fingers brush, and you retreat too quickly, as if the touch burned.

Silence. Viktor’s eyes flick across the page, reading with quiet intensity. Jayce, peeking over his shoulder, mutters under his breath, “Oh, my.”

Viktor lets out a quiet scoff, the amusement avoiding his eyes. “And to what do we owe this mercy of yours, pray tell?” His gaze lingers on the last lines of your text, his tone devoid of the warmth he carried earlier. Now, it is sharp, cold, measured—kindness stripped away as if it had only ever been a mask to wear in polite company. He swallows and lifts his eyes to you, utterly unamused, borderline bored. “I loathe charity.”

Heat rises to your cheeks before you can stop it, a tangled mess of emotions forming beneath your ribs, but anger is among them. You exhale sharply, crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware of how exposed you are. “And I loathe injustice and trickery. This—” you gesture vaguely at the parchment. “Is fair. If I am to be sold to a man I do not know, let it be on terms that are humanely acceptable.”

“How kind,” he says, smiling—mocking. “And how do you expect us to accept this? Who do you think is stupid, me and Mister Talis or your own father?” He steps closer, ignoring the way Jayce’s hand presses against his shoulder as if to restrain him. His weight wavers without a cane, and for a moment, you think he might have to steady himself on you.

“My father is not an unkind man. He simply loves my mother too much for his own good. My mother…” You tilt your head, letting the words settle between you. “Well, she’s a woman.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile. “Charming.”

“But my father will not read this upon signing, of that I am certain. We will be long bound before anyone notices.”

Viktor exhales, a sound of something between disbelief and amusement. “And who are you doing this for, my merciful Lady?” His voice shifts, the sharpness still there, but beneath it—a spark of something else. The same fervour he held when speaking of his machines, now laced with something darker.

“Myself, my Lord.” You meet his gaze without hesitation. “You just happen to be a casualty of my mercy.”

And something stirs in your chest—a swelling, an exhilaration. The night version of you, the real you, speaking bluntly to the man who is to be your husband. And he does not recoil. He accepts the challenge. Infuriatingly so, but beneath your irritation, something sparks under your skin that you cannot chase away. Excitement.

Viktor blinks, slowly. Then, he turns to Jayce, whose face has gone chalk white during your exchange. “What do you think of this?”

Jayce swallows hard. “What if he notices? Your father, that is,” he asks wearily, clearly tempted by your terms yet frightened of what it might cost your families' alliance.

“He won’t. And if, by some unholy joke, he does—I will take the blame. Tonight never happened,” you state firmly, bravely. You do not let your voice betray the truth: that you have no idea what you would do if your mother ever found out. She would probably cut your hair and throw you in a convent.

They both nod, and you allow yourself a breath. Then, Viktor extends his hand for a handshake.

You stare at it briefly before accepting—his palm is calloused, warm. Bigger than yours, his fingers so long they nearly brush your wrist. His grip is firm, unwavering.

For the briefest moment, his gaze flickers downward—to your chest. It’s so quick you might have missed it. But you didn’t. And neither did he miss the way heat rushes to your cheeks.

His eyes meet yours again, glinting with an unreadable taunt. “I think it’s best you return to your chambers, my Lady,” he says at last. To that, you can only nod.

You slip back into your father’s office under the cover of darkness, placing the altered contract precisely where it needs to be—where it will be signed without a second glance. Then, just as carefully, you retreat to your chambers, slipping past every creaking floorboard with the expertise of someone who has done this many times before.

Once inside, you bolt the door, shrugging off your cape before sinking onto the mattress. The night version of you refuses to rest. She tosses and turns, replaying every moment of the evening—the music, the dinner, the conversation, the challenge in Viktor’s eyes, the brush of his fingers against yours.

And yet, despite all of it, he is still a stranger.

Morning invades you with harsh light pouring through the abruptly opened curtains and Peggy’s voice urging you to get up.

“Miss? You’ve overslept! Up! Up!” she whisper shouts, pulling the covers down from the bed.

You groan and press your palms to your eyes, curling up into a bean. “Peggy, have mercy, I beg of you.”

“Sorry, Miss, no mercy today. Our guests are leaving soon, and you can’t miss breakfast, not today,” Peggy says with a kind smile that disarms you. You roll out of your bed, feet dragging across the floor before you slump down in front of the vanity. You watch as Peggy chases away the night self, pins your hair up, wipes the night drool of your face to make you at least vaguely presentable. She’s merciful with the short stay though­—picks a looser one, from the time before you lost your baby fat.

Your heels clack on the staircase and you can already hear voices coming from downstairs. As you approach the drawing room, a glimpse of the scene within stops you in your tracks. Lurking in the doorframe, you watch as Jayce and Viktor hunch over a parchment, feigning deep concentration as they pretend to read it thoroughly before signing. They do so, exchanging pats on the shoulder—conspirators sealing a silent agreement.

Then, it is your father’s turn. He catches sight of you lingering in the doorway and flashes you a warm smile. “Good morning, love.”

His eyes drop back to the document. He gives it one last cursory sweep, his quill hovering just above the space left to sign.

You hold your breath.

And he... hesitates. A small hmm escapes him. His brows knit together in fleeting consideration, and then—oh.

He looks straight at you.

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you do not waver. You hold his gaze, steady, unflinching. And for whatever reason—be it the bond of blood or simply the fact that he has known you all your life—his expression softens. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

And oh.

He signs.

You exhale, breathless, weightless. Laughter erupts between them—hugs, handshakes, pats on the back. Jayce beams, his happiness unguarded. Viktor wears a smile that, for once, looks almost honest. Your father looks content.

It is signed. Done. Sealed.

Your father steps forward and pulls you into a firm embrace. “You’ve done well. I’m proud of you,” he murmurs against your hair. Then, in a quieter, amused tone, he adds, “Now, let us pray your mother doesn’t notice until the wedding.” He chuckles softly.

Oh. Right. You are getting married.

***

A few days have passed since the contract was signed, and to your relief, your mother has not noticed the adjustments you made. She remains blissfully consumed by wedding preparations, entirely unaware that the original terms—so starkly in favour of your family—have been tempered to grant House Talis a fairer standing.

However, your father called you to his study, his expression unreadable as he regarded you across his desk. His words were firm, yet not unkind. He did not scold, nor did he praise, only ensured you understood the weight of your actions.

"You have done them a service," he admitted at last, after a measured silence. "One I hope they will not forget." And though he said nothing further, though his approval was never voiced, something in his tone—something almost like respect—settled in your chest, easing the uncertainty that had lingered since you first put pen to paper.

Now, with a storm in your mind, your fingers fly over the keys, the sharp, cascading notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (Presto Agitato) filling the room with thunderous urgency. It drowns out everything—the ticking of the clock, the creak of the floorboards, even the faint rustle of the curtains shifting in the afternoon breeze.

You have not thought about it until now. Not truly. Not beyond the abstraction of ink on parchment and the murmured discussions over tea and candlelight. But now, with only days left before you are no longer just yourself but someone’s wife, it hits you. A shift. A point of no return.

How strange, to know that the house you grew up in, the one you have played in, dreamt in, stormed through in childhood fits of temper, will no longer be yours. That soon, your place at this very piano, in this very room, will be an absence rather than a presence. The thought unsettles you.

So you play harder. Louder. Until the force of it rings in your chest, keeping you from thinking too much. You curl forward, biting your lip absentmindedly, your face twisted with emotion, your torso nearly hovering over the keys like a hunchback.

You do not hear the front door open, nor the sound of measured footsteps in the hall. You do not see the maid, Peggy, curtsy as she leads your visitor inside. You do not even notice when she hesitates, turning to announce him—because before she can, a voice stops her.

"It’s alright, Peggy. Please, allow me."

It is a quiet request, yet it holds the weight of something decisive. Viktor stands in the doorway, smiles for Peggy, but his eyes are fixed on you, considering. The way your body moves with the music, the tension in your shoulders, the way you lose yourself in the notes.

Peggy looks up at him, blinking in momentary surprise, before a small, approving smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. He is not appalled. Not by the passion, the volume, the unladylike ferocity with which you play. And that, she thinks, is a good sign.

So she gives him a knowing look, inclines her head, and quietly slips away—leaving him alone to watch you. And you, still unaware of his presence, continue to play.

He spies your reflection in the window—your face shifting from one expression to another with each rise and fall of the music. Your brows knit in concentration, your eyes clamp shut with feeling, your mouth parts slightly, forming an unconscious little o. Strands of hair have slipped free from their updo, framing your cheeks in wild disarray.

Viktor inches closer, careful to avoid the floorboards that might creak beneath his step. He drinks in the scene—the unguarded display, the sheer abandon with which you play. A thought takes root. Perhaps this arrangement will not be the terrible imprisonment he once feared. Surely, you—with your tempestuous fingers and flagrant disregard for propriety—will agree that freedom is the highest privilege, worth protecting above all else.

He tells himself the feeling in his chest is not admiration but hope. Hope that the two of you might reach an understanding, one that will allow you both to remain unshackled even within the binds of matrimony. He tells himself that your parted mouth is merely amusing, nothing more.

The piece crashes to an end, and with a frustrated groan, you collapse forward, resting your forehead and elbows on the keyboard. A discordant wail echoes through the room. Viktor chuckles and finally breaks the silence.

"Are you not happy with your play, Miss?"

You jolt upright with a sharp gasp, spinning around so quickly that you nearly stumble in your haste to stand.

"Dear God, my Lord!"

You attempt a curtsy, but the motion is so hurried and clumsy that you almost topple over. Viktor steps forward instinctively, his hands finding your forearms to steady you, cane clattering to the floor. His grip is light, his touch like a feather, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle," he murmurs, breath quickening despite himself at the warmth and tension in your arms. He holds you wondering whether his fingertips would meet had he closed them around you. The thought gets chased away as soon as it enters his mind.

You swallow hard, your heart still racing from the shock. The room suddenly feels much smaller, the space between you too charged. You are keenly aware of your appearance—loosened hair, flushed cheeks, a dress slightly rumpled from sitting too long at the piano. You feel exposed. He does not seem to mind, still holding your elbows.

"I do not know as much about music as Jayce," Viktor continues, tilting his head slightly, "but this sounded rather… challenging, no?"

"I’m so sorry—you weren’t meant to hear this," you blurt out, lowering your gaze.

"I enjoyed it thoroughly," he replies without hesitation. "It’s rather different to what I heard last time."

Your fingers twitch on his arms. Different was one way to put it.

"Oh, it’s quite different," you admit. Then, lowering your voice, "Also, quite forbidden. Please don’t tell my mother—she will burn my sheet music and make me play that measly Clementi until my fingers bleed."

Viktor smirks, his fingers wrapping just a notch tighter around your arms. "I shall keep your secret, Miss. What’s another one shared between betrothed? I imagine there will be more."

For the briefest moment, you wonder if he is flirting. Your pulse quickens at the notion, but you quickly clear your throat and step back, disentangling yourself from his grasp. You smooth your skirts, willing the heat in your cheeks to fade.

"What brings you here, if you don’t mind my asking?"

He leans to pick up the cane and you wonder momentarily if you should help, before he says, "Oh, I was announced to call upon you today. Have you forgotten?"

You press your lips together, mortified. "Forgive me. It completely slipped my mind—I got lost in thought."

Viktor hums, nodding in understanding. "That’s quite alright. I think I am familiar with the feeling." Then, arching a brow, "Also, why are we whispering?"

Your shoulders stiffen. "Because if my benevolent mother finds us here without a chaperone, hell will open its mouth and swallow me whole."

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, unbothered. "I was told your mother went to town with your sisters, Miss. No need to fret. Or whisper, as much as I like the sound of it."

His voice is steady, indifferent to the scandalous implication of being alone together. You, however, remain acutely aware of it, your hands smoothing over your skirts once more as if to will yourself into some semblance of propriety. So odd to meet another who cares not about the binding of the rules made up by God knows who. Absolutely peculiar to be the one who leans toward the constriction on instinct, being presented with someone who doesn’t obey. The night self has cackled within you ludicrously.

“What is the reason for your calling, then?” you ask, forcing your voice to remain steady.

“I was told by Jayce’s sweet mother that such is a custom between courting couples,” Viktor replies, his tone unreadable.

Courting. Couple. Be still, your stupid heart. You press your lips together before speaking. “I thought I was considered to be courted by now.”

Viktor tilts his head slightly, watching you as though deciphering a puzzle. “If you do not wish me to visit, do tell. I don’t mean to impose upon you, Miss.”

“Oh no, my Lord, forgive my bluntness,” you say quickly, feeling a warmth creep up your neck. “I am merely not sure if I am able to entertain you in the way you desire.”

Something shifts in Viktor’s expression—his gaze darkens slightly, and his fingers twitch at his cane before he hesitates, swallowing as if choosing his words carefully. “I meant to invite you for a stroll later this week,” he says at last, voice softer, but still carrying that enigmatic lilt. “Apparently, it is good were we to be seen in public together. I thought we could kill two birds with one stone and have an unsupervised conversation while being regarded.”

There’s something about the way he says it—an almost playful contradiction in the idea of a private moment under the scrutiny of others—that makes you pause. He is studying you again, and though you should feel wary, you find yourself intrigued instead.

“Well, I would lie if I said you didn’t grasp my attention. I shall indulge you, my Lord,” you say after taking a long inhale, steadying yourself. The moment of unguarded reaction is gone—you slip back into the polished version of yourself, the one who knows how to navigate these waters. Calm, composed, hands resting gently on your abdomen, back straight, chin held high.

Viktor only smiles, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he inclines his head. “I am no Lord, just a man. Please, call me Viktor.”

Your fingers twitch where they rest. He is dismantling barriers you had placed with such ease it’s infuriating. “I will be there, Viktor.” The name feels unfamiliar yet strangely natural on your tongue.

In response, he whispers your name softly, like a secret meant only for him to know. A shiver curls up your spine, and before you can stop yourself, your arms move—grasping at your elbows in a defensive clutch. The instinct to shield yourself is immediate, but you smother it, replacing it with a placid smile. If Viktor notices, he does not call attention to it, though something in his gaze flickers. He looks as though he is about to say something, but then he hesitates. Withdraws.

For a moment, you simply stare at each other, the air thick with something unspoken. It feels strange—utterly so. As if you are being assessed, studied with a precision that leaves you feeling exposed. And the duel is not fair. He has some sort of weapon, some unseen advantage, while you stand bare, vulnerable. Like a deer in the forest, ears pricked, waiting for the shot to ring out.

“I shan’t disturb you further,” he finally says, turning toward the door. “I will send a note as to when and where we will meet.”

On cue, the door creaks, and Peggy peeks through the crack.

“Miss, the Lady will be back soon. Shall I make some tea for you and your caller?”

You exhale sharply, regaining your bearings. “Mister Viktor is leaving, but thank you. We should, probably—” You catch yourself before you say too much, before you admit that you need to look as though you have been dutifully engaged in proper, ladylike pastimes rather than playing scandalous music behind closed doors. You glance at Peggy, willing her to understand.

She does. “Of course, Miss! I will be with you in a few moments.”

The door clicks shut behind Viktor.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, pressing a hand against your ribs as though it could steady the frantic beat of your heart.

Save for your father, this was the first time you had been alone in a room with a man. The realisation settles over you like a weight, and the two halves of yourself clash within your chest.

The day you—the dutiful daughter—cannot help but acknowledge the impropriety of it all. She knows what is expected, what lines should not be crossed. And yet… she hesitates. Because the unease doesn’t stem solely from being alone with a man. It stems from being alone with Viktor, a man whose manners slip free of societal constraints the moment he is given the chance.

The night you, however, does not hesitate. She roars in satisfaction. This was thrilling. The push and pull of conversation, the glances, the knowing looks. And to do so while basking in daylight, without shadows to obscure the truth of it?

Intoxicating.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - part one - scott street

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

Your feet hit the floor with a loud grunt as you pull yourself from your satin pink sheets, they feel heavenly and quite frankly, the discipline your parents are bestowing upon you as they do their best to make it a point that your pogue ex-boyfriend is an ex for a reason is mind-numbingly stupid. You’re aware of this fact — you are so hyper aware that it causes you physical pain. So much more than your broken wrist, which is also his fault as much as everything else. You groan loudly as you hear your mother call your name again. The “Don’t make me ask again, y/n” voice  she’s using is also mind-numbingly annoying, though you know that she is very serious and that she will probably send your father in to chop you into a million pieces and sell your corpse on the black market if you don’t listen to her. So, you scream back. 

“I’m up!” 

You screech. You are usually perfectly obedient and poised, but the one thing that JJ has taught you is absolute attitude from the pits of hell. Your parents had realized this new attribute early on into your relationship with him and from the way you picked up his habits so quickly, they knew he was bad news. It should’ve been your first sign that something – the relationship, him – it was all wrong. You should’ve known when your parents started talking in Rafe’s language – in pogue versus kook, because they weren’t those kinds of people, the kind to pass judgment on people that they didn’t know and you never had been either. You feel like you’re at a disadvantage because of this now, because really you should’ve listened to Rafe’s warnings in early childhood about pogues being bad news. You never expected them to be true, for your perfect pogue to make you question who you are, to wind you up in jail. Jail – a word so far from being associated with you that it makes you cringe just thinking about it. Just thinking about the way it's dirty, pogue-ridden walls were trying to infect you with its virus, to hold you captive for all the days of your life. When your father had picked you up, he was livid – fuming, ready to murder every person that had touched his precious baby daughter. You’d been without insulin for hours and were on the verge of being too sick to recover when he picked you up. That seemed to be the only real thing on your side as he stormed into the Kildare police station and carted you off to the hospital. Good thing he did, because your arm was broken as well as your diabetes royally fucking you like it always did. He demanded answers and you easily gave him the right one — that Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car hadn’t prepared you for this, for JJ’s abandonment either. You assumed he took pity on you then in the way that only a girl dad knows how to. That doesn’t really matter though, because you’re still getting punished. They are making you take a summer job at The Island Club in order to pay for your transgressions, the price of bail but more importantly worrying them and getting yourself hurt. You get it truly, but that doesn’t make it suck any less. You wish you could call Rafe in times like these, though you know those days have been over for a very long time. 

—

You’re behind the bar when they walk in, getting orientated by none other that a pogue named Summer from your class. She’s nice enough and very pretty, saving for college because without a job, there’s no way she will be able to go. You appreciate her kindness as she shows you how to make a Mai Tai for the fourth time. You notice the three stooges as they walk through the door from a fresh round of golf, still smelling of freshly cut grass and the stench of perspiration. You mentally berate yourself for your brain’s inability to use their real names after all this time. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce approach the bar dripping wet with sweat. You haven’t seen them exert this much physical activity since the beginning of last year’s football season so the sight is a little funny. It’s hot in the obx this year though, more so than years past. So, you’re guessing it hasn’t taken much to make them glisten. Your eyes are locked on your former friends, but Rafe particularly – since he’s really the only one stuck in the former category. The other two still love you very much, despite your very poor taste in men. He’s handsome – you note, more so than the last time you saw him. He’s grown about a foot, everything is bigger about him really and you can’t help but wonder if that part is bigger too – MOVING ON. He’s smiling, talking to Summer and for a moment you find yourself staring, wondering if he’s ever going to smile at you like that again one day. Stupid girl, you think. The answer is no and you know that. 

“Y/n, When did you start working here?” 

Topper asked, puzzledly. You can feel Rafe’s brow etch in confusion as he stares intently at your cheeks that are freckled brown from the summer sun. 

“I got in trouble, remember? This is my punishment.” 

You are doing your best not to have to explain your situation to the entirety of the club. So, you laugh in comradery with your friend, clenching your teeth and sporting a forced smile, though you feel ashamed about it and probably will punish yourself for it later. 

“Three Mai Tai’s, pretty please.” 

Rafe spoke, breaking your attention away from Topper, giving Summer his best puppy dog eyes. You smile softly at his tactics, noting that nothing has changed in that regard.  

“We can’t do that, can we?” 

You whisper in Summer’s ear. She looks at you and smiles. 

“Good girl! You’re picking up fast, just like I said you would.” 

You beam at her praise as she redirects her attention to the boys.

“Come on, boys. You know I can’t serve you alcohol, you’re underage.” 

She said, rolling her eyes. Topper laid his fake ID down on the flat mahogany surface of the bar, sliding it over. 

“This clearly states that I’m 23.” 

He retorted and you rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance. 

“Come on, y/n! Really? What is it? You only give alcohol to Maybank or something?” 

Rafe jokingly questioned with a sneer, his distaste for anything Pogue related always everpresent. Your face fell and your breath caught in your throat, the moment the last name of your ex-boyfriend left his lips. You think only of the Rafe that used to be your best friend and then to the moment that all changed during freshman year. How he left you in the dust of appearances and fancy parties, how he turned into a major dick who made it his newfound purpose in life to cut you down every chance he got. You remembered the embarrassingly drunk voicemail you left him last year, crying into the phone about how he was everything to you and he left you behind after the first time JJ had touched you in a violent way. You never told him that though. You had been civil and joked back and forth, but had no real conversations or interactions since then. That was mostly because you were embarrassed about it, you knew that he probably showed it to Kelce and Topper and laughed about it for ages, making fun of how pathetic you were. Your fears seem to be true now as he cuts you down with his sneer and hate-filled blue eyes. You still don’t know what you did, what you did to put the butterfly effect into motion; how you and Rafe got so far off the beaten path. The tears rimmed your eyes, being reminded of your now ex-boyfriend wasn’t how you planned on spending your afternoon. No one knew how you’d followed his every whim all summer, how it had landed you in jail, gotten you a broken wrist, almost killed you when you hadn’t paid attention to your sugar for hours. He’d left you there and no one knew and you wanted so badly to tell Rafe about all of it. But, you couldn't – not anymore. Because you were right where he left you, like an abandoned toy in the toy box he no longer wanted to play with. As if all of that wasn’t enough to embarrass you and make you want to die, JJ had cheated with one of your close friends, Kiara, too and all the Pogues knew about it – sending you into a spiral of grieving all your friends at once. You had virtually no one. Rafe didn’t know and how could he, you stopped getting to tell him the ins and outs of your life a long time ago. So, while the joke seemed harmless to him, it broke something inside of you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. But, he knew you, he knew that look, he knew those glossed over eyes – he knew he had fucked up. 

“Woah, what’s wrong? I’m just kidding around. Can’t you take a joke, Y/N?” 

The bitterness left his tongue as quick as his feigned concern, almost like he couldn’t turn either off.  

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve been wiping my own tears for a long time now.” 

You bit out, not meaning to spill your guts the way you did, but he deserved it. He couldn’t help but feel your words so deeply. He often felt guilty for the way he left you, with no reason why. There was a time when he would’ve talked you out of being with a loser like JJ Maybank, a time when he would dry your tears and hug you tightly, a time when he would’ve protected you. You slowly but surely made the boys their drinks, a tear slipping out of your eye. No one noticed but Topper and he gave you a sad, knowing look. You headed to the kitchen, hoping no one would be in the locker room that was right off to the side of it, so you could cry in peace. 

“What did I say?”

Rafe questioned the boys, confusedly. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Have you not heard that Maybank cheated on her and all the Pogues knew about it? He got her in trouble, Rafe and she got hurt. She’s lost everybody important to her, and you just have to be an asshole to her, when we all know how you really feel about her. Grow up, man.” 

Kelce spoke up with distaste on his tongue. 

“Shit.”

He whispered out, deciding then, he’d make it his mission to get into your good graces again, if that was even possible. It’d been long enough without you in his life and he had only wanted a break to protect you from his own faults. 

After you had made it to the locker room, you leaned against the lockers, your head falling back in defeat. It’s been two weeks since JJ broke your heart and it felt like the last year with you had meant nothing to him. He didn’t even say he was sorry. You stayed like that for a moment, cringing thinking about the fact that you had to work with him tonight. Summer had warned you in advance as she orientated you and you gave her the smaller version of events. You wished so badly that you could rewind time and not let Rafe drift away from you, all you wanted in this moment was one of his hugs – feeling his strong, muscular arms wrap around you. It had been two years since you’d had a hug like that. You pushed the thoughts down once more, drying your eyes and making your way back out to the bar. The boys were still sitting there. Rafe took in your form, the way the blanched redness of your face stood out. He could tell you had been crying, really hard, and that made his chest tight. It had always made his fucking chest hurt. He wanted to kill JJ Maybank for what he had done to you. You made your way behind the bar and locked eyes with Topper. 

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

You asked – voice shaky. 

“We’re fine, Y/N.”

Topper spoke with a softness and an ease to his voice. Topper and Kelce had stayed friend’s with you even after Rafe decided not to and Topper was the first phone call you made after your dad had brought you home from the hospital; filling him in on all the gorey details. He came over with pizza and wine and made you laugh about how much of an idiot JJ was. That made you feel better for a while, but you cried yourself to sleep that night, mostly sad that you couldn’t call Rafe out of embarrassment or fear of leaving another voicemail he’d never return. You often wondered if you were ever important to him at all. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks!”

You were brought out of your thoughts by JJ’s boisterous yet sinister laugh as he called you by a nickname you no longer welcomed. Rafe watched as your body became completely stiff. It made his skin crawl that you were so uncomfortable and as he saw your eyes gloss over he knew this was about to be bad. 

“What, Y/N, you too good to talk to me now?”

JJ questioned, annoyed that you were ignoring him. You wanted to speak to him, but you couldn’t find the words to say and you definitely didn’t want to do it in front of Rafe. Before you could even muster up a response, Topper and Rafe were behind the bar, standing in front of JJ, blocking him from getting close to you. Summer was thankful because she had never liked JJ and couldn’t do much on her own to protect you. 

“Maybank, I suggest you back up. You have no right to talk to her after what you’ve done!” 

Rafe growled. 

“Oh and you do? You tore her heart out of her chest, hollywood.” 

He laughs in response. 

“What are you even talking about?” 

Rafe questioned confusedly. 

“Oh, you know, when you stopped talking to her out of the blue freshman year. What you thought I didn’t know about that? You don’t think everyone knows about that?” 

JJ’s laugh has become incredulous at this point. Rafe looked in your direction, with apologetic eyes. 

“What would you know about that? You don’t know anything that went on between us.” 

Rafe snarled. 

“I know she cried all the time. I know about that embarrassing voicemail she left you. I know she never got over it. I mean I can’t say I blame you for ghosting her like that, she’s boring and what would the king kook want with her-”

The sound of Rafe’s fist meeting JJ’s jaw was enough to send a chill down your spine. Topper quickly pulled you away from the scene, not wanting you to be caught in the crossfire of an angry Rafe, especially when it involved defending you – he knew he had no self control in that regard. 

“Y/N, look at me. Are you okay?” 

He questioned softly. 

“I-I, no, top. W-why d-did he do this t-to me?” 

You asked through stifled sobs and his soft eyes traced over your figure. Unbeknownst to you and Topper, Rafe had run out to find you after he mopped the floor with JJ, his knuckles bloody for you. But, as he made his way through the club, he heard stifled sobs on the other side of a wooden door and he stopped to listen.

“I don’t know, sweet girl. People cheat and I don’t think there’s ever a reason-”

Topper continued, but was quickly cut off by you as you clarified who exactly you were referring to. 

“No, why did Rafe do this to me? I loved him so much and I-I don’t know maybe JJ’s right. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to be his friend anymore. Maybe he saw what a piece of shit I was.” 

You mumbled. 

“No, listen, it’s deeper than all that. When Rafe’s ready to tell you what happened, he will. But don’t beat yourself up, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

He replied, stroking your hair. 

Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he really had broken your heart and you really thought you were the one that wasn't good enough for him. 

as always, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know <3

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey

[patolemus]

Sterek fic recs: Fake Dating AU Edition

Because @oldefashioned requested a fake dating rec list, here it is. These are all very funny, as fake dating fics ought to be, so I hope you get a good laugh out of it.

1. Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

Notes: Domestic pack, my beloved. Stiles and Derek are precious here, I LOVE THEM!! The visiting pack, not so much, but who cares about them?? It's all pretty lighthearted, all things considered. It's completed.

2. Electricity In the Contact by ladyblahblah

In which Derek has been invited to the Greater Pacific Northwest Alpha Symposium (that's not what it's called, Stiles, stop saying that), and showing up unattached would mean an arranged marriage. When the rest of the pack objects, he agrees to let Stiles come along to pose as his mate. Derek is reasonably sure that he's not going to make it out of this weekend alive.

Notes: Werewolf convention fics are so good! I actually haven't found all that many, considering how common a trope it is, and it's a tragedy because they're always so well done! This one is no exception, and the mini-world building is also great! It's completed.

3. can’t be hateful, gotta be grateful by HalfFizzbin

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma." (Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

Notes: this one is just *cheff´s kiss* wonderful! It's all pretty domestic and the humor is on point. College student Stiles and the Sheriff are strong armed into spending Thanksgiving with Stiles' grandma, and they find nothing better than to bring Derek with them. Pining and misunderstandings ensue and thus comes the fake dating. It's completed.

4. Gravity’s Got Nothing on You by zosofi

“Three weeks,” Derek says. “Still don’t want to,” Stiles says. “I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so… “How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“ “My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.” “A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

Notes: this had such a chokehold on me when I first read it. Absolutely wonderful. Enemies to lovers?? Maybe. Assholes to assholes-in-love, is a better descriptor. There's werewolves, and magic, and it's awesome! It's completed.

5. He’s Not Mine by Sonnee

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

Notes: again, it's all very domestic, like most fake dating fics ought to be. It's a kid fic, Sterek are mates, we have all the love. Not much else I can think to add... it's completed.

6. Real life isn’t a movie (life doesn’t make narrative sense) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

Somehow accidentally insulting a hot guy in a coffee shop leads to pretending to be his boyfriend in front of a house full of werewolves. Stiles Stilinski is living his best life and making the most of his Hallmark movie moment.

Notes: this one had me cracking up because it's so funny! Stiles is living his best life, for real. Derek... suffers. But it's okay, because he gets a boyfriend out of this whole thing! They are disgustingly sweet in that assholish way they have. It's completed.

7. You look like my next mistake by Vendelin

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes. His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to. In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn't.

Notes: this one had me HOWLING it's so good!! Frat boy Stiles, my beloved. It's technically not fake dating because it turns into an actual relationship pretty quickly, but it starts as fake dating so I'll take it. Stiles is an absolute sweetheart in this one, I love him! And Derek is shy, and insecure, but he's so great, and everyone gets a happy ending except Kate, which is always a good thing. It's completed.

8. All’s Fair In Orgasms and War by bleepobleep

AVN BREAKING NEWS-- DIAMOND VISTA RIDGE BREAKS HIS CONTRACT WITH HALE HOUSE "We haven't seen much of our favorite rock hard stud from Hale House ever since that indie twink dethroned him as champion in Orgasm Wars, but it's just been confirmed that Diamond will no longer be working for the legendary studio famous for producing some of our favorite werewolf-on-human works. Don't fret, Diamond fans, it looks like he's been spotted cozying up to True Alpha Studios! Apparently he couldn't get enough of that one human and then followed him home. Could it be true love? Keep your eye on this studio-- us at AVN think we're about to get a lot more of Diamond in a very new way!" ~ The one in which (almost) everyone is a porn star, and Derek just wants to curl up with his fluffy blanket and watch the Hallmark channel, but work and falling in love gets in the way.

Notes: okay but is this fake dating? Maaaaaybe. It's kinda complicated. Basically everyone here is a porn star and the pack has this studio where they cater to werewolves and have a whole thing about established relationships, which is where the fake dating comes up. It's surprisingly very fluffy, considering this is a porn au, and Derek is the softest goober in this one. Stiles is completely enamoured. It's completed.

9. Wanted from the You Are series by Asterekmess (Livinginfiction)

With the Hale pack finally settled and safe, it only makes sense that something would happen to screw it all up. To top it all off, Stiles has to pretend to be Derek's mate, or face a pack of angry Alphas. He's doomed.

Notes: Alright so this series is wonderful. The world building done for the Alpha pack is also great, and that's the center of the second part (which has the fake dating). I do recommend reading the first part before jumping on to Wanted because it is a direct continuation. Also, it's an amazing au! It's completed.

10. For Love is Not Ours to Command by weathervaanes

Where Derek's skills at thinking on his feet mean that he and Stiles have to act. For the sake of Stiles' dad, of course, for the sake of the pack. No personal interest interference at all, whatsoever. Right. -0- “Why does my dad say that you and your boyfriend are a bad influence on me?” “What?” “Yeah, what boyfriend? Dude, you are not allowed to not tell me crap like this. You didn't think I'd like be a douchebag or something. Right?” “No, wait, what? I have no boyfriend.” “He says you were with him at the police station.” Stiles blinks. “Uhm. Oh shit.”

Notes: Stiles just wanted to find dirt on Raphael McCall to blackmail him. Somehow, he got himself a whole ass boyfriend. It's complicated. That's it, that's the fic. It's completed.

11. Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MareLoup

“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.” “Oh thank god!” “Stiles?” “I, uh, I need some advice.” “Advice?” “Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?” Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.” “That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.” “Stiles...what are you doing right now?” *** Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work. Partly because their visit was a complete surprise. But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend. Or even know who Derek was. But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

Notes: this is to date one of my favorite Sterek fics. I laughed so much while reading this, I'm not even joking. The whole thing is a comedy of errors gone right. Stiles somehow finds himself pretending to be Derek's boyfriend, only he has no idea who Derek even is and why his family knows Stiles at all. His inner monologue is one of the funniest I've read, and his slow descent into (good natured) madness is wonderful. It's completed.

12. Love Like An Ache In The Jaw by Anonymous

“So let me get this straight,” The sheriff massages his temples, “You found a magic book, and performed a magic spell that has backfired and magically bound you to Derek Hale, rendering you both in agony if you’re not in the same room.” Derek and Stiles exchange a look. “Um. Yes.” Stiles says sheepishly. “Right. And just to be clear, when we’re talking agony… exactly how agonizing is the agony?” Derek clears his throat. “Sir, I’ve had a pole stabbed through my chest and held there for an hour. This was… similar.” - In which boredom, magic and dumbassery come together to produce a Christmas miracle slash disaster. Oh, and Stiles' grandmother who knows absolutely nothing about the supernatural happens to be in town. Oops.

Notes: another hilarious one. Stiles does Stiles things and ends up magically bound to Derek. No one is amused except Stiles' grandmother, who's having the time of her life, here. It's completed!

[ikeromantic]

Thanks for all the efforts you are doing for us.

I have a fic request for Elbert (Ikemen Villain) and MC having their first child (probably a girl) and their cute moments with their baby and rest of crown.

Thanks nonny! I haven't thought a lot about the Cursed with a kid. This was fun! I hope you like it ^_^ Approx 1500 words.

You felt a little nervous as you stepped into the meeting hall. The long table at the center was done up with ribbons and platters of food, even a decorative swan made of ice. It was really too much, but just like Victor. The leader of Crown was already there, sitting beside Elbie. Their gazes were fixed on the bundle of blankets in Elbert’s lap.

Your precious baby girl. She looked so much like her father. Narrow chinned with pale blond hair and eyes as deep and blue as the sea. Right now, she was watching Victor with an expression of intent seriousness, chewing on her fist as if in deep thought. 

Her focus was no surprise. Victor had her rattle in his hand, and with great flourish made it disappear. Then he made it reappear by pulling it from Elbert’s ear. The baby giggled and waved her arms in the air, trying to grab the magic rattle. 

She was distracted from Victor’s rattle trick a moment later. Liam popped into view right in front of her face and laughed. “Peek-a-boo!”

Elbert and Victor both gasped in surprise but the baby giggled. She waved a drool-covered fist in the air. 

“Don’t do that,” Elbie told him with a slight frown. 

“I think she rather enjoyed it. Not as much as my magic trick, but what baby doesn’t like peek-a-boo,” Victor grinned. 

Liam smiled. “She did like it. See?” He went invisible again, then popped into view in front of the baby. “She laughed more at me than you.”

Victor shook his head, “I think the child has -” His reply was interrupted by the door being kicked open behind you.

Jude walked in with Ellis at his heel. He looked you over with a critical eye, then nodded. “Ya look alright after all your slackin’. Months of doing nothing, ya must be rested.”

“I wasn’t doing nothing,” you frowned. “I had a baby. Being pregnant and caring for a newborn was a lot of work.”

“Tch. I’m hearing a lot of pointless yappin’ right now.” He stepped past you, violet eyes landing on your giggling baby. “That the kid?”

Ellis nodded. “She looks like Elbert.” 

“Jude. Ellis. I’m so glad you could come.” Victor’s wide smile encompassed them both, then his gaze lighted on you. “My dear! You look radiant. Come, sit here.” He beckoned you over. “She’s your daughter, so perhaps you can set Liam straight on her favorite game, hm?”

“Ya think that baby likes yer stupid magic tricks? Or that invisible crap?” Jude gave a harsh laugh. “Yer both wrong. She likes toys. Real nice ones. See?” He pulled a velvet robin from his jacket. It had bright blue and red ‘plumage’ with cheery dark eyes and a painted wooden beak. When shaken, it made a little chirping noise. 

Your baby girl was fascinated as Jude handed her the toy. She shook it and giggled, then put the bird’s head in her mouth and gave it an experimental chew. 

Jude couldn’t hide the slight smile that lifted the corners of his lips. “So that’s it then. Ya can send me the paperwork later. For when ya name me her godfather. Just make sure ya tell people where ya got that toy. We’re gonna make a killing on these things.”

“Godfather? Victor’s head tilted. “If anyone is going to be the baby’s godfather -”

Ellis lifted your daughter from Elbert’s arms. “It’s just amazing how happy babies are. And how happy they can make people.” His twilight-dark eyes glittered with specks of gold as he inspected your giggling baby girl. 

“Who said ya could pick up the kid,” Jude asked. 

“It’s fine. As long as he’s careful.” Elbert watched with a soft expression. 

Jude held out his arms. “Tch. Fine. But he’s holding her all wrong. Here. Gimme the brat.” 

Roger arrived just in time to hear Jude’s retort. “Brat? You didn’t call my goddaughter a brat, did you?” His glasses glinted and his eyes narrowed. 

“Figure o’ speech.” Jude was cradling the baby against his chest, carefully supporting her head and neck as if this wasn’t his first time holding a child. “And whaddya mean, your goddaughter?”

“It just makes sense.” Roger grinned. “I’ve been her physician since before she was born. I was there when she took her first breath.”

Ellis nodded. “That makes you her doctor, not her godfather.”

Harrison poked his head in the door, having clearly been eavesdropping before he stepped inside. “You know, it’s actually against English law for a doctor to be also be a godparent to a patient. Conflict of interest.”

You glance at him speculatively. “I’m not sure if you’re lying right now or not. It kind of makes sense.”

“Anyway, who’d want to be a godparent? So much responsibility.” Harrison shrugged as if he could never understand, but his gaze strayed toward the baby with more affection than he normally let show for anything. 

Roger gave Harrison a look of annoyance. “If you don’t want the honor, stop interfering. The little lady is going to be my goddaughter.”

“What’s this? Are we already deciding who the godparents might be?” Alfons followed Harrison in. His dark eyes glimmered with mischief. “Why don’t we let the lovely mother decide, hm? He reached toward you, and you stepped back.

“Hey, no cheatin’,” Jude frowned. 

Harrison reached for the baby in Jude’s arms. “Cheating? No one’s cheating here but you. Hogging all the baby to yourself.” His mint green gaze met the baby’s clear blue eyes. “You want to come to Unky Harry, don’t you? And have some candy? Yeah?”

“She’s much to young for candy,” Roger admonished. 

Alfons snorted. “An ‘unky’ ought to know that. Really, Harrison.” 

Jude relinquished the baby to Harrison. “Whatever. I’m outta here. Can’t waste anymore time on these idiots.” He gave you a grin that wavered between his usual cruel smile and something much gentler. “I’ll have the godfather documents drawn up for ya.”

“That’s quite unnecessary,” Victor interrupted. “It only makes sense that I -”

Ellis spoke up. “I’d like to stay a bit longer, Jude.”

“Tch. Fine. Ya can work late to make it up to me.” He left in a swirl of muttered curses, and one last glance at your little girl. 

Victor tried again. “I think it only makes sense that I am -”

William interrupted this time, coming in with a small army of servants carrying brightly wrapped gifts. “There’s my precious baby girl,” he grinned. 

“Will. What is this?” Elbert’s cool gaze traveled over the growing pile of gifts. 

“It’s nothing much. Just a few items of regard from myself and some friends.” William smiled. “This way our baby girl has plenty of options.”

Elbert’s nose wrinkled. “Our?”

“Of course, our,” Victor intervened. “We all love you, and our little robin, and your daughter.”

William’s smile grew. “Exactly.”

“And that is why I, as the leader of Crown, ought to be her godfather,” Victor added quickly, before he could get interrupted again. “Besides, she likes me best.”

“Victor. Are you trying to pressure Elbert and the little robin to name you godfather?” William shook his head. “Let them decide on their own. They’ll tell us what their desires are.”

“So you brought all these gifts because you don’t want to influence their choice?” Alfons laughed. 

Harrison was bouncing the baby on his knee. “Come on. They’re going to decide based on who the most responsible one of us is. You can’t pull rank, Victor. Or buy their approval, Will. Or manipulate them into it, Alfons.”

The three named Cursed all pretended offense and for a moment, everyone was talking at once. Then Liam’s voice cut through the clamor. “We should have a competition. To prove who should be her godfather.”

Roger sighed and crossed his arms. “Alright. What do you have in mind?”

“This sounds fun,” agreed Victor.

“I’d have to check with Jude,” Ellis replied noncommittally. “But I think he’d be ok with it.”

“My daughter’s future is not going to be decided by some contest,” Elbert spoke up. “She’s much too precious for that.”

“I agree,” you spoke up. “Why don’t we just name all of you . . . uncles?”

Alfons nodded slowly. “All the fun, none of the responsibility. Good thinking, little robin.”

“Uncle.” William considered. “I guess that’s acceptable. If that’s what you want.”

Liam sighed. “Can I be her favorite uncle?”

“Sure,” you told him with a laugh. “But you’ll have to earn it.”

“I will. I’m going to learn everything she likes.” Liam grinned widely.

Ellis ran a hand through his hair, considering. “If it makes everyone happy, I’m glad to be an uncle. But . . . Jude might not like it.”

“What do you say, baby girl,” you coo to your daughter as you lift her out of Harrison’s lap. 

Your daughter giggles and bites her toy robin again. 

“I think that’s a yes,” Elbert says faintly over your shoulder. His arms come around you, hugging you and the baby. For a moment, you’re lost in his touch, the faint, sweet smell of him enfolding the two of you.

[candyswirls]

Fanfic Masterpost

You are welcome in this fandom.

I'm Swirl. I write fan fiction and also do requests. I do some drawing as well.

Requests - Open - Rules

I don’t do NSFW, not my jam

My AO3 if you prefer

Fic List

An Eye for an Eye, A Pup for a Pup - Leman Russ grants a wolf priest the right to take a thousand son neophyte to be part of their legion.

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

Bat Fledgling: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9

Corvus Corax finds and adopts a Night Lord child. He finds he has to come to terms with his relationship with his sons, brothers, and father.

Return of the Phoenician: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Determined to right the original’s wrongs and prove himself, the Clone of Fulgrim sets out to get back to the imperium and reunite with his brother Roboute.

Garm: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9

The warp gave Leman Russ a child. A rambunctious child.

(Garm Drawing) (Garm’s Stand) (Garm's Origins) (Garm & Leman)

The Unbound Flame - 1 - 2 - 3

The Salamanders have uncovered the next artifact of their primarch, but discover it is far more precious than anticipated. They have found his infant son.

They Still Know Fear - 1 - 2 - 3

He was an adeptus astartes. A primaris. Built to perfection and one of his angels. His presence brought forth Fear and respect. Nothing scared him. But now, he's prey. A delicacy. He's powerless.

Is It Heresy to Fall in Love With a Warp Entity? - 1 - 2

To protect his innocent brothers from their ruthless chaplain, an apothecary hides the knowledge of a warp entity possessing his brothers. She means no harm and has done good thus far. He also... enjoys her company and finds himself waiting for whenever she comes around.

Companion of Blood - 1

The tale and lore of a very cute yet deadly Khorne Daemon and its accompaniment of a World Eater

Blood Loss - 1

A blood angel with limited memories finds himself waking up in the 42nd milennium. How did he get there? Who was he? What happened? The last thing he remembered was the psykic backlash of his Primarch dying. What does this new age hold? How can he navigate an imperium that is so drastically different even if he can barely remember the previous one?

Resurrectio Sanguinis - 1

Sanguinius is brought back to life by the inquisition, then is imprisoned by them. His is weak, angry, and mournful. Especially as his sons fight to get to him.

One Shots:

Lion in the Dark - Lion comes across strange yet familiar creatures in the forest. They seem to know him.

Crow and Fledgling - a day with Corvus and his adopted child

Child of Dorn - introducing Lanky Dorn, daughter of Dorn

Beautiful Once - An Emperor's Children loathing his silent brother

Works with other’s characters:

Garm and Varska Meet - Garm and Varska Sick Fic - A Day in the Life of Garm - Garm's Fit - Garm Protecting Varska - Garm and Cousins - Stowaway

Other Writings:

Space Marine Cuddle Pile: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

Requests: #requests

Primarchs as toddlers/kids is under #little primarchs

Space Marine Husbandry: Post

[starogeorgina]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Warnings: Violence

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.15

When you enter the dimly lit throne room, you see your mother sitting on the throne. It’s not until you get closer to her that you realize what she’s holding onto so tightly—a toy that was one of Lucery's favorites, which he gave to Gaemon to play with when he was older.

“Mother?”

Meeting your gaze, she stands tall; her eyes are glassy with unshed tears. She places the toys on the throne, then twists the rings in her fingers. “I am the queen of the seven kingdoms,” she says to herself more than you. “I suppose that will be the last time I ever sit upon this throne, as you are the new princess of Dragonstone.”

“And Jacaerys, its prince.”

Your mother's gaze is full of adoration as she leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “It belongs to both of you, sweet girl. Not only is Jacaerys the realm's future king, but you're its queen.”

“Not for some time,” you squeeze her hand. “We have much to learn from you and Daemon. You have a long reign ahead of my queen.”

“I’m Vaoreznuni,” she whispers. “I should never have allowed you to be married to Aegon.”

“Don’t—”

“We don’t know what the gods hold in store for us in the future; I need to say this in case I don’t get the chance to.”

Your lower lip trembles at the thought of losing her.

“Once upon a time, me and Alicent were good friends, and I was foolish to think a marriage between our children would help mend the bridges and solidify an alliance between two halves of the same family. But if I had known how cruelly they would have treated you, I would never have allowed it.”

“Aegon is your half brother; you had no reason to suspect he would have turned into the person he is.”

“It was foolish for me to think Alicent wouldn’t pour honey into my siblings' ears. It should have always been Jacaerys.” In the moonlight, her fallen tears glisten. “I ask for your forgiveness, daughter, for subjecting you to years of torment at the hands of the greens.”

“No, I will not give you forgiveness, mother, because you do require it. None of the things that were done to me were in your hands; the only people who need to pay are the usurper and the dowager queen.”

“And pay they shall, sweet girl.”

—

“Soon as the war is over, we can bring our children home.” Jacaerys fingers tremble as he braids your hair in preparation for battle. One of your ladies could have done it but he insisted. It had taken Jace a couple of attempts to make sure your hair was tight enough that it wouldn’t fall out, but he had now gotten the hang of it. Nervously, he says, “Perhaps our daughters will let me braid their hair.”

It hurts to be away from your sweet babies.

“We will see them soon,” you reassure him. “The green army thinks of me as nothing other than a silly girl; they will fall right into our trap.”

Jace presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder and says, “They couldn’t be more wrong. One day they will sing songs of your beauty and bravery.”

You tilt your head to meet his gaze and smile. “Careful husband, any more compliments, and we may end up creating a sixth child instead of defeating our enemies.”

“Daemon will be our last babe for some time; I will not allow you to become sick again by falling pregnant again so soon.”

You toy with the ring on your fingers. Your new quarters had no trace of Targaryen or Velaryon heritage yet, and no evidence of your five children. “I wonder how big he has grown. I’ve written to Clara to ask how she and the children are, but I’ve not heard back yet.”

“She will have her hands full running around after our brood.”

Usually, you’d sing in high valyrian to your newborns, and it left a void knowing that you were missing out on such precious moments. Daemon wouldn’t even recognise the sound of your voice when you returned to Winterfell.

Jace finishes off the braid and steps back.

Seeing Jacaerys dressed for battle made your heart flutter. He looks so handsome—a warrior, a dragon rider, a true Targaryen prince. You’re so caught up in staring into his dark eyes that it takes you a moment to hear the commotion going on outside the bedchamber.

He offers you his hand and says, “We should go.”

—

Soaring above the green’s army base, Viserion screeches loudly, alerting them to the immediate danger of a dragon. You watch as the men scurry to grab hold of weapons as Viserion lowers to the ground, not too far from where the camp is based.

It doesn’t take long for Ser Criston to come galloping out of the tree line on the back of his horse, both wearing armor covered by green fabric with a golden three-headed dragon sigil.

Disgusting.

Ten knights follow closely behind, but you suspect they are deliberately staying out of your line of sight. You climb down and walk towards the knight, he seems surprised by your actions.

“Lyarra.”

“Criston.”

Viserion roars loudly, causing some of the knights to hesitantly raise their swords. The bite of steel is sharp against your arm, and a trickle of blood spills from where the sword has nipped your skin. “Why my arm and not my throat, kingmaker?”

Criston narrows his eyes. “The king has ordered for you to be kept alive and your face to remain unmarked.”

“Hmm.”

“You were a fool to come alone.”

In the blink of an eye, the smell of smoke fills the air, and the ground vibrates as a large part of the Green’s Army retreats on horseback. Criston lowers his swords and spins around, watching the men he was leading abandon him. Among the smoke and ash, Vermax appears, his olive scales and pale orange wing membranes darkened with soot.

“I’m no fool, Ser Criston, and not alone.” The two dragons roar and breathe fire at the same time, burning the tents and supplies of the green army. “I once said if you ever touched me again, I’d feed you to Viserion.”

Criston turns and gives you a murderous glare.

“But I’ve since changed my mind. I wouldn’t feed something so poisonous to my beloved dragon.”

You back away as a shadow begins to overtake the spot where you just stood as the ill-tempered dragon looms closer. Jacaerys holds his head high. “Dracarys, Vermax.”

The kingmaker is engulfed in flames.

Screams fill the air of men trying to flee and put as much distance between themselves and the dragons as possible.

Viserion lowers himself so you can mount him, and when he stands tall again, you are able to fully view Jacaerys. He had been struck with three arrows; his armor had protected him from two, but one of them had struck him in the thigh.

He attempts to soothe your fear. “I am fine, dear wife; now let’s go join our mother in taking the king's landing back.”

Prince Daemon and your mother had flown over the capital and were circling above Aegon’s high hill. Syrax would only land when it was safe to do so. Your grandsire’s fleet would be arriving at the east end of Blackwater Bay. While the dragon twins held fort at Dragonstone, where your youngest siblings remain, Lady Baela would keep watch of the island on the back of Moondancer, while Lady Rhaena would run the council inside.

Vermax and Viserion take to the sky, breathing fire as they fly in the direction of the red keep.

Sorry — Vaoreznuni

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | You Belong | Platonic

Feeling left out within any culture around you, you wonder if there is something wrong with you. When you meet a Stranger at night, He introduces you to the actual Truth.

Requested by Aria

TW: Mentions of domestic abuse, alcoholism and prostitution

There was a time in your childhood where you had been convinced that you must have done something to anger to gods in order to gain their disdain through mistreatment from your parents, that somehow, you must have lost their favour in the short span of your life before it all began and had never regained their approval ever since. 

You have outgrown that belief the moment you witnessed your father hurt your baby brother in such a way that he didn’t get to see his second winter. There was no fibre in his innocent being that the gods would have wanted to punish, unless it had been Hades wreaking havoc, but you doubted it. Therefore, you didn’t blame yourself for your abusive and neglectful parents anymore. It was just bad luck, being born into the wrong family; for as far as it could be called family.

Still, whenever you look at your friends, slivers of that belief of the past threaten to seep into your subconsciousness. Like it does in this very moment; when you witness your close friend Faustina receive a necklace that you could never even dream to afford, just because her father found it during one of his travels. Being a merchant, he has gone far and wide and thus always picked out the most beautiful and exotic presents for his daughter, causing a streak of unintentional jealousy to spark inside of you. 

Faustina proudly smiles and puffs out her chest a little to show you the necklace as she turns to you. “What do you think?” she wonders, and you force a smile over your lips as you inspect it a little closer. 

“I think it is beautiful.” You wonder what kind of stone the pendant is made of, not even knowing the names of them; the light precious gem shimmers in a way that makes it look like there is moonlight captured within it. If you would ever receive such a gift, you’d literally cry. 

“I think it fits with my opal earrings,” she light-heartedly says, and then turns to her father, who is observing the two of you fondly. “Is that why you chose it, pater?” He nods and causes her to smile brighter, walking towards him to embrace him tighter than she did before. “Thank you, pater!” 

“Of course,” he muses, kissing her forehead, “Anything for my girl.” 

It is an odd scene to you. The way Faustina’s father is so sweet with her, showing her affection in such a safe way, makes you wonder why your own father does nothing but hurt you. You find it unfair that your own parents have never even shown any love towards you in this way, be it physical or verbal. Your hands clench and unclench at your sides as discomfort builds within your gut. 

“I—I think I should go home,” you say meekly, causing your friend to turn to you with something akin to disappointment on her features. 

“Oh, (Y/n), don’t go just yet! You could stay and have dinner with us, right pater?” Her father nods as he ruffles her hair, causing a lump to form in your throat. Even though you would adore to have dinner with her and her family, for it meant being apart from your own for just a while longer, you know that you wouldn’t able to handle more scenes like these, for it hurt to know what you are missing out on. Besides, you don’t reckon your father would appreciate you coming home after dark, and your bruises have only just healed. You intend to keep it that way.

Shaking your head at her, you give her a tight-lipped smile. “As much as I appreciate the offer,” you begin, “I promised my parents I’d be home before dusk. Which is about now, so I should really leave…” 

Faustina pouts and steps in your direction, embracing you tightly. “Ah, (Y/n), you can stay some other time, then. Or maybe I could come home with you instead? I mean, you’ve never shown me where you live, and I’m curious to finally meet your parents after all these years—” 

“—I don’t think that is a good idea,” you cut her off, a nervous chuckle leaving you. “I… I should really go now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

She confusedly watches how you step away and head for your home. “Oh, okay. Yes, that’s fine…” You nod in greeting at her as well as her father and rush away. The scent of Faustina’s perfume lingers on your clothes, which haven’t been properly washed in a while. Walking quickly through the streets of Dothan, you ignore any fellow Roman passing you by, not wanting to see their judgemental stares. 

Your father had been guard posted around here for a while until he was declared unfit for duty. He had always proclaimed that it was because of his poor back, but the people of the village weren’t stupid and recognised someone suffering from an alcohol addiction when they saw it. That shame automatically carried over to you, his only daughter, who couldn’t get married because of it. Not that you wanted a spouse to begin with, so perhaps one good thing came of it. 

When you burst through the door right before dusk falls, you expect your parents to be waiting for you, but instead of finding a table with food and the scent of cooking in the kitchen, you see your father in the middle of pure chaos. The chairs have been splintered into pieces and the jars that your mother always keeps the produce in have been shattered on the floor, the contents spilled all over and spoiled because of it. 

“What happened here?” is the first thing that comes to mind, and you instantly realise it is the wrong thing to say. There is a dangerous glint in your father’s eyes as he turns to you that you know all too well, and he stomps in your direction, causing you to stagger back in order to protect yourself. 

“Your whore of a mother ran off again!” he seethes, “And you are going to look for her, got it?! Even if you have to rip a man away from her, you will bring her back to me!” It is a twisted way of treating you, you think to yourself as tears of fear brim at your eyes, and you choke back a sob as your father grabs your arm and shoves you towards the door. His breath stinks of wine and vomit. “Go get her! Now!” 

You wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to leave the situation, sprinting out of the house with a few curses thrown your way as a final greeting. With a racing heart, you make your way through Dothan, attempting to calm yourself down by taking deep breaths of cold night air. 

Eventually, you find yourself on the balcony of a random house, tears rolling down your face. How did you even get here, you think to yourself as you look over the edge at the ground below. A long way down. You must have ran up some stairs somewhere. You swallow hard as tears roll down your face. Where would you ever find your mother in this town that hates you in all ways, not only the Jews but also your own people?

Would it ever become better?

Breaking down, you lean your hands on the wall of the balcony, supporting yourself as you let the sobs rip from your lungs. What are you even fighting for? Your parents don’t love you, the people around you don’t want you apart from your friends, and there is no prospect for a proper future. If you wanted to end it all, you would need a higher roof. 

Inhaling, exhaling, you finally clear your mind a little as you turn your gaze upwards to the heavens. Stars are glittering in the sky and you realise for how long you must have been here already, but you aren’t feeling chilly in the slightest. With a shaky breath, you straighten your back, tucking your hair behind your ears as you sniffle and wipe your face. 

“Out for a walk, miss?” 

A sudden voice behind you makes you flinch and shrink; a response that has been forced into your habits in order to shield yourself from your father’s wrath, but the Person sounds kind enough. After a second, you force yourself to smile and turn to the Man. A cloaked Stranger stands a little away, a hood over His head, keeping His face from you. From the accent, you can tell that He is a Jew.

“Yes. You, too?” 

“The fresh air works wonders on one’s mind, yes?” He comes to stand next to you and rests His hands on the balcony. “But a young woman like yourself shouldn’t be out here at this hour. What brings you here?” 

You swallow hard. “Just… I needed some time to myself. And I’m looking for someone.”

“Aren’t we all? Who is it that you seek?” 

“My mother,” you whisper, “She, uh… She is out and about somewhere.” 

The Man hums. “Ah. Shouldn’t your father be out searching her instead?” 

You lower your gaze. “He isn’t exactly in a… In a state to do so himself.” 

Silence befalls you two and you turn your gaze up to the moon, sighing shakily. “Why are You speaking to me, sir? I’m a Roman, You’re a Jew.” 

The Stranger shrugs. “Does that matter?” 

“It should.” 

A soft chuckle comes from Him, a sound that makes your heart strangely flutter. Who is this Stranger, that He so selflessly walked up to you to make small-talk, even though you are used to nothing but cold shoulders around here? “You seem to be troubled. I can tell that you have been crying.” 

Your lips part a little as you attempt to come up with a good response, but it is too obvious to deny. Instead, you let out a shaky breath and pick at your nails. “It’s fine.” 

“A young woman like yourself, a child still, is out on the streets at this time of day. That doesn’t sound fine to Me. Why aren’t your parents looking for you?” 

Letting out a huff of irony, you push your tongue into the inside of your cheek. “I’ve been looking after them, really. They aren’t exactly… Kind.” 

“I see.” 

“And because of my father’s alcohol abuse, he is a violent man towards my mother and I. He used to be a guard, but now that he is constantly drinking, our family receives nothing but shame from our people. My mater has found a way to get by in a less favourable profession, where she sells her own body, but… It isn’t enough and it isn’t safe.” 

The Stranger gives you a pondering look and His dark eyes shine under the hood in such a way that you cannot help but grow a little uncomfortable as He scrutinises you. It takes you a second to register that it isn’t discomfort you are experiencing, but rather… As if He is seeing everything about you just by looking you in the face. You swallow hard and avert your gaze. 

“You feel like you do not belong.” 

Your eyes widen and your throat feels tight. He is right. “Not anywhere,” you confirm, voice quivering on the brink of new tears. “Not with the population here and not with my own people. Nobody wants me. I don’t know where I went wrong, that I deserved such parents who neglect me like that, whilst my friends… They all have parents who tell them that they love them, and…” Squeezing your eyes shut, the tears spill at last, “It’s just so unfair…” 

“You did nothing wrong, (Y/n),” the Stranger suddenly whispers, and you look at Him in shock. “Yes, I know your name, and I know about your suffering. I have come to Dothan just to meet you today.” 

Blinking in confusion, you shake your head. “Is this some kind of cruel joke? Please, don’t do that to me. I’m already so close to ending it all, and I just— I just can’t deal with this life any longer!” 

“I know, which is why I am here. No, this isn’t some joke. Quite the contrary. The reason you feel like you don’t belong is not because you did something wrong. Some lives are just different from others. Every child deserves a loving parent, but not every parent deserves their child. I know how heartbreaking it is to feel so unwanted. But God wants you. He sees you and He is calling you by your name, through Me.” 

Searching His face underneath His hood, you feel your cheeks warm up. “Who are You?” 

“I Am Who I Am,” the Man says. “My Name is Jesus. You might be a Gentile, and I might be a Jew, but I have come to save the Gentiles also.” 

This only heightens your puzzlement. “Save them? From what? From whom?” 

“From eternal damnation through their sin. I have come to set people free from that burden. From the pain of the past, the hurt caused by injustice, but also from themselves.” 

Your field of vision blurs as you look away from Jesus, shaking your head. “That isn’t for me. I don’t deserve it. If I deserved it, my parents would love me—” 

“Your Father loves you.” 

Almost offended, your gaze snaps to the Stranger. “What? No, he is a raging alcoholic, he strikes both me and my mother—” 

“—I meant your heavenly Father. God. He sees you and has seen your pain.” 

Jesus reaches out a hand and gives you a gentle smile from underneath the cloak. “Will you come with Me, (Y/n)?” 

Gulping, you look Him up and down, wondering what to make of it. You have no clue Who this Man is, but you can tell that there is more to Him than what meets the eye. Way more. 

You’ve got nothing left to lose. 

“Follow Me.” Jesus tells you, removing His hood at last, revealing a pair of warm pools of brown that regard you with so much love and gentleness that it takes your breath away; even your own mother has never looked at you that way. 

“Yes,” you mutter before you know it, feeling your heart swell. Jesus smiles and takes your hand in His, squeezing it gently. 

No, you’ve got nothing left to lose. And even though you have just met this Stranger mere minutes ago, you instantly know this at the moment His hand touches yours:

With Him, you will forever belong.

[green-eyedfirework]

SlaDick no capes omegaverse story where Slade and Dick are married. Dick ends up pregnant, but Slade believes he's infertile, so he kicks Dick out for cheating. Several months later, he finds a heavily pregnant Dick working at a strip club. He feels a surge of possessiveness and buys a private dance. Dick ends up going into labor during it, and Slade takes him to the hospital.

At the hospital, when the baby is born, Slade has another surge of possessiveness when he looks at Dick smiling down at his baby. Yes, Dick cheated, but Slade is feeling magnanimous. It doesn't matter if the baby isn't his, when Dick so clearly has no one else in his life, they can go back to what they used to be.

Dick, understandably, says no.

Slade threatens to take him to court. He never bothered divorcing Dick, but Slade can still do it, and between the well respected businessman and the young omega stripper, who's going to get custody? Even if Dick gets a paternity test to prove the baby isn't Slade's, the judge will give custody of her to her real father and not a lying, cheating whore.

Slade gently wipes away Dick’s tears, promising him that they'll get a second chance.

Dick, meanwhile, is utterly terrified, because he knows there won't be a third. There's no way he can escape Slade and keep his baby. He walks on eggshells around Slade, constantly stressed.  In one of his postpartum visits, the doctor tells Slade that Dick is losing too much weight too fast and tells him that Dick appears to be very stressed. Slade tries to help by giving Dick a day off from helping with the baby and Dick takes it the wrong way.

Dick finally breaks down and begs Slade not to do this, please, he's sorry, he'll be better, just don't take her away from him.

Slade gets angry at Dick acting like he's some kind of monster. Even if the other alpha isn't in the picture, Dick can of course go running back to his rich daddy and hire the lawyers to divorce Slade if he was really this distraught.

Except Dick went no contact with his family when he married Slade, and besides, the baby is Slade's. Dick won't get custody and he knows it.

Slade thinks Dick has gone delusional and is fed up with the hysterics so he tells Dick that he'll get a paternity test done, prove to Dick that he isn't the father, and then file the divorce proceedings.

Dick doesn't stop crying the whole time. He constantly holds the baby as they wait for the test results, as though he's afraid he'll never see her again. Slade is thoroughly done with how his penthouse smells like distressed omega, and tears open the envelope of test results when it comes. And stares.

He finally goes to the nursery. Dick sees him, sees the paper in his hand, and goes ashen. "Please," he begs, low and broken, "she's my daughter too. Please."

Slade having to confront that he's wrong. That he ruined Dick's life, twice over, for nothing. That he could've had a new family, a mate that loved him and a precious little girl, and he destroyed it with his own actions.

Slade ends up drawing up a divorce settlement where Dick gets a significant amount of alimony & child support, a new luxury apartment, and custody is split with Dick keeping their baby for the week and bringing her to visit Slade on weekends.

[g-on-ef]

Sneak preview to Goddess of Loneliness

As promised here's a sneak preview of Goddess of Loneliness

I hope you like these sneak previews it'll be random and have a look of what's to come ^^ also it's all happy moments can't show you guys the angst yet ^^

Maya smiled as Vaughn grabbed her hand and lead her inside the building.

"You got me a private concert?"

Vaughn turned and smiled at his beautiful girlfriend.

"Of course I did Beautiful, you deserve good things and I'm lucky to be one of them,"

Maya blushed as Vaughn lead her into the concert hall were BTS and Taylor Swift awaited her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Maya smiled as she ran to Brandon King, her one and only friend.

"I'm so happy to see you Maya,"

"I am too,"

They pulled back and she looked down and saw a little girl clinging to Brans pants.

"Oh, who's this,"

"Oh, Maya meet your niece, Azaliya,"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"You hurt our family Maya!" Mia shouted at her sister, Maya glared at her screw it she was done with Mia and her hypocritical ass.

"You're right Mia I hurt you and I fucked up but you? You hurt our family as well,"

"What-"

"You're fucking the guy who kidnapped our brother and was responsible for getting him in the hospital, you're fucking the guy who set the Heathens mansion on fire with the intent to kill our cousins, our brother, and your friends you're fucking the guy who wanted to kill our cousin who's your best friend because he was dating his little sister!"

Maya glared at Mia and than at her mother,

"If I'm an awful person for hidding something for so long-let's ignore the fact I was a fucking child! What does that make Mia mom what would you call you're precious daughter who despite knowing all the shit her fiancee has done still decided to get in bed with him and date him! And let's also not forget how when our brother dearest tried to get back at him your precious daughter decided to attack and make him feel bad about it,"

She glared at Mia.

"You say I ruined our family with my jealousy but what have you been doing to our brother Mia? Niko won't say anything because of Bran and I get it I do because I love Bran as well but unlike Niko I'll say the quiet part out loud I ruined you by being quiet but unlike I didn't have a choice unlike you Mia I was afraid to speak in fear of getting killed you on the other hand chose to sleep with Landon and hurt our brother you chose to be with Landon because you are a selfish person who would rather let everyone around her suffer!"

She glared at Mia and at her mother.

"It took me to long to realize this but deep down Mia you're no different than me, you claim to be no different from girls like me when in reality you are nothing but a liar, a fake; you always promise but fail to deliver because deep down you know Mia, you know you're just as fucked up as I am and if given the chance you'd stab your family in the back without hesitation...oh wait you already do that every night you sleep with the punk that almost killed our brother!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Welp here it is ^^ I hope you guys like these little moments we are two screenshots away from getting updates from the heart was build to break and born sinner as well as to kidnap a lotus flower ^^ remember keep streaming right place wrong person and send me those screenshots ^^

[carakook]

The Astronaut ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"He feels like he’s an Astronaut who discovered a new moon colored in shades of your love, beautiful little stars surrounding it with Saebyeol’s precious little face in every single one. He has no idea how he got so lucky."

•¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*••¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*•

✧Pairings: dad!Kim Seokjin x mom!reader

✧Synopsis: Being new parents is hard, most of the time it’s much harder on the mom than the dad… Kim Seokjin would silently argue that isn’t always the case. Today your baby had her first round of shots, and Jin is a mess after seeing her cry. Dramatic and blubbering, you have to comfort the poor man before he turns into a baby himself.

✧Genre: Romance/Comedy/Fluff

✧Word count: 2k+

✧Warnings: Lots of talk about babies!!! Mother and fatherhood, crying, Jin being dramatic and sappy, no smut so this one is fairly tame! Talks of labor and delivery, immunization/vaccination talk (it isn’t that serious I promise), fluffy fluff fluff, lemme know if I missed anything!

✧Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

✧A/N: Here is my second request! This was a request for Jin being a dad with major fluff. It is exactly that lol. I hope you guys enjoy this lil Drabble/one shot, poor Jin. By the way…. I fucking miss Jin??? Daddy Jin better get his ass home soon I stg 😭 love you guys!

•¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*••¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*•

“Jin, Jesus, please come out of the damn bathroom.”

You wait with your forehead pressed against the bathroom door, have half a mind to fucking bang your head against it at this point honestly. Because Jin, in Jin fashion, is being so goddamn dramatic.

It hasn’t been long since you’ve both became parents, and although it wasn’t exactly planned, you’re both so fucking happy. Never have been happier.

But with becoming a parent, also comes a lot of mixed emotions. For you, of course your hormones are at an all time high after giving birth, so you’re extra sensitive. The mood swings are volatile; one moment you’re crying because your daughter hiccuped and it was too cute, the next moment you’re on the verge of committing murder because Jin looked at you the wrong way.

But even then, you’re overwhelmed with joy. Sure, the emotions give you whiplash, but it’s worth it.

Jin, however, sometimes you swear he’s more dramatic than you are. Like today, he’s a fucking mess. Today marks two weeks of you giving birth, which means you had to take your daughter, Saebyeol, to get her checkup… which also means she had to get some of her immunization shots.

Jin did not handle this well at all.

Of course the baby cried, every baby does, even adults do when getting shots; who likes getting poked with a sharp needle? But you were easily able to calm her down after the shots were done by feeding her and holding her.

It’s now been three hours since the appointment, and Jin is still in the fucking bathroom, crying like a little baby himself.

You swear that he has become more sensitive than you most days. The moment Saebyeol cries, so does Jin. If she seems upset, so is Jin. If she’s hungry, Jin is on your ass saying ‘feed my baby, you’re starving her!’

It can be sooo fucking irritating… but also, it’s the cutest fucking thing, especially since Jin is usually so calm and collected in situations like these; he’s always been the level headed one.

Your entire pregnancy, he was the level headed one. When you were worried about something being wrong with the baby, or you started nesting and fretting over every little thing around your home, Jin was there to reassure you and calm your worries. Even during delivery, he was there to soothe you; you have no idea how the man managed to stay completely calm when you sounded as if you were actually dying before getting the epidural; but he did. And he was calm the entire time…

Until he saw Saebyeol.

The moment Jin laid his eyes on her, it’s like that calm demeanor never even existed. He was a fucking mess. He started bawling his eyes out, repeating over and over again, ‘Oh my god, my baby, my star, she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,‘

After that, it didn’t stop. Two weeks later and he’s still as sensitive and protective as ever. He’s so in tuned with both you and Saebyeol’s moods and emotions, it’s as if he takes them on himself. Whatever you’re both feeling, he feels too, but ten times the amount.

More so Saebyeol’s than yours.

Which is why he is having a fit in the bathroom right now. Of course he was a wreck at the appointment, the man looked as if he wanted to punch the nurse in the face. And yes, he cried, immediately snatched Saebyeol up after the shots which caused you to have to pry her out of his arms so you could feed her. ‘But they hurt my poor baby! It’s so cruel, she’s in pain…’

God, so dramatic. But oh so sweet.

On the ride home he was crying on and off. Has been even since you both got home and Saebyeol went down for a nap. You couldn’t quite understand why, and he was being so stubborn about it. Kept saying it’s stupid and he doesn’t want to talk about it.

It is kind of stupid… but also, seeing Jin cry is almost as bad as seeing Saebyeol cry, because Jin doesn’t cry often at all. It’s heartbreaking to see this calm man breakdown over something so small.

“Jin, please, you’re starting to worry me. Can you tell me why you’re so torn up at least? Just come out of the bathroom, I’m gonna go insane…”

You try to coax him out. He did end up calming down after you both got home, but it didn’t last long because he walked in to check on Saebyeol after she fell asleep (he has a habit of compulsively checking on her, has woken her up more than once at this point doing it.) and he broke down again. But this time, the tears didn’t stop, and he ended up locking himself in the damn bathroom like a child.

What really happened, was he saw the little bandaid on Saebyeol’s arm and he lost it again. He remembered the little pout she made before she started wailing from the prick of the needle, and then he remembered the wailing, and then the sniffling, and ugh he couldn’t take it.

So yes, he is indeed in the bathroom crying. Because how dare they hurt his precious little girl? It was necessary, of course, but still, how dare they? The only reason he’s in the bathroom is because even he knows damn well how dramatic he’s being. Jin has always been a bit dramatic, it’s just part of who he is, but this time he can’t help it. And he doesn’t want to bug you with his blubbering, he knows you’re going through enough postpartum as it is, he doesn’t want to add to your stress.

But his poor baby, his poor little star got pricked with a mean needle, and he just can’t get her sad little face out of his head.

“Just give me a minute, I need to cry.”

You groan, because he’s said this four times now. You get it, he needs to cry, everyone does sometimes. Being a new parent is hard and it’s normal to be sensitive and a bit over worried about your baby. But can’t he at least explain?

“Ok, but what exactly are you crying about? She’s fine now, sound asleep as if it didn’t even happen…”

You try once more to coax him out as you speak through the door. He knows you’re right, she’s fine now, but can’t a man cry over his little girl getting hurt?

“She looked so sad… I could die, I swear, I don’t ever wanna see her cry like that again.”

You want to snort at this, because you know damn well Saebyeol will cry much worse than she did today at some point. As babies grow into toddlers, it’s inevitable that they get hurt sometimes. You can’t even imagine how he’s gonna react when she has her first fall or first knee scrape.

“Jin, baby, she’s a baby too… she’s gonna cry. She’s gonna get hurt. And she’s also gonna be ok.”

“I am not a baby. I am a father who is in distress about his baby being hurt!”

Dramatic mother fucker… literally.

“Ok, ok, I know, I know. Just come out of the bathroom, let me love on you and make you feel better.”

He sniffles at this, is starting to feel his tears dry up as he swipes at his eyes. He feels selfish for his reaction, and also a little childish at how he’s locked himself in the bathroom. But god, he’s just worried. Worried about Saebyeol, worried about you too. He doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t care about your feelings, he knows you’re going through it far worse than him.

But he could use a hug.

So reluctantly, he gets off of the toilet seat, pads over to the bathroom mirror above the sink and tries to readjust his pitiful tear stained expression, and then opens the bathroom door.

Seeing you just makes him start to cry again.

You immediately get on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his shoulders, put your fingers in his hair, and bring him in for a close embrace. “Oh baby, such a mess…” you coo at him.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and sniffles again so pitifully, taking in your comforting scent. He’s starting to think that somehow your pregnancy hormones have worn off on him, because now he isn’t crying because of Saebyeol, but because of you and how fucking pretty motherhood looks on you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Y/N. I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me…”

You kiss the top of his head and tsk at him, “Don’t apologize, you’re just a dramatic baby is all. S’fine. Just hate seeing you cry.”

He grunts into the crook of your neck, “I am NOT. I’m just a father. A father with a precious baby and beautiful wife. Can’t handle it. Don’t know what I did to deserve you two…”

Your heart both warms and breaks at the same time, because Jin deserves everything. Seriously, he has been so good to you, has given you everything you could ever wish for in life and in a relationship. He works hard for you, for Saebyeol, and for himself too. He deserves all the good things, and you wished he wasn’t so humble about it.

He doesn’t agree. Jin has always been an incredibly cocky man, loves himself so much. Has always loved himself more than anyone else… until you came along and stole his heart. He lived selfishly before you, served himself and was proud of his accomplishments. But as time went on, he learned to live selflessly, and everything he did was for you.

He never imagined he could love anything more than you, but then you got pregnant, and you had his child. He is so full of love that he can’t handle it sometimes. He feels like he’s an Astronaut who discovered a new moon colored in shades of your love, beautiful little stars surrounded it with Saebyeol’s precious little face in every single one; its why he wanted to name her Saebyeol. He has no idea how he got so lucky.

“You deserve it more than anyone Jin. So stop crying. Me and Saebyeol are happy and healthy, you should be too.”

“I am— that’s the issue, I am so happy and I have no idea how to handle it. Makes me a goddamn mess.”

You pull back a bit, flat on your feet again as you bring your hands to his forehead and brush his hair out of his face. Smile at him sweetly. God, you got lucky with him too.

“That’s ok. But maybe don’t cry over every little thing, yeah? You’re stressing me out.”

You’re only joking, of course. You’re thankful he cries, even if it breaks your heart; it shows he’s comfortable with his emotions. You just wanna make him laugh a bit, scold him playfully.

He huffs at you and pulls away, flicks his hair even as he sniffles, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. At least I didn’t cry when they forgot the ranch at McDonalds.”

You feign offense, pinch his arm as you huff at him, “Hey! I was pregnant and needed that ranch!”

You both start giggling at each other, which doesn’t last long because Jin’s crying seems to have woken up Saebyeol, judging by the little noises you hear coming from her nursery.

Thank fucking god she isn’t crying.

He gives you a sheepish look, “Oops.”

He isn’t sorry though, not really. He’ll never admit it, but sometimes he will consider waking Saebyeol up on purpose just so he can see her pretty little smile… but he never does, knows his precious little star needs her sleep, and his beautiful moon needs a damn break.

Doesn’t stop him from getting giddy when she finally does wake up, though.

You both walk into Saebyeol’s nursery, and there she is, cooing at nothing while she sucks on her fingers.

“Ugh! She’s starving, do you ever feed her?!”

He immediately rushes over to her as if the kid hasn’t ever been fed properly. Sometimes you wanna smack him, because you feed her literally so many times a day. There’s no way the little thing is actually staving.

But again, he’s dramatic. One of the things you’ve learned to just deal with, especially when it comes to his star.

You roll your eyes as you watch him pick her up and coddle her. But your eyes warm quickly when you see the adoration in his eyes as he holds her. He really does love her so much, loves you too, you’re both his entire universe.

She lets out the tiniest giggle at his pouty face, a smile following as she reaches up to touch his cheek curiously.

“She’s so pretty. Just like me.”

Yeah, ok, you roll your eyes again. Because of course Jin would say some shit like that while looking so serious about it.

“Yah, what about me?” You pout at him as you cross your arms, lean over a bit to look at Saebyeol as he holds her.

He waves his free hand at you, “Yeah, sure, you’re pretty.”

You’d definitely smack him on the head if he wasn’t holding Saebyeol right now.

But of course he’s kidding. He thinks next to Saebyeol, you’re the prettiest girl in the world. Could stare at you for hours, wishes he could imprint your face on his brain so everything looks like you.

He smirks at you, bumps his shoulder into yours, “Seriously babe, you’re pretty. Prettiest ever. But I guess that’s expected, I’m world-wide handsome, you know? Of course I’d have the prettiest wife and daughter.”

You cackle at this, because it is so sweet, but such a Jin thing to say. Of course he’d make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world, while also reminding you he is the prettiest man in the world.

Your cackle doesn’t last long though, because Saebyeol starts whining. She’s hungry, not starving like Jin swears she is, but she is hungry.

“Oh, poor baby, such a hungry baby, daddy will feed you, don’t you worry… won’t let mommy starve you.”

You glare at him as you walk away to prepare the bottle for Saebyeol, mutter a few unsavory words under your breathe.

Time to feed the baby before the other baby has another fit.

[whoishotteranimepolls]

Fandom Observation Nicknames and Funny Tags: Part Jujutsu Kaisen

To add to my fandom behaviors and trends series. I thought it would share some of the funny or slutty nicknames some of the fandoms have given to their characters because trust me some had me laugh out loud and deserve more attention due to the creativity. Not just the nicknames. The tags have also been something to behold. But just in case that's not your thing, I did put a break in the post so expand at your own risk

Now let me make myself perfectly clear this is not meant to shame or call anyone out. I am genuinely impressed with the creativity and you guys made me laugh. So again in my opinion these were too good just to be lost in the tags or in the anonymous messages, several you sent me.

So, let's start with Jujutsu Kaisen because that fandom is the best when it comes to nicknames and absolutely hilarious tags. So here are some of my favorites and they have at least one for every character

Kento Nanami: The Linkedin Daddy, The eldest daughter's dream man, " When you're tired of trying to fix him and now want a man that can fix you", The malewife, "The smutty wolf of Wall Street," "A man that could make a housewife out of anyone", Nanami 'i break walls with creeps and kneel for women' Kento," & Corporate Bae.

Gojo: "The unstable himbo", Everything the youngest child has ever dreamed of, The I could fix him (no one can fix him), A little freak affectionate

Geto: The "mentally ill genocidal pookie", "a DILF that fathered so hard he mothered", The middle child's dream man, & Precious baby girl who has done nothing wrong in their entire life (has literally committed terrorism and murder), "my princess with disorders."

Toji Fushiguro: "A horrible father that just happens to be unreasonably hot", Darling dirtbag, Extra wide blorbo, Precious beef cake, it would be worth the STD, hear me out the worm offers some interesting possibilities, my precious darling deadbeat, babygirl, The things I would let him do to me,

Choso: "His sunken eyes and depressed swag have captivated me", my little emo boy, "he is a beautiful angel and i want to sit on his face until he drowns in my p**** juice", pookie, big handsome kitty, baby daddy, mr. rideable nose, 150 y/o virgin.

Mahito: A "beloved princess with a disorder", "When you just want to freak who's objectively a monster"

Sukuna: "When you're down for atrocities", I might not survive but it would be worth it & Four armed daddy,

Yuki Tsukumo: "My tall and buff queen", & dommy mommy with a motorcycle.

I think everyone can tell the fandom favorites and if I see any more in the future I will add them. But I hope at least someone gets a laugh out of these and thank you to the people who put these nicknames or phrases in the comments, tags and multiple anonymous messages received.

And just in case you're feeling called out JJK fandom this is just part 1 of a series. I have multiple other fandoms posts started in the draft box

[janeway-lover]

the ninth (!) part of my princess/knight abbiel au this has gotten so much longer than i anticipated and i love it

Despite his initial protests, the genuine threat of losing his head is more than enough to encourage the royal physician to attend to Uriel. Once he's removed the lance and stitched them back together, they fall asleep, dreaming of a golden goddess.

Someone cleared their throat. Uriel sat up blearily, squinting in the dark to see who it was.

"I think we need to talk." They nearly fall out of the bed as the king steps out of the shadows.

"Your Majesty!" They scramble to stand, but he holds up a hand to stop them.

"Stay in your bed, you are injured." Hesitantly, Uriel sits back down on the bed. "It has come to my attention that you are...involved...with my daughter."

"That is correct, sir." Lucifer’s eyes narrow.

"I heard what the visiting prince said. Is he correct?"

"Prince Reginald is a liar and a cheat," they say with a scoff. "He knows nothing."

"Is he right?" the king repeats.

"No."

"Good. If you had dishonored my daughter, I would not hesitate to have you executed."

“If I had dishonored your daughter, it would have been on her insistence.”

“I do not need to hear more on that point,” Lucifer interrupts. “I shall…take your word for it.” Uriel has never seen the king look so uncomfortable. “Does she care for you?”

“Well, I certainly hope she does. Otherwise I suspect your dressmakers are going to be rather upset.” He just rolls his eyes.

“And do you care for her?”

“I do.” There is no hint of joking in their voice, nor in their eyes.

“She will not be allowed to marry a knight.”

“I had expected as much.”

“And that does not bother you?”

“We are not married now, and I still love her. Why would I be bothered if nothing changed?” The handkerchief Abby had given them is wrapped around one of their hands, clutched tightly as a precious thing.

“Hmph.” It takes all of Uriel’s self control to not laugh at the sight of the king pouting. “Has the physician cleared you to walk?”

“After a night’s rest, yes sir.”

“Good. Report to the throne room at midday tomorrow.” And with that, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

-

Queen Chloe, up until this point in our story, has not been mentioned because, unlike her husband, she is calm and collected and does not cause drama. (Well. Most of the time.) Right now, she is knocking on the door to her daughter’s quarters, politely asking to come in.

“Abby, let me in please.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Darling, you have to.” There’s a series of groans before the door is opened, revealing a rather bitter princess. “Thank you.” She is answered with nothing but a glare before Abby steps back to let her in.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Not yet,” Chloe says after some consideration. “But you might be.”

“Is it so wrong that I fell in love?” she asks as she flops down onto her bed, Chloe taking a seat beside her. “All they’ve done is kiss my hand, before you ask.”

"I was not going to ask," the queen says with a smile. "Heaven knows your father and I -"

"Mother!"

"What, it is true!" Chloe laughs as Abby buries her face in a pillow and groans.

"I could have gone my whole life without knowing such a thing."

"How exactly did you think we procured so many children? Your governess did explain it to you, correct?"

"Yes, Mother, now please stop talking about it."

"Very well." The two sit in silence for a moment. "You know, your grandfather didn't approve of me." This gets Abby's attention immediately. She'd never met the man, as he died shortly before she was born, allowing Lucifer to become king, but she'd heard plenty of stories. Never this one, though.

"He didn't?"

"No. He thought I was too argumentative, that I wasn't composed enough to be queen. It didn't help that your father and I were constantly arguing."

"Father thinks arguing is fun," Abby counters. "That is not enough reason for Grandfather to dislike you."

"I was not like your grandmother; I did not fit the image he had of a queen and that was enough for him to disapprove."

"So what did you do?"

"The old man was a bit of a romantic. We appealed to him on the grounds that we loved each other, and he gave us his blessing." She fixes Abby with a look that seems to go straight through her soul. "Your father, though he would never admit it, is also a bit of a romantic."

“He’s trying to marry me off.”

“Because he didn’t know you found someone,” she explains. “He might be a bit stubborn at first, god knows that man doesn’t like to be wrong, but he wants what’s best for you.”

“Does he?”

“He does. We noticed, you know.” Abby looks at her, confused. “That you were happier. Your father was so confused. You were furious at him for suggesting suitors, but you’ve been happier than we’ve seen you in months. He thought he’d gone mad, trying to figure it out.”

“Good. It’s been too long since we’ve had a mad king.” Chloe just sighs.

“Do you love them?”

“Yeah. I do.” There’s a wistful expression on her face that’s so rare, and Chloe can clearly see it.

“And you believe they love you?”

“I’m sure of it. Uriel is - they’re wonderful, Mother.”

“Good.” The queen stands to leave, turning back to her daughter when she reaches the door. “The king wants to speak to you at midday tomorrow, in the throne room.”

“I don’t want to talk to him right now. Can’t you just tell him I’ve taken ill?”

“I said the king, not your father, dear.”

She hates that there must be a difference. When he must be the king he can not be her father, and she hates it.

“I will not be late.”

[brucie-baby]

Hi, I really like your takes and I wanted to get your opinion on Talia al Ghul, cause I really don't like her and I'm curious about your opinion on her.

There's really been nothing in anything I've seen to present her as a remotely likable character. My main gripes with her lay in the fact that she slept with Jason, which, given their age gap and Jason being 17-19 while being even younger mentally, is statutory rape and the fact that she hid both of Bruce's sons from him. Also, from my perspective, she doesn't seem to actually love Bruce or Damian, she's in love with the idea of them. Bruce isn't Bruce to her, he's Batman, the world's greatest detective. Damian isn't her precious son because he's her son but because he's her ticket for her father's approval.

I want to hear your take though, and I apologize in advance if I come off as rude.

hi hello!! i'm glad you like my takes, thank you:)

honestly, i don't have much of an opinion on talia, purely because i haven't read enough about her to form anything solid. i've never read anything focused solely on her, and when it comes to women characters that's kind of a must for me (too often have i seen women badly mischaracterised because they're only a prop in someone else's story). i don't want to speak too much on her as a character because, like i said, i don't really know her too well.

one thing i do feel kind of confident in saying, based on many posts i've seen and the few appearances of her i have read, is that rarely ever is she allowed to be as complex as she seems. it's all a little madonna-whore to me, i think. like. she's either this perfect mother who has never done anything wrong in her life, or she's this cruel, emotionless woman who's only ever out for her own gain.

but from what i know (and again, that's not a lot), she's a person who has been manipulated and used her entire life. she's often defined by what she is to someone else (damian's mother, ra's' daughter, bruce's ex, even jason's whatever). she is a mother when she is kind and she is a woman when she is evil. she's never really seen as much of a person in her own right, you know??

i also think that there's a fair few double standards thrown around that bug me so bad (e.g. "talia is so awful for allowing her son to be raised in such violence. thank god the white man who brings children into his war on crime is there to save him!" (i am saying this as the number one bruce defender)), that automatically make me want to defend her to my dying breath. (also: "you can't judge this character by this action, that was retconned! oh, it's talia? never forgive, never forget.")

i do understand where you're coming from, though. the jason thing was weird, as was the way her relationship with damian was written. but i've also seen other comics about her and damian, and her and bruce, and i do think she loves them. she seems more along the lines of "i was raised in a way that makes loving people difficult but i will do my best regardless" than "i do not love at all".

but again, i must stress, i don't know her very well. these are just things i've picked up via osmosis and minor exposure, so if there are any talia enthusiasts who'd like to correct me or add on, please feel free!!

[lily-sinful]

alright, got my ultramoon team together:

off-leash pokemon actively trying to eat other pokemon at the pokepark

my precious perfect daughter who has never done anything wrong including the petty theft and vandalism

Scrungly Rock Werewolf (Blue Edition)

my precious perfect son who has done nothing wrong (on account of the laziness)

Sniper Bird (Also Blue Edition which i only just noticed somehow?? what the fuck)

Lizard Who Is Doing Her Best To Be The Sassiest Despite Her Nature Being Impish

[eadanga]

The Press Secretary Part 16

Summary: Chris the mayor of town is married to his wife Becca. When he hires a new press secretary who happens to be his lost love old feelings resurface and Chris finds it hard to resist the desire he once had for her

Parings: ChrisxMC

Chris sits at his desk looking through some papers when he gets a text message from Emily

Hi Chris

Hey baby what’s up

You should check the news

Oh no did the idiots do something again

Just check Chris

Chris sighs as he looks at the news and sees a conference held by Becca’s father

One reporter holds a microphone out “Mr. Davenport did your daughter’s recent divorce with Mayor Powell have anything to do with you backing up Sen Jamerson

Mr. Davenport waves a dismissive hand “Davenport industries choose the most qualified person to win the upcoming election I mean what has Chris Powell done for you as mayor? Absolutely nothing his policies all broken promises Sen Jamerson will bring this state into the future”

Chris rolls his eyes as he turns it off “Stupid” He grunted “I’ve done so many things they’re just petty people” He squares his shoulders “I’ll show them who has empty promises”

****

Becca walked out the bedroom doo as she watched Sen Jamerson leaving the house “Thank you so much for your help”

“It’s our pleasure” He waves and walks out the door

“Hi daddy how was your meeting?”

“Went well just introducing him to some stuff that’ll help him” He smirks “You’ll see Chris’s foolish campaign burn to ashes”

Becca nods “Yes we will” She sighs then smiles “We should also include his little whore too”

“Oh yes that’ll really bring it down good idea”

“But daddy don’t do it yet can I handle this”

“Of course”

****

Chris walks into the office his phone buzzes with a text message

Hi there

Chris grits his teeth

What do you want Becca

Oh don’t be like that I just wanna chat say café around 3pm

Why would I go anywhere with you

You will if you care about your precious little Emily

Don’t you dare do anything to her

Then meet me at the café

Chris’s nostrils fare as he stuffs his phone in his pocket Emily walks up to him concern in her face “What’s wrong?”

“Becca wants to meet at a café I don’t want to but she threatened you”

Emily frowns “What’s wrong with her? I’m coming with you”

“No Em I really don’t want anything to happen to you”

“Nothing will I’ll come in disguise and record everything that way if she tries anything we got her red handed”

Chris smiles “Ok detective but so up a little bit after I come in so she doesn’t see you”

“Of course Chris”

They down to the café and Emily immediately spots Becca “Ok Chris you go in you’re all wired up just in case she spots me”

“Thanks Em I love you”

“I love you too now go get her”

Chris walks into the café and Emily waits a bit before she heads in making sure she covers her face

“Chris baby”

“Cut the chit chat and tell me why I’m here we settled everything in our divorce peacefully so why are you so hell bent on bothering me?”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t cheated on me”

“Yes and I own up to that mistake I shouldn’t have done in while we were married”

“You’re damn right now I’ll keep all that and Emily out of the news if you do one thing for me”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to dump her publicly and make sure everyone sees it then you can tell everyone that we got back together and that we’re trying for a baby”

“There’s no way I’m doing that”

“You can and you will I have pictures from your little affair that I’ll release imagine everything worked on crumble such a shame”

Chris clenches his fists “I can’t believe I got married to you biggest mistake of my life”

“No Chris you’re biggest mistake was leaving me and now I’m gonna make you regret it I’m not gonna let you two live happily ever after” She stands “Just think about my offer Chris and let me know what you decided and make it fast I don’t want to wait long” She flips her hair and struts out the café

Chris leans against his chair as he sighs “Did you get all that?”

“I did but does she really have pictures?”

“I wouldn’t put it pass her”

“Well we can’t release this audio without those pictures she can still spread them around and ruin our reputation”

“You’re right we’re gonna need some help to see if she’s lying or not”

Tags: @indiacater @mfackenthal @choicesgodfanatic @the-soot-sprite @darley1101 @jared2612