#she’s been a tiny old woman my entire life
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Well I’ve officially reached the age where time is up for the people I knew as “beloved old celebrity” when I was a child, now haven’t I.
May their memories be for a blessing… and may those who are still around keep being badass ninety-somethings!
#maggie smith#james earl jones#just saw dr jane goodall on the late show urging people to vote#she’s 90#she’s been a tiny old woman my entire life
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I truly cannot overstate just how much I adore Colin Bridgerton as a male love lead, and how important his story is, in particular in a current, modern reading. We live in a time of alpha male machismo that in many ways mirrors the sexism of the historical time period Colin is in, and we have a hero who explicitly rejects it. More than that, we have a hero who first tries on the persona, first tries to fit in, and then determines, with no outside influence and all on his own, that it's wrong. That he doesn't want to be like the men of his society, that he doesn't like the expectation of sex without love and commitment and connection, that he doesn't want to be 'one of the boys', even if it comes at their derision.
Because when Violet says he has always been her most sensitive child, when he has always considered others before himself, when he has always offered a joke or a moment of levity- for so long, he felt he had to. That there was no other choice.
Colin Bridgerton, The Great Pretender, is finally coming into the light.
Take my hand. Come walk with me.
Colin's arc is incredibly clear, and incredibly dear to me. We can track his progress throughout the seasons he has been in, but if we consider his backstory, it comes even more in clarity.
Piecing together a timeline with some influence from the books and loose historical accuracy, Colin loses his father at 12 and then is sent off to Eton. And he is a tiny thing when his father passes, shorter even than his 9 year old sister, Eloise.
(Yes, I checked!! He's half a head shorter than Eloise, and an entire head shorter than Daphne. This boy is SMALL)
So it makes a lot of sense to me that this is the start of his fake-it-to-make-it personality. He cannot grieve with his family in these circumstances, he's been sent off to school with other boys who are bigger and stronger than him, and he must realize relatively quickly that weakness in their eyes will never be tolerated. In fact, Eton was well known for corporal punishment and bullying during this time. Older boys were well known to mistreat the younger once, and considering just how small and soft-hearted Colin is, and just how vulnerable he is having lost his father-
Of course Colin would become a target of such.
And despite that, we meet him in Season 1 with an endearing earnestness and hopefulness in the world. Something inside him, something sweet and gentle and warm, thrives to live. And fights against grief to do so. How easy it would have been for him to lose his father and be bitter. How easy for him to see his father die from the steps of Aubrey Hall, to be sent to a boarding school away, and withdraw in on himself.
And yet, he doesn't.
At least, not in the way one would suspect. Instead, Colin becomes a chronic people pleaser. If the people around him are happy, then he will be safe. Will not be hurt. And they have no space for his own hurt, regardless. There's hardly even any space for his mirth, as most people didn't even reply to his letters on his travels the previous season.
In Colin's confession in Season 3, he says 'I have spent so long trying to feel less', and this numbing begins early in his life. He's a consummate gentleman in Season 1. He does everything by the book, everything as he should. He wants to be accepted in his society, wants to be taken seriously, wants to belong. So he sees a pretty woman, and he gets along with her well enough, and he courts her. Openly, honestly, in full view. It isn't a heart-stopping love, but he has numbed himself for years at this point, so affection will do, and if proper men of his society are married, well, maybe he'd finally be taken seriously.
And yet, no one notices him, even still. No one except Penelope. His own mother doesn't recognize his behavior, and worries for him after she does. How long has it been since she's actually seen him? We know from the show that he's incredibly close to his mother, and loves her dearly, but we also know that after Edmund's passing, Violet was mired in grief and post-partum depression. Colin misses much of this as a firsthand witness since he's at school, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't be able to tell, wouldn't be affected by losing his mother and father in one fell swoop. In fact, Colin loses his connection to the majority of his family in being sent to school so soon after the tragedy. So of course he comes back and he tries not to make waves. Tries to do things correctly.
His friction with Anthony proves time and time again that nothing he does is entirely ever able to fully please him, and this causes contention in their brotherly bond. Of all the siblings, Anthony is arguably the most harsh with Colin. And he is also the model for who a man should be in the family, as the head of the family.
So when Anthony sees Colin earnestly try to marry, he scoffs him off. Accuses Colin of only wanting to marry to have sex, and then claiming "It is my fault. I should have taken you to brothels." This is the first on-screen shaming of Colin looking for connection before sex, and Colin doubles down. He wants to marry for love.
But he doesn't actually love Marina. Neither of them truly know each other, and so when it all blows up, and he is humiliated to the entirety of his community, Colin gets his first taste of romantic failure. He tried to do it right, and it ended more wrong than he could have ever imagined. So, maybe Anthony was right. Maybe he is just a foolish, green boy, who has no idea how to go about things. The fallout of his failed engagement echoes in the persona he puts on in Season 3, and the choices he undergoes during them. Is it any wonder he ends up going to brothels to have unfulfilling sex if even his own BROTHER, the head of his family, tells him to do so?
It doesn't happen right away, though. Despite the fact that no one truly checks on him or sees how this breakup effects him (Eloise dismisses the hurt he must feel in light of such events with an honestly rather accurate wave-away "Men are always less affected", and that is true), it is evident that he is NOT okay.
We leave Colin in Season 1 putting on a mask, a happy face to his family, a 'you inspired me' to Penelope, and then spends his travels sad. Depressed. Taking drugs to try to ease his mind, occupying himself with writing to Penelope. In Season 2, he spends the entirety of it trying to be useful. And he does this with Penelope. He feels deeply for her, he cares so much for her, and he even says it to her aloud 'You are special to me' and 'I will always look after you' and how he could never give her up. Season 2 is a season of healing for Colin- he closes his chapter with Marina with a relationship post-mortum conversation after he does a wellness check to make sure she's alive (let's be real here, no one else was going to reach out to her. She made it clear to him that even her own father didn't want her), makes amends with Will, proves himself useful to Penelope, and departs on a high: he thinks he threaded the needle. He thinks he was successful sending Jack off, that he made Penelope happy, and that he's in with The Boys.
But whilst the person he is around Penelope is genuine, the person he is around these men are not. We know from Season 3 that they don't actually like him. They make snide, underhanded comments toward him, and laugh at him. I stand by the idea that end of season 2 is Fife and Co. laughing at Penelope AND laughing at Colin. They don't care about their friendship, they're teasing him for caring about her so openly, and Colin is protective of the relationship he has with Penelope. So he makes a comment for the boys, and puts on his mask. 'I would never court Penelope Featherington' (look, I'm just like you. I walk like you, talk like you, speak like you) 'Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife' (I am one of you one of you one of you- so why does it feel so hollow?)
He gets, now, his first taste of acceptance from them. They come to him to Mondrich's bar, he repays his slight against him, and he feels he is one of them. (Does he truly *want* to be one of them?) And so when we open Season 3, it's a smooth progression.
Colin is walking the walk and talking the talk, and yet his heart isn't in it. He's not one of these smarmy men, but he mimics them. Their behavior. In part, at least. Whilst Fife is out preying on 18 year old women in coat closets, Colin is telling gaggles of girls how pretty they are and how with such nice dresses, they're sure to find a husband. He makes it clear he's not an option, but that he doesn't mind being a fantasy. And Luke Newton does an amazing job making that clear: there are three sides of Colin. The Colin portrayed to his society in the light in good company (1) and the Colin portrayed to his society in the dark, in. . .less savory circles (aka: The Lads)(2), his 'armor' as his mum calls it. And finally, the most important but the one kept closest to the chest: the Colin of truth. The Colin who cries alone in his room after a breakup, the Colin who doesn't burden others with his feelings, the Colin who writes to Penelope, the Colin who loves deeply and feels deeply.
But his society has no use for a man like the real Colin, they do not *want* a man like real Colin, so he puts it under lock and key. And so much of this is centered around his feelings about sex, so here comes my 'Colin is Queer' soapbox. Colin does not experience sexual attraction like the rest of the men of the ton. He is expected to find it casual and be cavalier about it. To just want to fuck for the sake of fucking. But Colin needs love and romance and connection to actually enjoy sexual interactions. Nowadays, we recognize this as being on the asexual spectrum, of being demisexual, but he didn't have words for that in the time period he's in, so he has to forge ahead to figure himself out without a community identity to find solidarity with. That's what makes the brothel scenes so interesting as a narrative device: in the first, he's masking even in the midst of it, and in the second, he can't. After kissing Penelope, he finally, for the first time in his life, has a sexual interaction that means something to him.
It's the first one he truly enjoys, and the first one that feels right to him. It clicks for him that oh, that's what it's meant to be like. And the strain of that realization whilst still having to be what his society expects of him puts immense stress on his shoulders. You see how he grows more and more uncomfortable about the conversations, until finally he rejects it outright.
Even when it's very much not encouraged for him to do so. He's even told "You are much more fun this season." That's why he hides himself. From near everyone, even his family, even his brothers. It's telling how Anthony's positive interaction with Colin is when they're at the club, and Anthony praises him for his most recent attention. Have we seen much of Anthony being proud of Colin, otherwise? Not really. So he's reinforced in his persona. Doesn't boast of his travels because it didn't have anyone liking him for it, before. Doesn't even say how many cities he's gone to. Except with Penelope.
In the books, there's a line about their kiss, referencing how his world will never be the same. And it won't be. Because when Colin says that she helps him see the world in new ways, it's in a multitude of meanings.
Penelope refuses to let him wear the mask, because in truth, Penelope is the only one who doesn't like it. Not only does she see the real Colin, but she enjoys the real Colin. Whilst everyone else is simpering over Colin's new look and attitude, rejects who he is in reality, Penelope dismisses it, wants the person she knows him to be instead. It's only when he strips down the facades that Penelope allows him into her life again. And her Whistledown article was harsh, but it was also true. He *is* masking. He *is* putting on a persona and a role. But she was wrong when she asked if Colin even knows which is real: Colin knows very well which is real. And he also knows the realities of him haven't been accepted.
When Colin tells Penelope charm can be taught, he speaks from experience. When he says 'living for the expectations of others is a trap' it is because he has already fallen into it, and if he can't dig himself out, maybe he can keep her from it. Colin tells her 'you do not need lessons' and that she is fine exactly as she is, because just as she sees the real him and loves him, he sees the real her, and loves her, too. But they both live in the constraints of their society, and so they both put on the masquerade. Even sometimes to hide from each other.
The current climax of his arc is when he's out with the lads, after they all go off to the brothel again, and he disassociates from the experience. Playing cards and insisting on sharing sexual exploits, to which he does not want to take part, and makes a lighthearted dig at them. 'There is no gentleman at this table'. He includes himself in that, and then clarifies. He speaks aloud for the first time to them the truth of his heart- 'Do you not ever tire of the expectation to remain cavalier about the one thing in life that holds genuine meaning? Do you not find it lonely?' Can it really only just be him?
And it is. Or, maybe it isn't, but the rest of them aren't brave enough to admit it, so they're okay in making him feel like it is, in outcasting him for being a romantic, for caring about a woman beyond what she can provide for him sexually. Colin professes he doesn't like who he's become, doesn't like the expectations for him to behave the way he has, and they laugh at him. Again. He is made fun of, again.
He goes home and he falls in his bed and he feels like he lost it all. Lost Penelope to his own advice, and lost his newfound shine in his community. But when he's faced with which one matters more to him, he chooses Penelope. Unhesitatingly.
Colin chooses to be sensitive. He chooses to be a warm-hearted, gentle man in a society that prefers sexist machismo. Act one way in the light and another in the shadows. Colin wants to live authentically, as a man he doesn't really have a role model for. He is brave and he is tender, he sees the sexism of his society and he rejects it. He sees the importance Penelope has in his life, the way she makes him feel, and he embraces her wholeheartedly. He wants love and romance, he wants connection and meaning.
Colin, The Great Pretender, sick of pretending. Colin, walking into that ballroom and giving Fife the cut direct when he invites him out. Colin, cutting into a dance in the middle of a ball between Penelope and a man the entire city knows is about to propose. Colin staring deeply into her eyes with such unfiltered longing even *Cressida* can't help but notice what's going on. Colin running off after Penelope in full view of his society, outrunning a *carriage* to see her. Begging her to let him in. Colin on his knees, all but flaying his chest open for Penelope to see his heart. Colin made a choice when that candle flickered out, and his choice was Penelope. His choice was himself. And his choice was to flip off societal expectation and to live for love, damn the consequences.
I think our own world would be a better place if modern men took his example, too. Colin Bridgerton as male love lead in Bridgerton, a global show, is such a refreshing, wonderful example. A man who tried to be like what the world wanted, and who decided to go against the gender norms of his time. A man who prioritizes the woman he loves, who risks ridicule in doing so and comes to realize that he doesn't care. He doesn't care anymore about being one of the boys, one of the lads, one of the guys. Fuck his society if his society can't recognize the beauty of what he feels with Pen. He cares about being the best self he can be. And that best self is around Penelope, inspired by Penelope.
Because how he is with Penelope? God, I could swoon. At every turn, he prioritizes her comfort and personhood. He validates her, he sees her in beautiful, positive light and he helps her see herself that way, too. He encourages her to be brave because he already feels she is, he refuses to let her call herself stupid or a laughingstock, he apologizes without excuses, he checks in on her every step of the way. He's so passionate in that carriage, he's burning for her, he's yearning, but he doesn't do anything until she agrees for him to. He confesses his feelings and when she says they're friends, he backs off. He listens, he cares. He apologizes for overstepping her boundaries, and then when she gives him her consent, the only thing on his mind is showing how much he wants and appreciates her by providing her pleasure. Colin, the people pleaser, dedicated only to pleasing two people in that moment: Penelope, and himself. Because he wants to do that, to give her an orgasm that exists just for her. He's a witness to it, and that's pleasure for him, too. He waits for her nod of consent, he revels in seeing her enjoying herself. And the aftercare- I could cry.
Colin is a man who had every single reason not to be a kind, sensitive soul, and still he chose it. Chose to share it because the headline, even a wallflower can bloom, that's not just for Penelope.
It's for Colin, too.
#colin bridgerton#polin#bridgerton#penelope featherington#i just love him so so much#if colin has 0 fans i've died#i just feel so connected to him as a character i could keep going#like this is SO long and i have more to say#will have to edit later for now have some unfiltered thoughts
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ENTRY #10 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You make my heart do things it's not supposed to do.
contents: arranged marriage!au, teeth rotting fluff, nothing else — wc. 1000
a/n: expect me to drop few entries very quickly because they are all finished in my drafts <3
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It still flustered him.
Satoru never, not once in his 28 years of life, felt more confused, than right now. Why was his heart doing backflips in his chest? He sat there, on the wooden chair frozen and thankful for the furniture that held his weight because if suddenly it’d be taken away, he would collapse to the floor, meet the cold kitchen tiles and melt against them into a puddle of mess. He was there, stuck in time with his head empty and heart racing in his chest, rumbling against the cage of his ribs while you were going about the day without a care and attention to his pathetic state. A state you reduced him to.
It’s been few minutes already and Gojo sat there in silence, watching your back as you were washing fruit in the sink, snacking on the juicy strawberries he grabbed for you earlier that morning — a gesture foreign to his own body but he wanted, for once, to be the person who made you smile and not only experience the effect of someone else’s doing. He woke up earlier that day, before the sun even peaked above the horizon line and with his thoughts racing and stomach full of butterflies, he went on a very special mission.
It was a tiny market, way outside Tokyo but with the loveliest sellers. He found a booth he eyed once when on the job in the area, a stand full of little hand-woven baskets, each of them brimmed with fruit. The strawberries were red, some very bright and some very deep in color, glistening in the early sun with the morning dew that scattered across the surface looked as if little crystals were adorning the harvest. Satoru smiled and the old lady smiled as well.
“How can I help you, young man?” She asked, spreading her arms invitingly and Satoru could tell, by the look of her calloused hands, stained in juice and dirt, she was working hard every day to make a living.
“My wife loves strawberries,” he began, catching himself on the ease with which the word wife left his mouth, “but I don’t know much about picking the best ones. Could you help me with that?”
“You came to the right place, son!”
Just few moments later, Satoru was walking slowly towards his house, after warping back into the city. In his hand, a bag hung hooked over his fingers, full of those little baskets and their contents. He might have gone overboard with the purchase, but the joyful tears that welled in the eyes of that old woman when he paid her for fruit — definitely much more than it was worth according to the prices — he had no regrets. In result he carried the bagful of not only strawberries but also some apples, raspberries and sweet cherries — all of which he was forced to take, despite his initial plans of getting only the red ones you like so much.
“There you are, right on time,” your beautiful, melodic voice greeted him the moment he swung the doors open, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could’ve bought you flowers as well, he planned to do so, but he had to evacuate himself from the grasp of that one seller lady, because as lovely as she was, if he stayed a moment longer, she would pack him her entire harvest of that morning. “I thought you went out earlier, but I made breakfast for you anyway.”
“I went for a little walk,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant and at ease as he could despite the rageful whirl of butterflies in his stomach. Why was he so nervous? “And I bought you these.”
A soft thud barely made itself apparent above the cacophony of clinking plates and cutlery, but it was enough to catch your attention. You looked at him, curious, and somewhat carefully reached into the bag now rested on the kitchen table. Your face brightened up, your eyes glimmered and you smiled — and Satoru could’ve sworn he’s never seen something more beautiful. You reminded him of a child that got a toy it dreamed of. Pure happiness washed over your features and he wondered if it was always that easy to bring joy to your otherwise calm self.
“Oh my god, Satoru–“ you gasped out, fishing out one of the berries and after a short rinse under the water, you popped it into your mouth and melted. He was told by the woman in the market that the type she was growing on her fields was exceptionally sweet, with the right amount of tang and a lot of juice.
“Tasty?” He asked, watching how you savored the flavor with pure pleasure.
They were tasty. He found out himself, because when your lips pressed to his own, he forgot how to breathe and the only things on his mind were the plushiness of your mouth and that sweetness. His body moved on its own, his hands found their place on your hips, pulled you in, as if it was a natural reaction for him to bring you closer.
And then, before he managed to secure his grip on you, you were gone from his proximity, leaving only the lingering taste of strawberries on his lips and a growing confusion.
I love you.
He heard that right, a gentle whisper against his mouth. You said it, this time you said it for sure, this time he was sure the words actually were spoken, not read between lines.
“Sit down, Satoru, eat your breakfast,” you sing-sang happily, as if you didn’t stop the entire globe just now. As if you didn’t just alter the universe he was in, shifting the rhythm of the muscle in his chest permanently. As if you didn’t just tell him you love him.
But he sat down, afraid to not lose his balance and absentmindedly shoved a piece of a pancake into his mouth.
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Blackbird, Fly - One
Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. - You stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet. - ao3
You step off the train carrying every one of your earthly possessions clutched in both hands. In one a carpetbag, only half-full, and in the other, a stack of letters tied together with string. A paltry summary of a very small life, you thought months ago, but today you only see how much room is left over where happiness might take root.
It began with an ad in the paper—Widowed Ranch Owner Seeking Tender Companionship—and a mailing address to a livestock town out in the west. Hans König described himself as Austrian, unusually tall, and fair lonesome in a big ranch house with no woman to make it a home. He’d immigrated to the United States as a child, married very young, had no children, and was forced to watch his first wife perish to consumption.
After two years of mourning, he said in the paper, he finally accepted that she would not want him to live and die alone. And thus, if there were any kind-hearted lady willing to give an old widower a chance, he would promise to take very good care of her.
You’d replied as fast as you could get your hands on paper and pen. The fourth child and only daughter of a tobacco farmer, you hadn’t much else to occupy yourself with. And truly, you hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Proficient in the written word though you were, there was not much else to recommend you. You brought a tiny dowry, skill with a sewing needle, a general knowledge of plants, and mediocre cooking to the bargaining table; he was horse man tried and tested by the challenges of the frontier.
You were under no illusions that you were the most attractive candidate.
Still, you wrote your letter. Described yourself to him as honestly as you could—neither especially pretty nor particularly accomplished, but told by friends and family to be of gentle demeanor and useful intelligence. Forgave him preemptively if he never responded, and wished him the best of luck in his search for a wife.
You’d nearly fainted dead away when his response had arrived as immediately as the next mail wagon. Hans König had addressed you by name, as intimately as if he’d known you for years, and said,
I was very pleased to receive your letter, Miss, and am terribly excited to correspond with you in the future. Although you write that you cannot imagine yourself an appropriate wife for a man of my experience, I myself cannot imagine what more you must need to be such. While I will not do you the discourtesy of making any promises with only my first letter to you, I will tell you truly that I was glad of your introduction, and hope you will grant me the pleasure of knowing you further.
Your whole family had been so excited for his response that Pa had broken out his fiddle after dinner that night, rejoicing already that his little girl’s future was secure.
What followed was a whirlwind half year of romance over letters sent back and forth so fast that you kept running out of ink for your pen. When you’d related this problem to Hans, he’d sent not only an entire box of lampblack ink, but a new steel pen, blotter, and lap desk on which to write.
There is no greater misfortune I can imagine now than to lose the pleasure of your correspondence, he’d written.
Pa had cried that day. Your mother had drawn you close and kissed your hair, whispering a thankful prayer that her baby was going to be alright.
In every letter, Hans demonstrated himself to be a kind man, thoughtful and patient, and as the relationship between the two of you blossomed, you started to believe it yourself. You had long given up on the possibility of marriage, thinking yourself too old and plain by now to offer much to any man worth marrying.
Now you stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet.
There are only a few people milling about the station for you to survey. The surest way to pick Hans out from a crowd, he’d written, was by height. He towered over most people, and expressed hope in an early letter that he would not dwarf you too much.
But as you look around, no one stands out above the rest. In fact, the people here aren’t much different than what you’re used to; their simple dress and slight grubbiness prove them to be working folk, the kind you’d expect in a town like this, stockyards visible from the station. Your kind of people—at least normally.
Anticipating this meeting, you’d put on the best dress you own, a light frock with little printed flowers all over it. Your hair is braided and pinned up as fashionably as you could manage early this morning, and you’d even dabbed a little rouge on your lips for the occasion. As far as you can tell you are the cleanest, best-dressed person in the vicinity, and you notice not a few people openly staring.
The thought would usually make you blanch, but right now you hope it will only help your would-be husband to catch sight of you. You still can’t find him—
“Mrs. König!”
You whip your head in the direction of the call. Relief trickles through you, soothing an anxiety you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge yet, and then you see that stepping onto the platform is the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.
Dark skin, warm as a summer’s day. Lips soft and full like a peach fresh-picked from the tree. A serious brow over serious eyes.
Strong and lean in build, with a loose, confident swagger in his step. He approaches, his large, long-fingered hands coming to rest on the buckle of his belt as comes to stand before you.
Tall, to be sure.
But not unusually tall.
This cowboy—profession evidenced by the worn state of his attire—is not your intended husband.
Something in you falls at that.
Swiftly you berate yourself for the betrayal. Your Hans is gentle, generous, kind. So what if this man before you is attractive? Marriages must be built on more, and Hans has already given you more. His looks shouldn’t—don’t—matter to you at all.
“Not as of yet,”you reply to the cowboy, “but soon. May I help you, sir?”
He fixes you with an intense gaze. Up close, you see thick, dark lashes framing even darker eyes—the color of which, you realize, is as black as fresh-turned soil.
The smell of humus fills your memory, powerfully earthy and fresh, such that you could be on your hands and knees with your face to the ground right now. You feel the phantom of it between your fingers; rich and cool, like at the start of the planting season before the rains. So dark and fine as to live between the grooves of your fingertips for days.
“I’m Kyle Garrick,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m a wrangler for Hans König, miss. He sent me to meet you.”
You blink. The fantasy you’d dreamed up on the train ride—of seeing Hans across the platform, recognizing him instantly, and running into his arms—finally crumbles into dust.
“Oh,” you say.
Kyle Garrick frowns. “You’re disappointed.”
“No!” you exclaim immediately. “No, he must be such a busy man, I couldn’t expect him to drop everything for me.”
The cowboy sucks his lips between his teeth, studying you for a heartbeat, then—“He is busy. Mr. König is finishing preparations for your wedding this evening. That’s why he couldn’t come.”
What disappointment had begun to sprout in your stomach immediately strangles down to the root. Joy surges in your chest like birds taking flight.
“A wedding!”
You didn’t need a wedding, you’d written to him—you were so happy merely to marry him, you couldn’t possibly ask for more. All you needed, you told him, were his hands in yours, promising before God to be your husband for the rest of your lives. You’d meant it, too.
But an actual wedding!
“Biggest the town’s seen in years,” says Kyle Garrick. “Folks haven’t talked about anything else for weeks.”
“Oh!” Then suddenly you despair. “Oh, I’m not dressed at all for a wedding. If I’d known, I would’ve worked on this dress more, I would’ve put my hair up better!”
Kyle surprises you with sudden passion. “You look perfect. You’re the prettiest thing that’s ever come into this train station, miss. This town, even.”
“Oh,” you say again. You flush hot up into the roots of your hair. Embarrassed, you avert your gaze, looking down at his worn roper boots. “I’m not, really. But it’s kind of you to say.”
His hand touches yours, the one holding onto your carpetbag. When you look back up at him, his expression is gentler.
“Mr. König will agree with me,” he says, “I promise.” He eases the handle from your grasp. Up close, he has a comforting smell. Leather, and sweet hay, and campfire smoke.
“You think so?” you ask, tightening your grasp on the letters in your other hand.
He nods. “I do. Now come on—I brought a cart. Let me take you home.”
-
next
#gaz x reader#gaz cod#gaz garrick#gaz call of duty#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz x you#cod mw2#cod x reader#cod x you#blackbird fly#mwritesgaz#madi writes#banged this out in a week in between having to get my car replaced#so if this seems rough that's why#also haven't figured out the formatting so don't be surprised if the header style changes uwu
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Guide Me
Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader
Gentle Hands One Shot
Summary: Natasha is going away on a mission and she wants R to think of her while she's away.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI
note: I wrote this entirely for myself. There's fluff in here too.
w/c: 3.6k
Natasha sat quietly on the couch, her eyes drawn to the scene unfolding in front of her. You were kneeling in front of her, your arms stretched out, your eyes and face reflecting the huge smile you had as you encouraged Brynn to walk.
"Come on, Bubs, come to me," You said. "Come to Mommy."
Brynn was clinging tightly to Natasha's knees, her own tiny, chubby legs wobbling. She gave a little squeal of excitement, almost as if to say "I'm nervous", her determination both endearing and fierce.
"Go to your Mommy," Natasha coaxed, "you can do it, kotik."
Brynn seemed to be encouraged by Natasha's voice, patting her leg before reaching out a hand towards you. Your excitement was palpable, Natasha could feel it radiating off of you, and she was sure Brynn could sense it, too.
"Yeah, that's it, Brynnie," You continued. "I'm right here. I'll catch you."
And then Brynn took her first, tiny, tentative step, the biggest smile on her face.
"Nat," You whispered, looking up at her. "She's walking."
Natasha laughed, her heart filling with happiness, the moment seemingly frozen in time. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, as Brynn navigated the cool hardwood floors. You were only a few feet away from her.
And then Brynn wobbled and fell forward into your arms. There was a moment of quiet cheering as you hugged her to you.
"Good job, baby," You praised. "Kaia, guess what? Your sister just walked to me." You informed your almost three-year-old of her baby sister's milestone.
Kaia giggled, clapping her hands together in delight. "Yay, Brynnie."
Natasha chuckled. Kaia was so like you in many ways. Almost a mini clone. Even down to the dance you two performed in celebration of Brynn's first steps. The baby giggled loudly as you twirled her, blowing raspberries on whatever body part of hers you could reach, as you danced around the living room.
"My turn," Natasha said. "I want to dance with my baby." She stood, holding out her arms in anticipation.
You carefully passed Brynn over, who clung to Natasha.
"Mama," She said.
"Hi, my love." Natasha smiled widely. "I'm so proud of you."
Brynn grinned, reaching for Natasha's hair, and tugging on it gently.
"Ouch, kotik, " Natasha laughed. "That hurts."
Brynn looked concerned, pulling back to look at Natasha.
"No, no, it's okay, sweetheart." Natasha smiled softly, bouncing the baby on her hip. "Just a little tug. But never mind that, you walked." She leaned in, giving Brynn a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek.
Brynn giggled, squirming in Natasha's arms, before laying her head on her shoulder.
"I think she's tired," You said as you scooped Kaia into your arms to twirl her around. "It is almost bedtime." Natasha's heart warmed at the sight. She couldn't believe you were the woman she had once only wanted to protect—a woman who had been through so much, who had needed space to heal. Back then, Natasha hadn't imagined your friendship could turn into anything more. She hadn't let herself imagine it. Sure, she'd found you beautiful—who wouldn't? There had always been a quiet strength in the way you carried yourself, even on the days when your world felt like it was crumbling around you.
But this? A life with you, with Brynn and Kaia? That had seemed like a dream she didn’t know she was allowed to have. And now, Natasha had it. She had all of you.
"You should get them ready for bed, Nat," You said, as Kaia wrapped her arms around your neck, clinging like she always did when bedtime rolled around.
"But, Mama, I want to play with Brynn," Kaia whined, her voice laced with the beginnings of a pout.
"I'm sorry, Solnyshko, but you need to sleep. Come on, kiss Mama goodnight," Natasha said, and Kaia sighed but pressed a sloppy, wet kiss to your cheek. "We'll play tomorrow. You have school, remember?"
"I hate school," Kaia grumbled.
"No, you don't," Natasha chuckled.
"Do so."
"Kaia," You warned, and Kaia stuck out her bottom lip.
"Fine," she grumbled, though there was a softness in her voice now. "But you have to promise two songs before bed." Her eyes gleamed as she stared over at Natasha, knowing exactly how to tug at her heartstrings.
Natasha feigned reluctance, though the smile on her face betrayed her. She held out her pinkie finger to Kaia. "I promise," she said, locking their pinkies together with a gentle squeeze.
"And you have to sing them, not play the music."
"Kaia," You sighed.
"Okay, fine." Natasha laughed.
"You're the best, Mama," Kaia cheered, stretching in your arms to kiss Natasha's cheek and then leaning over to give Brynn one, too.
"How sweet," You murmured, watching them with a smile. Kaia’s pout disappeared instantly, replaced with a satisfied grin as she slipped out of your arms and shuffled toward the bedroom. "I'll catch up on dishes while you handle these two." You offered.
"You've done enough already," Natasha insisted. "I can wash the dishes."
"It's alright, I'll get them," You replied, brushing off her protest. "Besides, I want us to have tonight together before bed."
"I'll put Brynn to bed, and then I'll meet you in the bedroom," Natasha decided, and you nodded, making your way into the kitchen. Natasha watched you go, unable to help the smile that came to her lips. God, she loved you.
By the time Natasha stepped out of Brynn’s nursery, the house was quiet—save for the soft clinking of dishes being washed in the kitchen. She had promised herself she would come to bed after putting the kids down, but when she saw you moving around the house, still tidying up, she paused in the hallway. You had already done so much—cleaning up the toys in the living room, starting another load of laundry, and now finishing up the dishes that she had insisted on taking care of herself.
Natasha leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment. There was something peaceful about the way you moved, even in the mundane tasks. She loved how you always wanted to keep the home you had together running smoothly, even when you were tired. But it also made her heart ache a little. You did so much, often more than you needed to, always giving, always caring.
Quietly, Natasha made her way over to you, her footsteps soft on the kitchen floor. You didn’t hear her at first, too focused on rinsing the last of the plates, but the warmth of her presence behind you made you pause.
"You’ve done enough for tonight," Natasha murmured, slipping her arms around your waist from behind and resting her chin on your shoulder. "I thought we agreed we'd have time together."
"I was just cleaning up." You shrugged, letting the water from the faucet run over your hands for a moment. "You were busy with the kids. It's fine."
"It's not fine," Natasha said gently. "You do so much, and I appreciate everything, but I want you to relax."
"I'm used to taking care of things, Nat."
"I know," Natasha replied. "And I love that you are."
"I don't mind," You said, turning off the water and leaning back against her.
"But I do," Natasha replied. "Let me take care of you for once."
"Natasha," You sighed, but Natasha was already tugging you away from the sink. You turned into her arms, closing your eyes in pure delight when she kissed your lips. Her kiss was soft and slow, making your heart race. When you pulled away, your smile was wide, your cheeks a bit flushed, and Natasha thought you looked absolutely beautiful.
"I love you," She whispered, pulling you closer and brushing her nose against yours. "You mean so much to me. I wish I could show you how much."
"You do, Nat. More than you know." You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss her again, a little harder this time, your teeth grazing her bottom lip. "Though I do love how affectionate you're being, why do I get the sense you're about to tell me bad news?"
"I don't think it's bad, necessarily." Natasha shrugged even as her hands continued to roam your waist. Lovingly, of course, no ulterior motives there. "It's just, I got an assignment."
"Oh," You said, your expression falling.
"I leave in two days," She explained.
"How long will you be gone?"
"Three weeks."
"And you won't tell me where?" You guessed.
"I can't," Natasha said. "It's a matter of national security."
"I understand." You nodded.
"But," Natasha added, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. "When I get back, I'm not leaving the country for a long time."
"Is that a promise?" You teased, even though your chest was heavy with worry.
"That's a promise," Natasha replied, leaning in to kiss you again.
"How are you going to break it to the girls?" You asked. "You know Kaia has hard drop-offs at school whenever you leave."
"I have some ideas," Natasha said, "I'll have Wanda and Pepper take turns visiting. They can keep Kaia and Brynn distracted."
"Okay," You replied.
"Hey," Natasha whispered, her eyes searching yours with that intensity she always had when she needed you to feel her presence, her sincerity. Her thumb gently stroked your cheek as she leaned in closer. "I know it's hard. Believe me, I hate leaving you and the girls. But I'll come back. Always."
You swallowed, your heart feeling heavier despite her soft reassurances. It wasn’t just about her leaving for the mission—it was the way Kaia would cry at drop-offs, the way Brynn would ask for “Mama” with big, confused eyes, not understanding why Natasha wasn’t there. And as much as you tried to be strong for them, there was always a part of you that felt empty when she was gone.
"I know you will," you whispered, forcing a small smile. "It's just... three weeks is a long time."
Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, before her lips brush your temple. "I’ll make it up to you," she murmured, her voice low, comforting. "To all of you. When I get back, it’s just us. I’ll take a break—no missions, no assignments. We'll do whatever you want. I’ll even take Kaia to her soccer shots classes every week."
You laughed softly at the last part, shaking your head. "She loves those."
"I know," Natasha smirked. "But she's getting a little better at kicking the ball, and I'd like to see it."
You could hear the truth in her voice, feel it in the way she held you like she never wanted to let go. But the reality of her job was always there, lurking in the background, pulling her away when you needed her most. Still, you nodded, trying to push the worry aside, even if only for tonight.
"Okay," you said softly, resting your head against her chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. "But you’re the one telling Kaia in the morning. I’m not dealing with that meltdown alone."
Natasha chuckled, holding you tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Deal."
You held her tightly, breathing her in, committing this moment to memory, knowing that no matter how much she assured you that she'd be back, there would always be a part of you that was worried she wouldn't.
"I'm going to miss you," Natasha began, her voice soft and laced with sincerity. She kissed your lips again. An apology.
"I'm going to miss you too," you replied, your heart aching at the thought of her being away. "More than you know."
"I'll call every day," she promised, her hands tracking your back under your shirt. "Or as much as I can."
"I'd like that," you replied, kissing her once more.
"It'll go by fast," Natasha said. "Before you know it, I'll be back home with you, and we'll finally have a few weeks to ourselves."
"It's hard for me when you leave," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Your side of the bed gets cold. I don't have anyone there to hold me. To kiss me." You're laying it on thick. "It's hard not having someone there to—"
"Stop it," Natasha said, and you smirked, pulling back slightly to look at her.
"Stop what?" You asked, playing innocent.
"You're not being very subtle. If you're trying to make me change my mind about leaving, it won't work. But the other part..." Natasha grinned. "You have ways to care for yourself while I'm gone."
"I know," you said, your tone softening, a smile creeping onto your lips. "but..."
"But what?" Natasha inquired. "Hmm?"
"I've never actually done that,"
"Wait. Really? You've never touched yourself before?"
You shook your head. "Never needed to."
"So you're telling me you're a virgin in that department." Natasha smiled. "This is news to me."
"Nat, don't tease." You pushed her away gently.
"Come here." Natasha pulled you back in. "I'll show you what to do," She promised. "I'll make sure you feel good. Better than good. Amazing. The best orgasm of your life."
"You make big promises," You raised a brow.
"You've had better?" She scoffed.
"No," You shook your head. "I've just never felt the need or the desire to do it."
"So you have no idea what to do?" Natasha questioned, and you nodded, a little shyly. "What is it, baby?" She asked, tipping your chin up gently, so you were looking into her eyes. "Don't be shy."
"I just—I've always been a little repressed with sex," You explained, avoiding her gaze. "I mean we've talked about it before. I'm a woman with two kids. I'm no virgin Mary. There's still so much I haven't explored and I can't help but think how inexperienced I am."
"Hey, look at me," Natasha said softly, cupping your cheek. "There's no rush to explore everything at once, but I'll be more than happy to guide you. In fact, I'm honored."
"You're sweet," You whispered, and Natasha smiled.
"Come on," She said, pulling you towards the bedroom. She closed the door behind th both of you and got to work setting up pillows and a small area in front of the six-foot mirror you'd insisted on having in here.
"Now, I'm not saying it's going to happen right away," Natasha began, pulling you into her arms and peppering kisses on your neck. "But if you'd like me to teach you the ropes, I'd be more than happy to."
"I'd say yes to anything you offer," You whispered to her as you sat in front of her. She instructed you to take your pants off while she did the busy work of unbuttoning your blouse.
"Are you comfortable?" She asked and you nodded, pulling her closer, craving her body heat and the comfort her touch offered.
"Tell me if you want to stop," Natasha began. She gently coaxed your legs open, admiring the wet spot already forming, as she leaned her head against yours. "You don't know how sexy you are like this."
"In a nursing bra and Wednesday panties even though it's Friday?" You joked.
"Especially in that," Natasha murmured. "You always look so good to me, baby." Natasha kissed your neck.
"Touch me," You whispered.
"We're getting there, beautiful," She promised, her hand sliding up and down your thigh. You sighed, closing your eyes. You knew Natasha would make you feel good, and would make this experience pleasurable and enjoyable. "But tonight you're doing all the work. Just follow my voice." She instructed as she trailed her hands along your body.
"Take off your panties," Natasha whispered, and you obeyed. Your hand hovered over the waistband of your panties, hesitating. "Are you nervous?"
"A little," You admitted, taking a deep breath.
"You're gorgeous, Y/n."
"You make me feel that way."
"Good. Because it's true." She replied, pulling her hands away. "Take your time."
You slowly slid the underwear down your legs, biting your lip nervously.
"I'll start, and then you can take over," Natasha said.
"What are you going to do?" You asked.
"You'll see." She replied. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah," You said, nodding, feeling a rush of anticipation run through your body.
She began by stroking your belly, moving to cup your breasts and toy with your nipples.
"Do you like that?"
"Yeah," You nodded.
"How about this?" She murmured, her hands running over your hips. You moaned, arching into her touch.
"Mhmm," You cursed, feeling yourself get wetter.
"What else would you like me to do?"
"Just talk to me, please."
"Talk to you about what, baby?" She whispered, her voice sending a shiver down your spine.
"Anything. I just want to hear your voice," You whimpered.
"I can do that."
Natasha's hands trailed along your inner thighs, her fingertips teasing your folds."I want you to use your fingers, just one," She began. "Feel around for that spot that feels good."
You hesitated for a moment, feeling shy.
"It's okay," Natasha whispered. "I'm right here. Do whatever feels good, baby."
You slid your fingers down between your legs, tentatively over your slit, before you pressed it between your lips. You were familiar with your own anatomy enough to find your clit. Your eyes widened slightly at the pleasure, the intensity, as you rubbed it gently.
You bit your lip, closing your eyes at the immediate pleasure, as you leaned your head back against her shoulder. Having her there as a source of support felt even better.
"Open your eyes, baby," Natasha instructed. "Look in the mirror."
You obeyed, your eyes meeting her's in the reflection.
"That's it, Y/n," Natasha murmured. "See how beautiful you look like this? With your legs spread open for me, your pussy soaking wet and waiting for me. You're perfect, Y/n."
"I want to go inside," You whispered. "Can I?"
"Of course," Natasha whispered. "Put one finger in."
You slowly eased a finger into yourself, whimpering at the sensation.
"How does it feel?"
"Good," You gasped. "But I don't know if it's enough."
"Try adding another," She instructed, and you obliged.
"Ah, fuck," You moaned, arching up into your hand.
"That's it, baby. Feel yourself, feel what you do to yourself," She whispered, her hands still stroking your inner thighs.
"Feels so good," You panted. Natasha used her hand to slow you down.
"Not yet," She kissed the side of your head. "I want you to enjoy this. I want you to think about me. How good I make you feel. Imagine your fingers are mine. Fucking you."
You groaned, the pleasure overwhelming, as you moved slower, taking your fingers in and out.
"Natasha," You whispered.
"Shh," She kissed the side of your head.
"I'm close," You whined.
"I know," She smiled. "But you have to wait."
"But why," You whimpered.
"Because it's better when I say so," She explained. She raised her hand, gently rubbing your breasts, careful not to be too rough. Though you do think about how much you would like it. "You're such a good girl for me."
"Nat," You whined, thrusting faster, as she held you closer.
"You're close, baby," She whispered, her fingers finding your nipples, gently tugging them.
"Please, Natasha, I'm so close."
"Tell me what you want," She demanded.
"Bite me," You tilted your neck for easier access. "Mark me. Please."
Natasha growled as she sunk her teeth into your neck, the pain and pleasure mingling together and making you moan. She sucked on the mark she had made, her hands roaming your body. You could feel your pussy clench around your fingertips.
"Fuck," You cried, your back arching.
"Cum, baby. Come for me," She commanded, and you obeyed, moaning loudly, as your orgasm crashed through your body, your muscles contracting.
"That's it," She soothed, holding you tightly, her hands caressing your sides. "Such a good girl for me."
You collapsed back into her embrace, breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat covering your skin.
"I don't know how you do that to me." You panted, your voice low and sated.
"Because I love you." She replied, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"I love you too," You sighed, leaning back into her arms, as she stroked your hair. "Thank you."
"Of course, baby," She whispered, smiling at the sleepy expression on your face. "I want you to feel good when I'm not home. I want you to make yourself feel good."
"Thank you," You mumbled.
"You haven't taken your fingers out," Natasha pointed out.
"I haven't," You nodded.
"Is it good?"
"Yes."
"Are you ready to go again?"
"Not right now," You shook your head, closing your eyes. "I like being filled."
"Alright," Natasha chuckled.
"Can we just cuddle?"
"We can do whatever you want," Natasha replied. "Though we need to talk about the comment you just made."
"About being filled?" You questioned.
"Yeah," Natasha replied.
"Well, I like the feeling. And I'd like to feel more."
"Oh really," Natasha smirked. "How much more?"
"However much more you're willing to give." You kissed the part of her chin you could reach. "I do not doubt that if possible, I'd be pregnant by now."
"I'd love that," Natasha murmured. "Filling you with my cum and watching it leak out of you. Stretching you."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" You smiled.
"Very much so," Natasha kissed the top of your head.
"Would you want to be on top or should I?" You asked, opening your eyes.
"You can." Natasha offered.
"But I don't know what I'm doing," You protested.
"Trust me. I'll walk you through it."
"You always do," You sighed. "I'm so glad I met you. The way you love me."
"Me too, baby," Natasha said. "You make me so happy."
"And you make me happy."
#natasha romanoff#black reader#natasha x reader#black widow x reader#black widow x female reader#natasha romanov
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Long live the queen. (Yan!Queen x Reader)
Masterlist
Synopsis: A queen is nothing without her lover.
Queen Nia x Reader
Warnings: Forced marriage, abuse of power, violence (not against reader), not edited.
(Set years before Gen and Grim.)
Being the Queen right hand was never easy. But being her beloved wasn’t any easier.
Queen Nia has been ruler of Xelera since she was 16 years of age. However due to tradition she still hasn’t shown her face to the public, or any part of her to begin with. Any of her decrees were announced via the Board of Chiefs. The Xeleran tradition calls for a queen to be crowned at age 30, so a young princess cannot show her face until her coronation at 30. And in regard for princesses crowned before 30, they still were not allowed to show themselves.
Stupid old tradition no one really cared for since every queen was crowned at the perfect age. Except Nia, whose parents were brutally assassinated during some announcement, forcing Nia to take to the throne and own up to her responsibilities at a young rebellious age.
She liked this tradition. Only to use it to her advantage and sneak out of the palace and seek her favorite person. You. Her loved one. You were a servant, but you had the night shift, where you assisted residents and nobles whenever one called for you from 8 pm to 5 am, excluding anything sexual of course. That was a different type of servant and they don’t work nights due to how aggressive nobles can get by then.
There were two sections of her large palace, a section for the public and any noble visitors (Named Pulica), and a section for Nia, a carefully selected team of servants to tend to her, and a few guards (Named Khas). So, when Nia got too bored of her life as queen at age 20, she decided to sneak off into Pulica or even outside the palace entirely and cause some form of mischief with some rando.
But as she finally slinked her way into Pulica, ready to head to the gates exiting the palace she bumped into someone. Ready to flee back to her cozy room, but instead she had her breath stolen right out of her. She was looking at the most attractive person she has seen! And instead of appreciating her beauty as much as she did with you. They just dusted themselves off, bowed deeply, apologized and asked if she needed any assistance.
When she slowly shook her head no, still stunned, you smiled brightly at her. “My name is Y/n, please call for me if you need anything, esteemed guest.” Nia felt incredibly ashamed when she stuttered when telling you her name, how dare you fluster the queen to the point of stuttering. The queen was above that, but of course to preserve her identity she didn’t say any of this outloud.
Since then she would seek you out for entertainment during late nights, you’d stay up with her and play games, paint, knit, whatever hobby Nia felt like participating in that night. The more Nia spent with you she realized how perfect you were for her. So cute, so obedient, so indulgent in her needs. That was your job. That was because you loved her.
There came one night where she went off to your designated shift area. Nia could not find you, she kept seeing this other servant rather than you. So eventually pulling herself up by her big girl boots she approached them, demanding to know where you had gone. “Y/n? My apologies however they’ve been switched to the day shift.” She raged that night. Her room was in disarray, she looked like a complete mess, and she demanded answers from the Chief of Management.
Nia had threatened the answers right out of their throat. They confessed to coming to know of her late night activities from a few gossiping servants talking about how some random woman would only appear at night to take up a certain servant’s time. The chief confessed to changing your schedule so Nia can prioritize her time on her duties. Nia saw red, she never saw herself as the aggressive type, not at all, but something completely possessed her at that moment.
Her tiny 5’4 frame somehow manages to beat the shit out of them, to the point where the big bad Chief of Management ended up on the floor, lying in the fetal position. Nia beat them black and blue, her hands, clothes, and face covered in blood she fired them immediately after. And the first time Nia has ever done any real work since she’s been crowned was to get you back to your old shift.
The next day there was a lot of discussion on who will be the new Chief of management throughout Khas, Nia’s mind, however, was set on you. So, she just picked the first candidate her Board of Chiefs suggested and started getting herself ready and pretty for her beloved.
Years pass as you two keep meeting up at night, you admittedly had fallen for her at one point due to her charm. However, you thought she would never like you back due to her social status, so you moved on. It may have taken a while to move on but you did! It was far easier since you only saw her at nights and she hardly accepts leaving the palace for a night out.
It was always odd for you how she was against leaving palace grounds but you eventually came to the conclusion that she must be the queen’s right hand maid. Those servants aren’t allowed off palace grounds, out of Khas in general, which might be why she only comes out at night. There were a few times you two ended up outside the palace and in the city but Nia would spend a lot of her time looking behind her in paranoia.
5 years left until her coronation and Nia was being pressured to look at suitors to rule her kingdom right beside her. Of course none of them are allowed to meet or see her, most of these suitors were chosen by the board from what they already know from past diplomatic meetings. Nia couldn’t care whose picture and portfolio she was presented. She was bratty, she didn’t want anyone other than you.
While the Board of Chiefs at the time were sick of how snotty she was about you, they realized there would be no way she’d ever marry if it wasn’t you. So they accepted it, they allowed her to propose to you and marry as soon as time will allow it.
Nia was overjoyed! Years of tantrums and abuse of power finally worked! She has you completely to herself! Bingo! It was quite a sight to see a 25 year old Queen dance and jump around in joy. She then ignored all her duties (as usual) and pampered and made herself pretty for you, she put on her prettiest dress, her best makeup, her cutest jewelry.
That night was special for her. So special, and it’ll be special for you too! Whether you liked it or not. You denied her at first but she knew that it was just because you were scared to be ruler. It’s okay, she will teach you and assist you along the way! Or you two can throw your duties onto other people, as she normally does, and go out and have fun! Nia will ensure your complete happiness.
Nia did not take no for an answer, she guessed you’d be too nervous to accept the Queen as your wife so she had guards follow her until she called for them. And when she did that she commanded them to take hold of you and send you off to Khas, where you two shall spend eternity together, forever.
It was quite a sight, you trying to refuse to sign the contract that will forever bind you to the psycho you called a friend, and Nia threatening to execute your friends and family publicly. With no other choice, you reluctantly signed, making her swear not to hurt your loved ones.
Nia made sure to emphasize that there was no escape. If you do try to escape she will execute someone in your family, and every attempt to escape will end in the death of an innocent life. You were stuck. Forever Queen Nia of Xelera’s arm candy.
#x reader#yandere x reader#oc x reader#yandere x darling#gn reader#yandere#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#Female yandere#female yandere x reader#fem yandere#fem yandere x reader
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Arrowhead Jr ||One Shot
New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!
Summary: Daryl has baby fever
This was a request on my old blog: "ever since i saw daryl holding baby judith ive dreamt about him having absolute baby fever w reader and after babysitting him pestering reader about one?"
18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: Profanity, birth, babies, mostly fluffy
"Check this out." Daryl said excitedly, holding up a camo onesie he found. You were on a small run with a few others in search of some new clothes for little Judith, since she had outgrown most of the ones she had.
"This is for newborns." You told him, taking the tiny outfit out of his hands.
"I know.." He shrugged, taking it back and setting it down.
"Oh, god. Don't start." You begged. "Not again."
You had been with him since the prison, after Woodbury fell. You were one of the many refugees Rick had taken in after the town fell apart, and the archer took a liking to you from the beginning. You guessed it was partially due to your friendship with his morally-gray brother before his unfortunate passing, but it was mostly just because you were you. He loved you for it. However, recently, with the safety of Alexandria's walls, he somehow caught one of the scariest diseases; Baby Fever. Especially after the two of you spent a day watching her so Rick could work and Carl could go do normal teenager things for a change.
"Not startin' nothin." He mumbled.
"No, but you're doing that thing again!" You argued.
"What?" He shrugged.
"That! The sad face and the--"
"That place is perfect." He explained. "The--"
"I know, I know. The big walls and the pretty houses and the people and the--"
"I see you with Judith. I see how you look at her, how you rub her nose to get her to fall asleep and all them lil songs ya sing when she cries."
"So what are you saying?"
"Just that we could." He admitted.
"Just 'cause we could doesn't mean we should." You sighed
"I know that, it's just... I wanna."
"Well that's easy to say when you don't have to carry and birth a child to get one."
"Forget it." He huffed.
The rest of the trip was in silence, and not the comfortable kind you so often shared. You were both frustrated. Him, because ever since he held Judith for the first time, when he fed her that first meal she ever had and felt the rush of nurturing a crying, sweet little baby, a hole formed inside him and it grew bigger every day. He never could have seen himself as a family man before that moment, but ever since, it was a primal urge he couldn't resist. To love a woman, to father a child, to protect and provide for his own family. He had already achieved finding a woman worth his affections, which was you, of course, but he still didn't have his own family and it ate him up.
Your frustrations were sourced elsewhere, though. For one, giving birth sounded absolutely terrifying, especially in a world lacking in hospitals, epidurals, prenatal and postpartum care. You could handle a fair amount of pain, but birth was an entirely different playing field. Not to mention the risks. You had heard what happened to Judith's mom. How could you risk that? How could he expect you to? And that was just the tip of the iceberg. What kind of world would this be for a child? What kind of life would it have? Alexandria was always too good to be true, and sooner or later something would happen, and you'd all be running for your lives again. It was only a matter of time, to you. To be pregnant would mean no more runs, no more fighting, none of the things that made you useful. You'd just be a big burden with swollen ankles.
You didn't speak when you all arrived back home, or during dinner, or after. It wasn't until you went to take a shower, until you had already stripped down and stepped into the steamy stream of water. He had silently snuck into the bathroom, undressed, and surprised you by pulling the curtain aside and joined you. You had your back turned to him, allowing the water to rush over you and wash away your racing thoughts. He grabbed the bar of soap and lathered it in his hands until he was satisfied, then he began to wash you. You loved when he did that, it was one of your favorite affections he'd show. He always started by massaging your neck and shoulders, then your back, then your arms, and he'd turn you around and work on the front. With little explanation needed, that was his favorite part.
"Can we at least think about it?" He finally asked, eyes and hands stationed on your bare skin as you watched his face.
"We can think about it all we want but it doesn't change anything."
"But this place is safe. And there's a doctor here. And-- Hell, this house alone is more than either of us could've given a kid before the world turned to shit." He argued. You sighed.
"I just can't shake the feeling that none of this is permanent." You confessed. He stopped washing you for a moment, considering your concerns.
"What else?" He asked.
"What else what?"
"The other reasons. What else?"
"This place could fall."
"Don't mean it will."
"The doctor could die."
"I'll make sure he don't."
"There could be complications."
"That's what the doctor's for."
"I can't help on runs or fight or--"
"Got plenty of people that can do that."
You took a breath. Was he gonna have a rebuttal to each argument you made?
"Well," you said, "pregnancy makes us crazy."
"You're already crazy." He smirked. You rolled your eyes.
"What about medicine? Epidural? You need and anesthesiologist for that and we don't have that which means I'll feel everything and it's gonna hurt!" You rambled. His smirk grew into an amused grin. "What?" You scoffed.
"You're scared." He said.
"So what if I am? I should be. You should be. I could die. The baby could die. It could die down the line when we can't protect it--"
"Now you just insult me. I'd never let a damn thing happen to you or that kid." He snapped. You gritted your teeth together.
"You can't control everything. What about childbirth? Women died during birth when there were teams of doctors and surgeons. What about now?"
"You wont." He shook his head.
"Why would you want a baby with me anyways?" You groaned. "I don't even like kids!"
"Now that's just lyin' to yourself, darlin'."
"Is not!"
"Might've been able to convince me if you never let me see you with Lil Ass Kicker, but you're a natural."
"Jesus. Are you gonna give our baby weird nicknames too?" You asked as the two of you switched sides in the shower so you could was him too.
"Our baby?" He repeated. You eyes widened.
"Hypothetically." You corrected. "Our maybe, hypothetical, improbable baby."
"Nah, I was thinkin' Arrowhead Jr for ours."
You couldn't help it, you laughed.
"You're insane." You shook your head, massaging his shoulder with the suds.
"Look," he sighed. "I'm not gettin' any younger and I want a family. I already got the girl, now I need the girl to have my babies."
"Babies?!" You gawked. "How many do you expect me to have? I'm not a damn fetus factory I can't just spread my legs and pop them out on a fucking conveyor belt."
"I was thinkin' two."
"Two." You repeated, hoping that hearing the word from someone else would wake him up, maybe make him understand how ludicrous he sounded.
"Mhm."
Guess not.
"Two!" You said again. "Two babies that you want me to grow and birth."
"Yep."
"Do you know what you're asking me to do?"
"Yeah." He said, turning around to face you. "I'm askin' you to be the mother of my kids and spend the rest of your life with me."
"Um, the rest of your life. Women live longer than men, statistically speaking."
"Then think about it. Make the rest of my life mean somethin'."
"Ugh." You growled. You really weren't going to win this one, no matter how hard you fought. "If you wanted kids so bad why didn't you find someone who had the same goal?"
"Don't want no one else. Just you."
"And a kid."
"Two kids."
"Let's start with one." You relented.
He grabbed your face as soon as you spoke the words and kissed you excitedly.
"Better start workin' on it then." He said, lifting you off the ground and pressing your back to the wall. Things only got steamier from there, and not because of the hot shower.
----
"Shit!" You whispered, staring down at the third test you'd taken. "Shit shit shit shit!"
To say it was panic would be an understatement. It was sheer terror. You guessed you knew this was coming but you weren't ready for it yet. The only solace you found was the fact that Daryl would be home soon, and you'd get to see his face light up when you handed him not one, not two, but three positive pregnancy tests.
He came home shortly after you wiped your tears and pulled yourself together. You were in the kitchen making him a pot of coffee, one that you'd usually share. Yet another thing you wouldn't be able to do for the next nine months.
You heard the door open, you heard him kick his boots off and set them by the door, and you heard him greet you as he entered the kitchen.
"Hey." He said casually as you turned to hand him a steamy mug of black coffee, just how he liked it.
"Hey." You replied, sitting down at the table across from where he took his usual seat. He gave you a weird look when he sat down. He could read you like an open book, and there was very obviously something going on with you that day.
"No coffee?" He asked, taking a sip of his own. You shook your head. "You okay?" You shrugged. "Talk to me." He said.
You decided to let him see for himself as you failed to form the words. You were terrified for a lot of reasons, but most of all your pride wouldn't let you say the words, because as much as you hated to admit it, you were also happy. You were happy to make him happy, and you were excited to have someone else to love.
You reached in your pocket and set the first test on the table. He stopped blowing on his coffee and stared at it for a moment before looking back to you. Then, you set the second one down. He pushed his eyebrows together, either out of confusion or shock, you weren't sure. Then you slapped the third test down beside the first two. He set his coffee down and stood, leaning over them to examine them. You realized he probably didn't know what a single line versus a double line meant, so you gave him a second to read the tests before he reacted.
The second it hit him it showed. His head snapped up at you, eyes wide.
"F'real?" He asked quietly. You nodded once and he rushed over to your side, gripping your cheeks between his hands and kissing you over and over and over. You couldn't help but chuckle as you tried to push him back.
"Oxygen, Daryl!" You giggled. "The baby needs to breathe!"
"C'mon. We gotta go tell Carol. And Rick. And Glenn. And Maggie." He rambled on and on, adding names as they popped in his head while he pulled you to your feet and ushered you to the door.
"Daryl!" You protested. "Wait I need shoes!"
---
You could barely hear Carol as she coached you through pushing with each contraction. The pain was insane and Daryl's hand was probably broken after you had been squeezing it so hard. Denise, the new doctor after Rick may or may not have killed the last one, was also talking you through, sending encouraging words as the baby's head made an entrance.
"Okay. Breathe. Breathe. One more big push." Carol cooed to your right as Daryl encouraged you from the left.
"C'mon, (Y/N), you're kickin' ass." He said. Admittedly he spent most of the time it took you to get to this point silent, shock written all over his face. He had no idea how to help you through this, he realized, but he fed off Carol's energy and began to give small words of encouragement when he heard Denise say she could see the baby's head.
When the next contraction hit, you screamed in agony, pushing with all your might, just like Carol told you.
"It's just like doing a sit up."
You could feel when the baby was out, but you were so exhausted your head just fell back on the pillow as you caught your breath. It wasn't until you heard the baby cry that you looked down at Denise to see her wiping the baby clean and wrapping it in a blanket. She walked over and set the baby down on your chest. "Skin to skin contact is important." She told you, before looking over to Daryl. "For you too, if you want to take your shirt off."
Daryl was too stunned, just watching in awe as you stared down at your crying newborn baby with admiration. It took him a minute, and a little nudge from Carol who had walked over to his side, before he snapped out of it and leaned in close to you. He got a good look at the baby before he asked, "Boy or girl?"
"Boy." Denise smiled. She was ecstatic, having successfully aided in the birth of your child.
"We have a son." Daryl laughed, although it was more of a happy cry. He wiped a tear from his eye as he stood up and removed his shirt, holding his arms out in hopes you'd let him hold his boy.
"Yeah, we do." You grinned, giving your baby a kiss on the head before you passed him over to his father. Daryl was breathless as he scooped the infant into his arms, bouncing him and whispering sweet nothings.
"Hey, little Arrowhead." He laughed. He had called him that for the entire pregnancy.
"I was thinking about naming him (name of your choice). What do you think?" You asked.
He nodded and kissed little (baby name).
"Hey, (baby name). I'm your daddy."
#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon#twd daryl#the walking dead daryl#daryl fanfiction#daryl x reader#daryl twd#daryl x female reader
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sex therapy :: 29. karma's a bitch
chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. naoya's anger issues continue. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. mentions of physical violence. family drama.
word count: 3.2k
notes: my sixty-hour work weeks have been taking a huge toll on me, so i apologize for this incredibly slow update. the good news is that i cannot take this corporate america bullshit anymore and will resign in the next two months. thank you for being patient! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo
fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.
Naoya had never felt this humiliated in his entire life.
When people said karma was a bitch, he never thought that it would actually make its way back to him. While he was not the most righteous person in the world, he was the Zenin CEO, for god’s sake! He was the leader to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, the heir of a centuries-old bloodline.
Yet, here he was, charging back to his apartment like an irate animal.
He startled the lobby doormen upon his loud entry, and once he returned to his penthouse, he had to will every muscle in his body not to tear apart his abode in a rampage.
In his head, his encounter with Toji looped like a broken record, fueling his chagrin.
When Naoya sought to confront his cousin for the first time in months, he thought he had been prepared. He did not expect to end up digging himself into a deep hole surpassing the world's layers due to a judgment error—a slight miscalculation.
Correction: this miscalculation was anything but 'slight' because he wildly underestimated what felt like everything. Now, he bore the consequences of his mistakes after inadvertently turning himself into a laughingstock. Because his ego was his hamartia, he had become a mere jester in a story where he was meant to be the sole hero, and thus his ill feelings burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.
As much as he hated to admit this, Naoya had been shortsighted. He should have known better. Just weeks ago, he saw a vision filled with saccharine promises of a happy, comfortable life as the most powerful man in Japan imbued with power and wealth. He had been confident—a hundred percent certain—that absolutely nothing could go wrong in the trajectory he worked hard to create. But, what the actual fuck just happened at the therapist's office?!
He did not expect his mistress to make a complete fool out of him. Her very existence was an anathema to him, and he hoped to never be in contact with that woman ever again. In hindsight, Naoya should have taken the hint a while ago. He had previously forgiven his cousin's ex-wife, dismissing her blissful but intentional ignorance. Mari had never been too keen on actual intellectual and corporate matters, for she took far more interest in the money and comfort that came with starting from the bottom and sleeping her way to the top. Despite that, Naoya trusted that she at least had half the mind to not publicly discuss their affair, only for him to be proven wrong in front of none other than...Toji Fushiguro.
"Fuck!" Naoya screamed into the void of his empty living room. His reality was a nightmare as he thought about his despised cousin again—the assured gleam in his viridescent eyes, the smug smirk that tugged across his lips. The imagery soured his mood beyond measure. "I'm going to fucking—"
He did not finish his sentence.
Instead, he kicked a nearby lamp in an angry bout, toppling the fixture over and sending tiny shards cascading across the floor accompanied by the dull thud of the shade. Whatever. His housekeeper tomorrow morning would come in and clean that.
What he instead focused on was how he had never been this infuriated, this belittled, this undignified.
The entire apartment echoed with Naoya's loud huff.
'About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.' These words from Toji affected him more than he would have liked.
What did he mean?
That bastard is bluffing, the blonde had to tell himself, yet even he could not believe in his own consolation.
He needed to do something about this.
No, no, Naoya wasn’t scared.
He couldn’t possibly be, right?!
Yet, after he could feel his ears begin to cool and breathing start to re-regulate, he stared at the emptiness in his halls as he came to the realization that had no better choice but to talk to you.
You didn't want to be here.
The moment you read Naoya Zenin's text to meet up for a 'quick chat' at the café near his office, you already knew that the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but 'quick.' The last thing you wished to do was to be in the same vicinity as that very man again.
After spending the last few days at your family residence, you had been showered with warm attention from aunts, uncles, cousins, and even house attendants who—despite naturally wondering the reason behind your stay—welcomed your visit with open arms. To your relatives' many inquiries, you forged a pretense that all was well even if all was not. (Besides, all did seem well in your family estate, away from the incessant pandemonium that was the Tokyo city center.)
While you knew that this peaceful break was not meant to last forever, you did not anticipate returning to the capital just to sit with the Zenin CEO alone.
Naoya had specifically chosen a corner table in the Hong Kong-inspired establishment, distanced from potential eavesdroppers. He seemed to have been waiting for a while by the time you arrived, his right leg crossed over his left knee as he twiddled with his thumbs impatiently. Sprawled on the table were a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea and a platter of warm custard pastries.
He remained quiet as you took the seat across from him, observing with a crease on his forehead and a knit to his brows.
Anyone could tell that the blonde was not the least bit happy.
"Giving me dirty looks is not going to get this conversation anywhere," you pointed out while helping yourself to a tart.
From your comment, the inverted slope on Naoya's lips twisted into a deeper frown.
He did not understand where your annoyance came from.
Fine, he never treated you nicely either, but he did not expect you to snap at him when the discussion had hardly begun. You offered him no greetings, and Naoya also took great offense at how you chose not to look at him as you talked.
Truth be told, your neglect reminded him of all the other upsetting things that he was dying to bring up, and your unpleasant attitude whittled away the little restraint he had left.
“You didn’t try to ask where I’ve been. Not one text or call. Guess it would not have mattered to you if I disappeared, huh?" he lashed out through gritted teeth. He hated being forgotten, hated being looked over, and hated how easy it was for him to prove you to be a neglectful and apathetic wife.
Which was why there was no better option than to cut him off.
“You ordered me to leave you alone, Naoya.” Only slightly did you turn your head to glance at him. Stirring sugar into your tea, you kept your attention otherwise on the nearby window and watched businesspeople scurrying about on the streets on their lunch breaks. "You can live without my attention since I'm not the only woman you have around. What happened to your lady friend? Hasn't she been entertaining you long before our marriage? I am sure she would love your company, so why not pay her an impromptu visit?”
From a slanting angle, you could tell that the transformation from your normally calm demeanor dismayed him. Naoya, not you, was typically the one to make snide comebacks, but he could not deny your latest comments. Evidently, he wanted you to go back to your submissive and passive self, but that was precisely what you no longer could be for him.
His silence prompted you to reach into your purse and retrieve a thick manila envelope, and you presented the package on the table.
Naoya's gaze snapped to the parcel.
He was curious, but cautiously so. He had invited you here, expecting to control the narrative, to dictate the terms. As a result, your unexpected move threw him off balance.
"What...?"
“Take a look and find out for yourself.”
A puzzled Naoya demonstrated no hesitation.
He snatched the folder, tearing the top open and greedily grabbing the curated pieces inside. He stared for a long time at the first item: a photo. But he recognized the image of him and his mistress, boarding a private jet for their most recent trip to Mexico. Then, he flipped through the stack rapidly, barely registering each item before he turned to the next. Some were printed-out pictures and others were cutouts from news articles, but all featured him and his paramour. The confusion on Naoya's visage slowly morphed into aggravation, and when he finished his inspection, he forcefully threw the items back onto the table.
In the end, Naoya sat back and went still, not even blinking, thinking, or doing anything but pressing his tongue along his inner cheek. "How did you get these?"
No apologies. No remorse.
Hell, based on his response, the man could not even bother to deny your accusations, a telling sign of how little he could care for his relationship with you. Obviously, you must be a joke to him.
In one firm motion, you placed down your teacup.
"You're missing the point.”
While one's eyes may be the windows to the soul, Naoya's offered nothing in his current state. His pupils looked at—no, examined you in intense dark pools despite the iridescent glow from the lights above.
"Toji gave you these, didn't he?" Naoya continued with a disdainful laugh, himself insistent on getting answers to his own questions. "You can't find this shit on the internet anymore since I've had them all taken down. But Toji's fast. He has eyes everywhere, I know he does. Look at him. Months later, and he's still hung up on reclaiming a position he should've never had the right to in the first place!"
Thankfully, you didn’t flinch from his loud voice. What you did do was become more indifferent as if you were placing a wall to separate yourself from him, mentally bracing for his emotional maelstrom.
"You are missing the point," you said once more. This time, you shook your head in disappointment, and your tone was far more frustrated than the last. "Aren't you shameless?”
"Me? Shameless?!” His brows pinched closer from fury. "Take a look at yourself, woman! What did you do to get all this dirt from Toji and his henchmen, hm? Ha! Know what? I bet it’s because you're so willing to spread yourself for them,” he rambled with a nasty sneer plastered on his expression. At his comments, your jaw fell open before snapping shut as the meaning behind his words sank in. The way this man disregarded how he had an affair (that began many months ago!) only to redirect the spotlight onto you was repulsing, implying that the sole reason the therapists talked to you was that you had slept around. “A whore like you love taking all them all, don’t you? Well? Well? Am I right? Goddamn, you’re such a—”
The harsh scraping from your chair as you stood was what finally interrupted him. Unable to tolerate his vilification, you counteracted his anger with the venom in your rancorous glare.
"How dare you talk about me like that!”
In the meantime, prying eyes started to turn in your direction from the commotion: teenage girls, sharing nervous glances across their table; a lone businessman, stopping mid-sip from his cappuccino; even the barista, pausing mid-grind such that her arm froze inches from the hopper.
"That man...doesn't he seem familiar?" a distant voice asked.
"Is he a celebrity or something?"
"No, wait. He's the person on the cover of last month's Fortune magazine. Naoya Zenin!" another replied.
"Isn't that lady his wife?"
While the onlookers' curious glances turned into full-on stares, their regard steeled your resolve rather than bothered you. Instead, you wanted the crowd to take in the spectacle. Corrupt tricks and dirty money had long painted the Zenin heir as 'the most perfect man in Japan,' and the public deserved to understand the fraudulence and cruelty that underlaid his facade.
"For months, I trusted you. I respected you. I put aside the harrowing loneliness weighing on my heart all because I tried to understand you. You told me that finding the time or energy for our marriage was not easy because board meetings kept you late in the office or business meetings required you to spend several nights abroad. Fine! So, I had been patient. But," and your voice overflowed from anger as you pointed a shaking finger at the pictures on the table, "Taking another woman to Michelin restaurants for dinners? Spending nights with her at Ritz-Carltons and Four Seasons? Going on entire vacations with her across the Pacific? All while you had a wife at home? Are you out of your fucking mind ?!"
The man's nose flared with deep-seated rage, his eyes mirroring the same bitterness in yours. "At the end of the day," he began sternly, "we're still married."
Ridiculous.
“On paper, ” you had to clarify. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be cheating on me with your older cousin's ex-wife."
Immediately, louder murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naoya turned stiff, uncomfortable with the attention. So much for selecting a quiet corner in the café. He wasn’t stupid enough to sense that he had to be careful. Saying one wrong phrase would condemn him to a public meltdown.
However, you were already steps ahead of him when you loudly declared: “I’m filing for a divorce.”
That caught him off guard.
Your announcement even drew audible astonishment from bystanders as they stopped their meals, turning to each other and drawing out their phones.
In literal milliseconds, the vexation once riddling Naoya's demeanor shifted into denial.
“No. We’re not going to talk about a fucking divorce right now. We’re going to fix what we have, and you’re going to come back to me. We’re...We're married for a reason, and we’re going to keep with it!”
"That's a bullshit reason,” you had to snap. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear how selfish you sound!?" At this point, nothing could hide your bafflement. "Naoya, you were the one who said that if I wanted to leave this marriage badly, then I should leave. Ask Mai and Maki! They heard the entire conversation. Didn't you also say that you didn't give a fuck anymore?"
The man attempted to salvage some semblance of control. "I was just joking!"
"No, you were not." Picking up a photo of Naoya and Mari together, you pressed the picture to his face. “How much more can I take? How many days would I still have to go through alone in the penthouse, all because you would be spending your sweet time with the woman that you love?”
Unloading all this emotional baggage, not only for Naoya Zenin but also for the café spectators to hear, took courage. Previously, you would have let the burden gnaw at your soul. You would have rather wallowed in suffering rather than even think about speaking up.
But the past was the past, and you had grown immensely since then. Currently, you were stronger, more confident. You knew that, in Toji's words, you deserved better. Life was too beautiful to waste on a man who did not love or respect you and, with that in mind, you relaxed your clenched fists with an exhausted and fatigued sigh.
You broke me first, you said through a deserted gaze.
Naoya Zenin was the reason why you had become the way you were: a cold, seemingly heartless wife who cared none for her husband. The misery that he placed on your shoulders finally reached its limit, and while you could forgive, forgetting the memories in your scarred heart would be a task over months, years, and even a lifetime.
“Listen,” you began, tone terse, “this divorce will set you free. Mari is the person whom you need—”
“The hell. No!” the man interrupted in a violent outburst, taking your breath away as he slammed the table and hissed. “I don't give a damn about her right now! We’re…We’re over!" he snarled with incredible anger such that he almost appeared to growl. "I don’t need her, I need you! That...That whore doesn't give a flying fuck about my shit! All she cares about is...is...Fuck this. All she wants is the money. Why else do you think she married and then later divorced Toji? She doesn't want to hear about all the shit in my family because she had not been brought up to deal with all the fuckin' drama in my household. She can't understand because, unlike you, she wasn't born with a silver spoon shoved down her goddamn throat!"
Quietly, you absorbed his words, stunned.
So this was how their relationship had been.
You had not expected him to reveal all these entrenched feelings willingly, but his concoction between reckless rage and sheer desperation had allowed him to spill the ugly side of this extramarital affair. Naoya could not afford to lose you, and not just because this marriage solidified the respect of those around him. While Mari offered him an outlet for physical indulgence, only you could offer the cornerstone to Naoya's mental and social fortitude.
“So you ‘need’ me now, but what happens when you find another reason to hate me again? What will you do if you don’t think I can fulfill the role you want me to have as your partner? Or if you wake up one day and suddenly want your cousin’s ex-wife again? Or if you meet another woman? Am I supposed to stand there again, and watch this all happen?"
No answer.
The fact that he couldn't respond hurt.
"My decision is final. Looking back, I despised every single second married to you. In fact, I feel sorry for myself. The fact that I blindly put up with your manipulation, betrayal, and blame for all these months.” With your belongings collected, you prepared to leave. “You would be stupid to think you're the only one with options, you know.”
Only when you turned around did Naoya react, scrambling to his feet.
“What the fuck are you—”
In any other situation, he would have grabbed you, lunged at you, did everything in his power to stop you from going. Yet, given all the witnesses, all he could do was call you back like a helpless child, trying his best to not escalate the scene (although, at this point, even passerbys outside have stopped by the window to spectate).
"Hey!" Naoya called after you. “Hey! I’m still talking with you!”
Pathetic, really, to see him desperately beg for you to stay in his life.
There was a certain satisfaction in finally having the control at your fingertips. The feeling was empowering—electrifying, even—and you became so focused on the gratification that you barely registered Naoya's last question.
“Where are you going?”
At this point, you already stood by the exit.
“That’s not something that my soon-to-be ex-husband would need to know,” and you hardly gave him another glance as the door closed behind you. “Thank you for showing me everything I hope to never find in another man again."
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end notes: Part of why this update took so long was because I wanted to have an encounter between Naoya and Y/N to showcase Y/N’s development, from someone who thoughtlessly defended her husband to someone who could stand up for herself (all while alone!). I envisioned this interaction many times, and I thought about different ways to approach the scene, the delivery, the dialogue, the choreography, etc. It took me a while to go for what I currently have. Thank you for reading!
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#jujustu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk season 2#jjk x reader#jjk x you#toji x reader#toji x y/n#toji x you#naoya x reader#naoya x y/n#naoya x you#toji#toji fushiguro#naoya#naoya zenin#sukuna#choso#geto#megumi#anime#fanfic#anime fanfic#fanfiction#jamms.sextherapy
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Out and About
Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Child!Reader
Fandom: Fallout
Request: Yes by @that-teen2003
Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst
Word Count: 858
Main Masterlist: Here
Fallout Masterlist: Here
Summary: When a kid suddenly pops up in the Wasteland, you treat that child like a bear cub; don’t even look at it until you’ve confirmed it’s alone.
A vault suit sticks out like a sore thumb in the desert of the Wasteland. It was so bright, and blue, and very impractical for the harsh reality of the terrain. That is why when he saw it, Cooper’s interest was peaked. That and the cowboy hat the person sported much like his own. Because it was not even a fully grown human wearing the offending garment; it was a child.
The Ghoul looked around as the small being was wandering the rough terrain with cautious eyes. Surely this child was not alone. But it just kept exploring as if it had done it its entire life. He kept a safe distance as he followed the child, just hoping that this belonged to someone nearby. But no one ever came. No mom, no dad, no authority of any kind came to collect this child.
It was currently climbing inside of an old house when Cooper noticed how fast the sun was setting. There would be horrible things coming for that child in the dark of the night. He heard a crash, and immediately drew his gun before running inside the decrepit house. What he saw shocked him. There this little child was, nursing a small fire with a can of cram in its hands that it was eating.
In the firelight, Howard noticed that this small child was a girl, probably no older than six. It reminded him of his little Janey that remained as vivid as ever in his memory two hundred years later. Without consciousness, he began to move closer by did not see the empty can that was right in front of him. He accidentally kicked the object, sending it flying and clanging about the home which startled the child. She let out a yelp, and held her food closer to her chest as she stared at the new person with fear in her eyes. Cooper held out a hand to calm her down, and placed his gun back on his hip. She moved closer to see who the new man was.
“Whoa.” She breathed out and nearly dropped her food. There was no fear left in her eyes after comprehending The Ghoul before her. Suddenly, she was up on her feet and ran straight to the man who was utterly confused. Even with him crouched, she only came up to his chest. Her tiny arms struggled to wrap around him.
“It’s you! It’s you,” came her exclamation. Her voice trailed off as she settled but Cooper was stiff as a board. Pulling the child away, he looked at her closer. She was thin and sunburnt from surviving the Wasteland but her teeth looked good still.
“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout, little one?” Cooper’s hairless brow furrowed as he knelt down to be on her level.
“You’re Cooper Howard. You’re da sheriff from T.V.” Her toothy grin showed. There were a couple missing, but she did not seem to care. Taking off her hat, she passed it to the man with all the innocence only a child cold have.
“Can you sign dis, please?”
That one ask broke him inside. He felt his heart shattering. It had been so long since someone had asked him to do that; he had completely forgotten the feeling. This little child had thawed his blackened heart in a matter of seconds.
“Where you from darlin’? Why you out here all by yourself lonesome and not with your momma?” Cooper chose to avoid her question, knowing that he did not have any instrument to sign the hat. The child, whose name was still a mystery, looked down at her feet that were kicking around sand before she answered.
“My mommy was behind me, den she wasn’t. She told me to run, so I did cause Mommy said I have to listen to her widout question here. I don’t know where she is.” Again, The Ghoul felt his heart break. Chances were, that woman was long dead and chose to spare her child the same fate. It seemed to have worked, but the could not have been out of the vaults long.
“Well, little one. What’s your name? Seein’ as you know mine,” said Cooper. He tried to smile kindly and not scare off the child, although she seems to not be the slightest bit afraid. She supplied her name, and took a much needed bite of food.
“Can I stay with you? It’s scary up here alone.” Even without those puppy eyes she was giving, Cooper already knew his answer. He nodded and walked over to the fire once more. Sitting with his back to the wall, Howard added some more tinder to the fire and was shoved slightly. The girl had moved his arm so that she was curled up against his side, with her head on his chest. Her can of food was empty and discarded as she drifted off to sleep.
Muscle memory kicked in. Cooper checked her breathing, and looked around for any potential threats lurking. With his gun at the ready, he slipped into a light sleep with a little girl on his chest once more.
#rebelliousstories#writing#fallout#fallout imagine#cooper howard#cooper howard imagine#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul#cooper howard x oc#the ghoul x oc#the ghoul imagine#the ghoul fallout#the ghoul x reader
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Best Friend's Mother Ch.3 6.8K
This is part three of the story inspired by @shinyshayminflower
It was gonna be the final part, but it's looking like there's at least another chapter or two to come
Angsty, Sad, just loads of stuff. Tiny bit of Smut MDNI 18+
Link to the whole fic on AO3 here lovelies, or you can scroll down my acc to find it here
Thank you @uselessbard1031 for being the best story sounding board
HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOO
The cold light of day revealed more than you could stomach.
You hated yourself, hated her, hated everything you had ever stood for and accepted and wanted in that stupid house.
Mel’s film came back a few days after you’d settled back into your flat, the Kodak Gold showing the pathetic rose tinted glasses that covered you for July and August. It was picturesque, toes in sand and melting Mr Whippys. Smooshed faces and a pissed off Mina. She showed them off, with a happy voice and gesticulating hands. It felt sort of like she was trying to cheer you up.
You’d been in a ‘funk’ since you got back and it was being chalked up to your immediately heavy workload.
That was it. Too much reading, four new essays and some new bullshit about work experience. Not the crushing void in your heart, not the breakup that was barely there, that existed for you and you alone.
Ambessa Medarda was a black hole, alluring in her violence, beautiful in her consumption and you were mere space dust. That she had made abundantly clear.
It kept you up at night, embarrassment curdled in you like milk. Body in tatters trying to keep your mind in check.
I’ll ring you when I’m back
Whyever would you need to do that
You fucking idiot.
Her stupid, soft pyjamas kept her grip on you, your phone’s fancy screen shining like her eyes. She was everywhere and you couldn’t tell anyone.
You were the living dead, cursed to be unloved and used forever. You never thought of yourself as dramatic before, preferring humour and dismissiveness, but the gaping wound in you cried for attention. Cried to be acknowledged and picked at, a scar in the making, as each little flicker of healing was ripped off again and again.
Six weeks later you still felt like a lovesick puppy. University and your job made time sparse and relaxation sparser still, but somehow the sadness lingered. You’d been grieving it for nearly as long as it had happened, some weird crossroads where it felt inappropriate to be sad. It was a summer fling, how many had existed since the dawn of time and yet it dug into you like an elusive splinter.
Mel was another issue entirely. Warm and tender, trying to prop you up when you stopped eating or didn’t keep up with the laundry. Part of you wanted to scream and cry. I’m not who you think I am, your mind shouted, I’m awful and you should hate me like I hate myself.
Then you’d eat a sausage roll, she’d send you a shitpost and you’d cry in the shower. Selfish as it was, you couldn’t lose both Medardas.
Sometimes you thought you saw her name pop up on your phone, you’d look each time like a baby falling for a game of peekaboo. Nothing. The last message made your lungs tense every single time.
Bacon Crunchy or No?
Crunchy, but still soft.
Demanding x
That breakfast in bed was the most revisited memory, probably spurred on by how many times you’d read those texts. You wouldn’t eat bacon anymore, flicked it out of your meal deal BLT before realising how counterproductive you’d made your sandwich. Wet mayonnaise and lettuce with half a tomato slice. What a sad life. Your cheeks were damp again and it was hard to breathe.
At some point enough was enough. You were a twenty three year old mooning over a woman over twenty five years your senior. You had a life, you had friends and a dad who called you sometimes. She was not the sun, you did not revolve around her.
That lasted for about a week, until Mel mentioned going back briefly for her Mum’s birthday. November 9th. You hadn’t known that, wished you still didn’t. Somehow you were in a shopping centre helping her search for a gift. Budget was extensive and so was Mel’s ability to shop.
What would be a good gift for Ambessa? Rat poison perhaps?
You saw it or maybe it saw you. Gold, each chain link tiny, making it look almost like falling sunlight. One large crimson ruby hung at the end, metal criss crossing over it in a pretty setting. It would fit almost every outfit she wore. It matched her favourite earrings. It was unique, like her and she didn’t deserve it.
“That seems perfect,” Your voice croaked, pointing towards the glass cabinet.
Mel agreed because well, it just was. You lived, slowly and painfully, Rowan Atkinson’s scene from Love Actually. This was your punishment, your karma for your indecisiveness and deceit. Leaving Selfridges (dissociated and bankrupt from a bagel) you allowed yourself to be talked at. That seemed to be happening a lot these days, more sounding board and less person. That seemed to be what you’d lost, your personness, stuck in silk sheets in Surrey. There was no recon mission to be had either, the invitation for birthday celebrations blissfully, brutally not extended to you.
You heard all about it though, obviously. You weren’t that lucky. Mel and Kino had organised a party, she had pretended to be ever so surprised and you had received fourteen drunk videos at three am. The house was different to how you’d ever seen it, twinkling lights and darker furnishings to herald the stormy winter approaching. Kino was doing the CanCan, offscreen choked laughter making your heart hurt. Each video devolved to make less sense, snapshots of the living room, pretty decoration and discarded champagne. The last one made your world spin, bile eating your throat.
It was Ambessa, glassy eyed with shimmering makeup and bouncy curls, grinning at the camera with a cupcake in hand. Sitting pretty, as perfect as you’d imagined, was the necklace.
“How’s your party been, Mum?” Mel’s hiccupped voice.
“Perfect, Darling,” Ambessa muttered, an easy smile growing.
“And your gift?”
“Also perfect, Little wolf,” Her fingers stroked it instinctively, feeling along the ruby.
“Say thank you to the camera then,” Mel says, impatient and swaying slightly, “She’s the one who helped me find it,”
The shift was slight, you only noticed because you were looking, her face draining of some joy.
Tone coy and light she stared directly at the screen, “Ah I see, when you said one of your friends, I didn’t realise you meant her! Who knew she knew me so well?” a criminally long pause, “Thank you, Sweet Girl,”
The footage stopped, her smirk immortalised.
You hated her. Vile, vindictive little bitch. You burned all but one of your pyjamas sets in the garden, mesmerised by the flames as if their heat could cleanse you. Charred linen smelt like shit and you dumped it in the bin before it became a problem for the neighbours. Lip chewed raw, you curled onto the dining chair you had occupied half an hour ago, looking down at your traitorous phone
Your text response was calmer after that.
Nice, cute party! Drink some water babe xox
I kissed Jayce
Oh?
And Viktor
OH
Can you call?
It’s 4am Mel.
Yes
The shrill thrum of Facetime rang throughout your kitchen, ear twitching slightly as you answered.
“Thank fuck,” Mel sounded both stressed and excited, “This party has been so weird I wish you were here,”
You didn’t. “Weird cause you tongued your two closest friends? Or weird some other way?”
“Don’t say tongued it’s vile,” She was clearly stumbling down the corridor to her bedroom, “And both, I guess? It’s a long story”
“Babble away then, babe,” You’d missed this, missed her.
It actually wasn’t that long at all, content wise, Mel was just so drunk she restarted five thousand times. Jayce and Viktor were together, this you knew. Mel would sometimes kiss them both, occasionally more, and she didn’t know what to feel; this was new. Having a conversation about emotional intimacy versus physical with her when she was drunk and your last fuck had been her mother was like a stupid game of Monoply. It took forever, not much was accomplished and she ended up falling asleep just as you were getting to the good bit.
“Mum’s also been weird,” It was slurred, hair spraying on the pillow, “Nostalgic or something,”
“Nostalgic?” You didn’t want to talk about her, you didn’t.
“I dunno, think she missed me and Kino,” She coughed, “She’s been more quiet,”
Quiet. Of course. She didn’t seem quiet when she threw your pet name in your face, but hey what did you know? Follow up questions were useless, Mel’s snores crackling through the phone.
“Are you sleeping, Little wolf?”
You were going to throw up, twitching hands launching your phone across the table. Mel’s phone echoed the crashing, drawing Ambessa’s attention. Picking the phone from her daughter’s fingers, she raised a quizzical and then uncertain brow.
“Night Mel,” You whispered, slamming the end call button. The last noise from her end was that voice calling out your name.
You didn’t sleep, your only remaining pair of pyjamas mocking you from the laundry basket.
It washed over you like the tides, again and again, each time inching closer to consuming you. So much energy had been expended to move past this, but you crumbled like a stale biscuit in the face of her teasing, of your name from her mouth. Even now your heart skipped, ached, sang. It wasn’t real, the adoration and attraction she had looked at you with. How could you grapple with that? Alone and surrounded by all the kindness she had gifted you. There was a doubt, tart and strong, in your mind that you would ever matter to anyone ever again. Your clanking alarm clock seemed to agree, burrowing into your fitful dreams and warping to the sound of her laugh.
Mel came back, hungover and a little emotionally unstable which seemed to happen every time she went home. You had tacos on the sofa, sharing a beer and having the same conversation as before, though sober this time. You steered clear of her, focusing on Mel with an intensity that made the girl snort.
“Back to planet earth then?”
“What?” Lettuce tumbled out, they’d given you a hard shell by accident.
“I mean this is probably the most you’ve spoken to me since the summer,”
A flinch, body rejecting the truth, as your lips turned down.
“I get it, work and stuff,” Mel quickly added, stroking your arm like she would Mina, “Just missed you,”
“Missed you too,” It choked out, despite your efforts to stay calm, flinging yourself against her and squeezing.
Fuck Ambessa. It settled in you, a certainty fuelled by the intense turmoil of the past twenty four hours. You loved Mel and you would not be a shit friend anymore.
Days were lighter after that, your acceptance shifting the colours of your world slightly. Your fancy laptop was a blessing, not a collar, helping you write your thesis without trouble. The coffee shop could have been worse, it was in a beautiful building with a rich history and it meant you could eat branded beans instead of 26p sludge. You’d even managed to save some money for Christmas. You were rising from the ashes of unrequited love, becoming a true optimist. Maybe you might start liking yourself soon.
Then your dad called.
“Hey, Peanut,” His gravelly tone was easily decipherable. He was about to disappoint you, again.
“Hi Dad,” You settled in the armchair, chest deflating, “Everything okay?”
“I’ve got some news,” a rattled sigh, “I’m gonna need to stay on till January,”
Rough hands ran over your face, “Of course,”
“I’m sorry kid but with the mortgage and-”
“I know, I understand,”
“Maybe you could go back to that friend’s house?” He said hopefully, “You had such a good time,”
Not fucking likely. If you told Mel that’s exactly what she’d suggest, so this one was staying quiet, you weren’t that healed. “It’s alright, I think I’d like to be at home, see some familiar faces, could always have dinner with the cousins,”
“Yeah,” He sniffed, “Yeah okay love,”
“I love you, I guess I’ll see you in the new year?”
“Of course, and I’ll ring you in the holidays,” He was firm in his intentions, even if it wouldn’t stick, “Love you,”
Christmas alone. Lucky you.
It took more effort than you’d anticipated to censor the news around Mel. Part of you, small and desperate, wanted to fall into her and cry about it but then you would end up sniffling, sitting in her car on the way to that damned house. The last few weeks of term flew by, deadlines and Christmas parties numbing you out, pushing you into a glitzy, overwhelmed state. Mel was in her element, glittering gold as she wrapped a mountain of gifts, covered all of your kitchen surfaces in icing sugar and screamed George Michael. She was supposed to leave before you, giving you three days of peace in the house before you ended up in rural Derbyshire with nobody but the deer to talk to.
About an hour before Mel was due to leave you received a phone call from your father and it affirmed for you that the universe, in all its cosmic wonders, had it out for you.
Your terraced house had a very complex and old heating system, which had apparently died a sudden and dramatic death. Sure, whatever, no problem. Except a new one was going to cost at least ten thousand pounds and couldn’t be installed until January anyway. The neighbours had told him about the sudden flooding, and he had tried to deal with it faster, but being so far away and with so little immediate funds.
“So it’s fucked,” You groan, “I guess I’ll have to stay here then,”
“I-” Your dad sounded shattered, “We might have to looking at selling, I haven’t got the cash to fix it,”
“I’ll figure that out Dad,” Tight throat, air raspy, “It’s okay, thanks for calling,”
“What’s fucked?” Mel said, appearing like a ghost, your shoulders jolting.
“Eavesdropper,” It was a grumble, “It’s nothing,”
“It’s clearly not if you’re looking at staying here,”
Your eyes rolled, frustration bubbling,“House’s heating broke, can’t be fixed till January so I’ll stay here,”
Mel looked crestfallen, “Oh no,” She embraced you, the hug more loving than you deserved, “What’s your dad going to do? Come up here? He can have my room obviously,”
“Why would he need that?” You snorted, “He’s staying on the rig for Christmas-” Uh. Oops.
Brown eyes flared with anger, “What? You didn’t tell me that!”
“I-I” You were at a loss, desperate to avoid what was obviously hurtling your way, “I didn’t wanna be a downer on all the cool plans, I was just gonna relax alone or whatever,” Lame excuse, loser.
“You’re coming to ours,” Mel said, decided, waving away all of your protests like one would swat a fly. Somehow she was already calling her mother, telling her to expect another guest for Christmas. The stress of heating was the final straw on a decrepit, twitching camel.
Had you died? Were you in Hell?
That’s what the Land Rover felt like, speeding through endless countryside as she sang Christmas Wrapping for the ninth time. You felt almost outside your body, about to reunite with a part of yourself you’d allowed to die. Mel had chewed you out for the first hour of the journey about being an idiot, about upsetting her by not just asking to stay. I know it was awesome in the summer, she had whined, you’re not like a burden or anything.
Rolling up the driveway felt like that moment on a rollercoaster just before the adrenaline floods you. Your stomach turns, you feel the wind and feel how high up you are, seeking an out you know isn’t there. Then the ride drops, hurtles down the track and you’re too overwhelmed to think much of anything at all. Ambessa standing, cashmere jumper and longer curls, against the door waiting to greet you both was your drop. Blank, hot nothingness.
“Darlings,” She cried, lips as crimson as ever.
She stepped forward, throwing her arms around both of you and you thought you might die. You hated her. Her smirk showed she could tell, though it wasn’t as firmly fixed as usual. Sunrays, squinting eyes and that smirk as she ate a slice of watermelon. Shut Up.
A small dinner was already ready, a weathered looking Kino dishing up portions. His greeting was warm but distracted.
“Mum’s had me hauling all the trees into place,” He grumbled, passing you a bowl of stew, “because of course it couldn’t wait until the precious princesses arrived to help,”
Gods you’d missed him. “You think I’m a princess Kino? I’m touched,”
Mel forced you into your chair, snorting at her brother, “Would you believe this idiot was going to stay at uni all by herself?”
You didn’t feel like an idiot, you felt like a prey animal fleeing one predator to sprint into the den of another.
Ambessa interjected then, “Yes, what’s this I hear about broken heating?”
It was an innocent and very valid question from the woman hosting you. She needed to shut the fuck up. “Uh, our terraced house was still using its system from the 60s and it finally died,” You said, instead of telling her the former, “Dad’s on the rig and can’t get anyone to fix it sooner than January,”
“We’ll have you for the whole festive period then,” Ambessa said, tone calm as she sent you a smile. It was indifferent and kind, in the same way she had been those first days of the summer. It rocked you, eating some of the adrenaline and replacing it with tears that glazed embarrassingly for a second. Long enough for her to see, but with enough control to spare you from Mel.
Five weeks of being in Medarda Central, playing happy families, “If that’s okay,”.
“We’re so happy to have you, Dear,”
Bitch. “Thank you, Ambessa,”
That evening was like a dream, stuck behind the screens of a nightmare. Three large christmas trees to decorate, a tradition apparently, with mulled wine and gingerbread. Everything was beautiful, and to your surprise each ‘child’ was given a tree. The larger one in the foyer was put up on November 21st every year by Ambessa, Mel told you, but the Medarda siblings and Mina each got their own tree to decorate once everyone was home.
You had been given Mina’s with a snort from Ambessa, who was supposedly happy to have someone else take on the ‘lazy demon’s workload’. It felt nice, for a moment, as you stared down at the fluff ball who seemed to have accepted you as a guest. This was a new thing and if you closed your eyes and breathed out of your armpit no memories appeared. You decorated methodically, using some of Mina’s and some spare that had been assembled for you. A perfect evening, with your best friend and her stupid big brother. And their sexy, evil, confusing mother.
Like you thought, a dream to nightmare pipeline. A trend you saw continuing for the rest of the holiday. It ended with watching The Grinch, something you had never seen. Jim Carrey was unusual and Martha May was disturbingly attractive, but that’s all you really gained, too busy ignoring Ambessa’s joking gaze. Did she think you were crazy? That you wanted to spend this holiday being fucked about by her too? Mel’s head on your shoulder grounded you, saved you from the turbulence of her.
It caught you once, entirely by accident, and your head began to swim. Golden swirls, tender and amused. She looked more beautiful somehow, finally victorious in getting your attention as she raised a brow. Your neck mottled red as anxious teeth crushed against one another. Rough hands stroking your cheek, kissing your sleepy eyelids as you ignored the film that followed Trading Places. This place was haunted and you realised that you were just another ghost. Kino went to bed first and unlike a few months ago, you were determined not to be a straggler. You got your water and tea whilst Mel spoke to her Mum about the upcoming Carol Concert you were supposed to be attending.
“Night,” You said, voice soft, as she nodded to them.
“Oh,” Mel said, “Bit early for you, isn’t it?”
“Long day,” A smile, “See you in the morning,”
“Nice to have you back, well done with the Tree today,” Ambessa’s silky tone drifted, “Sleep well Sweetheart,”
That was a new one and it caused no reaction at all. Your hand was trembling because the tea was hot, that was all. Your body shook from the exhaustion in the spare room, lip wet and trembling, because the journey was long and you missed your Dad. You could not feel her phantom touches brushing the tears away, it was simply the wind.
Ten days of Christmas festivities passed and it did not get any easier. No matter when you woke, she still somehow had your tea ready for you. You’d hoped initially that it was Rictus, the man you had come to know slightly better than in the warmer months, but alas he hadn’t a clue what you were on about. Those eyes, hypnotic and cruel, still attempted to lure you in each day. Hands lingered, bodies closer than needed as you passed in corridors or sat on the same sofa.
One day you boiled over, alone in the kitchen with her as she sorted through recipes.
“Will you knock it off?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t hum at me,” You snapped, hands clenching your mug, horror clenching your heart, “T-The touching and the looks, stop it,”
Ambessa laughed, pushing her glasses onto her head as she fixed you with a look, “Didn’t seem to mind it a couple of months ago, Sweet Girl,”
“A couple of months ago I was a fool,” A stuttered breath, half stuck and bubbling, “Mel’s my priority, I love her and this fucked up thing would hurt her, so stop it,”
Ambessa’s look changed into something you couldn’t understand, eyes pensive and face blank. She nodded once, head tilted to scan you. Was it respect? Surely not, she barely saw you as a full person.
“Okay,” Her tone was measured, “I can work with that,”
It relieved you, the thick, invisible smog circling overhead finally beginning to clear. You didn't trust her intentions towards you, but you could trust them towards Mel. The tremors and the cries slowed slightly, your sleep troubled but not totally absent.
Something new formed, something you could just about stomach. It was just as if she was your best friend’s mum, hosting you for the holidays, with jokes and motherly pats. She had never known the taste of your lips, you had never nestled your head between her thighs, never shared an overly fond look over her daughter’s head. It was easier this way, you promised yourself in the dead of night as you tossed from side to side. You’d spent so little time actually in this bed, that now it seemed as foreign to you as the woman who occupied the other. Her eyes still stayed on you from time to time, but it was insignificant now.
Did you prefer that? Was this better?
All Ambessa knew was that she did not like this change. Not one bit. She was unsure of how to process you coming back. You were a nice enough girl, an excellent fuck and actually funny to be around. You made Mel happy, which made her happy, but you had gotten a little too attached. She had avoided you since then for that reason, the thoughts of you that drifted through easy to push away. That being said, she missed you sprawled in her bed babbling nonsense as she ruined you. You were a pest, lingering around her thoughts and she was unsure of how to proceed. She seemed to regain one part of you, sarcastic and passionate, at the expense of any and all private access to you. It irked her, though she would not admit it, that you had called it before she had. Guilt sat heavy in her stomach, mixing with something else as she remembered your aggressive devotion to her daughter. Parts of you, buried, now resurfaced for her. How you took your tea, which hand would brush back hair behind your ear, in which order you would put your socks and shoes on. Tiny, minute details. She glanced at you, licking up cream on a hot chocolate and saw images of a similar kind, your pretty crinkled eyes eating an ice cream as you gazed at her across the sunlounger.
Ambessa Medarda could not wait for you to get the hell out of her house.
How ironic, considering you finally felt you were flowing into the new rhythm.
She wasn’t scary, she had no power. Other than the fact that this was, you know, her house. You shared tea, read together, joked and laughed. You only looked at her lips every now and again, a natural thing. You looked at Mel’s lips sometimes. Yeah. Her nicknames only caused nausea, not an actual gag to choke you. Plus you were distracted half the time by Kino and Mel. Frockiling about in London, seeing a show or wandering through museums, it was endless. Somehow you had done more in the first two weeks here than most of the summer, mind frazzled by Christmas joy. The best part was that on December 17th it started to snow and showed no signs of stopping. A true winter wonderland.
The only other distinct change from the summer was the shiny new vibrator in your bedside drawer. You still had needs, for god sake and the distraction should help. Nothing would satiate the burn like she did, but you tried not to think about that once you realised it was her you pictured to send yourself over the edge. Oops.
Ambessa, restless and frustrated, strolled down the corridor in the dead of night. Each door zipped past until a grunt startled her into stillness. It was from behind your door and a flare of worry resounded in her at the pained sound. Against her better judgement, her fist rose to knock on the wood when she heard it again. Clearer now, louder. Not pain, her mind roared, it was a cry of pleasure. Pleased little pants and gasps travelled to her ears, turning her thoughts to molten nothingness. She had uncharacteristically avoided sex for the past few weeks, and this was enough for her to tumble over the edge. Leaning against the wall, breath silent, she gulped. This was ridiculous, wrong and crazy and reckless. She was in the hallway for christ’s sake. Still, with chaotic urgency, her hand slipped beneath her trousers as she caressed her neglected clit.
You lay, legs wide and twitching, pleasuring yourself in bed totally unaware of your desperate audience. Tonight had been tougher on your resilience, her dress was so simple and yet it hugged her in a way that made you think of flowing water. Water led you to thinking of the pool and suddenly you were smacked with images of her naked swimming. It was too good to ignore, already halfway down the hot spiral your body craved, teeth bruising plump lips. Head thrown back, you began to keen and mewl, the toy pushing you into mindlessness, each gentle buzz pulling a whine.
Ambessa was almost nonsensical, unable to battle for her ironclad control as your noises had her frantically chasing release. You had haunted her for days, flushed cheeks and snide comments, as if nothing had ever happened. You essentially ignored any heat from her and it was maddening. She wanted to fuck you into the mattress you lay on now, the image making her eyes roll slightly. The final straw, shooting her into a shaking climax, was a sudden, bursting whimper of her name from your lips.
You hadn’t meant to, rocking yourself against this thick rabbit, but the image of her was so clear and you wanted it so bad, craved it. You cried out for her, as you had so many times before. Everything sang, bright and harsh, as you went limp.
She was much the same, choking her gasps back as her knees shook slightly. Finally some relief, her thoughts able to order themselves slightly. She did not, however, like the form they took. You, temptress and forbidden fruit, carved a home in her head she could not fill with anything else.
This was a mess. She was a mess. You were a problem.
Ambessa found herself bundling up, rambling at Rictus about almost everything as she prepared to check the lake, to see if it was ready for skating. He took it well, he was trusted for a reason. There was a merry glint in those eyes, a knowing of his Mistress. Something was wrong, was grating on her and he believed that something had a name and sparkly, open eyes.
“Need anything else?” Rictus asked, passing her the mug of coffee so she could finish it, “I’ll sort out whatever part of your wardrobe Mina has mutilated and then start wrapping the kids gifts,”
“Fantastic,” Distracted, dismissive, till her shoulders tensed, “Did you get anything for her?”
He remained neutral, “Did you want me to?”
A pregnant pause, stormy eyes, “I-Uh yes, I’ll send you a list,”
As if her house had become a prison, she smacked into you just as she wandered outside. You stood, fluffy coat and thick scarf, staring mystified at the white landscape.
“I’m sorry,” It was a squeak, mind haunted by your enjoyment last night.
“No, no,” She said, “That was my fault,”
“What,” A swallow, as you met her eyes with passiveness, “Where are you off to?”
“The lake,” She grunted, “See if it’s ready,”
“Ready?”
“For skating,”
Your mind exploded with excitement, never having even considered this as a possibility, lips betraying you, “Oh my god really, can I come?”
Your childlike wonder clawed at her lungs, posture softening, smile tugged forward unbidden, “If you’re careful, and do as I say,”
That was how you’d ended up watching Ambessa Medarda check this huge lake with military precision. You hadn’t visited it much in the summer, it was a fifteen minute walk through the woods so in the heat the pool was the obvious preference. Now though? It was a magical, entrancing grove that you giddy with joy. It was almost like it didn’t matter that it was her, that this was the longest you’d spent alone since August.
“Well,” Ambessa called, “Looks perfect to me,”
To your surprise, she removed two pairs of skates from her bag and chucked one at you, leaning against a large Yew tree to put her own on.
You didn’t know she knew to bring a second pair and it flared suspicion in you, “Why do you have these?”
“They’re Mel’s, Sweetheart,” She answered, amusement tickling her cheeks, “Didn’t realise they were still in there, you’re the same shoe size,”
Oh. Okay. That still didn’t solve the issue that you had no idea how to skate, and you said as much.
Ambessa could feel, as intimately as the danger of an oncoming bullet, that this would not end well. The offer left her lips all the same. She could teach you, it was Christmas tradition and Mel would end up dragging you here the second she found out it was ready.
She was a good teacher, patient and calm, with a habit of everexcessive praise and degradation intermingling. You were being a twat when gaining momentum, but did turning very well Darling. It felt unreal, distant from the dull ache she had placed in your heart, as acceptance slotted further into your bones.
Soaring like an injured bird, she watched you. Round and round you moved, grace slow to arrive but firm in staying, as her eyes stung. She couldn’t understand why, breath quick, as she coughed into gloved hands. The pressure built the more you moved and Ambessa nibbled her lip in contemplation.
“Oh my god, it’s ready,” Kino’s loud shriek saved his mother from further emotional introspection, “MEL. MEL. Come Skate,”
The Medarda siblings joined you, both skilled and dangerously competitive, forcing Ambessa to tug you left and right across the ice to avoid their thundering.
In short, it was the best day yet and that night you could sleep without a cry or an orgasm to force you. Christmas might actually be salvageable.
Another party. You’d joked to Mel that she really was the perfect upper class stereotype with a pool and horses you had avoided out of immense fear, with all her time spent getting drunk and talking about all the things she’d done. Mel was a bit offended, which made your assessment all the funnier, gold lips pouting. This one was very intimate, you’d know everyone there and it was more just a chance to see everyone before Christmas Day.It was just the Medardas and you on the big day, their first year having another person due to Ambessa’s usual strictness that it was only family. That was like a lobster slap to the face, making you feel special and like a burden all at once.
Somehow you were crucial in planning yet again, Mel too busy seeing old friends before they went away and Kino refusing to engage. He’d done his bit for the year with Ambessa’s birthday, he stubbornly replied, hiding himself away in the library with Mina.
That was how you found yourself in the kitchen, at the breakfast table expending half your energy to a Chess Game with Rictus and the other to being a food tester.
“Don’t like cranberry sauce,” You grimaced at her offering, Rook takes Knight “That one’s for him,”
“I don’t either,” Bishop takes Rook, his gruff smile making you laugh in kind.
“What’s the point of you then?” Ambessa snapped, eating the canape herself.
“Idle decoration?” “Part of the furniture?” You responded the same time as Rictus, giggles hidden by an insincere hand.
The three of you powered through the Everest of washing up she had created, humming to the radio and thinking up the worst Christmas cracker jokes we’d heard over the years. You were on drying duty initially, till it proved you hadn’t got a clue where anything lived.
“Didn’t you live here for three months?” He mocked, reordering the baking trays.
“She didn’t cook once in that time,” Ambessa sighed, “Some people just take and take and take,”
It was a joke, but it made you angry and the plate hit the water with more force than you could control. Soapy, lukewarm water crashed against both you and Ambessa, leaving you incredulous and her as still as a statue.
“Well,” Rictus said, warm presence cutting through the tension, “Off you both go to change, it’s enough for me to finish alone anyway,”
You both rushed down the corridor, and you felt yourself lurch as something reminiscent of the echo of an apology left her lips. You waved it away, eyes stinging as you slammed the door and curled under the duvet.
Everything was fine. Everything was good. You were friends now and you didn’t love her at all and you weren’t fuelled most by her laugh, her approval, her existence. You fell asleep with a wet stomach, melancholic music echoing in your head as you ended up back on that dreamlike lake.
The day arrived, December 22nd and you felt weird nauseous butterflies. Things had backtracked a bit since the washing up, but you were determined to drag yourself forward.
Everything shone, the powerhouse of a small country fuelling the lights and decorations as Mel sat crisscrossed on her bed, painting you like one of her canvases.
“This feels like a lot,” You said, yawning, “Everyone coming already knows what I look like,”
She smacked your arm lightly, “It’s Christmas, live a little,”
“I’m already living a lot thank you, you’ve got me in heels and spanx,” You flicked the snap to emphasise your point, moving your lips to hinder her lipstick application.
“Brat,” She gripped your chin, keeping you steady as her face lit up, “There you look like an angel now,”
You did, Your hair was shiny and curled, your face a painted marvel of Mel’s imagination and one of her white and gold dresses clung to you, highlighting everything you had ever been blessed with. Your eyes burned. A click smashed through your thoughts, the film camera flash capturing you forever, awestruck at yourself and grateful for your best friend.
Joy came easy here, her presence diluted by people you had come to love, as you slipped through the small crowd, challenging Viktor to a sober chess rematch. You didn’t win, but neither did he, and with a stalemate reached you gobbled up Ambessa’s admittedly perfect food parcels. Rictus seemed to circle back to you more often than anyone else, smirk on his face, a silent comradery.
The record player was soothing, champagne and eggnog mixing to make an odd sensation in your stomach as Kino twirled you around.
“I’m glad Mel has you,” He mutters against your ear, “She’s needed a friend to ground her,”
Everything spun weirdly, the compliment ironic as you nodded roughly, “I love her, she’s the best, and hey, you’re not too bad either,”
He laughed, twirling you a final time, “Always the charmer, Princess,”
Chaos devolved, as it always did with this group of friends, the snow too tempting a siren. You’d actually been having a coherent conversation with Ambessa and Cassandra Kiramman about your thesis progress, eyes only slightly hazy with booze, when you were hauled away by Jayce and VI. A snowball fight on the patio had erupted, bodies numb to the cold as their skin was heated by alcohol, violent throws and crashing dodges. No true adult participated, though some watched fondly, as Rictus recorded the whole thing on an old camcorder, another Medarda tradition apparently.
Ambessa trailed the scene, heart warm at the sight. She loved her children, loved the people they had become even if sometimes they seemed alien to her, more gentle and considerate than she considered possible. Their friends were a great reflection of them, loud and eclectic, with the loyalty of a wolf pack. You flitted about like a golden mote of light, drawing her eye more than she wished. That dress was sinful, you filled it in a way that made her ache, makeup turning your eyes into deep pools in wish she lost her senses. She knew nothing about your thesis, though Cassandra seemed to have continued that conversation with her as you were dragged away. This was becoming impractical, her body not her own. She retreated to the kitchen under the pretense of refills.
You bowed out early, freezing your tits off was fun until it wasn’t and you were less agile than the others. Beelinging for the kitchen, desperate for tea and to choke down more canapes, your cold skin smashed against a warm, firm wall.
She was beautiful tonight, as always. Resplendent and controlling, wielding her space perfectly. Braids and curls intermingled to frame her angular face, statement birthday necklace in place with matching earrings, as long lashes fluttered. It was the most stuck you’d felt since coming back to the house, an aura so similar to that first barbeque, that you’d almost slipped and made an inappropriate joke.
Your damp, snow soaked curls stuck your face as you stood inches from her, the kitchen silent save for your mingled breath.
“Good party,” You crooked, frozen in face.
“Yes,” She responded in kind, “A success I think,”
“I-I just wanted another salmon tart thing,”
She placed one in your hand, eyes widening, as she gripped your bare shoulder “You’re freezing, Sweet girl,”
Sweet Girl the tipsy, happy haze called. You nodded, “Was in the snow,”
She could warm you up, her sly and corrupted mind cried, thoughts blank as your innocent, devil eyes captured her body and perhaps even soul. She moved thoughtlessly, a gentle ringed hand tilting your chin as her dark lips crushed against yours.
Euphoria. You were in heaven, succumbing hungrily to the kiss, lungs starved of oxygen for four months. No logic here, no reason or doubt. Only her firm guiding embrace, and warm tongue. Ambessa Medarda was an evil, perfect woman and you could not escape her.
Dizzy, drunk in more ways than one, you pushed her off gently. It took everything in you, salmon tart crushed to nothing on the ground as you gulped.
Her inability to treat you a person was not why you’d stopped this, though if you respected yourself it should have been, it was because of Mel.
“This isnt-”
“Oh my fucking god,” It was shrill, whispered and bitter, your heart dropping out of your ass, ”No, you haven’t done this to me Mum, not again,”
Speak of the devil.
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Bad End, Chosen: Part 4
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The Cycles never "loaded" back in at quite the same point. It was something I had noticed, though I had only suffered a few of them so far. It was like the God's were hoping "Chapter" to "Chapter", fickle and easily bored, trying desperately to find something NEW.
It made planning all but impossible.
Where... where was I?
A simple room. A suitcase before me. Loading or unloading? I held a robe in my hands. Painfully familiar. I had worn them for years. The highly protective robes of Mage initiates, at the Magic Tower. Meant to work as armor, life support, even... God's forbid, an emergency beacon. They were hideous. Function over form.
I could cry, for how deeply I loved these ugly robes.
No one had EVER been able to figure out how to style them properly. God's know, we had TRIED. But when The Dark came? This ugly, ugly things? These long complained about hand-me-downs? Oh... oh they had saved so, SO many student's lives.
Such tiny little things. Pulled from the rubble, still breathing. All because of these chaotic, gaudy, terribly comfortable and so deeply loved, old robes. T...They truely were as hideous as I remembered, weren't they? Blocks upon blocks of overlapping stitches and patches, too many colors, as though the tower was too stubborn to throw as single thing away.
We were.
We... we NEVER leave anything or anyONE behind.
Packrats, all of us. Such terrible hoarders. But... I looked around. It did not tell me the date. Was I leaving? Joining the tower? How old was I supposed to be? I pulled on my robes.
It felt like coming home. Like balm against the raw nerves of my still fragile mind. I felt old. Brittle. At... at terrible odds, with my young skin. I wondered if this was how she felt. The woman, the poor girl, that came before me. Before she broke so badly even the God's could not force her to perform. I did not want to admit I understood the impulse.
Ah, there.
I had once, what felt like lifetimes ago. What WAS lifetimes ago. Bought this very calander. It was cute. Little fairy dragons danced upon the edges, delicate and joyous. They were, of course, incorrectly drawn. The artist had never seen a real fairy dragon, only heard of them. I had seen some during the war.
People forget that neither the Fae nor Dragons are sweet or gentle things.
They were... Awe inspiring. In the oldest sense of the world. "An overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, and fear." I believe the text defined it. Like living starlight and glass, sung poetry and water. They were the fury of long dead gods and the vengeance of beings who were divine unto themselves.
They removed an entire MOUNTAIN RANGE before they fell. Burned and reduced to molten earth, an entire inland sea. They died like STARS. Violently and with a force that destroyed the void itself. Consuming all that dared stand in their shadow.
Ha. And people think they're CUTE.
Ah...my mind is wandering again. I try to concentrate on the calendar. My... my mind doesn't want too. Oh dear. That's... that's probably a rather bad sign, isn't it?
Opening my eyes at the beginning of the cycle had brough such... CLARITY. As though my head had been held under murky water and finally, FINALLY, I was able to scramble free. But... much like the drowned... I felt something like a high. Adrift. Without my anchor. I wanted my Gran-...
NO.
I grab the dresser before me. Hard enough my knuckles go white. My wide eyes focus far away. Seeing without seeing. Hyperfocused on the woodgrain before me. I am my OWN anchor. Feel the magic in your veins. The push and pull of the world. We are not his slave! Not his PET, to keep and cherish. A toy on a shelf.
I am a PERSON.
I DEFY MY FATE.
A cheerful knock at the door to my room. My eyes finally focusing on the date. Fuck. Moving IN, then. I do not know if I can act "normal". I... I will have to try. I can not unclench my jaw, but with great force of will, finger by finger, I release my grip on the dresser. Stand up. Glance up into the mirror.
I look like I am some hateful little thing, vowing some ugly little vengeance. Perhaps it is just my face. The way anger and spite only barely holds my bleeding edges together. My fear. I...I look like I am about to cry.
What a wretched child.
I try to force a smile.
It looks hideous. More ugly grimace and deep disgust then "oh, Master, how pleased I am to see you!". Fuck. When did I become so broken? A knock again. More hesitant. I breathe deep. I can not do cheerful, then. But...I... I can do nothing.
My face slides into an emotionless mask. Blank. Like a doll. Vaguely pleasant but meaningless. How damningly familiar. Gran-... HE reduced me to this in the end. A few steps. Almost distant, robotic, movement. And I open the door to a once familiar face.
"Learner." My Master smiles, awkward and uncertain. He had not wanted a student. I forced his hand. I know now I never should have done so. He was not ready. "Are you, um, settling? In? I know it is quite different from the life you once lived, but I promise. I will tale care of you. Well figure this out together."
Oh, Master.
I...I wish I could weep. I had forgotten this lie. How deeply I had once believed it. It was a child's promise, from a man who grew old but never, truely, grew up. I was to be failed again and again. Had once given him chance after chance. Because I had believed his words. My eyes feel hot. He looks panicked.
"Ah! W-what did I do? Was that wrong? Please don't cry?! Oh no! Uuuuh-!"
"Well THIS is a record. Not even a day and you've made the child weep." Comes a terrible voice. No. Please, Gods. Not so soon. "Here I am, come to greet my precious Grandlearner. And what do I find? My student, tormenting a child."
My Master sputters defenses of himself. Not even noticing that his own Master did not call him Learner. All but disowned him before me. My fear howls like a deafening beast in my ears. But... cowering? Will not... can not save me. Turning my head is almost painful, with how tightly my muscles have tensed.
That is not the look of a man who does not recognize me.
He remembers.
Alaric Blight stands in truely magnificent Tower Master's robes, as though he has every right to be there. Respected. Beloved. A legendary talent, the likes of which have not been seen for lifetimes. ANYONE would be HONORED to be in his presence. After all... he is a man who holds the world at his feet.
He is a monster.
"Hello Grandlearner," he all but purrs. Stalking forward to loom, as only an adult CAN loom over a child. The power difference between is even greater now. I can not even count myself an ant before him. I... I can not breathe. "What a delicate little thing you are. Utterly precious. And so SMALL! You certainly have a lot of training to do, don't you?"
His hand reaches forward to cup my cheek, sparks of deadly magic dancing lazily across my skin too finely for Master to notice, but not so fine I can not FEEL. It is a subtle threat. A little reminder. Not a single soul in this tower is safe, so long as he is here. All it would take? Is.. Just. One. Touch~
"I'm sure you'll BEHAVE for your Master, WONT you, Dear? After all, he only wants what's best for you. And a darling child like you, Grandlearner? Should be cherished."
"He's right." My Master said, clueless to the monster he let so close. Who so very dispised him. "But... but Master, I'm not sure, well, HOW exactly..."
"Oh don't worry, student of mine." Alaric Blight, monster of my nightmares, hummed in a laughable mimicry of pleasantries. "I'll be with you EVERY step of the way. How could do anything less? We'll train my darling Grandlearner together."
A terrible grin.
"Leave everything to me."
#threepandas#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere otome#yanblr#yandere otome isekai#otome game#otome#platonic yandere#mage reader#Alaric Blight#bad end chosen au#bad end chosen#my man IS gonna get his Found Family#by force is necessary#which is super likely#alaric no#alaric YES! says alaric
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his world. jude bellingham
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
pairing: jude bellingham x f!reader
summary: jude absolutely adores his little baby girl and her mommy
warnings: reader and jude are young parents in this one!! (i have the biggest baby fever rn), teeth rotting fluff, if you're not into parenting/baby tropes then this probably isn't for you in any way
cal's notes: yes, i do realize i've literally disappeared lmao. mental health went downhill and yeah, we're here now. i don't know when i'll get to the requests, i'm really sorry but i'm hoping i'll get my motivation back at some point
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
jude's pov
the moment the nurse laid her in her arms, i couldn't tear my eyes away. she was beautiful, her little nose scrunched up ever so slightly as she slept so peacefully. that's the moment i realized what it meant to love someone more than anything else in the entire world. so cliché but you'll never know before you experience that feeling for the first time.
i lifted my eyes from the small bundle and up to her, the woman who had given me this gift. i thought i loved her before, but it was nothing compared to the way i felt towards her now. she had just gone through hours of pain to bring this little girl into this world. i admired her features, glistening with sweat and tears but i could swear she had never looked more beautiful.
"i love you so much, beautiful." i kissed the top of her head and the back of my hand slowly glided across the skin of her cheek, flushed after what must've been the toughest hours of her life.
she looked up at me and gave me a small, clearly exhausted smile but she couldn't take her eyes off her for long either. this little angel stole both of our hearts on the spot.
"aila." she muttered and upon noticing the confusion on my face, she was quick to explain "that's her name."
aila.
─────────────────────
as you stirred awake to the sound of your daughter's cries, you noticed jude was no longer next to you. how did you realize before you even opened your eyes? his warm, somewhat calloused hands were gone from their usual position around your bare waist.
with a soft sigh, you moved out of the comfort of your bed and sauntered to aila's room, noticing how the soft, warm light was glowing in the distance. that's how you knew your boyfriend was already there, handling the situation but as you approached the door, the sight made you stop and silently lean against the door frame.
jude was standing by your daughter's bed, holding the little one in his arms while he slowly swayed himself from side to side. his eyes were fixated on the six-month-old while he hummed a soft melody, attempting to quiet the cries of your baby girl. you had never seen him so serene and attentive before and you could feel your heart warm at the two.
you were both fairly young to be parents and you had always worried about your maturity but with each passing day, jude proved you wrong. the way he cared for aila and always made her his top priority...she was his world.
you couldn't help but smile at them, especially when you heard the cries and weeps fade into the night as they were replaced with babbling and soft giggles. a smile rose on jude's lips when he realized he had managed to calm his daughter and he placed a gentle kiss on her tiny knuckles before holding her against his chest. he would've loved to hold her like this for hours, never laying her down in her crib again, but he knew he had to get her back to sleep.
you moved further into the comfort of aila's room and pressed yourself against jude's back, arms instinctively wrapping around his mid-section. "having some trouble there, papa?" you asked him with a smile and he only chuckled. "hey, i'm the one that managed to calm her down. princess is almost ready to go back to bed, aren't you, angel?" he said and turned around, which brought your daughter to your view. she smiled at the sight of you and reached her hands out, her chestnut brown eyes glistening as she giggled. just like jude, she had stolen your heart the moment she was placed into your arms and you were completely powerless. from those beautiful eyes that were identical to her dad's to those chubby cheeks, she was perfect.
as jude watched the most important women in his life, he couldn't contain the pure happiness he felt surging through his veins. "what's on your mind?" you questioned as you had now taken aila into your own arms and began to rock from one foot to the other slowly. jude shrugged, the everlasting grin on his lips staying in place "i never thought it was possible to love someone this much, let alone two people" he admitted and pressed a tender kiss on your temple before turning his attention to his daughter. "she is the best thing that could've ever happened to us" he whispered as he watched the little girl's eyes slowly flutter shut, followed by a gentle yawn from you.
"i've got it, my love. go and get some sleep." he offered and took aila from your arms, which you were eternally grateful for as you could swear you almost fell asleep on the spot. "i love you" was all you responded but instead of replying, he gave you a delicate kiss on your lips. considering it was sometime around 2 am, his lips were slightly chapped and rough, but you didn't tell him that. "join me soon" you requested before pecking his cheek and heading back to bed.
his eyes lingered as he watched you leave and began to hum the same melody as he had been before, this time hoping to slowly swing the six-month-old back to sleep. "i don't think you'll ever know how much daddy loves you, angel. i'm so lucky to have you and mummy. i think i'm going to propose to mummy soon." he told his daughter in a hushed whisper, it was almost as if he was expecting a response.
"goodnight, my angel. you're my entire world."
#jude bellingham x you#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham#jude bellingham one shot#jude bellingham imagine#bellingham#bv borussia 09 dortmund#football imagine#football one shot#football fanfic#footballer
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Pursuit of happiness
Summary: Sometimes, what we need most in life is right before our eyes.
Request
Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section!
I'm open to requests.
Thank you, and Enjoy! :)
Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover
WARNING: mention of smut +16
Fatherhood (the movie) inspiration dialogue
Mick’s life changes so quickly that he never knows how lucky he is. Overnight, he is the father of a beautiful little girl, and the woman of his life leaves him and their newborn without a word, a clue, or anything. They were left to themselves. She left the hospital room without anyone noticing. He collapsed, realizing that he would not see her again. How could his three-year-old girlfriend do this to him?
He found himself in this hospital room with his little daughter in his arms. His parents hadn’t arrived yet, and Mick didn’t know what to do. We leave him alone in this room, and he watches the tiny face of his flesh. It looks so much like him. She has the same nose and eyes as him, a real Schumacher.
For the first few weeks of his daughter’s life, Corinna came to help him as best she could. Show him the basics and help him stay the course. But eventually, she had to go home like everyone else. Desperate, he definitely needs help.
“Excuse me,” Mick says, entering the meeting room.
“Um, I’m sorry. AA is down the hall to the right.”
“I’m not. I’m not here for the AA meeting. That’s not why I’m here. » Mick replies, getting back to the hallway to get the stroller. “She uh. She just went to sleep, but she’s been crying for hours. I mean hours to the point where I’m exhausted. And I don’t know how to break the stroller down. I don’t know how to fold it up.”
“Okay. Well, sorry, but this is a group for new mothers.” Replicates one of the young women sitting on a chair.
“You’re lying. Because on that sign out there, it says “parents.” I’m a parent, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t have anybody else to talk about this shit. Speaking of shit, the girl’s got some stuff flying out her ass. It’s like a fire hose. I don’t know if it’s normal or not, but it’s two different kinds. She can either hit you with a streamer. That’s when it’s all put together, and it’s- it’s a little solid. And it’s a direct hit. Or she’ll buckshot you. And that’s- that’s that spray. It’s a quick whop! » Mick is entirely exhausted. « I need help. I need the crying to stop. How do I make the crying stop?”
“Okay, uh, it could be colic, and it’s expected in the first couple of months.” The youngest lady in the center says.
“What’s colic?”
“It’s when the babies cry for an hour on end without reason until it feels like your eyes are about to pop out.” She explains, getting up from her chair to meet him.
“I gave the baby colic.”
“No, that’s - that’s not how colic works.” Says a mother laughing.
“I’m not washing my hand, and I’m touching the baby. And that’s how I gave the baby colic.” Mick is stressed and looks with fear at his poor daughter.
“You don’t give a baby colic. It’s more of a digestive thing.” The young woman replies, looking in the stroller to see his daughter's beautiful face.
“That’s a relief.”
“Things that might work is white noise, surprisingly.” She says, passing her fingers on the little girl's toes.
“White noise?”
“White noise.” She says, smiling. “Come on, join us for the rest of the session.”
She moves back to her place and takes another chair next to her, letting him have some space to sit. Freyja enjoyed the rest of the session with the other babies. Mick takes note, learning a lot about everything there is to know about babies and their various problems. He enjoys listening to the mothers; they give him tips and mother him. After the class, she says goodbye to the others before turning herself to Mick.
“Mick.” She asks, touching his shoulder. “I’m Y/n.”
“Oh, nice to meet you. Thank you for this session. I learn a lot. When is the next session? Do we have to pay for a feed or something?”
“No, this is a free meeting for parents in need. The next session his Tuesday night at seven. I’m glad you ask for help. It’s a difficult time, the first few months with a newborn and all. You could also ask the mother to attend the session if you like.”
“Umm, she died.” He lies, nervously scratching his neck.
“Oh, I’m sorry for your lost.” Her compassionate side is getting a bit overwhelmed. “You’re doing an amazing job, Mick. Don’t be scared, and trust your instinct.” She smiles, locking her gaze on his. Freyja chirps in the arms of her father, happy to be carried. He helps her tidy up the room as best he can, with his baby in his arms, before walking together to the door.
“Why did you choose to do this? Do you have kids?” Mick asks, changing the subject. They walk to the parking, putting Freyja in her car seat.
“No, I don’t have kids. I’m a midwife. Always worked with babies, and I wanted to help the parents with my expertise and various tips. If you need help with your little Freyja, here is my number. Feel free to call whenever you feel like it. I’ll be a phone call away.” She says, gathering her thing and getting into her car.
He feels relieved and confident for the first time in a few weeks. Talking to other parents makes him feel better about his ability to deal with all the baby stuff. He went to the other meeting, listening carefully to every detail and tip the mothers would give him. How to feed her properly? How to massage her small body? How to bathe her? Everything a new parent has to learn.
The weeks passed, and Mick was attentive to each of the classes. Happy to become a better parent for the new love of his life. He is pleased to see her healthy and radiant. He is also delighted to see the beautiful midwife every Tuesday night.
One night, Freyja has been crying for hours on edge. And she starts to be a little warm. Worried, Mick calls Y/n to be sure, making her rush to his apartment. She reassures him by telling him that she must be a little too hot with all the layers of clothes that Mick puts on him, and they sit in the living room to have a drink while Freyja sleeps in the bedroom.
The conversation is going well, and they take this opportunity to get to know each other better. She learns Mick’s trade, and he listens to her talk about her studies and dreams. Signals are exchanged, and the chemistry here’s. Absorbed in their conversation, they don’t hear little Freyja at first.
« Excuse me. » Mick says, worried about his daughter's strange sounds. « Freyja? Freyja gently. What’s wrong with you? You’re choking. » Mick turns on the lights, and Y/n watches the scene worrying about the baby’s noises. « I don’t know what’s wrong with her. » Mick panics and gesticulates in the room, trying to calm Freyja, who starts to cry frantically. « No, but she’s choking right now! She’s choking! She’s choking. » Mick repeats, looking at Y/n, terrified. She tries to calm him down, but nothing to do. Panic seizes him. « What do I do? Call the paramedics? »
« Wait. Let me see. »
« Okay. I’ll call 911 because right now… Excuse me, but she’s choking. » Mick runs to grab his phone, which stays on the kitchen counter, while Y/n reassures little Freyja as best she can by putting her knowledge to the test. « Yes! Hello? I’m calling you because I have a baby that’s breathing. No, but she’s breathing very, very hard. There, then I need to… Yes, I’m at 56 Greenwich Street. My name is Schumacher. On the door. Schumacher. Yes, like the pilot. » Mick hangs up and can’t help wanting to be close to his daughter. He goes to them and orders Y/n to give him his child.
Y/n remains very calm, and after giving Freyja back, she goes to the bathroom. Turns on the light and opens the hot water valves in the sink and tub. She calls Mick holding her hand to grab his arm when he passes.
The steam of the water rises, and quickly the room is fogged. She takes off her sweater and directs Mick to the cares to follow.
"I think it’s laryngitis, so uh... with water vapour, it moistens the atmosphere. It does her good." She calmly explains by observing him holding the person most precious to her. She is moved. It’s rare to see a father as loving and caring as a little being like that. Rarely in the hospital or outside she sees the love of a father so present for her child. « Speak to her. Speak to her gently. Reassures her. It’s going to be okay, I promise.»
Mick calms down little by little and regains control of his emotions. He approaches his daughter on her bare chest and mumbles reassuring words. He tells her how much he loves her. He is so happy to have her in his life. Little by little, she calms down. The steam helps her to breathe normally, and she moves less and less in her daddy’s arms. Y/n smiles tenderly at this beautiful moment of life she attends.
Help arrives about ten minutes later, taking Mick to the hospital. Y/n looks at the ambulance in the distance, and Mick smiles tenderly at him before turning his attention to his daughter. He asks her to stay in the apartment for the night, not wanting her to return to her home across town this late at night.
So she stayed. She waited for them to come back, and around seven am, they did. Freyja is fast asleep in Mick's arms. He puts it in his cradle and joins Y/n, who approaches the door. He walks her down the stairs to be there and stay.
“So you could take me out for coffee. Say, thank you for earlier, you know, like a date.”
“Uhm... I got to go back upstairs.” He quickly says, running back upstairs.
She stays there quite confused, thinking she was too direct with him. She starts wondering if she read the signals wrong. She waits a few minutes for him to come back, but no. Mick ran away.
He felt devastated and didn’t know how to deal with this new relationship or whatever this could be. She arrived in his life like a ray of sunshine after the storm or a rainbow after the rain. Frey loved her immediately, but he felt terrible to move on so quickly on Freyja's mother…
To the next meeting on Tuesday night, Mick went.
“All right, I think that's all for today. Thank you for coming. There are cookies on the counter. I made them last night if you are interested.” Y/n says, gathering her things and putting the chairs away. She hasn't texted Mick back since he rejected her on Saturday night.
“Y/n.” Mick asks. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Sure. What is it?” She says, cooing his daughter in his arm.
“Umm... I’m - I was. Do you want to go on a date with me? You know, like a proper date.”
They went on that date, but Mick never moved, and this tension has been present since then. She became a part of the family. She meets Mick parent’s and sister, and he meets hers. Even with this, neither of them made the move and stayed friends. Nobody knew what was stopping them from actually making a move. Corinna thought about his son's stubbornness to put his daughter first, even in his love life.
He has loved her since he saw her at this meeting. The moment she stepped up for him when everybody left. Making sure he and Freyja have the best without thinking about her once. Two years passed, and Freyja is now two. They have organized a little party with some family and friends. Everyone was gathered around the little princess, and she was more than spoiled.
Y/n had made the cake for the second year in a row. Freyja was obsessed with geese. Every time they went to the park, she would see them. The goose-shaped cake, in her words, gently approaches and sings happy birthday to little Freyja, who laughs at the sparkle of seeing her favourite animal on her cake. She reaches out and wiggles in her high chair. Y/n puts the cake down, and everyone cheers once she can extinguish all the candles, with obviously Mick’s help behind her.
Y/n stands next to Mick quite naturally. Mick’s heart gets excited, and he smiles at her. He has eyes only for her. He watches the bursts in his eyes illumine his soul. She emanates warmth and a sensation of happiness that takes hold of Mick. He does not hesitate this time. He gently grabs her face between his hands and kisses her lips softly. Her lips that he so often dreams of kissing, of feeling against him. He kisses her in front of all the guests, who utter an exclamation of contentment. Finally, they dared to do so.
They officialized for the public a few weeks later, making everyone happy.
Four years later...
Four years passed. Four years of happiness and joy in this small family of three. They recently moved to Switzerland to be closer to Mick’s family and allow his father to see Freyja as often as possible. Freyja grew up well. She went back to kindergarten, and everyone loved her. The fans are in adoration at her little angel face. She accompanies from time to time with her mom Y/n her dad to the races. They stay in the garage or hospitality and watch the cars roll, or mechanics do their work.
She loves everything that has to do with her dad’s job. She wants to do everything like him, and sometimes Y/n must be the less cool parent not to allow Mick to take his daughter with him while he goes 90 km karting.
Mick couldn’t be more in love. He’s been living the perfect romance since he met her, and he’s happy to have dared to take the first step. It allows him to have this extraordinary woman at his side. He wakes beside her every morning and doesn’t want to be elsewhere. In his arms for eternity with Freyja in the middle. At this thought, Mick smiles and opens the door of the room. They came home from dinner with a friend and took off her dress. It slides along her body before reaching the ground. She reveals your generous curves, and Mick feels himself growing.
She unpacks your jewelry and puts it back in your jewelry box. Concentrating, she doesn’t notice the presence of Mick, and she jumps when she feels his arms around her waist and his erection in her lower back. His lips rest on her neck, and she takes a deep breath. His name is stuck in her mouth, and she moans.
His hands caress her body and find the warmth of her crotch.
“Take your shirt off. Let me see your muscle.” She whimpers, leaning against him.
Mick giggles at her words but obeys her order. He slowly pulls his shirt over his hand and lets it fall on the floor. He
Mick forces her to kneel down. He pulls down his own pants quickly and smiles. Mick didn’t have to say anything. Y/n is already getting closer. She drops his boxer and caresses his rod, hard as a rock.
She brings her mouth closer and swallows his dick, tearing Mick a deep moan of pleasure. She bites him lightly and caresses him tirelessly with her tongue. Mick gives small pelvis strokes to encourage him to continue this sweet torture. She feels him moaning again before he empties himself entirely into her mouth. She does not let go and swallows the liquid greedily. Little white nets escape, but Mick catches them by spreading them on his girlfriend’s face. “Oh, how he likes to have her between his legs.”
There’s nothing Mick likes more than seeing her filled with him. Literally, since the beginning of their love relationship, he has not stopped thinking about the idea of getting her pregnant. Pregnant with her child. He wants to start a family and have that experience with her. He likes to remove his condo from relationships from time to time; to live at risk. He loves to feel her so close to him. Pushing himself into her, making her moan his name.
That’s why after last night's event, when he wakes up to an empty bed, he’s confused. He’s still in the haze of last night. His body is sore, and he can’t amazing how she’s doing. To be honest, he wonders how she even got out of bed this morning. Early this morning, he had to take care of her and actually take her to the bathroom because she couldn’t do it herself. Her legs were shaking, and she couldn’t stand properly. They giggled at the situation before they went to sleep.
Mick sits on the bed, and he hears laughs coming from the kitchen. He gets up and tiptoes. Smiling to the sound of his girls. Leaning on the doorframe, seeing his girlfriend helped by his daughter making crêpes. He knew at this moment he didn’t make the wrong choice to let her into his life. To let her be his wife. The mother of his child. The love in her eyes is more visible than anything.
He loves her.
He loves the way she laughs.
He loves the way she looks at him.
He loves the way she takes care of Freyja.
He loves the way she speaks to him.
He loves.
He loves her.
That was when he really knew. That morning, after an incredible night of love, seeing her with his daughter like she is her own. Laughing and cooking. Sharing and caring. He knows she is the one.
(Side notes)
Long overdue request, but I’m finally content with the way I wrote it! Hope you like it, and can’t wait to receive more of those amazing requests.
Lots of love, Spicy Clover <3
#mick schumacher#mick schumacher x reader#mick schumacher imagine#mick schumacher fluff#mick schumacher smut#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fluff#f1 smut#f1
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Three Word Prompt to Distract my Busy Thoughts...It worked. Genre was Horror with the words, popsicle sticks, lawn and stem.
My grandmother was a profoundly intense woman. A fervent follower of Jesus, she never missed Sunday Mass. Though she had a green thumb, she didn't relish gardening as a hobby. Instead of giving a monetary donation at Mass every Sunday, she brought plants to the houses of anyone on the prayer list or anyone in church she heard needed a little extra kindness in their life. It's strange, or maybe it would be to you, but my grandmother was different from others we sat next to, kneeled next to, then sat again next to, stood next to, shook hands with, and wished peace to. As you've probably figured out, this is a Catholic Mass, a very serious event where most of the smiling and speaking happens when you shake hands. That has always been my favorite part—it felt like a moment to finally smile, talk, and someone wishing me peace always made me feel a bit better inside, though I'd never admit I enjoyed any part of it. But my grandma, she didn’t smile shaking hands; she did it rather reluctantly, almost like she was a mix of angry and frustrated with her faith, or maybe with God, most likely due to her forced devotion to it. It was written all over her face, at least I think it was. I was nine, then ten, then eleven; I didn’t learn about human emotions until later—that's another story.
Sometimes, I would imagine that she was really a spy for the devil and not a devout Catholic at all. It kept my mind busy during the boring sermon, and I swear her expressions fit the part just right. But all that changed one night when I walked by her bedroom and saw her kneeling by her bed, clutching her rosary with a focus that seemed almost desperate. Each bead slipped through her fingers with a whispered prayer, her lips moving silently. It was a nightly ritual, one she never missed. I wondered if I would ever understand the significance of those beads if they ever ended up in my hands.
Another peculiar thing about my grandmother was that she went to everybody's funeral. It was like she knew everyone who died in our entire town. When you get old, you know all the other old people, but these weren't just old people—sometimes a baby would die, sometimes a mother would get cancer and pass away, sometimes a whole family from out of town would get in a car accident, and she’d go pay her respects at their funeral too. I never questioned it too much. How can you question an old woman going to pay her respects and bring a grieving family a memorial plant grown from the stems of the funeral arrangement they loved most, complete with soil and lessons on how to plant it and take care of it? She would teach the whole family of the deceased; the children could come too. I went with her many times, and it gave these people such comfort. This made my grandmother even more mysterious to me. The hardness of her look, the way she did things—it was all so intriguing. Despite all the little red flags and inconsistencies, I always came back to thinking how beautiful what she was doing was, how it meant something to these people who were overjoyed. My grandmother couldn’t be an evil demon; she couldn’t have those looks in her eyes because she was doing something more terrible than I could imagine. I liked to imagine her being a demon, but she was my grandma, so I was pretty sure she wasn’t.
Grandma would have me kneel down with her and make tiny little headstones. We made these with popsicle sticks glued together every summer. We would tape the funeral pamphlet, you know, the one with the photo, and cut it to fit over the popsicle stick frame. Then we would attach one last stick to the bottom so it would stand up in the soil; yep, it was a mini headstone. Her backyard was filled with mini popsicle stick headstones. They all had stems planted around them in the soil. Those stems, like magic, would grow into new plants and flowers—they were beautiful. When the flowers had bloomed and were ready to take to the next family, my grandmother's eyes almost gleamed with an unusual excitement. If you saw it, you’d probably think it was misplaced or maybe even inappropriate. But I was nine, I was ten; I didn’t know what it meant, so I just forgot about it. I didn’t understand, and it was too much for my ten-year-old brain.
That hindsight is 20/20 thing is real. Grandma lived for about nine more years, and during that time, I became an adult. I wasn’t around to help her with her backyard graveyard as much. But I rushed home when she got very sick. I said my final goodbye to my strange, intense, interesting, unusual, quirky grandma. For the first time ever, her eyes looked soft. She looked into my eyes, and I wondered if maybe she had made peace with her life, or maybe she was deep in thought. “Grandma, what are you thinking about?" I asked. “I’m picturing you carrying on what I've done for the church and for the people. I hope that you could do that for me. I hope that you can promise that you will do that for me. I'm leaving the house, the garden, and everything to you. All the instructions are written in the shed. Everything I have is yours. Just do this for me."
"Grandma, of course, I promise I will go to all the town funerals that I can. I'll cut the stems and get the photos. The stems will grow into new plants, and I will give them to... wait, who do I give them to?"
“Whoever needs prayers on the prayer list at Sunday Mass. If the person on the prayer list is in the hospital or a nursing home, don't bring the plant and soil there. The person won't be there permanently, and the plant is meant to be forever. Bring two bags of soil and the plants to their home, and teach the children and adults there how to plant them."
“One bag may be enough to cause some effects on the family."
"Affects, Grandma? Like gratitude or thank you cards?"
“My sweet grandson, there are many short and long-term effects that depend on many variables. You'll see, don't worry."
“Grandma, are you okay? I don't really understand what you mean."
“Well, you have to see to know. So deliver your first one now," she said. Her eyes at that moment became dark but excited, cunning. She looked into my soul, but her blackened eyes were devoid of anything, empty, void. My grandma was not in there. I wondered, is this what happens when you die? But how could she have left her body, how could her soul be gone when she’s awake? Now, as an adult, I knew something was wrong. I knew that all along there was something about my grandmother that was sinister.
“Son, I'm very tired now. Please go pick up the plants at my house. This child is six months old and is sick. He needs it near him, so please place the flowers and soil in the nursery. Do not stay very long at all."
“Grandma, I don't want to be rude."
“You asked about the affects. The affects on a child are intense and immediate. They could start minutes after being in contact with the soil."
“The soil, Grandma? What is in the soil, and what effect will it have on a little baby? Is it some holistic, natural thing you've gotten into? I don't believe in that stuff. You can't cure a sick baby with magic soil."
“My stubborn grandson, just be on your way, and you will see. Listen to me carefully. After the sweet baby's funeral, which should be in a week or two, show the parents the utmost kindness. Give them a gift that will always remind them of their child. Go back to their house with more soil and plant with them their child's plants in the backyard."
“Grandma, did they give you some meds? Are you saying... what are you saying? Are you... wait?"
As David stood up, his grandmother looked pale, her eyes barely open. "David, one more thing. You mustn’t forget to bring enough soil. The chemicals, they make the plants grow so malevolently powerful."
She smiled at me, looking straight into my eyes, and I knew exactly why. I felt it in my eyes—they were black, empty. I felt nothing but a strange sense of excitement. At that moment, I changed forever, this incredible sense of clarity came over me, I wasn't meant to understand it, until that moment. I had become blind as an adult to my family's sacred truth. Just as my Grandmother warned me, my ego took over for a while, but this too was part of my soul's plan. Everything came rushing back into me, I could almost feel all of the dense energy releasing and being pulled out of me and this powerful light entering.
There was never a demon, the devil was not at work in my Grandmother! She protected me, and she groomed me. Our destinies intertwined, our darkness a continuance through generations. It all made sense now. My grandmother loved me, protected me, and groomed me, all while never stealing my innocence. There was never any demon inside of her, or any sickness. Everyone has darkness inside them; that I know for sure. Some are meant to let it completely take over, until they can accept and heal it. Some are meant to walk in the light and spread the light to the world. What about you? Are you lying to yourself and everyone else, is the darkness buried deep enough? Are you open and healed? Are you letting all your light come in? If not, what of the urges then, have they come back yet? No one can escape themselves forever. So, tell me… which parts of yourself are in that box buried so deep inside? Why can’t they be acknowledged? Are they too ugly? Do you feel enraged if someone really ‘sees’ you, and catches a glimpse of what you hide? Do you become enraged at that point and project the darkness onto them? If you are doing this, it’s bad, and it’s destructive, but it’s not too late. You can stop the darkness from winning, we all can. Accept it, acknowledge that ugly parts exist in you, and in all of us. Love the parts of you that you don’t like, as you do the rest of yourself. They make up the story of your soul's journey through lifetimes.
32 years after David sat with his dying Grandmother. A little boy opened a leather journal he'd never seen before sitting on his kitchen table.
He recognized his father's handwriting and began to read.
In David's seemingly twisted rationale, he trusted that those he led to their deaths had soul plans that included this violent end. He believed that their family members were meant to endure the agony of grief, a necessary suffering to evolve in their spiritual journeys. To David, the act of murder was not evil; it was a sacred duty, a dark rite of passage. His understanding of his role was both horrifying and absolute. He knew, with chilling certainty, that he was fulfilling a cosmic order. Each death was a step closer to his soul's ultimate evolution. And so, he continued, each murder more calculated than the last, each victim a willing participant in his grotesque mission. David's final thought before he drifted off to sleep at night was simple, yet profound.
"In death, I bring life to my soul."
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This is a thank you, not an ask. I guess I would be classified as a lurker in the Tumbler world since I primarily only read what others write. But I did make a comment to you once and you responded so you made me feel comfortable enough that I could send this to you. Shippers have unknowingly been helping me stay sane these past few years. My husband has Alzheimer’s with Aphasia and I have been his sole caretaker for a long time. Having this responsibility is not for the faint of heart. One day in early 2019 I stumbled across Outlander and like a lot of others, was in, hook, line and sinker and Jamie & Claire and Sam & Cait became part of my daily life. Last week I had to place my husband in a memory care facility. It was an agonizing decision and I prayed for a sign that this was the right move. As stupid as this may sound, I think my prayer was answered. On the second day he made a friend. His name is Jamie. Only in the Outlander world would this have any meaning, but we've now got a sweet Jamie in our lives. You may officially call me crazy. Thank you to you and all the other shippers for all the smiles and happiness you've brought to me and many others. It kept me going.
Dear @jovialchaoslover,
By all means, do not thank me, even if I felt incredibly moved and honored by your submission, on behalf of the entire OL Shipper community. In fact, I should thank you, because for all those name calling and finger pointing Anons, you get to read something as genuine, moving and personal. These moments are rare and precious (and should remain so). They make you feel useful, in a very unexpected way.
You are one of those daily life unsung heroes and I want you to know that you are probably way stronger than you would ever think. I can only imagine the kind of experience you are now going through, even if I am (like many daughters, all around the world) only too aware of the cruelty with which old age sometimes disfigures beloved family members. I have only a remote idea of my own grandmother's quick descent into dementia and death, but I do have a very direct experience of the grueling toll it took on our family. Especially on my own mother, who let everything go and cared for her until the very last moment.
With the proper care solution in place, you will find yourself with a lot of time on your hands. A spare time you perhaps forgot existed. Please (I urge you) use it wisely and never forget this is all about you. You more than deserve it and the moment is now. I may know a thing or two about emptiness and void. They are incredibly enticing and treacherous. Please try and do something for you every single day. It does not matter if it is important or completely futile: it is about YOU and changing the angle will change everything. Remember the wonderful woman I am sure you are and try to reconnect with her. I can promise you she is not very far and I bet she misses you, too.
Last but not least, let me tell you that I will never call you crazy for having shared that Jamie story with us. I think it was very brave of you and I can confidently tell you it even has a name. What you experienced is called synchronicity and it is part of the tiny and personal magic of daily life. People as serious as Carl Gustav Jung dedicated their life to try and make some sense of this. And it all started with one of his patients (he was a shrink) describing a very vivid, recurrent dream of hers, that featured a scarab beetle. At the very same time, they both saw a scarab beetle (uncharacteristically) tapping on the window. The woman was not instantly cured (psychoanalysis does not exactly work like this), but it helped both of them overcome a very frustrating communication barrier.
That Jamie story is a real synchronicity, too, because it is meaningful for you and nobody else. It happened for a reason you are the only one to understand, in time. I could talk about it for hours and link it (as Jung did) with my beloved I Ching or with a couple of dead(ly) serious German philosophers, for some extra gravitas. But I am not going to over-complicate things. You got this. You are strong and brave and believe it or not, I am sure you are also loved by many.
I also think Caitriona Mary Balfe and Sam Roland Heughan should read your ask, finally understand their magic brought solace to many, many people around the world and get their damn act together for Season 8. But that is a different story altogether.
For the rest, if you want, we will be here for you. Me and probably other kind people on this side of the fence. Anytime you want, here or in DM. It may not be much, but it is something.
PS: that may or may not have brought a #silly tear, you know.
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Lifestyle Takeover Ch. 1
Mel is tasked with taking down mean, domineering business rival Vivienne Gilbert - who, as it just so happens, is a secret superfan of Mel’s journalist best friend turned pet bimbo, Emma
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As she sat outside the CEO of Valeyard Solutions’s office, Mel Adams checked the time on her phone once more and sighed. Supposedly, her host was running five minutes late - this, from a woman who had never been tardy for anything in her life. Making Mel wait was the most transparent power play in the book, and worst of all, it was proving entirely effective at pissing her off.
Really, the whole situation was setting her on edge. An unfamiliar office in an unfamiliar building, opulent yet spartan, and Mel was about to meet one of the most formidable rising stars of the hypnogarch world. A woman who, like Mel, hailed from a social and economic elite who used mind control to leverage and reinforce their power. Only, unlike Mel, this woman had notches on her belt and a fearsome reputation. They were meeting on her turf, too. In hostile territory. Mel was out of her depth.
Which was, of course, the point. This was a test. Mel’s trial by fire, given to her by her parents. To become a fully-fledged hypnogarch, you had to be strong. If you weren’t, your peers would eat your lunch and make you thank them for it while your brains drooled out of your ears.
“Ms. Adams?” said a secretary, approaching and offering a polite little bow. “Thank you for waiting. The CEO will see you now.”
Mel rose from her seat and followed as the secretary led her into the office. She didn’t bother to reply. There was no point, and, like all the others, she gave Mel the creeps. The entire floor was staffed with near-identical women, all of whom wore identical outfits: tiny pencil skirts and tight, white blouses, open to expose cleavage - and all of them had suitable bodies to make the clothes distracting. But more to the point, each one of them had a certain telltale, glazed look in their wide, guileless eyes.
All of the secretaries were completely hypnotized.
It was another typical flex from a powerful hypnogarch. But just like making Mel wait, it was unnerving.
“Melanie Adams,” said the woman behind the CEO’s desk, as they reached her. She smiled a thin smile. “My. I suppose I should be honored.”
It was her. Vivienne Yvette Gilbert. Mel would have recognized her anywhere from all the magazine covers and fawning interviews. She looked just the way she always did in her photos: tall, professional, and classically beautiful, but modest, with her long, tailored suit only just tight enough to hint at the well-honed body underneath. Her auburn hair was tucked back in a neat, disciplined ponytail, and her eyes reflected a keen, vicious intelligence.
Vivienne Gilbert was a business savant, combining old money wisdom with new money ambition, and was, by all accounts, an extremely skilled hypnotist. Her company was taking the corporate world by storm, and the small army of brainwashed secretaries outside attested to her ability to get whatever she wanted from people, by any means necessary.
This was Mel’s test. This was the woman she had to destroy.
“Mel, please,” she offered. “And really, I’m the one who’s honored. Your time is valuable.”
Vivienne nodded graciously, and indicated for Mel to take a seat opposite her. The secretary who had led Mel inside stood at attention to one side, against a nearby wall.
“So,” Vivienne began. Her confidence was supreme. “To what do I owe this pleasure - a visit from the profligate faildaughter of two of high society’s most prominent elite?”
Mel bristled a little, but didn’t let it show in her face. “Curiosity, really. I thought that the two of us might want to get to know each other a little. After all, we’re both from the same generation, right? Just like mine, your parents were-“
“Cut the crap,” Vivienne interrupted with a slicing wave of her hand. She leaned forward. “My time is valuable - more valuable than yours, at any rate - so let’s not waste it. Despite your wasted youth, I’m told that you’ve recently taken a position as executive vice president at one of the family businesses. And recently, shell companies attached to your family have been making aggressive offers to buy out my stake in Valeyard - offers I have declined.”
Mel simply nodded. She wasn’t surprised to learn that Vivienne had figured this much out. Anything less would have been a disappointment.
“You’re here,” Vivienne surmised, “because your mothers asked you to make in-person overtures. They want my Valeyard, and they’ve sent you to persuade me to sell.” She let out a brief, quiet laugh. “Amusing.”
Mel spread her arms. “You’re correct, of course,” she replied. “So far, you’ve rejected all offers. That’s your right. But everybody has their price, even if it’s not monetary. Assurances, perhaps. A position in one of our conglomerates? With Valeyard in the family, we could achieve new levels of market dominance and integration. You could be part of that. You could reap the rewards. Power, prestige - you name it.”
It wasn’t a bad offer - but just as Mel had expected, Vivienne rolled her eyes.
“Sophistry,” the CEO dismissed. “You and your parents simply want to take what’s rightfully mine. You want control - and you want it because you’re afraid. My Valeyard’s quarterly numbers put all of yours to shame. For now, I’m just a good story. A new, rising star. But in a few years, I’ll be knocking at your family’s doors. Challenging your mothers. I’ll be a competitor. A rival. A threat.”
Mel said nothing. She wasn’t wrong.
“Let me make this very clear.” Vivienne smiled a shark’s smile. “I am a threat. You and your mothers are right to be afraid. I’m not willing to be a partner or a pawn, or a… vice president.” She sneered the last two words. “I intend to come out on top. Understand?”
“With respect,” Mel replied, after a moment’s consideration. “Valeyard isn’t exactly rightfully yours, is it? You’ve already shown a willingness to jump ship, given the right opportunity. After all, you didn’t found this company. You simply acquired it. You took advantage of someone else’s capital and someone else’s ideas. Perhaps we aren’t so different.”
Vivienne simply laughed at the provocation. “You really are new to this world, aren’t you?” she mocked. “Yes, I acquired Valeyard. I took it from the original owner. Do you understand what that means? It’s mine. Not hers. Mine. She lacked the strength to hold on to what she’d built, and I had the strength to take it. That’s the very definition of rightful ownership.”
“I understand,” Mel retorted. “And you’ve guided the company all the way to the top of the stock market. Some would say you’ve already proven yourself.”
“Some would say?” Vivienne echoed derisively. “Ridiculous. You’ll have to do much better than that if you expect to convince me. Especially since I suspect that your mothers would prefer I end up much like the original founder.”
“And how’s that?” Mel asked.
Vivienne’s smile grew wider than ever, and she gestured off to one side. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Hairs stood at attention on the back of Mel’s neck as she realized Vivienne was indicating the brainwashed, identity-scrubbed secretary who’d led her into the office.
At first, it seemed absurd to believe that such a sharp, entrepreneurial mind could have been so completely blunted. But Mel knew all too well just how far someone could fall given the right kind of treatment, and besides, now that she was looking closely, there was a certain, unmistakably resemblance between the woman standing at attention before her and the woman she’d seen in old photographs when she’d been researching Valeyard’s history.
How long must she have been a mind-controlled thrall by now? Years? It was terrible to imagine - but the worst part was that, even as they were talking about her, the woman’s eyes registered absolutely nothing but blank, blissful, helpless compliance.
For the first time, Mel felt truly intimidated by the task her mothers had presented her with.
“By the time she signed over her company to me, she couldn’t even remember what she was losing.” Mel turned back to Vivienne and saw that she was turning over a pocket watch between her fingers. It was, by all accounts, her preferred instrument of control. “Still, I suppose she’s happy enough - serving me. It’s right where she belongs. Don’t you think?”
Mel just sighed. “I don’t think you intend to seriously entertain any offer I make you.”
“At least you’re smart enough to have figured that out,” Vivienne remarked. She closed her pocket watch and slipped it back into her jacket pocket. “No, I don’t. I just wanted to get your measure. And if you’re the best your mothers can send, well… I’m not impressed.”
“I see,” Mel said stiffly. She stood. “In that case, I won’t take up any more of your precious time.”
“Very gracious.” Vivienne replied contemptuously. She stood too, and indicated the door. “I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of showing yourself out.”
Mel turned, ready to leave. Vivienne didn’t seem to have figured out that Mel had been sent to brainwash her, not persuade her. That was, perhaps, a tiny advantage - but she couldn’t imagine how she might possibly leverage it. She’d seen no hint of any chink in Vivienne’s armor, and given that Mel’s skills as a hypnotist were still developing, she couldn’t see herself winning out in a fair fight. She needed an angle, but there was none.
What did that leave? How was she possibly supposed to win?
At that moment, as Mel was taking her first step towards the door, something happened that caught her attention: her and Vivienne’s phones both buzzed and lit up at exactly the same moment.
Vivienne’s phone buzzed all the time, of course. But for it to happen at precisely the same instant was a little weird. It was as if they had just received the exact same notification. Mel had to assume it was nothing more than a coincidence, but all the same, she found herself glancing at her phone to check.
It was a notification from her girlfriend Emma’s OnlyFans.
Mel didn’t really need to sign up for it - after all, Emma was not only her girlfriend, she was brainwashed to adoringly follow every one of Mel’s wishes. But Mel stayed signed up all the same, both to be supportive and because Emma regularly posted some very, very high-quality content. Despite all the brainpower she’d lost, she was quickly developing her talents as both a model and a photographer. The image set Emma had just posted was particularly alluring: she was dressed, as usual, in pink, skimpy exercise gear, and was in a series of unbelievable poses that perfectly showcased her sluttiness, her flexibility, and her curves all at once. Mel was lucky enough to be able to enjoy that body every night, but even so, it got her just a little hot and bothered.
Quickly, Mel slipped her phone away and chalked the simultaneous notifications up to coincidence. After all, there was no way that Vivienne Gilbert, of all people, was signed up to Emma’s OnlyFans.
Or so she thought, until she looked over and saw Vivienne staring at her screen with a faint but distinct blush in her cheeks.
It still seemed impossible. But suddenly Mel found herself wondering.
“Vivienne?” Mel voiced cautiously. “Is something up?”
“Hm?” Abruptly, Vivienne realized that she was still in the presence of her guest. “No. No, of course not,” she said, a touch too sharply. “But as you can see, I’m very, very busy. Please leave.”
Her tone was off - and more to the point, Mel caught a glimpse of something damning as Vivienne slipped her phone into her pocket.
The OnlyFans logo.
“Of course,” Mel said. “Goodbye.”
She left the Valeyard headquarters with a fresh spring in her step. It had come from the unlikeliest of places, and she still wasn’t sure of her next move, but suddenly Mel had something to work with.
She’d just found her angle.
***
“Hey, Emma? I’m back!”
As soon as Mel stepped into their penthouse apartment and called out to her girlfriend, Emma Park started bouncing toward her with the energy of a golden retriever.
“Babe!” she gushed, as she leapt into Mel’s arms. “Ohmigosh, you’re like, so early!”
Mel couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Bouncing’ really was the most appropriate term. On top, Emma was wearing nothing but a pink sports bra that was specifically intended to look tight and press her cleavage together while doing absolutely nothing to keep her assets from jiggling up and down as she exercised vigorously for her audience.
Emma Park, exercise bimbo. It was her brand, and she worked it marvelously.
“I just couldn’t stay away,” Mel said brightly. “I love you, Em.”
Emma’s whole face lit up. “I love you too!” she exclaimed, delighted, and started giggling.
As it often did, even after six months, seeing Emma like that did hit Mel with a certain pang. After all, Mel had made her girlfriend this way. Unbeknownst to Emma, Mel had transformed her from a brave, smart muckraker to an airheaded, giggly bimbo. It had been done out of love, because it had seemed like the surest way to save Emma from herself, and from the clutches of the kind of mind controllers she was investigating - but still, it troubled Mel that she’d needed to take from Emma so much of the sharpness and activist passion that she’d always loved about it.
She’d tried to preserve, though, the kernel of all that. Emma’s passion; her energy and drive, her enthusiasm for her work, and her talent for connecting with an audience. It just so happened that, now, all of that was directed differently, at her OnlyFans career instead of investigative journalism. Emma was flourishing in her life: she was hot, successful, popular, healthier than ever - and most importantly of all, happy.
Mel had her pangs of guilt, but making sure the girl she loved was happy and safe was something she would never be sorry for.
“Actually,” Mel said, pushing down on her reflections. “I have an ulterior motive. I’m here because I need to talk to you. I was hoping you could help me out with… with a work thing.”
“Oh, woah,” Emma tittered, dragging Mel over to their couch. “I dunno, I’m not good with all that, like, smart corporate stuff.”
“True,” Mel conceded. “But in this case… look, what if I wanted to track down someone on OnlyFans? Someone who I knew was one of your patrons on there?”
“Oh!” Emma seemed surprised at the question, but her eagerness shone through. “Well, um… do you know, like their username or anything?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mel replied. “I know who they are in real life, and I know - or, at least, I’m hoping - that they’re signed up to support you. I just need to try and dig into that a little more.”
“Hmm.” Emma stood up and started pacing circles around their apartment. It was a huge space - an open-plan penthouse that Mel had lived in alone for years. There had been plenty of room for Emma, and now part of it had been converted to serve as a dedicated exercise area and set. “I dunno… I mean, most people are pretty, like… what’s the word… anonymous?”
“Yeah.” Mel slumped. “Damn. I should have figured.”
“Sooo.” Emma leaned over and peered at Mel. “Who is it, anyway?”
“Vivienne Gilbert,” Mel said. “She’s a big-time CEO,” she added, when Mel gave her a blank look. “It’s for my folks. They want me to… well, to brainwash her somehow.”
She hesitated to mention it to Emma at first. The old Emma wouldn’t have approved. In truth, the old Mel might not have either. She’d always kept hypnogarch power games at arm’s length, but masterminding Emma’s transformation had given her a certain taste for it - a taste her mothers had been eager to help develop. Now, Mel was coming into her own as both a business leader and a mind controller. She was steadily becoming the kind of heir her mothers could be proud of.
But Vivienne Gilbert, it seemed, stood in her way.
“Hmm,” Emma pondered for a long moment. “Well, um… if she’s, like, super-rich, then maybe she’ll be, like… one of the real big spenders?”
Mel’s eyes went wide. Clearly, some of Emma’s old journalistic instincts were still in there - and she’d never been more glad.
“Oh my god!” she cried. “Emma, you’re a genius.”
At that, her girlfriend just giggled.
“Can you show me a list?” Mel asked urgently. “Maybe something will jump out.”
“Sure!”
Emma perched back down on the couch, brought up her OnlyFans on her phone, and, with Mel peering over her shoulder, navigated to a list of her supporters and sorted them by total financial contribution.
The top name immediately stood out. A ludicrously huge tipper - anonymous, but with the email address ‘[email protected]’.
Gotcha. Mel could have danced a jig.
Instead, she reached over Emma’s shoulder and took the phone from her girlfriend’s hands. With manic energy, Mel navigated to what had to be Vivienne’s profile and started looking over her activity history. Not only was she a big spender, she had also left long, enthusiastic comments on every single one of Emma’s posts, including the one Emma had put up during their meeting.
‘Emma!’ it read, ‘my goodness, you NEED to stop distracting me while I’m in meetings… I’m going crazy, this is your best set of pics yet! I know I always say that, but WOW. I’m SOOOO jealous of your mysterious mistress for getting to put her hands all over you all night long. What I wouldn’t do to take her place… she must be quite the woman, I can see that she’s left you with nothing to worry about except pumping reps, draining your brain, and showing yourself off. No worries, no cares, no stresses, just perfect, bimbo bliss. Honestly, I’m a little jealous… but mostly I’m so glad I get to be your no. 1 fan!’
Mel wasn’t one to judge, but she couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. She was having a hard time picturing the icy, vicious CEO she’d just met with saying something like that. The message was gushy, to say the least, but the detail about the meeting all but confirmed Mel’s suspicion about this being Vivienne. More importantly than anything - even her obsession with Emma - Mel detected something crucial in Vivienne’s message. A kind of confused longing, as the CEO described Emma’s ‘bimbo bliss.’ It was enough to make Mel wonder which of them, exactly, the woman was truly jealous of.
Maybe, just maybe, Vivienne Gilbert’s armor wasn’t so impenetrable after all.
And maybe Mel had the perfect weapon sitting right by her side, giggling happily.
“Hey, Emma,” Mel said slowly, as a plan started to form in her head. “What do you say to making a special little thank you video for your number one fan?”
***
As soon as Vivienne Gilbert closed the door to her family’s mansion behind her and felt herself safe from prying eyes, she let her shoulders slump and permitted herself to release a deep, weary sigh. It had been a long day - but then, weren’t they all? - and by the time the last of Vivienne’s engagements had concluded, the sun was long since set. Her staff had retired to their quarters for the night, leaving Vivienne alone to rest for the night.
For five hours - six, if she was really lucky - before she would have to wake up and do it all over again.
When Vivienne had first set her sights on the very pinnacle of social, economic, and mental dominance, she hadn’t quite appreciated how bone-weary the struggle would leave her, day after day. There was no end to it: to the challengers, rivals, competitors and schemers, each one of whom needed to be managed, defeated or subverted as Vivienne climbed her way to the top.
It was a good thing, then, that being in her family’s old home always reignited the flame of Vivienne’s ambition. She remembered it as it had been in her youth: grand, yes, but dark, faded, outdated. Now, thanks to the fortune she had amassed, it had been reborn in splendor. Thanks to her tireless efforts, the name ‘Vivienne Gilbert’ echoed through the corridors of power.
Yes. For this, it was all worth it.
The corners of Vivienne’s lips turned upward in a faint sneer as she remembered how, in their meeting earlier that day, Melanie Adams had tried to draw some kind of comparison between their upbringings. Ridiculous. What would she know? Melanie Adams was the daughter of two prominent, rich, successful hypnogarchs at the top of their game. She couldn’t possibly fathom the kind of scorn that was piled on the daughter of a fading, old-money family being overtaken by a new generation of power-hungry leaders. She had been allowed to laze about for years and take an interest in business and hypnosis when it pleased her, while Vivienne had been orphaned as she’d left business school, and forced to fight alone in the hungry power games that dominated their society in order to secure her position and rebuild her family name.
Melanie Adams couldn’t fathom that kind of drive. She was just another trust fund brat, underestimating her.
But that was OK. It would just make it all the more satisfying when Vivienne ate her mothers’ companies alive and made them beg to lick her shoes clean.
Vivienne smiled ruefully to herself as she let down her long, wavy, auburn hair. Spite was as good a motivator as any. Getting to crush irritating little bugs like Melanie Adams was one of the many pleasures of success. That was, admittedly, a few years away. With her at the helm, Valeyard had taken the corporate world by storm, and was well on its way to becoming a major player, but rapid expansion took time and careful management. For tonight, Vivienne would simply have to find some way to relax in the brief time she could afford before going to bed.
Right on time, her phone chirped with an incoming notification.
When she looked and saw that it was an OnlyFans post, Vivienne’s stomach filled with a delicious, naughty sense of arousal and anticipation. Her OF subscriptions were her guilty pleasure - a secret one, of course. In her line of work, it could be dangerous to let one’s pleasures and proclivities become widely known, which was why Vivienne was always very careful to use a dummy corporate email with no name attached. Valeyard had thousands of employees, and there was nothing to tie her account back to her.
Which meant that, when the mood took her, Vivienne was free to enjoy herself in peace.
Vivienne rushed upstairs to her bedroom, perched on the edge of her huge bed, and opened up OnlyFans. Her wicked excitement doubled when she saw who the notification was from: Emma. Her very favorite. Two posts from her in one day was a rare treat.
The CEO’s eyes widened when she realized that the notification wasn’t a post at all. It was a private message.
‘hiiii,’ it read. ‘hope you’re doing just peachy! I know you’re all anonymous and I like totally respect that! but I also rly rly wanted to do something extra special for my no 1 fan!! so here’s a special private vid nobody else gets to see!!! hope you enjoy it!!! Emma xoxo’
For the first time in Vivienne Gilbert’s life, she felt herself genuinely starstruck. Her heart was pounding, and a giddy, nervous smile came to her face. Her fingertips trembled as she tapped on the screen and downloaded the attached video.
More than once, she’d felt a little embarrassed by how much she’d willingly given to Emma’s OnlyFans. But now, she was nothing but grateful.
Emma wasn’t Vivienne’s only OF sub, but she was by far her favorite. It was difficult to put her finger on why; to Vivienne, Emma was simply perfect. The perfect bimbo. Hot? Yes. Dumb? Yes. Blonde, pink, submissive? Extremely. But beyond that - and beyond any other brainwashed bimbo Vivienne had ever seen - there was something truly, remarkably carefree about Emma. When she giggled, or posed, or exercised for the camera, there was something magical about the way all the old, faded little worry lines in her face completely evaporated, leaving her the very image of mindless, brainwashed bliss.
Whoever her mistress was, they clearly took excellent care of her.
After discovering Emma’s OnlyFans, Vivienne had often considered taking on a bimbo pet of her own. It wouldn’t have been difficult - for a person of her resources and a hypnotist of her talents, there were any number of women who could easily be molded into her ideal bimbo plaything. It might even make a nice change from the identical, obedient secretaries that had become Vivienne’s signature.
But somehow, she just couldn’t bring herself to.
She lacked the time, Vivienne reasoned. Or, perhaps, she didn’t want a distraction from her work. Perhaps she didn’t want her fondness for bimbos to be so easily discovered by one of her many, many enemies. Those were all fine reasons - but they weren’t the real reason. Deep down, Vivienne knew that the reason she loved Emma’s content so much wasn’t because she wanted to own a bimbo like her.
It was because she was ever so slightly envious of her.
Just thinking about it brought a faint blush to Vivienne’s cheeks. It was embarrassing. Mortifying, even, for a woman like her. But in her heart of hearts, she couldn’t deny that there was something appealing about the idea of sinking into that carefree bimbo mindset - of forgetting all the stresses and pressures that accompanied her career, and becoming so dumb and giggly that none of it seemed to matter.
Looking at Emma on OnlyFans made her feel that longing far more keenly, somehow.
It was, of course, a deeply inappropriate and shameful desire for a hypnogarch to entertain. Vivienne had to excuse it to herself as nothing more than an aberration of her psyche; a byproduct of the immense stress she was under, day after day. It had no deeper meaning. It was a fantasy. Nothing more.
And crucially, nobody would ever know.
Safe and secure in that knowledge, Vivienne got comfy on her bed and hit ‘play’ on the video Emma had sent her.
It began with a familiar scene: the set Emma used to film almost all her videos. It was a space in some kind of large apartment, with the floor covered in exercise mats, set against a pink, decorated backdrop. In front of it, Emma stood, and her outfit immediately sent thrilling shivers racing down Vivienne’s spine.
She was dressed up like a cheerleader. That was new.
Emma certainly had the body to pull off the tiny top and scandalous, pleated miniskirt. She was in incredible shape. Her body put Vivienne’s to shame, and that was saying something. Vivienne flattered herself that she looked good. She’d been blessed by genetics, and she incorporated enough exercise into her routine to keep her waist trim and her butt bubbly and shapely. She made sure, of course, to dress with the kind of restraint and dignity that befitted her station, but she’d often found it useful to be able to distract the eye of a prospective rival with a hint of her shapely legs or prodigious cleavage. All the better to lull them into a trance.
Emma, though? She was simply in a different league. All the time and effort she spent working on her body really showed.
One more thing to be envious of.
“Hiiii,” Emma squealed gleefully on the video, with a little bounce that was hot and adorable in equal measure. “Wow! I just, like, love getting to say hi to my number one fan! You’ve given me so much, I really just wanna give you a little gift in return. As, like, a thank-you!”
Vivienne found herself surprisingly flustered. She’d never dared hope for even this level of personal attention from her idol.
“You’ve been cheering me on soooo much, all this time,” Emma went on. “So I figured, maybe I should do a little cheering for you? That’s… um… it’s… irony? I think?”
She giggled. Vivienne did too.
“You must really super like me.” As she spoke Emma bent down and picked up a pair of pom-poms that had been resting at her feet, one in each hand - pink, of course. “I’m, like, totally flattered. Sorta makes me wonder… why? Like, how come you like me so much?”
Already, Vivienne was mesmerized. Emma just looked so good. She made a mental note to reply to the bimbo’s message and explain every little thing she loved about her.
“I mean, obviously I’m, like, so pretty and hot.” Emma struck a little pose. Vivienne purred appreciatively. “But, maybe it’s something more than that?” She giggled. “I dunno. I guess I’m not smart enough to figure out stuff like that.”
Her mindless, carefree laugh washed over Vivienne like a warm, calming ocean tide. Yes, this was the perfect way to relax after a long day.
“Anyway!” Emma made a little show of bending this way and that, stretching and warming in. In the process, her pleated skirt rode up over her ass and hips, giving Vivienne quite the eye-candy to enjoy. “Here I go!”
Vivienne was holding her phone closer and closer to her face. She didn’t want to miss a thing. Already, her body was buzzing with pleasant arousal. Seeing Emma giggle and trip up on her words and bounce around always did it for her, and the CEO was becoming more and more aware of the pent-up need that had been building inside her all day. Her hand started to stray down, toward the hem of her pants.
Abruptly, music started to play. Not a soundtrack, added in post. This was playing out loud on Emma’s set - a bright, upbeat pop track that immediately had Vivienne tapping her fingers along with the rhythm. And then, Emma started to cheer.
“One! Two! One! Two!” Emma sang, each one of her words punctuated by motion: a sway of her hips, a motion of her pom-poms, all perfectly in time with the music. “Emma’s the only one for you!”
Vivienne giggled. It was a perfectly cute, silly little chant for a bimbo like Emma. And, she supposed, it wasn’t far wrong.
“One! Two! One! Two! Emma’s the only one for you!” Emma repeated, still dancing. As she bounced up and down, the way her big, bimbo tits bounced beneath her hopelessly inadequate top was mouth-watering. “One! Two! One! Two! Emma’s the only one for you!”
She kept chanting it, over and over, each word inflected with pure, giddy eagerness. Vivienne was utterly captivated. It was so enchanting to think that this video was just for her. For no one else. As she watched, Emma’s ditzy chant quickly started to worm its way into the CEO’s head. Something about it was infectious. It occupied her attention so completely, she failed to notice the deep, echoey, binaural tones that were slowly creeping into the music.
“One! Two! One! Two! Emma’s the only one for you!” Emma paused briefly to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed and her forehead was shining with sweat, and she was all the more attractive for it. “Hey, why don’t you, like, chant along with me?”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. She couldn’t imagine herself doing something like that. But all the same, the suggestion made her slip her hand down into her panties. She was already turned on.
“Oh, wait! That would be silly.” Emma giggled. “It would have to be, like…” She started bouncing to the music again. “One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!”
Vivienne shivered rapturously as she drew a finger across her sensitive lips, and grinned wider than ever. Emma’s new chant, with its energetic triple beat, was quickly proving to be even more of an earworm.
“C’mon!” Emma urged, after a little more cheering. “Give it a try? For your fav little bimbo?”
She made the cutest, poutiest face Vivienne had ever seen, and even the hard-hearted CEO couldn’t bring herself to refuse. In truth, she was already half-murmuring along to the silly little rhyme.
“One, two, three,” Vivienne said out loud, keeping time with Emma as the bimbo started chanting again in the video. “One, two, three. Emma’s the only one for me.”
She let out a bashful little laugh. There was nobody around to hear, but all the same, the cheer made her feel self-conscious. It wasn’t all bad, though. When was the last time Vivienne had been able to do something so frivolous?
���Yay!” Emma cried. Vivienne had to remind herself it was just a recording. Clearly, Emma had anticipated her participation. “See? Isn’t this fun?”
As Emma kept cheering - and Vivienne along with her - the CEO was forced to admit that it was. There was something disarmingly simple and joyful about the chant. Already, Vivienne could feel weight being lifted from her shoulders. When she focused her mind on the words, the rhythm, the rhyme, it made it all the easier to forget about the stresses of her daily life.
“One, two, three. One, two, three. Emma’s the only one for me.”
Vivienne kept going, and her mood kept brightening. Each word of the little cheer bounced into the next, carried by the tempo of the music, and any brief pause that might have led to stray thoughts was instead occupied with staring at Emma’s gorgeously toned body as the bimbo jumped and pranced for Vivienne’s entertainment.
Vivienne felt something wet on her chin, and realized she was actually drooling over her. That should have been embarrassing, but somehow she was beyond that, struck with a giddy, infectious enthusiasm that left her uninhibited and euphoric about everything.
“One, two, three. One, two, three. Emma’s the only one for me!”
Her chanting steadily picked up in volume and enthusiasm. Vivienne was slipping further and further into the right mood for it. More and more, she felt oddly like she was really there with Emma, dancing with her, imitating her. Maybe it was just how close she was holding her phone to her face. She felt like Emma’s bimbo-themed home gym was all around her. Her vision was starting to blur from how focused she was - or was it something on the video, instead? Some kind of compression artifacting that manifested as sweeping, spiraling patterns, prickling in and out of existence around the edges of the frame?
Vivienne wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away and check. She didn’t want to miss a single moment of Emma’s video.
“One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!”
She was so relaxed. Perfectly relaxed. It was blissful. And as Vivienne’s muscles gradually let go of all the tension she’d been carrying around, waves of pleasure and arousal started to course through her body. Between her legs, her pussy, dripping on the bedsheets beneath, demanded more and more attention. Vivienne started moving her fingers faster and faster - stroking her cunt in time with the music, in fact.
It felt incredible. This was exactly the relaxation she had been craving. The pleasure was washing away all her stress. Vivienne longed to sink deeper into it, to luxuriate in it - safe in the knowledge that she was anonymous to Emma. Her fingertips dipped inside her cunt, and her chants turned into moans.
“One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!”
“You know,” Emma said, dropping her chant. Vivienne kept it going. “Cheering like this makes me feel so, like, happy, y’know?”
Vivienne nodded as if Emma could see her. She was so lost to pleasure, she failed to realize the absurdity of that.
“Just… kinda bubbly and silly and fun!” Emma struck an adorable pose. “Like… I don’t even need to worry about thinking for myself!”
The pose flipped up Emma’s skirt, and Vivienne gasped pleasurably as she saw that Emma was naked beneath the skirt, and dripping down her sculpted thighs.
“It’s just perfect!” Emma exclaimed, giggly. “Totally perfect for a bimbo like me, anyway. Not having to think feels, like, sooooo good.”
Vivienne just nodded again. That sounded just right to her. Still, she was moaning the dumb cheer Emma had given her.
“One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!”
“It’s so much better this way.” Emma’s hand drifted down, stroking over her midriff, reaching for herself in unmistakable arousal. “No silly worries… no silly cares… I’m wayyy too dumb for that now.”
Once more, Vivienne nodded eagerly and moaned her new mantra. It sounded so good. So blissful. Vivienne could only fantasize about what it might be like to live in such a permanent state of dumb, horny euphoria.
“All I have to do,” Emma half-moaned, half-giggled, “is look hot, and listen to the music, and shake my pretty little ass for my owner!”
It all sounded so right. More and more, as she succumbed to a pleasure-drunk trance, Vivienne felt as though she could hear other things, too. Other lyrics, buried in the music, barely audible, but layered, so that they flowed into her brain without resistance. That should have been a red flag, but her defenses were down. With each beat, Vivienne’s fingers pumped in and out of her needy cunt, driving more and more of her rational thoughts out of her head.
“One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!”
Vivienne’s voice was filled with more joy and enthusiasm than ever, but she was losing the rhythm as heaving moans robbed her of her breath. Her pleasure was cresting, driven by the merciless pumping of her fingers. When the orgasm hit her, Vivienne screamed and thrashed, but even then she didn’t stop cheering. She couldn’t. The music drove her onward, as did her endless craving for the empty, bimbo bliss Emma’s words suggested. She just kept muttering, over and over, in a ceaseless, mindless drone.
“One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me! One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me! One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!”
She didn’t stop, not even after her orgasm faded. Vivienne even kept touching herself, keeping her pleasure at a roiling boil, driving herself onwards towards the next peak. The music demanded it, and so did Vivienne’s own, insatiable arousal. Nothing had ever felt as good as this. So, she just kept chanting, and touching herself, and working herself even deeper into an eager, compliant trance.
“OK!” Emma announced on the video abruptly, in her giggly, bimbo drawl. “I think that’s enough fanservice from me. But… if you’re really my number one fan, you wanna know what I’d really like you to do?”
Vivienne was just barely conscious enough to nod.
“I want you,” Emma giggled, “to go back to the start of this video, and, like, watch it all over again from the start! M’kay?”
There was no question of doing otherwise. Though her hand was trembling with aftershocks of pleasure, Vivienne managed to use her thumb to scroll all the way back to the start on her phone. At once, it began to play again.
“Hiiii,” the recorded Emma said. “Wow! I just, like, love getting to say hi to my number one fan!”
For hours, until exhausted sleep finally claimed her, Vivienne watched the video over and over again, looping it each time as Emma instructed. Each time, she kept chanting and kept touching herself, conditioning herself to accept all the pleasure Emma’s message offered, bringing herself to orgasm after orgasm, and etching all the subliminal, hypnotic suggestions buried within the video into her brain.
—
I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following patrons in particular for their exceptional support:
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Finally, special thanks to Neana for commissioning this story!
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