#also i would have kept debating about which one would be which but i saw my inspo today and it was just posted and I HAD TO

[suliigwp]

Helloooooooo, how are you?? Love your work!!

So I got this idea for Oscar, where they have been dating for years now and everyone always teased him about when he’s popping the question. The fans pick up to it and reader finds it super funny so she posts a video with Oscar like full on sleeping on her chest with the song paper rings but like the soft part at the end. Fans go crazy and his mum Nicole actually urges him to pop the question. What do you think?? You can always change the plot a bit, it’s just an idea, hope you have a great week!!

-(cal me) rudolf or 🐢 anon (if it’s free)

Paper Rings

Oscar Piastri x Reader

SULI:Hii thank you so much for the request! Yes 🐢 anon is free— welcome to the family! I loved writing this, so sweet and ugh I just love this man— hope you enjoy! This ended up wayyyyy longer than what I imagined I would write (this is my fav gif of Oscar I had to use it)

Also this is not proofread so forgive any mistakes lmao

Warnings: talk of dangers of f1

Oscar and Y/N had been together since high school. Their story wasn’t one of wild romance or instant fireworks, but a slow-burning, steady kind of love that grew from shy smiles in crowded hallways and whispered secrets beneath the bleachers. They had been the kind of couple everyone expected to last forever — the golden pair who fit so perfectly it was like they’d been made for each other from the start. And for years, they had been inseparable.

Despite the many years and countless memories they shared, there was one thing everyone around them kept teasing Oscar about — when was he finally going to pop the question?

It started with their close friends and family. At the racing team’s gatherings, Oscar’s teammates couldn’t help but poke fun. Lando would smirk and nudge him during strategy talks, “Mate, been years. When’s the ring going on her finger?” Carlos, never one to miss a chance to tease, joked about how Oscar’s mum was already asking if he needed help picking out the perfect ring. Even Y/N’s best friends would text him with sly messages about the “big question” everyone was waiting for.

Oscar laughed along with it, but deep down, the teasing pressed on him in ways no one could see.

The fans were no different. Social media buzzed with excitement and speculation, creating a frenzy over the couple that had grown up before their eyes. Screenshots of their old photos surfaced alongside edits set to romantic songs, and forums debated which race weekend would finally see Oscar get down on one knee. The pressure wasn’t just from the people closest to him — it was everywhere, loud and relentless.

But what no one really understood was what was holding Oscar back.

It wasn’t a lack of love. Oscar loved Y/N with every fiber of his being. He’d dreamed of forever with her since they were teenagers, and his heart raced faster than any car on the track every time he thought about their future. But there was something else — a weight he carried quietly.

Since those early days, his life had been a constant race, both on and off the track. The world of Formula 1 was unforgiving, full of unpredictability and risks that could change everything in an instant. He wanted more than anything to be the man she deserved — stable, strong, able to give her a future without fear or doubt. But how do you promise forever when tomorrow is so uncertain? When every race could bring glory or heartbreak?

The truth was, Oscar was terrified of failing her. Of not being enough.

Late at night, he would lie awake, clutching the small ring box hidden beneath his pillow — polished and perfect, a silent promise waiting to be made. But every time he imagined getting down on one knee, doubt crept in, filling his chest with cold hesitation.

His mum, Nicole, saw through the cracks, even when he tried to hide them. On video calls, her voice was gentle but firm, “Oscar, darling, you’ve been dating Y/N since you were kids. Isn’t it time you made it official?” She teased and encouraged, reminding him how much they all loved Y/N and wanted to see them take the next step. Oscar would laugh nervously, promising he was thinking about it. But he wasn’t ready to say more.

Y/N, too, sensed the tension beneath his smiles. She wasn’t in a rush, never had been. Their love wasn’t about grand gestures or deadlines. It lived in quiet moments — Oscar’s hand slipping into hers during long waits at airports, her sketching his tired face after races, the way they’d curl up together on their couch, wrapped in blankets and the comfort of simply being with each other.

But she knew. She knew he was scared. Not of her, but of the weight of forever.

It was late — the kind of still night when the rest of the world felt like it had slowed down just for them. Oscar was completely exhausted, his body finally surrendering after a long day of training and travel. He’d collapsed onto the couch beside her, and before she could even say a word, he had rested his head gently on her chest, eyes closing as his breathing deepened into slow, even rhythms.

Y/N sat perfectly still, careful not to disturb him. She looked down at him with a tenderness that made her chest ache in the best way. His hair was soft and messy from the day, falling loosely over his forehead and around his ears, and she couldn’t resist the impulse to reach out.

Her fingers moved slowly, as if not wanting to break the spell, threading gently through the dark curls above his temple. The warmth of his skin beneath her palm made her heart flutter — quiet and steady, like the steady beat beneath it.

Oscar shifted just slightly, his breath hitching for a moment before he relaxed again. Encouraged by the calmness of the moment, Y/N let her hand trace a gentle path from his hair down to the curve of his cheek, brushing softly against the smooth skin there.

Almost immediately, Oscar nuzzled closer, pressing his face deeper into her palm and the warmth of her touch. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke volumes — a silent conversation of comfort and trust that had grown between them over the years.

She smiled softly, the kind of smile that didn’t need words, just the pure knowing that this moment — this quiet, unguarded closeness — was everything.

She took out her phone and started recording.

The soft, fading notes of Paper Rings drifted in the background, delicate and warm, wrapping around them like a gentle promise.

Y/N shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, and continued to stroke his hair, her heart full in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

There was no rush, no grand declaration needed right then. Just this — Oscar asleep in her arms, safe and at peace, and the world reduced to the simple rhythm of their shared breath.

Morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. The world outside was waking up slowly, but inside, time seemed to have paused just a little longer.

Y/N lay still, feeling the steady rise and fall of Oscar’s chest against her side. His head was still resting on her, the faint warmth of his skin seeping into hers. For a moment, she just let herself soak in the quiet — the kind of quiet that feels like home.

Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, now softer in the early light, and when he shifted just enough to nuzzle into her again, a sleepy smile tugged at her lips. He wasn’t fully awake yet — just caught in that beautiful space between dreams and reality.

Careful not to disturb him, Y/N reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen as she scrolled through the overnight notifications. The video from last night had exploded in views — thousands upon thousands of hearts, comments filled with love and excitement, and ring emojis flooding the feed.

Her phone buzzed relentlessly, texts lighting up the screen. Friends teasing, fans gushing, and then — a message from Nicole, Oscar’s mum, flashing bright and urgent: “When’s my boy gonna put that ring on your finger?!”

Y/N laughed quietly to herself, the sound soft but filled with warmth. She brushed a stray lock of hair from Oscar’s forehead.

Oscar’s eyes fluttered open slowly, the morning light warm and soft against his face. For a moment, he didn’t move — just took in the weight of Y/N’s body beneath his head, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat grounding him in a way nothing else could.

His fingers twitched, still tangled lightly in her hair as he blinked up at the ceiling, feeling the peaceful calm of the moment wrap around him like a blanket.

Then, ever so gently, he shifted—nuzzling deeper into her, burying his face just a little more against her skin, as if trying to hold onto that feeling of safety and quiet a little longer.

A soft smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he whispered, barely louder than a breath, “Morning.”

He opened his eyes fully then and glanced down, catching sight of Y/N’s smile. His heart swelled — that little smile she wore, the way her eyes lit up even first thing in the morning, it made everything feel like home.

Oscar let his hand cup her cheek softly, thumb brushing over her skin in the gentlest of touches, before he spoke again, voice still thick with sleep, “I’m never waking up from this.”

The moment Oscar and Y/N’s little video went viral, it was like a switch flipped. Suddenly, no one—friends, family, even fans—could stop teasing him about the one thing everyone had been quietly (or not so quietly) waiting for: when was he finally going to propose?

It started small. At training sessions, his teammates would nudge him with raised eyebrows. Lando, always the cheeky one, smirked and said, “Mate, it’s been years. You planning on popping the question before you retire, or should we start a countdown clock?”

Oscar just laughed, brushing it off, but the grin never quite reached his eyes. Y/N caught it too—the way he’d glance at her sometimes when the teasing started, half-amused, half-worried.

At the paddock, journalists began picking up on the hints, asking the question slyly during interviews. “So, Oscar, fans are dying to know—when’s the big moment?” they’d press, flashing that knowing smile.

And then came the texts and calls from family. His mum, Nicole, was the worst. She didn’t hold back. “Honestly, Oscar, what are you waiting for? You have a beautiful girlfriend, you love her—do the right thing, darling.”

Oscar would groan every time. “Mum, I’m not ignoring you, I just want it to be perfect.”

“But you’ve been saying that for three years!” she shot back, totally unfazed.

Y/N watched it all from the sidelines, amused and affectionate. The whole world seemed to be in on this joke except Oscar himself.

One night, at a small gathering with their closest friends, the teasing hit peak levels.

“Come on, Oscar,” Hattie teased, eyes twinkling mischievously. “You’re not getting any younger, and neither are we. You planning on letting Y/N keep stealing your hoodies forever or are you gonna make it official?”

Lando chimed in, “Yeah, I’m starting to think you’re scared of the big question. What’s holding you back?”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off. “I’m just making sure it’s the right moment, alright?”

Y/N leaned over and whispered, “Or maybe you’re just nervous.”

That made the room burst into laughter, and Oscar’s cheeks flushed.

Despite the teasing, Y/N knew what was really going on. It wasn’t fear or doubt holding him back—it was the weight of the promise he wanted to make. The years they’d spent together, the ups and downs, the quiet moments and the big ones.

Still, every joke, every question, every nudge only made the anticipation grow, and somewhere deep inside, Y/N knew their perfect moment was coming—she just didn’t know when.

...

The house was quiet that afternoon, sunlight slanting through the curtains in golden strips. The buzz of the earlier crowd—friends coming and going, family lingering over coffee and conversation—had finally faded, leaving just Oscar and his mum in the kitchen.

He was standing by the sink, rolling a glass of water between his palms, while Nicole sat at the kitchen table, watching him with that look only a mother could give. Patient. Knowing. Unapologetically nosy.

“I’m surprised you stayed behind,” Oscar said, glancing at her. “Thought you’d be the first to head back to the hotel.”

Nicole shrugged, sipping from her cup. “Wanted to see you. Just you. Just my son.”

He gave her a small smile, one she didn’t miss was a little tight around the edges. She set her cup down.

“Oscar.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Just tired.”

She let that settle for a moment before asking, gently, “Is it about the proposal?”

Oscar didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have to—his silence said enough.

Nicole stood and crossed the kitchen, resting a hand lightly on his back. “Can we sit for a minute?”

They moved to the small couch in the sunroom, where the late afternoon light painted everything in a soft, fading warmth. Oscar leaned forward, elbows on his knees, glass still in his hands.

“I know everyone’s been teasing you,” she said carefully. “I’ve done it too.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. You and literally everyone I know.”

Nicole tilted her head. “And I know you, sweetheart. When something means a lot to you, you overthink it.”

Oscar was quiet, his thumb moving over the rim of his glass.

“I want to do it right,” he said softly. “Y/N... she’s everything. We’ve been together since we were kids. She knows me better than anyone. She’s been patient through it all—through the races, the travel, the constant being away. I come home exhausted, sometimes barely there at all, and she never makes me feel guilty for it.”

Nicole listened, eyes soft, waiting.

He sighed, deeper this time. “And I think that’s part of what scares me.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“I’m always gone,” he continued, his voice low. “Race to race, country to country, time zones and airports and hotel rooms. And when I’m not away, I’m still not really... here. My head’s always somewhere else—on the next turn, the next performance, the next interview.”

His throat tightened. “It’s not fair to her. It hasn’t been for years. I’m in this career that asks for everything—my time, my focus, even my body. It’s dangerous, Mum. I know I don’t talk about it, but it is. One crash, one wrong move, and everything could change. Or end.”

Nicole reached for his hand, wrapping hers around his.

“She never complains,” he said, a little brokenly. “She just waits. Supports. Smiles and makes it easier. And I just keep taking and taking, and what if marrying her—what if making her my wife—means she gives up even more of herself?”

Nicole’s heart ached at the way he said it, like he was carrying guilt for simply being loved too well.

“Oscar,” she said gently, “you don’t protect someone by keeping them at arm’s length.”

He looked at her, eyes glinting with emotion.

“She already chose you,” Nicole continued. “Every day. Every race. Every long-distance call, every night she watched you on a screen instead of next to her. That’s not changing if she’s your girlfriend or your wife. She knows what she signed up for—and she signed up for you.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Then she’ll grieve with your name on her heart,” Nicole said, voice strong despite the crack in it. “Just like you would for her. That’s what love is. Not running from the risk—choosing each other anyway.”

Oscar swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” she added, “or wait for the perfect moment. You just have to be honest. And if what’s holding you back is fear—then let her be the one to hold you through it. Like she always has.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

And then Oscar leaned back on the couch, eyes burning, head gently tilted toward his mum’s shoulder.

“I’m just scared.”

“I know,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his hair. “That means you care.”

...

Oscar hadn’t told anyone about the ring.

Not at first. Not even when he bought it two years ago, alone in Monaco during a break between back-to-back races, standing in a quiet little boutique with too much white and too many mirrors. He remembered the way the glass counter reflected the tiny gold band, delicate and simple, with a solitaire diamond — exactly how you would’ve wanted it. He remembered the way his thumb had hovered just slightly before he nodded at the jeweler, heart racing harder than it ever did in a car going 300km/h.

He hadn’t told anyone because the moment had been his. Just his.

Because even though the teasing had started back then — from his mum, from his friends, from half the bloody paddock — something in him wasn’t ready yet. Not because of you. Never because of you.

Because of his job. His life. The travel, the danger, the days he spent exhausted and strung out from back-to-back flights. Because being a racing driver meant sometimes being absent, and you had never asked for anything more than his presence, even when he could barely give you that.

And part of him — some quiet, scared part of him — had convinced himself that maybe you deserved better than a boy who left more often than he came home.

So the ring stayed in a drawer. Wrapped in its velvet box, tucked away in a zippered pouch behind spare cables and old credentials. He’d check on it sometimes — carefully, reverently — opening the lid and staring at the soft glint in the light. Sometimes, after particularly long races or lonely nights, he’d whisper things to it.

“She’s still it. Still everything.”

But he never moved.

Not until a month ago.

It started with that video — the one you posted without thinking. Oscar dead asleep, face smooshed against your chest, hand curled around your wrist like he’d found the only thing worth holding in the world.

He’d woken up to chaos.

Hundreds of thousands of likes. Comments. Reposts. TikToks dissecting the lighting. Tweets demanding a proposal. Memes of him asleep with “husband material” scrawled over his forehead.

You were so sweet about it, always scrolling past quickly when you were scrolling on your phone together about him proposing, to not give him any pressure.

And that was what made it impossible to wait anymore.

So, for the first time in two years, he pulled the ring out — hands slightly trembling, breath caught in his throat.

And then he did something he never thought he’d do.

He showed your best friend.

You weren’t home — you were out running errands, and he’d texted her on a whim, asking if she could stop by, not giving any context. She arrived with suspicious eyes and a grin, teasing him instantly.

“She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“What—no! Jesus—just come in.”

She barely had time to take her shoes off before he was pulling the little velvet box from behind the fruit bowl, practically hiding it in his palm like it was some illicit secret.

And when he opened it —

She gasped.

Hand to her mouth, eyes already shining.

“Oh my god.”

Oscar’s jaw tensed, nerves kicking in hard and fast. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

“She’s going to sob,” she whispered, voice thick. “Are you kidding me? You’ve had this for how long?”

“A while.”

Then, softer: “I just didn’t know if I deserved her yet.”

That was all it took.

Suddenly, your best friend was crying. Not loud, but that quiet, overwhelmed kind — blinking fast and biting back a full sob. Oscar froze, unsure.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” she said quickly, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug. “No. You idiot. She’s going to marry you in ten seconds if you ask.”

He held onto her, feeling something heavy shake loose in his chest.

“She waited for you,” she murmured into his shoulder. “She always would have.”

Oscar didn’t cry. Not then. But something welled in his throat as he looked down at the little box in his hand — the one that had sat in the dark for too long.

Now it was time to let it see light.

He was ready. Finally.

To ask.

To hope.

To begin.

...

Oscar sat on the couch with his laptop open, not racing footage or telemetry data for once, but a blank Notes page titled in all caps:

THE PLAN.

It felt so serious typed out like that. He almost laughed — almost. But his heart was beating a bit too fast for that.

Because it was real now. He was going to ask you to marry him.

And if there was one thing he wasn’t going to do, it was wing it.

He rubbed at his jaw, glanced at the velvet box beside him, and typed the first bullet.

1. Location.

He wanted it to be somewhere meaningful. Not over-the-top. Not something grand or wildly public. It had to feel like you. Like the two of you, in your quiet little world where love lived in the silences and shared glances.

Your high school back garden where you had your first kiss? No, too far.

The rooftop where you watched fireworks two years ago on New Year’s Eve? Maybe.

But then he paused. Thought harder.

He ended up circling back to the simplest answer.

Home.

Your shared apartment. The one filled with plants you insisted weren’t dying (even when they definitely were), the kitchen that still had “his and hers” mugs from high school, the faint dent in the hallway wall from when he crashed into it during a Mario Kart race.

Home, where he had found the softest version of himself because you’d made space for it.

He typed:

→ Living room. Candles. Dim lighting. Quiet. Just us.

2. Time.

She’s always busiest on Thursdays. I’ll do it on a Sunday evening, when she’s sleepy and soft and doesn’t expect anything. Maybe after a movie, or her favourite dinner.

His fingers hesitated before typing:

→ Sunday. 8PM. Movie first — something she loves. Then dinner. Then quiet.

3. Distraction plan.

He needed help setting up. Someone to make sure the candles weren’t setting off the smoke alarm, that the lights were dimmed, the playlist queued.

He’d already talked to your best friend. After the ring reveal, she’d sworn a blood oath of secrecy and offered to help with anything. He sent her a text while typing the next point:

→ Best friend will take her out earlier in the day. Mani-pedi + coffee excuse. Gives me time to set up.

4. Ring placement.

Not in his pocket. Too risky. He had a history of losing things in couch cushions.

He considered the idea of hiding it in something — a dessert, a coffee cup — but then physically recoiled.

No.

You’d murder him if he accidentally made you swallow the engagement ring. Rightfully.

Instead, he decided:

→ Box in drawer by the record player. I’ll go get it when it’s time.

5. Speech.

He hadn’t written it yet. But he knew the beats.

Talk about the first time he saw her — not the version everyone knew, not the cutesy “we were high school sweethearts” part — but the real moment.

The time she stayed after his karting practice with a juice box in her hand and said, “You looked miserable. Thought you might need sugar.”

The moment he knew: this girl was going to wreck him.

How she’d been the only thing constant, solid, and warm through years of jetlag, failure, podiums, and pressure.

How scared he’d been to ask — not because of her, but because of everything he wasn’t sure he could promise.

And how now… he was finally ready.

→ Just speak from the heart. Don’t fumble. Unless she laughs — then laugh too.

6. Playlist.

Because he knew her. Because he loved her.

Because if he didn’t pick the right songs, she’d tease him forever.

He opened Spotify and started a new list: “for us.”

First on the queue? “Paper Rings (Acoustic),” because she still hadn’t realized how much that one post meant to him.

Then a few of the songs they’d fallen asleep to on long flights. A bit of Hozier. A soft Japanese track she’d taught him how to pronounce.

→ “for us” playlist. Final check. No ads. No shuffle. Don’t mess this up.

7. Contingency plan.

Because Oscar Piastri was nothing if not prepared.

What if she cried too hard to answer?

What if he dropped the ring?

What if she thought it was a prank?

He typed quickly:

→ Hug her. Don’t rush. Let her answer on her own time. Don’t panic.

And then, finally:

8. The after.

He wasn’t going to post right away. He wanted it just for them — just for one night. Maybe they’d tell your best friend first. His mum next. Then the rest could come.

But he did have a folder of photos ready. All of them candid. All of them glowing. Like the one where she kissed his cheek while he was still brushing his teeth. Or the blurry one of her asleep on his chest with the sunlight painting her face gold.

→ Just us, first. Always.

Oscar leaned back.

Looked at the list.

And exhaled.

He was going to ask you to be his forever.

And for the first time in years, there wasn’t a single doubt in his heart.

But there had always been one thing lingering at the edge of it all — one thing he couldn’t skip, couldn’t avoid.

Asking your dad.

You and Oscar had been together since you were sixteen — practically grew up alongside each other. Your parents had seen every version of him: the awkward teenage boy with racing posters in his backpack, the one who nervously shook your dad’s hand at the front door in a too-big suit on your Year 12 formal night. The kid who once broke your mum’s favourite vase and nearly passed out apologizing.

They’d watched him grow.

Which somehow made this even more terrifying.

So when he texted your dad and asked if they could get coffee — “just the two of us, if that’s alright?” — Oscar already felt his palms getting clammy. Your dad replied almost instantly: “Of course. I’ve been waiting.”

That didn’t help.

The café was quiet, tucked into a leafy corner of your neighbourhood. A place your dad liked — Oscar knew because he’d driven past it on slow Sunday mornings with you in the passenger seat, talking about nothing.

He got there early. Sat at a corner table and fiddled with the coffee cup sleeve until it nearly tore.

And then your dad walked in, wearing the same calm, unreadable expression he always had. Friendly, but firm. Warm, but never too easy to crack. The kind of man who didn’t say much unless it meant something. Just like you.

“Hey, Oscar,” he said with a nod, sitting down across from him.

“Hi, sir,” Oscar replied, voice a little tight.

Your dad looked at him for a long second, then smiled, just a little. “Relax. You’re not here for a job interview.”

Oscar laughed — nervously — but still.

They chatted first. About racing. About travel. About the state of his car lately and how your dad had been watching from the sidelines and still yelling at the screen when strategy made no sense. It was easy. Familiar.

Until the conversation lulled.

And Oscar knew.

This was it.

He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.

“I… I wanted to ask you something,” he started, rubbing his palms against his jeans beneath the table. “Something important.”

Your dad leaned back slightly. Watching. Listening.

“I’ve loved Y/n since we were kids. And I know that sounds too young to be sure, but I’ve known every version of her — every birthday, every laugh, every bad day where she still managed to smile — and I’ve never once doubted her. Not once.”

He swallowed.

“And I know this job… it’s a lot. It takes me away. It’s dangerous. It’s unpredictable. But she’s never made me feel like it was too much. She’s stayed. She’s supported me. She’s been my home through all of it.”

Oscar paused. His voice softened.

“And I want to marry her. If… if you’re okay with that.”

The words hung in the air. He could hear the tiny café speaker humming something low and jazzy in the background. He hated how loud his heartbeat sounded in his own ears.

Your dad didn’t speak right away.

He looked down at his coffee. Then back at Oscar.

Then he nodded.

And said, “I’d be honoured to call you my son.”

Oscar blinked. “Really?”

“I’ve watched you love her for years,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “And I’ve never worried. Not once. That means something.”

And for the first time since Oscar sat down, he breathed — really breathed.

Your dad smiled and added, “Now, if you hurt her, I will kill you.”

Oscar’s laugh cracked through the nerves, shaky and full of affection. “That’s… fair.”

They clinked their coffee cups like glasses. Two men who had never needed many words — only trust. And now, they had it.

Later that night, Oscar drove home with both hands on the wheel and that velvet box sitting in the glove compartment like it had been waiting too.

He was ready now.

Really ready.

And you had no idea what was coming.

Say the word, bestie, and I’ll write your best friend seeing the ring again, and the moment Oscar stands in the living room, hand shaking, heart thundering, ready to ask.

...

The sun poured in soft and gold through the windows, spilling across your sheets like something out of a dream. You were still curled beneath the duvet, face warm against your pillow, when a knock came at your bedroom door — three soft taps and then a cheeky voice you knew too well.

“Get up, princess. We’ve got a date with some hair masks and overpriced lattes.”

You groaned, smiling into the pillow. “Do I have to?”

Your best friend poked her head in, already dressed in a flowy linen dress, sunnies on her head, and a grin that looked suspiciously like she was up to something.

“Yes, you have to,” she said. “I booked us the works — nails, hair, brows. I’m talking pampered-to-the-heavens kind of day.”

You blinked sleepily, pushing your hair out of your face. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, sauntering in and yanking your blanket off dramatically, “you’ve been an exhausted little marshmallow lately, and I need my best girl back. This is long overdue.”

You laughed, kicking your legs in protest before finally sitting up, stretching your arms over your head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m lucky you haven’t figured out this is all an elaborate ploy to get you glowing for a very specific reason.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She smiled too hard and practically dragged you into the bathroom.

The salon smelled like citrus and jasmine and felt like stepping into heaven. Everything was light and airy and crisp — soft music playing, staff already greeting you with cucumber water and complimenting your skin.

Your best friend leaned into the receptionist’s desk and said, “She’s the bride.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“I said ‘divine.’ She’s divine,” she corrected smoothly, elbowing you with a wink.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re acting so weird today.”

“I’m acting fabulous, babe. Relax and let me spoil you.”

And you did. The two of you sat side by side, heads tipped back over sinks as warm water ran through your hair and a stylist massaged your scalp with something that smelled like vanilla and orange blossoms. Your eyes fluttered shut. You let yourself drift.

Your best friend took secret photos of you with a soft smile on her face, heart clenching just a little because you have no idea. You have no idea that the love of your life has been texting her every twenty minutes asking “is she happy? is she relaxing? does she suspect anything?”

You were glowing.

After your nails were done (a pale blush pink she subtly nudged you into choosing), and your hair was blown out in soft waves, you sat in front of the mirror, blinking at your reflection.

“God,” you said, softly. “I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m floating.”

Your best friend came up behind you, resting her hands on your shoulders.

“You look like magic.”

You turned to look at her, eyes soft. “Thanks for today.”

She swallowed, heart skipping. “You deserve the world.”

And when you leaned in to hug her, warm and sleepy and full of love, she had to blink away tears.

Because you still had no idea.

And Oscar Piastri was about to give you everything.

...

Oscar had been pacing.

Not nervously — not exactly. Just that kind of buzzed, excited pacing that meant his heart wouldn’t quite stay calm. His socks were half sliding on the wooden floors as he moved around the flat, adjusting and readjusting the little details.

The living room looked like a scene out of a love song.

Candles — the expensive kind he knew you liked, the ones that smelled like fig and honey — were flickering gently across every surface. Your favorite flowers — not red roses, but the weird little white ones you always called “the ugly pretty ones” — were everywhere, tucked into vases and glasses and little jars like a secret garden had exploded in their apartment. The playlist had been curated to within an inch of its life, starting with the soft stuff you always hummed to in the car and slowly building toward the songs that felt like him and you — lazy days and road trips and the night you moved in together.

In the middle of the drawer beneath the record player. Waiting for the right time.

He hadn’t even opened it today — he didn’t need to. He knew exactly what it looked like. Simple, clean. The band was warm gold, nothing flashy, but the diamond was clear and bright. The kind of ring that didn’t try too hard. The kind that felt like you.

It sat there quietly, like it knew its moment was coming.

Oscar stepped back, hands on his hips, staring at the table like it might suddenly ask for his blessing.

“You ready, mate?” he muttered to himself, voice soft and full of something breathless.

Then came the knock on the door.

His breath caught.

He checked the time. Perfect. You were early.

He made it halfway down the hall before stopping, raking a hand through his hair. He turned around, sprinted back, and grabbed the tiny bouquet of baby’s breath he’d forgotten to put by the door — the one he wanted to give you the moment you walked in, for no reason at all. Just because.

Another knock. This one softer. Familiar.

His heart was pounding.

He opened the door.

And there you were.

Hair done, face glowing, a soft pink gloss on your lips and that look in your eyes — the one that always landed right in his chest. Your tote bag hung off one shoulder. You still had the little paper wristband from the salon tucked on your wrist like you forgot it was there. You were a little windblown from the walk up the stairs.

He couldn’t breathe.

You blinked at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, voice cracking a little.

Your eyes narrowed. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not—” He cleared his throat. “I just missed you.”

You softened. “It’s only been a few hours.”

He stepped aside, holding out the little bouquet.

“For you.”

You blinked, smiling at the crinkled paper wrapping. “What’s this for?”

“Nothing. You just look really beautiful.”

You raised a brow. “Oscar Piastri, are you trying to distract me?”

He laughed, nervous and giddy and warm all over. “A little bit.”

You leaned in to kiss his cheek — something so casual and familiar it made his chest ache — and stepped inside.

You didn’t notice the candles at first.

Didn’t notice the playlist, or the flowers.

But he watched as it all slowly hit you.

Your steps slowed. Your eyes flicked around. Your mouth opened slightly.

“…What is this?”

He closed the door behind you and didn’t answer yet. He gave you time to take it in — to see the apartment the way he saw you. Soft and glowing and full of meaning.

He stepped up beside you, heart wild in his chest.

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet.

“Oscar?” you said again, barely above a whisper.

The air felt too heavy. Like your lungs had forgotten how to stretch all the way. Like the walls had inched closer without warning.

He looked at you gently, but you couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a second. Your eyes flitted around the room — the golden light, the candles, the record spinning something soft and slow in the corner, the colors that didn’t belong to an ordinary night.

You took one step inside, then stopped. The silence stretched too far.

“Oscar,” you said again, quieter this time, “what is this?”

You weren’t angry. You weren’t even crying yet. You were just still. Too still. Like your body was trying not to feel it.

Oscar’s voice came soft. “It’s okay.”

You shook your head, almost imperceptibly. “I wasn’t— I didn’t know—”

He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to startle you. His hand reached for yours, fingers warm and familiar. “Hey. You’re okay. I promise. Just breathe, sweetheart.”

You tried. You really did. But your chest barely moved.

You blinked again, fast. “Why does it feel like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like something’s… about to change.”

His smile was soft, almost sad. “Because it is.”

You finally looked at him. Really looked. Your eyes were wide, your lips slightly parted, your hands shaking around the stems of the flowers.

He laughed quietly, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. “God, you’re so quiet right now. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared.

He took a breath.

And then, still holding your hand, he began.

“There’s a ring in the drawer — wrapped up, hidden, waiting for the perfect day. But then last weekyou walked through the door in that new green dress and I saw you, so happy, and something inside me just said, Why are you waiting?”

You made a small sound, like a breath that didn’t land all the way.

He kept going.

“I’ve watched you walk into so many rooms, and every single time, I’ve fallen in love with you all over again. And I think—” his voice caught a little, “—I think part of me’s been falling since the first time you looked at me like I wasn’t something to be afraid of.”

Your other hand had risen to your chest now, fingers pressed lightly against your collarbone.

Oscar stepped closer, his words steady even as his eyes grew glassy.

“You always say you’re too much. Too sharp, too complicated, too careful. But do you want to know what I see?”

You nodded, barely.

“I see a girl who laughs with her whole chest when she forgets to be scared. Who stays up late sending pictures of weird clouds. Who holds my hand like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered and still pretends she’s not the softest person in the room.”

A quiet laugh escaped you — wet, stunned — and you shook your head slightly, as if trying to keep yourself upright.

Oscar held your hand a little tighter, his thumb tracing small circles over your skin.

He exhaled slowly, voice a little steadier now. “You know, my job… it’s not easy. It’s demanding in ways I can’t always explain — the travel, the pressure, the constant chase for perfection. Some days I feel like I’m barely holding myself together, and other days I blink and another month’s passed.”

He paused, his voice going quiet again.

“But even in all of that — even when I’m jet-lagged or exhausted or reading strategy notes at 2 a.m. — I still find myself thinking about you. Wondering if you slept okay. If you ate. If something made you laugh.”

You looked down, your breath catching.

“I know I’m not always going to be around in the way you deserve. And I hate that. But I promise you… I’ll try. I’ll try with everything I have to be present, to be there in the moments that matter. I’ll call. I’ll write. I’ll show up — even if it’s in the smallest ways. Because loving you isn't something I want to fit in between races. It's something I want to build everything else around.”

He smiled, soft and sure.

“You’re not a break from my world. You are my world.”

He took a breath.

And that’s when he broke.

Not panicked. Not messy. But decisive.

Like he’d just made a choice in real time.

He turned.

Walked straight down the hallway.

Your heart tripped into your throat. “Oscar—wait, where are you going? What are you—”

But your voice died as soon as you saw it.

The little velvet box in his hand.

He returned slowly, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding this moment in for too long — too many days, too many almosts.

And when he met your eyes again, everything inside you lit up and collapsed at the same time.

“No,” you breathed. “No, you’re not—you’re not doing this—”

“I am,” he said, voice soft but steady. “I really am.”

Your hands were trembling now, bouquet forgotten and held too loosely, fingers clenched and released over and over again like your body was trying to keep pace with your heart.

“But—but you said not yet,” you whispered.

He looked down at the box in his hands. Then back up at you.

He opened it.

And your knees almost buckled.

The ring caught the candlelight in a quiet shimmer — not flashy, not huge, but perfect. Intimate. Him.

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Oscar said, eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been holding onto this ring for three years. Always thinking there’d be a better time, a better way. But nothing feels more right than right now. You, standing here, losing your mind because I lit a candle and played our song.”

He laughed, but it was breathless. Full of adrenaline. Full of you.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much it hurts. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

You blinked rapidly, tears clinging to your lashes, one already streaking down your cheek.

“Oscar,” you whispered, but it came out like a plea.

He stepped forward. Got down on one knee.

Your breath caught, completely and entirely gone.

“Will you marry me?”

There were no theatrics.

No grand speeches.

Just him — knees to the floor, hands shaking, heart in his throat, ring in a box that had been waiting far too long.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until your hands covered your mouth and a little laugh bubbled out through the shock.

He smiled up at you — really smiled — like every part of him was in this.

“Yes,” you choked out. “Oh my god, yes.”

The moment hit like a wave.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, hands on his face, kissing him before he could even slide the ring onto your finger. You were crying and laughing and holding onto him like gravity stopped working.

“I thought I was going to pass out,” you whispered against his mouth, shaking.

He laughed into the kiss, forehead resting against yours. “Same.”

And when he finally did slide the ring on — slow, reverent, like it meant everything (because it did) — your hand trembled in his.

“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing your knuckles. “Finally.”

The music kept playing in the background.

But the room had never been so quiet.

Because nothing needed to be said.

Not anymore.

...

Liked by hattiepiastri, lando, f1, mclaren and 7.7M others.

oscarpiastri: perfect.

lando: HOLY SHIT CONGRATS

danielricciardoso: THIS is what all those mysterious “plans” were?? crying, shaking, throwing champagne 🥂

yourbestfriend: IM SORRY YOU DIDN’T EVEN TELL ME FIRST?? I FIND OUT WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD?? 😭😭😭 I HATE YOU (I LOVE YOU CONGRATS)

mclaren: Our team’s real winning moment 🧡

oscarpiastriupdates: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT 😭 the candles, the playlist, the strawberries... WE CLOCKED IT MONTHS AGO

username1: not him captioning it like that and making me cry on a THURSDAY

username2: this is why I can’t have nice things. men like him are taken.

username3: the softest launch. the deadliest impact. RIP me.

username4: no press release, no video, just “perfect” and a RING??? be serious oscar we’re fragile

username5: tell me she said yes and then immediately started crying and making it his problem

username6: the “perfect” wasn’t about the photo. it was about her 😭😭😭

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 III

Part I Part II Part IV Part V

Took me so long to figure out how the rest of the story could go XP Also, I've seen how some of y'all want the reader to become a vigilante/villain :) It is definitely possible but not with the current story idea I have in mind. Maybe one day, I'll make a side story where the reader becomes a vigilante/villain

CW: Violence (Bar Fight), Stalking, Blood, "Death"

It has been a few weeks since you moved into Bludhaven and Nightwing being your nighttime companion

He always comes over to your apartment with a couple of injuries and asks to stay a bit

With Nightwing’s instructions, you learn to bandage injuries to help the hero

Maybe it’s because your mental wounds from your neglectful family are still fresh, but Nightwing quickly started to grow on you.

It just feels nice to have a friend while adjusting to your new life.

It also could be because he actually came to the rescue when you were attacked

This does make you wonder why Batman didn’t save you in Gotham but who knows what that big guy does.

Another thing you wonder about sometimes is who Nightwing is.

You were never really curious about the vigilantes in Gotham, even though four well-known vigilantes resided there.

Ever since you met Nightwing, you tried doing some research on him but you immediately stopped when you saw the words “Richard Grayson” in an article.

While the batfamily would be more than happy to stay in Bluvenon so they can meet you, Gotham needed them. (Also they may overwhelm you)

Because of this, the family (except Dick and Jason) return home where more plans are made.

Jason decided that he will be the next person you meet and he won’t take no for an answer.

There is one problem though, you’ve seen Jason with his Red Hood attire

You may not have connected the dots at the time but you definitely will when you see him again.

After debating with Dick, Jason finally agrees to primarily watch you from a distance

In an attempt to meet more people, you decided to participate in some summer events that your college was hosting

You make a couple of friends and go out together

College classes are just around the corner and your friends suggested going out to a bar

This is a special moment so you decide to go with them

You all made plans on the designated driver and kept an eye out for your drinks

When you go to the bar, it's almost sunset.

This is your first time drinking but you trust your friends to keep you safe. (You ended up hating the taste)

Unknown to you, Jason is watching you from outside of the bar

If it was Dick’s turn to watch over you, he’d drag you back to your apartment.

Jason just allows you to have your fun time with friends, getting lost in how happy and innocent you seem.

This all crashes down when a fight suddenly happens right next to you

You and your friends try to get away from the scene but you're suddenly knocked to the ground

A drunk person slams a glass of alcohol next to you, probably mistaking you for someone else, which gives you a ton of small cuts.

Jason quickly puts on his mask and breaks into the bar. He beats up any drunk person who tries to stop him from reaching you.

Your sober friend tries to pull you away from the fight but is worried about all of your cuts

Red Hood suddenly appears to drag you and your friend away from the fight.

The fight gets worse and some random person seems to have called the ambulance

When the ambulance arrives, your sober friend hands you over to them and Red Hood disappears

You’re given a few bandages before the medic has to focus on another injured individual

In your dizzy state, you manage to slip away to stop the ringing in your ears

Something in you also told you it wasn’t safe to go to the hospital

Walking through an alley, your bandages seem to loosen and you eventually collapse on the ground from blood loss

Red Hood steps away for a second and you suddenly disappear.

He didn't want to be seen by the ambulance so he got onto a nearby rooftop to update Nightwing on the situation.

At least you didn't get far but the blood pooling under you slowly grows. This would be the second time you died

Nightwing appears and finds you wrapped up in a jacket while Red Hood picks you up off the ground.

One of the walls of the alley seems to have gotten a hole from Red Hood punching it out of frustration

Getting closer, Nightwing can see that you were given fresh bandages before being wrapped up in Red Hood’s jacket.

Also, you’re still breathing!

Seeing that you may still be alive, you’re taken to Nightwing’s apartment

Red Hood places you on the bed while Nightwing contacts Batman.

After one final look over and a blanket thrown over your body, Red Hood joins Nightwing in the living room

You slowly wake up in an unknown room and immediately sit up

The first thing you notice is how dark the room is

Squinting a bit, you find a lamp on the nightstand and turn it on

You find yourself in a bedroom with a blue and black color palette

There’s a desk in front of the bed with two computer monitors

You turn on the computer to see the date and immediately recognize a name

Richard Grayson

The name is enough to fill you with annoyance but you try to stay focused

How did you get here? Are you back in Gotham? Back at the manor?

You go to the bedroom door to find a living room instead of a hallway

Maybe you were still in Bludhaven?

This room definitely looks like it belongs to Dick

You never found his room in the manor but you did learn about some of his interests when you tried to befriend him (Alfred had to tell you all this)

As you finish snooping around the bedroom, a sound from the other room makes you freeze up

You quickly turn the light off, lay back on the bed, close your eyes and pretend to be sleeping

There are some voices in the living room but it's hard to hear past the sound of your racing heartbeat

Your heart almost stops when you hear the bedroom door open and the voices get louder.

At least you can actually understand what they’re saying now

They mention Batman, Robin, Demon Spawn, and other things you don't understand.

Maybe this was Dick and his friend talking about vigilantes? Though…one of them sounds familiar….

Your train of thought is cut off by someone putting their wait on the bed and running their hand through your hair

To distract yourself, you try to recognize the voice the best you can. Could it be Nightwing? Does Dick know him?

A kiss is placed on your forehead before the two people leave the bedroom.

After waiting a couple of moments, you open your eyes and confirm that you’re alone.

You slowly slip out of bed to try to listen to hear more of their conversation.

It seems that they called someone because there are new voices but it isn't that clear

The conversation begins to scare you as they talk about you.

Calling you their sibling/daughter and status on how your injuries were healing

Based on what is being said, you figure out that five vigilantes know quite a bit about you…

Deciding that you’ve had enough, you find a way to sneak out of the apartment

Looking out the window, it looks like you're a few floors high.

You carefully open the window as quietly as you can and peek outside to find a fire escape just one window away

You must be lucky because you reach the stairs safely and immediately start going down the stairs

The sun is about to rise and you realize that you don't know where you are

You run around for an unknown amount of time before finding a bus stop

There isn't any money on you so you just pick up a map for the bus route

Looking over the map, you’re able to find a familiar street before finally making it home

It took you a long time to get a new key because you basically had nothing on you but eventually, you were able to finally collapse on your bed

You fall asleep immediately

By the time you wake up, it is night again

Getting up, you start making yourself some food while some research on vigilantes

Focused on finding answers, you’re able to connect the dots on who the vigilantes are based on your information from when you lived in the manor

At some point, a knock is heard from your window

On instinct, you walk over to your window and open your curtains

Seeing Nightwing and his dumb smile fills you with rage. Which you are more than happy to let him know

You close your curtain and can faintly hear Nightwing trying to talk to you from the other side of the window

Well, it seems that you now know their identity

Jason saw and heard you run off. He and Dick were about to follow but Bruce told them to not follow you

The next night, Jason watch you reject Dick as he tried to pretend last night didn’t even happen

But it seems you weren’t having any of it

Dick returns to Jason, dejected

A new plan would have to be made, and Tim knows exactly how to get back on track

[bunni-v1]

Eating up your Harumasa content about him and cockwarming, May I request more of that pls🙏🏻Maybe some (consensual) somno as well👉🏻👈🏻

🍓I kept this in the drafts until baby girl came out! Happy Haru release day my loves <3 I hope you all enjoy him as much as I do!!! I fleshed out the original post into a full piece, so I hope you don't mind too much my love. Didn't do the somno unfortunately, just couldn't fit it in naturally.

Minors DNI!!

TW: NSFW; Grammar errors; Written pre-story quest so inaccuracies are bound to appear <3

Info: Harumasa x Reader; Fem bodied reader; They/them pronouns/ you/yours

Harumasa had a long day. You can hear it from the kitchen, the way his feet drag against the floor and the grunts he lets out as he fights off his shoes. You hear him cuss them out after they thump against the hardwood of your shared entrance. Then his feet drag their way all the way to you, finally slumping over your shoulder with the most relieved sigh.

The way he acts, it seems like he just came back from an unending war. That wasn't the case, of course, it was more likely that Yanagi asked him to do his portion of paperwork and he just didn't want to do it. (Then he would proceed to do not only his but also finish Yanagi's and Miyabi's if he saw fit.) His arms wrap around your waist, and he hums happily. It's cute enough that you set down the knife you were using to run your fingers through his pretty silky black hair, turning and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Hello, my love," you coo, "How was work."

It takes him a moment to respond as if he was soaking in the words fully before yellow eyes peered up at you, "Mmm, long... and hard."

You're too late to catch the innuendo, and his hands have already slid up from your stomach to give your chest a squeeze. Simultaneously, he pulls you back into him, and you feel that he is in fact long and hard. It draws a gasp from your lips, which satisfies him into sighing against your skin.

"Harumasa," you deadpan, pulling at his hands which won't budge for anything, as always.

He doesn't humor you with a response, pressing heated kisses up and down your neck. It's a tactic he loves to use, buttering you up just so he can get what he wants. It was infuriatingly effective. Still, you were in the middle of making dinner for him. Certainly, he could let you finish doing that.

You manage to push his head away from your neck, which has him whining like a child, but you don't relent and he finally pulls back enough so you can look at him. "We need to eat, Haru."

"I was getting to it," he quips back, smirking that annoyingly cute smirk.

"We need to eat food," You insist, gesturing to the half-made meal on the countertop.

He pouts at it like it was personally offending him just by existing. Then you see him go over the ingredients, and his face lights up just a little. You were making his favorite, figuring it would be a nice treat after a long week at work. Spoiling him was one of your favorite pastimes, after all.

Conflict arises in his pretty yellow eyes, and you watch him debate whether he'd prefer eating you out or eating your homemade cooking more. He comes to his decision by pulling away from you, a deceptively innocent smile on his face.

"Alright, I'll let you finish up," he hums, leaning against the countertop next to you.

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him, "But...?"

"Mmm," he taps his chin, feigning consideration and you already know what he's going to ask, "You have to cockwarm me while we watch a movie!"

Of course. It was his favorite thing in the world, especially after a long workday and a good meal. Most weeks ended like this, but it didn't bother you too much. It wasn't a bad deal for you, as annoying as he was about it.

You don't give him a direct answer, simply sighing and turning back to working on the food, "What movie did you have in mind...?"

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

Dinner isn't as relaxed as you wanted, not with Harumasa practically squirming in excitement across from you. You do your best to pretend it's not happening, eating the food you prepared and mentally preparing yourself for the night you have ahead of you. He practically bounds to the living room when you finish, and you know once you finish cleaning up he won't have the patience to wait any longer.

It was childish, but you couldn't help but find it cute. He rarely allowed himself to be this carefree, so indulging him was the least you could do. So you set the last of the dishes in the sink and make your way to the living room, sighing at the sight of him already palming his hard-on through his work pants.

When he notices you there he gives you a lopsided grin, patting his thigh with his free hand. He works his belt and pants open, and it gives you the idea that maybe you should mess around with him too. It was supposed to be fun for both of you after all, right?

He pouts at you when you don't immediately swing your legs over his lap like an obedient dog, jerking his neglected member in his hands a few times for emphasis. You snort at the sight, patting his thigh reassuringly before turning around to face the TV. You hear him let out an annoyed grunt that catches in his throat when you slowly slide your pants over your hips, around the fat of your ass, and finally down the meat of your thighs until it hits the floor.

He grabs at one of the cheeks, humming appreciatively to himself as the digits sink into the fat, "Maybe we should cut the movie altogether..."

You tut at him, swatting his hands away to give him the same show with your underwear. He inhales deeply at the sight of your glistening pussy, exactly the reaction you wanted. With a playful smirk, you turn and slide your legs on either side of him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"You're being a brat~" He sings in your ear, lining himself up with your entrance.

You pout innocently, "You didn't like the show?"

He doesn't humor you with an answer, instead guiding your hips down until you are fully seated on his dick. It stung a little not being properly prepped, but you had all the time in the world to adjust. Harumasa loved taking his time with things like these, after all.

He leans over to grab the remote to the DVD player and starts the movie. It's some stupid family film from over a decade ago about mutant rodents saving the world or something like that. You were never too interested in stuff like that, but Harumasa always brought those kinds of films home for cockwarming. Why, you had no clue, but they were delightful distractions.

The beginning is always the easiest for you. It's all nice and pleasant as you adjust to the stretch. You're able to rest your head on his chest and peer over your shoulder at the movie. He's surprisingly cold, which soothes the raging heat that builds in your core. His hands rest against your sides patiently, lying in wait for whenever he decides he's grown bored of the movie.

Perhaps that's why it's so easy because the start is mostly skinship. Harumasa may be a tease, but he does love having you close like this. It's almost innocent if only his cock wasn't buried inside you as deep as it would go.

It starts getting hard when his hands start moving around, which is where you're at right now. They slide from their place on your waist down to your ass, rubbing and squeezing the skin like a stress ball. Then they'll find their way to your thighs, dancing along the meat of them and running his thumbs over the tops before falling back to your ass and repeating the process.

You shiver, stiffening up in his lap as he repeats the motion for the millionth time. An unexpected sharp pain erupts from your ass, and it takes your brain a second to process that he has smacked you. You pull back to glare at him, and he returns the look with an innocent smile, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"I can't pay attention to the movie with you squirming like that," he scolds lightly, pressing you back into his shoulder.

You fight the urge to grumble back a 'neither can I', and instead try not to focus on the ever-increasing heat in your groin. It's much easier said than done, as each little twitch from either of you gives you a painful reminder that he's balls deep inside you and you can't do anything about it. He laughs at something in the movie and it travels from his chest right through his dick and into your weeping cunt.

You give up on paying attention to the movie at that point, deciding trembling into his shoulder was a better alternative than pretending you were fine. You nose the column of his throat with shaky breaths, burrowing yourself into his shoulder with a pathetic sigh.

He coos at you, running his fingers through your hair in what's meant to be comfort. You know he's just doing it to annoy you, though. Your spine tingles as his fingers tug a little at the hair, your pussy clenching around him in favor. He groans, pulling a little harder to get you to look at him.

Again, you see something like contemplation behind his eyes, then he smiles at you. His hand comes down from your hair to press your neck forward, and he locks lips with you. You sigh happily into the kiss, not realizing how desperately you'd wanted the attention until now. It seems he knows that, with the way he smirks into the kiss before gliding his tongue across your lip.

You happily give him the access he craves, humming as his tongue slips in and pressing against yours. He tastes bitter, like the medicine he takes every day, but the taste is welcome from your neglected body. You graze your fingers against his collarbone and he finally reacts, pressing his hips up into yours before correcting himself.

As if knowing you'd try it, his hands firmly pressed you to him, not allowing you to move. You whine into his mouth, and he pulls away to smile at you, head leaning against the back of the couch. His face is red, but he looks so satisfied which almost makes the torture worth it.

Deciding you can't handle how pretty he is, you lean down to litter warm kisses against his neck. He sighs, lulling his head to the side to give you better access. You suck at the pretty skin, nibbling on whatever your lips can find. You feel the effect it has on him, dick twitching inside you with each new mark you leave. He continues to run his fingers through your hair, humming contentedly as you service him.

It's when you get to his collarbones that he pauses you, pulling your face up to his. He presses a sweet little kiss to your nose, causing you to giggle. He tilts his head to the side, running a finger along your cheek, "How was your day, baby?"

You respond softly to his musing, answering all his questions about your day. Then, in the middle of telling him about what your boss made you do that day, you feel it. His hands very slowly ease your hips into a short, circular movement. You choke on the words, shuddering at the sensation. It felt... so good, you forgot how to think for a moment as your neglected pussy throbs at the attention.

Harumasa tilts his head at you, though he's smirking, "What was that?"

You stutter out the rest of your response, hardly coherent, but it satisfies him nonetheless. He continues to work you against him at the same slow and easy pace, a master of making things long and drawn out.

Those fingers that had been steadily controlling the pace, slide under your shirt to rake against your ribs. Bunching the fabric up along with your bra and tugging it off your body. Your skin pebbles in the cold air of your apartment, and his hands are quick to glide over it to heat it up. He lets out a low whistle at the sight of your tits, hands immediately cupping them like they belonged there.

Your hips stutter at the new sensation, earning you a look from him that makes you return to the previously set rhythm. Without breaking eye contact, he leans forward to kiss over your chest. Even at the awkward angle, he manages to rub every sensitive spot deep inside you, all while sucking pretty red marks into your hot flesh.

He keeps that up for a long while, ensuring that neither of you can cum until he wants you to. It's sweet sweet torture. The pleasure curls up in your gut, unable to release but somehow forever building up.

All at once his head lulls back and his oh-so-steady rhythm suddenly becomes unreliable. His hips stutter against his beat, but he keeps up that slow pace as best as he can. His hand comes down to roll your clit under his thumb, and you finally feel yourself building to your orgasm. He's close too.

"Baby," he whines, gripping your hip tightly, "lemme stuff you, please? I'll getcha plan b in the morning, jus' lemme this once."

He always says that. Not that you're coherent enough to remind him of that fact. All you can think of is how badly you wanna cum, and how you'll say yes to anything to reach that high. So you awkwardly bob your head in a 'yes' motion.

His eyes roll back and he groans, picking up his pace finally. Your hips rut into his with a fervor you didn't know you were capable of. You slump forward, moaning into his shoulder unabashedly. The coil in your stomach twists and twists until it finally snaps.

At the same time, you feel his warm hot cum flood your insides. His cock twitches with each release, and your walls tighten around it almost encouraging the action. His chest rises and falls in succession with yours, fingers curling in your hair soothing both of you.

Your eyes slowly drift closed at the gentle sensation, sighing happily into his shoulder. He presses kisses to your temple, but you know he's just as spent as you are. Neither of you would be leaving the couch, not that it was a problem when he tugged one of your throw blankets across your back, pulling you down into a much more comfortable sideways position.

You drift off with his dick still inside you, the warm sensation of his cum inside you calling you to rest. You always sleep well on nights like these, wrapped up in one another.

[mesetacadre]

I think it's fair to say there is interest in an explanation of trotskyism from a marxist-leninist perspective. Information on what exactly Trotsky did and what trotskyism is nowadays is complicated to come by unless you know a trotskyist willing to be straightforward or someone involved in organizing with these types of communists. So instead of answering these asks without much prior research or preparation, I decided to wait until I was freer, without too many academic and political responsibilities. Full disclosure, the portion of this post on Trotsky himself is essentially (though not completely) a summary of Moissaye J. Olgin's Trotskysim: Counter-revolution in Disguise, which gets into the basics of trotskyism as well as Trotsky's actual position on his contemporary issues, such as the Chinese revolution, or the CPUSA which I don't get into here but I highly recommend reading. The second portion, about modern trotskyism and how it got to be present in the countries that it is, is shorter and more based on my own experiences organizing with trotskyists as well as reading what they have to say, and conversations with much more knowledgeable comrades of mine.

What is trotskyism?

Succinctly, it is the form of left opposition to marxism-leninism that has enjoyed the most spread, spearheaded by Leon Trotsky and his criticisms of the USSR.

Trotsky himself, despite what his self-aggrandizing History of the Russian Revolution leads one to believe, was never a bolshevik, much less a leninist. The second Congress of the Russian Social-Democratic Labor Party¹ (RSDLP) of 1903, which sought to establish the bases of what would become the bolshevik party and the CPSU, saw the start of the menshevik-bolshevik split, on the issue of what the party should become and how it should be organized.

The bolsheviks, already lead by Lenin, defended the principles of organization that were later systematized into democratic-centralism. These principles were the freedom of discussion until the party decided by a majority vote during a Congress, Conference or other organ for discussion, a position on any issue. After this, unity of action should follow, and the comrades who held the minority opinion, even if they still disagree, should submit to the collectively agreed-upon position, and act on that line an all party matters. This is to ensure that the party of the proletariat, representing the interests of one class, is not divided, and is able to express that single will. Otherwise, its action is crippled by unending debates kept alive by a minority. Consequently, these principles also lead to the intolerance towards fractions within the party.

Trotsky, who aligned himself with the mensheviks, opposed these principles, instead advocating for a complete liberty of individual action of comrades in the party. He called Lenin "the great disorganizer of the party" over this. This is the first great pillar of trotskyism, a rejection of democratic-centralism in favor of the creation of endless cliques and fractions within the party, which he did multiple times within the CPSU until his expulsion.

The second great pillar of the trotskyist opposition that arose before the October Revolution was of defeatism regarding the peasantry. Especially after the defeat of the 1905 revolution, Trotsky was convinced that a successful revolution in a country such as the Russian Empire, where the peasantry was a majority and usually held reactionary positions due to various economic determinations², was impossible because these reactionary elements would inevitably overthrow a worker's dictatorship. While already an excessively defeatist position among other communists, and certainly not a bolshevik position, this belief did not change whether it was 1905, 1915, or 1935. Up to the end, even once the USSR had beaten the armed intervention of 14 armies and had transformed the peasantry by eliminating the class of kulaks and collectivizing agriculture, Trotsky's opposition to socialism in one country relied on the perception of an insurmountable reactionary class constantly on the edge of an overthrow. This is what the "permanent revolution", a term that when used by trotsky has nothing to do with the same term used by Marx and Engels, actually means. A defeatism so deep, that only the practically simultaneous and global victory of the proletariat is possible, all without party unity!

This also negates other leninist positions such as the weakest chain theory, crucial to understanding imperialism, or the necessity of a communist party altogether. Since socialism in one country will inevitably fail, Trotsky told workers that an armed insurrection once the conditions was right was pointless, and that they should instead work for a "worldwide revolution", something that's in practice impossible because it would necessitate a synchronization of the conditions necessary for a revolution in every single imperialist country at once. Unequal development is an unbreakable rule of the imperialist stage of capitalism, and the notion of a worldwide revolution or even a revolution among a significant portion of imperialist countries was already refuted by Lenin in 1915.

So how did Trotsky reconcile his defeatist dogmatism with a living and thriving proof against it in the form of the USSR? As the third great pillar of trotskyism, he insisted by every possible avenue that the USSR wasn't actually socialist, the reasons for which changed constantly. Some issues were already recognized by the CPSU and worked against, and Trotsky exaggerated them. He expressed concern about the Central Committee replacing the party itself, he expressed concern about bureaucratization, the NEP and its lack of collectivization, the excessive speed of collectivization in the 30s, and other criticisms which, when taken together, show only contradiction and a single consistent position: that any attack against the USSR was legitimate.

And it's not like he was being ignored in the USSR, he simply always chose the most incendiary and anti-leninist methods for criticism. In the 13th Congress of the RCP(b) of 1924, among other things, the resolution that was approved recognized many flaws in the party coming out of the NEP, but that these issues weren't actively dangerous and could be solved: bureaucratization in some areas, excessive departmentalization, some influence of bourgeois elements. This resolution was passed unanimously, which included Trotsky. Immediately after the Congress, he published a pamphlet called The New Course, in which he lambasts this Congress and the entire party as having degenerated. In this pamphlet he also places students as the "barometer of the revolution", instead of workers themselves. His only proposal to that Congress was one to allow "freedom of groupings", meaning the freedom to form fractions. Once again he pulled the same stunt in the 15th Congress of 1926; he publicly subscribed to a resolution that explicitly banned such fractions, and directly afterwards published more pamphlets that directly opposed the resolution that he subscribed to! This is not a man who levied fair criticisms and was shut down, he was someone who held minority positions, anti-leninist ones, and refused to admit it, to the point of plotting against the USSR.

But how come Trotsky, during his better known times in exile, claimed he was the true Leninist and that he opposed the Stalinist degeneration? This is the greatest example of a tactic he used constantly. To always seem like the rational critic, and to pass his opposition as one coming from another bolshevik, he always shifted the perspective of his criticisms. In the times of Lenin, Lenin was the "great disorganizer", and the "leader of the reactionary wing of the party"³. But once Lenin died, he became the most loyal foot-soldier of Leninism, crusading against the Stalinist corruption. Then it was Stalin who became Trotsky's devil, effortlessly transposing his criticisms of Lenin to Stalin, and shifting his perspective from that of a menshevik, to that of a true "bolshevik-leninist".

This tactic was used constantly. For instance. when he was still within the ranks of the party, he completely opposed the principles of democratic-centralism, but once he was in exile and had to criticize the Communist International, his issue suddenly became only that the bolshevik form of organization was being hastily applied to different contexts. Then, he really had no issue with democratic-centralism. When he talked of the possibility of a revolution in the US, then all his worries of an insurmountable reaction dissolved, instead becoming an optimist who believed that, actually, there would be no real significant class who would oppose a revolution in the US, and that therefore the USamerican workers should carry out a revolution "without compulsion". The very same person who over the course of decades insisted on the dangers of a counter-revolution apparently believed the workers of the USA had no opposition to fear. This was, rather, simply an opposition to the Communist International's analysis of imperialism, as Trotsky placed the most revolutionary potential in the countries where capitalism was most developed, the imperial core, the very same mistake Marx and Engels committed, except only 70 years prior and with no good framework with which to analyze imperialism. If Trotsky was truly a leninist, then he utterly failed at even beginning to understand anything about the theory regarding imperialism.

I think this is a good enough place to leave Trotsky be, and talk now about trotskyism beyond Trotsky.

Trotskyism, especially in its analysis of imperialism, is very attractive to the imperial core communist. It appeals to multiple sensibilities like individualism, an aversion to revolutionary discipline and work, and impatience. By putting the emphasis away from the party of our class and onto the group of individual ideologues, each with their own cliques and mini-parties, by completely disregarding the possibility of a revolution outside the top of the imperialist pyramid, and by also disregarding the possibility of a revolution until the instance of a total global victory, it is no wonder most trotskyists nowadays are found in the imperial core. This is, with the exception of a portion of Latin-American countries, which I think deserves its own explanation.

Latin America in the 20s and 30s was a continent⁴ of very differing levels of development of capitalism and the proletariat. When many European trotskyists left to Latin America for various reasons, it's no coincidence that they ended up mostly in the urban centers of the most developed countries, such as Argentina and México, where Trotsky himself ended his emigrations after exile. It was exported to places that had a significantly developed proletariat, places which up to that point lacked a culture of multiple communist parties, like Europe had, and places with a strong unionist movement. Other countries like Colombia, Ecuador or Perú, whose worker movements were more significantly indigenist and/or decolonial, along with not meeting the other conditions like Argentina and México, were less ripe for trotskyism.

The condition for a lack of a multi-party environment was important because the trotskyist opposition to the USSR collected all the "orphaned" communists who opposed the sections of the Communist International in each of their countries, especially after the Moscow trials of the late 30s which expanded the opposition to marxism-leninism internationally, as well as with other events like the Hungarian intervention after WW2. But besides this very specific phenomenon, product of a set of very specific conditions which, outside of the imperial core, were only met in these specific countries, the basis of trotskyism as an imperial core opposition to marxism-leninism remains.

So nowadays, trotskyists are mostly located in the imperial core, with those exceptions I've explained. And this leads me to the last part of this post, which is about organizing with trotskyists as a marxist-leninist. In short, it's not impossible but also not an extraordinary situation. Organizing in the imperial core varies from country to country, that much is clear, but the fragmentation into countless groups and sects, as well as the competition with social-democrats, is broadly consistent. These conditions, again generally, mean marxist-leninist parties in the imperial core have to collaborate with a myriad of communist offshoots, anarchists, and ill-defined "leftists" to achieve a broader reach. This includes trotskyists. What makes them in particular uniquely annoying to organize with is that they continue to pretend to be leninists despite all the discrepancies, so they tend to constitute competitors in agitation and rhetoric, while their internal organization usually resembles that of an anarchist group more than anything else. From this, other symptoms like a reliance on assemblyism (especially in the students' movement) and extreme levels of voluntarism naturally follow.

The IMT (International Marxist Tendency), or whichever acronym it is that they're using now, has a relevant presence in just the US and UK with a nominal one in most other imperial core countries. In all cases they're not much more than newspaper vendors who sometimes gives talks at best, and mere reading clubs or financially-extorting sects at worst. There is another international grouping of trotskyist parties that I've come across led by the PTA (Partido del Trabajo Argentino, Argentinian Labor Party), mostly linked via their news broadcast Izquierda Diario, although from what I've heard, the PTA finances their international "children" parties too. Of course, these groups all have different names in each country which in turn tend to change every few years.

Before the split of the Second International during WWI, communists called themselves social-democrats

The mode of production of the peasantry was very individualized, since each peasant or group of peasants lived partly from the fruits of their own labor, they didn't sell it in its entirety. This stands in contrast with the proletariat's completely socialized mode of production; every worker sells the entirety of their labor-power and sustains themself by purchasing commodities with their salary. The pre-existing socialization of production in capitalism was identified by Marx and Engels already in the Manifesto as one of the reasons for the proletariat being the revolutionary class by excellence. The reactionary tendencies of the peasantry wasn't wholly determined by this, it also depended on various historical and contextual reasons, but this should be better expanded on a dedicated post to social alliances.

These are all real insults thrown at Lenin by Trotsky when he disagreed about party discipline. The "true leninist", ladies and gentlemen

Using "continent" in a very loose way here. It's not like the common definitions of continent are very determined either. But you get what I mean

[thee-apple-of-my-eye]

Sweets

Note: I MADE A PART 2 !!!

Summary: You and Draco were riding on the Hogwarts Express together, when Draco decided to quell your bad mood by feeding you some sweets.

Warnings: None? This is very fluffy lol. Reader is upset but what they’re upset about isn’t directly stated so think whatever you’d like. <3

A/N!!!: I love writing this dynamic for Draco so much and idk why. Pining with him is very sweet. He needed someone to balance out his insanity BAD. And I’m here to deliver !!!

DRACO X MALE READER ARGRGRGRGRGRGRGGRGRG

The Hogwarts Express was known to be a long, hectic ride due to all of the sights you’ll see, and the things that could happen during the trip. Nervous students, first years that just wouldn’t sit down even if Dumbledore himself popped up and begged them to—you get it.

But thankfully, Draco Lucius Malfoy didn’t have to deal with any of that! No, never. He always sat with the same person, every single ride, to and from Hogwarts. His dear childhood friend. Y/N L/N.

His calm, patient, quiet friend. Also known as the polar opposite of him.

Usually, Draco would be ranting about quidditch strategies, debating with you which ones were the best and which ones could work in theory.. or maybe he would be complaining about how much he hates Harry Potter, while you silently wondered why on earth he let someone bother him this much..—But your thoughts would inevitably be interrupted by him betting an insanely outrageous amount of Galleons on the idea that he’ll manage to one-up Potter this year.. and you’d always collect that money at the end of the year once he lost, as he begrudgingly handed it to you like a disappointed toddler.

However, today none of that was happening! No. Draco was staring at you, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed—Confusion was written all over his face as he tried to decipher why the hell you were being so quiet right now? Yeah, you’re usually quiet, but not silent..

Eventually, he grew tired of this. He nudged your side, earning a soft glare from you. He scoffed at that look, and he finally broke the silence—“What the hell is your problem???” He hissed out, his tone accusatory despite his genuine concern hiding beneath the surface.

His words only earned an eye roll from you, as you dismissed his concerns with a wave of your hand, “It’s nothing.”

His reaction mirrored your previous response, rolling his eyes at that obvious lie. “Oh, really? It’s ‘nothing’? You look like death himself.”

You shot him a harder glare for that one, and you adjusted yourself in your seat, sitting up as you leaned forward to finally give him a real conversation. “Oh, really? You have dark circles.”

He pursed his lips at that, giving you an unimpressed look. He recovered in usual Draco fashion, with a scoff and a snarky remark right back, “Oh, whatever. Mine are charming. Yours make you look like you crawled out of a grave.”

You shot him an unimpressed look right back for that recovery, and you lightly shoved him in his seat, evoking a yelp of surprising mixed with offense—“How dare you? You’ll ruin my robes..” you just rolled your eyes in irritation, propping your chin up against your palm as you kept your gaze on the window.

Draco’s gaze softened, now noting the fact that you were genuinely upset about something. He frowned, sitting up as he dusted himself up.

He knew pestering you wouldn’t help.. but what would?

Then it clicked.

Sweets.

Anyone that knew Y/N L/N knew that he had the biggest sweet tooth in all of Europe. There was no doubt.

The trolley passed by with a loud shuffle, and Draco was greeted by the woman running the stall. “Hello, dear. Would you like something from the trolley?”

He nodded, and he picked out some mini-cakes.. he himself found these things overbearingly sweet.. but every time he gave them to you, he swore he saw stars in your eyes.

The lady left, heading to the next group of people. Draco glanced over at you, and he nudged you lightly, his tone and overall demeanor uncharacteristically soft. “Hey.”

You turned around to him, expecting him to sneer or poke fun at someone.. but you were greeted with a fork pressed into your space, with a piece of cake at the end of it.

You raised an eyebrow, backing away to give yourself some personal space—“What’s this?”—you had to stop yourself from eyeing the food in front of you, tearing your gaze away from it and opting to focus on Draco instead. (Big back.)

Draco gave you a deadpan look, and he raised an eyebrow, pushing the sweet treat towards you. “What do you think it is? It’s a cake, genius. Eat it.”

You scoffed, pushing the sweet away. “Why did you get that? You always complain about hating them. What’s different now?”

He grew tired of this back and forth, and he shoved the fork in your mouth, “For Merlin’s sake—just eat the bloody thing!”

You were unable to protest with sugar coating your tongue, so you gave in, swallowing the food. You pulled away and scoffed at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you poked fun at his sudden thoughtful gesture. “What, are you going to feed me now? You’re acting like my mother.”

His cheeks dusted pink at the mere idea of feeding you, and he looked away for a moment out of pure embarrassment.. Then he finally looked back, answering your previous jab in a curt, sharp manner—“Maybe I will. Now, open.” His words almost felt like a scolding, his tone stern and on the brink of commanding.

You let out a smug sound of agreement, clearly mocking him to some degree. “Ah.. right, right.. ordering me around now? How new.” Despite your snarky comments, you let him feed you this delicious treat without much protest.

Draco was taken aback by your actions. He expected you to shake your head or swat the fork away—but no! You just went with it. That was it.

Draco stared for a few moments, slightly in shock.. before he regained his composure. He carefully lifted the cake up to his friend’s mouth, a soft blush still on his cheeks. “..Idiot..” He muttered softly..

You enjoyed this treat, quickly reverting back to your usual good mood.. while Draco’s gaze stayed locked onto your expressions, his own expression blank, aside from the subtle blush dusting his cheeks. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and he fed you until the cake was gone.

When the trolly lady came back around, you got something for Draco this time! And the process continued..

TY FOR READING!!! ILYSM!!! GENUINELY I LOVE YOU !!! If you want me to make this a series PLEASEE lmk! Also, if I can improve on my writing LET ME KNOW! I genuinely want to get better because I love writing! Once again, tysm for reading. If you want to be added to the tag list js lmk in the comments <3

Taglist <3 — @isa1b2h3 , @zephyr-ig <3 <3

🍎

[bvrnesher]

hii im in love with your writing style oml

could you make like a jason grace x reader where the reader is a child of apollo who overworks herself and he takes care of her after a particularly bad week? i feel like it would be really cute. tysm 🫶

❝ 𝒞ount 𝒪n ℳe ! ❞ ― jason grace !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

warnings: none.

── ੭̲᱖ on the radio: count on me – bruno mars

YOU WERE, QUITE FRANKLY, a disaster.

Not the fun, charming kind of disaster you could laugh about later. No, you were the barely-holding-it-together-by-frayed-threads kind, the walking embodiment of every burnout meme that Apollo’s cabin should’ve just printed onto T-shirts.

Because somehow—somehow—you’d said yes to tutoring the younger campers, helping design the obstacle course for Capture the Flag, running late-night healing sessions after a rough round of monster attacks, and leading the Apollo Cabin morning exercises.

All in the same week.

Genius.

You hadn’t slept more than three hours a night. Your powers were flickering like a dying lightbulb. And you were running purely on stubbornness, half-melted ambrosia squares, and iced coffee stolen from the Aphrodite cabin’s “secret” stash.

It wasn’t sustainable. Everyone saw it. You saw it.

You just didn’t care.

At least, you didn’t—right up until the moment you collapsed face-first into the dinner table at the pavilion.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t dignified.

One second you were sitting there, trying to eat soup with a hand that kept trembling, and the next you were out cold, forehead planted into a slice of garlic bread.

The entire pavilion went dead silent.

Jason Grace, bless his hero complex, was at your side in two seconds flat.

“Hey—hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and steady in that way that made people listen. He slid an arm under your shoulders, trying to ease you upright without jostling you too much. “C’mon. Wake up.”

You groaned incoherently, blinking up at him with the bleary, pitiful confusion of someone who legitimately forgot what century it was.

Jason’s mouth tightened into a line. That little crease appeared between his brows—the one he only got when he was really, truly worried.

“You’re done,” he said, decisively. No argument, no debate. “I’m taking you back to the cabin.”

You tried to mumble something about not being finished with your soup, which honestly just made him look even more exasperated.

“Forget the soup,” he said, already gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing. “You’re lucky you didn’t pass out onto a skewer.”

(You were too far gone to correct him that it had been garlic bread, not a skewer. Also, you kind of liked being carried.)

Jason didn’t dump you onto your bunk and call it a day, though.

No, he went full Captain America: Concerned Boyfriend Edition.

First, he made you drink water. (“Small sips. Small. You’re not dying on my watch.”)

Then, he peeled off your shoes and tucked you into bed like you were made of glass. Pulled the blankets up to your chin. Smoothed your hair back from your forehead with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

You blinked up at him, groggy and overwhelmed and stupidly emotional.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he shushed you instantly.

“Yes, I do,” Jason said. His voice was soft but firm, the kind of voice that didn't leave any room for arguing. “You’ve been doing everything for everyone else. Let someone take care of you for once.”

You hated how much that got to you.

Something raw and helpless twisted in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out—grabbing a fistful of the front of his hoodie like you needed to anchor yourself.

Jason just smiled, all soft edges and boyish affection, and sat down on the edge of your bed without a word.

He stayed.

He stayed while you drifted in and out of sleep, mumbling nonsense. He stayed when you startled awake an hour later, shaky and disoriented, and pressed a cold water bottle into your hand. He stayed while you curled instinctively toward the warmth of him, eyes barely open, breathing a little easier just because he was there.

At some point, you felt him brush a feather-light kiss to your temple.

“You’re allowed to rest, y’know,” he whispered, like it was a secret meant only for you. “The world’s not gonna fall apart if you stop holding it up for five minutes.”

You wanted to argue. You always wanted to argue. But for once, you didn’t have the energy—and maybe that was a blessing.

So you just nodded weakly against his chest, heart slowing, body sinking deeper into the mattress.

Safe. Warm. Finally letting someone else carry the weight for once.

Jason's arms tightened around you, steady and sure.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself fall asleep without a single thing left on your to-do list.

Not a healer.

Just a girl who loved a boy who refused to let her burn herself out alone.

[dr-lotl]

Piggybacking off of the plant mother Rumi headcanon, I think she would have a terrarium :)

It starts out because Zoey mentioned the string of turtles plant ("omg Rumi their little leaves look like turtle shells!! Look look look!!") and really how was she to resist getting one. And sure she could've kept it in a pot, but they like it quite humid and Seoul isn't humid enough in the winter/springs months for it to really thrive. So really it was only logical to do extensive research to help the little guy.

She ends up with a lot of plants that have variegation (they just look so pretty with their patterns and maybe it helps her feel a bit better about her own). The manjula pothos, tradescantia zebrina, and a couple different of fittonias (nerve plants) probably feature.

She also gets a pink syngonium (the pink from this and the zebrina remind her of Mira) and an aquamarine peacock fern (the greenish/ blueish hue reminds her of Zoey).

She debated back and forth on making the terrarium bioactive, but ultimately decided to when she saw the rubber ducky isopods and how adorable they are. So she got a cluster of them, some dairy cow isopods, and some springtails to act as her clean up crew.

The string of turtles stays sort of front and center in the terrarium (climbing along a branch of spiderwood with a couple other vining plants hanging off the branches) as the little guy inspired the terrarium.

She keeps the whole thing hidden until she has it all built up and all the plant flourishing before she shows her girls.

Zoey squeals so loud Rumi worries it'll shatter the glass before she peppers kisses on Rumi's face. Then she goes back to cooing at the little buggies like she didn't leave Rumi a blushing and slightly giggly mess.

Mira wraps her arms around Rumi and tucks her head into her shoulder to murmur about how good it looks and how amazing she did. Which does not help the blushing situation. Rumi gives her a peck on her cheek as thanks.

They all look after the terrarium together after that. Mira will drop excess cucumber bits into it for the isopods to eat (she'll never admit she intentionally messing up slices occasionally so she can feed them. It's purely accidental). Zoey carefully monitors the humidity and temperature levels, making sure both are within safe levels. Rumi ensures none of the plants are wilting or rotting. The terrarium thrives under their collective care <3

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry Potter and PTSD

I think no one would argue Harry Potter isn't traumatized, but I actually wanted to go through PTSD symptoms and find evidence of them in book quotes. It's mostly as a fun, little exercise (the word fun is debatable here, it made me quite sad, actually) as I'm not a licensed therapist, and I have no qualifications to diagnose anyone with anything. But I wanted to take a look at some of how Harry's trauma manifests especially in the final 3 books as the signs of PTSD are most obvious and glaring after Voldemort's resurrection and get worse after Sirius' death.

(As the title and first paragraphs suggest, this post isn't a happy one, so beware. I will be discussing symptoms of trauma as shown in the HP books)

I will be using adult PTSD symptoms since:

Older children and teens usually show symptoms more like those seen in adults. They also may develop disruptive, disrespectful, or destructive behaviors. Older children and teens may feel guilt over not preventing injury or death, or have thoughts of revenge.

(Source)

All further quotes regarding PTSD and its symptoms and how they might show were taken from the same website linked above.

To be diagnosed with PTSD, an adult must have all of the following for at least 1 month: * At least one re-experiencing symptom * At least one avoidance symptom * At least two arousal and reactivity symptoms * At least two cognition and mood symptoms

So, let's get straight into it and go into the diagnosis categories:

Re-experiencing symptoms

* Flashbacks—reliving the traumatic event, including physical symptoms, such as a racing heart or sweating * Recurring memories or dreams related to the event * Distressing thoughts * Physical signs of stress Thoughts and feelings can trigger these symptoms, as can words, objects, or situations that are reminders of the event.

Harry definitely suffers from nightmares post-Voldemort's-resurrection, and memories coming back about it:

Had they all forgotten what he had done? Hadn’t it been he who had entered that graveyard and watched Cedric being murdered and been tied to that tombstone and nearly killed ... ? Don’t think about that, Harry told himself sternly for the hundredth time that summer. It was bad enough that he kept revisiting the graveyard in his nightmares, without dwelling on it in his waking moments too.

(OotP)

In the meantime, he had nothing to look forward to but another restless, disturbed night, because even when he escaped nightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams about long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with the trapped feeling he had when he was awake.

(OotP)

And it continues even months later, he's still dreaming about the graveyard:

He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. He knew perfectly well what his regular nightmare about a graveyard meant, he did not need Ron or Professor Trelawney or the stupid Dream Oracle to tell him that...

(OotP)

Distressing thoughts are par for the course for Harry, but I'll bring up some examples:

And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather, and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one, that the shelter of a parent’s arms meant that nothing could hurt him.

(HBP)

He feels responsible for all of their deaths even though they are all adults who chose to be there and protect him. Harry still feels guilt and responsibility over them, even when it isn't his fault, and he shouldn't feel responsible for those who stood between him and Voldemort.

While Harry shows physical signs of stress (such as a racing heart or sweating), They are shown in actual moments of stress where any human would be stressed, so I don't count them here since they are not an immediate result of trauma.

Regardless, I'd say he does have relieving symptoms. Recurring dreams, thoughts, and a sense of guilt are all present.

Avoidance symptoms

* Staying away from places, events, or objects that are reminders of the experience * Avoiding thoughts or feelings related to the traumatic event Avoidance symptoms may cause people to change their routines. For example, some people may avoid driving or riding in a car after a serious car accident.

Harry doesn't actually have the luxury to really avoid anything (poor boy) but he does avoid talking about his dreams of the graveyard, as mentioned in the quote in the Re-experiencing section. He doesn't tell anyone, not even Ron or Hermione about his nightmares. Neither does he want to talk about Cedric. He doesn't even want to think about the graveyard and Cedric as mentioned in one of the above quotes:

Had they all forgotten what he had done? Hadn’t it been he who had entered that graveyard and watched Cedric being murdered and been tied to that tombstone and nearly killed ... ? Don’t think about that, Harry told himself sternly for the hundredth time that summer.

(OotP)

Even though Cho keeps bringing Cedric up to process her own experience, Harry does not want to talk or think about him and what happened at the graveyard.

She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I’m — sorry,” she said thickly. “I suppose ... it’s just ... learning all this stuff... It just makes me ... wonder whether ... if he’d known it all ... he’d still be alive...” Harry’s heart sank right back past its usual spot and settled somewhere around his navel. He ought to have known. She wanted to talk about Cedric.

(OotP)

“I came in here with Cedric last year,” said Cho. In the second or so it took for him to take in what she had said, Harry’s insides had become glacial. He could not believe she wanted to talk about Cedric now, while kissing couples surrounded them and a cherub floated over their heads.

(OotP)

Zacharias said dismissively, “All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You- Know-Who and that you brought Diggory’s body back to Hogwarts. He didn’t give us details, he didn’t tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we’d all like to know — ” “If you’ve come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can’t help you,” Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith’s aggressive face, determined not to look at Cho. “I don’t want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that’s what you’re here for, you might as well clear out.”

(OotP)

And when he mentions some of it, he's emotionally overwhelmed and stumbling over his words. He didn't really process everything that happened in the graveyard and he doesn't know how to talk about it:

Ron and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn’t even sure why he was feeling so angry. “Don’t sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn’t I?” he said heatedly. “I know what went on, all right? And I didn’t get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right — but I just blundered through it all, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing — STOP LAUGHING!” The bowl of murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed. He became aware that he was on his feet, though he couldn’t remember standing up. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa; Ron and Hermione’s smiles had vanished. “You don’t know what it’s like You — neither of you — you’ve never had to face him, have you? You think it’s just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you’re in class or something? The whole time you know there’s nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you’re about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they’ve never taught us that in their classes, what it’s like to deal with things like that — and you two sit there acting like I’m a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don’t get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn’t needed me — ”

(OotP)

He mentions how it isn't easy for him to talk about it when he does his interview for the Quibbler:

Harry had not found it an easy experience to talk about the night when Voldemort had returned. Rita had pressed him for every little detail, and he had given her everything he could remember, knowing that this was his one big opportunity to tell the world the truth. He wondered how people would react to the story. He guessed that it would confirm a lot of people in the view that he was completely insane, not least because his story would be appearing alongside utter rubbish about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. But the breakout of Bellatrix Lestrange and her fellow Death Eaters had given Harry a burning desire to do something, whether it worked or not...

(OotP)

So, I'd say Harry shows avoidance symptoms in abundance as well.

Arousal and reactivity symptoms

* Being easily startled * Feeling tense, on guard, or on edge * Having difficulty concentrating * Having difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep * Feeling irritable and having angry or aggressive outbursts * Engaging in risky, reckless, or destructive behavior Arousal symptoms are often constant. They can lead to feelings of stress and anger and may interfere with parts of daily life, such as sleeping, eating, or concentrating.

"CONSTANT VIGILENCE!" anyone?

But more seriously, Harry is extra vigilant and alert in the final 3 books especially. As mentioned in the above quote with Smith, Harry is more angry in the final 3 books:

“If you’ve come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can’t help you,” Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again.

(OotP)

His temper, which was always present, got worse after the graveyard. In book 4, Harry holds Ron back from hitting Draco when Draco throws his usual insults:

“You know your mother, Malfoy?” said Harry — both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron’s robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy

(GoF)

In book 5, Harry punches Draco himself over similar insults because he's angrier and has less of a handle on his emotions and reactions. He is barely aware of what he's doing:

Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Malfoy. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy’s stomach —

(OotP)

And in general, Harry is much more on guard:

He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody’s magical one, and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy.

(OotP)

He startles easily and is ready for an attack at all moments:

Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then heard loud, running footsteps behind him; instinctively raising his wand again, he spun on his heel to face the newcomer.

(OotP - after the dementor attack)

Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Malfoy’s hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, thought Levicorpus, and flicked his wand, but Malfoy blocked the jinx and raised his wand for another — 

(HBP)

“Pathetic, Weasley,” said Snape, after a while. “Here — let me show you — ” He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, “Protego!” His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

(HBP)

By HBP and OotP, Harry is always ready for an attack and he defends himself on instinct. It doesn't matter where he is or what he's doing, fight or flight instincts take over and he's acting. It's always there, under the surface, ready to spring.

After Sirius dies, we also see a change in what Harry keeps to himself and what he says out loud. All his sassiest quotes towards Snape come from after Sirius dies. Harry becomes more reckless with his words (and actions in general). The pain makes him care less about his own life and future:

“What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them. “I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,” said Harry fiercely. Snape stared at him.

(OotP - after Sirius' death)

“Yes, sir.” “There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor.” The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying. Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.

(HBP - yes, this famous scene is because Harry is depressed)

This is Harry just speaking his mind with complete and utter disregard for the consequences of what comes out of his mouth. This is something we see with him only after Sirius died, as before that, he made an attempt to not anger his professors, even Snape. In the earlier books, Harry is all for de-escalating situations with Snape:

“What on earth were you thinking of?” said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?” Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down.

(PS)

“Let’s see,” he said, in his silkiest voice. “Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it’ll be a week’s worth of detentions.” Harry’s ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. He passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too — for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between them, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry alone at his table. On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room.

(GoF)

Harry may be thinking of wanting to say/do something, but he doesn't, because he has some self-preservation. This self-preservation disappears as the books go along. Harry in the early books is much more concerned for his own well-being than in the later books, and I don't think it's due to bravery or childhood trauma, at least, that isn't all there is. I think it's a reaction to some of his more recent trauma as well. A combination of feeling responsible for everything and thinking it's fine he goes through pain and danger because that's what he should do. In HBP and DH, he repeatedly says how willing he is to endanger himself, but not others. It's why he breaks up with Ginny, it's why he initially doesn't want Ron and Hermione to come with him on the Horcrux hunt. He thinks his own life is worth less. That it isn't so bad if he dies.

So he shows 3 arousal and reactivity symptoms at least.

Cognition and mood symptoms

* Trouble remembering key features of the traumatic event * Negative thoughts about oneself or the world * Exaggerated feelings of blame directed toward oneself or others * Ongoing negative emotions, such as fear, anger, guilt, or shame * Loss of interest in previous activities * Feelings of social isolation * Difficulty feeling positive emotions, such as happiness or satisfaction Cognition and mood symptoms can begin or worsen after the traumatic event. They can lead people to feel detached from friends or family members.

I already mentioned Harry's guilt regarding people "who stood between him and Voldemort". And it's true for this section as well. And I mentioned above how Harry considers his own life as worth less than others, which leads him to be incredibly reckless.

Besides the above two points, Harry also shows clear signs of depressive states:

On the fourth night after Hedwig’s departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

(OotP)

Harry mentions that after the graveyard in the summer between 4th and 5th year, he starts having what he calls "apathetic phases", in which he just feels too tired to even think, just staring blankly at the ceiling. Him calling it "phases" as in, plural, suggests this is a common occurrence at the Dursleys.

Even later in Deathly Hallows, we see this is something Harry still does. After Ron leaves Harry and Hermione are at their most depressed:

She [Hermione] threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry. Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron’s bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain.

(DH)

Hermione reacts to her emotions by crying and letting them out, she's processing her emotions in some capacity, as hard as it is. Harry, on the other hand, just gets tired. His mind goes blank and he just stares blankly at the ceiling. Another one of these "apathetic phases". Instead of feeling, he goes numb.

We also see in book 6 how he loses some of his interest in Quidditch. The one pastime that reliably brought him joy, wasn't as important to Harry post Sirius' death. Sure, he was still playing, still interested, but there was none of the joy described previously. He doesn't have the same passion and interest even though he's the captain:

Harry smiled back vaguely, but as he pulled on his scarlet robes his mind was far from Quidditch. 

(HBP)

“Don’t be stupid,” said Ron sharply. “You couldn’t have missed a Quidditch match just to follow Malfoy, you’re the Captain!”

(HBP)

Some of it is to follow Draco who Harry thinks is a Death Eater, sure, but Harry in 4th year would not have acted the same. He wouldn't have let it make him miss a game, he wouldn't have even considered it.

In Deathly Hallows we also see Harry struggling with happiness in many ways. Yes, the situation is bad, but he is so incredibly affected by it, and I do want to mention that:

But they were not living, thought Harry: They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents’ moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.

(DH)

This above quote makes me so sad whenever I read it, and I do want to mention it here. Like, Harry isn't actively suicidal, but he's in a lot of pain that he wants to stop. These negative thoughts are practically a constant in DH even when he isn't wearing the Horcrux.

A hundred dementors were advancing, gliding toward them, sucking their way closer to Harry’s despair, which was like a promise of a feast. ... He saw Ron’s silver terrier burst into the air, flicker feebly, and expire; he saw Hermione’s otter twist in midair and fade; and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling. . . .

(DH)

Harry is the character with the most reliable Patronus, but even for him at some point, it's too much and he struggles with it. Struggles to bring up the happiness he needs for a Patronus. The happiness part is what he always struggled with most when it came to this spell, after all:

“No!” said Harry. He got up again. “I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough things, that’s what it is. ... Hang on. ...” He racked his brains. A really, really happy memory . . . one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus ...

(PoA)

So, I'd say he shows at least 4 cognitive and mood symptoms.

Conclusions

Someone get this boy a hug and therapy, I really don't have much more to say.

I started writing this post to see if I could find evidence of PTSD symptoms in the books, and I searched and found so many that it just made me sad. So, yes, Harry obviously deals with untreated PTSD he has no idea how to regulate in the final 3 books and I think his readiness to walk towards his own demise is influenced by it.

[dovesdreaming]

౨ৎI want to wear his initial on a chain round my neck౨ৎ

Hi I hope this is good! I found getting jacks character hard and when I first imagined this it was a lot fluffier than what it turned into! But I would be happy to right a fluffier version of anyone would like that!! 1.3k words

Needs editing!!

Warnings: suggestive

Requested:@fuck-i-burnt-the-tea

Jack had never been a sentimental person. He was a pirate, they couldn’t care for anyone but themselves. Jack was widely known for that, not even having loyalties to his crew. There were very few things Jack cared about in this world. The first being his compass he kept it by his side at all times and never let it out of his sight and the second was a recent development. He had developed feelings for you. He didn’t know how it happened it went from you joking around with each other to him actually confiding in you, what was happening to him. Jack thought he could get rid of these feelings by pushing you away but the distance only made his heart want to be in your presence more. Jack didn’t understand feelings and he’d be damned if he let them get in the way of finding his recent treasure interest. There was a slight issue with this though as his compass would point in the direction of the treasure but then make a ticking motion towards wherever you were. He debated throwing you overboard or getting rid of you somehow so that he could finally get back to his pirate life yet he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

His crew had also become attached to you, it was impossible not to. You had a way of drawing everyone and making them feel comfortable. The men aboard also didn’t mind a woman on ship but they all respected you and would protect you if needed but after they had seen you fight a rival pirate ship they decided they more than likely would never be needed.

Gibbs had noticed a change in jacks behaviour, how could he not he was the only other person than you that was close to him.

He had suspicions but never brought it up because he knew that the Jack sparrow would never admit to having feelings for someone.

Jack was always a flirtatious person and when he noticed his feelings for you develop he cranked his flirting up to the point he would flirt with a mop if it looked like a woman to rid himself of thoughts about you. He needed you out of his head and this lead him to have multiple one night stands every time the ship docked somewhere, sometimes even several a night. He thought it was working but in reality it only made him crave you more.

You had feelings for Jack sparrow before you even joined his crew. His name was whispered throughout the pirate community with many mixed comments about him. From some of the stories you had heard he sounded like just your type of man. You however ended up on his ship by accident you had been looking for a permanent crew to join and this had been the only ship accepting new crew mates. You and Jack found common ground straight away and from there you only grew closer. You never thought much of your relationship until you felt you stomach bubble with a mix of anger and sadness every night when you saw Jack take another woman to bed. Inside you knew you were jealous but you weren’t ready to admit that to yourself yet, especially when he takes a new woman every night.

One night when you and Jack were hanging out at the bar you both had a few two many drinks. Most of the words coming out of your mouths now didn’t make sense to anyone, it was just drunk babbling. Jack had been eyeing up a few women that were across the bar all night and this had deepened the feeling in your gut. You were nearly blind drunk and jealous which were not good combinations. You became touchy with Jack, reaching your hands out to touch his hair and rub his shoulders. You also stared directly into his eyes making Jack question what had gotten into you. You launched yourself at him, grabbing his face in your hands and smashing you lips into his. He hesitated before his drunk haze of want took over and he kissed you back. The kiss got deeper and deeper before he lead you away and you became another woman he took into the night with him.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed and you looked around to see clothes strewn across the room. The vague memory of last night was at the forefront of your mind yet the face of who you left with was a blur until you turned your head to find no other than your captain. Realisation hit you like a wave and you were frozen in panic. Your mind raced with thoughts and as you saw Jack stir from his sleep all your mind could come up with was to pretend you were asleep til he left, leaving all decisions to him.

Jack awoke and collected his clothes like he did every morning after his nightly activities. It was routine at this point and he usually didn’t bother to even spare a glance to the person in bed with him. He couldn’t remember any of their faces if he tried. Yet as he was walking toward the door he stopped dead in his tracks as he recognised the article of clothing on the floor. It was your average dress yet it sparked an image in his mind and that’s when his memory flooded back. He saw images of the night before with a woman under him. The face of the woman slowly came into focus and it was you. His head snapped to the figure in bed still and sure enough he saw your face just peeking from the covers still asleep.

He panicked and ran out the door slightly slamming it in his hastily exit.

Your relationship was slightly strained from this point on both wanting the other yet feeling as though the other didn’t feel the same. Jack was also still struggling to allow himself to have feelings like this. He wanted to make a gesture to show he cared for you. He was just waiting the perfect thing to present itself to him.

He had found what he thought might do the trick. He found a necklace within the chest that the crew had been looking for the past couple of weeks. It was a chain necklace embroidered with jewels and conveniently a j engraved into it. It was like his compass had led him here all along, knowing his heart wanted to give you himself. He snatched it from the chest before anyone else saw and stuffed it into his pocket for safekeeping.

Jack had been going back and forth about giving you the necklace. He couldn’t decide whether it was too big of a gesture or too small of one. He just wanted to show you that he cared about you.

He had called you into his quarters and sat down on his desk. You were left standing in front of him, questioning why he had brought you in here. He stared at the ground before reaching into his pocket. You saw the necklace shimmer in the sunlight from the window behind, it casted spots of sunlight across the room. This made you even more confused. He twirled the necklace in his hands before speaking “this is for you”. He leant his arm out with the necklace in. You took the necklace carefully into your hands, taking every detail of it in. You heart jumped when you saw the j engraved and ran you thumb over it. You looked up to him questioningly, what did this mean? He looked away and said he wanted to show his fondness for you (jacks code word for something along the lines of love you guessed). You walked over to him and asked him to put it on for you. As he clasped his initial round your neck you didn’t feel owned by Jack, you felt he knew you. This necklace was the silent acknowledgement that you both liked one another and wanted more. It was a silent agreement that you were each others and no one else’s.

Thank you for reading! And again if anyone wants a fluffier version I have a good idea for it!!

[dfortrafalgar]

Shampoo

Sometimes, Law neglects his personal hygiene and needs some external reminders.

Warnings: None, other than a musty pirate captain's sweaty hat

A/N: in my google drive i had called this fic "Sebaceous Gland Lipids" but realized i should probably title it something less jarring on here. It's also worth it to note that this was heavily inspired by a shitpost tiktok i saw early last year of which i haven't been able to find since then sob

You loved Law with every fiber of your being, you really did.

But you could not deny that his personal hygiene tended to lack, especially in times of high stress.  Typically he would just mask any lingering odor with some extra sprays of a mild cologne or an additional application of antiperspirant, but it would always get to a point where you would practically beg him for a good shower.  And if you didn’t, one of his other crew members certainly would.

The worst victim of his stress-induced musk, however, was his thick mop of black hair that he kept covered with his plush white cap all hours of the day.

Late one evening, deep below the surface of the ocean, Law sat at the Polar Tang’s communal dining table, sipping a cup of lukewarm black coffee and flipping through the recent issue of the World Government’s newspaper, discarding the fresh pile of wanted posters that didn’t concern him.  Down the table from him, Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo were intensely focused in a game of rummy.  Other members of the Heart Pirates milled about the ship, either preparing to tuck in for the night, fulfilling evening duties pertaining to the submarine’s upkeep, or simply lounging as their higher-ups currently did.

Clad in flannel pajamas, you rounded the corner into the galley and smiled upon seeing your beloved captain and first mates in a state of stress-free relaxation.  Law heard you enter and immediately flashed a small smile in your direction, setting his paper down.

“Hey, baby,” he said in a coarse, tired voice.

You smiled even wider, excited whenever he shoved aside his pride to address you with such pet names around his friends and crew.  “Hi, Law, hi Bepo and Shachi and Penguin,” you addressed the other three sitting at the end of the table.  Penguin simply nodded his head, lips held in a firm pout as he debated his hand compared to the cards already placed down on the table.

You took the open seat next to Law, reaching across him to grab the pile of wanted posters to flip through them.  Most were pirates you had never heard of, small-time rookies from the Grand Line or having just entered the New World.  Some were much more local, a new, substantial bounty from the West Blue being included in the stack.

“You always love looking through the posters every week,” Law simply stated through the rim of his coffee cup.

Flicking through the parchment you nodded in affirmation.  “I like seeing if anyone I know shows up!”

“She wants to see when she’ll get her own wanted poster,” elaborated Shachi, turning his attention away from their game.

You scoffed, but Law saw right through your futile attempt at deflection and uttered a hardy chuckle.  “You need to get yourself involved in more fights with the Marines for that to happen.”

You hunched your shoulders in defeat.  With a sudden switch to your sullen mood, you cocked a smirk and reached your hand upward, aiming towards the brim of Law’s fluffy white speckled hat.

“Maybe I can just trick the Marines with this,” you boasted, pulling the cap off of your boyfriend’s head freeing his unkempt black hair.  You were the only one, aside from Bepo, he allowed to touch his beloved hat.  He found you even more adorable when you wore it, but he’d never reveal that information toward you.

You held the brim in your hand and raised the object over your head to plop it on, but before it could make contact with your hair, you paused.  An offending odor intruded your nostrils.  You brought the underside of the hat towards your nose, taking an apprehensive sniff.  A foul, musky scent, somewhat salty and definitely humid, singed the fine hairs in your nose.  You yanked the hat away from your face with a groan.  

“Oh my god, Law!” you shouted, bewildered.

“What?” he asked plainly, completely confused at your sudden reaction.  

The three men at the end of the table had now completely forgotten their card game and instead turned their full attention on the two of you.

“Your hat smells disgusting, when’s the last time you even washed it?”  

Law drummed his fingers on the surface of the metal table.  “Uhm… probably a year or so ago?”

Down the table, Penguin released a harsh snort from his own nose.

“How often are you supposed to wash hats?  I didn’t even think they needed to be washed.”  Law felt himself grow slightly annoyed with the confrontation.  He grabbed his hat back from you and attempted to place it back on his head, but your hand latched onto his wrist while your other flew toward his hair.  

Your fingers threaded through his bangs and along his scalp.  You recoiled your appendage after only a few fleeting seconds, eyes wide and aghast.  “Your hair is so greasy, Law,” you said under your breath.  You knew you should probably have this conversation away from the prying ears of Law’s three best friends, but it couldn’t be helped at this point.

“So?  Hair sebum is natural,” he responded, finally being able to replace his hat.

“Yeah, but not that much,” you uttered back.  “You should wash your hair at least once a week to keep up on it.”

Law’s jaw clenched.  “I’m not stupid,” he said back, an annoyed venom on his tongue.

“Never said you are, but you really should wash your hair.”  You stood from your seat, grabbing the stack of wanted posters to bring with you to review in bed.  “Goodnight, guys, see you in the morning!”

The three stooges waved you a goodnight while Law simply scowled down at his newspaper, not reading any of the words.

“Has it really been that long since you’ve washed your hair?” Shachi asked.  “Even I'm not that bad.”

“Oh, stuff it.”  Law folded up the newsprint and left it on the table, trudging out of the galley with a grunt.

An hour or so had passed, and you were curled up on the plush cot you shared with Law, warm and cozy under the blankets.  You kept your eyes closed when you heard the door to the room open and then close slowly so as to not make much noise.  You felt the bed dip downward with the force of Law laying down.  He shuffled toward you, his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your body and holding you tightly against him without a single word.  Cold, damp hairs tickled your neck, and a faint smell of lavender and honey filled your senses.  You smiled in the dark.

He used your shampoo.

[mr-bas00nist]

Hi! can I request Male! Reader with Chris Redfield? it involves the idea below. 👇

Chris had a crush on Reader ever since they met during the S.T.A.R.S era. One fateful day, Chris gets kidnapped and brainwashed via the P30 by Wesker instead of Jill... or did he?

Plot twist: Wesker accidentally picked the wrong P30 and it amplifies Chris' feelings for Reader to the max and so he follows Reader's command instead, much to Wesker's dismay. "Wait- Chris, no! You should obey me, not him!"

Reader's just like, "Chris is still mine, you idiot lol"

he flips the bird at Wesker as he aggressively makes out with Chris lol

That Ass Is (Still) Mine

☠︎︎༒︎✞︎🕸𖤐- Chris Redfield x Male reader

☠︎︎༒︎✞︎🕸𖤐- Cw: gay shit, just fighting, suggestiveness, brainwashing ig but lighthearted shit lol, also more gay shit

Chris had always noticed you. That fun playful guy he’d see in the office. He couldn’t say the amount of times when you weren’t at work he’d immediately be miserable. You could light up the room with your presence. He’d always been obsessed with you.

Not in the creepy way of course! You two would go on missions and you were always quite the skilled one. Close combat, guns, knife work, you could do it all. It was no wonder he was obsessed with you. It was also no wonder knowing you how you comforted him after Wesker’s betrayal.

He was his captain, and Chris looked up to that man. It broke his heart when he betrayed S.T.A.R.S. He made it through though when you swung by just to talk to him. Chris’s eyes trained on your form the whole time. Everything about you was perfect, and after his promotion he was finally able to go on missions with you.

As the years passed and so did more missions, you two were called to the Wesker estate. Where you saw no one but Wesker himself. That asshole was still alive?! You’re kidding! He was fast, so fast he could’ve killed you and Chris in an instant, but he didn’t. He was toying with you.

After he got bored of this though, he grabbed ahold of you. Foolish, foolish, foolish, he would mock. Leather clad hand wrapped tightly around your throat as you grit your teeth at him. That’s when with all fo Chris’s might he rushed towards him. Forcing the man to drop you as he jumped out the window with Wesker.

Which is what brought you to now. On a mission with both Jill Valentine and a woman named Sheva. The two ladies were quite skilled and definitely the teammates you wanted to have. After searching high and low for everything you three needed you came across it. His lair. Wesker’s lair.

That’s when someone clad in a plague doctor like leather suit tackled you all. Wesker coming out of course in his stupid fancy leather outfit. He looked more like a dominatrix in your opinion then a stupid supervillain. Then again, you kept your mouth shut. You peered over to the assistant next to him. Something about them was too familiar.

“So slow to catch on you know?” Wesker retorted to you to which you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You were honestly just debating if you’d rather hear his villain talk or blow your fucking brains out. But all that changed when he pulled the hood down from the person, revealing Chris.

“Feast your ey-“ you cut him off. “Chris! Holy shit you’re alive!?” You asked incredulously. Both Jill and Sheva looked towards each other confused but also thankful. To be fair Wesker was more angry at you cutting him off then anything else. “Yes, yes, it’s Chris under my control now-“ you cut him off again. “Damn baby, looking good in that suit.”

You had to admit. The tight ass suit left almost nothing to the imagination. You could feel Wesker’s glare through his glasses though. But everyone was caught off guard when they saw Chris rush over to you, with his superhuman speed and tackled you in a hug which knocked you over. You wrapped your arms around his hips as you looked up at him.

He couldn’t resist, his whole body felt on fucking fire as he kissed you passionately. You met his kissed letting out a soft moan as you reached down gripping his ass. Mind you, in front of EVERYONE. “The fuck?” Sheva muttered to herself to which Wesker was broken out his trance. “You’re supposed to be following my command what the hell is this????” Wesker questioned to which you just flipped him off.

You then focused back on Chris though as you two continued to make out with each other. Each letting out groans and moans to which Jill just blinked before laughing. She pinched the bridge of her nose before giving Sheva a pat on the shoulder. “Lets finish this.” She smirked as she turned towards Wesker.

Sheva just laughed shaking her head. “Yeah, while he’s outnumbered.” The two got into their fighting stances to which Wesker just sighed. “Excella must’ve got the wrong p30.” He growled to himself. “Goddammit woman!” He spoke out like she could hear him. He got into his own fighting stance.

And sure, you were interested in what was going on around you, but you were more focused on the sweet peace of ass on top of you. Chris was just happy he finally got the chance to have an excuse to make out with you. Maybe he did have something to thank Wesker for after all.

A/n: this one was fun and goofy to make lmaooo, still writing so stay tuned. Requests will be back open soon enough!

[6riix]

𝐿𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑡!

✦˙⚜︎﹍Chocolate chips, strawberries, flour, cornflour and a ton of other things needed to bake the most delicious cake you will ever taste sat on the counter, laid out neatly. Let's hope nothing goes too wrong trying to bake a cake with Dazai.

·ADA!reader ·, I haven't been to a convenience store in my life, no beta we die like sua. Tooth rotting food with a side of fluff.

╰⋮∘˙˚✦

The average Friday in Yokohama was quite busy—well, so were the other days of the week. Yet, on a more rare friday, there was a wave of boredom (along with cravings for cake) washed over a certain member of the ADA.

After you had finished up your work and headed out to leave, you had the brilliant idea to stop at the convenience store. You could already hear your stomach growling (like a dog in the dead of night, as you try to fall asleep) and this time, you could translate the sound; you wanted to have cake. So why not just grab a cake from the store?

Well—that was your plan, until you actually entered and saw a fairly mind-boggling sight; the store had ran out of cake. By now, the average person would think 'oh well, I can just have something else.' But you weren't average, no, no— you were persistent. And a whole lot at that. You were definitely going to have that cake, even if it meant making it yourself. With that in mind, you headed over to the area with stuff that seemed like baking ingredients.

Your roommate, Osamu Dazai, often didn't cook food on his own. He instead always just bought it from outside. It's not as if you were any better—you barely stocked up on ingredients unless absolutely necessary. Which is the very reason why you now had two white polythene bags containing a bunch of baking supplies and strawberries, sitting upon the grey counter in your small, cramped kitchen.

You began to take everything out the bags and sort them, you would need around.. Four cups of white flour, one teaspoonful of baking soda—or was it baking powder? Whatever, the one you had should work just fine. A tiny bit of.. Wait, did you bring home vanilla flavouring instead of cocoa powder? Ah, no—you brought both. There were obviously the strawberries and the chocolate chips, which thankfully were in perfect condition and hadn't been mixed up with anything else.

You brought out a fairly large plastic bowl from the cupboard, along with a random spoon of reasonable size because let's face it, there was no way you were gonna bother buying a whisk at eight in the evening, just as all shops were getting ready to close. As you reached up to get something else, you heard the box of strawberries being opened. Great heavens.. Dazai was here.

"Wow~ these strawberries taste amazing! They're so swee-" his sentence was interrupted by a smack to his hand, caused by an orange porcelain-like plastic spoon.

"Don't eat those, I need them."

Dazai glanced over to the setup on the counter, then back at you with a grin.

"You're baking a cake? Oh what a coincidence, it just so happened to be that I also was craving some! Wouldn't you be so kind as to save me from this hunger by giving me some?" Said he, in the most dramatic of tones. A skeptical glance made up of squinted eyes and the words 'are you twelve.' Shot towards his face (a BOMBASTIC side eye). After a few moments of internal debate, you finally decided to give him your final verdict. "I'll allow it, I guess. Could you help out a bit however?" At this, dazai's eyes got as close to lighting up as they could. "Why, of course! Your wish is my command!" Seeing that burst of excitement in his tone, you realized that maybe asking him to help was not the best of ideas. Well, you had to make use of what you had.

The two of you began working together on the cake, somehow managing to not get flour all over the place. As you began mixing the wet batter, Dazai kept begging you to add some more chocolate chips. You had to physically stop him from eating the batter about 3 times. As you began set the batter into a square metal mold you found laying around (it was from your baking era, okay?) , Dazai melted the chocolate chips in the microwave. After he brought out the gooey, delicious looking brown liquid, you put in your soon-to-be cake in the oven. It would take about half an hour for it to bake. In the meantime, you guys got working on the strawberries and icing. To your misfortune, Dazai was the one working with the icing. This definitely was not going to go well. But it was what it was, after all, beggars can't be choosers.

🍰☕·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

After all your hard work and time, it was finally done. The cake was ready, and a sense of accomplishment washed over you both. The cake was beautiful² and it looked absolutely delectable. You produced two small plates from the cupboard, along with a fork. As you reached for the other fork, it was nowhere to be found. Huh, strange, you remember placing them inside that morning, after drying them. Whatever,it wasn't a big deal, you thought, instead bringing out a spoon and went over to Dazai, who was reading.

As he noticed you, he looked up towards your hands, seeing a spoon and a fork on the plates. "No fork for me?" He questioned you, with a dramatic-sad look on his face. "If you want, you can take the fork." You replied back to him, expecting him to agree. However, it might have been quite a shocker to hear "No way! I want us to eat with matching forks!" As you were about to give him the fork, you stopped, deliberating for a moment. Then you did something slightly surprising, you took a small piece using the fork and held it up to his mouth. He looked down at it, a small piece of chocolatey cake was being offered to him. "Here." You said, pressing the fork a bit closer to him. He looked a bit startled for a moment, but eventually ate it with the giddiest smile you had ever seen.

You went on feeding him the cake, sometimes holding his face to stabilize yourself. A small action that was probably gonna turn Dazai redder than the strawberry you were holding up for him to have. Other times, you would get so close to him, he could almost feel the heat from your delicate, soft skin. After the cake was finished, you looked as if you were gonna pass out from exhaustion. "Hn.. I need to sleep.." You crawled next to where Dazai was sitting, plopping yourself down right next to him. Dazai simply continued reading his novel, seemingly unbothered. Yet when he felt a weight upon his shoulder, a soft smile crept onto his lips. Maybe hiding the fork was worth it after all.

🍓🍒˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚--._.-_

HEY POOKIES TYSM FOR READING THIS I HOPE TO SEE YOU AROUND HERE AGAIN SOONNNN

A/N: girlie pops (and manliepops) when I say the cake was beautiful I think of my physics teachers GINORMOUS CHEESECAKE FACTORY LIKE NO JOKE THAT THING IS SO HUGE WHEN HE WALKS THAT DUMPTRUCK JIGGLES LIKE A PUDDING AND ISTG HE HAS A POSTURE THAT JUST MAKES IT MORE PROMINENT LIKE DANG WE GET IT YOUR TRIPLE BBL WATER BALLOONS ARE THE PHYSICS YOU TEACH

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So I saw a post on twsttwit that had me wondering. They were talking about what would have happened if Malleus had come along in the Ghost Bride event, would he have passed Eliza’s test (Someone made a valid point how Mal would pass the physical part of the test, but not the singing, dog, etc. based on where he his social knowledge was at the time)? Would he have gotten slapped? What would have happened if he HAD gotten slapped? etc.

I’m mostly interested in that last question, like, we have voice lines & dialogue from Mal how he’s intrigued by people who aren’t afraid of him (Yuu, Ace), but being poked and spoken back to by someone you know (even if vaguely) is completely different than being FULL ON ASSAULTED, by a STRANGER no less,💀 so would he rain down lightning on Eliza (Justifiably so)? Or at least be caught off guard by her boldness? I highly doubt her slap could freeze him, that’s for sure.

What’s your opinion on what would happen?

I've actually written dialogue for a "what if" the remaining NRC boys attempted to propose to Eliza! I'm really proud of how it turned out, so please take a look at it if you're interested ^^ Malleus is, of course, also included.

Let's compare Malleus to Eliza's requirements (assuming that Malleus would be allowed to fake-propose to her):

At least 180 cm tall ✅

An air of nonchalance ✅ (Malleus is generally pretty standoffish and stoic, or at least has those vibes initially.)

Healthy, lustrous skin ✅ (If pale ass Idia meets this criteria, I am assuming Malleus does too.)

Lidded eyes ✅

A charming smile ✅ (If Idia’s “creepy” smile counts, then so does Malleus’s smile attempts that look more murderous than friendly.)

Bright, shimmering hair ⚠️ (Well… his hair isn’t bright per se, but I guess you can argue it must be well-kept since he’s a prince? He has a royal hairdresser and all.)

Lips so arresting that you just have to kiss them ✅ (Malleus is canonically considered pretty, so I’m giving him this pass.)

Sings with her ⚠️ (Malleus might be caught off-guard by the singing, but he might catch on and sing with her. This is because he does appear to be musically inclined, playing string instruments and singing to others in book 7. Some fans even theorize music is a way he expresses his love or something he associates with love, as this was how his mother soothed him when he was still in his shell.)

Owns a dog ❌ (The only way I see Malleus passing this is if he misunderstands and tells Eliza the name of some random NRC gargoyle.)

Combative abilities ⚠️ (Malleus is very strong, yes—but Eliza seems to expect her prince to slay monsters with swords?? Malleus is more familiar with using his magic or raw strength, not tools. She might view this as crass or improper, seeing as she smacked Jack for saying he’d use his fists.)

Plays an instrument ✅ (Strings!)

Understands how to converse with others; does not talk about random people/things she doesn’t know about ⚠️ (Malleus is a prince, so he must know proper etiquette and such. However, he is much more socially awkward and unaware of social faux pas among peers. Additionally, he does get out of control when he fixates on certain topics (gargoyles, the difference between dragons and longs) and can talk for HOURS at a time about them.)

Chases after her when she flees ✅ (This one’s up to personal interpretation, but I can easily see Malleus just teleporting in front of her.)

Is poetic ✅ (I can see it! Especially with how he speaks about gargoyles www)

Does not speak crudely or threaten her ⚠️ (Malleus doesn’t speak crudely, but he’s not exactly unfamiliar with making threats to those that are impolite to him.)

Doesn’t come across as fake ✅ (He’s not an underhanded schemer unlike some of his peers, just a little mischievous.)

Takes things seriously ✅ (See: Endless Halloween Night, which was just a minor issue but he still acted.)

Not cuter than the bride ⚠️ (Debatable, I guess 😂 depending on how you view Eliza versus Malleus)

Doesn’t use her as a test subject for poisonous flowers the absolute bare minimum ✅ (He’s not J word 😭)

As you can see, I don’t believe Malleus meets all of Eliza’s demands. I think that’s supposed to be the point though? She’s meant to be unreasonable and hard to please.

I think Eliza would have still slapped Malleus. I don’t like how… OP he is without any repercussions (it makes any conflict he’s involved in lack stakes because Malleus is expected to easily overcome them). In my own headcanon, Eliza’s grief and lingering regrets overpower Malleus’s magic. I do think he’d be mad in the aftermath of the slap and attempt to rain down lightning as punishment though.

While it’s true that Malleus is intrigued by people who aren’t afraid of him (Yuu, Ace, even arguably Rollo), he doesn’t always react this way. It’s very context dependent. For example, many Magicam Monsters expressed zero fear of Malleus and were very rude toward him when he asked them to respect Ramshackle dorm. Malleus became furious and tried to attack them, only stopping when Lilia and Silver intervened. Malleus similarly becomes angry with Lock, Shock, and Barrel for their unruly behavior and probably would have killed them if not for Leona interrupting and reminding him that this would poorly reflect on Malleus and his nation. Rollo technically also falls into this category, since Malleus was initially mad at being deceived and wanted to get revenge on him. It wasn’t until the final confrontation with Rollo that Malleus admitted he was experiencing fear for the first time + at the post-battle masquerade where he was relatively cordial with Rollo. In all of these cases, Malleus was enraged by people who were not intimidated by him and sought to “deal” with the nuisances in extreme ways.

I definitely see Eliza falling into the same category as Lock, Shock, Barrel, Rollo, and the Magicam Monsters. They all disrespected Malleus in some way, so he’d probably react poorly to that and retaliate.

[dstryvampres]

hi thats me again 😭 (i hope i'm not annoying or smth) one shot inspired by song "crush" ethel cain with jonathan crane?

you're like the least annoying requester ever ily, you always give me requests that make me so so so passionate about writing. also ty for making me bite the ethel cain bullet this song is goooood.

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary: you find out Jonathan Crane, a past classmate of yours in university, frequents the sketchy bar you work at.

Warnings: smoking(for both you and crane this time!), mention of drug dealing, fingering, nipple play, creampie, spanking once, breeding kink

Word count: 3.1k

Marlboro Reds is one thing that you and Jonathan Crane share in common, but not the only thing you share in common. A quick smoke break helped you discover the other two. Firstly, that you two went to the same university and took the same major during your undergraduate, and would smoke after the exact same class. Secondly, that now, almost eight years after graduating, you both go to the same bar run by Falcone in one of the sketchiest neighbourhoods in Gotham. Important to note that you were a full-time bartender, part-time stage act (only on Tuesdays and Thursdays) here, and Jonathan was merely a patron.

When you first saw Jonathan Crane here, you were stepping out for a five minute smoke break at around 2 am on a pretty mild Saturday. You didn’t take note of anyone in your usually smoking spot, just pressing around in your jacket pockets for your cigarette case and lighter. The cigarette case was in the left pocket of the leather jacket you have on, but you couldn’t find your lighter. You groaned, looking up at the sky. It’s hard to smoke without a lighter, but if you went back inside you were sure someone would put you to work before you could sneak back out.

There was a small click of a lighter to your left. Jonathan Crane, the overly successful psychologist that has an iron grip on Arkham Asylum, was offering you a light. You quickly fumbled around with your cigarette case and pulled one out. Placed the small stick in your mouth before leaning over and lighting it. Took a drag, blowing out the smoke, and letting it float upwards into the same sky you were just cursing.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, as you debated whether or not you wanted to call to attention the fact that you recognized him. You took another drag.

A part of you wanted to, it was crazy to see him in such a shady joint, where most of the criminals he kept under his own watchful eye came before he got hold, or more so the Batman got hold of them. Nevermind the brief stint of conversations you had with Jonathan throughout your undergraduate years because of smoke breaks. Another part of you was able to acknowledge that you worked at a shady joint as a bartender, despite your Bachelor’s degree. It was highly likely that Jonathan would look down on you due to the fact that you were now a bartender instead of a “high-class” job like him, you had all the right to do the same. What was an internationally recognized psychologist doing here?

“Why do you work here?” Jonathan asked, he didn’t look at you only at the end of his own cigarette as he flicked off the ashes.

“Offered better pay and benefits than anything my Bachelor’s could get,” you stated, looking at the wall of the building across from you.

Jonathan hummed in response. You didn’t bother asking him what he was doing here, you’d find out eventually, finishing off your cigarette before going back into the bar.

It would be about three months later that would find out from one of your coworkers that Jonathan was coming in here to receive some chemicals so he could test something out at Arkham. You never pressed any further, that path of life was no longer yours to ask and investigate. At a place like this you learn quickly to not dig into anything, you never know how deep you can go without ending up dead or liable. Which was partially why you kept Jonathan’s little trips here secret, along with the great tips he gave and your attraction to him being reignited.

By late December of that year, about seven months since that first encounter, you knew certain things about Jonathan that made you feel as if you were stepping too close to that danger point. Of course you knew what days he would stop in, Mondays, Fridays, and possibly Thursdays, his enjoyment of martinis with extra olives and spiced rum and cokes, and his usual little routine around the bar. That was the basics, those are what you were allowed to know without any worries. It likely would’ve stayed this way, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were far too attracted to Jonathan.

Your rapid plunge into Jonathan’s life, and eventually his inner circle, started with how all good things start, workplace gossip. Everytime Jonathan came in, someone behind the bar noticed something new about him. One time something as small as a small cut across his lips sent your coworkers into a small frenzy. Someone started a rumour that he got it while fighting the Joker during the rogues recent stay in Arkham, another claimed it was from the Batman himself. No one could agree on which one was true.

Another aiding factor in your relations with Jonathan Crane was your small smoke breaks. Somehow you always caught the psychologist on his own smoke break. At first neither of you shared much dialogue, a quick question of how each other were doing and how work was going before falling into a silence. Until one day when Jonathan asked if you ever dreamed of doing more, leaving the sketchy part of town, seeing what else was out there. There was a pause as you thought.

“I mean, sometimes I daydream about it. Like if I had the money to do what you did, get a PhD in the thing I once loved… Maybe I’d attend Bruce Wayne’s fancy galas and live in an apartment that doesn’t often get raided due to drug lab busts and weapon sales. Who really knows though, maybe I’m destined for where I am,” you shrugged, looking over at Crane.

His eyebrows were furrowed together, like he couldn’t understand why you weren’t jumping, clawing at everyone and everything, to get out, to be more. How could you just brush off the life you are forced to live? Not crave a higher spot?

“Do you like how you live now?” Jonathan asks, flicking ashes from his cigarette.

“I don’t mind it, I’m still alive,” you state, “Do you like how you live now?”

Jonathan took a deep breath in, looking down at the rain soaked pavement. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the toe of his dress shoe, looking back up at you and locking eyes. His eyes were so blue, so intense, so full of something you just couldn’t understand at that moment.

“I don’t mind it. I’m still here,” Jonathan responds. It's vague, but somehow you get his wording, exactly what he wants to tell you is said.

He leaves without a word and you’re just left alone with your own cigarette and the smoke.

Fourth thing in common about you and Jonathan Crane: maybe your life is just mediocre, and maybe you don’t want much more.

Soon enough Jonathan came to your joint smoke breaks with more questions, and you came with more complex answers. Five minutes wasn’t enough for the two of you to connect, by November you found each other outside of the bar. 5pm to 9pm was just after Jonathan’s shift and just before yours, allowing for a quick dinner chat with one another or any other activity for two individuals in their late twenties. 2am to 7am was just before Jonathan’s work and right after yours, it was during this time that you would have to pick between one of your guys’ houses or the dollar slice pizzeria down the road.

Though it was in none of these places that you and Jonathan shared your first kiss. At 3am just right outside a conscience store on the corner of your street your lips found Jonathan’s. With a Diet Coke in your hand and a packet of nuts in his own hand. It was oddly tender for the passionate, fiery psychologist, he even placed a hand on your cheek during the initial kiss. It was mid November, and by the next day you started to end up waking up beside Jonathan in your bed. His clothes found a home in your laundry, and your clothes were tucked inside his dresser.

Twisted inbetween the exhaustion of living in Gotham, work, and now your weird relationship with Jonathan, you found a new rhythm.

“Nothing Dr Edwin ever taught us was important,” Jonathan huffed out beside you.

The both of you are laying on Jonathan’s bed, a soft light from a lamp on his desk at the opposite side of the room. Allowing you to see how the bones and muscles of Jonathan’s torso contort as he stretches and shifts beside you. He tucks an arm between you and the mattress, almost tangled together, almost sharing an intimate moment.

“You always bitch about that. Dr Edwin was just old fashioned,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

For the last week now, the chilly lacklustre atmosphere of the last week of the year, you’ve finally been able to piece together small portions of Jonathan’s life. Well, maybe not piece together, more like be hit in the face with it. After falling asleep last Wednesday at Jonathan’s place, you woke up and tried to retrieve some fresh clothing. Digging around in his closet you happen across a haphazardly stitched together mask. The craftsmanship is shakey, but it’s obvious the mask serves its purpose when you look at it a little long. A gas mask. More notably it was a scarecrow themed mask. You stuff it back into the drawer where you found it and continued on. This time, you wanted to let Jonathan keep this secret, at least at first.

Soon enough the questions caught up to you. Why would Jonathan need a gas mask? A scarecrow themed one at that? You already knew the answer. If you were right about this, you kind of didn’t care. You didn’t care if Jonathan was Scarecrow. If the man that had been the only person in all of Gotham to share almost every night with you, to sleep skin to skin with you was a bad man, it didn’t matter. Good men die. You’d rather be with someone who you know already cares for you. All the good Jonathan has done for you outways whatever he does out in the city on the nights he doesn’t spend with you.

“What do you do with the drugs you get from your buddies at the bar?” you ask, despite knowing that no matter Jonathan’s answer you’ll still stay.

Jonathan’s silent for a minute, chest moves up and down, getting slightly more rapid.

“I’m testing the concept of fear on patients at Arkham. I know it’s not morally correct, but I believe science and morals don’t always mix,” Jonathan states, glancing at you to gauge your reaction.

“Okay,” you hum out, rolling over onto your side to cuddle up next to Jonathan. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Jonathan offers back, stroking your cheek lightly with his finger before shutting his own eyes.

Men have done a lot worse, no good man exists really. Everyone has something. You’re no saint, and neither is Jonathan.

Two days later, now tangled on top of your own bed in your apartment. Cars pass by down on the street, despite it being extremely late. Gotham never sleeps. Jonathan presses his lips against yours, hot and needy. Breathing you in. His hands cupping your cheeks, and yours scratching his bare chest lightly. He licks at your lower lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan softly at the action, bucking your hips upward into his.

Jonathan breaks away from the kiss. Placing his thumb on your lower lip and swiping at it, then bringing it to his own mouth and kissing it. He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and lightly grabs a handful of hair, exposing your neck to him. You feel his breath tickle your jugular, then soft, almost nonexistent, kisses are placed up and down your neck. He repeats going up and down your neck in feather light kisses three times before he starts trailing sloppy wet ones down your neck. Biting softly in certain areas, soothing it with his tongue afterwards. You hiss and whine at every move he makes down your neck. Moving to wrap your arms around him, leaving small scratches on his back.

The hand in your hair drops to the clasp on the back of your bra, both hands slowly working off the item. Bra hitting the floor beside your bed as Jonathan starts to cup and squeeze your breasts. He kisses both of your nipples before pulling back and looking at your boobs in his hands. Moving his hands to tweak at your nipples, you whine out.

“So beautiful,” Jonathan sighs out, watching both your breasts as he tweaks at your nipples and your face contorted into pleasure.

Jonathan’s weight is pressed on your hips as he continues to toy with your nipples. Sitting on your hips as you lay down, unable to buck your hips in any search for pleasure.

“Oh— fuck, God! Jonathan, my tits are so sensitive right now! please just— ah.” you moan out, moving your hands to grip onto his biceps in support.

Jonathan just grins in response, giving one last pull to your nipples before moving his hands down to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“You want me to touch your pussy now sweetheart?” Jonathan asks, toying with the fabric.

You nod eagerly, now able to buck and wiggle your hips to due Jonathan removing his weight off of your hips.

“You gotta speak up,” Jonathan teases, snapping your waistband.

“Yes please! Play with my pussy— all yours,” you whine.

Gasping in relief as he takes your shirts and panties off in one swoop. Though a little devastated Jonathan wasn’t able to admire the lacy black thong you picked out that night.

Jonathan hums as he spreads your pussy lips with his fingers, admiring your wet, hot core. Taking a finger and swiping up and down your cunt, gathering your wetness. He circles his fingers directly outside your opening, causing you to wiggle your hips and whine out. This earns you a small slap on your inner thigh, yelping out in pain.

“If you want something you ask for it,” Jonathan reminds, clicking his tongue.

“Can— oh, fuck— can you give me your fingers?” you ask, batting your eyelashes.

Jonathan instantly complies with your request, slipping two digits into your wet cunt. You gasp out at the intrusion, bucking onto his fingers. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, his pace reminds you that he’s merely doing this to stretch you out. You feel his hard-on poking at your thigh, precum staining his underwear.

“So wet for me tonight, aren’t you pretty girl?” Jonathan coos, rubbing his fingers across a sensitive spot in your cunt.

You moan in response, bucking your hips wildly looking for more. He’s right, you’re basically gushing around his fingers, and you already are leaking down your thighs and into the mattress below with just how wet you are. In the cock drunk state you’re in right now, you don’t care.

Jonathan removes his fingers from your cunt. You wiggle your hips in response and furrow your eyebrows, confused as to why Jonathan removed his fingers from your heat. Looking over to find Jonathan freeing his cock from his boxers.

Jonathan’s cock is fat, veiny, and just above average, stretching you out and spearing you. He always leaves you a slobbering mess, begging for his cum and your release by the end of the night. You can feel yourself clench around nothing as you look at Jonathan’s cock, he pumps himself a couple times then lines himself up with you.

There's no warning before Jonathan pushes his cock into you, causing you to yell out a moan. His hands find your hip as he bullies his cock into you, speeding you on it in one thrust. You're gripping at the sheets, legs wrapping around Jonathan’s waist tightly. He pulls out, only leaving his tip in, before Jonathan’s slamming back into you.

A pace is set almost immediately after that first thrust. It’s quick and leaves you moaning pornographically at almost every thrust he makes into you. Jonathan’s lips have come back onto yours, taking small breaks from kissing you to whisper fifth into your ears or to watch your boobs bounce with each thrust. Everytime he pushes into your sopping cunt his cock pressed past your velvety walls into your gummy sweet spot.

“So tight pretty girl, so wet for me too,” Jonathan moans, his breathing slightly increased.

“Fucking me so good,” you slur out in response.

“I’m gonna cum in you, make you all mine,” Jonathan groans, biting down into your neck.

Jonathan’s thrusts start to speed up more afterwards, lifting your hips up to meet his own hips. His balls slap at your ass, making a sound that reverberates around the room with each thrust.

Again, without warning Jonathan pulls out of you and guides you onto all fours before sliding back into you. Grabbing at your hips and fucking you back onto him. He’s groaning loudly as you moan, hitting a new spot inside of you that makes you clench around him tighter with each passing minute. His balls now slap against your clit, providing stimulation there that drives you crazy.

When Jonathan starts to speed up, pace becoming erratic, this extra stimulation on your clit sends you over the edge. Your face being shoved into the pillows as your cunt convulses around Jonathan’s cock. Moaning loudly as you grip onto the headboard of your bed.

“I’m gonna cum inside you— fuck- fuck- fuck- make you all mine,” Jonathan hisses out, burying his cock as far as he can into your cunt.

Bucking his hips in two more times before cumming inside your spent cunt.

You feel as he pulls out of your pussy, a mixture of your cum and Jonathan’s spilling out of you. Jonathan watches it glob out of you, before getting up and grabbing a towel to wipe you up with. Once he’s back he cleans you up, and attempts to do the same with your bed sheets to mediocre results. He throws the towel down and slowly nugs you to the other side of the bed where there isn’t a giant cum stain on the sheets. Laying down beside you and wrapping his arms around you.

“Do you still care for me despite all you know?” Jonathan mumbles, half asleep.

“I haven’t left yet,” you respond.

Taglist: @paradiseprincesss @luluartpop @xanaxiii @galactict3a

[maximoffcarter]

Better Place.

Pairings: Alex Cabot x reader.

Summary: Alexandra Cabot thought she'd never want to settle with anyone, she already considered herself married to her job and that was enough for her. But what happened when, unexpectedly, someone walks into her life with a little bundle of joy?

A/n: This was requested by an anon, Alex playing the role of mom with reader's kid. I suddenly got an idea and wrote it right away, I think this turned out pretty cute hehe. Don't be afraid to send me an ask or message if you got any requests, I'm up for anything for now. Enjoy and leave your comments, reblog, hearts, whatever you'd like, will be very much appreciated🫶🏻

*not my gif*

Working for SVU was probably the hardest thing that Alexandra Cabot has done in her life; the fact that she saw unimaginable cases every single day, things she never thought she’d see or thought they were not real. But she was proud to be part of a team that wanted nothing more than get justice for the victims, and she too wanted nothing more than that, even if most of the time, the cases didn’t end as they expected or wanted. Growing up in a family full of successful people had made Alex want to leave her own mark, which meant that she’d be married to her job and whatever outside her job didn’t really matter. Also, something that she had always kept in mind since starting in SVU, was the thought of zero kids, not even having a partner. Of course, she had her dates, she had her one night stands no too often but every now and then, but mainly, she didn’t want to get involved in anything serious. Also because she knew that if she ever did, she’d putting her partner at risk, and the thought of it scared her, because she has seen it before, and she didn’t want that in her life.

But, they do say that sometimes life doesn’t go the way people want it to, and Alex knew about it, but she didn’t believe it would ever get to her. On a random night at the bar, Alex had gone for a drink after a tough case, wanting to be alone and drink her problems away, and that’s where her eyes landed on a beautiful girl that was at a table with a couple of other girls. She couldn’t help but stare at her the whole time she was there, every now and then looking away, she didn’t want to scare the girl. Her first thought was going to introduce herself, buy her a drink, and then maybe, just maybe, get her back to her place. But Alex took her time thinking about it, feeling a little disappointed in herself as she thought about what she wanted to do, debating in her mind if she should do it or not. But before she could take a decision, she felt someone standing beside her, turning her head slightly to find the girl that she had been staring at the whole night, ordering a drink.

Alex then decided she simply wanted to get to know her, see where this went, so she offered to pay for the drink. The girl looked back at her and offered a smile and a thank you, asking if she could sit with Alex and introducing herself. Y/n’s friends were completely forgotten as she engaged in a conversation with Alex for about an hour or so, funny stories were shared, laughs and smiles, Alex felt a little more alive as she talked to her. After some more drinks, both women decided it was time to go and decided to leave the bar together, as they made a stop in a corner, Alex stared at her for longer that she had expected, smiling softly as y/n caught her staring, giggling softly.

“Would it be too forward if I asked if you want to go to my place?” Alex bit her lip, a bit anxious as she waited for an answer.

Y/n sighed softly. “Not at all.” She smiled. “But I don’t think you want to get involved with me, Alex.”

Alex frowned. “Why not?”

“I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for.” Y/n smiled as she looked down at her hands.

Alex walked closer to y/n and placed her hand on y/n’s chin, making her look up at her. “I’ll be the judge to that. But if you don’t want to, you can always say no.” She smiled softly. “And we can go for a coffee first.”

Y/n’s breath hitched as she looked into Alex’s eyes. “How about both?”

Alex grinned softly as she nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” She looked down at y/n’s lips and leaned down to kiss her softly, stopping herself from deepening the kiss. She definitely knew this wouldn’t be like other times, this was way more.

After getting to Alex’s apartment, neither of them could stop themselves anymore and as soon as the door closed, thy engaged in a deep and hungry kiss. Clothes disappeared slowly as they made their way to Alex’s room, and the night went away as they explored each other’s bodies. Alex knew then that she was screwed because this was definitely not like other nights, y/n was not like anyone she has ever known, and her mind then made her realize that she just needed a few hours to realize that she indeed wanted that coffee, and more after that. It was around five am when she felt the bed moving, and suddenly the warmth that was pressed against her body was no longer there and she felt cold. She opened her eyes and found y/n looking for her clothes around the room.

“Leaving already?” Alex said softly, her voice a bit raspy.

Y/n turned to look at Alex and smiled shyly. “I’m sorry, I need to go. I need to be home before seven.”

“I can let you borrow some clothes, so you don’t have to put back on the dress.” Alex smiled as she got up, grabbing the sheet that had been covering her body and wrapping it around her body, walking to her closet. She grabbed some sweatpants and a hoodie, handing it to y/n. “Want to see if any of my shoes fit?”

Y/n shook her head as she looked at Alex, smiling softly. “I don’t live too far away from here, so the boots I wore will be fine. Thanks.” She stared at Alex for a moment and then cleared her throat. “Can I uh…use your bathroom?”

Alex nodded. “Sure.” She smiled softly as she saw y/n walking to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

Alex then proceeded to find a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, decided she didn’t want to go to sleep anymore, and she was going to go for a run, changing rapidly before y/n could walk out of the bathroom. Once she was done, she made her bed and picked up the rest of her clothes, putting them in the dirty basket. She heard the door opening and she smiled as she looked at y/n, crossing her arms as she walked to her.

“So…about that coffee.” Alex grinned.

Y/n sighed softly as she placed her clothes on te bed, turning to look at Alex. “You really don’t wanna get involved with me, Alex. I told you last night. I want to. But…I’d rather save myself from the pain later.”

Alex frowned. “I…” she sighed. “I don’t want this to just be a one night stand. So whatever you don’t want me to get involved with, I’ll take it. Unless, you know…you murdered someone, or you’re a drug dealer, or-“

Y/n laughed softly as she slapped Alex’s arm softly. “It’s not that.”

Alex chuckled. “Then? What could be worst than that?” She raised her brow.

Y/n sighed. “It’s not worst for me. But…I know it’s a handful for other people.” She offered a small smile.

Alex nodded. “You’re married?”

“Alex!” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. She then shook her head. “I have a daughter.”

“Oh.” Alex raised her brows. “Sorry I thought the worst, but not that.” She chuckled.

Y/n shrugged. “For some people it is.” She smiled, looking down at the floor as she tried to avoid Alex’s stare. “No, I wasn’t married. I…didn’t plan her. It was a long time ago but…I was in a relationship that I didn’t want to be into, I was…raped. And then I was pregnant, but I chose to keep her.” She looked back at Alex and sighed. “I’m a mess. I’m a single mother who works at the hospital as a nurse. Not exactly someone you want to get involved with.” She smiled. “And I get it, I won’t blame you.”

It was then when Alex realized that after all, getting involved in something serious couldn’t be a bad thing, not if it meant she would be able to see y/n again and be with her. The thought of a kid scared her, but it wasn’t like she was going to get married to her already. But she wanted to see where this could go. She was actually willing to go out of her comfort zone and see where this could take them.

Alex smiled as she walked closer to y/n, placing her hand on y/n’s cheek and stroking it softly. “Why don’t we go for that coffee and then we see how it goes from there?”

Y/n’s heart warmed, smiling softly. “Really?”

Alex leaned down to kiss her lips softly. “Really.” She said against her lips as she smiled. “I give you my number and you let me know when you’re free?”

Y/n nodded softly. “That sounds like a plan.” She smiled as she kissed Alex’s lips again.

********************

Alex and y/n had decided that they’d go on a few dates to see where things could go, but after the second date, Alex already knew that she didn’t want y/n to leave her life ever. She had thought about it every day that she didn’t see y/n, how things could definitely change in her life, how it could also change for y/n, and she had surprised herself by actually picturing herself with a kid. After 4 months of dating, they finally decided that it was time for y/n’s daughter to get to know Alex. She knew that once she met y/n’s daughter, she’d be getting involved for good and even if y/n told her there was always a way out, Alex didn’t want it, she actually was excited to meet the little girl and to see where this relationship could go. Y/n had simply said that they could meet for a coffee, but Alex wanted the day to be fun for the little girl, so she offered to take them to the zoo. Alex had been standing in the entrance for around 15 minutes, her eyes trying to search for y/n and her hands fidgeting with her coat. Her eyes finally landed on y/n, a smile appearing in her face as she looked at her and then her eyes landed on the little girl that was holding her hand. The girl looked exactly like y/n, but her hair was long and red, hazel eyes, but she was definitely a mini y/n.

“Hi.” Y/n smiled softly as she stood in front of Alex, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Hey.” Alex smiled and then looked down, kneeling in front of the kid. “Hi. I’m Alex.”

The girl looked at y/n before her eyes went back to Alex, smiling softly. “Hi Alex. I’m Amelia, and I’m six.”

“Amelia. That’s a beautiful name.” Alex smiled.

“We are both A.” Amelia chuckled. “You’re really pretty, just like my mommy said.”

Alex’s smile widened as she looked up at y/n and then back at Amelia. “We are indeed both A’s, and you’re as beautiful as your mommy told me.”

“Thanks, Alex.” Amelia smiled.

“So, are you ready to have some fun?” Alex raised her brows.

Amelia nodded happily. “I love the zoo. Mommy brings me whenever is my birthday, so I’m excited to be here even if it’s not my birthday.”

Alex smiled. “Well, we’ll make sure you also come on your birthday. For now, let’s enjoy today.”

After an hour or so, they had made it almost through the whole zoo, at some point, Amelia had let go of y/n’s hand and grabbed Alex’s hand, Amelia taking her to see every animal as she talked about it and asked Alex questions. Y/n just followed them around and smiled softly as she saw them getting to know each other. Alex had been nervous before they had arrived but now that Amelia was literally sticking by her side, she couldn’t help but feel relaxed and happy. It wasn’t that she hated or didn’t like kids, she has worked with many kids before, she tried to be as nice and kind as possible, she thought they were cute and sweet, but she had never seen herself with one. Now, here she was, running around Bronx Zoo with a kid holding her hand. Before they left, Amelia asked y/n if they could stop at the shop, y/n making it very clear that she wouldn’t be buying anything for her and she was only looking. Amelia then went ahead to look at the toys, leaving Alex and y/n alone for a moment, both watching over her.

“Alex, I cannot thank you enough for today.” Y/n smiled softly. “I had never seen Amelia so happy and…trusting someone so quick.”

Alex’s whole body warmed at her words, smiling softly. “You don’t need to thank me, I’m just happy that she had fun. And that she seems to like me.”

Y/n placed her hand on Alex’s cheek and smiled. “She does like you. She completely forgot her mom was here.” She chuckled softly as she leaned in and kissed her lips. “You two are so cute.”

Alex smiled against her lips. “You’re cute too. She looks a lot like you.” 

Y/n shrugged. “She got the hair from my mom.” She smiled.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Amelia ran to her and pouted. “Can you please buy me this? Pretty pleeeease.”

“Amy, we said we would only look.” Y/n looked down at her daughter.

“But mommy, I wanna take it home. She needs a home.” Amelia pouted again.

“Baby, you got enough plushies.”

“But not a red panda! She’s cute!”

Alex looked at y/n and then at Amelia. “I’ll buy it.”

Y/n turned to look at Alex. “Alex, you don-“

“Really?!” Amelia smiled widely as she looked at Alex.

“Consider it my gift.” Alex smiled as she looked at y/n. “Can I?” She tilted her head as she looked at y/n.

Y/n sighed as she looked at Alex’s face, she could almost see her pouting just like her daughter, rolling her eyes. “Okay, Alex can buy it for you. Go with Alex.”

“Thanks mommy! C’mon Alex!” Amelia grabbed her hand and pulled Alex with her.

Y/n shook her head softly as she smiled. “I got myself another kid.” She chuckled softly as she followed them.

********************

Y/n sighed heavily. “Mom…it’s okay. I’ll just uh…I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about it. Just be safe, okay?” She hung up the phone and leaned her head against the wall, groaning.

“Sarah told me you’d be here.”

Y/n looked at the door and smiled as she saw Alex standing there, that cute smile on her face. “Hi. What are you doing here?” She smiled as she walked to Alex, kissing her lips softly.

“Well, since you said you didn’t have time to go out for lunch, I thought I’d bring you some. I’m on my way to the office.” Alex smiled as she handed her the bag of food.

“Oh, I love you. Thank you. I’m starving.” Y/n chuckled softly as she smiled, looking at Alex. “You didn’t have to do that though.”

“I wanted to.” Alex smiled as she kissed her forehead. “And I love you too.” She stroked y/n’s cheek. “Everything okay? You look a little worried there.”

Y/n sighed softly. “My mom has an appointment today and she was supposed to take care of Amelia. My shift doesn’t end until 10 pm and I’ll need to call a babysitter.” She shrugged. “I just don’t trust anyone with Amelia.”

Alex nodded. “Why don’t I pick her up?”

Y/n stared at Alex for a moment. “I- are you sure?”

Alex shrugged. “Why not? I mean, she knows me, you know me.” She chuckled softly. “I can go to your place so she’s more comfortable.”

“Well, I just…” Y/n chuckled softly. “I know you know her. I mean she’s…obsessed with you.” She laughed softly. “I just didn’t know if you’d be okay to be alone with her.”

Alex smiled. “I like being with her. And I don’t know I mean…maybe it’ll be good for us to spend some time together.”

“So you two team up and go against me? Because that’s definitely what happened the first time you met, and all the other times we’ve gone out.” Y/n raised her brow.

Alex chuckled softly. “Maybe.” She smiled. “It’ll be okay. I offered.”

Y/n sighed, smiling softly. “Okay, I’ll give you my keys. I’ll call and tell them that you’ll be picking her up. Pick up is at 2:30 pm.” She went to her locker and got her keys and some money, walking back to Alex. “Here’s some money so you buy something to eat for dinner. I’ll try to be home as soon as possible.”

Alex grinned as she only grabbed the keys, kissing her forehead softly. “Dinner is on me.”

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “Okay. Call me if you need anything.” She leaned in and kissed her lips softly. “Thank you.”

Alex nodded. “No worries.” She smiled before she walked out of the room.

It had almost been a year since they had started dating, all these months, Alex couldn’t be any happier, after thinking too much about it, their relationship was actually working perfectly. Amelia had adjusted so well to Alex, loving every second that she got to spend time with her. Alex had already met y/n’s mom and just a few weeks ago, Alex had planned a trip to her parents house in the Hamptons, both of them falling in love with both y/n and Amelia. She was afraid about the waited talk with her parents, which eventually, after y/n went up to the room to put Amelia to sleep, came as Alex was left alone with her parents. Alex never thought that she’d want to settle with anyone, but after almost a whole year of them dating, she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with both y/n and Amelia. Even if the thought of being a parent to Amelia scared her to death, she couldn’t help but think about watching Amelia grow up.

Alex stood in line waiting to pick up Amelia, looking at all the moms who picked up their kids and smiling softly. The squad had already teased her about it one time that Alex mentioned something about Amelia and the whole squad had stared at her as she talked about a little girl and that’s when she explained that her girlfriend had a kid. They teased her endlessly that she was now a mother and she’d soon be attending school dances, birthday parties and more. Even if they were only teasing her, Alex couldn’t help but smile at the thought, feeling warm inside. This was so new, definitely not something she had expected, but she was happy.

“Alex! You really here!” Amelia ran to Alex and Alex picked her up, Amelia wrapping her arms around Alex’s neck happily.

“Hey princess.” Alex chuckled softly, looking at the teacher. “Thank you.”

“Amelia was so excited to know you were coming for her. You have her wrapped around your finger.” The teacher smiled.

Alex smiled. “It’s the other way around, actually.” She then looked at Amelia. “Wanna go for an ice cream?”

“Yes!” Amelia was then put down on the floor and grabbed Alex’s hand.

After the ice cream, they both headed to y/n’s apartment. Alex almost broke her head as she tried to help Amelia out with her homework, noticing that she was way better at law than at simple kids homework. After that, Amelia had gone to her room to play for a bit while Alex got some work done, but not too long after, Amelia appeared back in the living room and asked Alex if she could sit with her to watch a movie while Alex worked. Alex would stare at her every now and then, smiling as Amelia was lost in the movie, one arm wrapped around her plushie and her little hand on Alex’s leg. She didn’t know when it happened, but all of a sudden she was laughing at the movie with Amelia, papers aside and Amelia leaning over her while Alex’s arm was wrapped around the kid, both enjoying the movie. Alex then decided to keep spoiling the little girl and ordered some pizza for dinner, both sitting back in the living room and eating the pizza while they watched the movie.

Alex looked down at Amelia and caught her yawning and rubbing her eyes, giggling a bit. “Tired, princess?”

Amelia nodded. “But I don’t wanna go to sleep. I wanna stay here with you.” She looked up at Alex.

Alex smiled. “How about this…you go and prepare for bed while I clean up a bit, and when you’re ready, you come to me, and I take you to bed to read you a book?”

Amelia smiled. “And you gonna lay down with me?”

Alex nodded. “Yep.”

“Okay, sounds like a deal.” Amelia chuckled as she ran to her room to get her pajamas.

Alex chuckled softly as she got up from the couch and paused the movie, grabbing the box of pizza and plates, and heading to the kitchen. Not too long after, Amelia tapped on her back, making Alex turn to look at her. “Ready?”

Amelia nodded. “Teeth brushed, and pajamas on.” She smiled as she extended her arms.

Alex picked her up and smiled, walking to Amelia’s room, and throwing her in the bed, earning a laugh from Amelia as she positioned herself under the blankets and hugged her plushie. “So, what book does the princess want?”

“Uh…Green Eggs and Ham!”

Alex went to her small bookshelf and picked up the book, walking back to the bed and sitting down beside Amelia. “Okay, read it with me?” She looked down at Amelia who nodded, and then brought back her attention to the book.

They both started reading and Amelia laughed when Alex tried to make funny voices, throwing her head back and then leaning back on Alex. In the fourth or fifth page, she noticed that Amelia had gone silent, looking down and seeing that Amelia had closed her eyes and was slowly breathing now. She smiled softly and carefully placed the book on the nightstand, standing up slowly and then moving Amelia to lay down properly, putting the blanket over Amelia’s shoulder and kissing her head softly.

“Night mama.” Amelia whispered softly as she hugged her plushie tighter, smiling as she fell back asleep.

Alex’s heart stopped at the words, standing still as she stared at Amelia. She then reacted and turned off the light of the nightstand, walking out of the room and leaving the door ajar in case Amelia called her. She stood there for a moment again, not sure if she had heard right or if she had imagined it. She walked back to the couch and sat down, trying to grab her paperwork again but she only stared at it, her mind too distracted to focus on it. Amelia had called her mama. She called Alex mama. She really did that. And she just simply said it. She didn’t even noticed, she was too sleepy. Did she even think about it? Will she remember in the morning? Had she been thinking about calling Alex mama? Did y/n even knew about it? She was so entranced in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the door opening and y/n walking in. Y/n said hi to Alex, putting her things away but when she didn’t get any answer, she looked back at Alex as she frowned. She walked around the couch and sat down beside Alex, who was staring at the paperwork in her lap.

“Baby?” Y/n raised her brow as she placed her hand on Alex’s hand.

Alex shook her head and turned to look at y/n. “Hi! Hi, I- I’m sorry. I was uh…I guess lost.”

Y/n chuckled. “You don’t say.” She kissed Alex’s cheek and then stood up. “Is she asleep?”

Alex looked down at her watch and noticed that an hour had already passed since she sat down on the couch. “Yes! She’s been asleep for a while.” She looked up at y/n. “There’s pizza left, do you want me to warm it up for you?”

Y/n chuckled. “No, I got it. I see you spoiled my daughter.” She grinned as she looked at Alex.

Alex smiled. “It was our day, how could I not?”

“What else did you do?” Y/n asked as she grabbed the pizza and put it on a plate to warm it up.

“Uh.” Alex put aside her paperwork and then stood up to go to the kitchen with y/n, leaning over the kitchen island. “Well, we went for ice cream.” She smiled. “We came home, she played a bit in her room and then we watched some movies before we ordered dinner, and I noticed she was sleepy, so I took her to bed and read a book until she fell asleep.”

Y/n smiled as she leaned over the counter and kissed Alex’s lips. “Thank you for taking care of her. I’m sure she was the happiest.”

Alex smiled. “So was I.” She watched as y/n went back for her food and bit her lip for a moment. “There’s uh…” she looked down at her hands. “There’s something else.”

Y/n looked back at Alex and raised her brows. “What?”

Alex looked back at y/n, smiling softly. “She…she called me mama.”

Y/n’s heart stopped as she stared at Alex. “Alex…I-“ she cleared her throat. “I told her we would talk about it and-“

“She asked you if she could call me that?”

Y/n only stared at Alex as if she had been caught. “I mean…yes. She…she talked to my mom and my mom told me and I…I sat down with her, but I told her we needed to talk about it. I didn’t expect her to say it. I thought she had understood that I would talk to you about it. Alex, I am so sorry. I know we’ve only been dating for almost a year but-“

“I don’t mind.” Alex snapped, interrupting y/n’s rambling.

Y/n stopped talking and only stared at Alex again. “You…you what?”

Alex smiled softly. “I don’t mind.” She huffed a chuckle. “I really don’t mind.” She felt her eyes getting teary as she walked to y/n. “I…I really thought I never wanted kids. The job I have…working with kids that are victims…I’ve seen so much that I thought I’d never want that life or would want to settle with anyone. But you and Amelia really changed that for me.” She grabbed her hands and smiled. “I want you to tell Amelia that it’s okay.”

“You mean it?” Y/n smiled as she felt her own eyes getting teary.

Alex nodded. “I mean, if it’s okay with you, I don’t mind. But y/n…I want this. I want to do this with you. I want you and Amelia in my life, I cannot imagine my life without my two girls.” She chuckled softly.

“Oh, Alex.” Y/n’s smile widened as she wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck, kissing her lips softly. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want this.”

“How could I not? You two are my girls.” Alex smiled as she pecked her lips. “We should move in together. Look for a place, or move to mine, we can make my guest room into her room.”

Y/n nodded. “We should talk about it.” She smiled. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.” Alex smiled as she leaned down and kissed her lips softly.

[storiesfromafan]

Little Bird - Part Two

A/N: Well the first part got a good response, so I've revised part two. And part three has been started.

Hopefully this isn't too bad haha.

This part showcases more of Feyd, as well as his interaction with the reader. Also, things do get interesting...

Tag list: @livyluna22 @psychocitylights

Previously: Part One

Part Two

Sleep had been pleasant, yet dreaming was a curse. You saw your Uncle and Cousin, sharing a tender moment with them on Arrakis. You all talking about the spice and the Freeman. There was a debate between your Uncle and Paul. But there had been no hostility. When the debate was over, you and Paul had taken to walking around the compound. After that you don’t recall much. But at one point you had seen your parents, and shared a hug with your mother before you were being woken by the door opening to your comfortable cell – I mean room.

The three women from yesterday entered, heads bowed and apologising for the intrusion. One slipped into the bathroom to ready the tub for you. The other two waited for you to rise before ushering you into the bathroom. Upon entering you were greeted by the floral smell from the scents and oils added to the water.

“What time is it?” You asked softly, unsure of how to speak to the women.

“It is still morning my lady" one replied kindly.

“And you must eat before meeting with the Na-Baron" another replied.

Ah yes. You now recall Fayd's words, and how he would have made his decision. A chill ran down your spine. Soon you’d know your fate. The two women who spoke to you came over to you to help you undress, while the third left. Almost exactly like last night. Once naked, you walked into the tub and let the warm water sooth you. Yet your mind focused on your meeting to come.

The other two women excused themselves, and you were alone once more. The room was silent, you were silent. You were taking your time, soaking in the calm before the storm. After some time one of the women came in to check on you, and you decided it was time to get out. She called for the other woman, one grabbed the towel and wrapped it around you, while the other emptied the water from the tub.

Walking back into your room, both women followed and proceeded to help you dress for the day. A black full length dress was selected; light and flowy fabric. It was fastened at each shoulder by silver clips, the neckline low and draped to show a bit of cleavage. The bodice was fitted, and the skirt flowing out. It was simple but tasteful. Unlike some of the clothes you had seen from different great families. A pair of black low heels were placed on your feet. Next was your hair, which one of the women combed before putting it up in an intricate bun, held together with a silver clips that had silver vines on it. You wish you hated how they’d dressed you, but you couldn’t deny how well it all looked.

You were then lead from the room, down a maze of halls before stopping at a set of large double doors. You gave them both a confused look, as they bowed, one softly informed you this was were you’d eat. And then the doors opened, slowly you moved into the room before they closed. You turned back to look at the closed doors, feeling alert, something behind you in the room making you uneasy. Slowly you turned around, look into the room you noted the long dinning table, with matching chairs. Cautiously you kept moving forward, finally noting the food laid out. And then you saw it, or rather a him.

The Baron was at the head of the table, his hands moving to grab food and stuff his gullet. The closer you got the more of him you could see, and it was off putting. The way he ate with his hands was nauseating. Finally he looked up once sensing your presence. The way his eyes followed your every movement, yet never stopped feeding himself. Finally you stood by the seat next to his, that was when the Baron finally paused from pushing food into his mouth. Greasy hand gesturing to the seat before you.

“Sit" he said, mouth still housing food before he swallowed.

Hesitantly you took the seat, which had been heavier then you thought. But once you were situated, you were fine. You remained silent, the only noise being the gluttonous creature before you eating. You cast a look to the setting before you, even their plates, cutlery and glasses were bland and metallic. There was no colour or pattern or design. Just bland and sterile.

“Eat" the Baron advised, as you sat there unmoving and unspeaking.

You cast a look over the food on offer, and it too looked bland. Various meats, cheese and bread. No fresh fruits. But you should have figured from the toxic planet that fresh fruit and vegetables would be scares to none. Reluctantly you placed a few pieces of better looking meat, cheese and bread on your plate. It took you a few more minutes before finally eating a few pieces, forcefully swallow it. It wasn’t bad, but its wasn’t great.

All the while the Baron watched you, sizing you up. And after you finally ate some food, he settled back to his own food. The man kept an eye on you though. He was trying to work you out. If you were or would be a threat to him, his planet and – ultimately – his nephew; Feyd. Something told him there was more to Feyd ratting out Rabban. But until he could prove anything, the Baron decided to sit back and observe.

“How do you like the meat and cheese?” The Baron asked, wanting to break the silence. But also to get you talking.

Swallowing the mouthful you were eating, you turned your head to the man next you. You slowly nodded your head, “it is...different. But good, Lord Baron".

He nodded, dark eyes watching you. “Good, good. Eat up!” His voice warm, yet you didn’t believe him to be it.

You know the man did not like your family, yourself included. But here he sat, as if he hadn’t wiped them out. The Baron was acting pleasant and welcoming, breaking bread with someone he was doing business with. Yet there was an underline to his hospitality, one that was scheming and underhanded. Remaining calm and collected, you continued to eat. And even made small talk, which surprised the old man. You had to be wise, playing dumb – to a degree – was the smart move. Let the Baron think you were being trusting, but far from it.

After sometime you had both finished, and the Baron had excused himself. Off to tend to matters of importance. But you knew he got what he wanted. Sitting there by yourself you finally relaxed against your chair. You thought over the exchange. A chill washing over you at what his true motives were. Would he have had you slaughtered on the spot if you hadn’t been so compliant? You believe he would have. The moment you spoke up or raised your voice, calling the grotesque out for the death of your family and so many innocent people. But he wasn’t dumb, on some level the Baron knew you were being tactful, careful how to reply and speak to him.

The doors you entered via opened, and in came one of the women who you consider your ladies in waiting at this point. She entered, walking up to you and bowing upon reaching you. “My lady, the Lord Na-Baron requests your presences” she stated softly. “Please follow me...”

Taking the final sip of your drink, you moved from your seat. She began to head for the doors, but briefly stopped to make sure you were following. And you were, you walked behind her with a good distance between you both. Your heart rate picked up with every step towards where ever she was taking you. This was it. This was when you’d finally know your fate.

She came to a stop before two grand doors, and bowed, informing you this was as far as she was to go. She then took her leave. The guards by the doors moved to open the doors for you. Cautiously you entered into what must be The Great Hall, a room where the Baron would welcome visitors. You could see his elevated seat straight in front of you, and unfortunately there was Feyd also. Standing there watching you, hands held behind his back. Today he wore a semi-formal black jacket and pants, his feet clad in boots. His expression was blank, lips set in a straight line.

You began your walk to him, wariness in every step. Your body wanted to turn and run, but you told yourself to be strong. You presented yourself to Feyd with your head held high, and a strong will. You did not want to show any fear. There was a flash of amusement in his bright blue eyes. He was enjoying the strong front you put on.

“You called for me, my Lord Na-Baron?” You asked politely, well versed in social etiquette.

Feyd nodded, his eyes running down your form and back to your face. “Yes little bird, I did" he said off handily.

You waited for him to go on, yet he didn’t. “And, my Lord?”

A small smirk formed on his lips, eyes full of amusement now. He took a few steps walking around you, admiring you in full. “That dress looks lovely on you little bird, suits you well...”

You remained calm and in place. Yet you wanted to turn around and shoot him a glare. “Thank you, my Lord" you said keeping your voice as unmoved as possible. “I am grateful for your approval, yet you have yet to inform me why I am here, my Lord”.

Yes, you were getting tired of this game, your nerves tired of the unknown of what was to come. You wanted Fayd-Rautha to just put you out of your misery, metaphorically or physically. The later proffered to save you from any torture.

“My, my, my little bird" Feyd began with raspy amusement, as he began to walk back to his initial spot before you. “So in a hurry to hear my decision...do you possibly secretly hope to be my whore?”

Now you did shoot him a glare, which only delighted him further. Yet you remained silent. Unsure if your brain and tongue would work together to not say the wrong words. But the scathing glare said volumes. And still Feyd wanted to keep pushing, see how far he could take it.

“Before I inform you of my decision...” he paused, watching how you never wavered in your glare. “I thought we could talk...”

Now your glare wavered. This did not seem like the Fayd-Rautha you had heard stories of. The ruthless Harkonnen that spilled blood without a second thought, and enjoyed pain in an unhealthy way. Yet here he stood rather serious, tone less tormenting or teasing. It sounded as if he truly wanted to have an honest talk with you. Which made you put up your defences, just in case this was one of his ploys.

You remained silent, awaiting him to continue.

Feyd noted you awaited him to continue, so he nodded. “How much do you know of your parents death, little bird?”

His question surprised you. You blinked. “T-they died on their way back to our home planet. The ship been damaged by debris, which hadn’t been seen in time" you recited, as if the report was in your hands and eyes rolled over every word. That report was burned into your memory.

Feyd had nodded his head slowly to every word you said, before pausing to let the words sink in. “Yes, that is what the official reports say. But what if I tell you that isn’t the truth to their deaths?”

First you were confused, then surprised and finally angry. Your fists balling at your sides, as your eyes drew in on him with a dangerous look. “Y-you lie!”

Feyd's gaze drew in on you, his face serious yet not in a sinister way. “I can assure you I am not. Your parents were killed. And someone or someone’s wanted it to seem an accident, little bird".

You took a step back from the man before you, caution now in full force. “W-why, why tell me this?” You questioned, genuinely wanting an answer. “W-why tell me this when I am either to die or be a subject for your pleasure?”

Feyd remained where he was, knowing you were in a flurry of emotions and thoughts right now. He remained blank, not wanting to frighten you. He may not feel like those that aren’t Harkonnen, but as a child he had. It was why he had ended his mother. Her lack of care for him, the neglect he had faced, had little Feyd questioning everything and himself. And when he took the life of the woman who gave him life, his emotions were like numerous rivers all meeting at once.

“I am informing you of knowledge that I have been privy too, little bird" Feyd replied calmly. “And I am giving you a chance to find out the truth”.

“B-but why...?” You asked softly, voice slightly trembling.

“I am offering you my hand to find out the truth, and to take revenge for you as a...gift" he replied studying you, seeing how you looked at him in confusion.

“Y-you gift those to be tortured prisoners or whores?” You were confused on his words, it did not make sense to you one bit.

Feyd chuckled softly, it raspy and amused. “No, little bird, not prisoners or whores" he paused, waiting to see if you might read between the lines. But from your silence he knew he’d have to spell it out for you. “We gift our intended brides".

You were taken aback. Surely you hadn’t heard him right. Surely he did not say bride!? Taking a few steps back you shook your head, no. You turned from Feyd, ready to run for the door, even if you wouldn’t be allowed to leave, it was instinct. And before you could move, a strong hand grasped your wrist, holding you in place. You tried, moving forward and pulling your arm but it wouldn’t be let go.

“I know this is a shock for you" came Feyd's voice, halting you in your movements but remaining with your back to him. “I can honestly say my Uncle would prefer you to be my whore, or dead...but I did not want that".

“W-why...?” you asked with a soft tone of despair.

Why did he not abide by his Uncles Wishes? Feyd had asked himself that question numerous times.

“Because...I recall a moment years ago, with a young girl who stumbled across a secluded fountain on the Palace grounds. She was crying due to the words hurled at her by children from the great families. And rather then ignoring her or leaving, I took the time to talk with her. From that conversation I saw a part of myself in her...the hate and loathing. We spent the afternoon talking, and I knew one day – given the chance – she would want to put those families in there place...”

You listened to his raspy voice, with words that brought back that memory to you. Yes, you had ran from those children, crying from how they spat insults at you and hate for your parents. You remember how annoyed the boy that had been by the fountain was, but he took the time to ask what had happened, and you told him. Your ten year old self had no filter, or cared, telling him all that brought you to that moment. You thought he would have agreed with them, spitting more insults at you, or just walking away. But he didn’t.

You remember how the twelve year old Feyd, who had finally been rid of his hair, had listened passively, not once interrupting you. When he did speak, his voice had been laced with venom for what he said about the children of the great families. How they did not know what others go through. From there you both spoke of how you would enjoy their fall, once great being reduced to rubble.

“I plan to take down as many as I can...” he had said, confident and with passion. And you had believed him.

You remember him asking if you had the chance, would you destroy them? “Yes" was your simple, yet strong reply. From then on you had worked on being stronger, not letting anyone’s words get under your skin. Being the respected and desired young woman. Which with age, you blossomed into a beautiful woman that had many heads turning. Those words the boys – now young men – of the great families had said, changing into ones to entice and ensnare. Yet you remained vigilant, never paying them any mind. For you did not want a snake for a husband.

“That is why, little bird" Feyd spoke, tone soft. “Now, I offer you the chance to not only find out the truth of your parents death, but also the fall of the great families. Those are two gifts for my bride, for my wife to be...do you accept, little bird?”

Standing with your back still to Feyd, his hand finally releasing its hold on you. There was a part of you that still wanted to head for the doors of the great hall. Still, his words kept you locked in place. This man was offering you a chance to learn truth and get revenge on those that had not only been cruel to you, but to him. You both had been that in which children – to young men and women – spoke ill and crass about. Those people were the ones who made you feel and think badly of yourself at one point. Until young Feyd had been the one to speak to you, showing you a different side to who he was. All of that growing up was what made you strong.

Straightening up, head held high, you slowly turned to face Feyd. When your eyes met, he noted there was a fire in those eyes, small but fierce. You stood before him with your arms by your sides, a sign to show you weren’t closed off. You knew this marriage was not a good idea, yet you wanted the truth, and justice.

Taking a deep breath, you released the taken in air before saying; “I...accept”.

Feyd slowly nodded, a small wicked smile upon his lips. “Very well” he paused, before moving his hand to his pocket and retrieving a dark box. “As a sign of betrothal, I give you one final gift...”

You waited with baited breath as Feyd brought forward the box and opened it. You briefly saw silver, before he removed the item from its housing. Hanging from Feyd's hand was a necklace, it’s chain silver and made of various different links with a black pearl being its main feature. Nothing extravagant, yet still beautiful. Feyd moved behind you, his arms coming around you with the necklace. He laid it against your skin, the cool metal fresh upon your warm flesh. The chains length reached your collar bones, and additional chain – which you didn’t notice – going down to the top of your breasts, the black pearl resting there comfortably.

Stepping around you, Feyd once more stood before you. His bright blue eyes admiring the necklace where it lay. Silently pleased of his choice, and how fitting it was against your skin. How such a simple piece looked ten times more extravagant with your beauty. Yes, over the years he had admired your beauty in the colourful dressed and stylish up-do's currently in trend with court. But standing before him, in silver and black, you looked more beautiful to him. Yet something was missing. His eyes roamed over your attire and face, before finally reaching your hair.

That was it. Without a word Feyd moved a hand to your hair, removing the fastening that kept it up in place. Once freed, your locks spilled down your back and over your shoulders like a waterfall. The way it shone in the low light fascinated Feyd. You were the Atreides prize alright, a beautiful gem that was to be his.

All the while Feyd did this, you remained stock-still and calm. Though your heart was racing from such unusual motions for a Harkonnen, or for Feyd. You studied him. Watching how, though his face remained blank, his eyes looked to you in – dare you say, fascination. You thought it strange. Yet this whole planet and its people were strange.

Feyd's fingers grasping your chin which brought you back to the moment, his eyes looking into yours with a seriousness, that fascination seeming to be gone. What stood before you now looked almost possessive, and demanding. This was the Feyd you had heard of. Without a word Feyd moved in, his cracked lips harshly pressed to your soft ones. You remained as you were, not reacting to his sudden action. He pressed his lips harder, then forced his tongue into your mouth. Still you did not act, just standing there, hands clenched at your side as this man claimed what had never been touched before. You knew he wanted you to fight him, push him away and curse him. But you would not give him the satisfaction.

Finally Feyd pulled back, a pleased smirk on his lips as his face remained close to yours. His breath fanning your face as he slightly panted. “You may not have fought me, little bird" he stated looking you in the eyes. “You hoped by doing so it would upset me...but you not reacting to my kiss, it only makes this game more fun".

With those words he stepped back, finally giving you room to breathe. Without any further words from your husband-to-be, Feyd walked past you to the large doors. You heard them open, his faded steps and then their closing once more. Silence. No more words. No more piercing gaze. No more games. You were alone. Slowly you sunk to the floor, your dress spread out around you.

Your mind recalling all that had been said and done between you both. Along with your morning meal with the Baron. The wheels in your head turning, processing it all. The Baron had been fishing this morning. Wanting to gauge your reaction to him, to his hosting. He knew what Feyd was planning to tell you, and he was hoping you would slip up. And he would be able to lock you up or end you.

Feyd’s change in mood was like whiplash. One minute he was serious, the next teasing, then dark. You couldn’t be sure what to expect. Yet for a moment you saw something that you could believe to be real. When he spoke of younger you, and how you found the fountain and him. How he offered to find you the truth about your parents death, and how he would bring down the great families as wedding gifts. No man had offered you such things. Feyd was barbaric. It showed in how he would speak, his actions and his offerings. And yet, you found it appealing. The first man offering you his sword to take down others, to fight for you.

Add that and his forceful kiss, and you were scared. Not scared of him. But for the spark his words and actions ignited in you. Now you fear it might be a mistake to have accepted his proposal. For you were afraid of what was to come, for yourself and between you and Fayd-Rautha Harkonnen.

TBC...