#(but only if they like the person if course) (everyone else is getting eavesdropped on)

[cynicalmusings]

‘the most crucial skill that a good drinksmith needs is listening… drinksmithing is all about having conversations with your guests’

tea house owner!reader energy for real

[itsclydebitches]

We've all rightly been gushing over Trent listening in on the parent-teacher conference and there are a lot of cool interpretations for why he'd eavesdrop: a crush on Ted, a tendency towards gossip (as seen in "International Break"), the fact that you just can't take the journalism out of the boy, Trent is clearly picking up personal tidbits for the book if the group's initial "Don't print that" worries are any indication, etc. So yeah, it's clear why he'd want/be okay with the door staying open.

Meanwhile, I'm slightly feral over Ted letting the door stay open and what that conveys to Trent.

Based on what we've picked up about his personal life and the direction of this season, we have good reason to believe that Trent was a deeply isolated man prior to Ted arriving. His job makes enemies simply by virtue of the profession itself, especially when you "bring the heat" as hard as he did. Roy flipping the press off at the gala in Season 1 and Nate sneaking out at dark this last episode shows us how journalists are treated on the regular: ignored, dismissed, told to "fuck off" as a matter of course. That's often well deserved, as Roy's two personal stories (Trent's article about him + the response to Isaac's attack) attest, but the end result is still a profession that alienates you from anyone other than your peers. When you're a "colossal prick" in your articles, people hate you all the more.

So Trent at least has other journalist buddies, yeah? Well, not that we've seen. I always think back to that chorus of "--The Independent" in the press room when everyone knew what Trent was going to say and how it... wasn't entirely fun ribbing. I think there's a fair bit of mockery there. Even if others disagree, I doubt that was received well by someone who wears their professionalism as an armor, who takes off his glasses as soon as they're complimented, who was, notably, closeted into his 40s. Trent is a man who is deeply aware of how others perceive him (pointing out his "vibe" feels quite calculated now: highlight what you want people to notice rather than waiting for them to find something on their own) and he is likely to read the worst of most interactions. Cue his shocked, "You really mean that, don't you?" when faced with someone like Ted who is not only genuinely nice, but blunt about it in a way that Trent can't misunderstand, or brush off via denial.

What's his home life like? Married to a woman when he's gay and that's putting a serious strain on them both. He tries to come out and isn't believed. The only other family members we know about are a toddler (who, while lovely I'm sure, can't provide Trent with the kind of emotional support an adult needs) and a father who, if we read the series through Lance's headcanons, may not have been very supportive of his son. Who else does Trent know? Uhhh... other subjects who hate him? Owners like Rebecca who want to use him? A random, potential date that he felt so little for he ditched to get a quote?

(EDIT: I can't believe I forgot to mention the strong implications that Ted was bullied in childhood/as a teenager, based on how he reacts to the whole of the club ignoring him -- resigned but unsurprised -- his reaction to Roy telling him to fuck off after he tries to mend that relationship -- disappointedly awkward "I can't believe I even tried that. What was I thinking?" -- and his body language during the locker room scene -- jumping, furtive glances towards Ted, backed up against the shower stall because shit, he's been in this situation before.

So uh, yeah. Trent may not have had a lot of friends growing up either! That was not the response of a social butterfly, but rather someone who is already very used to being ignored/dismissed/cursed out/threatened, not just within his profession, but within the school-like atmosphere of Richmond's family too.)

I'm by no means reinventing the meta wheel here, but Trent has truly undergone a STAGGERING transformation in Season 3 and the result of that is the reframing of his Season 1 and 2 scenes as, frankly, more depressing than they originally seemed. Seeing him now smiling, singing, gossiping, dressing just in t-shirts, casually snacking, making jokes, letting go enough to be a complete, hyperactive "dork" in front of others... it just hammers home how deeply unhappy Trent was before. How closed off. How closeted--in more ways than one.

So what must it mean to someone like Trent for Ted to leave the door open?

It's not just an open invitation towards community--sit near me, listen in, quietly participate, there's literally no barrier between us--but a staggeringly personal one too. I don't care if a 10-ish year old failing science is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, the fact remains that letting anyone hear a parent-teacher conference with your ex is a hell of a show of trust. That would mean a lot to Trent in general, this acknowledgement that someone trusts the ex-prick journalist with that amount of personal information, but Ted in particular? Oh boy. Ted is the one Trent betrayed with that article! And yeah, Ted forgave him the instant he learned of it, but Trent himself was obviously feeling a lot of guilt, hence him burning his source and orchestrating a firing. Toss in the fact that Ted, despite being a VERY open man on the regular (I still laugh at his "I don't mind" to Rebecca when over-sharing about Michelle) has in fact denied Trent information in the past. No, I won't tell you that was a panic attack. Yes, I will continue the lie that it was food poisoning. Perhaps for Ted it was less about Trent knowing and more about anyone getting at the truth, but at the end of the day it amounts to the same: there was a time when Ted did not fully trust him and Trent justified that fear by writing the very article Ted was looking to avoid, even if Trent approached that situation with as much grace as he could.

So this moment, beyond the humor, just makes my brain go !!!!!! for Trent. Ted Lasso, of all people, has left the door open for Trent Crimm, also of all people, to hear the messy details of his, Henry, and Michelle's life. He is not at all afraid that this information will be spun in a bad light--Local Gaffer's Son Suffers While Father Plays at Coach Across the Pond--despite the fact that Trent is actively writing a book about him. Trent himself is so unguarded in this moment, dressed only in a t-shirt, playing around with his orange, making little quips. The Trent of Season 1 would NEVER. I mean, I think we see small glimpses of the real Trent back then, especially when Ted amuses him enough to coax his guard down for half a second (Trent's reaction to “Make like Dunst and Union and bring it on, baby!" comes to mind. That's a gesture we're seeing a lot now that he's comfortable around the club), but on the whole he was still so, so, so isolated. No one knew the real him: gay, funny, dorky, inquisitive, longing for companionship and using the artificial 'closeness' of journalism to cover that ache up.

Now? Trent is fully a part of the Richmond community and he knows he's a part of it because everyone--Ted, Beard, Roy, Colin, Rebecca--are going out of their way to tell him that, notably in very overt ways. Trent strikes me as someone who wouldn't fully believe it when he's told someone enjoys his company; the kind of wounded, anxiety-prone person who, if casually invited to participate, would assume they're just being polite and he'd actually be an annoyance to them. Trent needs overt, obvious, beat-you-over-the-head-with-it reassurance, which is why Ted is so very good for him because Ted is composed of THE most over-the-top positivity you've ever seen. (Compare that need of Trent's to Michelle thinking that Ted is too much...) When faced with a defensive journalist Ted says explicitly that he liked spending time with Trent. When faced with a still unsure writer who thinks of himself only as an observer--never a part of the team himself--Ted literally begs with monkey noises to hear Trent's opinions. He's blunt to the point of absurdity and someone like Trent who has likely spent the majority of his life hiding/being told that his true self is inadequate needs that level of constant, neon-light reassurance.

So Ted leaves the door open to a personal conversation, refusing to literally bar Trent from his life. The best part? Colin re-opens the door because he understands Trent and he knows his coach; of course Ted wants him included. Colin asks permission to CLOSE the door, not open it, and Trent is seeing this openness again and again over the course of several months, with each episode bringing him further out of his shell as he slowly unlearns that self-doubt. Yes, please stay, please tell us what you think, please offer your advice, please join our Diamond Dogs, please ask us questions (they're no longer perceived as a threat), please become an integral part of our lives. We trust you and we like you and we want you here.

Everyone's waiting for Trent to catch the door again because, you know, the rule of three, but what if he doesn't need to? What if he's past slipping a hand or a foot through the crack and scraping by on what that gets him? He caught the door before it could close to get closer to Colin. He caught the door before it could close to get closer to Ted. Now they've both kept the door open for him, his presence welcomed from the get-go.

Trent doesn't need to sprint for that opening anymore.

[crazyk-imagine]

Gossip

Pairing: Sirius Black/ Fem!reader (she/ them pronouns)

Characters: Marlene McKinnon, Lily Evans, fem!reader, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black

Warnings: James is a child, fun girl talk, the boys try to listen but fail, Remus is a slut for gossip, Sirius is a simp for reader (don’t ask where he got the glasses so quickly), James is secretly jelly of the new “it couple” but still happy the two of you are together

Word Count: 1,032

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

You, Marlene, and Lily decided to take a break from schoolwork. It was going pretty well actually, talking about random things until Marlene decided to move onto a slightly more interesting subject… "Doesn't Sirius have a nice butt." 

"I think James has a better one," Lily adds, zoning out not completely paying attention to what she was saying. 

You and Marlene scoff, "of course you would." 

The red head girl shrugs, "what can I say those glasses reel me in." 

You nod, “I guess I can see it.” 

If only you knew who was eavesdropping right outside the door. 

-

A boy with shoulder length hair, leans onto his friend’s shoulder, whispering, "I need glasses." 

"Sirius. No," Remus shakes his head. 

"Sirius yes." Said boy removes the invisible cloak from him and runs off. 

-

“It doesn’t surprise us that you would say that,” Marlene adds. 

You snicker behind your hand. 

Lily shakes her head, glancing over at you. “I don’t know why you’re laughing over there. Don’t act like you’re not over the moon for a certain member of the infamous Black family.” 

You stare at her, mouth agape. “How did you know?” 

-

James and Remus heads snap towards one another, their eyes wide, and mouth agape. 

“Did you-” 

“No. Did you-” 

“No, why else would I ask you?” Remus gives him a deadpan look. 

James shrugs, “I don’t know. I just- don’t be mean. I am a sensitive person.” 

“I… don’t doubt that.” 

“Why are you so mean?” 

“Shut up.” 

-

The two let out a semi quiet oof. 

“What the hell, Sirius?” James asks, yanking the hood off his head. 

The man in question chuckles, “floating head.” Sirius shakes his head, “no, not the time. Anyway, I was looking for you guys. Why’d you move?” 

James scoffs, “we didn’t move. You ran into us.” 

“I don’t think I did.” 

“Yes, you did!” 

Remus chucks the invisible cloak off him and James. “Would you two shut it! You wanted to listen to the girls talking. I didn’t but now I’m invested so if you two could just shut up that’d be great.” 

The troublesome duo struggle to give a response, their mouths agape and start fiddling with their glasses. 

“They’re standing behind me, aren’t they?” 

The three of you nod, “yep.” 

You pat his shoulder. 

The werewolf steps to the side with his head down. 

“You three are not slick, you know,” Marlene says. 

You step through the doorway, “I agree with her- Sirius?” 

He turns to look at you, “hmm?” 

“Why do you- when did you get glasses?” 

He scoffs, “oh these old things,” he fiddles with his glasses. “I- uh- I’ve always had them?” 

“No,” you shake your head, “no, you definitely haven’t had them. Ever. Why do you- oh.” 

“Oh?” He repeats. 

“You were listening to our conversation, weren’t you?” 

“No.” 

“Liar.” 

“I am not and I’m so offended that you would say such a thing.” He sets a hand over his chest, placing it over his heart, “that hurts.” 

You roll your eyes, “I don’t know why you would do such a stupid thing. You don’t need to change yourself or the way you look to impress me. We’re already together.” You purse your lips and close your eyes. 

“YOU’RE WHAT?!” Everyone shouts. 

“Are you happy? You told them,” your boyfriend says with a wide smile stretching across his lips. 

“Your face and tone don’t match, mate,” James points out. 

Sirius pouts, “your face doesn’t match your tone ever.” 

“Hey! I was stating the obvious, you’re just being mean.” 

-

You cover your face and groan into your hands. 

Marlene and Lily wrap their arms around you. 

“I can’t believe I own James three butterbeers,” Marlene complains. 

“Send two my way. James owes me two.” 

“Why?” 

“He lost obviously,” you say, removing your hands from your face. 

“Oh, yeah. I can see that being the case,” Marlene nods. 

-

“Why are we making fun of me when we should clearly be focusing on the fact that these two,” James points to you and Sirius, “are finally together.” 

“We don’t have to talk about this,” you add. 

“We really do,” says Remus. 

You gasp, “Remus! I thought you were on my side.” 

He shrugs, “I like the gossip.” 

“You- I- no- Remus.” Sirius chuckles, pulling you out of the girls grasp and into his arms. 

“Don’t be mean to them.” 

-

You turn back to him, removing the glasses off his face, “why are you still wearing these?” 

“I thought you’d find me cute.” 

“I already do.” 

-

“Ew!” 

“James!” Lily smacks her boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“What?” 

“You’re being rude and interrupting their cute couple moment.” 

“They do it to us all the time.” 

“That’s because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

“Only because you’re adorable.” 

“And I’m sure he thinks the same thing about them.” 

James doesn’t respond for a moment. He sighs, “fine. You may continue.” 

“Oh, thank you so much for your permission, Jamie,” Sirius gives a sarcastic smile. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Why? What’re you gonna do, Jaime?” 

“I’m gonna do this.” 

“Run!” Your boyfriend yanks on your wrist, pulling you with him. 

Yours and his laughter echoes throughout the hallways. 

-

He turns the corner and pulls you into his chest. You cover your mouth to hide your giggles. “Well, that wasn’t how I wanted to tell them.” 

“Neither did I,” you reply. 

“I’m not upset about it though. I’m happy they finally know.” 

You roll your eyes, “of course you are.” 

“We don’t have to hide when we want to be together.” 

You nod, “Uh huh.” 

“And I can do this,” he pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger to pull you closer so he can kiss you. 

-

“Ew!” 

“Don’t be a baby, James,” Remus nudges his friend’s side. 

“But they’re-” He groans. 

“You and Lily do the same thing.” 

“And you all groan and make noises when me and Lily are together.” 

-

You pull back from him, “because you maul her.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Okay,” you shrug. “Let’s go somewhere else.” 

Sirius grabs your hand and has a love-struck smile dancing across his lips. 

-

“Do I look like that?” James asks. 

Remus nods, “all the time.”

[retrievablememories]

only have eyes 42 | yeri, taeyong (m)

pairings: vampire yeri x fem black reader, vampire taeyong x fem black reader summary: it’s surprisingly easy to be seduced by two benevolent strangers who fill in the empty spaces of your life—especially when you have no clue of their true nature. genre: romance, vampire!au, 1800s!au word count: 4.3k warnings: mentions of traditional gender roles/pressures to get married. blood consumption. kissing. biting. sexual tension. no full smut but suggestive content so MDNI. virgin!reader i guess? taeyong’s kind of a simp. voyeurism/eavesdropping. more creep behavior from taeyong. did i unintentionally write sugar mommy!yeri? well. undercurrents of manipulation/deceit. yeri and taeyong are fake cousins. gonna very tentatively put infidelity here just in case, although yeri and taeyong are both in on everything that’s happening between them and y/n, so… a/n: this is a sequel of sorts to “steal you,” set a few years after the initial events, with a different MC…as the previous one is dead. i unintentionally retconned some things in the original fic while writing this, but whatever!

note that precise historical accuracy wasn't the aim here, since these are only vignettes/scenarios and not a full story (yet?)

there’s a lot of background context that’s not (explicitly) mentioned here, so i'm thinking of writing a larger fic for this? we'll see...this is really just self-indulgent bisexual thoughts lmao 🙃

Days spent running the dress shop with your mother and youngest sister are often hectic and occasionally slow, but rarely are they fun. At least not for you. The kind customers make up for the rude and impatient ones, but there is only so much smiling you can do when your mother’s friends and acquaintances keep stopping in to ask you Have you found a suitor yet? or I can still arrange a meeting for you with my son, if you’d like!

Both your sisters had already found husbands. Your middle sister married at 20, and you hardly see her anymore since she went to live with her husband’s family. The youngest married at 19, but her husband still allows her to keep working at the shop because of how much she enjoys it—and because all money she earns goes directly to him, of course.

With you being 24 and having already rejected more than one proposal from men you hardly knew, everyone has been breathlessly expecting you to follow suit. You try in vain to ignore their expectations. You aren’t sure you’ve ever felt any romantic love for another person before—not the way your sisters or others describe it—and though the mounting pressure vexes you, you are mostly okay with that reality. You can’t miss what you’ve never had.

Until, one day, a particular woman walks into the shop.

You haven’t seen her in the shop before, or anywhere else around the city, and you are certain she would’ve remained in your memory if you had.

Years from now, when you think back to how this inscrutable woman altered your life’s path, you’ll remember this first day so clearly—all because it was raining. It was not the type of bone-soaking downpour you’ve always hated, but a gentler shower.

A man accompanies the woman, carrying a delicate pink and white umbrella above her head as he opens the door for her. When she steps inside, some water droplets roll off the umbrella and onto her pinned-up black hair, making her shiver when they reach her neck and slide into her collar. That small motion makes you smile in amusement before you can stop yourself, and at the same time, you catch her eye. She takes your expression as a welcoming smile and returns the gesture.

With her smooth skin, perfectly curved Cupid’s bow, and captivating eyes, she is remarkably beautiful.

You do not know who the man is, just assuming him to be a servant by the way he is holding her things and attending to her, but you find your eyes also lingering on him, despite yourself. He has a nice side-profile reminiscent of one you’d see in a painting, with a sloping nose, a handsomely formed bone structure, and plump lips. The second thing you notice is that his clothes are of a higher-quality than many of the servants you see daily; maybe he isn’t one at all. You’d gotten so into the habit of making (usually correct) assumptions about the shop’s patrons.

“Good morning. Fine weather today, isn’t it?” you say with a laugh.

The man gives an answering chuckle. “If you like nearly being washed into the gutter, maybe.”

“You’re endlessly dramatic,” the woman comments, raising a gloved hand to check for any more water droplets in her hair. Even her small movements are graceful in a way that comes naturally.

“...So, how may I assist you?” you ask, giving them both your attention while trying to avoid seeming like you’re staring.

“My lovely cousin Yerim here—” The man pinches the woman’s chin, and she sweeps his hand away in shocked annoyance “—is incredibly indecisive and has made me take her to every dressmaker on this side of London, so I do hope you have something here that catches her eye.”

“It’s not been every dressmaker,” Yerim clarifies, rolling her eyes with a small grin. “But your dresses in the window seemed exceptionally pretty, so I was curious.”

“Oh, of course. There are more fabrics like those, if you’ll follow me.”

You and Yerim look over the rows of available fabrics, and you give some recommendations on patterns and colors you think would fit her. She listens diligently as you talk, as if she couldn’t be more interested in anything else. A bit flustered by the attention, you end up keeping your eyes on the fabrics more than on her face.

As you’re explaining a particular material, she grasps the edge of the fabric you’re holding, brushing her lacy-gloved thumb across it until the digit bumps into the side of your hand. She giggles discreetly and only moves her hand away—causing the lace to slide across your skin—after it’s already lingered for what’s considered a little longer than normal.

You struggle not to pause in your speech as your mind stalls on that moment, giving her an apologetic smile when you stammer anyway. You don’t yet understand why you’re reacting like this, but the meaning will become clear to you in due time.

--

“You’re certain Taeyong won’t mind being left behind?”

He’d been accompanying the two of you on your walk through the park, which is scarcely filled with people at this time of day. Everyone else is at work, which you normally would’ve been too. Except for Yerim—who had enough money that your impromptu free day could be easily pulled off, and who’d nearly begged you to come out with her by offering to pay for two days’ worth of your earnings. It was a difficult overture to reject, and your mother had surprisingly few complaints about it. Not when part of the money was also going into her own purse.

Now, it’s just you and Yerim walking along the path together, as Taeyong had become preoccupied with ogling at a family of geese sunbathing in a field. You think it’s a bit eccentric how he always gets lost in excitement over stray animals and pets and the like, but that’s just how he is. You aren’t actually concerned about him being left behind, but more so because he’ll complain to Yerim about her “stealing you away” for the rest of your outing if you let him.

Yerim’s deeply rose-pink lips draw up in a smirk, and she rolls her eyes. “He’ll be quite fine by himself. Believe me, he survived well long before me.”

“You two seem to get along quite well. Most cousins I know have a world of problems between them. Families are so aggravatingly complex.”

Yerim gazes ahead down the path, as if she’s suddenly lost in her thoughts. Sunlight peeks through the lace trimming of herhatand creates shadowy patterns on her face. She often wears one of her pretty hats or even uses an umbrella when she steps out during the day, claiming her skin burns easily. “We both want the same things, so it makes it easier to relate to each other.”

“Well, now that’s intriguing. What similar things do you both want?”

Yerim looks at you, turning her body toward you with the motion, and you feel like you’ve suddenly got the sun bearing down on you in all its fullness. She slips her hat off, as if doing so will help her see better, and grasps the brim of it in her gloved hands.

“Life,” she replies, and though she doesn’t explain further, it feels like the type of answer with a world of meaning behind it.

“Life,” you repeat, and you try not to sound incredulous or mocking. “I would think you’d already experienced any spoils of life you could dream of and then some.”

“There’s always more.” Yerim says it with the subtle intensity of someone who harbors a constant hunger just beneath the surface, a yearning that even you can pick up on. It makes your skin become hot, and you internally chastise yourself because you’re sure she doesn’t intend it how you’re assuming. “Don’t you want more, too?”

“I suppose so,” you answer.

“Do you?” Yerim asks again, like she wants you to expand upon your response.

“The dress shop is fine,” you say, though that doesn’t feel truthful, “but it…would be nice to travel the world.” You speak the first desire that comes to mind, which makes it seem more real now that you’ve acknowledged it aloud.

“Hmm, wouldn’t that be nice? You could do just that.” Yerim comes to a stop in the middle of the pathway, and you do too, looking back at her to see why she’s paused. Yet again, she doesn’t give any hint about how doing just that could be possible in your current circumstances.

She twirls the large, lacy hatin her hand and holds it up in front of both of you, so that if anyone were coming from the other direction—say, another park visitor, or Taeyong—they wouldn’t see your faces. “But, even more importantly, there’s something I want to show you. Close your eyes.”

Her voice is measured and secretive. Her eyes are mischievous. The air thickens between you in the few seconds that you stare at each other within the concealment her hat provides, and it surprises you how quickly you come to the conclusion of what this something must be.

“Here?” you murmur.

Yerim nods, her face betraying no apprehension, only sweet anticipation. “Close your eyes?” she asks again. And so you do, your lips twitching into a small smile before you try to assume a straight face.

While you’re looking at the backs of your eyelids, you hear her heeled boots shuffling in the dirt and feel her presence growing closer. There’s a pause, an exhalation like she’s laughing without sound, then the press of those rose-pink lips upon yours.

This lovely woman who’s always in your shop, with a face you can hardly look away from and an ever-present magnetic aura, has her mouth over your own, her free hand grasping your waist earnestly. Her mouth is gentle and warm, and that familiar rose petal scent envelopes you.

It’s the first time you’ve kissed each other, but it feels like you’ve already done this multiple times before. The nerves you expected to feel are not there—there is only the soft familiarity, the fragrance of her perfume, and the warmth of her hand on your waist.

It’s a short kiss, which you try not to feel disappointed about. Yerim understands your desire and finds it amusing. She offers you a knowing smile, but she won’t give you any more unless you ask for it, and right now, your pride is still too stubborn to allow that. You’re still unsure why this lavishly moneyed woman is wanting to spend so much time with you, or what the mysterious things she says mean, or if there could be something else to all of this. What something else is, though, you have not a clue.

--

It wasn’t your intention to spend the night at Yerim’s home. But after you finish an exhausting day of tending to customers and working on complex sewing projects, she brings you to her house for the first time to have dinner. And you get so caught up in eating and touring every nook and cranny of the place—which really wasn’t as large as you expected it to be—and even playing a game of cards with her and Taeyong, that she insists it’s too late at night for you to go back home. Surely, you could wait until morning for them to return you to your own residence before work?

Before you know it, you are lying next to Yerim in her bed during the dark and early hours of the morning, gazing at the rest of the room through the wispy fabric draped around her canopy bed. You could’ve slept in a guest room of your choosing, but somehow, you’d been talked right into her bed. And it did not take much convincing for you to acquiesce.

“Are you happy?” Yerim asks. She hasn’t bothered to climb under the covers, and neither have you. She lies down with her arms folded across her stomach, knees bent, and toes curling absentmindedly into the comforter. This position makes her nightgown pool around her waist, exposing the length of her legs under the opposing candlelight and moonglow. You try not to stare. You don’t know how she has this much energy at night, as her body has hardly stopped moving since you began getting ready for bed.

“Yes, actually…I had a lovely time this evening, despite the earlier exhaustion.”

Yerim smiles. “I mean in general. Do you fancy working at the dress shop? You told me it was ��fine,’ but you always seem so…unlively when I come in—in that split second before you notice my presence…”

“What do you get out of being that observant?” you ask, somewhat jokingly.

“It means I know everything.” She says it with some air of seriousness, as if she were truly granted omniscient powers you weren’t aware of. You only blink in response. “Now, why do you look that way?”

“Maybe I am just…stressed.”

Yerim turns onto her stomach and props her head up on her arms, using her pillow as a support, and your own stomach involuntarily tumbles with her gaze fixed on you. “What distresses you?”

Glancing up at the patterned ceiling, you close your eyes for a long moment and let the ensuing darkness surround you. It’s somewhat comforting. “My mother is anticipating that I should find a proper husband soon. We make money from the shop and live fairly comfortably that way, but she insists I must have a man to take care of me, like my sisters.” You sigh deeply as you continue with, “And bear children, of course.”

Yerim laughs like you’ve told a joke she can’t believe, and you are startled, as nothing you’ve said is particularly amusing.

“Shall we find you a proper husband who will support you handsomely, then?” she suggests through a giggle.

Your brows draw together, and you turn your head to look at her and those errant eyes. “Who?” You begin to regret mentioning this at all, wondering if she’ll actually use her social standing to contribute to the effort of marrying you off to some wealthy stranger. Surely, this will not be the culmination of your friendship…

Yerim moves so that she’s on her hands and knees now, and she doesn’t stop shifting until she’s hovering over you. You watch with eyes growing wide as her arms cage you on either side of your body, her legs sliding between yours. “Me. I will be the proper husband who supports you handsomely.”

Finally, a hesitant yet amused grin disrupts the prior confusion on your face. “Really? And who will approve of that?”

“That hardly matters. We’ll need no one’s approval.”

Her hair falls over her shoulders and dangles in front of you, and you part it like a curtain to brush away the shadows obscuring her face. Her visage is half-shadow and half-candlelight, reminiscent of an oil painting. The glitter of her eyes and the glint of her teeth as she smiles are sharp, as if you could be physically cut by these flashes of light, and your chest stirs with something like unease for a moment. You don’t know why.

Your voice is quiet when you say, “You won’t find any opposition from me, then.”

“In that case, close your eyes again.”

“Why? Perhaps I don’t want to lose this view.”

Yerim draws her index finger across your lower lip. “I’ll give you a gift—one like that day in the park.”

Your heart stutters at the thought. “Do what you will,” you murmur, letting your eyelids slip down.

The same hand that was on your mouth takes your chin in a loose grip, and you make a small noise when she lowers her body flush against yours.

Her kiss is no longer soft or brief. Her lips press against yours as if she means to meld every part of your beings together, her tongue slotting itself into your mouth, and you accept the proposition.

You kiss until your lips hurt, though that’s more likely from the way she keeps biting your bottom lip until she draws blood—and then she kisses you even more feverishly as if she’s invigorated from the bloodshed, the primal quality of it. It makes your lip sting, but you realize you like the sensation.

Her body continually shifts against yours during your embrace, and by the time she separates from your mouth to give your neck a wild, messy lick, your underwear has grown damp and your legs knock clumsily into hers. Dizzy with lust you’ve never encountered before, you find you’re unable to do anything but lie prone and let her do what she wishes to you.

Meanwhile, Taeyong stands outside of the door as still as a statue, listening to the now-familiar sound of your blood rushing and your heart pulsing—the unique rhythm of every human’s blood that defines their very existence. No two bodies are ever quite the same. The sweet music of your blood is punctuated by your small murmurs and moans, and he doesn’t need to press his ear to the door to hear clearly, but the absurdly human desire to do so is still there, if only to get closer…

He knows that Yerim must realize he’s out there, listening in like a pervert, and he does not care.

--

You’re sitting at Yerim’s kitchen table sewing a rip in a scarf of yours when you prick your finger on the needle. You drop your materials from the shock of the sudden injury and hold your finger, watching blood bead up on the pad of it as it throbs with pain. Taeyong is away from the kitchen counter and by your side before you even register it, and you are slightly startled by him sliding into the seat next to you.

“What?” you ask.

“Can I see it?”

“Is there any gauze?” you ask, showing him your finger.

Taeyong carefully grasps your wrist with both hands. “For this little wound? It’ll stop bleeding in minutes.” There’s a certain urgency to his movements and his tone that makes you curious. “All it needs is this.”

Taeyong presses his lips to your finger as if to soothe it. You’ve licked your own cuts after the many times you’ve been pricked while sewing, but to have someone else do it, and in such a manner, was…strange. The action enflames your body; it seems oddly more satisfying than it should be to him, as if he gets some kind of bizarre gratification from it. He inhales deeply and doesn’t move his mouth; he just keeps it pressed against the cut until he finally moves your finger away, the sphere of your blood broken and smeared across his lips. He drags his tongue across his lower lip to rid it of the blood smear, and your body twitches; you want to look away. You feel like you’re witnessing something obscene and private you aren’t meant to see.

You don’t say anything as he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the rest of the blood away from your finger before quickly tucking the cloth back into its place. You wonder if he’ll wash it; it’ll be ruined by your blood otherwise.

Unbeknownst to you, he will take this handkerchief out in the privacy of his room later that night and press his face into it, breathing in the faint scent of your blood and imagining the faded taste of it on his lips.

“Are you well?” he asks.

“...It still hurts. I didn’t think a silly kiss would help,” you answer, and chuckle quietly to try to defuse the nerve-wracking atmosphere of that earlier moment.

“Fine, hold on a minute.”

Taeyong finds gauze in another room and comes back to wrap a small piece of it around your finger, protecting your cut from the outside world. Afterwards, you’re about to slip your hand out of his when his grip tightens, and you pause.

“What’s troubling you?” you ask, already knowing something is amiss from the furrow in his eyebrows and the tension in his body that wasn’t there before.

Taeyong drops his head, pressing his forehead to your wrist, and you think he might sob or collapse for no apparent reason. Alarmed, you’re about to speak again when you realize this isn’t the case; he lifts his head so that you can see him lower his lips to your hand again. He kisses the back of your hand in a way that’s markedly different from his previous touch; this one is more sensual, intentional in its purpose to rouse a response from you. His mouth trails a path down to your uninjured ring finger, and you observe silently as he bites the tip of it softly.

“I’m jealous of you and Yerim…” The confession comes out in a sigh, like it’s a sound his body needs to release rather than a thought-out sentence.

“Jealous…” It’s not a question, as you already had an idea of this in the back of your mind, but you don’t know why he’s chosen now to mention it.

“I’d also like to know just how soft your lips feel, or what they taste like…” Taeyong keeps kissing the tips of your fingers and your knuckles slowly, almost like he’s pretending your hand is your mouth with how engrossed he is in this task. You find this shameless display simultaneously embarrassing and appealing in some deep part of yourself; it’s the way he prostrates himself before you, flays open his hidden desires to you. “I’d like you to touch my body the same way you touch hers…I’d like to make you moan desperately the same way she does, late at night when you believe me to be asleep.”

Your only answer is a rough exhalation. Your dress feels uncomfortably hot; you wonder how he knows of those things. Does he stand outside the door? Listen at the wall? You didn’t realize the walls were that thin around here, and you think maybe you should be more put-off by his unabashed eavesdropping.

“What do you say to that?” he asks, lifting his head to look at you.

“I say it’s rather pathetic,” you answer, meaning it wholeheartedly—and for some reason, the pitiable state of his desire makes it more alluring to you. There’s a thoughtful pause between the two of you. You make no move to reject him when he leans closer, staring at your lips. One of his hands releases yours and touches your throat instead, his fingertips splaying to rest above your pulse.

“Then allow me to make myself appear even more pathetic in your eyes for just a moment.” Taeyong’s so close that his lips almost brush yours when he speaks. Your mouths connect only for a second before the front door opens. That brief touch of his lips to yours is all you receive.

The separation between you widens to its original innocuous breadth as Taeyong sits back in his seat. He is placing your hand back into your lap when Yerim walks into the kitchen a few moments later, and she abruptly stops in the doorway. You think she must be upset because she has somehow figured out what transpired. In actuality, she is cross because of the lingering smell of your blood in the air, which your human senses can’t pick up.

“Yerim…” you say, your throat feeling choked. You two hadn’t spoken seriously about a relationship, especially not with the dilemma of your mother still hunting for a husband for you and the fact that you’d both be shunned, but you realize that kissing your lover’s cousin is probably not the way to go about things.

Yerim walks over to the two of you and greets you as she normally would. “Y/N,” she says calmly, stroking a finger against your cheek; there’s always some part of her body touching yours whenever you meet. The same hand lands tightly on Taeyong’s shoulder afterwards, and the smile she gives him is close-mouthed and unnatural. He looks up at her with a face that isn’t guilty, but more curious and slightly irritated. “You haven’t been hurt badly, have you?” she asks, glancing at the gauze on your finger.

“Oh…no. It was just a pinprick,” you say, tentatively picking your sewing materials up off the table. Yerim’s tension rescinds when she notices the sewing needle, though her gaze towards Taeyong stays suspicious. “I…think I’ll just go and put this away for now.”

The two wait until you leave the room to speak in barely audible tones.

“Remember our arrangement,” Yerim whispers, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice.

“You’re eager to lambast me for bloodshed I didn’t even cause, yet you drew her blood on her first night here. Who exactly has forgotten themselves?”

Yerim’s tone is perfectly matter-of-fact when she responds with, “I have more self-control than you—as all the unsuspecting human women of London you’ve ravaged are well-aware of your lack.” She levels Taeyong with a deadpan look. “She wasn’t in any danger with me that night.”

“You’re fond of drawing this dance out beyond reason, and then you have the audacity to be surprised when one’s patience wears thin.”

“Then maybe I’ll return to finding prey on my own if you’re so worn thin. Do recall that you’re the one who asked me to help you sweep up all your mess from the beginning, so I’d speak more carefully if I were in your place.”

“Just unbelievable,” Taeyong mutters as Yerim brushes past him without a second glance. His fingers twitch over the pocket where the blood-smeared handkerchief rests, but he dismisses the urge to pull it out now.

Self-control, he thinks. You have no monopoly on self-control.

[ghostofskywalker]

Miscommunication causing an argument with Loki?

hello, thank you for the request, i hope you enjoy this!! sorry it's so late akjakhfkjasj

words: 1,314

summary: loki overhears you telling wanda a secret, and he takes it the wrong way. eventually though, everything gets straightened out.

loki laufeyson masterlist

The Wrong Brother

Loki walked through the hallways of the compound, trying not to look like he was doing so for a reason (even though he was). He tried as much as he could to keep up the facade of indifference around everyone on the team, because he liked the fact that they didn’t really bother him if the world wasn’t at stake.

There was only one person living in this building (other than Thor) that he did speak to on a regular basis, and that was you. You were the only person who had tried to get to know him when he first moved into the compound, and you were the only person that he truly trusted enough to open up to (because Thor had the tendency to accidentally repeat things told to him in confidence). He was also harboring a crush on you, but he tried not to think about that.

Loki could hear your voice faintly through the wall when he turned the corner, and it was clear you were talking to someone. “I don’t know if I have the courage to tell him,” you were saying, and Loki’s interest was immediately piqued, having no idea what (or who) you were talking about.

“I think you’re just a little nervous,” Wanda’s voice was the other that drifted out into the hall, and Loki crept closer to your closed bedroom door as he tried to piece together the situation that you were discussing. “I’ve seen the two of you interact, it’s not hard to come to the conclusion that he feels the same way.”

Jealousy began to bubble in his stomach as Loki realized this had something to do with romance; you clearly had a crush on someone and Wanda was encouraging you to pursue them. The logical part of his brain never even considered for a moment that the mystery person could be him, and he couldn’t help the frown that formed on his face as he continued to listen.

“You keep saying that, but I don’t know why,” you said. “He’s a god, what makes you think he’d ever be interested in someone like me?”

So it was Thor that had captured your affections, Loki thought as he stalked away from where he was eavesdropping through the door. Of course his oaf of a brother was the one that caught your attention, even though he had been head over heels for you from almost the moment you had started getting close to each other. And while he didn’t know exactly how Thor felt about you, he could see why Maximoff might believe that he returned your love.

Of course he would never get anything he wanted.

Of course he would always be overshadowed by Thor, even down here on Midgard.

Of course you wouldn’t want someone like him.

An unfamiliar feeling of discomfort started to spread in his body, and he turned around and retreated down the hallway, not wanting for you to realize his presence and ask him what he was doing. He hated this feeling, that he decided must be the ache of unrequited love, and he decided that he never wanted to feel it again. He resolved to keep his distance from you as much as he could, to save him from the pain of seeing you and Thor together and being reminded of what could never be his.

***

You noticed that something was off about Loki almost instantly, when he started to avoid you at any chance he got. The first day you had just thought he wasn’t feeling well, but when the odd looks and clear signs of avoidance continued, your worry for him began to grow. Loki didn’t really have anyone else he regularly talked to in the compound other than you and Thor, so after you decided that you had enough you approached his brother to see if he knew what might be wrong.

Thor hadn’t offered any insight into Loki’s souring mood, but it did give you a chance to him, albeit in a way that you might not have chosen if you had been able to control time. Loki stepped into the lounge to see you and Thor deep in conversation, worried looks on both of your faces as you discussed the man both of you cared for (although your feelings were very different than Thor’s brotherly ones).

You both stopped as the object of your conversation stepped into the room, took one look at you and Thor, and then turned around and left, his face contorting in disgust. You looked quizzically at Thor, who only shrugged and gestured for you to follow Loki. You did so without hesitation, and you finally caught up with him as he stepped foot in the library. “Are you okay?”

“Why do you even bother asking me that?” he asked. “You know the truth.”

You stopped, a little taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. “Loki, I don’t actually know,” you replied gently. “I haven’t seen you all week, and it seems like you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yeah, well it sure seems like it, so don’t you dare lie to me.” If he wanted to be sharp, you could step up to the plate too.

“Go bother Thor,” he said, his expression incredibly sullen. “I know he’s the one you want anyway.”

His words threw you for a loop, because Thor definitely wasn’t the brother you were interested in, but how could Loki even think that? “What are you talking about?”

“I heard your little conversation,” he said. “And I know how you feel about him, so why can’t you just leave me alone to get over it?”

The “little conversation” in question had to be your discussion with Wanda a few days ago, but you were talking about Loki with her, not Thor. Finally, it dawned on you, that if he only heard part of that conversation, he probably assumed you had feelings for his brother, and if he was interested in you (which you finally realized that he seemed to be), it would make sense that he was jealous. “Loki, I was talking about you,” you blurted out, hoping that this was the case and you didn’t just make a fool of yourself.

Maybe you could have been a little more tactful (or poetic even), but your blunt confession seemed to do the job this time. Loki just stared at you for a few moments before responding, and it was like you could see the gears in his head turning. “What?”

“If you’re talking about my conversation with Wanda, the topic of discussion was you,” you said. “But I wasn’t sure you felt the same way about me, so I didn’t want to make a fool of myself and confess to my feelings if you were just going to turn me down. Then you started avoiding me completely and I couldn’t help but think that I was right, that you didn’t like me at all. So I went to Thor to see if he knew why you were acting strange, and that’s what you walked in to see.” He just continued to stare after you finished speaking, and you stepped closer to him. “Loki? Are you-”

It all happened so quickly, the way that he took your hand and pulled you closer to him, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m sorry if that was too forward,” he said when he pulled back, way quicker than you would have liked. “But-”

You didn’t even let him finish that sentence before you had pulled him into another kiss, and you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered when you felt him smile into it.

It may have taken little while for you both to get on the same page, but none of that mattered anymore, because you had the god you wanted. 

-the end-

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

if more than one is okay, could i request 1 + 37 for rook? feel free to ignore or do one or the other if not!! thank you

Rook Hunt:

Tulip - an act of affection so blatant everyone notices.

Rook was an enigma that was near impossible to solve.

You think he took some sort of perverse pleasure in avoiding the questions you asked about him; you thought perhaps you were getting too personal and it was causing him discomfort, but he was that way even when you asked him his favorite color. When he went on a tangent explaining the beauty of each and every color, and the colors that complemented other colors to enhance their beauty, you knew that it would take some effort on your part getting anywhere with him.

But now that he was a charming man who had kissed you on more than one occasion, his tongue in your mouth as his hands were tangled in your hair, you think you were owed at least a little bit of information.

The holidays were approaching which meant everyone in NRC was getting ready to head home for a much-needed break, including your lover who had only given you a vague idea of his holiday plans. You knew it involved hunting of some sort and his family but not much else, pouting when he winked at you and told you a gentleman couldn’t give his secrets away so willingly.

It turns out it had a purpose.

“I wish to invite you to my family’s holiday dinner, mon amour! As it is, they’ve been eager to meet you, and I’d quite like having some more quality time with you as well.” You’re a little flustered at the declaration and you tried to ignore the amused look on Vil’s face, who was pretending to page through a magazine while eavesdropping on your conversation.

“I really get to meet your family?”

“Of course. Have I ever lied to you?” Rook tilted his head and gave you a charming smile. “Perhaps I’ll be so overjoyed by your company I’ll learn what color it is that I favor. Do you accept my invitation?”

“Of course! Of course I do!” You were outwardly excited at the prospect of getting to know Rook more, eyes glowing in a way that Rook would describe as bewitching. “I look forward to it~”

Even if it meant having to be a little more vulnerable than he had ever been, Rook looked forward to it as well.

[snake-bytez]

fuck it, I'm qsmp rambling

Hi hello have you ever considered that maybe Jaiden did have connections to the Federation? Well you obviously do now. (it's a long ramble so I'm cutting the more line here to stop timeline spam)

Have you thought about how the codes turning into eggs to trick the residents might be important? Of course you do.

Do you remember when the Federation took all the eggs, said they returned them safely despite the cracks? Have you noticed that only Jaiden (and I think Roier as well bc he heard Jaiden say it) said "Oh you're hatching!" about Bobby while everyone else panicked that their eggs were hurt instead?

Have you maybe thought... The Federation took the eggs for some extra purpose outside panicking the island residents? All these vastly different personalities in so many entities while the Federation itself is so... Same-y? The code is acknowledged, but ignored by the Federation early on. They show hints that they know about it, they show signs of not attempting to stop it.

Is the code an experiment?

What about the connection of the capybaras being codes? Showing extra personality specifically for the people they were meant to connect to?

Each egg has their own individual personality, shaped and molded to fit the child role each pair needed to be able to show parental instinct to their egg.

It got tough when they assigned 1 egg to a whole group rather than a pair though. Richarlyson started out seemingly overstimulated and "cowardly", but his personality developed over time to fit the needs of the Brazilian residents, those of which the Federation had no idea how they were until they landed.

Now one of them is President.

Pomme was about the same with the French residents. While there was a more upfront personality shown, it was only the start until Pomme started going on more adventures with everyone. The French residents are more banded together because of Pomme.

I would say it would be the same with everyone else with their eggs, however a lot of the pairs don't stick together like they used to when they first got their eggs. The first group was the test run.

Pomme and Richas are a 2.0 of the egg experiment.

That's all it was and all it will be. An experiment. To see how the residents protect those they see as their kids. To see the lengths they will go for the betterment of the eggs. But only the eggs. Not each other.

When Bobby died, Jaiden and Roier were tasked with bringing together their friends to go on a mission together. When they were brought together, Cucurucho looked at everyone and asked "Why aren't you satisfied" with all the friends they had, why would they go through death over and over just for one egg that was deemed as dangerous by so many residents? How was something so dangerous so loved?

How was Cucurucho so hated?

When the Federation strives for Perfection, they don't make it themselves, they seek it out and mimic it.

Cucurucho became friendlier to Jaiden, Jaiden who had connections to everyone and made everybody excited by just existing during an event. Jaiden, who lost Bobby and went through great lengths just to hear that he is dead and to say goodbye. Jaiden, who hid away and lied and eavesdropped and drowned and died and died and- and sang and sat there at her treehouse watching the sunset each ending day as a promise to her fallen "son".

Jaiden, who has been nothing but kind to Cucurucho. Jaiden who wasn't creeped out by the Federation telling her to enjoy the island, who didn't mock them when they said it, who wholeheartedly said she shall enjoy the island and hopes Cucurucho does as well.

Who took time out of her day to make her home a happier place for Cucurucho, to give him gifts, to make him a garden, to spend time with him, get to know him, outright ask him if she was in the right to trust him while everyone else instantly hates him and only does what he says with a background of malicious intent against the Federation.

Jaiden. Jaiden was the perfect one. And Jaiden was the one who would listen. And Jaiden was the one who could fix the rogue experiment. And Jaiden-

Jaiden was the key they needed. Jaiden knew what personality was needed to have everyone like her, even when she "went behind their backs" and did tasks for Cucurucho.

Jaiden was the perfect drone. Jaiden was the perfect employee. Jaiden was a perfect Federation.

Jaiden was what they were looking for when they tried to find perfection in the Eggs, in the residents, in the Federation. Jaiden was what they needed to be the best they could ever be.

It made it easier that Jaiden will listen, will sit there and watch and listen and see the Federation. Wholly believing that she is important, that she is here to help her friends, to help the children that look up to her, and to help Cucurucho...

Do you see where I'm going? I sure hope so because this is all over the place haha

Jaiden has ties to the Federation in the way that everybody has ties to the Federation. It's just that she stopped to listen and know how she is connected to the Federation. She's the only one who pieced together that the capybaras may be codes, that the codes were evolving, a hint to the code masking as eggs that happened later on. She is the only one to question the duck more than others, because we know Cucurucho, but we don't know the duck.

We know Cucurucho, but we don't know the duck.

The duck, who seems to have the highest power shown currently. We don't know who's above him. We just know that he speaks about the Federation Employees as if they're a lower rank. The duck, who could be at the top. The duck, who's image is very connected to Quackity in general. The duck, in the same Federation that took Quackity mysteriously and nobody has done anything about it. Where ElQuackity appeared out of nowhere, running for President, endorsing the Federation (where a big theory is Q got reset and sent out as ElQ to disrupt the election process)

What happened if ElQ wasn't executed? And what happened if ElQ was elected? Would that mean full power for the Federation?

But now I'm just spewing theories.

Take this as you will, make whatever sense you can with it. I just needed to write something and tumblr ramble time it goes. I definitely did not do this to the fullest as I wanted, but oh well. Whatever.

[fayesdiary]

actually now that you've finished AM and re: Paired Endings, did you get the paired endings you wanted? I remember when I went in blind and didn't know how the hidden support points system worked in regards to paired endings, I ended up with exactly no paired endings I was expecting or hoping to get, and a few people I knew playing the game at the same time as me ran into the same "wait, how does this work" conundrum bc we all went and got everyone to A or A+ supports with everyone else and therefore had a roulette wheel of paired endings.

also just in general, how did you enjoy AM?

I barely knew paired endings were a thing so I wasn't aiming for any one in particular (although I'm upset by the Felix/Ingrid one. I'm sorry Ingrid, you deserved better).

That said, having paired endings almost hidden from the player if you don't know (I'm guessing it's a selection of the A/A+ support pairs, but if you have multiple it selects one based on which has the highest support points) is... really weird. Why not just have S supports at that point and give the player the active choice of which paired ending they want?

As for Azure Moon itself, I quite enjoyed it! Dimitri's journey is the good shit, his relationship with Edelgard is just tragic and overall it's a really nice personal narrative.

But for the larger narrative, well... I have questions. And they are not the good kind.

Let's start with the smaller things first - Sothis.

Why is she even in the game?

I'm saying this as a huge fan of her- I adore her, I think she's so much fun. That said, if she's barely going to have screentime in White Clouds and is completely absent in Part 2, why even pretend she's going to be a primary character if she barely features in it?

I enjoyed Ch9 and 10 with her because she finally had her time to shine, taking initiative, coaxing Byleth into investigating a bit more and being a little gremlin when she convinces them to eavesdrop on Rhea. She finally has the presence she should have always had, but then she merges with Byleth and... that's it.

Poor Rhea is in an even worse situation in Azure Moon, being completely absent in Part 2. They tell you she has been secretly been imprisoned in Enbarr all this time but they never tell you why (my guess is it has something to do with Edelgard's monster form?), and then when you beat the game... Nothing.

Just a small line telling you she has retired and moved to Zanado.

The poor woman feels like a complete afterthought in this route.

Speaking of things feeling like an afterthought in Azure Moon, the Dark Snakes (the personal name I'm going with for Those who slither in the dark because I hate that name so goddamn much).

In White Clouds? Hyped up as a major antagonist.

In Azure Moon Part 2? Nowhere to be seen properly.

You only get Cornelia and Volkhard who have been very blatantly replaced with members of the cult, and yet no one seems to notice.

Dimitri will say straight to your face Cordelia's whole demeanor changed around a decade prior but never think "hmm, this sounds familiar", despite him mentioning Kronya a few chapters prior.

They appear in the final chapter but only as an extra boss you can stomp to get rid of a bunch of soldiers, and again - barely acknowledged. The rest of them flee when you kill their leader so the Snakes are still around scheming, but this is never addressed in Azure Moon, not even in the endings.

And I am not accepting "it will be explained in the other routes" as an excuse, because if you're going to treat every route as its own game, then the narrative of every single route has to stand on its own.

As it stands, the Snakes in AM only exist to make Edelgard look better by comparison in White Clouds and are almost completely ignored in Part 2.

And speaking of Edelgard - we need to talk about the whole deal with Fòdlan's unification.

This game is... weirdly fascinated with the idea. I can understand why Edelgard views it as an ideal - of course the future Emperor of an Empire would have an imperialist mindset.

The problem is that several other characters and the narrative itself portrays it a good thing, when if you think of it for a few minutes... It's not. The mere existence of the Kingdom and Alliance as well as two of the major wars in Fòdlan being for their indipendence proves that.

And look - Fòdlan has many, many problems. Rampant racism and xenophobia, class inequality exacerbated by Crests, you name it. But it being united under a single banner, especially if by force, does nothing to solve any of the issues and arguably makes them worse.

Hell, as fucked as the status quo at the start of the game is, at least there was a clear harmony between the four powers, and Fòdlan had been at a state of relative peace for almost a millennia until Edie did her, um, thing.

Shamir has a line where she mentions Fòdlan will probably split again eventually, and she's right - it's increasingly clear that Fòdlan being governed by a single power does not work.

Also I know I barely know Claude at this point especially because he's deliberately written as hard to read but I'm sorry- him just giving the Alliance to Dimitri is bullshit. Both because of what it represents, both because I don't buy it at all he would just do this (especially with Verdant Wind existing), and especially because you really want me to believe every single noble would be ok with rejoining under the Kingdom they declared indipendence from two centuries ago?

So the narrative ends up saying "oh it's not that Edie's ideals of a unified Fòdlan are fundamentally wrong- no, it's her methods and the fact that she wants to destroy the Church". And the cynical side me is thinking that in the large scale of things, the main difference between the routes is choosing which war criminal gets to govern the whole continent.

So while overall I enjoyed Azure Moon, I can't help but notice so many warning signs for things to come.

[dragon-kazansky]

Fine ass man

Beau ‘Cyclone’ Simpson x Reader

Gender neutral reader

[Masterlist]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Dedicated to @cycbaby

This series is inspired by this fic: Fine piece

Word count: 708

You have it bad for Vice Admiral Simpson. But to prove you’re fit for the job; you need to put that aside and focus on the flying.

♡♡♡

Chapter Four - Curiosity

Cyclone was on his way to his office. The training was done for the day, and he had seen everyone fly. The only person to successfully take Maverick down was you, though at the result of losing your wingman.

Still, you took Mav's advice on board and for that Cyclone admired your attitude toward the job.

As he walked down the hall, he could hear voices coming from one of the rooms. Normally he wouldn’t care, but what he heard made him stop.

“Did you fly like that because you knew it would work, or because you knew a certain someone was watching and listening today?” He heard Hangman ask.

“First, you know damn well I’m a good pilot. Maverick said so himself. Sure, I need to do better and help keep my wingman alive, but I’ll do it. You’ll see. Second, Cyclone doesn’t change the way I fly. Why would he care if I was up in the sky or not?”

He looked up at the door. Him? Why would he come up in your conversation.

The sound of footsteps further up the hall had him move, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. He walked on, pretending he heard nothing.

It wasn’t until he was leaving for the day that your name came up again.

He had just left his office when Hangman and Coyote walked by, making their way out of the building. Your name and his came up again.

“Maybe they’re trying so hard just to be a kiss ass for Cyclone. I mean, no one else pulled that off today,” Jake said, casually.

Cyclone keeps his eyes narrowed on the pilot as he walks away.

Unknown to Beau, Jake and Javy were smirking at one another as they turned around the corner. Jake loved to stir up trouble when he could.

Beau left.

When he made to his car, he looked up just in time to see you leaving. For a split second he caught your gaze. You looked panicked and turned away quickly. He continued to watch you leave.

Were you seeking his approval today?

Not that you needed to. You already had it.

Of course, you didn’t know that. At least that’s what he thought. He didn’t know Maverick had passed on what he had said to him.

Beau leaves.

You met up with the others at The Hard Deck, needing to celebrate your slight win today. Jake was there already, no surprise.

You ignore him as you make your way to the bar where Rooster is sitting.

“Hey,” you greet.

“Hey.”

Rooster pays for your drink, saying it’s on him because you did so well today. You thank him and clink your drink with his as a thank you.

“Do you actually fancy Cyclone?” He asks, not missing a beat.

“Bradley, no. I’m just messing about. Besides, he’s our superior. I’m not risking my job for that.”

Rooster shrugs.

“It’s okay, you know. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m just being silly,” you tell him. “Messing about. Yes, Beau Simpson is a fine man. Yes, his uniform does him so much justice. No, I am not serious about anything. No, I am not head over heels in love with him.”

Rooster just nods, though you get the idea he’s not buying it.

You don’t either. You know you have it bad for Cyclone. A man that good looking just existing within your vicinity seemed impossible. Plus, a man that good looking being single, as far as you know, seemed so much unlikely.

“Alright.”

Nothing more is said on the matter.

You spend most of the evening with Bradley at the bar, laughing, chatting, having a good time. Maverick comes and goes. Jake teases you, but you brush him off.

All the while, you’re unaware that a certain Vice Admiral had swung by and spotted you from the window.

He called it curiosity. Curious to see what the pilots got up to outside of class.

Curious to see what you were like out of uniform.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting to be honest. He doesn’t know why he was here. He steps away from the bar and goes home.

Why did he do that?

Tomorrow was another day.

♡♡♡

@ahopelessromanticwritersworld - @nyx2021 - @mrsjaderogers - @luckyladycreator2 - @callsignscupcake - @nezla - @spair-m - @absentmindeduniverse - @ravensmadreads -

[cruel-summerxy]

labyrinth - brad bakshi x reader

summary ➞ ever since brad came out of prison, he has tried to be a better person. when a stranger tests him he decides to be nice and its a good thing he does . word count: 2k words

a/n ➞ I'm back! this is going to be in multiple parts, so yay! I already have the second part started, so I'll probably post it tomorrow! a little gnf cameo in here too. comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

based on ➞ taylor swift's song "labyrinth"

you know how scared I am of elevators, never trust it if it rises fast 

Brad isn’t an easy guy to know. Sometimes he wakes up early and does some quick cardio before going into work– other times the only thing the man does is brush his teeth before catching a bus to work. As of lately, it was the latter. He is in a slump. The man is obviously glad that he is part of Mythic Quest once again, even if it was as the janitor (recently promoted as a fucking assistant), but he sometimes misses the chaos. He misses being in the conference room, he misses screaming at a random person who has no authority and therefore cannot help, he misses scaring the new hires. Brad misses all of this and more, but he is a changed man.

Everyday that he had been in prison he liked to imagine that the company had been in pure chaos without him. Now he has tickets to the front row. David had obviously hired new people and those people have no idea who he is. Although he isn’t proud of it, it brings a smile onto his face when he eavesdrops at their conversations. Hearing that deadlines have to be met, budgets having to be readjusted, and whatnot brings him joy now (it’s truly pathetic).

Even though he had been gone for a while, Brad knows that he still has the ability to manipulate those around him. The browned-eyed man was able to prove himself by getting Rachel to take his old job; he tells himself that he had helped her for his own benefit, but the truth is that the girl is smart and he does want her to succeed. Old Brad would’ve rolled his eyes, but new Brad can only smile at what he has achieved (he smiles alone though, he doesn’t want to give the wrong impression to others). He was able to get the workers their bonuses and maybe it was the Christmas spirit but he had been happy and giddy. His happiness hadn’t been unacknowledged, David and Rachel gave each other a look when they heard Brad sing along everyone else Christmas morning. 

Ever since Christmas morning something felt different. So he decides to wake up early and to take a trip to the coffee shop near his home. Brad grabs his lunch bag (he had decided to cook his own food) and makes his way out the door. Even though he lives on the fourth floor, Brad walks down the stairs. He had skipped his workout and he told himself it was better than taking the elevator. 

He can’t help but to whistle as he makes his way to his favorite coffee shop. His body trembles as the breeze comes to him. Even though it is pretty cold, it is a beautiful day. The sun is out, not helping him warm up but it sure does look nice. As he enters the shop he mentally curses, of course there would be a long line

“It’s okay Brad. You have time,” he assures himself. Old Brad would have rolled his eyes and left the place. He would have proceeded to send someone from the office, but alas he was a new man (he also didn’t have someone that could just drop everything for a stupid coffee).

After what seems like forever Brad was next. 

“What can I get for you?” a middle aged woman asked. He stands there wondering what he should actually get. He often opts for a black coffee, but today he craves something sweet. During his time in prison he would often wish that he was sipping a sweet old caramel frappe, with extra caramel drizzle– of course. 

“Could you be any slower,” someone groans behind him. Now, old Brad would have made some remark, but he decides against it. He decides that today is a good day and that it's simply not worth it. So he turns around and sees that it was a woman in her early-twenties who had spoken earlier.

“What would you recommend?” Brad asks with a small smile on his lips. A blush covered the woman, making Brad laugh. She bites her lip and thinks about it. Brad’s eyes stay on her and he is now crossing his arms, waiting patiently for her to give her input. She studies him for a moment before she answers him.

“An iced caramel macchiato,” the woman croaks out. 

Brad then turns without giving her a second glance and loudly orders two iced caramel macchiatos, “one for the lady behind me.” As soon as he is done ordering he positions himself where the woman would see him. Although he was trying to be better, old habits die hard.

“I’m sorry about that,” the lady whispers, standing in front of him. He looks up, pretending that she had frightened him. Brad cocks his head, taking a good look at her. “It’s just that I’m already late for this meeting and you were taking a while to order.”

“You should’ve woken up earlier,” Brad lectures her. Well, so much for not acting like old Brad; he just couldn’t resist it. The lady nods her head and proceeds to stand next to him. The two of them remain silent, waiting for their drinks. She sniffles next to him and he can tell that she is sick. He notices the pack of tissues that are stuffed in her coat’s pocket and even though she has makeup on, Brad can tell that her nose is red.

“You should’ve said a medicine ball tea,” Brad says as he checks the time on his phone. The baristas are taking their time and he is losing his patience. He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he was okay with time. She turns to him and sighs.

“Yeah… well I did order that for myself,” the lady confesses, “I kind of thought you were going to order both of the drinks and then leave me without any.”

He turns to her and lets out a laugh, “that's good. If it had been any other day, I probably would have done that. I’m trying to do better, plus I did take forever to order.” 

Her eyes soften up as she hears him talk. Brad notices this and can tell that she is no longer on edge. He is about to say something when the barista calls out his name and their drinks. Brad stands up, rubbing his hands together, he can taste the caramel on his lips already. He utters a quick thanks and strides back to the woman. Their hands touch for a moment as he hands her the coffee. He knows it’s nothing, but he can’t help but to smile at her. 

The woman breaks the little trance that he was in by coughing and now he’s disgusted. He hasn’t gotten sick in years and there he is, shaking hands with someone who clearly should not be going into work, nor a coffee shop.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to get going. Thank you for the coffee Brad,” the lady speaks softly as her eyes come across his name on the cup. 

“You haven’t gotten your medicine ball,” Brad points out. She shrugs and he steps aside and allows her to pass by. Brad stands inside the busy cafe, watching as the door swings and he is puzzled. He hadn’t gotten her name, but he’s certain of one thing: he has seen her before. 

He could wait for a name and a medicine ball to be called, but Brad decides against it. It’s a bit late and he has a meeting to attend to. 

.. 

Brad sighs as he opens a side door. He has taken the stairs once again and now he is out of breath. He hasn’t taken a sip out of the drink that the lady had recommended yet. He spots Jo and shoots a smile at her. The woman scrunches her face and continues walking to him.

“You’re sweaty Brad,” The blonde woman points out.

“No shit. I just walked up six flights of stairs,” Brad thinks to himself. He reminds himself to play nice and shoots her another smile.

“Are you seriously going to keep acting like that?” The blonde woman groans. She has grown tired of the way that Brad has been acting. Jo used to look up to Brad, they would scheme together and now he smiles at everyone. She sighs sadly at Brad, “what happened to you in prison?”

Brad laughs at her question, “nothing. I had a great time there. I’m just a changed man Jo.”

Jo says nothing and leaves Brad’s side. In a way, Jo is right; Brad has changed drastically within the last year. It was for a good reason though. He had become close to those who had worked around him (even if he didn’t show them) and his brother had come in and almost (using this term very loosely) ruined it. One night when he had been in his prison cell, Brad had come to the realization that he had been miserable and rude to those around him for no reason. So now that he is out, the man smiles at his peers, he sometimes helps others, and he is nice to strangers. Life is too short.

Brad slowly makes his way across the floor and hears the people around him chatter. He sits on a random couch to catch his breath. He decides to finally try his drink and a disappointed sigh comes out of his mouth, the macchiato is no frappe. It was no secret that he had a sweet tooth, maybe he should have told that information to the stranger. 

His thoughts are long forgotten and his eyes grow wide. He stands up and he sets down his disgusting coffee; inside the conference room stands the stranger. Brad quickly scans the room and she is standing next to a tall man. He observes them,  his eyes light up and he remembers who the man is. The guy was some twitch streamer– GeorgeNotFound. 

“What a stupid name,” Brad mutters to himself. He had seen some of his streams before, but he hated his streamer name. He had forgotten that Rachel had wanted to add streamers to the Mythic Quest campaign. That’s why Brad had recognized her! He had been researching George the day before, orders from Rachel, and she had been in some of his posts. His heart then drops as he remembers that he was supposed to be in that meeting. 

They seem to be discussing something and before he can think it through, Brad stands up straight and walks into the conference room. All eyes land on him and David lets out a squeak. “What are you doing here Brad?”

Brad ignores him, “Hello, I just wanted to officially introduce myself; I am Brad Bakshi.” He offers George and the stranger a smile. 

“Hello,” a nervous smile decorates the stranger’s face. She extends her hand, Brad shakes it happily. He can hear her sniffling– the coffee he had bought her probably making her more sick. A red tint covers her neck, letting him know that he has an effect on her. He can’t help but to smirk– he still has it. “I’m Y/N and this is George.”

“Well nice to meet you both,” Brad leans against a chair, “I hope you find Mythic Quest good.” He finds himself fixing his posture and his eyes remain on the stranger– Y/N. The woman opens her mouth, but before she can let out a word David begins speaking.

“Brad, please leave. We are having an important meeting and… your services are not needed.” The white man smiles, telling himself that he did good. Brad is about to argue that Rachel had wanted him to be there but ultimately decides no to. 

“Okie dokie. I’ll see you two around.” 

[sanguineslave]

HI HELLO I SAW YOUR POST ABOUT GIVING U A PROMPT AND I LEAPT TO SUBMIT THIS

so uhh is it ok if you write some fluff about my bard Tav, Severin (he/him) having Astarion as the muse for his music? except Astarion doesn’t know this until after he shows the camp a song he wrote (and i didn’t add gale because i didn’t think to, i got the other main ones in cano though lmao). also this is Severin

tysm for reading this!!

Okay, I sort of went overboard with this because I haven't written anything longer than a few paragraphs in AGES, and I've literally never written fluff, but I hope this is alright! Your Tav looks so cool 👉👈 I was kinda afraid to write about him too much cuz idk his personality eksjejsjj

Misunderstandings

Content style: angst, fluff (???), comedy, probably ooc

Content warnings: mild references to violence and problems with sexual boundaries

Astarion is used to people staring at him. The past two centuries of his life had been filled with wanton gazes; his life's purpose was to attract attention everywhere he went, and he did it very well. He knew he was beautiful, tempting and handsome. He even revelled in it.

...So why was Severin's stare sending chills up his spine?

It had been going on for a few days, now— this awkward little situation. Astarion would sit and read, or pretend to read and eavesdrop on others' conversations. This was the routine he'd adopted since he first arrived at camp. But, now, anything he did was accompanied by fleeting little glances from the camp bard. At first, Astarion figured the man had fallen head-over-heels for him, that he was hot under the collar and desperate for some attention. Now, he's not sure if Severin is crushing on him or plotting his murder. His gaze is too fiery, too trained on the features of his face to be lustful. He never directly approaches him, either; just watches from behind his tent flaps, crossed legged and only ever looking away when Astarion meets his gaze.

Confronting Severin about all of this had crossed his mind, but he'd decided against it. Avoidance, Astarion figured, was probably the best course of action, at least until Severin finally snapped and put a blade to his throat. After all, he couldn't exactly prove that the bard had murderous intentions. Maybe he was just shy. Maybe, he was working up the courage to ask for a fuck and had no idea how ridiculously creepy his staring was. He wouldn't be the first man to be so oblivious...

"Tonight, we feast!" Wyll's booming voice rips Astarion from his thoughts, head snapping around to see what the warlock was fussing over. Beside him, Lae'zel holds up an elk by the antlers, the creature's eyes lifeless and clouded. There was an arrow sticking into its neck, weeping blood fresh enough to smell on the air.

"Fuck yes! I'll start the fire," Karlach rubs her hands together, the heat generated between them enough to create flickering embers.

"I'll fetch our wine," Shadowheart adds.

All at once, everyone is bustling around the camp, grabbing pots and emptying baskets to find fresh vegetables. Everyone except Astarion, of course, who bristles in place. A camp get-together was the last thing he needed; declining the invitation would make him look sulky in front of his companions, and joining them would entail a night full of Severin's awkward stares. The Hells was he supposed to do?

"Astarion?" Wyll calls his name, pensive. He hadn't realised he was scowling, fangs just barely peeking out from under his lip. "I was going to leave a hunk of the meat raw, in case, you know..."

Aha! An opening!

"Oh, no, dead meat is of no use to me. I like my food... Very fresh. I'm afraid I'll have to hunt for my own meal tonight." He plays his best pout, eyes gleaming with insincerity. For once, his vampirism was a benefit; it was an excuse to hunt, to leave camp for a few hours while everyone else talked amongst themselves. Moreover, Severin wouldn't be able to chase after him with everyone else around him, watching. Most likely, he'd be the night's entertainment, strumming songs on his lute until his finger pads were raw and everyone was full of stew. Yes... Yes, this was the perfect excuse to get some peace and quiet!

"You're not joining us tonight?" Severin's voice is like honey, smooth and warm. There's a hint of... Disappointment? Sadness, perhaps, in it as well. Astarion regards him with a courteous nod, jaw clenching slightly. How could such an innocent face belong to a killer? Well— actually, that was a stupid question. Everyone in this camp was a killer; everyone had killed goblins and bandits and gods-know-what-else along their journey. Astarion mentally rephrased his sentence: how could such an innocent face, a face that had so openly welcomed his vampirism weeks earlier, be planning his demise? The idea seems preposterous now that he's up close to the other for the first time in days. Hells, there was no way it was true.

If he had the ability to, Astarion might've blushed in embarrassment. This paranoia was unbecoming of him; it was childish, something his siblings might've engaged in. Of course Severin wasn't planning on killing him!

"...not tonight," is all he manages before scampering away.

---

A small boar and a few hares. The forest was almost empty tonight. Lae'zel, all brutish and ugly as sin, must have chased all the game away in her hunt earlier...

Or, maybe, he's just sloppy tonight.

Astarion can't think of much besides Severin. Like many a man and woman before him, he was enchanted by his looks. Unlike most, though, he wasn't direct enough to proposition him for sex outright. He was more like a blushing maiden, or one of those gruff, bearded Gur he'd find in taverns— too scared to approach a man for pleasure but clearly interested in the idea. Confessing his vampirism must've put him on edge, blinding him to reason. Guilt pools in his stomach. Not only had he made assumptions about an ally, but he'd been depriving him of a service he wanted. What a horrible person he was.

---

The walk back to camp is more like a shuffle, his feet heavy and slow. Part of him hopes that everyone will be asleep when he returns, but he knows that chance is slim. And, sure enough, when the gleam of their campfire comes into view, he hears bouts of boisterous laughter and drunken conversation. Astarion steels himself, paints a confident facade over his face.

Before he can step into the clearing, Severin interrupts him.

"Alright, alright, I'll play it for you. It's not finished yet, though, so you mustn't judge it!"

Then, a gentle, melodic tune thrums to life through the strings of his lute. Astarion pauses, watching through thick tree branches. He sings gently, quietly— like he's embarrassed of his own work. The lyrics are hard to make out from behind the camp, but a few words make their way to his ears.

They make his jaw slacken.

Sanguine eyes, hair of silver, something something... Adventures, tales of legend, something...

Astarion kicks himself internally. He'd never been so wrong about someone. The tadpole in his head, clearly, was eating away at his intelligence and leaving him stupid. Of course Severin, a bard, was using his environment as inspiration for his music. The staring, the lack of conversation... It was all because he was observing him from afar. Every arrow he let loose, every book he nestled into after a long day— he was being immortalised in song, in poetry.

He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. A deep dread, seated in the bottom of his unbeating heart, evaporates all at once and he feels a little lighter. Happy, even.

When Severin finishes, Astarion comes into the firelight and claps slowly, his usual confidence restored with a renewed vigor.

"Bravo, bravo! What an inspiring performance, darling!" The others seem to agree with him, nodding their heads and cheering with varying degrees of sobriety. "If I were a goblin, I'd lock you up like that Volo character and have you sing about me all day long." He makes sure to hold his gaze with those words, eyes radiating a sincerity he can't portray through words. Thank you, they say. Thanks for what, exactly, he isn't sure. But he's thankful nonetheless.

Thank you, Severin.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Nine - Warmth

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader, (3rd Person)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad's boss's son. He was the creep that stole girls' underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it's not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn't sleep with him, right? ...right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love

A/N: Hope you enjoy this last stop in Fluffville before we make a hard transfer onto the angst train xD

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[EXCERPT]

She didn’t always live in Tokyo. The first place her family lived in was actually a rural little beach town in the Tottori Prefecture. Although, to be honest, even town was a generous word for it. It was a tiny port village where squid fishermen outnumbered non-squid fishermen by about two to one. A quiet place where everyone knew everyone and there were only two schools — a combined elementary and middle school and a high school.

As far as the town itself went, she loved growing up there. Her dad and his siblings had been born there, and their parents before them, and so on. Family was everywhere and barbecues were a weekly occurrence. She loved running up and down the beach to her grandpa’s general store every day — the flagship of a small but successful chain that had even started to spread into Shimane Prefecture.

She loved catching stag beetles and spending the cold days making little terrariums in their mason jars. She loved playing hard in the sun and swimming in the ocean until dark. There was a lot about this little town that she loved and she looked forward to showing her soon-to-arrive baby brother all of it.

But of course, there was a lot that she didn’t love as well.

“Expelled?! She couldn’t have been expelled! Are you sure they said the word ‘expelled’?”

She sat in the hallway, just around the corner from the living room where her father was assembling moving boxes. And where his father was trying to stop him.

“Pretty sure, Dad.” her father answered, punctuated by the tear of packing tape.

“Well, let me go talk to the principal. I’ve got some pull in this town, maybe they’ll overlook it!” her grandfather insisted.

“She hit the principal’s son with a chair,” her father sighed, “They aren’t going to overlook it.”

Her Grandfather went silent, definitively put in check by that information. But not checkmate. He was quick to bounce back.

“Just because she got expelled, doesn’t mean you have to move. She can go to school in the next town. Or even somewhere else in the prefecture.”

“And what about when she comes home from school? When those kids see her around town or shop in the store?” her father demanded, “This isn’t just about the expulsion. This place isn’t good for her.”

“Fine — then you move to Yonago. Or somewhere in Okayama even! I just don’t understand why you feel the need to run all the way to Tokyo!”

He yelled louder and louder, the anger and betrayal building in her grandfather’s voice with every word. She was pretty sure that she would’ve heard it even if she had been up in her room like she was supposed to, instead of hiding on the other side of the wall, eavesdropping. It was bellowing and desperate — filled to the brim with emotion. For a long moment, it seemed to even silence the cicadas outside.

“...I think the change will be good for her,” her father finally breathed, “For all of us.”

She could practically hear the tightening of her Grandfather’s fist, the cold severity of his glare as he rose to look down at his son.

“I don’t support it,” he growled, “If you go to Tokyo, you’re on your own. Don’t expect any help from me or any of your siblings.”

Her heart dropped, chest swelling with confusion and distress. What did that mean? Was she breaking up the family? It couldn’t be. Her grandfather couldn’t mean it. Her father couldn’t possibly accept it. 

And then, even louder, she could hear the sad smile in her own father’s voice as he said, “I won’t.”

“Hey.” 

She looked up from the crux of her knees, to her mother looking down at her in concern.

“You shouldn’t be listening to that.” she said, reaching a hand out to her daughter.

She stared at it, blankly. Her mother frowned.

“Are you really going to make me pick you up, right now?” she scolded, resting a hand on her belly.

She didn’t say anything, but she did stand up to take her mother’s hand.

“There we go,” her mother encouraged, reaching her fingers to prod gently at the dark bruise swelling around her cheek and brow,  “How’s your eye?”

“—s'okay.” she breathed, holding back a flinch surprisingly well. Her mother still caught it though.

“Yeah?” she lilted, sweet and leading, “That mean boy at school didn’t hit you too hard?” 

“I hit him harder.” she muttered.

Her Mother sighed, unable to decide if she should be amused or exhausted, “Yes you did, didn’t you?”

She buried her head suddenly into her mother’s swollen belly hard enough to feel her heartbeat. 

“Sweetie?”

She buried her head deeper, little hands clinging to the fabric of her dress, trying to wipe the burn away from her eyes.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she insisted, “Does something else hurt?”

It wasn’t working.

“Is…”

She ran a hand through her daughter’s hair, coaxing.

“What is it?"

“...Is the baby never gonna see home?” she croaked, “Because of me?”

Her Mother’s brows furrowed. She knew the feeling that was currently aching in her daughter’s chest — she felt it too. The grief over the loss of a life they adored. The fear of starting somewhere new. 

The guilt of wishing she could’ve done better.

She felt it all. So strongly that she was having a hard time keeping her own eavesdropping and anxious midnight walks to a minimum. The pregnancy hormones certainly weren’t helping. This was their home, she didn’t want to lose it over something like this.

 But this wasn’t about her. This was about her daughter.

Her family.

“He will,” she assured, “He’ll see our new home.”

She looked up at her mother tearfully. A smile was returned. A genuine, comforting, contagious smile.

Her mother twirled a stray lock softly around her finger as she saw a little glimmer of hope flare in her daughter’s eyes. She knew that it wasn’t going to bookend these feelings for either of them. But it would keep them steady for the night.

“Come on,” she moved a hand to her daughter’s back, leading her down the hall, “It’s way past your bedtime.”

Continue on AO3

Like my work? Please consider contributing to my Ko-Fi!

[chunyaowo]

chapter 3 (I'm bad at giving chapter names-)

----------------------------------------------Hello and welcome to the third chapter of my fanfiction!! To be honest, I'm not really happy with most of the chapter, but of some scenes I'm actually pretty proud of. Also, I think I'm gonna go into a little break again since writings block is hitting me again :'D hope you're having fun with the third chapter tho!!

✑ originally posted on my Ao3 account --------------------------

Eveland-senpai? you mean Ike-kun?''

Wait a second… Pomu knows Eveland-Senpai? And she's calling him by his first name too? Are they friends?

You turned your head towards Pomus face..

''You know him, Pomu?''

''Of course I know him, we're friends since middle school.''

You paused.

''Since middle school? But I've never seen you guys talking with eachother?''

Pomu narrowed her eyes. ''Of course you've seen him, but you mustn't had paid any attention to him. I've greeted him several times in the corridor.''

''Oh… oops'' You scratched your back head

"Anyways, does everything else went okay?"

"Oh yeah, everyone is really nice actually!"

You told Pomu about all the other stuff that had happened.

One month has passed now since you joined the writing club. when the club has had officially ended for everyone, you always stayed there for a bit longer, to share your works with Ike. Ike was always willing to give you tips and tricks to improve your writings. He always sounded so passionate about writing. Everytime Ike started talking about something he is passionate about, you could see his eyes light up and hearing his voice sounding full of enthusiasm.

"See, and if you do that, it will give your texts more constructure."

"Ahh, I get it! Thank you Eveland-senpai for always helping me out and stuff."

You were just seeing Ikes corner of his mouth rising up.

"Of course, I love to help and I want to make sure that everyone is having the best time that they can."

Ike was always very considerate, not only towards you, but also to those around you.

flashback A week before

"I just felt a bit overwhelmed."

You were walking around the corridor, seeing Ike speaking with a familiar guy.

“Hmm? Wait isn't that the guy who I bumped into on my first day at the writing club and is that… Eveland-senpai?!”

"I'm sorry for being so quiet earlier, it meant a lot that you were speaking up for me."

Ike just shook his head in disagreement.

"I really understand how it feels not to be heard, and people just talking over you. I just really wanted to make you feel that you're not alone and be heard."

You didn't wanted to eavesdrop, but you just couldn't ignore what you saw.

"Thanks man…"

You were seeing tears falling down on this mysterious guys cheeks, while both of them hugged eachother in a warm embrace. Your lips formed into a little smile as you went off, not knowing what happened next. You just wanted them to have their own little moment and be alone.

Ike has always been like that, wanting to make sure everyone is having a good time, even if it meant that he's not feeling well. Putting others feelings before his own ones. A so called “people pleaser” in this generation.

"Earth to Y/N? Hey!"

"Hm? Oh, Sorry"

"Daydreaming, huh?"

You're letting out a nervous chuckle.

"I'm Sorry Eveland-senpai."

"There's no need to apologize for, is maybe something bothering you lately? If you ever need someone to talk to, then you can always count on me. I'm always willing to listen.”

Your eyes were locked with Ike’s, his voice sounded concerning, you could even see his forehead looking a bit puckered.

"I'm fine, no worries! Thank you for worrying about me."

You turned your gape off and smiled.

"There is no need to thank me, really."

All of a sudden, both of you just heard a little knock on the door.

Who could that be? The club has had officially ended, there shouldn't be anyone coming at this time.

With curious eyes, you and Ike just stared at the door opening itself, revealing a familiar looking person behind it.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I bothering you?"

It was Pomu, a dear friend of the both of you.

Ike's lips escaped a warm smile after seeing Pomu entering the library.

"Hey Pomu, great to see you! And not at all, we wanted to call it a day for now. Anyways, what brings you up here?"

"I actually was quite worried about Y/N since they neither replied to my messages, nor my calls. And we actually wanted to go shopping with friends after the club activities."

You suddenly dropped your pen and started to blink in disbelief.

"Is it already this late?? I'm so so sorry!"

You clapped your hands together, to show forgiveness. After that, you stood up as fast as you could and went to Pomu.

"Thank you for today, Eveland-senpai!  And sorry for the circumstances."

"Nonsense, don't worry about it and I hope you guys are having a fun time together!"

You and Pomu finally arrived now at your meeting spot to meet up with your friends Finana and Elira. 

Elira raised up her voice a little bit in excitement as she saw both of you approaching them.

 "Pomu, Y/N nice to see you guys!"

"Nice to see you guys too! Oh, and sorry for being a bit late…" you replied while scratching the back of your head for a bit.

''Don't worry about it, we were also a bit late to be honest, but hey what do you guys think of getting some coffee or in general some beverage? How does that sound?''

All of you were agreeing to Eliras suggestion and enjoyed their time in a nice comfy café that Elira picked out. Everyone had a great time, you guys were chit chatting, laughing and just had a fun time with eachother.

After leaving the café, you all decided to go for a little shopping tour through the city. You were glancing at the windows from various shops, but as all of a sudden you stopped at one specific item at a window that had caught your eye. 

Finana stopped as she turned her head around, sensing that you're not beside her anymore.

“Y/N, is everything okay?”

You turned your head back towards Finana’s direction, as soon as you heard her voice.

“Oh, yeah, don't worry!” You quickly went to Finana and caught up with Elira and Pomu again to continue the shopping tour.

The next day arrived as you were sitting in the writing club again, as all of a sudden Ike wanted to discuss something.

"So everyone, I have an announcement to make."

Everyone was really surprised by it, wondering what this announcement could be.

“What do you guys think about going to the cinema as a club activity? The book 'My Belongings' is getting a real life adaption! I don't know if you all read it, but I thought it would be fun to go as a club! Oh, and it’s on my credit card account by the way!" Ike chuckled slightly.

Everyone was very excited to hear about the suggestion, that Ike made.

"Oh, 'My Belongings' ? I love that book, it's such a well written horror book! Reimu said.

"I dont know that book, but it sounds really fun!" Aia replied.

Everyone agreed and was excited to watch the movie together, even those who haven't read the book. So do you.

"It’s settled then!"

Ike clapped his hands together.

"Okay! Does everyone have time on Saturday evening next week?"

Ike was planning all the things for the movie next week. You were really looking forward to it and of course told Pomu of it.

"A movie, and then out of Ike-kuns wallet? That sounds fun! I hope you're having a great time there!"

"Thank you Pomu! I haven’t read it, but I'm really excited to watch it with everyone! But this would be the first time seeing them in casual looks, and not in school uniforms, that is kinda new, but I'm really curious how everyone's gonna look like."

"Oh, I get that! I know that Ike-kun has a really nice taste of fashion."

"Oh?" You tilted your head a bit to the side.

"Well, you will witness it next week." Pomu let out a little chuckle.

The day of the club activity meeting has arrived, you were really early because you didn't want to come as late as usual, but it seems like you weren't the first one who showed up.

Your eyes are attached to someone with a big long white coat, yellow chains, who's attached to the glasses, and brown hair where the tips are fading into a blue-ish tone. His eyelashes were pretty long and his eyes wandered off to the small tiny book he's holding in his hand, right in front of you.

Is that… Eveland-senpai? Pomu wasn’t lying at all when she said that he has a great fashion style..

"Uhm, hey Eveland-senpai!"

Ikes gaze wandered off of his book and his eyes were directed at yours. As soon as he saw you, a little smile formed on his lips.

"Hello Y/N-san, nice to see you."

"Nice to see you too! Uh, Eveland-senpai." You paused before continuing speaking.

"Your fashion style is amazing, it’s really unique which I very like! The scarf and the coat and also the heels! Do you wear them often?"

Ike’s corner of the mouth turned upwards again. It was a sincere and grateful  smile.

"Thank you. It makes me really happy to hear you think so. To answer your question, I wear them pretty often in my free time. Oh and also, your outfit looks very charming too, I like the colors you chose, it matches your eye color perfectly. Oh and also.''

Ike pointed with his finger on your bag.

''That pin that you have on your bag is new, right? It looks really cute.''

The pin on your bag was a white little floof ball with a small blue feather attached to their head.

You slowly placed your hand on your chest and returned Ike's smile with equal sincerity.

''Thank you, and yes it-''

"Hey!"

 Unexpectedly, you hear voices approaching you, which belonged to the other people from the writing club.

"I'm really excited for the movie, I can't wait!" Reimu said with a broad grin.

You turned your head around, and were seeing how pretty everyone was. All of them had a unique style, which represented their own personality.

“Great, everyone's here now! let's go in and buy some snacks and get the tickets now, shall we?”

Ike and everyone else were heading towards the entrance, getting their tickets and popcorn.

''Dude, popcorn these days got so expensive.'' Ike let out a depressing sigh while holding the popcorn in his hands that he bought for everyone.

''Well, your fault Eveland, you said it goes on your wallet.'' Reimu laughed insidious.

''Hey! And how many times have I told you that you can call me Ike?''

''I just like your last name!''

Ike just let out another sigh, while everyone else started laughing.

''Wait guys, what about the seat order? Doesn't the movie start soon?'' Aia tilted her head a little to the side at the same time as asking.

''Oh, right.''

Ike pulled out the tickets right out of his pockets.

"Hm, let's see…  Fulgur is right on the left side. Besides him sits Aia, after Aia sits Reimu, then Y/N and last but not least, me, Alright!"

Everyone headed towards the cinema hall and was looking for their seat.

Fulgurs mouth escaped a happy sigh after taking a seat. "I'm really curious how the movie will be since the book was already really well written."

"Right?!?!" Reimu spoke up as soon as she heard Fulgur talking about the book.

All the lights turned off now and the movie finally began.

“Ahh~ I'm really excited for the movie, you too L/N-san? Ike turned his head torwards your face”

“Mhm!” you nodded.

The movie was really catchy, it had it's own style and they weren't joking when they said there was a lot of gore in it. You were hoping that no jumpscares appear, since you're not very fond of those kind of things, yet…

"WHAAAA!"

You started flinching and screaming after the first jumpscare appeared.

Ike was really concerned because of your scream, and turned his head towards yours with his lips turned downwards.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, no worries I just really dislike jumpscares, they're not really my cup of tea."

"I'm not very fond of them either, but it's okay, it's gone now." Ike spoke in a calm and soothing voice to help you calm down.

Swiftly, another jumpscare appeared and you heard a loud shriek right out of Ike's mouth.

"WHAAAA"

"Hm? who was the one who said everything's okay?!"

"I ACTUALLY DON' T SCREAM AT JUMPSCARES BUT THAT WAS SOMETHING ELSE"

''AND YOU WANTED TO COMFORT ME EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE A COMPLETE MESS WITH JUMPSCARES?''

''I USUALLY DON'T GET SCARED THAT BAD''

''YOU'RE A LIAR!''

'' I AM NOT!!!''

It got silent for a bit, as both of you just glanced at eachother and started laughing together. You leaned yourself into the seat again. Thanks to Ike you could calm yourself again, but it didn't take long until you freaked out once again. 

After another jumpscare appeared, Ike's gaze wandered off to you again. He noticed that your hands were shaking a bit after the jumpscare.

"Hey, L/N-san, are you okay? 

You just nodded and avoided eye contact while your face is looking pale with trembling features.

Ike gathered his thoughts for a moment before speaking up again.

"Do you… might want to come a little bit closer and take my hand? It could be a bit relieving to do that. I've read the book so sometimes I could tell whenever another jumpscare appears, and let you know. It's okay."

"Huh?"

You were silent for a second.  

Maybe not, it-

As you wanted to respond to Ike's question, a  scream came out right from the movie, which let out a shiver run down your spine.

''OKAY I CHANGED MY MIND, THIS MOVIE IS FREAKING THE HECK OUT OF ME!''

Ike just smiled warmly while slowly reaching his hand out to you, inviting your hand to connect with his.

You hesitated for a second, but came closer with your hand to Ike's. Gliding down your fingers onto his palm, Intertwining eachothers hands. You felt his fingertips connecting with yours, and the warmth of his hands on top of yours. The touch of his soft skin sends a warm feeling through your body. It felt so warm, so comfortable. Not wanting his hand to let go, by any moment. You were just treasuring the moment you had with Ike.

Ike's face was a bit covered with a shade of pink, like the cherry blossom trees that are blossoming outside and so do you.

As soon as another jumpscare appeared, Ike started to gently caress your hand. Gliding down with his thumb along your fingers, making sure there's nothing to be scared of.

"Its okay, I'm here. If you're scared, then feel free to squeeze my hand as much as you like."

With every touch of Ike, you started to feel a kind of warmness inside of your body.

You didn’t know why you’re feeling this way, but you knew one thing for sure: You wanted to stay like this as long as possible.

During the movie you and Ike exchanged eachothers opinions about the movie. It was a really great time and it was so much fun as well.

I'm so glad that I got the chance to sit next to Eveland-senpai. It's so much fun..

As Reimu turned her head a bit to the side, a small smile appeared on her lips.

"Awww"

Selen turned her head towards Reimus direction. "What the… Reimu, I knew that you really like horror movies, but that you find them cute is a tad too much…"

"No, just look at them!"

Reimu pointed her index finger towards you and Ike.

"Aww, okay now I get you."

After the film ended, everyone went outside and exchanged eachothers opinions about the movie.

''The movie was… something else.“ Selen said while looking dead inside.

Fulgur just giggled. ''You're not really good with horror, are you?''

A sly smirk appeared on Reimus face after she tilted her head to Ike and your direction. ''Well, I know someone else who is not really good with horror.''

Ike snapped after realizing that he was caught and cleared his throat. 

''Uhm, anyways let us discuss how the movie was another time in the writing club, we will have a more quieter environment there. Thank you everyone for sharing the experience with me,see you all on monday!

"Eveland, wait!"

Reimu made her way quickly to Ike as she whispered something into his ear. Ike remained speechless for a bit while his face turned into a deep red shade.

"GODDAMMIT, REIMU CEASE THIS!!"

Reimus lips formed into a sly smirk as she went off while giggling to herself.

"Dang it. I shouldn't think about it too much." Ike sighed while shaking his head.

''Eveland-Senpai!''

''Hm?''

ike turned his head around, seeing you standing right in front of him.

''Thank you for being so kind earlier, you know, letting me hold your hand and stuff.''

You started bowing to show your gratitude to Ike.

After seeing you bowing, Ike's mouth escaped a little chuckle.

''It's not a big deal, I just wanted to make sure you're okay.

Ike truly is a considerate person, he is always so kind towards other people and is always making sure that everyone is feeling well.

''You're really kind.'' you said with a more quiet voice

''…Hm?''

You started to wave your hands.

''Nothing, see you on monday, Eveland-senpai!''

''…''

Ikes lips once again shaped into another sweet and genuine smile.

''Yeah, see you on monday.''

To be continued.

[saltymongoose]

Could you write yandere hcs for Jeb?

Sure thing, it’s about time we got some of these for Jeb. Here ya go! <3

General Yan!Jebus Headcanons

(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Mentions of Violence, Manipulation.)

Jebus honestly never expected to fall in love, especially not with a coworker. You were a lower-level scientist who managed a smaller team, verifying data and reporting any errors you came across. And that’s how he came to know you, from you coming up to him and pulling his attention away from his work time and time again. Ordinarily he’d hate such distractions, but with you he found himself liking it. (Perhaps a little too much, according to some.)

Instead of sending you away like he does for everyone else or going silent to end a conversation of small talk, he’ll invite you to stay instead and have another long conversation with him, sometimes even getting coffee for you both. It’s uncharacteristically friendly, but you didn’t know him well enough to tell that it wasn’t normal.

(Something he was rather grateful for, to be honest. He wouldn’t want you to find it weird that he’s only outwardly sociable around you, of course. It might make you suspicious.)

He finds you to be sweet, pure, someone with not a bad word to say about anyone else in the shady organization (despite all their flaws and unethical actions). While Jeb isn’t a fan of how close the other scientists and agents are with you, your kindness and generosity made you stand out from them. Out of everyone he’d come across, only you managed to capture his attention through your little gestures, like when you brought him coffee or when he witnessed you offer to take a haggard-looking coworker’s shift.

Your intelligence is also a breath of fresh air and he thinks you’re unbelievably interesting. He wants to hear your thoughts on everything, from your work to the Nexus Core’s business, to even simple things like your daily life. He wants to know about your history too, about what led you to Nexus City and how you became the unique person you are. He wants to know what makes you tick. 

(Though not at all because it would make it all the more easy for him to exploit those details, of course not. Christoff is above that. Or at least that’s what he tries to convince himself.)

Jebus isn’t the type of yandere to "openly" fawn over you, it could cause you to get in trouble, and he'd hate for that to happen. Instead, he’ll get you little gifts and leave them on your desk, all things that you’ve mentioned or that he inferred you’d like from your conversations. Well, most of the time at least.

(You didn’t need to know how often he’s eavesdropped on your “private” talks with others and tasked people with following you to know more. That information couldn’t benefit you, so there was no point in notifying you anyway.)

(You appreciate the little presents you find, even if you can’t tell who they’re from or how they know you wanted whatever was given to you. Although some of the gifts were really specific, to the point you found them suspicious. You can’t recall ever mentioning your birthday to anyone at any point in time (Nexus personnel didn’t celebrate that sort of thing in the office anyway due to regulations) so how did they know what flowers and jewelry corresponded with it?)

Sometimes he even writes you long love letters too, carefully sliding them into your assigned locker where you keep your spare lab coats. They’re all multiple pages in length, filled with poetic musings and longwinded words of affection. It’s incredibly well written, to you it seems like whoever wrote it must’ve spent hours getting everything right. 

(And in all truthfulness, it was true. They were all things he’d spent hours thinking of before, and trying to translate just how much he adores you into mere words was honestly quite difficult for him. But he’d spend weeks coming up with the perfect combination of sentences for you to read, his dearest deserved nothing less.)

While you won’t ever be able to tell who exactly is giving them to you, your coworkers have their suspicions. Only someone of a high level would be able to spoil you with so much stuff, but you happened to be on good terms with most of the upper personnel, bar the Director whom you’ve never openly spoken to. They had kind of a bet going on trying to find who it actually was, but in reality, they’d never know. Christoff kept his tracks too well hidden for that, and besides, what he did you win your love wasn’t any of their business to begin with.

(Although he may’ve had to take some more drastic actions to ensure that his plans were hidden. It’s kind of a shame that he had to volunteer that one Agent up for Crackpot’s Zed program, they were a good worker but this is what they got for snooping through his desk and finding the letters. They were for your eyes only. But at least this way he wouldn’t have to clean the unexplained blood off of one of his lab coats again. At least Crackpot's foolish endeavors were good for something in the end.)

But there was one grunt who managed to figure it out; Dr. Hofnarr. As Jeb’s best friend, he’d be really stupid if he missed the way his friend’s gaze lingered on you far too long to be a coincidence (or appropriate) and the way he seemed weirdly nice to you. 

(“Hey, Dr. Christoff, I got a report here on Project Z. I’d give it to Dr. Crackpot but it covers the Sleepwalker program in the first few pages so I figure I’d run it by you first,” you said as you gently placed the stack of papers in front of him. He immediately looked up from his work, red irises meeting yours as he adjusted his glasses. Hofnarr winced to himself, expecting some form of scolding to come from him for interrupting his experiment, but no.

Instead, he was shocked to see the small smile on his friend's face and the oddly-soft look he had as he regarded you. He watched in bewilderment as Jebus welcomed you to sit down with him, even moving a chair so you could be closer. What?)

Although any questioning leads to a stern look from Christoff and the order to drop it and talk about something else, which he concedes to. If he didn’t want to talk about it, it was fine. Besides, Jeb had always been rational, it’s not like it was anything bad to have a little crush on an employee. If anything he was happy for him!

(He’d have a different opinion if he knew of the true extent of his friend's love obsession for you, but that’s just another reason why Jeb would cut off any curiosity he had. He thought it was just a "crush", which Jeb thought was funny, but it was a useful thing for him to believe. He’d hate for Hofnarr to get involved in something so far out of his depth.)

Given how secretive he is about his affections, physical touch is something he keeps at the minimum for now. Not because he wants to, but because you might be removed from his side if anyone finds out that you're a lot closer than you let on (at least to him). The most you'll get is the intentional brush of his hand against yours as you hand him something, or him resting a hand on your shoulder or waist as he passes by you.

(And he thinks about these moments obsessively afterwards, replaying the memories of your warmth and the feeling of your body. Perhaps, once his business was concluded with the Nexus and you accepted his confession, you'd let him touch more of you. You were so receptive to his little gestures so far, it only made sense.)

When it comes to violence, Jebus isn’t above inflicting some harm to keep your budding relationship out of harms way. You getting together was inevitable in his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to interfere with it regardless. It would be doing a disservice to you, to let anyone get between you and make it possible for someone else less competent to compete for your attention.

While Jeb didn't have a big ego, he was sure that you would appreciate someone who would actually protect you, and more importantly someone with strict morals (unlike the rest of the Nexus' workforce) as your partner.

(He ignores the morality of his own actions with his long observations stalking sessions regarding you, or how ethical it might be for him to go through your things and take little things he's seen you use often like a favorite pen or a "misplaced" tube of chapstick. Morality was relative too, after all.)

Besides, you seemed to love the little gifts and letters he got you; he's positive that you're starting to feel something for the mysterious admirer, judging by how he's seen you blush when looking at the items and reading his writing. He feels like he's bursting with excitement for the first time in ages - it was only a short matter of time before you were truly together!

Although, with the way things are looking with Phobos and the Nexus Core, it seems he might have to up the ante on his hostility towards the other personnel. He’s sure you’d appreciate it, since it was to keep you safe. The others would have to be a lot more careful, but he couldn't care less of what they go through at his hand. As long as you were okay.

As tensions brewed outside your knowledge, he was coming up with a plan. Given the fact that he was your superior, he could technically terminate your employment at any time, and while some others would have questions, it’s nothing a little bribery (or threatening) couldn’t fix. You might cry and beg him for an explanation, but as much as it pains him, it is what's best for you.

He's sure you'd be grateful in the end, when he arrives at your doorstep after slaughtering that Dictator you both worked for and tells you what he's really been up to. With how kind he's been in secret, you'll know that he's never thought ill of you, and perhaps he'll even decide to confess to you right then and there.

(A little manipulative considering the distress you'd be going through with the fall of the city? Maybe, but Christoff isn't exactly one to squander opportunities. Even if you like anyone else, he's sure they'd perish with the rest of the workers anyway. It was convenient, especially with the effects of Crackpot's projects - it's not like you could marry a brain-dead Zed.)

Your relationship with him was a certainty and he's sure that you'd be the happiest with him, end of. After all, who other than Nevada's Savior could someone as kind as you possibly turn to for protection in a decrepit, violent, and impure wasteland of a city?

(Though if anyone dares to try, he'll destroy them like all the rest. It's best not to try leaving him, it'll be easier for you this way. If he has to really hammer in the reality that he'll never let you go, he will. But from the way you get flustered at his few affectionate gestures, he doesn't think he needs to worry all that much.)

[marypsue]

I humbly request Dealer's Choice of another writing sample! (Since I am not currently in any of your writing fandoms)

You are very kind, and in respect of the truth of your statement, have some original fiction! From the second chapter of Fearleading Squad:

...

Avery saw the first of the missing person posters two days later.

She’d only ever actually met Arlon’s parents once or twice. They were a pair of ex-hippies, and she wasn’t so sure about the ex part. Easygoing, cheerful, cheerfully oblivious people who thought the sun shone straight out of their only son’s ass. As far as they were concerned, anything he did or wanted to do was wonderful. Including things like picking up and driving across the border to spend three days at a renaissance faire in the nearest state without telling anybody beforehand that he was going.

If they were putting up missing person posters for Arlon, something was very, very, very deeply wrong.

For the first time since the school year started, Avery found herself thinking, again, about how Steve seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.

A missing kid was obviously going to get attention, no matter who it was. But Arlon wasn’t exactly popular, and had a well-earned reputation for being…the politically correct term was ‘weird’. The gossip that swirled around his apparent disappearance – or, at least, what Avery heard of it – was, for the most part, not particularly sympathetic. The whole ren-faire-disappearing-act thing probably wasn’t helping his case, either.

The popular consensus was that he’d probably taken off on some other stupid whim, and he’d be back in a week with a brand new chainmail shirt or replica sword or airbrush painting of a girl in a fur bikini riding a sabretooth tiger on the side of his van, and an even more insufferable attitude. Or, and this struck Avery as one hell of a lot more sinister, that if for some reason he didn’t show back up, maybe it was for the best. For everyone. That maybe this town wasn’t the place for him, anyway. That maybe he’d found himself somewhere to go where his kind were more welcome, and he didn’t want to come back. That maybe, even if that wasn’t really what had happened, people would be willing to believe it was. Or at least pretend they believed it was.

That maybe if something bad had happened to him, well, he’d kind of been asking for it.

Even the cops who turned up at the school to talk to Avery didn’t seem to be taking the task of actually finding Arlon entirely seriously. What they were taking seriously, though –

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Avery blurted, when the short one finally got to the point of what they were really there to ask her about. “You seriously think I killed one of my best friends in cold blood over a fucking tabletop game? Because some nosy old blue-haired bitch – who had no right to eavesdrop on a private conversation, by the way – has never heard of a joke? Are you stupid?”

“Miss DiAngelo,” the skinny one said, frowning disapprovingly.

There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot Avery cared less about, in that moment, than his approval. “This is bullshit. This is just because some stupid old farts don’t like how I dress. I didn’t hurt anybody, I definitely didn’t kill anybody, I don’t know anything about where Arlon is, and I’m not saying fucking anything else to you assholes without a goddamn lawyer.”

“Language, Avery,” the principal sighed, not for the first time, pressing his forehead into his palm. “These gentlemen are just asking for your help.”

“We’re trying to find your missing friend,” the skinny one said, sharply.

“Yeah?” Avery shot up out of her seat, gathering her jacket up in her arms. “Try looking.”

It wasn’t entirely a surprise, storming out of the principal’s office, to find herself unexpectedly face-to-face with Tiffany. Of course, Tiffany was just sitting there, primly waiting in the rough-weave-covered metal skeleton of a chair beside the secretary’s desk, like she was oh so innocent. Like this was a big coincidence. “Avery! I’m just waiting for Principal Whittaker, is he done in there? I want to ask him about this idea I have for a pep rally.”

Her hair tumbled in perfect golden waves over a crimson sweater that looked tantalisingly soft to the touch, her cross pendant perfectly framed between the crisp white triangles of a shirt collar peeping out from underneath. Avery wondered how long it had taken her to perfectly arrange that collar. Probably longer than it took her to arrange her face into a near-perfect expression of concern. It’d be perfect once she could get that last trace of mockery out. “Oh, no, was that about your friend?”

“Arlon,” Avery said. It wasn’t exactly a forgettable name. And she knew Tiffany knew it. Knew he’d introduced himself to Tiffany multiple times. Had actually been forced to endure being present for a few of those times. “Yeah.”

Tiffany leaned forward in her seat to peer through the door Avery had come out of, her hair sliding forward over her shoulder in a shining curtain. “Are those the police?”

“Yeah,” Avery said. She didn’t really feel like going into detail.

Tiffany sat back in the uncomfortable chair with every sign of ease and comfort. She looked up and caught Avery’s eye with her own. Avery couldn’t have said at gunpoint what the expression on Tiffany’s face was supposed to be as Tiffany said, her voice cloyingly thick with put-on, mocking innocence, “They must really be taking it seriously, then, huh? I guess they must think something really bad happened to him.”

“I hope your stupid fucking pep rally gets firebombed,” Avery said shortly, digging her nails into the soft suede of her jacket and imagining it was Tiffany’s tender, tanned skin as she stomped away across the office.

Peals of chiming, perfect laughter and an insincere, “You’re so funny, Avery!” chased her out the door.

[anamazingangie]

The Rules | Daemon x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rated E | 5.6k words | by AmazingAngie | Tags: modern AU, college setting, older man/younger woman, teacher/student relationship, professor!daemon, rough sex, love confessions, no incest (wow)

Summary:

She sat up, “You’re a really good professor.” He laughed, “I’m not, I'm an opinionated asshole who likes providing input early enough to change things.” She rolled her eyes, shoving the laptop off him and taking its place. She didn’t disagree with his statement—but it didn’t change the fact that he was a good professor in her eyes. He was a good person, too. 18. Good character alone makes any man worthy of love.

His class was at two PM on a Wednesday afternoon. Rhaenyra didn’t expect much from the two hour slot marked out as Medieval Works ~ Literature, Life, Love and Language. She liked medieval art, and she liked to read, so it had seemed like a more enjoyable elective than most, if not super relevant to her major. But she excelled at bullshitting her way through assignments, and essays were no different, regardless of the topic, so she wasn’t worried either. 

But when she took her seat, she realized something odd. There wasn’t a single guy in the classroom. Like it was all girls. And Rhaenyra wasn’t great at math, but that seemed statistically unlikely to be a coincidence. Especially since the girls in question were wearing makeup, twirling their hair, and giggling as if they were at a high school mixer instead of inside the walls of a college classroom. 

Of course, it all made sense when the professor walked in, giving them a wide smile before introducing himself as Daemon Targaryen. 

.

She wasn’t proud of the fact she had sex with him, but it felt kind of inevitable given the month that followed the start of the semester. If she only saw him once a week from a safe distance in which her tongue couldn’t reach him, she was pretty sure she would have been able to resist. 

But the world—or at least their shared place in society, seemed to push them together. The list of events her mother insisted Rhaenyra attend seemed to match his own, which he admitted came from his own mother.

She had laughed at that, “She still controls you?” It was nearly inconceivable, given his age and…swagger. She hated that word but it seemed accurate given the type of suave energy and charm that radiated from him. 

“Some things never change.” He mused, but his smile was fond when he spoke of Alyssa Targaryen. Rhaenyra learned that after her husband’s death she had taken a backseat to charity work, and encouraged her son to take her seat at these events instead. It was sweet. 

Rhaenyra liked sweet men. 

Okay, maybe she just liked him. 

Either way, she wondered if he would taste sweet, too.

.

They’d spoken a half dozen times since then, sometimes even sitting together. Despite the two decades between them, they were still younger than almost everyone else in attendance and had a good amount in common. But it was more than that, as cliche as it sounded, they just clicked. 

She’d been forced to attend these events since she was old enough to talk and she’d never had this much fun. They would make ridiculous lip reading guesses based on the body language of people who were too far away to actually eavesdrop on. They would do crossword puzzles on his phone. They would take bets on what would be served for dinner (it was always salmon. Always.) And, perhaps regrettably, drinking games. 

They had really underestimated the amount of times that woman would mention her dog while thanking people for their donations to a cancer foundation. 

“I—guess, dogs can get cancer too?” She had said between giggles while they waited for an uber. 

“It’s can-cer, not can’t-cer, anything can get it.” He said seriously. 

“That is such a fucking dad joke! You haven’t earned the right!” She said with faux anger, shoving his shoulder but not putting any real weight behind it.  

Maybe it was her hand on his chest. Or maybe it was her stupid comment that did it.  It  certainly got her thinking about how kids were made, which she figured got them both thinking about sex. Because when they got inside the car, their lips were against each other and they were licking into each other's mouths with little restraint. 

Rhaenyra wished she could blame it on being drunk, but she really wasn’t that drunk. She was just drunk enough to use that as an excuse for doing something she was too afraid to do fully sober.

They stumbled out of the uber and into his apartment, still kissing as they ripped at each other’s clothing. God it was hot hearing fabric tear and buttons fall. She hadn’t had rough sex in ages, her last boyfriend was the gentle giant type and that was nice but this was—her own thoughts were cut off by a moan as Daemon bit down on her shoulder. 

It was a fast fuck, sort of brutal as he took her from behind, slamming into her in a way that would ache the next day but was so good. She didn’t expect to come from it, but his fingers slipped under her and managed to put pressure exactly where she craved it. The combination of that and the stretch of his cock was enough, she was gone and moaning and he followed close behind. 

They lay side by side after, breathing heavily. 

“That was good.” She said, too drunk on fucking and wine to think of much else to say.

“It was good.” He agreed. But then he turned to her, and cupped her cheek, “We can’t do it again, though.” 

She nodded.

(The morning sex they had when she woke up definitely didn’t count, though, they both agreed.) 

.

Things didn’t change much. She liked his class, the hours passing quickly as he spoke passionately about the first scholars in England and the theories they had left behind on paper. It wouldn’t make her overly devoted to the topic herself, she didn’t think, but it was a pleasant enough period in her schedule. And the eye candy wasn’t bad, either…especially now that she didn’t have to imagine what was beneath the crisp collared shirts he favored. 

He really was handsome. And not in that generic way of being super tan and buff that CW shows had been shoving down girls' throats for the last decade. He was the opposite of all that in a way that made him all the more intriguing, too. 

He had muscles, but they were softer—and she liked how they weren’t hard or bulky against her fingers when she rode him. She liked that they probably meant he had hobbies other than going to the gym. But he was more than a body, he’s a pretty face too, she thought with a snort. And the face in question was framed by light blonde hair that was streaked with silver. She wasn’t sure if they were a sign of age or time spent in the sun, but either way, it was hot, ok? 

Outside of the classroom, they still saw each other at events. And things weren’t awkward, really. They were mature enough to separate sex from the other elements of their relationship, she thought. 

And it was by that logic that they decided to keep having it. 

.

She realized that if they were compatible in conversation, that they must be something else entirely when it came to this. 

It was like they knew each other in a past life, how he seemed to know exactly where to stroke to make her cry or come. He found that rough spongy patch with his fingers in like a day, when it had taken her years of exploration with her own fingers before she realized it wasn’t a myth. He was generous with not just his fingers but his tongue, too, lapping at her until she was too tired to move much less have another orgasm, because yeah, with him she had multiple. 

She tried to give it as good as he did, swallowing his dick every morning like it was a multivitamin. The aftertaste was probably about as unpleasant, too, but she liked the weight of it in her mouth and the feeling of his fingers in her hair as he roughly thrust against her lips.

She was growing used to this treatment, of being adored and driven to orgasm and then being fucked like she didn’t have to walk tomorrow, and it was, quite honestly, glorious. She liked admiring the bruises on her hips, and the fact he encouraged her to return the favor by dragging her nails down his back until scratches lingered. 

There was something primal about the way they came together. How they both needed it to ache a little before they could fully let go and feel pleasure. Whether that came in the form of teeth digging into flesh, or nipples being twisted until the other sobbed, it didn’t matter, because it drove them closer. 

Truly, social norms seemed to slip away as did her embarrassment when they were together. She’d asked him to spank her, for fucks sake, and he’d turned it around and begged her to choke him. They were truly mad for each other, feral when they were behind closed doors and had their hands on each other. 

It was probably why they got sloppy. 

.

His apartment seemed pretty safe, the second story of a brownstone in an area that wasn’t overly populated or close to school. 

Rhaenyra’s apartment had a doorman, which they tried to avoid at first. But they reasoned he was unlikely to have a chance to tell her parents. 

She had a roommate, too. But Alicent spent the weekends at home, so they turned the communal living room into a sex den during those two days. 

They vetoed his office, of course. But… he had this fantasy about having someone over his desk, and that sounded pretty hot to her. 

(For the record, it was pretty hot.) 

And she had a fantasy about sucking him off in the classroom. So, that happened too. 

And then there was a fundraiser with an unlocked coat room…

Ok, so perhaps they weren’t as careful as they should have been. 

But things were so good, it was hard to imagine they wouldn’t stay that way.

.

Assignment: 

Provide a rough draft of your essay by Oct. 3 for review. It should include a thesis statement with a comparative nature between two pieces of literature that have been selected from the list provided. 

“I didn’t realize you were a masochist.”  Rhaenyra said as she squinted down at her screen. She had never had a professor ask for a draft of anything, much less a rough draft. He peeked over her shouldering, seeing the familiar format of the ancient edu email system. He just shrugged in response, leaning back against the pillows and returning his gaze to his laptop. 

“You know what rough draft means, right?” She said, seriously curious what justification he would have for allowing it. As his student she should have been delighted by the ask, but she cared about him as a person now, whether she should or not. And selfishly, she cared about his time too, and how much time he had for her. 

He sighed, looking back at her. “I happen to like rough drafts. If they are bad, students are more accepting of criticism when it’s their first attempt. They tend to be more willing to shift their arguments if they haven’t invested as much time into polishing them.”

“And…there is just something about people being comfortable enough to share their ideas in that way. And you don’t get that when you demand perfection. Because sometimes people edit themselves away when they edit the grammar and structural issues.” 

That was more answer than she expected, fuck. It made her wonder if she had edited away some of the best parts of herself because of the pressure to be perfect. 

“When you remove that requirement, you get to see their thoughts unfiltered and whether they are stupid or not it gives you insight into their process that ultimately helps me guide them to something great.” 

She must have been quiet for too long, because his foot nudged her. “You okay?” 

She nodded, “I’m fine. It’s just,” she sat up, “You’re a really good professor.” 

He laughed, “I’m not, I'm an opinionated asshole who likes providing input early enough to change things.” 

She rolled her eyes, shoving the laptop off him and taking its place. She didn’t disagree with his statement—but it didn’t change the fact that he was a good professor in her eyes. He was a good person, too. 

And fucking hot to boot, she thought with a dreamy sigh before she brought her lips to his. 

They weren’t wearing much, and she was grateful for it when she slid onto his cock a mere minute later. It was such a stretch every time, no matter how wet she was. There was something so hot about the fact he was just a little too big, and she was a little too small, and to get them to fit they had to force themselves together. 

The twinge of hips meeting was like penance for doing what their gods and bodies tried to prevent. They were choosing this, choosing to be with each other like this. And that fact made it better, even if it hurt a little. Or perhaps that made it better too. She rode him hard, fingers braced on his broad shoulders until the aftershocks were too much for her to control herself, much less her pace. This was evident in how her nails dug in when she came, leaving little crescents that would bruise by tomorrow. 

Daemon squeezed her hips, setting a gentle pace that was more gyrating than thrusting, but it was enough, because she felt him come and heard his familiar groans in her ear. 

After, her head was on his stomach, and his hands were running through her hair. She couldn’t imagine anything better. 

.

She was late to brunch, but still there before her mother, which was a relief. Their relationship was… special. Rhaenyra was in the odd position of being a spoiled only child, and a reminder of her parent’s inability to have anothe r child. 

Yes, in their quest to have a bigger family, Mr. and Mrs. Arryn had quite thoroughly neglected the daughter they did have. She was never lacking necessities, or clothing, nor accessories, but she had learned to be independent and a little bit bitter given her parents' apparent disinterest. 

Things were better now. Her mother seemed to realize the error of her ways, finding time in her busy schedule of fundraisers and charity work to at least dine with her daughter. The food and company was usually pleasant enough, though Rhaenyra hadn’t really missed them in the months her mother had been away. 

The twenty year wedding anniversary trip through the Mediterranean had lasted nearly two months. She looked tan and healthier than ever, but was clearly hungry for gossip, and had managed to find some relating to her daughter.  

“ They said you were with a very handsome blonde man. And you left together. At many events.” 

Rhaenyra coughed, not expecting Aemma to have heard. At least this act was easy to defend, she just had to act cool. But she was used to acting around her mother. 

  “That is Daemon Targaryen.” 

“How did you meet?” Aemma asked, eyes sparkling as she leaned. 

“A literature class.” 

“He’s in your class?” Her mother said, cheerful. Fuck. Okay, that phrasing had been poor, but before she could correct herself her mother had moved on, “Are you dating? Is it serious?” 

“No!” Rhaenyra insisted, though Aemma looked unconvinced. 

“I do hope I get to meet him, now that I’m back and all.” She said with a sly smile.

Rhaenyra sighed. Her mother was progressive in many of her views, but she thought a girl who wasn’t married by eighteen was a sad creature likely to crumble to dust without a man to support her. Rhaenyra, being nineteen, was at dire risk, clearly. 

Aemma had tried to pair her off with Laenor since they were both old enough to walk—and the fact that he was both her cousin and gay did little to deter her. She had openly made jokes about wedding bells when a poor panicked boy named Cristin took her to prom. And when Rhaenyra had dated Harwin last year…well, she was pretty sure Aemma was responsible for her birth control pills “accidentally” getting thrown out twice in a three month period. 

So, there were a number of reasons she was not eager for her mother to meet Daemon. And the fact he was her teacher, though very much on the list, wasn’t at the top of it. 

And though she had warned Daemon that her parents had returned and would likely try to hunt him down at the next event he attended, he hadn’t seemed overly concerned. He had admitted that he had literal privilege and figurative armor. 

“From what?” She had asked, and he looked a little bashful as he mumbled something about being a rich-white-man. “I’m not proud of it, okay?” He said defensively. Her lips thinned because she knew he also wouldn’t change any of those things. Though neither would she, she liked him that way. 

She showed him as much, and in doing so she kind of, forgot to tell him about her father. 

.

It took approximately two minutes for Aemma’s eyes to latch onto Daemon in the crowd of dozens. With Viserys on her left and Rhaenyra on her right, she dragged them both to the unsuspecting man and extended her hand in greeting.

“I’m Aemma Arryn.” She said with a perfect society smile. 

Daemon looked between her and Rhaenyra, clearly seeing the resemblance and putting things together. He took Aemma’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it like some sort of prince. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but she could tell her mom was hooked . 

“I believe the popularity of the comment has removed any sincerity from it, and I can use context to make other assumptions. But without that I would think you Rhaenyra’s sister, not mother, Mrs. Arryn.” 

Rhaenyra had never seen her mom blush like that. 

The grin Aemma gave Rhaenyra was nearly as predatory as it was delighted. 

“This is my husband, Viserys Arryn.” Aemma said, nudging him forward so the men could shake hands. They did, but Daemon’s smile was stiff. 

“We’ve actually already met,” Viserys said, clueless and jovial as usual. “Daemon is the youngest Chair of the English department we’ve ever had.” 

With that Aemma’s smile tightened, “I thought you met in class, Rhaenyra?” 

She swallowed. 

“Yes.” Daemon said with a smile before speaking highly —but not too highly of her performance in his lectures. He played the part of teacher well, answering questions and charming them both until a polite amount of time had elapsed and he could dismiss himself. 

“What a nice man.” Viserys said. 

“Perhaps too nice?” Aemma asked, gaze fixed on Rhaenyra. 

She just shrugged, not sure if she could keep her voice steady enough to answer. 

Daemon, as she expected, avoided her for the rest of the evening. 

The car felt very quiet on the way back to her apartment

.

The joy that usually followed these events was absent as she unlocked the door of her apartment. There was no kissing or giggling, no rough hands dragging down the zipper of her dress and pulling pins from her hair. 

She kicked off her pumps, and tossed her lingerie on top before crawling into bed. It was bad for her skin to leave her makeup on but she didn’t care, she just wanted to sleep and have this day be over.

Still, she was responsible enough to set her alarm and check the reminders for tomorrow—one of which was in regards to her essay for Daemon’s class. She tapped on it, laughing without humor at the irony when she read the first few lines of her notes.

"Throughout all the ages, there have been only four degrees in love:

"The first consists in arousing hope;

"The second in offering kisses;

"The third in the enjoyment of intimate embraces;

"The fourth in the abandonment of the entire person."

.

After two weeks, she felt abandoned enough to visit him during office hours. 

“It’s not against the rules you know.” She said, pushing a sheet of paper across his desk. 

Relationships between professional staff or and an undergraduate, graduate/professional student, that pre-date enrollment as a student, are permissible provided that employee notifies their direct supervisor or department/unit head. The supervisor or department/unit head will work with the covered individuals to ensure that they are not in a direct supervisory or instructional relationship (and, if so, will develop a management plan for the employee), but there is no prohibition on maintaining the relationship.

“Did our ‘relationship’ pre-date your enrollment last semester? Because I don’t quite recall that.” He said, as he read over the paper. 

“Okay, fine, we’d have to lie a little. But the rest of it is fine! You’re the department head, we wouldn’t have to tell anyone. And you said Mysaria was responsible for grading my work.” She said, hoping it was convincing. It was convincing to her, at least. 

“Would your father agree with that?” Daemon asked, leaning back in his chair. 

She rolled her eyes. “I really don’t care what he thinks. But if we manage a few more months without him finding out, it won’t matter. He won’t have the legal authority to fire you and he did, I doubt he would. That man fears public opinion more than anything else.” 

Daemon looked surprised, “You’re sure he wouldn’t think I was taking advantage of you? Be too worried about your safety to think rationally?” 

She laughed, even though it wasn’t funny.   “I’m pretty sure he would think I was taking advantage of you. Trying to ruin your career or improve my grades out of spite or scholarly goals.” He’d certainly had no issues implying as much when she complained of his handsy colleagues coming onto her when she was barely through puberty.

“I wasn’t trying to hide this from you, I just don’t like thinking about him. Especially when I’m with you.” She admitted. 

“It’s not because of rampant daddy issues?” He asked, but he was smiling a little now.

She stood, walking around his desk, until she could place her hands on his shoulders. “ If I had such a kink, it would be towards authority figures in general, Professor.” 

He had her face down on his desk a minute later, skirt flipped up and underwear shoved aside in his desperation to have her. He came quickly, apologizing for it, before fingering her until her release followed. It didn’t last long, but she could already feel the ache from how he’d speared her unprepared cunt. It was good though, and she would treasure it on her way home. A reminder that they were back together…In whatever undefined way they were together..

They carried on in whatever undefined way they had before for a few weeks. Until she fucked up.  

.

“I want to use all of these, they are so good.” She moaned, as she scrolled through her notes. 

“It almost makes you realize why someone would devote their life to medieval literature, huh?” Daemon teased at his place from his desk. 

“I think you’re in it for the illustrations of weird boobs, to be honest.” She sniped back. He opened his mouth to respond and she held up her finger, “If you say anything to do with me and weird boobs, so help me god…” 

He laughed, “I would never.” 

She went back to reading her notes. “Hm, perhaps this could be our affirmation, ‘The easy attainment of love makes it of little value; difficulty of attainment makes it prized.’” She wasn’t sure she agreed with it completely, but it certainly fit their relationship so far. 

“Love, huh?” Daemon responded, sounding surprised. 

“Love?” She asked, then retracted what she had said and—oh, fuck.

“I didn’t mean that!” She said, panicked. 

Daemon made a tsking noise with his tongue. “It’s a shame, for I find myself quite enamored with the thought. They say when a lover suddenly catches sight of his beloved his heart palpitates, and I believe it’s true.” 

She gaped. He stared, lips turned into a smirk. 

“Do you mean that?” She asked, voice a little wobbly. 

“A true lover is constantly and without intermission possessed by the thought of his beloved.” The words weren’t his own but the way he said them…he meant them. 

“Then I think I may also be afflicted.” She said, with a wet laugh as she got up to kiss him. 

.

She found out during a family dinner. They were all weirdly dressed up for the occasion, which was catered despite there only being three of them in the family dining room. Her mother, for all her domestic abilities, could not cook. 

Aemma dominated the conversation, though not in a rude way. The topics were mindless, until Viserys spoke about work—”We had to fire three staff members this week.” He admitted, “They were all getting er, favors from the same girl in exchange for better grades. A fourth denied her, and the girl tattled in anger.” 

Rhaenyra suddenly felt a little sick, “Has that happened before?” She asked, keeping her tone casual and picking at her salad but making no move to eat it.

 “No,” he said, having no trouble eating himself and taking a generous length of time to chew before continuing. 

“Not since we changed the employee policy. People used to claim relationships were pre-existing, but the marriage clause put an end to that.” 

“How awful,” Aemma said. Her eyes caught Rhaenyra’s, “I’d be so devastated if someone I knew got caught up in that.” 

Rhaenyra nodded, “Me too.” 

.

She drove back to Daemon’s place after dinner, kissing him quickly in greeting before logging onto the student website she had grabbed the relationship policy from a few weeks ago. When she scrolled down to the bottom of the page, it distinctly said c.2019.

Fuck. It could be out of date.

“Do you have your employee contract?” She asked Daemon who was watching her glare at the computer screen with a strange look of adoration and confusion.  

While she waited for the document to load he made an offhand joke about her using it to steal his identity and SS number. It would have been funny under normal circumstances, but she felt itchy and nervous. She was too impatient to even scroll, instead using ctrl-f to find marriage in the file and jump to the section she was really hoping did not exist when he was hired three years earlier. 

Fuck.

She fell back against his couch, looking up at him with a frown, “They changed the policy. preexisting relationships are only considered exceptions if the relationship is a legal partnership or marriage.” 

She was expecting him to throw her out, but he just shrugged. Apparently he had gotten over his fear of her father and the school's rules? That was her assumption at least, but then he spoke, “You know, it is not proper to love any woman whom one would be ashamed to seek to marry.” 

She was pretty sure one day his quotes from 12th century texts  were going to lose their charm. But today was not that day. It was such a him thing to say, such a perfectly strange proposal, and she loved it and she loved him, and she couldn’t resist springing up to kiss his handsome lips.

But after they had parted, she did make one complaint. “You didn’t even get on one knee.” 

A minute later he was on both knees, with one of her legs thrown over his shoulder while he lapped at her cunt.

This was way better. 

.

“I’m going to put this in my office next to the diplomas once you graduate.” He said proudly, as he held up their marriage certificate. 

She smiled, “You think we’ll make it that long?” 

He glared. “We better, till death do us part and we’re too young and pretty to die anytime soon.” 

She nodded, “You’re right, and there is that list of castles you wanted to fuck in is incomplete.” Her tone was teasing, and he knew it, responding defensively because of it. 

“Sex is one of the few acts you can perfectly recreate from the period! And doing it in front of walls that once housed my ancestors? That’s a beautiful thing. I think they’d want me to do it, too.” 

Rhaenyra was not convinced. It was perhaps a testament to her love that she agreed to spend their eventual honeymoon that way. Though to be fair, sex on a damp castle floor with him was probably still pretty good. But even if it was a hardship, she would do it to make him happy. 

.

She was pretty sure Aemma’s concerns about their relationship were washed away when she mentioned getting a C in his class. She had made a pitying noise, probably assuming he had denied her attempts at seduction and given her a shit grade. 

“It’s not my fault.” Daemon said when he saw the print out. “And to be fair, Mysaria has no idea how good you are at giving head. If she did, who knows, maybe you’d have gotten a B.” 

She glared at him, “You’re right.” She agreed, “Next semester I’ll fuck the TA.” 

He grumbled something and she grinned. 

“You know what they say, ‘real jealousy always increases the feeling of love.’” 

“You know it isn’t cute when you use medieval literature against me.” He said. 

She snorted, “That is a lie and you know it.” 

He sighed, “You’re right, you are very cute.” 

.

They managed to keep their relationship secret up until the week before spring break. They hadn’t been overly careful for the last little while—she wasn’t his student anymore, and with the marriage license on file they felt pretty safe. Not to mention their armor of being rich, white, nepo babies. No matter what happened they would be okay, and they would have each other.

Still, they could have at least locked the door. 

The sound of it opening caught her by surprise, she had jerked, hitting her head on the bottom of Daemon’s desk. With her position given away, she crawled from her place between Daemon’s thighs and peaked over the desk. One of his students was there, and Rhaenyra stood up with hopes of explaining—forgetting her state of undress. 

The door slammed shut. 

.

“Let me do the talking,” she said. 

Daemon eyed her skeptically.  

They took their seats in front of Viserys and the HR rep, and Rhaenyra straightened her skirt which suddenly felt way too short in the presence of her father.

“There was a report made by a student about inappropriate conduct between you two.” The rep said dryly. 

“I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.” Viserys said, “Right?” 

The last word was followed by a glare in her direction. With a sigh, she launched into an explanation. 

“I was in his class last year. We were catching up in his office and um, eating lunch. I’m clumsy, and knocked over a drink and uh, tried to clean it up with my shirt. And in doing so, I knocked the container of fries under his desk, so I was simply cleaning them up.” 

She could feel Daemon’s look of amusement. She could see the look of disbelief from the HR rep. But most importantly, she could see her dad smile. “Of course, I knew there would be a reasonable explanation.” 

He clapped Daemon on the back when they left his office, saying they should get a drink sometime. 

“I told you we had nothing to worry about.” Rhaenyra said as they left the building. 

It didn’t stop literally everyone else in the department from finding out about it, though. Or every female student (and honestly, a surprisingly large chunk of the guys) from glaring at her from time to time. They clearly hadn’t found her excuse overly believable, and honestly, Rhaenyra couldn’t blame them.

.

Three years later when Viserys actually found out about their relationship, he looked shocked, muttering something about how there were never any signs. 

Aemma looked delighted. Rhaenyra had been hinting she was involved with someone for literal years. She wasn’t sure if her mother put the pieces togethers, but it seemed time had warmed her up to the idea of her dating Daemon. Now that Rhaenyra had graduated, scandal was less of a concern and she could be happy for them publicly. 

“When is the wedding?” Aemma had asked, a few minutes after hearing the news. 

“Well, uh, about that.” Rhaenyra said, looking at Daemon for help. 

.

Once her mother got over the tragedy of them being already married she was delighted that her daughter was married! The medieval honeymoon of their [Daemon’s] dream was delivered to them as a late wedding gift in the form of a blank check. 

The highlight was renting out an 11th century castle that belonged to his ancestors who ruled a corner of the coast for a time. It cost a small fortune, but it afforded them privacy that they made good use of. And the tapestries that lined the walls were truly inspired. 

It turned out that rough sex was a bit hard, literally, to accomplish on the rough stone floors. But she didn’t have any complaints about what they did instead. She was pretty sure she would never complain when she had his dick inside her. It was perfect. Or at least pretty close. And their relationship was too. Or if not perfect, it was on its way and she had faith Daemon would guide them there. 

After all, ‘love can deny nothing to love’

.

.

end

all quotes medieval quotes came from De arte honeste amandi by Andreas Capellanus

sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_amore_(Andreas_Capellanus) https://files.oakland.edu/users/clason/web/grm381/capel.html

I decided daemon was a Prof for Comparative Medieval Literature which is a real thing btw.

relationship policy was edited from here.

this was written for my summer snippet event and the prompt "rough"

more info about the event:

Rules / Ao3 Collection / #HotDaemyraSummer

and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics