#and maybe your daughter would still be alive. and this guts you. and then your husband looks at you take this wound and says

[brittlebutch]

by virtue of the GM having to play every NPC in contrast to every player having their one, it's fascinating the relationship dynamics this sets up in character throughout the narrative

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Six - The tourney has finished, and Jon finds himself in your chambers. As the events of the game go on Jon must adapt to his ever-changing role.

Ch 7

He is sweaty, dirty, tired, and yet he feels more alive than he has in years, perhaps it is the remaining exhilaration of victory, or the words of King Robert that ring in his ears.

You look up at Jon, then at your aunt, then back to Jon, and there is a sinking feeling in his gut. You do not want to kiss him, not even on the cheek.

He decides to spare you the shame and embarrassment, turning to King Robert intent on gracefully declining when your lips meet his cheek. It is quick, a peck, a whisper of soft lips against his stubble covered cheek and the words die on his lips.

The crowd behind him cheers, King Robert raises his glass towards him, his eyes glazed over with drunkenness. “A fine paring they would make, if it were not for his unfortunate birth.”

Lord Stark, his father, clenches his fist, but puts on a smile, patting King Robert’s shoulder. “I think it is time we retire to your tent, my friend.”

Shame washes over Jon, and a muscle in his jaw twitches as he looks away from the makeshift throne.

“Father, I have grown tired from all this excitement, might I be allowed to retire to my chambers?” You ask, loud enough for all around to hear. You are giving him an escape.

Tyrion nods magnanimously. “Of course, my daughter, and take your champion with you, lest he be mobbed by his hard-won crowd of admirers.”

It is only now that Jon realizes the chanting that he’s been blocking out is for him. The moniker they have bestowed upon him White Wolf. A reference to Ghost he knows, but it fills him with pride, never has a crowd chanted his name, never had more than his siblings chanted his name, but now? Now he was their champion. At least until the jousting began, then a new champion would be chosen. It matters not, for in this moment Jon feels special.

In your chambers nestled within Maegor’s Holdfast, Jon sits as you tend to his wounds. They are nothing, truly, some cuts and bruises, but still, you treat each one with such care.

Ghost rests his head on his knee while you work, painting on salves and covering cuts with soft gauze.

“Look up for me?” You half ask, half order, gently cupping his chin with one hand, keeping his head still as you tend to the cut on his cheek.

He winces when the cloth you are holding meets his broken skin, and you breathe out a soft apology before gently dabbing the salve on the cut. Your fingertips are soft, your focused expression allowing him to observe you. His lovely lady, truly his, until you marry that is, but there are no signs of any marriages happening soon.

Not for the first time he allows his mind to wander, to imagine you and him together—married somewhere, maybe Casterly Rock in one of the many wings you have told him about, or a keep in the North, perhaps Moat Cailin. If he could get his father to lend him the men, the supplies, it could be restored to its former glory.

“Ser Jon?” You ask, pulling him from his daydreams.

“Apologies. My Lady, I was lost in thought.”

“I asked if you had any other injuries?” Your voice is soft, as soft as your touch, and he craves it. Desires to feel more, to hear more, for you to always look at him with such rapt devotion, with such interest in his wellbeing, with such care. Gods he had never felt so cared for in his life.

Jon bites his tongue hard. He does, earlier in his duels one of the Redwyne men had slammed his elbow into his stomach, Jon is sure there is a bruise forming. “I do, My Lady, but it is in a place that would require the removal of my tunic.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and you nod stiffly. “Well, it is my duty to care for my champion, so I shall turn around, then you let me know when you have removed your tunic. We are both members of great houses, we can act with decorum.”

Jon nods and waits.

You wait as well, just staring, then seem to realize what he is waiting for with an adorable “oh, right,” and turn around.

He chuckles and sheds his tunic folding it neatly and placing it in his lap, dislodging Ghost who grumbles and goes to lay on the plush pile of pillows you had moved into your chambers especially for him. “Alright, My Lady.”

You turn back around, and for a moment Jon thinks you are having a stroke.

You blink rapidly at him, your lips parting then snapping shut. “Oh, um, yes, right, where is the injury?”

He motions to the ever-darkening bruise in the center of his abdomen.

You make a small, strangled sound, one he would not have been able to hear if not for the quiet of the room, and gently kneel, salve in hand as you scrutinize the bruise. “I cannot get a good position for my hand without digging my elbow into your leg; I need to get a little closer…”

You and Jon stare at each other, you can only get closer if you invade the space between his legs.

He coughs and spreads them, looking away as casually as possible, praying to the gods, old and new, that a certain part of his anatomy does not decide to take interest in the sight before him.

You work quickly, but diligently, using featherlight touches as you apply the salve, your other arm resting on his thigh keeping you steady. “You did very well today, I am glad to see all your training has paid off.”

Jon looks at you instinctually because you are talking, he always looks at you when you speak, it is only polite, and immediately regrets it. You are looking up at him through your lashes, on your knees between his legs, your hand on his abdomen. It is a sight he only dares to imagine in the darkness of his own chambers, with his hand wrapped tightly around himself.

“And I must admit it brings me no small amount of pleasure that it was my sworn sword who was named champion, you should have seen Ellyn Farman’s face, she was all but green with envy.” You smile, it is a joyous, deviously delightful smile, and he feels the urge to go back to the tourney field and defeat another seven men.

“My victories are yours.” His voice pitches up at the end when you slide your hand down as you get up, your head turned towards Ghost, fully unaware as you continue talking.

“And of course your moniker, how exciting, truly Ser Jon you are making quite a name for us.” He grabs your wrist preventing to from sliding any further, and you turn back towards him with confusion in your eyes, then you glance down then rip your hand away as if he had burned you. “I am so, so, sorry, I did not mean—”

“It is alright, I know you had no intention, and neither do I.” He reassures you. He never wants you to feel unsafe with him, never wants you to doubt his loyalty is not contingent on the possibility of carnal pleasure.

You hold your hand to your chest, taking him in with those ever-inquisitive eyes. “I do understand why the other girls speak so highly of you, I always have, but I understand this reason now.”

“What reason?”

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and glance back at Ghost. “You are handsome, Ser Jon, surely you must know that.”

“Robb is handsome, Theon is handsome, I am—”

“Tarnishing one’s maidenhood worthy?” You supply, that teasing tone in your voice making him glad his tunic still remains over his lap.

“I would not.”

“I know, you are honorable, and I admire that, greatly.” You have dropped the teasing tone and give him a genuine smile. “Now, I suggest you redress, lest someone find us here and think you not so honorable.” You turn back around, humming a song to yourself.

Jon feels special, you make him feel special. More than the crowds, the king, and it is a feeling he sees himself becoming quite addicted to.

He no longer feels special, not as he looks on as his father kneels before Joffrey, Sansa in tears pleading for mercy. They were bastards, the three of them born of incest, had you not told him as much in his nightmares? Why had he waited, why had he not gone to his father the moment he suspected his dream were truth? Now the King was dead, and Joffrey had taken his place.

“Lord Stark, you have claimed the late king declared you as his regent and leveled great insults against my son.” Queen Cersei says, her chin held high, a cruel light in her eyes.

The steps of the Great Sept of Baelor are pristine, the domes of glass and gold looming behind them, the sun shining down through the fluffy white clouds. He stares at his father’s feet to keep the tears back, his throat tight as Sansa’s sobs tear at his heart.

You are dressed in Lannister red, the bright ruby, not your darker crimson, your gown lavish, and intricately embroidered, your hair up in a southern style, a near perfect duplicate of the Dowager Queen. Your hand has an iron grip on his wrist, fingertips outstretched to his palm, hidden behind your skirts.

“Please, I beg of you, spare my father, send him to the Night’s Watch for his crimes.” Sansa cries, clutching at the collar of her gown, tears streaming down her face. Theon stands behind her, still part of the crowd, his eyes never leaving her form, his lips etched into a deep frown.

“I am nothing if not merciful.” Joffrey says, spreading his hands wide, a smile on his face.

Jon’s stomach churns and your grip on him tightens.

“Do not act rashly.” You whisper, leaning into him ever so slightly, keeping him grounded.

Sansa sobs her gratitude, her sobs turning to screams when a kingsguard grabs her, pulling her back as Ser Ilyn Payne steps up Ice in his hands.

Jon can see Theon struggle against a few men, his curses muffled by a rag they shove in his mouth.

“Close your eyes, you should not have to see this.” You tell him. He ignores you, ripping his arm from your grip, but you move in front of him your hands on his chest, your strength is nothing compared to his, but the tears in your eyes stop him for a moment. “Please, Jon, he will kill you if you interfere.”

A whistling sound fills the air, then Lord Payne falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out his back. Another flies towards Joffrey and misses, clattering to the steps beside him. Chaos breaks out, people scream, arrows fly, the steps of the sept are tainted with blood.

His father gets to his feet, grabbing Ice, Theon rushing to him, a flash of Sansa’s red hair then Jon can no longer see them, the crowd closes in, and he hears a scream. It is you, he knows your scream, heard it time and time again in his nightmares. Jon turns on his heel, you should be right beside him, you are always right beside him, but now the space you always occupy is empty.

“Y/N!” He yells, scanning the crowd, hand on his pommel as the crowd surges against him.

“Jon!” Your voice comes from somewhere on his right, and he pushes through the crowd, catching sight of your gown. It is enough, and he presses on, a wolf stalking its prey, even as bodies crash into him, the sounds, and smells overwhelming, he follows you, elbowing and shoving others to get by, gaining ground until he is able to see you fully.

Some man has you, one he has never seen before, hooded, and cloaked, his arm around yours, a knife to your side as he drags you along.

You do not call out when you see him, smart girl, and he quickly overtakes the man, driving his sword through his back, the man freezing and sputtering, before collapsing as Jon pulls his blade out. This is the first life his blade has taken, and it is a righteous deed.

“Jon, oh gods, oh gods.” You sob, throwing your arms around his neck, your body trembling.

He wraps his arms around you, crushing you to his chest. “Seven Hells, y/n, are you hurt?”

You shake your head, jasmine perfume drowning out the scent of the city, of the crowd. “No, no, are you?”

“I am unharmed.” He assures you, releasing you only so he can pull back and examine you.

You are unharmed, roughed up, dirtied and scared, but there is no sign of injury. More screams, more people push past, and you look at him, tear rimmed eyes, large and fearful. “I want to go home.”

He is strong, stronger than Robb, than his father, and you weigh nothing compared to the barrels Lord Santagar makes him run with day after day, so he throws you over his shoulder.

You yelp at the sudden switch in gravity, clinging to him as he pushes through the crowd, his knuckles will be bruised and bloodied, but he cares not, he must get you to safety.

Jon does not put you down until you are safely inside the Red Keep, your father is there, in the throne room, as well as your grandsire, a surprise Jon is unsure whether is welcomed or not. Both men were not due to arrive from Casterly Rock for another fortnight.

“And here comes the White Wolf with my daughter slung over his shoulder like a Dothraki warlord.” Tyrion sighs.

Now on your feet but still clinging to Jon, you face your father. “He saved me, it is what he swore to do, I will not stand here and allow you to insult him.” Your words are weak, stained with tears, and you are still trembling, but they are earnest.

“Yes, yes, good job, Ser Jon.” Tyrion says, patting Jon’s hand.

“Thank you, My Lord.” He says, stunned and unsure. Where is his family, have they escaped? Been killed?

“Where is Sansa? Is she alright?” You ask, searching the room for her.

“The bitch has escaped, along with her traitor of a father, and that Greyjoy scum.” Joffrey’s voice rings out, as he sits down on the throne, the queen standing beside him, Lord Tywin going to flank her.

He is alone, alone in enemy territory, but at least his family have been able to escape. He sends a prayer to the old gods for their safety, then one for his own.

You smooth down your hair and craft your expression into one of disbelieving outrage. “My King, I am sorry. I never thought sweet Sansa would betray you.”

“She is a Stark, it is what they do, Ned Stark betrayed my father, and now his daughter betrays me.” Joffrey turns his eyes onto Jon, they are not like yours, no life lives within them, only death, sickly green and glowing with malice. “And what about your Stark, dear cousin, will he betray you?”

Jon shakes his head; he has seen you play this game with Joffrey enough times that he believes he knows what role he must play. “No, My King, I am a bastard, and sworn to Lady y/n, I hold my oath to her higher than that of my so-called blood.” It pains him to speak the words, to play this game, but he will have no chance of seeing his family, of seeing Arya, again if he’s dead.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz

[woso-fan13]

Sicktember 2023: 18 (USWNT)

“Wear Your Coat, You’ll Catch a Cold”

It’s funny, really, how a refusal to admit a minor mistake can change everything. Because you had gotten cold during the team walk, but you couldn’t admit that. Everyone had warned you that it was freezing out, but you had insisted that you were okay in just a sweatshirt. 

Christen had fussed at you as soon as you appeared in the lobby, “why are you in just a sweatshirt? Wear your coat, you’ll catch a cold.”

You instantly corrected her, saying that being cold doesn’t cause you to get sick. You did omit the fact that being cold can significantly increase your risk of getting sick, but she didn’t need to know that. You just protested, saying that you would be fine. 

And if only one person had said something, you may have admitted to needing a coat when you stepped outside. But almost every one of your teammates had stopped you, asking about your lack of a coat. You couldn’t admit to being cold now, you just had to pretend to be fine. 

Really, though, maybe none of this has anything to do with not wearing your jacket that day. Maybe everything would have still happened the exact same way if you had worn the heaviest jacket you could find. There was no way to know now. 

You were grateful that camp had ended the day after the fateful walk, as you were able to make it home and hide from your teammates before you got sick. It wasn’t bad in the beginning, a basic cold. 

But you couldn’t admit to being sick, and you couldn’t explain to your teammates that you had become deconditioned because you didn’t practice while you were sick, so you ignored it. You ignored it until your symptoms progressed so far that you couldn’t ignore it any further. 

You had, it appears, ignored your symptoms so well that you didn’t notice your cold turn into pneumonia. You also didn’t notice this infection leach into your bloodstream. You didn’t really notice anything until you were admitted to the hospital for septic shock. 

So you stayed, alone, fielding every form of communication from your teammates besides text messages. You couldn’t answer any calls or video messages, in case they notice your surroundings. You simply texted them updates as if everything were fine at home. 

Your teammates were unaware as your kidneys failed. They got a little mad that you hadn’t responded to any text messages, unaware that you were fighting for your life in the hospital. 

They only became aware when Christen’s cell phone rang in the middle of the night, an unknown number. She almost didn’t answer, but something in her gut told her it was important. 

It was. He was calling to inform her that your condition had progressed to the point of you needing to be intubated, and, as your medical contact, they needed her consent for various treatments because you were unable to. 

Christen was, ironically, shocked. She woke Tobin quickly, explaining what the voice over the phone had told her. And, only then, she allowed herself to cry. 

She cried for the little girl that she thought of as a daughter. She cried for the little girl who had made her a medical contact without her knowledge. She had cried for the little girl who felt too scared to tell her that she was the closest thing to family that she had. 

She cried for the little girl, alone in the hospital, machines keeping her body alive. 

And she cried when the earliest flight wasn’t for 3 hours. 

—-

The news spread quickly through the team, and, thus, through the whole NWSL. Within the hour, it seemed that everyone knew that the funny, constantly happy young player who had wormed her way into everyone’s hearts was currently in the hospital, her own heart working to keep her alive. 

6 hours- a quarter of a day- later, Christen and Tobin rushed into your hospital room. This time, it was Tobin who broke down, crying for her surrogate daughter. 

—-

And the only thing that the two could do was sit and wait and pray to whoever may be listening that you would be okay. 

This time, they had to wait 3 days until the next change, as the doctors began weaning you off of your sedation, seeing if you would wake up. 

This time, it was 6 days before your eyes were opened and you were breathing on your own. You were still very out of it, but the presence of the two women comforted you and allowed you to rest. 

One week after Christen received that awful phone call, she was making a different phone call. She held the phone steady as familiar faces joined the call, your teammates anxiously waiting for Christen to update them. 

One week after Christen received that awful phone call, she sat on the edge of the hospital bed and tilted her phone screen. 

One week after Christen received that awful phone call, she couldn’t help but smile as she watched the relief wash over her teammates when you appeared on the screen. 

You were awake and sitting up. You were smiling and talking and alive. 

Two weeks after Christen received that awful phone call, you were walking out of the hospital tucked between Christen and Tobin. Your coat was on and tightly zipped. 

[carlsdarling]

We need a 3 of no mercy please I beg of you

No Mercy Part III

Many requests for this 😊 The love-hate-story between Carl and Negan's daughter continues... Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, angst, abortion theme, unprotected sex

You had been back in the sanctuary for a few weeks now. After your period failed to start and the nausea continued, you panicked and took a count. Your periods had never been regular, but now you came to the conclusion that you hadn't bled in at least eight or nine weeks. The last time you had bled was before you had slept with Carl for the first time, that time behind the horse stables. Anyone who wasn't completely naive could have figured it out sooner: You were pregnant. You sat in your room and sobbed desperately. Under no circumstances must your father find out about it.

No, you could not have this baby. There was not even a doctor in the sanctuary since your father had burned the last one alive. In your distress, you sought out Amber, who - at least that was your assumption - knew about such things. "Amber, I'm pregnant," you said straightforwardly.

She looked at you with widened eyes. "It's not really true, is it? You're kidding."

"No, it's true." You burst into tears.

Amber quickly locked the door to her room. "Okay, and who's it from?"

"It's Carl's. Carl Grimes," you confessed, embarrassed.

"What!" exclaimed Amber in horror. "Oh my god, Y/N. Negan is going to flay you and Carl alive."

"He mustn't know, Amber, I can't have this baby!" Full of panic, you clutched her thin wrist. "What can I do?"

"How do you feel about Carl?" inquired Amber sympathetically. "Was it just a one-night stand, or...?"

It took you a long time to answer. "No, it was... more. I hated him like hell in the beginning," you said pensively. "We still had sex on and off, and it was great. But then... Carl is... he's so special. I think maybe I've grown to like him. A little bit, at least." Sheepishly, you played with the bed covers. "But it's not mutual, unfortunately," you then added sadly.

"Too bad," was all Amber said, "Carl's got guts, and he's handsome, too. It was very brave of him to break into the Sanctuary back then. He'll make a good leader someday." You had never thought of it that way - to you, Carl's action had just been stupid and careless. Now you realized that Amber was right and how courageous Carl was; even all the other times he had rebelled against Negan, even though Negan was much older and stronger than Carl was. He had never let your father intimidate him. Not even when Negan wanted Rick to cut off his arm. "Didn't you use any protection?"

"Well, sometimes not," you evaded, hiding from her that Carl's breeding kink had been part of your mutual attraction. You yourself had loved the feeling of him lavishly spilling his seed into you, and now you were receiving the reward. Somehow you had assumed that nothing would happen. Which had been stupid, of course.

„How long is it since your last period?“

"More than two months," you mumbled.

Amber took a deep breath. "That's too late for the morning-after pill. Way too late."

Frantically, you considered, "What other options are there?"

"Without a doctor? Hardly any, unless you want to die trying to get an abortion," Amber clarified to you relentlessly.

You cried again. "But there must be something! Herbs, something! Wait." An idea had occurred to you. You walked over to Amber's closet and pulled out a wire coathanger. "I saw this in a movie once. You have to help me."

"No, Y/N. Oh no. Forget it," Amber fought back. "You're going to bleed to death, and it's my fault."

"Like you just said, Amber. My father is going to kill me. Please," you pleaded.

She relented against her knowledge. "All right, same time tomorrow, here. Katya will be back soon. And I can't promise you it'll work, and it'll be painful as fuck." You nodded in embarrassment and fear. The danger of dying during an amateurishly performed abortion was real.

                                                           ***

You went back to your room and wept. You didn't want to abort Carl's baby, that was the truth. You constantly saw Carl's cute face in front of you, heard his mocking remarks, felt his hot breath on your skin. You were dreaming of him. You were longing for him. You might as well admit it to yourself: You loved Carl Grimes, and you missed him sorely. And now you were carrying his child, and that couldn't be. You'd probably never see each other again, and either way Carl wouldn't want a baby with you, let alone a relationship.

But everything turned out differently than planned. When you went to dress yourself the next morning, your father burst into your room without knocking as you stood there in your underwear. Horrified, you stared at him, unable to cover yourself. Negan's gaze immediately captured your swollen breasts and ever so slightly bulging belly. His eyebrows rose, then he averted his eyes in bewilderment. "Come to my office immediately when you are dressed," he ordered expressionlessly.

You were standing in front of him with a palpitating heart. "Whose is it?" he demanded to know harshly. "It can only have happened in Alexandria, you are already starting to show, and you were vomiting on the ride over here." Angrily, he marched back and forth.

"It... it's from Carl," you said in a low voice.

Your father eyed you, stunned. "Please what?" he then shouted. "You were spreading your legs for the future serial killer? Unbelievable," he laughed bitterly.

"No, it wasn't like that, it..."

"What do you mean? Did he rape you?" he asked lurkingly.

"No!" you said firmly. If Negan believed that, he wouldn't rest until he had killed Carl. "No. It was... consensual." Your face reddened.

„Fuck it“, Negan ruffled his hair, perplexed. "Get your bag and come along," he then ordered, grabbing your arm and dragging you outside. There he gestured for you to get in the car.

"But what..." you started.

"We're driving to Alexandria," Negan announced grimly. "Let's see what fucking Carl Grimes has to say about this. And Rick, under whose roof you've been living." The ride passed in silence, except that once again you felt nauseous. You were tense and anxious, unable to gauge what your father was up to and how things would proceed. Finally, the Alexandria gate appeared in front of you; the guards immediately got into position when they recognized Negan. He got out and raised his hands in the air. "I want to talk to Rick," he demanded. "You see, I'm not armed." It wasn't long before Rosita and Daryl escorted you both to Rick's house. You hadn't seen Carl in so long, your heart pounded excitedly and somehow you felt an anxious anticipation mixed with fear.

Rick gazed open-mouthed at you and asked you into the kitchen in a reserved manner. "I thought we had everything settled for now," he said icily to Negan. "So why are you stalking us again?"

"Well, it's not my fault," Negan replied aggressively. At that moment, Carl entered the kitchen, closely followed by Enid. They held hands, and you quickly looked down at the floor. You never thought it would hurt so much, although you should have expected him to find another girl. He probably loved Enid - he had never loved you. Carl looked from one to the other in surprise.

"I don't understand," Rick said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Well, it's about Y/N and Carl," Negan replied with a cutting tone. "I assumed Y/N was safe under your roof! You personally guaranteed her safety!“

Rick began to look more and more confused. To him, you seemed to be in good health; a little pale, perhaps. "Enid, go home. Carl, you stay here," he then ordered in a bossy voice. Enid kissed Carl goodbye and disappeared with her head down. "Now speak up," he then turned to Negan. "Will you stop talking in riddles?" You and Carl exchanged a cautious, uncertain look.

"These two here got it going!" accused Negan at him. "Carl fucked my daughter. In your house, Rick! Don't tell me you didn't notice!"

Rick was scratching his head, perplexed and surprised. "I actually didn't, you'll have to take my word for that, Negan," he then muttered. "I just noticed that they liked each other - even if they denied it. But what the hell, they're teenagers, it's only normal for them to engage in sexual experiences, you can't help it, and..."

"Y/N is pregnant!" yelled Negan. "Your scumbag of a son made her a baby!"

Now Rick was left speechless, and Carl looked completely shocked, while you started crying miserably. No one wanted this baby but you, and everyone saw you and the pregnancy as a problem, an inconvenience. Rick grabbed Carl's wrist. "Carl! Is this true?" he asked sharply.

Carl widened his eye, overwhelmed. "I, uhm, well... it's true, we had sex." His cheeks were bright red with bashfulness.

"And did you use protection, yes or no?" barked Rick angrily, while Negan watched the whole thing with his eyebrows furrowed.

Meanwhile, Michonne entered the kitchen. "What's going on?" she wanted to know in wonder. "What's he doing here?" Accusingly, she pointed at Negan.

Rick paid no attention to her, he focused on Carl. "Yes or no, Carl?" he insisted.

"No," the latter admitted sheepishly, looking down at his shoes.

"You've got to be kidding me," Rick groaned, letting go of Carl and sinking into a chair, cradling his face in his hands. "Carl and Y/N slept with each other without using protection, and now Y/N is pregnant," he informed Michonne. "Carl, are you fucking nuts?" he then hissed in anger. "We did give you the talk on time, didn't we?"

"Now don't all pick on Carl," you timidly spoke up. "It's just as much my fault."

"Yes, indeed, it is!" your father snapped at you. "Are you too dumb to know about condoms?"

"I didn't think you'd be so irresponsible and stupid," Rick stated, shaking his head, looking at you and Carl in disbelief.

"Stop arguing now," Michonne intervened. "That's pointless. What's more important is how to proceed. How far along are you, Y/N?"

"I don't know," you said shyly. "Maybe by the tenth week?"

"We could ask Denise if abortion is still an option," Rick reasoned.

"And take the risk that Y/N won't survive it? Your Denise is not a surgeon," Negan objected. Carl remained silent.

"Y/N, what do you want? And Carl, what do you say?" Michonne looked from one to the other. "You both made this baby, after all."

"I... would it be possible for me to talk to Y/N alone?" asked Carl hesitantly. Your hands grew sweaty with stress.

Rick and Negan looked at each other. "Alright," Negan then conceded suspiciously. "But only where I can keep an eye on you guys."

The two of you went outside and stopped in front of each other not far from the kitchen window. "Ummm... so you're pregnant," Carl noted uneasily, nibbling his fingernails. So now was the time he would tell you that he felt nothing for you - nothing positive, anyway - that his heart belonged to Enid and he wanted nothing to do with the baby.

You tried not to cry as you said, "Yes. And before you start doubting it, yes, it's yours, Carl!" you added, hurt. "I have not been with anybody else but you."

He looked at you in amazement. "I know," he said, touching your cheek lightly. "I... I thought about you a lot when you were gone," he then explained, suddenly looking deep into your eyes. "Y/N, I know you don't feel the same way, but I missed you," he said softly.

"And... and Enid?" you asked in a squeaky voice.

Carl sighed. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he said unhappily. "Enid's awesome, but... I simply can't forget you."

"Carl, I like you," you blurted out, starting to sob after all. "I like you a lot, in fact."

He smiled delightedly. Carefully, he took your hands. "Could you imagine being with me? That we'd have the baby together?" You nodded tearfully. "Then come on, we'll tell them."

"You guys want to do what?" exclaimed Rick.

"We want to be together," Carl confirmed. "In fact, we like each other. I'm going to break up with Enid, and I'm going to take care of my kid."

Michonne, Rick and Negan looked at each other, wordless and baffled. Negan was the first to regain his composure. "All right, you're both coming with me to the Sanctuary then," he decided.

"That's out of the question," Rick immediately objected.

"We don't even have a doctor," you said reproachfully to your father. "And I want to stay here with Carl." Negan shook his head stubbornly. "We're not coming with you," you said petulantly.

"Y/N needs medical attention," Michonne pointed out.

Negan pondered. "All right," he finally relented. "Actually, I don't want the future serial killer in Sanctuary either," he growled with a sideways glance at Carl, who was nervously fiddling with his flannel shirt. "He's just stirring everyone up. But for now, just until Y/N gives birth. Then we'll see." Carl and you fell into each other's arms relieved.

                                                           **

Later in Carl's room, you finally gave in to your desire for each other and embraced. Carl stared raptly at the tiny bulge of your belly. "It's hard to believe you're really pregnant by me," he said astounded, touching your belly.

"Did you fuck Enid?" you wanted to know. The thought of it hurted you.

"Let's not talk about Enid," Carl dodged the question and kissed you again. "I'll talk to her first thing tomorrow. I hope she understands."

And I hope it doesn't turn out that Enid is also expecting now, you thought darkly.

"Carl, if... if we have sex now like we always do, it could harm the baby," you remarked fearfully.

He gave you a naughty grin. "Also, even though we're both into hard sex, we can do it gently for a while," he suggested. You kissed and moved to the bed, where you slowly undressed and caressed each other. Carl looked at you lovingly. "I've missed you so much," he whispered, as he lay carefully on top of you.

You couldn't wait to feel him inside you. "I missed you too," you said, spreading your legs for him. „I want you so badly, Carl.“

"Yeah, I can tell," Carl teased you, "You're soaking my entire bed right now." He propped himself up on his elbows and tenderly penetrated you, looking deep into your eyes while slowly pounding in you.

You arched your back in delight as he eagerly thrusted into you. "Oh, Carl," you breathed into his ear. "It's so good." Carl looked down to see his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, all slick with your moisture and his precum. It was an incredibly arousing sight. He unfolded your labia with his index finger and changed his position slightly, so that his pelvis rubbed against your clit, driving you completely insane. "Carl," you whimpered, kissing his neck and ear. "Faster, please," you gasped, and Carl increased his pace until he was ramming his cock into you fiercely and you cried out as you cum and reared up under him, wrapping your legs around him.

Carl gave you two more orgasms so that you were just a quivering, begging mess, then he moaned loudly. "I'm cumming," he sighed, and his cum filled you warmly, there was so much that it immediately leaked out of you again, staining the already wet and sticky sheets.

You lay together relaxing and stroking each other. Carl's heart was beating a fast rhythm, and you remembered the day when you feared he was dead. "I was really afraid then that you were dead or turned," you said softly. "I couldn't have stand it."

"And I thought you really hated me and didn't reciprocrate my feelings," he admitted. "Yet I was already in love with you. I couldn't admit it, though." He smiled wryly.

"Carl?" you asked after a while, as you lay snuggled together, enjoying your intimacy and being so close to each other.

"Huh?" he replied sleepily.

"May I see your eye?"

He sat up, suddenly appearing to be tense. "Um... why?" he hesitated.

"Well, now that we live together and everything... you don't have to hide it from me anymore," you said softly. „It's certainly not good for the scar if you keep it bandaged at night, just because you're shy in front of me.“

With shaky fingers, Carl fiddled with the bandage, then dropped his hands again. "Y/N? Please, don't say anything spiteful about it," he pleaded. "Whether you really mean it or not, I don't care. Just don't do it." You had never before seen Carl so vulnerable. "I know it looks gross."

You hugged him tightly; you wanted him to feel safe with you. "Carl, it doesn't matter. I don't care what it looks like. It’s ok." He precariously took off the bandage without glancing at you. Well, it wasn't the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen, but it was part of him, and you didn't mind. You would soon get used to the sight, and then it would just be normal. Not beautiful, not hideous, just normal.

"It... it looks nasty, doesn't it?" he asked anxiously.

"It does look bad ass," you said honestly. "But seriously, I don't give a fuck, and I don't think it's ugly. I love you, Carl.“ You pressed your smooth cheek against his right, maimed one.

He hugged you back with relief. "I love you too, Y/N." His lips touched yours.

___

Taglist:

@genshinsbiggestsimp

[miguelswifey04]

What if bubbly!reader passes away but Miguel still has to go to work but breaks down every few hours because he’s reminded of of something she did like bring him lunch or go hang out and cuddle with him while he worked and Peter b and everyone else helps comfort him yet that still reminds him of reader

you’re gonna make me break my own heart 😕 actually this gonna be the first time i write a death of a character, so let’s get into it 💔💔

miguel o’hara x bubbly! reader

warnings: reader’s death; angst

just like the wind comes and goes, you left behind a precious family, your friends, your loved ones, and miguel. you were a ray of sunshine for miguel’s darkest hours now his darkest hours had turned into his darkest days where you were no longer around to keep him going. if you are gone how is miguel supposed to live? how is he supposed to move on?

miguel had lost every little thing he could not hold onto, including you. what were you supposed to do when someone you truly loved dies? was miguel supposed to cope? was miguel to pretend to keep it going even if you weren’t by his side cheering him on and being supportive? these were the kind of questions everyone thought when they saw a melancholic miguel. a part of him died that day when you slipped away through his fingers. he couldn’t save you just like he couldn’t save his own daughter. now, surely that’ll eat him alive—his own heartbreak would be his own cause of death.

everywhere miguel goes, every smell and every thought connected to a song reminds him of you. no matter how hard he tries to be himself, no matter how hard he tries to cope—he cannot be the same person he was when you were alive, as if he can never be the same again. he tries to carry the burdens of the world on his shoulders but he finds himself cracking at the seams. he breaks down as he reminisces on the memories of you. the way you shined so brightly like a star high in the sky…or the way your smiled so big that made his heart ache that he can no longer appreciate that. the simple acts of kindness from yours truly, like you bringing him lunch or proving him that comfort and love he needed. the way you reassured him that he would never be alone.

“miguel, as long as you have me you’ll never be alone..i promise i won’t ever leave you..”

words were left empty, and promises left unfulfilled. how dare you slip away and not stay by his side, and grow old together…how dare the universe punish miguel when he himself is trying to save it..

“i love you so much, and you’re such a hardworking man. please never feel as if you have to shoulder these burdens alone. your burdens are mine to share.”

the pain had become unbearable. and it had become difficult for miguel to find solace in his daily routine. peter b and the others, observe miguel’s struggles and offer him support in their own ways.

“hey miguel? i’m sorry about them..i know how much they meant to you.” the same sentence gutted miguel and ripped his heart to shreds. they’d offer listening ears and comforting words, even sharing their own stories and memories of you. while their efforts bring miguel some comfort, they also intensify his grief, as they serve as constant reminders of the one he lost.

though time slowly passes, miguel has seemed to forgot the memories of your face..it’s not longer etched in his mind, and the way your voice sounded was now just but a distant memory. maybe, it was for the best for miguel to forgot about you and move on. maybe just maybe it may have been what you wanted. now, you’re a soul lingering in the vast universe with no memory of what your last life was, and maybe in another universe you could have had your happily ever after with miguel.

-yours truly

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @meeom @sabcandoit @emiemiemiii @obi-mom-kenobi

[thelovelylolly]

Hi first of all i hope youre doing okay, wel best as you can be and i give you my condoleance 💗 please take care of yourself and don't feel obligated to anything.

Tw: school shooting

I was wondering (for when you maybe feel like writing again) You could write Frank Castle x teen reader where she's maybe like his daughter figure (like amy) and he's out doing vigilante shit while she's in school and gets a text from her saying just " i love you" but there is a school shooting and she's shot and just full on panic for context i was in a school shooting a year or two back and got shot luckly the police and ambulance came shortly after but i just wish i had someone like Frank to calm me down or come save me 😅💗

If you dont wanna write this or feel comfortable because of this request my apologies im so sorry just ignore it if that s the case.

I hope you have a great day and thanks for reading anyway.

I've Got You

Summary : During a vigilante job, Frank gets a text from you and he knows something's wrong. He soon finds out what happened and was there for you. Warnings : *please dont read this if any of this makes you uncomfortable, do whats best for you and your mental health!!* mentions of a shooting, injuries, and death. heavy angst, hurt/comfort, fem reader (daughter figure) Notes : thank you for your kind words love <3 im so sorry youve had to go through something like that, no one deserves to go through that, but im happy youre here :) thank you for your request and i hope i did your idea justice <3

'I love you.'

Frank never knew three words from a text could scare him so much. The three words he had said to you when he came to terms with you becoming a daughter to him. The three words you two rarely had to say to each other since you showed your love for each other in different ways.

The three words you said on a whim before going to school that morning, because it felt right and you had a gut feeling to say it.

But now, Frank was terrified. You usually sent texts with all lowercase letter, with little to no punctuation, with acronyms and sayings that he didn't get.

He was in the middle of a stake out when his phone pinged. He quickly ditched his job and hopped in his truck, speeding towards your school and trying to text you at the same time.

'What's going on?'

'Text me back'

'Call me'

'Do something to let me know you're okay'

His stopped texting after a minute and tuned his radio to the police's frequency, a trick he needed for his jobs.

"Shots fired at the high school, two squads already on the scene-"

Shots fired.

Those two words echoed through Frank's mind, drowning out whatever the dispatcher was saying. He had heard those words millions of times between his marine years and his vigilante time, but this time was different. You were in danger and Frank wasn't there with you, ready to put himself between you and whatever threatened you.

Frank was still blocks away when he heard the dispatcher say, "students are starting to be escorted out, threat is cornered in the gym."

Frank took a deep breath. You could be outside already, waiting for him. He could see you clinging to your friends, all of you relieved to be alive. He could see you talking to whatever authority figure would talk to you, asking them if everyone was okay and who was still inside. You were very compassionate, ready to put yourself in danger to help others.

Something you picked up from Frank.

Minutes later, Frank pulled up to your school. He saw ambulances and many cop cars parked in front and around the sides. He usually would stay away from the cops, but he didn't care. He needed to see you alive and safe.

He parked his truck and quickly got out, jogging over to the crowd of crying students, teachers and parents. He scanned the crowd for you, but he didn't spot you. What if you weren't out yet? Were you still stuck inside? Were you hurt and couldn't get out?

What if he was too late?

"Can I borrow your phone to call my dad? I just want him to know I'm okay."

He heard your voice and spun around, his eyes immediately locking onto you. You were sitting in the back of an ambulance, talking to the first responder inside with you. You were holding your side and your leg was bouncing up and down quickly, a nervous habit of yours.

Frank called out your name and started towards you. You looked over at him and quickly got out of the ambulance, wincing slightly when you hit the ground. You jogged over to Frank, letting yourself break the dam of tears you had been holding back.

The moment Frank's arms wrapped around you, holding you as close as possible, you let a sob rack your body. You were too tired to hug him back, letting yourself sob in his arms. He started to rub soothing circles on your back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. I've got you, I'm here."

His words made you cry more and wrap your arms around him, holding him tight to make sure he's real.

You were terrified and had no idea if you were going to see him again. You texted him 'I love you' to make sure he knew just in case, then you shut it off so it wouldn't light up or make noise. You then dropped your phone as you were running out of the building.

Frank pulled away from you, looking at you and wiping your tears away.

"I thought I lost you, kid. I-I thought you were still inside," he said, choking up a bit. He glanced down to your side, seeing the bandages wrapped around your stomach. "What happened?

You followed his gaze down, sniveling a bit as you took a deep breath. "I g-got hit, but th-they said it wasn't bad. I g-guess I got lucky."

Frank wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to kiss your forehead.

"I love you," you murmured.

"I love you, too, kid," he replied, leading you to his truck.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Fairytales - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx soliloquizes.

Or philosophizes.

Or something.

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"Perfect," she mutters. "That's what he says."

Except it's not about her. Well, yeah. It is about her. But it's really about Silco. His hopeless, relentless, bottomless thirst to win. To prove the world wrong. To show them all. He's always been the man with the big plan, and the empty pockets. He's come up the hard way, only to have Topside's snobs laugh him off the block. He's never been enough, never had enough, and the fierceness of it, that low-down burning grudge in the pit of his gut, has fed him like nothing else.

It's become his sustenance. His lifeblood. The heart of Zaun's revolution.

Jinx knows Silco's story. She was there for every page.

Same way she knows Vi's story. The girl with too much on her shoulders, who carried her burdens till they broke her, and left her better self to rot in a cell. Same way she knows Vander's story, the man who gave too much, and lost too many. Same way she knows Claggor's story, and Mylo's, and all the rest whose deaths were as quick as their lives were short.

And Ekko, who's still alive. Alive and kicking.

And that, Jinx thinks, is the kicker.

The Boy Savior's lost his way. And—boo hoo—it's all because of her. She's the one who let the Big Bad Wolf inside their home. And with a huff and a puff, he blew their world down. Never mind that it was made of sticks, and sticks are for burning. Never mind that Little Blue Riding Hood was only playing with matches, and the world had been waiting, hungry, to go up in smoke. Never mind that, if she hadn't gone a-knocking, the Big Bad Wolf would have, and the whole place would have burned anyway.

Silco was always gonna get what he wanted, come hell or high water. And in the end, hell won, and the high waters rose, and they all drowned. Burned.

Boom.

Jinx nearly laughs, but stops. It tastes too stoppered-up with salt, and she's not here to cry. Since the Deadlands, she doesn't have a single tear left for them.

Not a single drop.

"In fairytales," she tells Billy, "tears are magic."

Billy's head tilts, listening. He understands nothing. But he's a good listener.

"But fairytales—they're all warnings, see? Tales of what happens when girls do bad things. Like not listening when your big sister says 'Stay at home.' Like not running when the brave boy says 'Come with me.' Like not screaming when the wolf opens his big, bloody maw, and says, 'Dinnertime.'" A clammy shiver flutters over her skin. "You're not supposed to get happy endings when you break the rules. You're supposed to die. Just like the monsters."

Because that's what bad girls are. Monsters in marzipan shells. Hungry to break out; born to be slain. That's the way fairytales work, too. If you're a good girl, you get a happy ending. If you're a bad girl, you get a dead end. 

There's no other way, and if there was, someone would've written it by now.

But this is Zaun. And no one writes fairytales here. The story's lived, not written. It's passed down from generation to generation. Mother to son. Father to daughter. Sister to sister. That's why Jinx knows Silco's story. Why she knows Vi's, and Vander's. And every story she's ever heard, true or not.

That's how the city lives. How it survives. Through living and suffering and dying, and having others remember, so there's always someone to tell the tale.

To never forget.

Jinx, though? Jinx has already died. Died, and come back. Destroyed, beheaded, cried; destroyed, deadheaded, survived. A phoenix, Silco calls her. Born the bones of her enemies, and destined to rule over a city reborn. 

That's pure Silly talk, though. Him and his Silcoisms. He could fill a whole book. A heavy tome, penned by the man himself. She'd read it, cover to cover. Hell, maybe she'd have a starring role!

The Blue Herring. The Chekhov's Loaded Gun. The Unjinxed Jinx.

She nods. "Yeah. I'd be in Silly's book."

Billy chirps. He's a curious little thing. He'd make a great detective, if he was less bird-brained.

"I'd be the heroine. Well—the anti-heroine. One of those film noir dames. The—the—" She snaps her fingers. "—the femme fatale. Yeah. Silco loooooves a good femme fatale. Says they're the ones who write history. With their wiles and wits and weapons hidden in naughty places. And they've got a whole lotta naughty places." She tips Billy a wink. "Get it?"

Billy's beady eye slits. The little prude.

"I'd be his muse," she goes on, "and he'd name a cocktail after me. A strong drink, with a bite. And he'd call it: Blue Lightning. Or maybe Pink Suckerpunch. Or, no, no! Jinx. Just Jinx." She giggles, and Billy squawks in scandal. "And he'd tell the bartender: A tall cool Jinx, Chuck, with a cherry on top. And he'd sip, and make a solo toast, and say: Here's to lookin' at you, kid. And I'd be a portrait on his wall. A big one. I'd be in a slinky gown. Something glammed-up and glittery. And my hair, all curled. And my face, all made up." She sweeps her short hair up over her head in mimicry of a lush chignon, sucking in her cheeks and pouting her lips. "And then there'd be a flashback. And the room would go smoky, and full of music, and there'd be a spotlight shining down on me. And I'd have a cigarette in one hand, and a gun in the other. And then I'd turn around, and shoot the cameraman."

She doubles over with laughter. Billy is less impressed.

Crows are many things. Comedians, they ain't.

"That'd be the last shot. Of the film. Get it? Because I'd shoot him!" Wiping her eyes, she grins. "The femme fatale with firepower. That's me. Waaaay better than a fairytale. Silco says so, too. He says the femmes Haunt the narrative. That's one of his words, too. Narrative. It's all about how you tell the story. Who gets to tell it, and what they've got to say." She juts her chin at Piltover's skyline, all glitz and glory. "Topside's stories? They're all the same." Her tone deepens: the bombast of a newsreel narrator. "'Piltover! Home to the Hexgates, the marvel of the century. An endless horizon of progress.'" She blows a raspberry. "Blah, blah, blah. Their story's just: Look how shiny we are. And how rich. And how pretty. What? That dark sooty hole down there? It's just the dirt. Ignore it. It's not real."

And just like that, the anger comes, bubbling up like lava. Her jaw grits.

"Their stories aren't real. They're lies. As hollow as their hearts. Hollow as fairytales. And fairytales, they're only stories for kids. Keep 'em soft, and sweet, and dumb. The real stories—the hard truth—they're down here. In Zaun. We're the city of dreams. Not Piltover. Because we know what it takes to make our dreams come true."

Not a wish upon a star. A fist to the jaw, and a knife in the back, and a graveyard's worth of corpses.

Vi couldn't see that. She took one look at Zaun's acid-green skies and thought, Who would want to live here? And that's all it took for her to turn her back. She chose Piltover, where her fists have no place, and her spine is a straight arrow, and her voice is a muted murmur. Where her story is:  Yes ma'am. No sir. I'm a good girl. I know my place.

She'd rather have a boot on her neck than live free.  Rather make kissy-kissy with a Piltie princess than fight for what's hers. What's theirs. What's all of Zaun's.

The place Jinx was born to defend.

And Ekko?

He's a turncoat, too. Just a different stripe. Like Vi, he fell for the fairytales. Instead of fighting, he flew off to Neverland. No Boy Savior, but a regular Peter Pan. He saw a little girl, and thought: Save her. He saw the Big Bad Wolf, and thought: Slay him. It never occurred to him that the Big Bad Wolf had a history, and a heart, just like hers. Never occurred to him that the little girl was a witch, a weapon, a walking timebomb.

Never occurred to him that maybe she liked being bad. Being blue.

Being Jinx.

"A gal's got a right to choose," Jinx tells Billy. "That's what Zaun's about."

Free will, not fairytales. No rules but the ones you break. No chains but the bling you flash. You can be anything. Be anybody. And if that means cutting a throat or two along the way, so be it. That's survival, baby.

Silco understands that. He understands her. He took Powder by the hand, and said: Your choices don't make you. You make your choices.  And: You, too, can change the world. And: You, too, can be more than you think

Be bigger. Better. Be the best.

Be my perfect girl.

Be Jinx.

Jinx knows Silco's story. And Silco knows Jinx's. Vi wrote the first chapter. But Silco's the one who rewrote the ending. Who gave her a new page, and a second chance.

A perfect beginning.

Jinx gusts a gloomy sigh.

"Perfect," she repeats, softer. "That's me."

She scritches Billy's skull. He thrums like a little engine.

"But sometimes I want to ask him..."

Her caress falters.

"Ask him..."

Billy opens his eyes. Red and black and déjà vu.

"I know," she whispers. "Stupid question. If I was just even a liiiiiittle less perfect: poof. It's curtains."

So: perfect.

Because Zaun needs her. Because she needs Zaun.

Because Silco needs both.

[creedslove]

Oi Mari, tudo bem? Quando li o que você escreveu envolvendo o Joel e a esposa dele se reencontrando um tempo depois, eu pensei em algo tipo: ele procurando por ela no cenário caótico e aí ele a encontra (não sei quanto tempo depois) mas ela sofreu uma queda que a deixou com amnésia, não lembra dele e ele precisa reconquistar a reader de novo? Ai já imagino esse homem fantástico de banho tomado e cabelo penteado dançando com ela uma música e contando que foi a música do casamento deles. (fique à vontade pra me ignorar, acabei de tomar 500ml de açaí ESTOU AGITADA)

Post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

"(...)I've been thinking about Joel looking for his wife in that chaotic scenario, he finds her but she fell down and now is suffering from amnesia and can't remember him, so he needs to win her back? I can already imagine that man, showered, combed haired and dancing with her to a song and telling her it was their wedding song..."

• KINDA LIKE A PART TWO OF THIS REQUEST HERE

A/N: amiga, vc quase me matou com essa ideia, é simplesmente perfeita ❤️ eu sou mais da versão sem outbreak do Joel, mas essa sua ideia me cativou demais... E não se preocupe sobre só açaí, eu tomei um milkshake ontem de 500ml e até agora tô sentindo os efeitos 🤣

• it was such a bitter sweet feeling for Joel when he found you. On one hand you were alive, you managed to survive after all those years the world had gone to shit, of course you were strong, but he was so used to losing the ones he loved, he assumed you were gone like everyone else too

• but you were there, alive, well, a few scratches and scars here and there but overall you were alright, and looking just we beautiful to him as the last time he'd seen you

• there was just one problem: the doctors in Jackson advised him you had memory loss, they didn't know what was the extent without being able to perform exams, they assumed either your memory would be back some time or it wouldn't

• and of course Joel was relieved and happy to know you were alive and well, but it gutted him to see you didn't remember him, no matter how many times he tried approaching you and talking to you, you would just be confused

• you were even a little afraid of him at first, he was a big, rough guy and for whatever reason he kept following you all over, which made you slightly afraid

• eventually you calmed down, but you didn't understand why he was after you, he was so sweet and kind, which was the total opposite of how he treated other people in town, you'd already noticed it

• he even asked you out for drinks, you'd said no at first, but then you changed your mind and decided to give it a try, maybe it would be nice

• Joel was so sweet all the time, you had heard from many people how he didn't talk much about, well... Anything, and yet there he was, telling him all about his life before the outbreak, about the beautiful wife he had, and the amazing daughter he lost and how good his life was

• you didn't know exactly what it was, but you felt low-key jealous of him, because you wanted to have lived a life like that, and even if what he had told you sounded somewhat familiar, you couldn't actually remember anything from your past

• and there was the fact he was able to order exactly what you loved: the drinks, the beer, the appetizers... Everything

• normally, you would get pissed off at a guy ordering things for you, but not Joel, he made you feel safe, as if he knew you

• and maybe you'd met him before?! You knew your head wasn't the same after you had a real bad fall from the horse during patrol, but where would it be from?

• when you looked at him, it was like your heart raced and you felt something for him... Of course it could be a crush, even if Joel was a middle-aged man, he was still very handsome and he dragged a lot of attention from the women in Jackson

• but it was like something more, as if you knew him, as if you had loved him once...

"you must've really love your wife... I'm sorry you lost her too"

• you told him, caressing his hand gently, hoping the touch wouldn't be too inappropriate

• but he took your smaller hand into his big one and caressed it softly, smiling at you

"I haven't lost her, she just needs to remember me.."

• then he leaned forward and tried kissing you, but you took a step back, a little weirded out but you caressed his cheek gently, and Joel leaned towards your touch even more

• the next day, he asked you to come visit him at his place, he had managed to ditch Ellie somewhere as he was going to try something after he borrowed Tommy's old radio and managed to find a CD that had exactly the song he needed

• he showered, for a long while, wanting to look spotless clean for you, he combed his hair back and though he couldn't change his grays or his lines, he tried finding some clothes that looked as similar as the ones he wore the day he married you

• you walked inside and the record was already playing, being welcomed by a very well-groomed Joel, who took your hand and asked you to dance with him

• that was weird but there was also something so familiar, so sweet in it and you couldn't simply say no, you took a step closer and let his arm fall on your waist, pulling you closer, feeling as if you knew the steps even if you didn't

"we danced to this song... At our wedding, many years ago, when life was good and the world hadn't ended, when you were my bride and I was your husband and we had a beautiful daughter together... I know it's been ages, but I'd like you to remember, because having you by my side makes everything a little less shitty, you know?"

• your eyes watered at his beautiful words and at that and you had the impression of remembering a younger Joel, sweet smile holding you closer

• you kissed his lips, feeling how good they felt, how they felt like something you'd forgotten for a long time: love

• but there it was again, your love for him and his love for you

"I don't remember everything, be patient with me Joel, please..."

"I'll always wait for you, darling, until my last breath. I love you, always have, and always will"

____

[floralseokjin]

⤑ 9 months to fall in love 19.

It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.

Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.

Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…

pairing; kim seokjin x f reader au/genre; unplanned pregnancy, strangers to lovers, slow burn, romance (dare I say romcom in places), smut, angst, (melo)drama, dual pov words; 5,786

warnings/includes (!) a name is chosen for Globby! plenty of cute and sweet moments, the fluff cannot be contained!! there’s a dinner party filled with (comical) tension and jabs (guess who), Jungkook has a…girlfriend?! Namjoon’s mystery woman is revealed 😘 

⟶ ao3 link

*inspired by the manhwa ‘Positively Yours.’

↪︎ series index

SEASON THREE ⇤ previous | next ⇥

Within the week you’d found a house you both loved. A week. 

You didn’t even know that was possible, and at first, it had seemed anything but. Using the realtor Seokjin had a few years ago, she was given the very simple brief ‘cosy family home.’ You and Seokjin weren’t fussy. As long as the house was in a convenient location – and had enough room for his games room, his and her offices, and your Beauty and the Beast library (ha ha) – you truly had no expectations. Or so you thought. 

You had lived in the same house all your life, this was all brand new for you, and it turned out you had lots of expectations. The first evening, all three houses you looked around fell flat. Each one felt bigger, colder, lonelier. You didn’t want a showroom, which was fast becoming the theme. None of these homes were cosy, or at least, not to you. Seokjin wasn’t feeling them either, kind-heartedly repeating the property brief to your realtor once again before you said goodbye, hoping to gently prompt her in the right direction. 

The second evening was better. The houses weren’t as intimidating, definitely cosier, but neither house you saw felt like ‘the one.’ You didn’t know when that had become your No.1 need, taken by surprise, but you couldn’t just choose a house like it was no big deal. You wanted to feel something. You wanted this to be your forever home. The home your child would grow up and live her life in until it was time to fly the nest like you were doing right now. It didn’t matter that your mom was no longer alive. You were still leaving home. 

You discussed your feelings with Seokjin that night and he agreed. You shouldn’t do this half-heartedly. Even if it took longer, even if it took months, even if your daughter was born in the meantime. You’d work it out, you’d stay at your place – you, him and Glob, until you found the perfect home. You didn’t want that to be the case, but logically it made sense. You shouldn’t rush or force things. If there wasn’t a house that was screaming out at you, then you shouldn’t settle for less. 

On the third day, Namjoon kindly let you take a half day, so you could spend the afternoon continuing your hunt, but it wasn’t exactly surprising that you felt pretty much the opposite of positive. Maybe you were being too difficult, you told yourself, expecting too much. But when it came to Seokjin and your daughter, when it came to your life, there was no such thing. You wanted that indescribable dream home, even if it didn’t exist. No, that was not the attitude to have. It did exist. It was out there, and you were going to find it. 

You found it straight away that afternoon – or rather, Binna your realtor, found it. She was in charge after all, and bless her talent for reading people’s minds. The past five houses she’d shown you around? They were long forgotten, they no longer existed. There was only this one. This perfect, dreamlike home. It was smaller than the others you’d viewed previously, more homely feeling. You hadn’t even seen inside, but it didn’t seem to matter. You just had That Feeling, and That Feeling only amplified when you walked through the front door. It had everything you wanted and more. Two living rooms, a utility room(!), a separate kitchen and dining room, enough rooms for your offices and library, THREE bathrooms, one an ensuite in the main bedroom, and two extra bedrooms for guests and…another future child…maybe…possibly. Okay, maybe this house was deceiving, much bigger than it looked. 

You didn’t need to worry about Seokjin not being on board. If he wasn’t sold the moment he heard there was a basement. (“This will make thee most perfect games room!”), the massive garden well and truly did it. He had big plans for that. This is it, he beamed, thrumming with excitement in time with you. This is the one. Let’s make an offer right now! It was in a lovely neighbourhood too. Private, quiet, and the house was detached. You wanted, no, you needed this house, so much so, you didn’t let the price send you into hysteria. Glob needed this house. You immediately started praying to a higher power, crossing every limb, finger and toe. Please, please, please, let us get this house. 

During previous discussions, you’d both decided to sell your properties after Glob was born, to make the last couple months of your pregnancy as smooth sailing as possible. It made sense, and gratefully, you were privileged enough to do so. Seokjin had the funds, and by attachment, so did you. As you were cash buyers, you were chain free, which greatly sped up the process. It was an inherited property too, so things were even more straight forward. The owner practically jumped down your throats when they heard they had a cash offer. Seokjin was eager to close the deal and move in as soon as possible, you both were, considering you didn’t have very long left. In an ideal world, you wanted to be in and settled before Glob decided to make her appearance. You were on a rather tight deadline, but at the end of the day it would be reckless to try and cut corners. Thankfully, luck was on your side, and everything processed quickly and without a hitch. 

A little over a month on from your decision to live together, suffering from a mild case of mental whiplash, it was moving day. 

It wasn’t the most desirable thing to be doing at 8 months pregnant, but you’d had friends and family to help you pack up, removal men to help you move in, and Seokjin to lean on and be your emotional support. Leaving your mom’s house was hard. It wasn’t even truly the end yet, you still owned it for the time being, still had a little longer to let go, but it didn’t stop you from blubbering all morning. Seeing your house look so empty broke your heart a little. The rest of the day didn’t get much easier. It was like you were happy and sad at the same time. So happy and excited to be starting this journey with Seokjin, but feeling sad and empty every time you remembered you would never spend another night in the home you’d lived in all your life. 

Back-up arrived after lunch. You had so many belongings between the two of you, it would have taken the removal company an age to empty the vans, but with the extra muscle Yuna, Jimin, Hobi and Jungkook brought, the process got sped up. You tried to help as much as your body could manage, but you obviously couldn’t do any heavy lifting, so you took on the role of supervisor, directing where you wanted each box or each piece of furniture to go. By 8pm you were exhausted, all of you ravenously tucking into take-out on the kitchen floor because the idea of making your way into the dining room was too much of an inconvenience, and it had already taken fifteen minutes hunting around boxes for the cutlery. 

It would take days, possibly weeks to unpack everything, but the important things were done. Seokjin’s bed was safely inside the master bedroom, both your sofas in each living room. Your table looking far too tiny in the dining room until you got a new one. Everything else could come later. Tomorrow, the day after that, and the day after that… The house looked like a bomb had gone off, but it didn’t matter. At least, it didn’t matter right now. 

With all the distraction, you’d managed to forget about the emotional weight of today, but of course, one parting hug from Yuna seemed to undo all that, and you were off again, crying against her shoulder as she stroked your back. She carefully managed to extract you and place you into Seokjin’s arms, his soothing words and familiar body warmth consoling you. After everyone left, you decided to head to bed. The room might have been different, neither yours nor his, but you realised that it didn’t bother you. You were together, in that humungous bed of his, and as long as you were together, everything was okay. 

“You don’t have to let go of your house if it hurts to much” Seokjin murmured after some hesitation. “There’s no need to sell. I bought this house for us. Both of us, and our baby.” 

Your new bedroom was partially lighted by your favourite lamp, but it sat on the floor. Somehow every nightstand you and Seokjin separately owned had ended up in another bedroom, which told you no one had been listening to their supervisor. It obscured a lot of his face, apart from his eyes, and you could see how carefully he watched you, as though he was desperate not to upset you. 

“I know you did,” you smiled slowly, reaching for his face. “But it’s only right that I let go of my mom’s place.” You knew you needed to. What good was holding onto a house you no longer had any use for? It hurt to say goodbye, but you had to. “Not only because of us, but because someone else deserves to have their own home too,” you continued, voice thickening with emotion once again. “They deserve to own a place they love, decorate it how they want, make memories there like I did.” 

Seokjin nodded thoughtfully, his mouth stretching into a devastatingly beautiful smile, his hand reaching for your bump under the covers. “Just like we’ll make all kinds of memories here.” 

Exactly. 

“I was thinking,” you whispered, moving in closer, but then you stopped. You’d wanted to bring this up with him for a week or so, but didn’t know how. Seokjin waited patiently, stroking your stomach, giving you the confidence to continue. “Maybe when my place sells…we can save the money for Glob when she’s older?” 

This time Seokjin’s smile was wide and quick. “That’s a lovely idea.” 

“Yuna called her a trust fund baby,” you chuckled, feeling relieved he liked the idea. 

“Of course she did,” he laughed back, shaking his head and then letting out a hum, considering something. “Maybe we can write up some kind of clause. She can only use it for certain things, like school, or only get it when she’s married.” 

You laughed against his shoulder, then looked up at him, tracing his jawline with the tip of your finger. He had stubble coming through and it felt good. “Our daughter won’t grow up spoilt.” 

“No,” he agreed softly. Not that you doubted she would. Not with him as a role model. “But she’ll grow up as pretty as her mother.” 

You groaned loudly, rolling away from him and covering your face. “You’re so cheesy, Seokjin!” 

“I’m trying to make you smile,” he argued with a laugh, sounding offended. 

You looked over at him, suddenly feeling guilty. “I’m happy. I am,” you told him, taking his hand. “Sorry if I’ve ruined today.” 

Seokjin shook his head. “I know you’re happy, ____. You can feel two different emotions at the same time.” 

Hearing that, you felt lighter with relief immediately. To be understood was a good feeling, but to be understood by Seokjin meant the world.  

“Now, come here,” he demanded, scooping you up in his arms. “Let me hold you all night.” 

“We won’t wake up like this,” you giggled. 

“No,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll be curled up in a protective ball all the way over there—!” He pointed to the far side of the bed, then grabbed for one of your feet “—away from these!” 

Three nights ago, in your sleep, you’d kicked him in the balls. He still hadn’t forgiven you. 

“Stop,” you squeal-giggled, feeling ticklish and wriggling away from him as best you could. He heaved you back to him, determination written all over his face, and for the first time today, that empty feeling was gone. 

With life so hectic, what with the house, work and baby appointments and classes, you didn’t really have much time to miss your mom’s house, and the empty feeling disappeared altogether. Thankfully. Seokjin and you settled into domestic life quickly, and you came to the realisation that anywhere could be home as long as you were both together. (But you were still glad you’d snagged your perfect home.) It was easy to live together, and you loved every moment of it. Each morning you both drove to work together, and his schedule permitted, you drove home together too. Seokjin spoke about teaching you to drive after Glob was born, quietly encouraging you when you immediately doubted yourself. If he had faith you could do it, you could too. You’d had approximately three lessons when you’d turned of age before you’d given up and decided it wasn’t for you. Maybe it was time to try again. 

The house was coming along. All your furniture was now in its correct place, and the important rooms were painted and decorated – thanks to a great company Yuna recommended. Jungkook was in charge of Glob’s room though, currently in the middle of painting the most stunning mural on the feature wall. That man could draw. What wasn’t he good at? You kept him happy and energised with lots of sandwiches – his favourite food, puzzlingly – and you couldn’t wait to start getting her furniture inside – namely the crib your father was nearly finished making.  

The rest of the house could wait until after the birth, or until you had more energy at least. It wasn’t as if you were desperate for it, the house was in pristine condition, only emphasised by the white walls found in every room. It wasn’t to your taste, but there was no rush. For now, you just wanted to concentrate on getting all the important things done before you gave birth in a little over six weeks. Eeeek. 

.

.

“Glob, have you fallen asleep?” 

“Don’t poke her,” you chided, staring at Seokjin just as he retreated his finger from your bare stomach. “You’re worse than a kid with a puppy.” You attempted to sit up straighter but gave up, the sofa too tempting to do anything other than slouch. There was also no point pulling your jumper down. 

“We’re just catching up on our days,” he complained, looking up at you. He was stomach down, legs stretched out behind him. 

“Her day was filled with some intense wriggling, a light crushing of my ribs and an even stronger squashing of my bladder.” Glob had gotten increasingly more active as the weeks had gone by. Each day the movements seemed to get stronger, and as she got bigger (bigger than average, you might add, Kim big baby gene confirmed) things just got more and more uncomfortable. You were no longer glowing. You were grumpy and cumbersome, and you were spending more time sat on the toilet than you were at your desk. 

“I think she likes making me sprint for the bathroom,” you added, tapping your bump fondly. This pregnancy might be getting harder and harder, but you still loved your daughter more than humanly possible – and she wasn’t even born yet! 

“I don’t think you can sprint anymore, angel.” 

“I never could,” you snorted, then instantly groaned, feeling a jab. “No! Not more! Glob, go to sleep.” You said the last part sternly, looking down at your bump, only for it to contort again. Pregnancy was amazing, growing another human being inside you and all that, but by God, was it sort of freaky at times. The further along you got, the more you panicked Glob was going to punch and kick her way out of your womb instead. 

Seokjin loved it though. His entire phone was filled with videos of your stomach doing freaky party tricks which he loved to show everyone and anyone that looked his way. He gently pressed his cheek to you, earning him a swift kick to the jaw which made him laugh loudly with pure joy. Strange man. 

“I love you,” he sang to your stomach, kisses and all. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if she came out saying those words, he told her so often. Then, having some kind of lightbulb moment, your eyes widened with excitement. 

“What?” Seokjin asked, looking up as he noticed the expression on your face.  

“I’ve just thought of something,” you replied loudly. 

“Uh oh.” 

You refrained from rolling your eyes. He sounded just like Yuna. Sitting up, he tilted his head, waiting patiently. “How do you feel about Sarang? For a name?” you prompted, when he regarded you blankly. 

“Sarang,” he said slowly, feeling it on his tongue, considering. 

You nodded eagerly. “You’re always telling her you love her.” 

Hopefully that didn’t sound as accusing as it had come out. You were not at all jealous of your daughter. You were just merely stating a fact. He told Glob he loved her daily, and so did you. It was the perfect name. Your daughter was incredibly loved already. By you, him, your family, and your friends. 

And oddly enough, you knew Seokjin loved you. You didn’t need to hear those three little words to believe it. He showed you how much with gestures and glances and touches – big and small – every day. But… maybe just maybe, it would be nice to hear it at least once… 

You knew you could tell him first, but something was holding you back. A nervousness probably. You weren’t trying to overthink much anymore – especially this close to the end of your pregnancy – but it had been a long time since you’d been in love. In fact, the only time you had been was nowhere even close to this feeling with Seokjin. You understood that now. Your heartbreak from all those years ago with Taehyung felt so insignificant now. How had you let it dictate your life for so long? It seemed so absurd now. 

You and Seokjin were building a life together, sharing every moment with each other, making a family. There was no other feeling like that in the world. You were devoted to this relationship, your little family. 

“Sarang,” Seokjin repeated, smiling, totally oblivious to you silently going through it. 

“Kim Sarang,” you beamed, shaking yourself out of it. You could be sappy another time. Right now you were on the verge of choosing a name for your child. You thought the day would never come. Up until now it felt like she’d be Glob forever. 

“Kim Sarang.” 

You liked it even better now that he had said it. 

“What do you think, Glob?” he asked, leaning down to your bump as he stroked it with his palm. “Do you want to be called Sarang? Do you like it?” 

“She likes it,” you laughed as she kicked. You watched Seokjin laugh too, then asked almost uncertainly, “Do you?” 

He straightened up to press his mouth to yours. When he pulled away, he was grinning. Hard. “I think it’s perfect.” 

So did you. 

The next evening you were hosting a dinner party. Don’t ask. It seemed a good idea when it popped into your head – especially seeing as the dining room was one of the rooms completed and you wanted to show it off. Now though, not so much. 

It was couples only, which meant Yuna and Jimin, and Hoseok and Kang as guests…and…Jungkook and Haram. It was a new development. A surprise one at that. Scrap that, a puzzling one. When he and Haram had come up to Seokjin and asked for him to lift Jungkook’s office dating ban, your man had been perplexed. Not only because he couldn’t remember the last time Jungkook had had a girlfriend, but because Haram? Really? She had always ignored Jungkook’s blatant flirtations. It didn’t make sense. 

Jungkook had whined and whined to be invited tonight, and Seokjin couldn’t exactly say no, even if the idea of one of his employees being inside his home was a weird one. No offence to Haram of course, it just didn’t exactly scream professional. But she was now dating his best friend, so their professional relationship would probably be changing from here on in – until Jungkook inevitably fucked up. Then Seokjin would be left to deal with the mess. 

You’d found a company online that delivered a dinner party to your door. No cooking required, only reheating. Which Seokjin insisted on doing. Yuna, unable to sit and do nothing despite being a guest, had to help too of course. It gave you all at the table some lovely peace and quiet, because you all (minus a clueless and awkward Haram) knew that wouldn’t be the case once it was time to eat. The first course had barely made it on the table before Yuna and Jungkook were jumping down one another’s throats. You’d only just managed to announce your daughter’s name. 

They had long made up for their anti-climactic introduction at your baby shower. Their help had been graciously accepted while packing up and moving in, but those two together was not great for your inner peace. Which was another reason you were regretting tonight. One thing was clear now. Yuna and Jungkook vehemently annoyed one another – and vehemently annoyed anyone who was around them when they were together. 

“You bring this up every time we see each other,” Jungkook sighed. “Give it a rest.” 

“Will you both give it a rest,” Seokjin cut in, only to get ignored. 

“I’m just saying, buying a baby a $300 coat is insane.” Yuna over enunciated each word directed at Jungkook across the table, but especially the last one. “It’s insane behaviour.” 

Kang, sat beside her, looked positively gleeful while watching their interaction. At least someone found it entertaining. 

“Do you know you can’t go around calling people insane?” Jungkook snapped. 

“I can call you whatever I like.” 

“Babe,” Jimin said beside her, sounding weary. He attempted a silent conversation with his eyes, and whatever he told her seemed to get through. She sighed very loudly before going silent. Jimin had made the mistake of insta-bonding with Jungkook, and you thought it was only now sinking in how often he was going to get stuck in the middle. He obviously had a type.  

Jungkook smirked. “Yes, be a good little wifey, and listen to Jimin.” 

“Babe!” Yuna was outraged, staring wide-eyed at her fiancé. Jimin looked between both of them before promptly giving up and going back to his soup. 

“How about we change conversation topic,” Hoseok interrupted breezily, attempting to save the night. 

“Fine by me,” Yuna shrugged, then set her attentions on the woman sitting next to Jungkook, smiling warmly – or evilly. “Haram, how did you and Jungkook meet?” 

“Oh. Um.” Haram fumbled, her face flushing when everyone looked her way. 

“She works at AGS. You obviously know this.”  

“How would I obviously know that?” Yuna rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I was asking your girlfriend. Is she allowed to speak for herself?” 

“Of course she is.” He huffed like a big kid. “God, why do you make me sound like such an asshole?” 

“Maybe because you are,” Haram teased, or at least you thought it was teasing. She looked pretty serious. Jungkook shot her a look, and she coughed, straightening up. She looked reluctant when she angled her body towards him, or maybe you were imagining it.  “He wouldn’t give up asking me out every time he visited. Eventually I caved.”

“That’s a lie,” Jungkook scoffed, attempting to make eye contact with her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders casually. “I asked you out once, and you said no – because Seokjin banned me from dating his employers.” 

“Why?” Yuna snorted, but he ignored her. 

“That wasn’t the reason I said no,” Haram laughed, then caught the look on his face. “I’m kidding.” She lightly clasped his hand hanging over her shoulder, smiling over at Yuna. “Anyway, he—we,” she corrected quickly, “always used to talk at my desk and I guess…he just kind of grew on me.” 

“Jungkook can grow on people?” 

Yuna’s bewilderment made Haram and Kang laugh loudly. Jungkook pouted, and you felt a little sorry for him. Seokjin had a slight frown on his face, puzzled, but for different reasons. Yup, you had no clue what was going on here either. 

Jungkook shook his head a little and continued. “She asked me to be her date for her cousin’s wedding.” He was almost gloating, keeping his gaze on Haram. “We had a great time together, didn’t we?” Her nod was imperceptible. Jungkook jerked his head towards Seokjin. “And then we had to ask his lordship over there for permission to date.” 

“Lordship. I like,” you teased, grabbing Seokjin’s thigh. You caught Haram’s eye accidentally, and she quickly looked away. This was probably weird for her, no wonder she was acting so uncomfortable. She was having dinner at her boss’ house, and she’d just watched his girlfriend very obviously grope him under the table. This night was a disaster. 

“What about you two?” Haram asked Yuna and Jimin, recovering. 

“We were rivals, weren’t we, babe?” Yuna gazed lovingly at Jimin, making Kang snort.   

“No, you thought I was your rival, I just wanted you to smile at me,” Jimin teased, leaning in to kiss her. 

“Awww.” Haram didn’t have a chance to ask for more details because Jungkook butted in. 

“So, rivals turned lovers,” he pointed at Yuna and Jimin, then at you and Seokjin “accidentally pregnant” – to himself and Haram – “friends to lo—,” 

“Enemies,” she corrected with an evil grin, and for the first time tonight, her and Jungkook seemed like a real couple. He rolled his eyes playfully and squeezed her shoulder, smiling wide when he saw her smile too, pleased with himself. 

“And what about you guys?” Haram asked Hoseok and Kang for him. “What trope are you?” 

While Hoseok thought, Kang replied easily. “How about closeted gay man finds love at the tennis court? Oh, and the man he finds it with has commitment issues.” 

“I do not!” Hoseok exclaimed loudly, then immediately turned sheepish. “Anymore…” 

.

.

“Tonight was weird, right?” you asked Seokjin as he climbed into bed. 

It was a few hours later and you were mentally and physically exhausted. Physically because of the pregnancy and mentally because your friends were hard work. 

“Extremely.” He reached for you, desperately wanting your body heat. “I’m thinking we should have just invited Hobi and Kang.” 

“I realised that as soon as I answered the door and interrupted Yuna and Jungkook’s first argument of the night.” 

“I don’t know, I think they’re warming to each other,” Seokjin mused, stroking a hand down your arm. “She complimented his mural.” 

“She did,” you agreed on a laugh, kissing his collarbone that was peeking out of his pyjamas. Seokjin squeezed your thigh.   “Haram was at our house. My employee was having dinner with us!” 

“Speaking of. Her and Jungkook…” 

“I’m asking him about it tomorrow.” 

“She hates him, doesn’t she?” you laughed, mentally recounting this evening, coming to a valid conclusion. “The sex must be amazing.” 

Seokjin groaned. The idea of his best friend having sex obviously paining him. 

“Come on!” you exclaimed, your hand absently dipping under his shirt. The muscles of his stomach rippled. Maybe your hands were too cold, but he didn’t push them away. “It must be good dick if you can’t stand the person it’s attached to.” 

Seokjin considered this silently, then squeezed your wrist. “Am I good dick?” When you immediately burst out laughing, he whined. “Don’t laugh at me!” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologised breathlessly, trying to control your giggles. “I just didn’t expect the words ‘am I good dick?’ to come out of your mouth!”  

“Well?” he prompted. 

You lifted up, looking down at him. “You know you are.” 

“Do I?” 

You tapped his chest. “You are the best dick.” 

He cocked his head to the side. “That was easy.” 

“What was?” 

Taking your hand, he directed it to his crotch, squeezing your palm around his erection. Heat flashed in his eyes. Maybe your innocent touches hadn’t felt so innocent to him. That, and he obviously liked hearing his dick being called the best. While it was flattering, the last thing you wanted to do right now was have sex. He saw it on your face, deflating instantly.  

“You don’t want to?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m just really not in the mood.”

 You removed your hand, stroking his chest instead. You weren’t in the mood very often lately. Too uncomfortable, bump too big. Seokjin smiled and pushed some hair behind your ear. “Don’t be sorry.” Then he chuckled, “I do miss the days when you used to jump me, though.” 

Ah, such good, pleasurable times. You missed them too. 

“I can possibly muster the energy for a hand job?” you offered. Hands stuff was all he was getting lately. 

He growled and rolled you both on to your sides. “You know how to make a man crazy with want.” As you laughed, he pecked your nose, subdued when he spoke again.   “But no, if you’re not getting any, I won’t get any either. Solidarity, and all that.” 

“So caring. And that’s why—” You stopped abruptly, realising just in time what you were about to say. “I’m with you,” you recovered quickly. 

If Seokjin noticed anything, he didn’t let on, smiling wide. “I thought you were with me because I got you pregnant?” 

“That too,” you laughed. “I just have to find the good in all this bad.” 

Seokjin hugged you to him and kissed your shoulder. “What do you think would’ve happened if you’d never been pregnant?” 

“Hm?” You were slightly distracted. 

“If you hadn’t gotten pregnant that night,” he repeated. “You would’ve had no reason to stalk me at the coffee shop.” 

“It wasn’t stalking!” But he was grinning against your shoulder as if the idea made him beyond happy. 

“What would have happened with us?” 

You shook your head. “I don’t even want to think about it.” You hated the thought of not having Seokjin in your life. Hated the thought of never seeing him again. 

“We might have still bumped into one another again,” he speculated. 

“Maybe.” 

Seokjin pulled back, smiling playfully. “Would you have said yes to dinner if you hadn’t been pregnant? You did run away from me.” 

“I ran away because I was panicked,” you argued, “and you can talk!” He chuckled bashfully, but you liked that he no longer let the guilt eat away at him. “I might’ve said yes.” Maybe it was fun to play along with this little what if game. “I don’t know if I already said this, but…before I found out I was pregnant, I did think about that night quite often.” 

“You never said, no.” He tried to be casual about it, but the shit eating grin was hard to hide. 

“Don’t get a big head. It was the sex.” 

“Ah yes, because I’m the best dick.” 

“So maybe,” you continued, ignoring him, “if we had met again, and you had asked, I would have said yes to dinner—I would have eaten it, too,” you added as an afterthought. 

“And you wouldn’t have fainted,” he added, chuckling softly. “Would you have gone back home with me?” 

“Would you have invited me?” 

“Maybe.” There was a beat of playful silence and then he cupped your bump. “We needed to make this baby one way or the other.” 

“You’re ridiculous!” You batted him away, laughing. 

Rolling on to your opposite side, Seokjin reached for you again, spooning you. He kissed your shoulder, all teasing gone. “I can’t imagine not having Sarang now, but I like to think we would’ve found one another again.” Your heart fluttered every time you heard him call your daughter by her name, but now it was fluttering because of his words. “You’re the woman of my dreams after all.” 

“Now you’re just trying to charm your way into my vagina.” 

He made an indignant noise from the back of his throat, pressing himself against your ass. “No boner in sight! See?!” He rubbed underneath your bump as you giggled, this time kissing the skin behind your ear. “I just can��t believe I get to do this every day. Me, you, Sarang… This house with you. I’m the luckiest man in the world. No, scrap that. Sometimes I feel like I’ve used all my luck up for this.” 

“Don’t say that,” you mumbled. “You were born lucky.” He’d created a multi-million-dollar business after all. “Now you’re just even luckier,” you teased, wriggling against him. He’d bagged you, hadn’t he? 

Seokjin chuckled softly. “I just…I know it won’t always be this easy. Probably beginning when this one is born.” He patted your belly. “But, I can’t wait to experience life with you.” 

You swallowed down a lump in your throat. Why was he saying such lovely things? He knew you were highly emotional right now! You heard him open his mouth behind you, something else on the tip of his tongue, but you stopped him quickly. “Honey?” 

“Yes?”

You tapped his hand sweetly. “Go to sleep now. You’re this close to making me cry.” 

In the morning, Seokjin had to be at the office early, so it felt like you were riding the elevator to work before you’d fully woken up. It came as no surprise when you saw Namjoon’s coat hanging from the coat rack as you were removed yours. He was always here before everyone else. Smiling to yourself, you decided to surprise him. Hearing him yelp out of fear ought to wake you up, while also giving you a good laugh. Only, when you burst through the door to his office, he wasn’t in there alone. 

He was locked in an embrace with Yeeun. 

You immediately let out a shriek, the noise making them break apart. The surprised looks on their faces no doubt mirrored yours, and while Namjoon’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, nothing came out. You weren’t sure you had words either, so as quick as you’d rushed in, you rushed back out, slamming the door closed. 

Braced against it for a moment, heart beating wildly, you tried to wrap your mind around what you’d just witnessed. Namjoon and Yeeun… Namjoon and Yeeun?! 

Since when?!

Written 2022. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2022

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

OKAYYY THATS GREAT :D

sooo this is coming straight from my daydreaming lmao, but like imagine daryl and reader have a father-daughter relationship EXCEPT they got separated a bit before Negan arrives (maybe she left at the same time as Carol and Morgan or idk) and when he goes to the Hilltop, not only does he find Carol, but he finds the reader too and it’s just like a cute family reunion????

༉‧₊˚. 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 || 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜!𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

― pairing: daryl dixon & teenage!Reader

― era: Season 7

― summary: after finding a new family, it was ripped away from you as fast as it came.

― warnings: mentions of the saviors, negan is his own warning, season 7 spoiler warning, guns, emotional reunions, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort.

― wc: 1490

⋆ a/n: it feels like i haven't written anything in so long omg, but i had this in my drafts and already halfway written, so i figured i'd just finish it and post it so you guys don't hungry LMFAO, even though this is another platonic!daryl fanfic.

masterlist | AO3

You were back to square one. You don’t remember the last time that you had seen your found family, or your caretaker, Daryl, not ever since the prison fell. You weren’t as lucky as the others that may have broken off into groups. You were all alone, forced to fend for yourself once again.

It felt like back in the beginning, when Daryl had found your makeshift camp, you had set up in an abandoned store, which led to him getting held at gunpoint by a child no older than thirteen.

“Aye kid, there ain’t no need for trouble.” The redneck said with his hands raised.

“You’re right, there doesn’t need to be,” You turned off the safety of the gun, keeping it steadily pointed up at his head. “So, get the fuck out of here.” Well, your foul mouth had certainly caught him off guard. He allowed his eyes to sweep along the empty shelves in front of him, taking in the decrepit conditions that he could only assume wasn’t a pleasant place to live in.

He had slowly begun to turn around and his gut was twisted at the sight of you. You had dirt and blood spattered all over your raggedy clothes that were tattered, littered throughout with sizeable holes. It didn’t matter that you had a gun pointed at him, there was something inside him – something fatherly – that wouldn’t allow him to leave a child behind, let alone someone as young as you.

“You alone?” He dared to ask. “What does it matter?” You bit back coldly. “I jus’ have a hard time believin’ you been alive this long without someone takin’ care of ya.” You scoffed, his seemingly demeaning question caused your finger to twitch against the gun, the trigger to be more precise. “Where are your parents?” There was something that passed in your eyes, equivalent to sadness, grief, and irritation.

“They’re dead.” You had forced yourself to say, even though deep inside of you, you were still coping with the fact that you had lost your parents just two months before now. There were so many things that you had to do on your own, like live alone and grow accustomed to being the one that used the gun, which was more your mother and father’s department.

“M'sorry to hear that.” He said sincerely, his voice softening. The random act of empathy caused the tension in your shoulders to release, but you still eyed him cautiously. “It doesn’t matter anymore, just get whatever you’re going to get and go.” You weren’t going to lie; your arms were starting to hurt. “I know this is going’ta sound strange, but I got a group; men, women, children, a pregnant woman.” Your eyebrows furrowed, “Who would be dumb enough to get pregnant during an apocalypse?” You couldn’t help but snort, “To me, that sounds like dead weight.”

“Ain’t all that bad. ‘Beats stayin’ in a place that smells like shit.” You laughed a bit at his words, which caused a grin to tug at the corner of his lips. “It does smell like shit.” You agreed.

There were a lot of things that you had grown to regret at such a young age but giving Daryl the benefit of the doubt was never one of them. You should’ve thanked him, you supposed, to have allowed you to have a second chance at life. It wasn’t about survival anymore, even after you found the prison, after Lori died, after you had to fight the Governor for it. It seemed like life was going well… a little too well.

You knew that the Governor was out there somewhere, just waiting to enact his revenge, but even as that fear constantly breathed down your neck, you couldn’t find it within yourself to dwell on it. Maybe you should’ve, maybe if you had, you would still have your family… your dad.

Yes, you knew Daryl wasn’t your dad, but he was damn near the closest thing you’ve had to one in a long time. He would always make sure you had a chance to be a kid, that he supplied you with whatever you wanted, either that be; comic books, actual books, board games, even going as far as to give you a fancy journal that you could “write all your teenager thoughts in or whatever.” You laughed at it then, but as you walked life alone once again, it became the only company you had, just you and your thoughts.

He would make sure that you had eaten, gotten enough sleep, helping you hunt and identify mushrooms and shit that you had laughed at then, which grew to be beneficial now. In a way, you felt like Daryl knew the Governor would strike once again, too.

Neither of you had never said you loved one another, but there was no need to verbalize it, not when his and your actions spoke louder than words.

You had lost count of the days sense then, but it may have been a year? Maybe a year and half since you had lost everything. Your body had shown signs of change, that your hair had grown longer, and you were taller, much more mature looking.

It wasn’t until you had met a man by the name of Morgan, who happened to stumble across you walking amongst the streets, not a clue of where you were going. That’s what your days had dwindled down too recently, just walking, not sure of where you were going as you fought off the deep sadness in your heart. He had told you of a settlement he knew of that he could take you, one that was practically a utopia, ruled by a man named King Ezekiel. You couldn’t believe it, but you didn’t have it in you to reject his request, just desperate to find a place to rest.

That’s when you found Carol, the woman living in a home a little while away. You had seen her walking out of what seemed to be an auditorium, even though it was referred to as Ezekiel’s throne room. You had practically thrown yourself onto the woman when you saw her, crumbling in her arms as she still tried to get over the shock of you being alive. She ran her fingers through your hair with tears in her eyes as she studied you; you looked so much older, she wasn’t going to lie and say that it hadn’t freaked her out a little bit.

She had given you a rundown about the things that were happening as she allowed you to hunker down in her home, saying that she didn’t quite trust the Kingdom just yet to have you staying in one of the houses there. You were told that the others were fine despite being under the new rule of a man named Negan who had killed Glenn and a man named Abraham. You were devastated to hear about Glenn, and what added icing on the shit cake you were being served, Daryl had been taken and no one knew if he was dead or alive. It was safe to say you tried to silence your cries as you rested on her couch, knowing that the woman was trying to sleep in the next room over.

Earlier the next day, Ezekiel had visited the both of you, much to the older woman’s irritation, so when another knock was delivered to the door, Carol sent you a look, one that told you that it was your turn to open the door.

Your breath stopped, your heart dropping as you felt your knees grow weak. There Daryl stood, looking absolutely broken and worn down, the bags under his eyes a lot more apparent than usual as his own eyes widened.

“_______?” He called out your name in disbelief. “Daryl!” You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder as you cried. “Where- how- why?” He stuttered through his words. “I- I’ve been on my own… but- how are you here? I thought Negan had taken you.” He shuddered at the reminder. “He did but I got out.”

You had all but dragged him inside where Carol shared a tearful embrace with him as well. Carol left for the kitchen to make the three of you dinner, knowing that Daryl was undoubtedly hungry after living in the conditions that he was in for the past few days.

You and Daryl were sitting on the couch, with your legs pulled up to your chest, your caregiver’s eyes locked on the fire that burned brightly.

“Can’t believe how grown ya are.” Daryl remarked next to you. “Remember when you were yea’high pointin’ a gun at my face.” You just snorted, “I’m not even going to lie, you look like shit.” You teased him back. He just scoffed and elbowed you light-heartedly.

“Thanks kid.” He said fondly, ruffling your hair.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy

[thelordofgifs]

Congrats on 300 followers! 🎉

For the foc prompt, if you have the time and leisure for it: Anything with Turgon? (I know I'm being super predictable here but I love him so much) Maybe a snippet of how you see his and Idril's relationship, if you're up to it, or anything like that!

- finnritter

@finnritter thank you and of course!

Finrod was singing again. Turgon did not know where he found the strength, with the bitter wind stealing his breath and the icicles forming on his lashes. But he should not begrudge it; not when others lifted up their voices to join him, and the Ice rang for a few moments with the clear silver beauty of elvensong.

"My turn," he said quietly to Elenwë, under cover of the music, and wordlessly she passed him their daughter.

Idril had been sleeping, but she stirred and yawned as Turgon settled her on his shoulders. "Hello, Atya," she said drowsily.

"Hello, Itaril," Turgon said. "You can go back to sleep, if you like. It will be a while before the next rest."

"I am not sleepy," said Idril; he could feel her shifting in her perch, tugging slightly at his hair as she sat up straight to look around her. Although there were none in the host who would ever object to carrying its littlest member, Idril tended to favour her father's shoulders; from his great height she could see much further than from anyone else's.

"Do you know this song?" Turgon asked her, once the music had reached its swelling peak. "Perhaps you can ask your uncle Ingoldo to teach it to you, if not."

"That would be nice," said Idril, "but the next time we stop for a rest, aunt Írissë is going to show me how to gut a seal. So it will have to be after."

Turgon glanced to his side, but Elenwë, relieved of Idril's weight, had dropped back to cajole along the stragglers. A thankless task – there were none who had lost their zeal for the march who had not eventually sat down to die in the cold – but nonetheless a necessary one, if they were to remember yet that they were civilised.

Speaking of which—

"That sounds unpleasant," he said. "Are you sure you would not rather learn some music?"

"Hmm," said Idril, thinking. "No."

"Or," said Turgon, unwilling to argue but also not ready to give up the point entirely, "your Haru might like to tell you some stories—"

"Haru's stories aren't that good," Idril said, with childlike bluntness. "He's sad all the time. And they're always about the Great Journey." This last was said with an unmistakeable note of derision.

As a child Turgon had loved his father's stories, had sat for hours at his feet as he had woven tales of lovers parted forever in the woods of Middle-earth and children who met strange fae spirits in the train of Oromë under the starlight. He supposed the rather tame perils of those stories would not prove very diverting to a child of the Helcaraxë.

"All right," he said. "Now, it will still be a while before we can meet up with aunt Írissë again." Aredhel and Fingon both preferred to take out hunting-parties ahead of the march of the main host; Turgon had not seen them since the last scheduled rest, some two days ago. He had no proof that they were still alive, but there was no use sharing that fear with Idril. So far, they had always come back. "Shall we play a walking-game until then?"

"Yes!" said Idril; but before Turgon could suggest that they try to identify the constellations, or see who could count backwards from five hundred the fastest, she added, "Let's name all the Disappeared. Uncle Finno says there are more than a thousand now."

If he had eaten in the past day, Turgon's stomach would have lurched. Instead, after a moment, he acquiesced. What was one more small defeat?

[spicywhumper]

febuwhump '24: 19. "please, don't" + @femslash-february bingo: unrequired

series: untitled | rating: mature | trigger/content: captivity, chained, implied future dub/noncon

Krystian isn’t sure when her life started to go wrong, perhaps when her twin brother had the audacity to die merely a week after his birth. Right when her father said “I need a heir, so I guess I don’t have a daughter”. That’s a simpler way to explain how she has never been this lucky (even if she does like the fact she never had to marry a man and carry his babies).

She sighs, captivity is even more boring when you don’t need to sleep.

She shackles aren’t heavy, but with the carved runes on the metal, they’re quite uncomfortable, the collar’s a lot worse .

For decades, now, she has been using her charm and mildly awkward flirting to get thinks she needed. A place to ‘rest’, supplies like clean clothes and warm bathing water, and blood. The unintentional thrill had helped her to get blood so many times, makes her miserable lonely life a little less miserable. Not very, but enough to make it bearable. She prefers a calmer way to get blood than hunting. The human dies anyways, but makes less of a mess and means she can stick around for a little longer.

Perhaps she should have followed her gut feeling when the woman smiled at her with too many teeth to not be dangerous, eyes with a predator glint.

She didn’t, she allowed the woman, call me Karr, dear, to take her into the inn. Vampire, cold-blooded, Krystian still likes warm rooms and soft beds. Maybe it’s the human in her, maybe it’s growing up as a Prince. She accepts the wine, like she forgot that humans are the most dangerous creatures on earth. The ones with poison on their voice are even more dangerous.

So, maybe it’s her own fault that she go herself in this situation, in a cage, it looks like the inn’s basement, shackled to the wall. She tested the chains multiple times, they’re clearly built to be unbreakable. Or they make a vampire weaker, she thinks that’s more probable, considering that whatever the woman has put on her wine, it took her out for long enough to be dragged down here.

Krystian hasn’t been in such an unpleasant situation in decades.

“When we met for the first time,” she looks up at the sound of her captor’s voice. “I suspected you’re not human, with those red-ish brown eyes.”

“So you gambled by giving me something that would definitely kill me?”

“No,” she tilts her head (it reminds her painfully of Savina and her carrying over wolfy ticks.”You don’t remember me.”

“Apologies, I’m an old woman.”

She steps even closer, Krystian feels the back of her throat burning, sweet metal pulsates under delicate-looking skin ,throught easily broken veins: “It has been a few years, feels longer for me than to you, of course. I was in the business of getting a couple copper coins for a night of pleasure.”

“I mean no offense, but I don’t exactly commit people ot memory. In general, really, not specifically sex workers,” she looks her up and down. She can almost feel her blood pumping in her veins, she wants to taste it. “I imagine you could still make some coins that way.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” she licks her lips, Krystian recognizes the lust in her eyes. A mixture of sexual and violence urges. “I’d enjoy it with you,” her predatory smile reminds Krystian of those weird older women in the court, the ones that really, really wanted ‘him’ to marry their daughters – nevermind the Prince already had a chosen bride.

“You’re quite attractive,” and she’s not lying, the woman might look like she’d be older than Krystian’s mother (if she was human), but Krystian not the type to lie about this. “But I’m not interested. Let me go before I make you acquainted with my fangs.”

“I’ve been looking for your for thirty years, that’s longer than the time you’ve been alive, correct?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Why not? You’re the last of your bloodline, that’s tragic, Prince.”

“I haven’t been a prince in a long time.”

“I thought it was a rumor, you know? The runaway prince’s a woman. Even a hundred years after the death of the disgraced king, people were still interested in the prince that has never been a prince.”

She grits her teeth, the rumor has started over an incident she’d like to forget: “Why don’t you come in, do whatever you want, and let me go?”

“Sex with a vampire is not nearly as satisfying if the vampire doesn’t want it.”

“You won’t make me want you if you keep tainting me about my past.”

“Oh dear, there are herbs and such for this kind of thing, aren’t you aware of that?” She leaves for a moment, only to come back carrying a simple metal cup, a glass vial with a brown-ish liquid and a dagger. “I promise you’ll have a good time.”

Krystian frowns, tries to find what that could mean in her admittedly small general vampiric knowledge. The woman enters the cage and kneels in front of her, just far enough that Krystian can’t try to reach her. She watches with apprehension as the cup is put on the floor, the woman pulls her left sleeve up, and thirst burns on the back of her throat, hot like an inferno, as the woman digs into her wrist. Blood flows easily into the metal cup. Not much, maybe two sips, perhaps a third. She’s not sure where the bandage comes from, but she sees that the woman wraps it around her wrist too easily to not have practice doing this.

Whatever’s inside the vial, it smells absolutely fool and she almost gags as the woman mixes it up with perfectly appetizing blood.

Then she remembers of stories about vampires bounded to humans, to witches or simply people that have minimal knowledge of the type of magic that does more harm than good. Vampires that get addicted to their captor’s blood and become their personal puppet, their sex slave more often than not.

That finally makes dread and fear.

She has escaped too many things to let it happen to her. Krystian pulls at the chains harder, so abruptly that the woman in front of her is startled by the noise. Krystian snarls at her, teeth coated with venom, eyes bright red.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

The woman snarls back. Faster than she appears to be, she grabs the chain attached to the heavy collar around her neck. She pulls back, the choking’s uncomfortable even if Krystian doesn’t need to breathe. And her body still responds like a human that does need to breath would. The woman adjusts the chain, pulling her closer to the wall, she did the same with the others chains, Krystian’s skin would be raw and bleeding if she was human by now.

“Don’t-” it’s half begging and half growling. “Please, don’t- I-” that’s way more pleading as the woman grabs her jaw and forces it open.

She begs again, sounding more pathetic than she has ever sound in her life, human or not. The liquid tastes foul, corrupted and wrong, it’s thick as it forces its way down her throat. It feels like ice, she wouldn’t be surprised if there’s frost forming on her neck and down her chest.

It hurts, she hates how it makes her whole body feel ice cold. The woman’s touch burns, her fingers are soft but they don’t feel right as they run through her hair.

“Shh, you’re mine now, you’ll be fine.”

[peachymilkandcream]

Break Me Slowly|Part 17|Yandere Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: Back into the writing game, keeping the chapters going and coming out hopefully on schedule. If they take a bit longer then they do but we'll see what happens! Also I'm making a lot of lore about the Titans so bare that with a grain of salt :) And Erwin is still alive for all this so it'll be kind of interesting to see what his output would have been if he was still alive)) WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, vaguely implied suicide, etc.

==========================================

Evelyn ran through the woods, ignoring the pounding in her ears as her heartbeat increased with each step. Where Levi was now she wasn't sure, she wasn't sure why she cared all that much. If she had an ounce of sense she would get rid of the child and be done with Levi, hope he died in whatever fresh hell awaited him in the forest. So then why did she care now? Why deep down was she hoping he'd be okay? There was something wrong with her, he was getting to her, maybe it was something he did, something that affected her like this.

Unexpectedly, a wave of guilt washes over her. This is what she wanted, she had begged, pleaded with Eren oh so long ago to get rid of Levi for her. She remembered sneaking out when that fool of a housekeeper, meant to be her guard, wasn't looking. They had met in secret, the three of them, Floch, Eren, and her sorry self. She was so desperate then, so desperate to escape. Eren could have been just another person who was going to turn her in to Levi, but he'd believed her. They both had.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Eren had asked.

"I don't know anymore, I've tried to escape, but he always knows where I am." She had been crying, hands raking through her hair as she tried to keep herself in check.

"But you don't have the guts to kill him. To put poison in his tea and be free. You're a slave."

Those words hurt, but they were right. She was a slave, something she could fix but she could never get the courage to actually do it. Her mind was conflicted with the reality of what he'd done to her versus the fond memories of childhood friendship. No matter how bad it got, she didn't think she could just kill him. If it failed....she probably wouldn't live to try it again.

"You're right, but I just can't do it. I'm too scared Eren....what should I do?"

Eren goes silent for a moment, thinking of how he wanted to go about things. Although they were never close, she knew Eren had a strong sense of justice, he had told her that his plan was to destroy Marley in a small scale Rumbling so that their biggest threat would be gone. That's what he needed her for, the conflict with Marley had taught her a lot when it came to the Titan she was too cowardly to use. Something regarding being the direct descendant of Ymir, a branch of the original daughters, the youngest who allegedly was shunned from the line of royalty and reduce to nothing more than a peasant. From what Eren had said that's what Evelyn's titan was, the original Titan of Ymir, separate from the Founder, a gift to the youngest. Now of course records were lost and things were jumbled, for all she knew Eren could be making it up to hide his true purpose. But for her freedom she would just have to trust him.

"Regardless of your situation, Levi's a problem. He could wreck everything we're trying to do." He pauses, formulating his thoughts. "I'll adjust the original escape plan. Maybe put a bug in Erwin's ear that Levi should be the one to guard him. He might be Humanity's Strongest, but it's impossible he could kill that many Titans and Zeke without a scratch." He stares her dead in the eyes. "I'll make sure he dies. But in return, I want you to swear your undying loyalty to me and the Jeagerists. Hange, Erwin, Levi, everyone important trusts you, we need someone higher up on the inside. Can you do that?"

Relief had rushed over her, thankful that soon it would be over, she would be free. She could go back to having a life, one free from his control and oppression.

"I swear it Eren, whatever it takes, I'm with you."

==========================================

Evelyn had meant it, back then. She had meant every word of what she said, determined to laugh on Levi's grave once Zeke was finished with him. Distract him long enough to give Zeke a head start, she had done her part of the job, now in a few short minutes Levi would be dead and she would be free.

So why did it hurt so much?

Why did every bone in her body ache to turn around and tell Zeke it had all been a mistake, she didn't mean it, to carry on his escape plan and let Levi live. Hatred burned in her heart, by why was the flame so small? Maybe it was fear of raising their child without a father, needing his support to live comfortably.

And yet, money and support were the last reasoning she came up with when it came to why she didn't want him dead.

It was him, purely him, where else would she have what he gave her? Not just wealth and stability, passion. Raw, needy, passion.

It was against her will, it was nothing she wanted, but if her body didn't crave it like he said, why had she been touching herself to the thought of it at night? Mimicking his fingers and movements, but it wasn't enough. He was primal, an animal, a monster even, so why did she wish for all of this to be over so he could throw her onto their bed and bend her over to use as he pleased? It was just the hormones, it had to be. This man hurt her, took everything, and yet she hoped he lived to be thoroughly fucked.

Evelyn shook her head to clear her head, reasoning there was nothing wrong with having basic needs that despite everything, he was able to fill. Nothing more than that. Just need. She could come to grips with this, being great in bed was reason enough to hope he didn't die, how would she get off without him? This was the explanation she stuck with, pushing down the other feelings, hoping they buried themselves as she reached her horse, riding back to where she came, glancing more than she liked to admit at the scene behind her.

=============================================

Shiganshina was just how she had left it, in chaos. All of those who didn't support Zeke and Eren were being rounded up, stripped of fancy titles and positions because they had been drunken fools. She hadn't faced Erwin and Hange yet, and frankly she didn't want to. Erwin could burn in hell for all she cared, but with Hange it was different. She couldn't blame her entirely for buying into Levi's lies, she trusted him, and Evelyn wasn't known to be the most mentally well, so when he told Hange that Evelyn had suffered a break down after the battle for Wall Maria it was believable. Still her feelings were mixed.

But it had to be done, according to Floch, who had been keeping them under lock and key, they had both been told of the reality of their situation, but not about Evelyn's loyalties. This was probably for the best, she should be the one to break it to her former closest friends that she had switched sides.

=============================================

Before she saw them she heard it.

"Where's Evelyn!? Did you do the same thing to her too!? She's been through too much already Floch, Levi said she was already fragile, are you really wanting to drive her to doing something tragic!?" Hange was screeching, while Erwin was calmly silent.

Floch smirked. "Actually, she's here, we brought her in."

Hange quieted down. "Well that's better, I swear if you gave her that tainted shit- or threatened her- if she has one of those black or red armbands Floch so help me-!"

She cuts herself off as Evelyn steps into the room, staring them straight on. "Hange, Commander."

Both of their gazes went from her face, landing on the white armband tied on her bicep.

And for the first time in her life, Evelyn saw the great Commander Erwin Smith's face contort in fear and horror.

[mighty-ant]

Lab Rat

The best way to describe Alador’s personal laboratory, in his personal opinion, is ‘organized chaos.’

Darius prefers ‘greasy chip-bag infested hovel that wouldn’t look out of place in the deepest corner of Latissa, honestly, darling, don’t you know what Hex Mix does to your cholesterol?’

Alador’s alway been a man of few words, so he’s more inclined to use his name for it. 

On that subject, he can’t remember the last time he spoke today. To another person, that is. 

Mittens popped her head in for a moment, didn’t she? 

Yes, to remind him not to expect her back until tomorrow afternoon because she and Hunter were having dinner at Camila’s, and would be staying the night. 

And Edric, he’d shouted something down the stairs–which was a terrible habit Alador really should try to get them to break, as someone who was learning to be a responsible parent, but he remembers the choking silence of his ancestral home all too well, the pressure to perform and achieve and connive like a noose that tightened and loosened but could never be ripped away, so maybe his children deserved to be loud and disruptive without the fear of what punishment would follow–something about…dinner?

Elbow deep in the guts and inner mechanisms of his 35th Abomaton of the day, Alador lost track of time 34 Abomatons ago.

He does good work, unfortunately–hack or otherwise. His creations are legion, and very difficult to destroy. Rather than force a responsible group of volunteers to waste the energy in destroying every single Abomaton with whatever magic at their disposal, Alador petitioned the newly formed Bonesborough Council of Witches and Demons for permission to manually deactivate however many Abomatons they saw fit to send his way. 

He’s certain that they only agreed because Darius is a councilmember–why else would they trust the very witch responsible for handing Belos an indestructible, unfeeling army in the first place? An army that imprisoned thousands to die in the Emperor's coliseum, writhing in agony as their sigils burned them alive from the inside out. An army that fired on children and almost killed his youngest daughter. 

None of this was his intent when he was churning out Abomatons under Odalia’s punishing deadlines, but intent hardly matters. It happened, and they all have the scars to show for it. 

The four months he spent locked away, shuttled between his personal laboratory beneath the manor and the one attached to the factory, surviving off cold coffee and Hex Mix, developing a permanent tremor in his left hand, and collapsing from exhaustion on the floor only to be prodded awake by the toe of Odalia’s boot–it was supposed to be worth it, in the end. By supplying the Emperor with enforcers, they were securing their children’s futures and Alador was able to keep them from joining the family business for just a little bit longer. They’d be able to continue living their lives like the teenagers they are, even if he couldn't be a part of it. 

Of course, that was all supposed to change. The Bonesborough Brawl had been a wakeup call. 

Alador remembers summoning abominations for his children to ride on when they were small, giggling as they raced through the garden. While Edric and Emira would goad their abominations to trip the other, Mittens always hurried back to him, eager to leap off the abomination’s back and into his arms. “Catch me, Daddy! Catch me!” she would trill, and Alador always did. Back when her hair was still the same shade of brown as his own and the bags under his eyes weren’t yet permanently etched into his skin. 

At the Bonesborough Brawl, Amity would rather shake his hand than allow him to hug her. And it hit him then; when was the last time he had hugged his youngest daughter? Or Emira and Edric for that matter? It was chilling, realizing he couldn’t recall. 

But Alador was too busy to do anything about it then. Odalia’s threats were like a finely sharpened blade pricking at his skin, a hundred individual nicks poised to bleed him dry. After the Day of Unity, he’d resolved. The Day of Unity was meant to be a respite. A break, at long last. 

He thought that maybe he and the children could go away for a while. His mother had kept a summer home on the Knee for when the weather in Bonesborough turned stifling with boiling humidity. In the early years of his marriage, when Mittens was barely walking, they had visited often. He found himself missing those days of quiet leisure, when Odalia’s hand on the small of his back was a comfort rather than a warning. 

Alador had never been the sort to entertain running away from anything, even as a child–there was the Blight family name to uphold, after all. But he had begun to realize that maybe none of them were happy with their lives. None except Odalia, who was the only one getting what she wanted. Two of his children wore concealment stones to hide their true, dear faces and their youngest changing her hair color was treated like an insidious betrayal. Alador and his wife hadn’t even slept in the same bed for the last five years. 

The cracks were there, concealing a far deadlier rot. The empty husk of his marriage. The true purpose of the Day of Unity. Odalia’s eager and willing complicity with the deaths of thousands. 

Odalia might have been poison for their children, but Alador wasn’t any better for keeping the antidote from them. He’s learning, again, how to be a father. As much as they will allow him to, and it’s slow going. It makes hiding that much easier, that much more deserved. Down here, deep in his new laboratory that’s gaining the same stains as the old one but holds none of the bad memories, he can put one of his few skills to use and do something tangible to fix one out of a long list of mistakes. 

With a satisfying crunch, the control circuit for Abomaton #37 gives way under Alador’s hand. Without it, the abombination’s bipedal form loses shape and slumps into a purple and gold mass of goo, spilling out over his lab table and splattering onto his smock and boots. Alador lets out a breath, relief sending a momentary but heady rush through his body. The dark clouds in his mind clear with the physical reminder that he is doing good work. Finally. 

A warm, heavy weight drapes itself over Alador’s back, startling him with its newness as much as its unexpectedness. Two broad arms wind themselves around his shoulders, and a hand splays over his heart with a palm that warms even through his layers.

In the past, when Alador slacked off in the lab as he’s doing now, Odalia would sometimes grip the back of his neck. It wasn’t painful, usually. She didn’t leave bruises. Perhaps because they would be difficult to hide with his pale skin, but it’s not like he went out in public much anyway. But she would grip him by the back of the neck with five icy fingers, like a disobedient pet, and force his head down. A slave to his work. 

“Focus, dear. Our next board meeting is already in another six weeks.”

In the present, Darius drops his forehead onto the back of Alador’s neck, his breath fanning across his skin and beneath his collar. Alador shivers, though he’s never felt warmer/from scorching heat, rather than cold. 

“Darling,” Darius mumbles. “Dearest. Do you know what time it is?”

Alador reaches up, squeezes Darius’ wrist. His eyes burn and he’s having difficulty blinking. He wonders how long that’s been going on. “Ah. It’s…late?” he ventures. 

“Alador.” He winces at Darius’ dry tone. “You know, you have windows in here for a reason. So that you know when the sun has set.”

Alador doesn’t bother looking out the aforementioned windows now. It’s been a few hours at least since the encroaching dark put too much of a strain on his eyes and he activated a handful of light glyphs. 

“Sorry, honey,” he sighs, leaning back into the sturdy expanse of Darius’ chest. The circle of his arms tightens and he takes Alador’s weight without complaint, adjusting his stance so that neither of them is sent toppling. “I appreciate the windows. I just lost track of time.” Alador closes his eyes, almost instinctively at this point, as Darius raises his head from Alador’s shoulder to kiss a line along the back of his neck, up behind his ear. The ministrations have Alador’s knees threatening to buckle, and his next words stutter out of him on a sigh. “I just…need another hour or so to…to finish up.”

Darius bites the shell of his ear in reprimand, not too hard, but also not hard enough. “What you need is a shower, love. And about twenty hours of sleep,” he mutters.

Alador huffs a laugh, too tired to be aroused, but comforted by Darius’ undemanding nearness, their easy intimacy. It wasn’t always so, fraught at the start by the years of scorn after their painful parting at graduation and the cruelties they hurled at each other under Odalia’s watchful eye. It took slow, halting steps to master the dance they have now, the give and take, the gentle reciprocity. Love, of a sort Alador had once forgotten existed. 

Darius’ arms slip down to wrap around Alador’s waist, molding his chest to Alador’s back until there’s scant space left between their bodies. Darius is taller and broader than him by several degrees, but instead of feeling trapped by the embrace, Alador feels secure in a way he seldom has in the last few years. There’s no threat or price attached to Darius’ affection—it is freely given, to himself and to their brood of teenage witchlings. He takes Alador’s hand, drops a kiss on the back of his scarred knuckles, because he wants to. Because Alador welcomes him. 

Alador doesn’t deserve him, or this new lab with windows that let in the sun, or this second chance at fatherhood. He doesn’t deserve it, but he’ll be thrice damned before he lets it go. Even if it means, sometimes, leaving his work incomplete. 

“Okay,” Alador sighs, admitting defeat. “Take me to bed.” 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Darius tightens his grip before teleporting them to their bedroom. 

[ill-try-to-do-book-reviews]

The Cabin at the End of the World

Paul Tremblay

RATING: 🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯 (5/5)

The Cabin at the End of the World is a horrifying tale of homophobia, cultism, and perhaps even Catholic guilt. It has a slow start, but when it picks up speed, it absolutely does not stop. No matter where you are in this book, you will not figure out the ending. You will find yourself questioning if maybe this little pseudo-cult is right, and you will wonder up until the very end about who, if anyone, is going to make it out of this story alive.

SUMMARY: Seven-year-old Wen and her parents, Eric and Andrew, are vacationing at a remote cabin on a quiet New Hampshire lake. Their closest neighbors are more than two miles in either direction along a rutted dirt road.

One afternoon, as Wen catches grasshoppers in the front yard, a stranger unexpectedly appears in the driveway. Leonard is the largest man Wen has ever seen, but he is young, friendly, and he wins her over almost instantly. Leonard and Wen talk and play until Leonard abruptly apologizes and tells Wen, “None of what’s going to happen is your fault.” Three more strangers then arrive at the cabin carrying unidentifiable, menacing objects. As Wen sprints inside to warn her parents, Leonard calls out: “Your dads won’t want to let us in, Wen. But they have to. We need your help to save the world.”

Thus begins an unbearably tense, gripping tale of paranoia, sacrifice, apocalypse, and survival that escalates to a shattering conclusion, one in which the fate of a loving family and quite possibly all of humanity are entwined. The Cabin at the End of the World is a masterpiece of terror and suspense from the fantastically fertile imagination of Paul Tremblay.

MY DETAILED REVIEW (SPOILER WARNING):

This story is fucking gut-wrenching. There were times that I had to take a break from reading for my own sanity, despite how much I wanted to keep going until all of my questions were answered.

And all of your questions will not be answered. Is the apocalypse actually happening? Who fucking knows. But really, isn't that the point? It doesn't matter if the apocalypse is happening or not - because we will go on.

Normally, I'm not a reader pushed on by romance. I could normally not care less if the protagonists have somebody waiting for them back home - it just doesn't motivate me to read any faster than if I were already hooked. But Eric and Andrew's love for each other, and their love for Wen, it was a pretty big factor in my finishing of this book in 7 hours, 48 minutes. I wanted, needed, to know if their small little family would make it out alive. I couldn't bear the thought of little Wen being without one of her dads, or one of her dads being without his husband, or, gods forbid, her dads being without their daughter.

Wen's death was a gut punch. Not a wholly unexpected one, I admit, but still a heart shattering moment to know that the little girl they had fought so long and hard for had died. And, though I do regret to admit it, the fact that she died so unceremoniously.

A gruesome death befell everyone in our story, and narratively, it is rather fitting that Wen was shot, on accident, by a man who loved her and a man who lied to her and took advantage of her trust and naievity.

As much as I feel whether the apocalypse was real or not does not matter to the story, I also can't help but find myself making my own interpretations of whether or not it was. As a born Christian, now pagan, I found myself on Andrew's side for a majority of the book.

But what is all the more frightening is how I was also finding myself beginning to believe Leonard and his gang, just like Eric.

I made notes to myself throughout my reading that I was predicting Eric was going to give in and believe, at least partially out of Catholic guilt, once that second earthquake and tsunami hit. Finding myself to be partially right was vindicating, but finding that I am also susceptible to cult-like mentalities, especially on the basis of end-of-the-world, the-Rapture-is-here talk that is so engrained into my mine, was also a reminder. A reminder that no matter how sure you are of yourself, you are not immune to propaganda.

Anyways, as for whether I believe the apocalypse or not, no. I think that it was a religious nutjob who rallied other religious nutjobs. Granted, I cannot explain whether Redmond or O'Bannon was stalking Andrew or if it was n unfortunate coincidence that they were the ones at the cabin, or anything like that. There are questions I have leaving this book that I do not have enough evidence to base an idea or theory or solid answer off of.

All in all, The Cabin at the End of the World is a gut-wrenching story that had me biting my fingers in suspense from start to finish. I have a feeling it is going to be one of those books that you read once and the story sticks with you for the rest of your life. Regardless, a physical copy is in my future, because I loved this book from front to back.

[isagrimorie]

1 + 7 for the WIP ask game?

From this writer’s WIP ask game

🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)

Those Who Favor Fire (Nanoha, Fate-centric story. Spy thriller.)

The Arrows Fall Backwards (Nanoha, Fate-centric. There but for the grace of god AU.)

My Nanoha WIP titles are fire IMO. Too bad they’re still incomplete.

New Girl in New Orleans (TVD/The Originals crossover. Katherine Pierce-centric.)

🖍Post Any sentence from your wip

Excerpt from New Girl in New Orleans (Working Title): Season 5, TVD, season 3, the Originals.

——-

Life had a funny way of punching Katherine in the gut: like finding out about another person with her face. Or, after 500 years of enjoying life as a Vampire, the teen High school version of herself forced the Cure down her throat and turned Katherine Pierce, Survivor Extraordinaire Human again.

And then, the ultimate gut punch, life threw another inexplicable curve ball at her.

In a dark back alley ("My name is Nadia Petrova… and you are my mother.") Katherine found her daughter again.

It's an understatement to say Katherine had mixed feelings about finally meeting her daughter. Katherine lived a solitary life for five centuries and she's learned to keep her family in a box, in a corner of her mind. Nadia was like a ghost hovering over her with her big doe eyes, expecting things from her.

Some morbid fantasy about being mother and daughter.

Katerina Petrova harbored a similar same fantasy, Katherine Pierce did not. Katherine lived with cold facts and numbers, probabilities. All to serve a single purpose— keeping herself alive.

She also can't live up to whatever fantasy Nadia had of her, and she said as much.

There was no future relationship between them. Especially now that Katherine realized she was dying. Dying, of old age, of all the stupid, random things. The Great Katherine Pierce felled by Old Age. It was embarrassing.

(And terrifying. If there was one other thing Katherine feared more than Klaus, it was death.)

Nadia cut Katherine off, angry and full of feeling as she pulled up her sleeve. "You don't have to worry about me any longer."

And there it was, the ugly bite on her arm. A werewolf bite. More accurately a hybrid bite, a death sentence for a vampire.

It was like white noise in her head. She can't really tell but maybe because was Human now, again, maybe because it was realizing that she was going to watch her daughter, her only daughter die. It felt like every emotion rushed towards her, falling on her and she had no tools to push past it.

Everything fell away for Katherine. Everything crystallized for Katherine and she had a sharp steady sick feeling rising inside her. It was her fault Nadia got bit. It was Katherine's schemes and blind stupid affection for Stefan Salvatore. Suddenly rule number 1 didn't matter as much and before Katherine can stop to think she grabbed Nadia's arm, "We're going."

"Where are we going?" Nadia allowed herself be pulled along until annoying, pesky Caroline stepped in front of her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Katherine stared at Caroline. “New Orleans.”

Caroline looked surprised, “You’re going to Klaus?”

“She’s my daughter.”

Something flashed across Caroline’s face and then she stepped aside.

“You’re letting me go?” Katherine was surprised and suspicious.

Caroline looked past Katherine then back at her, “Yeah.”

Katherine didn’t need to be told twice and pulled Nadia until they got into her car.

“Also,"Caroline began. Katherine stopped, cautious. "No offense, but I Mystic Falls would be a lot better without you here.”

It hurt a little to hear that and it annoyed Katherine that it hurt to hear. She looked around this small town that just a few days ago she was determined to make her home. Nadia was looking at her intently, probably remembering their earlier discussion. How she had begged Katherine to leave with her, return to Bulgaria with her.

Katherine schooled her face and said, “The charm’s worn off anyway.”

Katherine started the car and drove away, past main street, and just before they passed the Mystic Falls sign. Nadya let out a rueful chuckle, "To think all it took for you to leave this town with me is dying."