#and most of the men in the comments were blaming their mother for not having been taught to regulate their emotions

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Martha accidentally engaged Bruce to a higher being when he was two.

It sounds terrible, but she hadn't thought that the man wearing the Time ghost costume at her husband's Halloween Gala wasn't wearing a costume and was actually the physical embodiment of Time.

She just thought he took Halloween very seriously.

Mr. Clockwork was charming and didn't care that she had married from the lower level of first class. Her parents were rich, of course, but they weren't old money, and they certainly didn't have a lot of power to speak of.

Because of that, the elites of Gotham thought she wasn't good enough to be in a family such as the Waynes. It was so lovely not to be dragged into conversations that were thinly concealed insults.

Everyone else at the Gala thought Martha had no right to be there with them. Why was she just a few zeros off from being middle class, and wasn't it just so sad that Thomas would stain his family with her?

Secertly, Martha prayed Bruce would do something wild, like marry a girl from Crime Alley or even adopt kids in lower classes to make them all choke on their pearls.

Her son would be one of the most powerful men in a few years, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of hell he would unleash upon them. She would never push, of course, but it would be a nice fantasy to have every time she had to face passive-aggressive comments from ladies told by their fathers they would be a far better Mrs. Wyane.

" Why, hello there. Aren't you the cutest little thing?" Mr. Clockwork coos, smiling down at Bruce. He clung to his mother's skirt, his matching cowboy costume a miniature version of what she was wearing.

The boy had wandered over in the middle of their conversation once he was bored of coloring at his table. Martha couldn't blame her poor baby. There really wasn't much to do for those his age here.

Thomas had stated that children were usually not brought along due to being loud and distracting.

Martha wouldn't hear any of it, insisting her son would be going with them at the party or there would be no party. The majority of the elites believed children should be seen, not heard, and that boiled her blood something fierce.

Thomas had thankfully known when to pick his battles, so he allowed his wife to drag him to a costume store for a family costume to wear. He currently chatting with a group of investors in all his cowboy glory somewhere on the other side of the gala.

"Say thank you, Bruce," She tells her boy, but he only hides his face more, causing the two adults to chuckle. "Do you have kids, Mr.Clockwork?"

"Yes. Two daughters and a son" The man chuckles "All three are a handleful but I love them dearly."

"Oh, how wonderful. Bruce is my only son, but I want to give him siblings," she tells him warmly. She can picture Bruce chasing after his younger siblings dressed up as the Grey Ghost he loves.

She knows Thomas was worried about their chances of having a second child. He was informed not too long ago that he may suffer from secondary infertility. She didn't mind. If they couldn't have a child of their own by blood they could easily adopt.

Martha worked long and hard to provide good orphanages to the city. Maybe one day, a child from there could be her own. She'll have to speak to her orphanage managers- those in charge of the kids- to see if they could help her find one.

They have successfully been getting kids into good homes (At least she thought the number of children constantly changed, and the kids were never seen again, meaning the families that adopted them loved them enough to never return!)

Mr. Clockwork hums "how about giving him a spouse instead? My girls or boy could be a good partner"

Laughing, she assumes he meant her work on bettering the lives of the gay community- in honor of her brother who passed during the AIDs epidemic. "I'm sure Bruce would be happy to hear Mommy found him a husband."

"Is that a yes?" Clockwork eyes' flashed with an emotion that was gone too quick for her to identify.

"Yes, of course. If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all."

Mr. Clockworks red eyes - contacts? A medical condition?- gleam, and his voice takes on a strange rhythm. "Then so shall it be, my son Danny Fenton shall be married to Bruce Wayne per their Blood Mother and Core Father deal."

Huh. Maybe Mr. Clockwork is a nutcase. Suddenly, she thinks back to her father, who would often tell her that she lived in a delusion because he did not want her to see the horror that Gotham truly is.

Even when you think you're doing good, Gotham has a way of making your work into nightmares.

Was Mr. Clockwork one of those people he warned her about?

Thankfully, he leaves not long after that. He claims he must return to work before his co-workers notice him gone. She doesn't see him for the rest of the night and half wonders if she had been speaking to one of the wait staff they hired as extra help.

Not that she minded, but it made her think his name might not even be Clockwork.

She tells Thomas the story hours after Bruce is put to bed with a candy bucket and the last guests have all slipped home. Thomas is exhausted, having been playing host longer than her because Martha had left around eight to take Bruce trick and treating. Then she got home and put him down for his bedtime.

She got back to the party around eleven but it was a much-needed break from all the hostility that Thomas had been forced to face alone.

"WHAT!?" Thomas booms when she finishes the story. They had just crawled into bed, and Thomas had been rolling to his side for sleep before her words flung him back. "Clockwork!? You're sure you spoke to Clockwork!?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"What did he look like?"

"Um well he was in costume, but red eyes, blue skin, and he was wearing purple robes." She watches as the blood drains from her husband's face. "What is it darling? Who was he?"

"Oh, this isn't good....Alfred! Alfred!" Thomas frantically calls as if the devil had appeared in their bedroom.

Their servant and sometimes lover comes racing into the room, carrying a loaded shotgun. Ever since Thomas had met him overseas when he hired the British man as a personal bodyguard, he fell hard and fast for Alfred but he still deeply loved Martha.

He had sent Martha a letter detailing his feelings for his guard, and only after she had given him permission did he pursue the butler. Alfred had insisted on meeting Thomas' wife to prove that she was okay with him having a lover, so he had followed Wayne back home.

Then he simply never left.

Maybe because he was the best butler Wayne ever had, with his regal training and service in her royal highness' army, but she thinks that her own developed feelings for Alfred convince him to remain.

Alfred insisted that he was only a servant and thus could not be added to their marriage besides a bed partner occasionally. Still, Martha hoped one day they could convince him otherwise.

Bruce already saw him as a second father.

He looks at the pair, dressed in their nightwear in a rather enticing position (Thomas had grabbed Martha by her shoulder, to look into her eyes but that left them rather entangled on the bed) with no visible threat, and raises one brow.

Before he can say anything Thomas is all but rolling out of bed in a frantic leap. He tangles up in the blankets, falling gracelessly over the edge in failing limbs "Martha made a deal with Clockwork!"

At once, Alfred's handsome face drains of blood. "Oh dear, Martha darling, you made a grave mistake."

She can only blink at the men in confusion. "Who is Clockwork?"

"He has many names, but I knew him as Merlin," Alfred informed her evenly. He took her hand in his, the tremble in his fingers revealing his unease. " He had shown interest in Master Thomas before and was the one I protected him from. I barely fought him off and only due to outsmarting him. I would not be able to do it again a second time."

What?

"He is also known as a Fae or incubus in some circles. The kind that steals you away for fun." Thomas babbled from where he was pacing next to the bed, eyes franticly glancing about as if the bogggie man was about to leap out at him from the shadows.

For a moment, Martha wondered why her husband, a man of science and medicine who had never been superstitious, believed this Clockwork was some...some creature of myths.

"Martha, love, what did he ask of you?" Alfred questioned, bringing her hand to his lips as though kissing them would confirm she was safe before him.

"He asked for Bruce to marry his son."

"Oh, gods!" Thomas fretted, speeding up, his long strides becoming far more frantic. "Please say you didn't say yes."

"I-thought it was a joke, I didn't see anything wrong with it, I- said yes."

Alfred closed his eyes, looking like a man who had just been informed his death sentence had been signed by the Queen. "Then all we can do now is pray."

Years later, as Alfred is dusting the portrait of his deceased loves. He allowed his hand to trace the cover of Martha's painted smile and Thomas' strong jaw, mind filled with stolen kisses and sweet nothings that were ripped away that fateful night.

He is still struck by their loss. Every now and then, the knowledge of their death creeps in during his most mundane activities. It's like a kick to the chest every time.

Oh, how he misses them.

Ding Dong

The front doorbell jolts him out of his memories so violently it takes the aged Butler a moment or two to get a hold of his senses. He puts down the duster, climbs down the latter, and quickly makes his way to the door.

Stopping to fix his suit coat, he throws it open with a prepared smile. He expects extra help from the catering company Master Bruce hired for Wayne's annual Halloween Gala.

He was not expecting the two men, one looking nervous around Master Bruce's age and the other sly. His age is hard to gauge, but it may be due to time not affecting him as it did mortals.

Alfred's blood freezes at the sight of those cunning red eyes and smirk. "Merlin."

"Alfred Pennyworth." The demon chuckles. "I prefer Clockwork, as you know, but it's good to see you remember me. Most humans are prone to forgetting in their limited age."

"What are you doing here?"

"Why I came to fulfill the deal between Martha Wayne nee Kane and I"

"Martha is dead. Your contact is void."

Clockwork chuckles again, the sound as deadly as poison. "The contact lives as long as all those involved in it live. You know this."

Alfred presses the panic button on his wristwatch, knowing it sends a message to everyone in the manor to evacuate immediately. He will not live through this battle, but hopefully, it will give Master Bruce time to escape. "You will not lay a hand on Master Bruce."

"Come now, Alfred. We are to be in-laws. Our sons are joining in holy matrimony. Why the hostility-"

"Excuse me what?" The other man-demon? Ghost? Higher-being? cuts in, looking at Clockwork with brows knitted into a frown. "What did you mean holy matrimony?"

"Danny, you're getting married," Clockwork says with a cheerful wave.

"The hell I am!" The man barks, flushing red with anger. Alfred can hardly believe he just yelled at the monster. "I am not marrying some random guy!"

"It is the way things must go for the good of mankind-"

"Oh, go suck on a lemon! We both know that whole "this is fate" is bull!"

"You are embarrassing me in front of our new in-laws, younn man" Clockwork actually waves a finger at the fully grown human. "This is my one chance to marry you off to a good man. We both know that you can't attract a mate on your own."

"What!? Yes, I can! I've had girlfriends and boyfriends before!"

"And yet, no spouse! No wedding! Not even a ring!"

"Moby Dick, I knew this bonding fishing trip was a lie! You can't make me get married because of some contact you made when I was three!"

"It's not permanent! Martha Wayne said If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all. This means you both must want to be together after one year of marriage. See if you like it, and if you don't, I can always find you a new husband."

"This isn't returning a jacket to a store! I can't just see if I like being married Clockwork!" The man hissed running a hand through his hair. "We're going home. I'm so sorry for bothering you today Mr. Alfred."

Alfred blinks at the young man's sheepish smile, wondering if ti's a trick. "No bother at all."

"Danny, if you leave without marriage, Bruce Wayne will die in an hour due to breaking our contract," Clockwork says, crossing his arms. "Honestly, your sisters were far more mature regarding their marriages."

Danny punches him in the face with a glowing hand. The higher being falls like a sack of bricks.

"Right, I'm going to drop this one off at a nursing home, and then I'll return to marry Bruce. Only so the contact doesn't kill him, and I swear I'll only visit every once in a while until our year is up." Throwing- Merlin, holy shit- over his shoulder as if though he weighed nothing, Danny waves at Alfred and scurries away, vanishing into a green portal.

Alfred is left standing at the doorway, utterly flabbergasted. Distantly, he wonders if the hollowing wind is actually Martha laughing herself silly in the afterlife.

Carefully, he reaches up for his com, switching it on to the sound of his family's frantic bickering. They were all worried about him since he sent the alarm and were fighting about following policy or saving him.

"Master Bruce," He says faintly silencing the coms "Please come to have your suit fitted as soon as you can."

"What for?" His son asks, likely looking for a coded message, but Alfred doesn't have the mental capacity to make one.

"Your wedding, sir. It's tonight, courtesy of your mother."

The coms explode into chaos.

[papergirllife]

Johnny Suh

(aged up) Alpha Johnny x Omega Reader

Synopsis:

Falling for an older man is still considered acceptable in today’s society, but falling for someone who’s taken, by your own mother even, is never the cliche stories you commonly hear. You thought your little crush for your mother’s fiance was going to go away naturally, that they’ll get married and break your heart to pieces and you’d be able to move on, what you hadn’t expected was for them to break up and it was partially your fault. And when he moved away, you’d thought you'd never see him again, but your job brings you back to that sweet cinnamon scented alpha once again.

warnings: aboverse, daddy kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, heats, ruts, knotting, minor angst, the mother in this story is a narcissist, absent father, fainting (briefly).

DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ, JUST SCROLL, HATE COMMENTS AND ASKS WOULD BE DELETED AND BLOCKED.

wordcount: 11.4k

a/n: so i’m back, but not entirely, mental health is still bad, but um, really wanted to write this, so if this flops i’ll be deleting this and rewriting the story to fit someone else lol, okay, bye, enjoy the story. and this is based on the song cinnamon girl by lana del rey.

Growing up, there’s one thing about your life that has been a constant and that is uncertainty, all your life, instead of having a pair of parents that diligently try their best to pave a smooth road for your life ahead like most parents, they had chose to lay out eggshells instead, their behaviour had manifested a constant spike in your heartbeat whenever you make a mistake in life, similarly to the feeling of prickling your bare feet by accidentally stepping onto a cracked eggshell on the floor, that’s how you’ve always felt ever since you were a child, every step you take, a pinch here and there that’s bound to push you over the edge one day, and that day came sooner and far more unexpected than a thunderstorm.

That thunderstorm had costed your mother’s marriage, and she never fails to remind you, how your attempt of ending your life had driven your bipolar father to the brink of his sanity, blaming your mother for her inadequacy of being a parent while he excused himself so easily just because he has ‘longer hours’ in the office.

Your father didn’t even try to fight for parental rights, he merely signed you away to your miserable mother, and that broke something inside her.

She begins taking more care in her appearance and goes out of her way to meet new people, particularly alpha men, she was particular with traditional first gender stereotypes, it didn’t really bother you, the rancid scent of some alphas could be avoided as long as you were in your room. 

Since you were growing into late teen hood, she only gives you the necessities, basic interactions, things weren’t getting better, but they weren’t getting worse, to you, that’s considered a win.

Things were looking bleak until your mom engaged an alpha with honey in his eyes.

Johnny Suh, a young man your mother had picked up from one of the many parties she had attended on behalf of work, a client of her company apparently, he lasted the longest compared to all the others, you thought he’d stay forever and become an addition to your broken family, until another storm brews right in front of your eyes. 

That day you had been sick, your mother had to rush back from a date to take you to the clinic, Johnny, being the gentleman he is, accompanies her with you, you still remember that day as clear as crystal. 

The nurse had complimented how pretty you were, and that you take after your mother, to which she was delighted of course, gushing that she gave you all the good genes, no one but this nurse thinks the two of you look alike, you have always shared more similarities with your asshole father, not enough to make you feel sickening to look in the mirror, but just enough to remind you that you’d always be associated to that asshole.

After a thorough consultation, the doctor says that you had a bad reaction to the new heat suppressants your mother had switched to for a lower price. 

“You better not fail your next driving test the next time around, or else you wouldn’t be able to get yourself to the clinic for heaven’s sake, and why are you always so sensitive to medicine? Can’t you be normal for once? Why do you have to be a freak?” your mother rambled all the way to Johnny’s car.

You had kept your silence, you weren’t feeling well anyways, you don’t have any energy left to argue with her, but instead, someone speaks up for you.

“Hey, why are you so harsh on her?” Johnny asks, at first he dismissed your mother’s odd alter ego towards you as a culture difference, since his own parents have migrated to the states so many years, he had always been told parents elsewhere are harsher towards their kids, but this feels like a personal insult towards you, and he might be 10 years younger than your mother, but not to the point of having such different views on how to children should be treated.

“She’s always been such a handful, all my friends’ daughters are so much more mature than her, they help clean the house, cook, always have good grades, not a burden like you are!” your mother emphasises on the last part by craning her neck to look at you with her hideous eyes, she’s not ugly at all, maybe average if you’re being mean, but she is horrid in your eyes, which is why you never understood why Johnny, a successful man at the ripe age of 28 would ever settle for a single mother omega with the worst mood swings ever.

“Why are you speaking to your daughter like this? She’s your own flesh and blood, you never told me there was such a huge riff between the two of you,” Johnny says, exasperated, oh there’s so much he doesn’t know, this is merely the surface.

She mumbles something under her breath that you didn’t quite catch, not that you bother to listen, you just want to lock yourself up in the safety of your room.

After a week from that day, your mother comes home with a slam of the door as tears stream down her face.

“This is all your fault!” she screams with a weak shove of your shoulder before she, surprisingly, retreats to her room. Later you find out why, because of the absence of the 6 foot tall handsome man who hasn’t dropped by for dinner for days now.

You thought you’d never see him again until you see his car waiting for you one day after you finish your college entrance examination.

“Johnny?” you call out, the handsome man has grown out his hair now, a beautiful lock falls right above his right brow, giving him an even more mature look, you’d always thought he was baby faced for a 28 year old man, but now he finally looks his age, guess this what people call a ‘break up glow up’.

“Hey, just thought I’d drop by to say congratulations, and maybe buy you a meal, you must’ve worked really hard these past few months,” Johnny offers, and who are you to reject him when you’re sick of having the same food your mom cooks. 

“Did you get back with my mother?” you ask when you settle down in a fancy restaurant, your uniform looks cheap against the pretty red velvet walls, you note, even the waiters had judged when you walked in.

“Is your mother here?” Johnny asks, looking up from the menu, seemingly having decided what he’s having because he’s flagging down a waiter.

Johnny orders for the both of you, you had only mentioned that you’ll probably try the pasta you want once, and he never asked you to repeat yourself nor asked you to state your order to the waiter yourself, but he waits to see if he got it right, or if you’d like to order more, to which you quickly shook your head no, scared that he just might order more. Now you know why your mother was so heartbroken, you’d cry if you lose an alpha this attentive too.

You always had an odd sense of comfort when Johnny’s around, his scent was never overbearing, he has never once bossed you or your mother around just because he’s an alpha, he has been so respectful towards you, unlike some of the creepy alphas your mother brought back.

Just being in his presence again simmers down your post exam anxiety and general anxiety, you didn’t know Johnny's departure had such an impact on you until seeing him again today, it’s like your omega feels at home again.

The two of you talked with a newfound freedom, away from your mother’s watchful eyes. She never likes it when her boyfriends give you more attention, she’s always seen you as her competition.

Johnny asks about your ideas on how your future might look while he updates you on how he took the leap to establish his own company with the support of his best friends that you heard him speak about to your mother.

But everything good comes to an end, and yours come in the form of your lunch with Johnny ending, but the big blow is what he tells you right after reaching your neighbourhood.

“My new office is in Seoul, I’ll be moving tomorrow,” Johnny suddenly confesses.

“What? You’re leaving? Again?” you ask, a lump building in your throat.

Johnny winces at the wording, he thinks you know the relationship was toxic, how he lets your mother have her way in everything, but you’re just 18, a young girl who’s hurt time after time.

“I’m sorry, this company…has been my dream, and your mother and I, we’d never get back together, I don’t think we were ever compatible, I only stayed because…, nevermind, here, this is for you,” Johnny says, opening the glove box in front of you, passing you a little cardholder wallet.

“My business card is there, it has my office address as well as  my number, personal and office, there’s also some gift cards there, Jo Malone, Sephora, I know you love perfumes and make up, get yourself something nice, a small gift from me,” Johnny says.

You don’t know when you started tearing up, but you felt Johnny use the expensive material of his sleeve to wipe away your salty tears.

“It’s going to be okay, just one more year, and you’d be able to move away from your mother, one more year and you won’t be binded to her legally anymore,” Johnny reassures, but that’s not what you’re sad for, you’re sad that Johnny’s leaving again, and so far away from Busan too, there’s no way you’d be able to leave the state without your mother knowing.

“Does that mean I could come find you in a year’s time?” you sputter out, the words taste bitter on your tongue.

Johnny freezes in his spot, the feeling of being on the borderline, he’s an adult, and an alpha more so, it’s not appropriate for an omega this young to be staying with him, yes you’re legal in terms of age, but it feels wrong still, but Johnny looks at you, he really looks at you this time, and he realises how you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, even with tear streaks and a sour pear scent that makes him miss the soft sweet scent of pears in spring, he still thinks you’re absolutely ethereal in every way.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a year’s time if you don’t change your mind,” Johnny says as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, he can’t have your pretty locks soaked in your own tears, seeing you cry and being the reason of your sadness already has his alpha howling in protest.

“Really?” you ask him once more, thinking you heard him wrongly, that your delusional mind had made things up for you.

“Yes, I promise.”

There’s so many things you want to say to him, but it’s better to keep it to yourself, you’ll just hurt yourself if you don’t.

So many things have changed since that fateful day, you no longer stay with your mother, instead, you’re staying with your rich best friend who has an apartment all to herself after her ex moved out.

You barely talk to your mother these days, merely giving an update or two for her every few weeks, at first she was ballistic when you said you were going to move out, but when you told her that Hyuna wasn’t charging you rent, she was ecstatic to help you move out of her humble abode. 

You haven’t thought of looking for Johnny until you realise the modelling agency you’re working for expanded, and so now they’re planning on taking on bigger jobs by moving their HQ to Seoul, which means you need to pack up and find a place in a city you barely know.

“Still looking for somewhere to stay?” Hyuna asks, bringing over a mug of wine for you, she’s always been a day drinker, a habit she’s passed on to you.

“Yup,” you say after taking a sip, just what you needed, “thanks for this, it’ll be perfect for my nap when it hits,” you joke truthfully.

“You’re still having issues sleeping?” Hyuna asks, her brows furrowed in worry.

“It’s been a long time now, don’t act all surprised, it’s not going to go away,” you say, deciding to shut your laptop after bookmarking a few places, still a bit over budget, but maybe if you took on more jobs, you’d be able to make ends meet, and maybe no more indulging yourself in expensive food and groceries like you do now, hopefully you’d still have enough for the heating when days get colder.

“The cinnamon candles don’t work?” Hyuna asks, looking at the direction of your room, probably trying to catch a whiff of how strong the scent is.

“It helps, but it takes me forever to fall asleep, but at least I can sleep,” you say, recalling the gruelling times when you couldn’t sleep at all.

“If it’s this bad, it means what you had for him is more than a mere crush-

“He didn’t even say anything, it’s just me, Hyuna, stop giving me false hope, he only cared for me out of pity, we wouldn’t even have met if it wasn’t for my mom,” you defend yourself, it’s true, if he felt the same, he’d speak up, maybe called you or something, your mother probably gave him your number before, Johnny’s a straightforward man.

“Maybe he wasn’t sure of how he feels, how do you know he’s not suffering just like you are if you’re not willing to even give him a call, maybe you could stay with him for a few months before you secure your own place, just to confirm if what you’re feeling is truly just a fickle crush, please,” Hyuna pleads.

“I’ll think about it after my nap,” you say dismissively, leaving your bestie in the living room, she’s going to miss your stubborn ass when you’re gone, but you’ll probably be in better hands if you’re nearer to Johnny.

You don’t know how’d you get here, at Johnny’s doorstep of his big ass house in Gangnam, standing in between two expensive cars.

You had taken up Hyuna’s advice to contact your ‘almost stepfather’. 

When you called him, he was surprised to say the least, he hadn't heard from you for three years, he thought you had moved on in life, leaving him as merely a closed chapter.

The phone call had been brief, just a quick congratulations and brief updates before Johnny had to dash off to attend a meeting.

Needless to say, Johnny has been excited for your arrival, he hasn’t stopped wondering how you were since the day he left Busan, he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s missed caring for you while he was with your mother, but ever since that day, he’s had this emptiness in his chest, and just by knowing he’s seeing you soon has relieved this sense of emptiness that was once a hole in his chest.

You finally plucked up the courage to ring the doorbell, quickly stepping aside when you caught whiff of the familiar scent of cinnamon. 

Before you know it, you’re being greeted by the familiar alpha, he’s buffed up since the last time you’ve seen, time isn’t an issue for Johnny when he ages like fine wine.

“Hey, come on in,” Johnny says after getting over the initial shock of how much you’ve grown, instead of the little girl that her mother picks fights with, now the little girl standing before him has grown into a beautiful young lady.

Johnny has a new problem now that the emptiness is gone, and it comes in the form of that emptiness being overfilled.

Your scent, it’s different from how he remembered it to be, yes it’s still has the major notes of pear, but he remembers picking it up notes of your mother’s rose scent, which isn’t surprising since sometimes a mother’s scent lingers onto their children, especially if they’re both omegas, but now that you haven’t lived with your mother for so long, he realised that the scent lingered due to proximity, not biology, and it has him reeling.

He thought his desire to care for you is due to the fact that he once had love for your mother, but now that he’s living with you, he realises that the scent of ripe pears was also lingering on your mother just as her scent lingered on you, and now he’s questioning whether he was initially attracted to your mother because of her own scent or the soft but empowering scent of pears.

“Johnny?” 

“Yes?” Fuck, he should stop having these stupid questions filling his mind, he isn’t attracted to you, maybe he should get laid soon, maybe it’s purely an instinct thing.

“I was asking you if you could turn up the heating a bit? My body isn’t as warm as an alpha’s” you remind him, but just then a sweater on the sofa catches your attention, “Oh wait, I could just borrow this, you don’t mind right? If not I’ll head up to unpack,” you say, to which Johnny nods, he forgot to even ask you if you wanted to eat anything after your long journey.

The sight of you drowning in his clothes, god, you’re going to be the death of him.

A few days later, after having gotten used to your new living environment, and adjusted to your newfound proper sleeping schedule, to Hyuna’s happiness and her constant ‘I told you sos’, you decided to cook Johnny dinner as the many forms of 'thank yous’ you’ll be giving him.

You decided to cook him a simple pasta to start off, deciding to make your own pesto sauce from scratch, which is why the two of you are spending your Sunday morning at a supermarket, browsing through the many aisles after deciding to splurge on a block of aged parmesan cheese.

You walk towards a pile of fresh basil, but frown when you see the ‘organic’ tag, these are always unnecessarily expensive, so you put the pack of basil down even though the organic ones look a lot fresher.

“Why are you putting them down? They’re a lot fresher than the brand you’re looking at now,” Johnny says before picking up the basil you had discarded.

“Oh, just thought those were a bit too pricey,” you say offhandedly. 

“I’m paying, no worries, you don’t have to fret over these miniscule things when you’re with me,” Johnny says with a comforting pat on your head, god, if only he knows what those words do to you, you think to yourself before willing your emotions to be stable, he can’t pick up the spike in your scent, or he’d think you’re a freak.

“But I’m buying today, remember?” you say reminding Johnny of your promise of thanking him for his generosity of letting you stay in his home.

“You said you’d cook as a form of thank you, not buying the groceries and cook,” Johnny says before he places the pack of basil in the cart, “you don’t have to worry about price tags when you’re with me,” Johnny promises before walking ahead, looking back to see you following him with a huff, not used to walking about with someone with such long legs.

“Johnny? Where’s the blender you used this morning for your breakfast shake?” you ask, looking around the expanse of his large kitchen.

“It’s in the third upper shelf from the left,” he says from the couch, apparently he’s checking his emails despite saying he ended work at 6 not too long ago.

You shout out a quick thank you before you follow his directions, opening the cabinet door, you’re quick to recognise the device, standing on your tippy toes to retrieve the blender, you’re surprised by how heavy it is, and when you felt a slight wobble, you suddenly felt a warmth body pressed up behind you as sturdy hands came up to hold onto the blender supporting your smaller hand.

“Careful, this thing’s heavy at the top too, I don’t know why the cover’s so thick,” Johnny jokes as he pulls away with the blender in hand, immediately setting it up for you to use.

“Thanks, Johnny,” you say, glad that he was there, or you’d be cleaning up broken glass now.

“No problem, let me know if you need anything else from the upper cabinets,” Johnny says, smiling as he ruffles your hair before walking away to let you cook, leaving you with butterflies in your tummy.

“Does it taste good?” you ask after tasting a forkful of pesto pasta, you think it’s okay, maybe a little over for the cheese, but Johnny loves cheese, so you purposely incorporated more cheese.

“Tastes great, you’re really good at this, where did you learn all this from?” Johnny asks with a surprised but satisfied smile on his face, he knows you didn’t learn this from your mother, she was a more eastern food type of person.

“Just picked it up from Youtube shorts, those pasta videos are all over my explore page,” you explain with a bashful smile as you try to keep your emotions in check, you’ll die from embarrassment if he picks up your scent getting sweeter.

“Just from a quick short clip? What a smart girl you are,” Johnny compliments, he couldn’t help it, your mother had always complained about you being dumb and clumsy, always never getting top grades, but here you are, learning a quick recipe from a 30 second clip.

Your breath gets caught at the compliment, fuck, your scent definitely changed, you can feel the fuzzy feeling in your tummy again.

“It’s nothing complicated, really, it’s just a simple recipe, it’s no biggie,” you deflect, not used to being complimented this way.

“No, none of that down playing shit, take the compliment as it is, you watched a short clip of a recipe and you recreated it, that’s an achievement,” Johnny says firmly, but with no ill intent, he genuinely doesn’t want you to put yourself down anymore, he knows your mother had conditioned you to look at yourself in a shitty manner, but he’s going to change that.

You nod, mumbling another quick thank you before you go back to eating, feeling the heat behind your ears still.

Johnny isn’t dumb, he picked up on your spike in scent, and the way you look at him, he just wants to stare back into those pretty eyes of yours when he feels them trained on him.

At first it was tolerable, but as the days go by and the weather gets warmer, he sees you walking the house in nothing but shorts and a tee, and he swears you’re not wearing a bra underneath if he looks a bit longer.

Johnny is now out for a long awaited boys’ night with Yuta and Mark at Yuta’s bachelor pad. 

“I thought the biggest concern would be that you can’t bring back hot omegas to your place, but you actually have a hot omega in your house, and you’re not going to do anything?” Yuta asked in disbelief.

Fuck, Johnny shouldn’t have shown them your socials, now they’re spewing bullshit instead of helping him.

“Dude, that’s his step daughter, it feels so weird,” Mark says with a huge side eye towards Yuta, which was rather common, since Yuta is the alpha of every omega’s nightmare, unless they’re into freaky shit that is.

“Thank you, Mark, finally someone who sees the logic in this situation,” Johnny said, his tone convincing, but not convincing enough to forget about the way your shorts fit around your bubble butt.

“Johnny didn’t even marry that bitch, and I know you’re a beta, Mark, but can’t you pick up how sweet she is just from Johnny’s clothes, look, man, if you’re not gonna make a move to tap that, I’ll gladly-

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Johnny said with a growl.

Yuta holds his hands up defensively, a smug expression on his face.

“No matter how much you lie to yourself, your alpha wants her, and recognises the connection the two of you share, you can't run away from that, and it's not like you can kick her out now that you offered to let her stay long term," Yuta deduced with a tilt of his head, daring Johnny to come up with a logical retort.

But the tallest amongst them goes quiet, mulling over his choices.

"Even if it's not Yuta hyung, some other alpha's going to be interested in her some day, hyung," Mark reminds Johnny, "and would you be able to stand aside and let someone love her instead of you?" 

Johnny's never thought of it that way, in some twisted way, he had always thought you were his little girl, too young to be courted by alphas, but in reality, you're a grown woman now, even if he thinks he's too old for you, other alphas his age aren't going to think that, maybe not even you, you probably see Johnny less of a father figure than what he assumed.

"He's finally using that brain of his," Yuta says on the side to Mark, the two conversing among themselves while they let their friend gather his thoughts.

"How about this," Mark suddenly speaks up, "you could spend some time away from her to clear your mind, if you really miss her during your time away from each other…then you have your answer, dude," Mark suggests, looking at Yuta for affirmation.

"I mean that could work," Yuta says uncertainly, it probably is going to work, although with added risks that he won't be mentioning, he doesn't need Johnny's angry side out with a few drinks in. 

"What am I going to say? Where am I going to stay?" Johnny asks, still doubting that this is a good idea, would you be fine with staying all by yourself? You haven't done that before, he thinks, but on the other hand, your mother was very much an absent parent.

"You could crash at my place, man, what could go wrong? I'll clean up the guest room for you and it'll be just like home," Mark suggests, immediately going to his phone to make a list of things to buy, like toilet paper and booze, he misses having sleepovers with his bro, and this is the perfect opportunity to make up for loss time.

"I'm leaving for a month for a business trip," Johnny tells you in the midst of having dinner together at this Japanese restaurant you had suggested, the fresh prawn tempura doesn't taste as nice anymore, now that he's bringing this up. 

"Oh, that's abrupt, where to?" you ask, hoping you don't look visibly upset, but Johnny could tell from your crestfallen eyes, he could feel his own alpha struggling to take over and comfort you, yeah, he really needs time away from you if his alpha is acting this way.

"Back to Busan, my business partners are debating on opening a headquarters there, just to make things easier on the management and shipping side of things," Johnny lies, he already has a HQ in Busan, but he doesn't oversee it, god forbid he runs into your mother after everything.

"Oh, okay, do you need me to do anything with the house while you're gone other than watering the plants?" you ask, taking a sip of your green tea to swallow down your nerves, what if he sees her again?

"No, just be there to look over the weekly maids and everything would be fine," Johnny says with a sense of finality, for him, not you, because after telling you, there's no backing out, he's going to go through this like the man he is.

Everything was fine until it wasn't, and it started off with an ache in his head, it wasn't extremely painful, but it was consistent enough for him to down an advil every 12 hours.

He'd been drowning himself in work and the gym and brushed it off as a sign of fatigue, but when the headache shows no sign of fading even on a long weekend, he starts to worry, and then Mark drops another bomb on him. 

"Dude, you’re starting to smell different, is your rut starting soon?" 

Johnny freezes up from his position on the couch, the morning news talking about some light earthquake that happened last night, usually he'd be very focused on news like this, but his mind is now blank.

"Dude you alright? That headache you keep talking about, it's probably your rut-

"But it can't be, my rut isn't due for another 2 months," Johnny says in disbelief, quickly checking his calendar, just to double check.

"I don't know, man, but that's how you smelled like when you start your pre rut symptoms, maybe go check it out at the doctor's?" Mark suggests, stealing the bag of chips Johnny opened on the coffee table, happily munching away while his friend quickly books a doctor's appointment.

It's probably nothing, Johnny assures himself, he's been eating well, resting well, it's probably just a flu or something, he brushes off.

"Mr Suh, I fear that there are a few questions I need to ask you in regards to your condition," Doctor Park asks, his face a bit grim, if Johnny's getting some death disease then he's booking a flight to see the aurora lights, stat, there's no way he's going down without doing all the wild shit on his bucket list.

"Am I dying, doc?" Johnny asks, preparing himself for the worst, maybe stage 4 cancer, maybe some incurable shit that's passed down from the family that miraculously skipped his grandparents and parents.

"No, Mr Suh, I'm afraid you had unknowingly imprinted on someone, which is why I'm going to ask you now, are you seeing someone at the moment?" Doctor Park asks.

"No, not at all," Johnny replies, a half truth, since you're on his mind all the time.

"Then are you perhaps interested in someone? And you see that someone quite often?" the doctor asks, sceptical that an alpha this attractive is single, he could hear the nurses gushing about his patient when he walked in, even if he was blind he'd know this young man is considered attractive.

"Well, there is someone I'm somewhat attracted to, but I don't think to the point where I'd unknowingly imprint on them? And what does this have to do with my upcoming rut?" Johnny asks, still in denial that he actually imprinted on you, maybe the doctor just misdiagnosed him. 

"Based on the information you've given me, you're having constant headaches, no appetite, and an upcoming early rut? Those are all symptoms of mate withdrawal, or in your case, potential mate withdrawal," Doctor Park says with a slight judgement in his voice.

"Is this…permanent?" Johnny asks, he's never been scared of things, but right now, he feels like he's a kid on a roller coaster again.

"There's a procedure to remove the imprint, however it'll be very painful, and I suggest you quickly check on the person you imprinted on, they might be having these symptoms as well, however usually the one that imprints feels it first, so you still have some time to figure things out, now excuse me while I go sort of your medication," the doctor says before leaving Johnny in the room alone.

Johnny quickly makes a quick search on where to get imprint removal in the country, just in case, and he curses when he sees the many warnings and symptoms of the removal treatment.

Doctor Park comes back in with a bag of medication, he pulls them out one by one.

"The violet pills are to numb the imprint in general, blue for your headaches, twice a day, green for your appetite loss, and red is to defer your rut if you wish to do so, however I don't suggest you taking too many of these as it worsens the effects of your actual rut when the medication can no longer withstand your rut hormones, take all of these after meals, and get sufficient rest, and please think this through as soon as possible," Doctor Park says before dismissing him for his next patient.

"So… what did the doctor say, man, you don't look too happy, but at least you look like you got more life in your face now," Mark says, gesturing at Johnny's face that is now less pale than when he left this morning.

"Yeah, I took some medicine, that's why, and I also found out that I imprinted on her," Johnny spilled, which earned the biggest and fruitiest gasps that he only hears from his beta friend.

"I'm sorry? Imprinted? Like for real dude? How did that happen?" Mark was in shock, but he was also curious, he's heard of imprints, but they rarely happen, especially with the dating culture nowadays.

"Not sure, the only good news is that I'm the one that imprinted on her, so I still have some time to think this through," Johnny says, just a heads up to Mark that he won't be rushing to pack his bags and move out of his home.

"Wouldn't she be affected also? And, what's there to think through? You wanna get it removed? That shit stings like a bitch from what I heard, even if you're willing to remove the imprint, there's no telling she would, and what if she falls sick while you're here-

"Stop, I just need a few more days, then I'll be out of your hair," Johnny says dismissively, heading back to his room for some peace of mind.

"Should we update Yuta on this?" 

"Suit yourself, I won't change my mind regardless," Johnny says before shutting his door, ready for a long night's sleep.

Johnny knows you're fine, he's been staying up to date with you by asking you to water his plants everyday, today he even went as far as asking about your personal health, and true to the doctor's words, you haven't been feeling any withdrawal symptoms yet, and because of this, Johnny’s glad he bit the bullet and went for the check up early.

Anxious, that's what Johnny felt the last few days, the dismissive front he had masked on days ago now crumbling as he tossed and turned in his bed.

Johnny had felt tired after work today, which was odd, because he had purposely made himself a coffee before he left work to go to his scheduled workout at the gym, however, he had felt drained once he left the parking bay, which is why he ate a quick dinner of cup noodles and slept.

He had slept peacefully the first two hours, but after he woke up to go to the bathroom, sleep just couldn't seem to come back to him. 

The sleep leaves Johnny as the prickling in his head grows, but he's taken his pills, why is he still reacting to the withdrawal symptoms?

Then he feels it, that sinking feeling in his stomach, he immediately hops out of bed, grabbing his wallet and car keys before dashing out of the door, a confused Mark who was watching a basketball game jolts at the harsh opening of his bedroom door.

"What's the problem, man? It's midnight, where are you going?" Mark asks, but nonetheless, he turns off the telly, following behind Johnny, he's never seen Johnny this anxious, he's not gonna leave him be at a time like this.

"I think something happened at home, but I don't know what, I need to check up on her," Johnny replies as he frantically watches the panel counting down to the car park levels.

"I'll go with you, it's late and if you need help, I'll be there," Mark offers, not questioning how true Johnny's hunch is.

It was quiet when he stepped into his home, but that wasn't out of the ordinary for you, you're not the type to stay up watching TV, but the weird thing is that there wasn't a single light on in the living area, you'd always leave a light on at night. 

Then Johnny noticed how faint your scent was, you didn't tell him you'd be staying anywhere else tonight, but it smells like you haven't been here for half a day at least.

Johnny quickly traces your scent to your room, he opens the door, and the sight of you lying on the desk with your head down sends a chill down his spine, yes you might have fallen asleep, but you've told him multiple times that you can only sleep on a bed.

So he tries to shake you awake, but to no avail.

Mark was calling the ambulance before Johnny even asked him to, an unconscious omega is nothing to joke about.

Then everything was a blur, Mark drove Johnny's car while he sat in the ambulance with you, holding onto your hand as the medics asked him basic questions.

Johnny met up with Mark in the emergency area where he was ushered beyond the curtains due to your privacy.

"What did the doctor say?" 

"Her life isn't in any danger, but they need to run more tests to confirm that it is imprint withdrawal symptoms," Johnny says, still focused on where you were wheeled in.

Then the doctor comes out, a stoic expression on his face.

"As you had predicted, Mr Suh, she is indeed going through withdrawal symptoms, so she's going to be hooked onto some drips and be given some medicine, nothing to worry about, however, please step up as a mate and actually be there for her," the doctor says with a slight edge to his tone.

"Yes, doctor," Johnny said, scratching the back of his head, embarrassed that as a man in his thirties is still struggling with professing his feelings.

Johnny watches your pale face, he did this, he’s to blame.

“Mr Suh, I’m sorry, but visiting hours are going to end soon,” the doctor informs.

“I wish to stay overnight to look after her,” Johnny says, as he texts Mark to find your essentials, thick sweaters and sweatpants, any skincare you have laying around.

“My apologies, Mr Suh, but you’re only eligible to sleepover if you book the VIP room where a proper bed is prepared for you, it’s company policy,” of course they got this greedy policy.

“Just charge it on my tab, get her the VIP room, immediately,” Johnny says, standing up from the chair he’d thought he’d be hunched over sleeping in.

“Gladly, Mr Suh, Nurse Park, please add Mr Suh into the overnight list and fetch your team to have the patient shifted.”

Johnny sighs as he follows you, keeping a keen eye when the team of nurses wheel you to your new room.

Marks drop by your things and he gets to work, cleaning your face with a towel and using the products that he recognises its uses of, he’s not a pro, but he does have a skincare routine himself too. Then, he tucks you in bed, pulling the blanket as high as your chin, knowing that you get cold easily.

Then Johnny slips off into slumber on the bed next to yours, fatigue consuming him after the stressful hour he had, but most importantly, sleep came to him because you’re finally in his presence again.

The first thing that you saw was how obnoxiously white the ceiling was, you’re quite fucking sure you had told Johnny to help you colour the ceiling black ages ago when you first moved in, wait, what happened to the silk sheets Johnny had splurged on you? Why are the sheets so rough against your skin?

You jolted up when you felt the tug of something connected to your arm, your eyes going as wide as saucers when you see that you’re currently in a hospital room, at first you thought you were kidnapped for your organs or whatever, until your nose picked up on the familiar sweet scent of cinnamon, you averted your gaze to the bed beside yours, seeing the view of Johnny’s back. 

You carefully walked to him, cursing silently at the IV drip attached to you.

“Johnny,” you called to him, shaking him slightly, his contracting muscles at his shoulders alerting you that he’s waking up.

“Sweetheart? Why are you up? Let me get the doctor,” Johnny says urgently, scrambling up from bed.

“Wait, Johnny, why am I in the hospital? How did I end up here?” you ask, seeking answers in those panic stricken honey brown eyes that usually exude confidence. 

“I…,” Johnny looks so lost at words at that moment, his entire confident businessman front is nowhere to be seen, he shakes his head, seemingly trying to get his composure together.

“It’s okay, you can take your time,” you reassure, sitting down beside him on the squeaky bed, an encouraging smile on your lips.

“I imprinted on you and didn’t know what to do, so I lied about going on a business trip to sort out my thoughts, I didn’t know you’d be affected by the withdrawal symptoms so quickly, I shouldn’t have trusted the doctor’s prediction, I should’ve consulted you, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I put your life in danger even though I promised you I’d do anything to protect you,” Johnny confesses, his shoulders sagging after he’s spilled the entire story, his chest heaving as he struggles not to let his tears fall, he had put you in danger, he doesn’t deserve to be your alpha, he should’ve signed up for the imprint removal as soon as possible back then.

“Hey, Johnny, it’s alright, we all need time to think things through, I’m alive, I might’ve done the same in your footsteps, so don’t beat yourself over it,” you say, mind drifting to all the times you had felt very tired or had zero appetite for no particular reason, glad that you finally found the source of all your problems, all because of this cute alpha in front of you whose scent is so sour, 

“If it makes you feel any better, I had the ulterior motive of wanting us to become something more too, when you were away, I thought you’d left me alone for good, so please don't even think about removing our imprint, please,” you plead, you sound a bit pathetic, if you’re honest,  begging for a man to stay, but you don’t want his heart constantly out the door while his body hangs around, you went through that with your mother, you don’t want to go through that with Johnny as well, and you think Johnny understands what you mean too, because he releases calming pheromones, pulling you into his embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere you don’t want me to be, sweetheart, never,” Johnny promises you. 

You bury yourself impossibly closer, but a crackling sound in his pocket pulls you out of your moment with Johnny.

“What’s that?” you ask, looking at Johnny for answers, watching him dig through his pocket, a packet of medicine is brought out. 

“I had to take them while I was away from you, to deal with the side effects of imprint withdrawal from you,” Johnny explains.

“You won’t be needing them anymore then,” you say, ready to go home with your alpha.

Your relationship with Johnny has progressed smoothly, albeit rather slow, what you appreciate though, is that Johnny is a traditional man, going through the process of courting you, buying you flowers whenever he needs to leave for the office, cooking you food, buying you gifts once in a while, from simple things like a box of macarons to expensive jewellery.

What you didn’t expect was to find another package of medicine, when you decided to put his coat into the dryer, a packet of red pills that you recognised from a month ago.

“Johnny!” you called out to the alpha sitting on the couch, the evening news on.

“Why are you still taking these?” you ask, holding up the packet of visible red pills in your hand.

Conflict draws upon Johnny’s face, a frown between the creases of his brows.

“I didn’t want to let you know, but my rut is coming soon, so I’ve been delaying it as long as I can, I didn’t know if you’d like to, or if you’re ready for it, I’m actually prepared to spend it alone, I just didn’t know how to tell you-

“I’d love to spend your rut with you, so you won’t be needing these anymore,” you say, dumping the pills into a nearby trash bin,

“No! Wait-

“Taking suppressants are bad for you, Johnny-

“But you might not be ready, have you ever spent a rut with an alpha?” Johnny asks, but his wolf side is gnawing at his chest at the thought of its omega being with another alpha.

“I haven’t, but my heat is approaching too, and I don’t wish to spend it locked in my room anymore,” you cringe thinking about how your mother had warned you when you first presented that you should never ever sleep with anyone until you’re legally binded to one another, and that you should just suffer through your heats like a ‘righteous’ omega.

“Your heat is approaching soon too? Do you want to spend it at home or would you want us to go to heat hotels?” Johnny asks, but all you could focus on was the wording ‘us’. 

“At home would be great, I want to nest a bit longer after my heat breaks,” you explain.

“Okay, we’ll go through this together,” your alpha reassures you.

The sexual tension between the two of you was so thick that a knife would've sliced through it, your approaching heat meant that your body temperature was rising steadily, that meant you had switched out your comfy sweat sets for cropped tees and cute house shorts, and the new expanse of exposed skin has Johnny struggling to concentrate on his work whenever he takes his work to the living room for a change of environment.

“Should he engage with you before your heat hits or should he wait and continue earning your validation? 

You probably don’t have any extreme standards towards Johnny, but he has expectations for himself, like just the other day, he took you to a Japanese omakase, it was expensive, but your fascination towards the chef’s skill was worth every penny.

Other than that, he’s bought you flowers almost everyday, Mark had called him old schooled, courting you like what an alpha would do back in the 70s.

Johnny doesn’t really see this as a form of courting, he’s only giving you what you weren’t allowed to access in life, she was a selfish woman, she’d spent good money on a car before spending money on your needs. He recalls how  you used to eat more on days where Johnny took both you and your mother out for dates, when he had asked you back then when your mother had walked away to the loo, that you don’t usually get to eat food this good, or this plenty when it was only the two of you. 

Johnny curses to himself when he thinks of it, he should’ve realised this sooner, how your mother was treating you with such blatant dislike, he thought your relationship was rocky, he hadn’t known or expected that you were abused and neglected by her all along.

“What’s with the frown on your face, love?” you ask when you came round after fetching yourself a glass of water, taking a seat next to the warm alpha, you’re rather warm these days, which is why you’ve been layering less, so that you could still cuddle Johnny comfortably. 

“Nothing, was wondering where you were at,” Johnny says, he doesn’t want to bring it up, you always have melancholy swimming in your eyes whenever he mentions your excuse of a mother, it’s better to not mention the past now that you’re having a good day.

“Corny alpha,” you tease, snuggling to his side, purring when his scent begins to envelope the two of you, you had specifically  told Johnny that the scent of cinnamon calms you down, that you love smelling like him, consenting yourself to be scented by him at any opportunity. 

“It’s work, isn’t it? Let’s take a break, how about a nap?” you suggest with an excited smile, you love being cuddled to sleep, his scent is a remedy for your insomnia.

“You should’ve become a negotiator,” Johnny says as he lifts you up in his arms, earning a squeal from you. 

“I could’ve walked myself, you know,” you say breathlessly in between giggles, being carried by Johnny always makes you giddy, like you were a child all over again.

“What’s the fun in that?” Johnny retorts as he lays you down gently on his bed, and instantly his arms come circling your waist once more, Johnny can’t describe it, but whenever he pulls you into his embrace, his alpha feels like it’s coming home, having memorised your every touch, and when your smile falls a little, his alpha is clawing at his chest to prod why.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Johnny asks, his hand reaching up to cradle your cheek.

“Can I ask you something Johnny?” that question worries Johnny, but he nods regardless, he promised to himself he’d face whatever problems the two of you may come across.

“What did you see in her back then? And what do you see in me? I don’t look anything like her,” you add on, choosing to be honest with him with your insecurities, your physical features have always taken after your father, or your male producer, since that’s all he’s done for you.

Johnny stills, he didn’t expect you to ask anything like that, and he sighs, knowing that he’d have to come clean to you sooner or later.

“I was attracted to the faint scent of pears mixed with roses when I first bumped into your mother, it was so calming to me, and at that time I guess I was young, and I wanted someone who was serious with me I guess, and maybe partly because it was kinda cool, bragging to my friends that I bagged myself a milf, it was just lots of bad decisions, really, especially when I realised that the scent I found comforting didn’t even belong to the person I was seeing, and I never thought you looked like your mother, she is her own beauty, and you are your own,” Johnny confesses and reassures, unknowingly, he’s breathing in your scent now, to calm his nerves.

“All of us make mistakes, Johnny, I’m just glad you don’t see me as an extension of her, that worried me the most to be honest,” you say truthfully, “that was my biggest worry.”

“You have nothing to worry about, if you do, that means I’m fucking something up,” Johnny jokes, but with a full sense of seriousness to it, and he looks into your eyes, trying his best to convey the message that this is serious, that you’re everything to him. 

“Stop looking at me like that, go to sleep, you need it,” you say, laying your head on Johnny’s pillow and his shoulder, the support your neck needed after a day of editing videos.

“I think you needed this nap more than me,” Johnny notes with a teasing tone, but nonetheless, does as you’re told, closing his eyes to drift off to peaceful slumber with you.

When Johnny wakes up, he feels your body next to his, impossibly close, and also alarmingly hot, he jerks awake, seeing your forehead beaded with sweat, immediately he knew your heat has approached, or is coming soon, he could also feel his rut arriving, having triggered by your heat, he concludes when he feels the prickly feeling he gets at the back of his neck, a sign of his upcoming rut.

Should he wake you up? You never enjoy being woken up for no reason, but he could smell your scent sweeten, meaning that you’re probably getting wet by whatever dream you’re having.

Johnny made up his mind to wake you up at half past six, then you’d at least have two hours of sleep, for now, he’s going to make some porridge in his rice cooker, so you’d have some light food to have if your heat is put on a pause, Johnny’s never been so glad for having a stocked up fridge more than now, he has to move quick, he doesn’t want you, or more so, your omega in distress if you find him gone from the bed.

Johnny finishes up the last step of his mother’s old recipe before he dashes back into his room, you were still sleeping, rolling around in the pile of clothes Johnny had placed surrounding you, a makeshift nest ro help you sleep better, and it worked, seeing how you’re sweating a bit less, your face a bit less tensed.

Johnny looks at the time on the clock, you’ve been sleeping for almost three hours now, it’s time to wake you up if he wants to make it on time for dinner to be done.

“Hey, baby, time to wake up, you’ve been sleeping for a long time amd, don’t panic, but I think your heat is here, do you still want me around? If not I could probably look for a heat hotel for myself,” Johnny reassures, even though you’ve told him many times that you’re perfectly fine with spending your heat and rut together.

“I wouldn’t want to spend it any other way, Johnny,” you say with utmost confidence, knowing that if you didn’t Johnny’s going to overthink himself not to.

“Okay,” Johnny replied with a shaky breath, he’s never been nervous to sleep with an omega, but this is you, the person that matters most in his life, it’s expected of him to be on his nerves.

Although without mark, you could feel how nervous Johnny is through his scent, the sweet cinnamon having a twinge of sour, any other alpha would’ve lost control at this point, but Johnny hasn’t even complained about his awful blue balls even once, and is instead contributing to his own pain, and so you decide to help him out, or you’d be lying in your own puddle of arousal and still you wouldn’t have came even once.

“Tell me what you want to do with me,” you suggest before you seal your lips with his, in hopes that it’d motivate him to be more expressive with you, that if you can’t lead Johnny himself to make a move on you, that Johnny’s alpha would.

Instantly, Johnny’s hands held onto your hips possessively, his face nuzzles into your neck, his tongue flicking dangerously at the spot which might bind you closer than the imprint, but you expose your neck still, your omega doing the thinking for you in this haze of lust your body is driven to.

When he brushes his teeth against your sliver of neck, you instantly feel a new flood of arousal, your scent now heavily dousing the air Johnny breathes in.

Johnny curses, and you know why, you could feel his large cock twitching in his pants, the tip grinding against your puffy clit through the many layers of clothing, the rough material encouraging you to swivel your hips faster, your mind in a frenzy to seek more pleasure, but Johnny ceases all your movements with his strong hands.

“You asked me what I wanted to do with you,” Johnny says before his hands pry your clothed cheeks apart, dropping his head to your shoulder before he inhales deeply, almost growling at the sweet spike of your scent, “I want a taste, sweetheart, could you give me that?” Johnny asks after pulling away, his eyes hooded, a red hue painted on his honey brown eyes. 

“Okay-y,” you say shakily, preparing to hop off of your alpha, but Johnny ceases your movements once more, causing you to whine, your omega disliking the fact that you’re getting denied from your sweet pleasure.

“I want you to ride my face, baby,” Johnny demands, pushing you upwards his body, getting you to move as you quickly nod your head, one of your oldest fantasies of Johnny coming true right now.

Johnny helps you remove your pants and underwear, his eyes zoning in on your slicked up pussy.

“Beautiful, so fucking pretty, and all mine,” Johnny admires aloud before he jerks your body downwards, attaching his tongue to your cunt, lapping away like some mutt, his tongue greedily catches all your sweet juices before he thrusts his tongue inside your core, groaning at the way your warm velvet walls cocoon around his tongue, his mind reeling at the thought of having his cock deep inside you, how tight you’d feel around him.

Johnny’s pace is too fast, he has you grabbing the headboard, toes clenched as you whimper at the feeling of his flexible tongue and sharp nose digging at your clit when he started moving your hips for you, you’re most certainly fucking his face now, and when you thought things couldn’t feel any better, Johnny exchanges his tongue with three of his fingers and he traps your clit in between his lips, sucking hard, he had feared his jaw would really go slack if he keeps up with the strenuous routine for too long.

However, the added thickness and length quickly has you screaming, the tips of his fingers finally reaching your sensitive spot, and so you fall apart, screaming.

“Fuck, so good, daddy,” you say as you weakly grind against Johnny’s face, not registering the fact that the man under you had frozen up, but he lets you continue nonetheless, savouring your sweet release on his taste buds.

When you’re finally done riding out your high, Johnny gently flips you to his spot, now he’s hovering over you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to spill that dirty little secret to daddy this soon, my sweetheart,” Johnny says as he brushes your hair out of your face, admiring your flushed face.

Your heart drops at Johnny’s words, cursing at your lack of clarity whilst you're entrapped in this sex crazed heat.

“Don’t be so worried baby, you don’t need to hide yourself from daddy,” Johnny reassures before he kisses you softly, tasting yourself on his tongue.

With Johnny’s reassurance, you uncover yourself and start roaming your hands up his shirt to have a touch of Johnny’s chiselled body, he deduces that he can wait no longer, quickly jerking off his pants, his large cock hung in between his strong thighs, Johnny jerks off his cock with his hands as he admires your bare body, he feels himself battling with his wolf side, the desire to fuck, breed, and claim nagging his mind.

“You can still back out, sweetheart, go while my rut hasn’t entirely consumed me,” Johnny reminds you.

“No, please, I need this, I need you, daddy,” you say as you spread your legs, sitting up to reach for Johnny’s cock, but before you could even touch him, Johnny gently pushes you down the bed with one hand, the other gripping his dick in his hands, guiding himself to your entrance.

Johnny intertwines his hand with yours, hands locked next to your head as you feel his gaze burning into yours, slowly, you feel him breaching your ring of muscle, your walls opening up bit by bit as he fills you up slowly.

A whimper escapes you as you feel him surely filling you up to the brim.

“I’m sorry, baby, just a little bit more, you’re more than halfway in, baby, you’re doing a good job for me,” Johnny coos, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, an action he does whenever he picks up your anxiety spike in your scent.

When you’ve swallowed his length whole, Johnny lets you adjust to his size, distracting you by kissing you passionately, hoping that his lips would suffice as a distraction from the burn you’re feeling down there, and slowly, the burning feeling turns into slow but steady twinges of pleasure, and the fullness is driving your omega crazy, and now she’s craving for a big fat knot.

“You can move now, daddy,” you say, in a reassuring tone, your hand squeezing Johnny’s.

Johnny nods, before he pulls his hand away, choosing to hold your hips for better control, he thrusts shallowly, needing to gauge your reaction before he really starts, and the reaction is immediate, the friction of your walls against his bare cock is too good, moaning at the slight movement.

Johnny takes this as a positive sign, his alpha crooning, he pulls out most of his length, leaving the tip in before he thrusts back into you in one stroke, groaning at the way you clench around him. 

“Fuck, baby, you feel so tight, so wet,” Johnny mumbles, more to himself since you’re getting lost by how Johnny almost immediately locates your sweet spot again, a whine leaving you as your toes clench and your nails drag down his back, and the pain fuels Johnny, knowing that he could drive you mad just from his dick alone.

“Alpha, please…”

Johnny’s cock twitches at hearing you beg, he doesn’t even need to dick train you, your daddy issues alone have moulded you into his perfect princess.

“Please what, sweetheart? You need to be specific,” Johnny demands, a hand coming to rub circles on your clit, he knows you’re very wet by now, but he wants you to unclench yourself, it’s not going to be pleasurable if you’re constantly tense.

“I…” you stutter, how can you voice the fact that you want him to move because you’re insanely horny? But the encouraging smile and constant calming pheromones in the air has you caving in, and maybe your omega is getting frustrated too.

“Want you to move faster, please daddy,” you say in a seductive, yet shy whisper, before you add on something absolutely unfiltered from your omega’s mind, “make your omega feel good.”

Johnny lets out an appreciative growl, ready to accept the challenge after hearing you call yourself his.

Johnny ploughs his cock inside you at a rapid pace, his hands grabbing, digging into your ass cheeks as he most literally, rocks your world.

You could feel yourself slipping away from sanity, choked moans leaving your parted lips as Johnny rearranges your guts, hooking one of your legs around his waist so that he could thrust deeper inside you, upholding your request of being filled with his cum.

A loud whine escapes you as you let yourself be manhandled, anything is fine by you as long as you could feel this overwhelming amount of pleasure going through your body.  

You hold onto Johnny’s tricep as you feel yourself being rushed into another high.

“Daddy!” you gasp out once the dam of pleasure finally breaks, figuratively and literally, because the next thing you could register in your heat crazed haze is that your pelvis and Johnny’s luscious looking thighs are drenched with your release.

Your eyes widen comically as you take in the fact that you just squirted, the apology on the tip of your tongue.

However, Johnny beats you to it, voicing his positive thoughts over it.

“Fuck, baby, can’t believe you squirted just like that, your tight little hole couldn’t handle daddy’s big cock, am I right?” Johnny asks, his tone so gentle, yet his words so filthy, and that has your heart doing somersaults and your pussy clenching enthusiastically. 

Then your heart drops, the love fest interrupts your train of thoughts, Johnny hasn’t cum yet.

“Daddy, you haven’t cum,” you said, immediately clenching onto the girth inside you, but Johnny grips your hips to halt you.

“You must be tired, let your body rest before your heat consumes you again,” Johnny suggests, prepared to pull out of you.

“No! Please, daddy, I need your cum, your knot, or I’d feel empty…daddy,” the last part came out as a whisper, still not being used to voicing out your carnal desires even though it’s perfectly normal, especially during one’s heat.

Johnny gives you a soft smile, a hand caressing your face before he kisses you gently on the lips.

“Present yourself,” your alpha says to you before he pulls himself out, kneeling before your beautiful body, choosing to let you make the move.

And so you did, slowly lifting yourself, turning around and presenting yourself, on your knees with your ass arched up, your pussy glistening even under the minimal lighting in the room. 

Johnny curses under his breath before he quickly seathes himself back inside you, groaning at the welcoming walls that he once again sank into.

“Don’t hold back, alpha, take what you need,” you say, twisting your neck to get a glimpse at the beautiful man you’re able to call yours.

Johnny curses under his breath before he resumes the punishing pace he had going on before you reached your high. You’re really starting to think you’re a masochist, the way you enjoy the slight burn from the overstimulation has all the signs showing that you can no longer deny.

“Is my baby a pain slut? Whining that it hurts, but I can still feel your pussy getting wetter for me,” Johnny teases as he slows down his thrusts, putting more emphasis on fucking you deeper, now that you’ve came.

All you could do was nod between sniffles, struggling to agree with your alpha verbally, knowing that most men find that sexy, but Johnny coos, he knows what you want to convey, and the fact that you couldn’t even speak your mind whilst he fucks you just drives his confidence through the roof.

Before he knows it, Johnny could feel his cock bulging up, his knot forming, groaning at the feeling of your tight walls wrapped around him so closely, and his knot hasn’t even finished swelling up.

Johnny whispers sweet encouragements in your ears as you whimper at the foreign feeling of being knotted.

Soon after, his knot starts to deflate, spurts of cum painting your walls white as he calls your name sweetly, almost moaning. 

And slowly, the stream comes to a stop, you were in and out of it during the time of you and Johnny being locked together, dozing off as Johnny has his arms wrap around your body, scenting you even though you are most definitely drenched in his scent from the constant physical attachment, but he understands you well enough that you need this on an emotional level.

“You can still leave if you don’t want to spend my rut with me, I can feel it starting soon, maybe give or take a few hours,” Johnny reminds you, giving you one last chance to leave if you decide to not spend a rut with him yet, which is respectable, the two of you haven’t been dating that long, most people at least wait a year of dating before spending such a vulnerable time together.

“I’m sure, Johnny,” you reassured him as you brush the flyaways from his handsome face.

“Then let’s get some food before we fuck like bunnies again,” Johnny jokes before he whisks you away to the direction of his kitchen, tummy rumbling now that you caught whiff of the scent of delicious food, you just hope your alpha is able to keep his hands to himself long enough after you guy finish washing the dishes.

You smile to yourself at the realisation, that even with all the uncertainty that started off between the two of you, the situation with your mother and how Johnny used to keep you at arm’s length, in the end, you win.

[dreaming-of-the-reality]

I think some Team Black supporters have finally reached the point of insanity now.

I’ve been scrolling through my TikTok feed, seeing the most heartbreaking edits of Helaena, Jaehaera, and Jaehaerys. I then click on the comments… only to find:

“All of this happened because of Alicents stupid decision”

“The fact that there were no guards because Alicent and Ser Criston were screwing makes me sick”

“Helaena had to suffer because of her delusional mother”

“All because Alicent and Criston wanted to have a fun night”

————

Let’s point out some flaws here.

1. Helaena, Jaehaera, and Jaehaerys are NOT responsible for their brother/uncles crime!

2. Aemond killed Luke, and Daemon hired Blood and Cheese - both Aemond and Daemon aided in Helaena’s suffering. You’d think team feminist would realise that they are blaming a woman, Alicent, for what she didn’t do, rather than two men for what they DID do.

3. Ser Criston, from what I can remember, is sworn to Alicent. As her protector. Not Helaena. During the coronation, Criston still protected Alicent, and only when instructed to get to Helaena, did he move. It wouldn’t have mattered if he were on duty or not. There were literally NO other guards around - which there should’ve been - so we shouldn’t be putting the blame entirely on Criston Cole. Even if they weren’t having sex, he would’ve been outside Alicents room, not Helaena’s and still wouldn’t have been able to do anything until it was over.

4. Also remind me what the hell Alicents stupid decision was exactly? She got Aegon on the throne, but according to some in previous posts, the war hadn’t started yet. They were negotiating peace, and only after Luke’s death, did the war start. So Jaehaerys’ death is not due to Alicents decision to put Aegon on the throne, just like Rhaenyras sons’ deaths are not her fault just because of her decision to declare war.

The only people to blame are Blood, Cheese, Daemon, and Aemond. Also partly Mysaria considering she aided Daemon in finding Blood and Cheese.

Aemond killed Luke. Daemon hired Blood and Cheese as an act of revenge. Helaena is the one who was put into that situation. But yeah, let’s ignore the fact that it was a woman paying for the crimes of the men around her, and instead focus on pushing all the blame onto Alicent. Just because some Team Black supporters say so…

These people are REACHING for crumbs to justify their hatred of Alicent that they are making shit up and living in their delulu land…

[thedoctorsthings]

Power to the king | Min Yoongi pt. 2

Fantasy/historical AU, viking Au (attempted lmao), Yoongi x female reader

More angst (you know me by now), Yoongi is still an asshole, things taking a dramatic turn

cw: sexism, mentions of war, Jungkook's humour (I've decided I'm blaming my painful unfunnyness on the character now)

word count: about 3k

Yoongi and you had been married for a month now and you’d kept your promise. You were ice cold, you only talked when spoken to and you hadn’t as much as smiled in Yoongi’s general direction. The servants and everyone else in the castle treated you with respect and subservience. One might even say they seemed scared of you. Only you knew this all to be a farse. At night, when you were alone you cried yourself to sleep. It had been a month and you’d made little progress. Every day felt as empty as the last. Days before the wedding your mother had told you that an arranged marriage without love wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. She said you would find things to love, running the household or eventually your children. But as a princess there was no household to run and how were you supposed to have children if your husband wouldn’t even look at you. You admit that you did want children. If you couldn’t have your husband close to you at least you would have them. They would be something that you could devote yourself to in this empty life. Since your wedding night you and Yoongi hadn’t spoken about the subject again. You assumed he would come knocking on your door every night, asking over and over. This was the way most of the men you’d met and heard of acted when it came to sex, but he left you alone. It seemed that maybe it was up to you to come to his door, but over your dead body were you going to give in to him first.

You got out of bed and got dressed. It was customary for maids to help women of your status with this, but you had quickly made an end to this habit by sending the maids out every morning. Now they didn’t even bother coming in anymore. The typical attire of a princess consisted of a white underdress and a heavy garment over it. Today you chose a blue dress. You leave your room and head to the dining room for breakfast. Yoongi is already sitting at the table. You were infinitely thankful for the rest of his family and the ever-present servants. If they weren’t here every moment you spent in the same room as Yoongi would be spent in agonising silence. You always sat next to your husband, as was customary. His brother sat next to you on your other side. Jungkook was a small dash of light in the dark tunnel that your life had become. He was nice, funny and actually tried to engage in conversation with you. He was the reason your days here weren’t spent in complete loneliness. You had no romantic feelings for him, but still found yourself wishing you’d have been married off to him instead. Marriage with him might have been easier, might have worked better than with Yoongi. “Good morning, your majesty. How did you sleep?”, Jungkook asks in that overly polite tone he often liked to use with you. “Nothing to complain about, my lord”, you replied, equally nasal. “Not really suitable for a prince to be playing games with his future queen, is it?”, sounded a grumpy voice from your right. You had already noticed that Yoongi didn’t appreciate it when you had too much fun with Jungkook. It made you want to do it all the more. At this comment you settle your gaze on the empty chair in front of you, the one where the queen is supposed to sit, and rigidly stare at it. “We are expected to attend next week’s festivities together”, Yoongi poses and somehow his voice sounds softer. He’s bent slightly towards you, but you stay unmoving. “okay”. Yoongi finishes the rest of his meal in silence as you occasionally say something to Jungkook. As Yoongi gets up, he says: “your chambermaid will tell you when it is time to prepare. She’ll give you the clothes you’re expected to wear as well”. You merely nod. 

Yoongi walks through the huge, stone hallways while lost in thought. He got what he wanted, a wife that never let her emotions get the best of her, one that was rational and let him do as he wanted. You were perfect, there was nothing you did wrong, and somehow, he still despised you. Whenever he tried to make contact with you, you rejected him. There was nothing but one-word answers from your side. He felt that you hated him and that made him dislike you. He knew he would never be as charming as Jungkook, but you could at least try to form some sort of friendship with him. The most important reason however, was that he hated the way he felt when he looked at your emotionless face. You looked like all life had been sucked out of you, while at the same time there was a deep silence lying in the still waters of your eyes. It made him feel horrible, it was his fault, he’d never admit it. He knocked on the door of his mother’s bedchambers. “Come in”, he heard her weak voice call. He pushed open the heavy, wooden door and stepped into the room. She was sitting half upright on the bed, leaning against a mountain of pillows. The sunlight coming from the high windows hit her face nicely. He sat down in the chair next to her. “How is married life, son?” “To be honest, I barely talk to her”. The queen looked at him with a questioning look. “I just don’t really like talking to her”. “Why?” Yoongi sighed and stayed quiet for a while. He made a vague gesture with his arm and shrugged: “It’s like she’s not really there. When she always responds as short as possible and only speaks when spoken to. I think I don’t like talking to her because I know she doesn’t like me either”. His mother looks out the window a second, before speaking: “You think she’s cold?” “Yes exactly”. “Yoongi, you’re my son and I love you, but you’re not the warmest person either. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like talking to you either”. “But I try so hard to seek contact with her”. “I think a husband and wife should have more than just contact”, the queen said, smiling. Yoongi was quiet again. “Could it be that you feel guilty?” At this Yoongi got up: “No that’s not it!”, he said raising his voice. “No need to get angry”, she said calmly. “I’m not, I just have things to do”, was the last thing he said before leaving the room.

You’re walking through the gardens of the castle. It was spring now and getting warmer. In this kingdom, warmer still meant well below what others find agreeable, but your people were used to it. People had started dressing lighter and the sun shone more often. You also felt lighter. After months of basically ignoring your husband, you had decided to be more welcoming. Your sister had been right. As a woman all you could do was make the best of it. About a week ago you had started being nicer to Yoongi. You smiled at him during meals and asked him how his day was going. Yesterday you spent the evening together playing a traditional board game. You suggested it. It was nice, you’d laughed together for the first time ever, even if it was still awkward. Things started looking up, maybe you could find happiness here after all. You let your hand brush over the newly growing flowers and enter the halls. Tonight was the night of the festivities and you planned to go to your husband and ask him what was expected of you tonight. You could ask any of your maids, but this was the perfect opportunity to spend more time with Yoongi. As you near the corner you hear giggling. Your ears perk, even with Jungkook’s presence everything happening at the castle was a grim affair. Giggling was not something often heard around these parts. “Your majesty, behave”, you hear a female voice tease. Dread fills your stomach. You round the corner and there he is, his hand on her lower back, his nose in her hair as she opens a door. He looks up for a split second. You don’t know if he saw you, you’re still quite far away from them. Even if he did see you, it clearly doesn’t matter to him, because he and the maid enter the room. You hear shushing and more giggling and then the door shuts. You welcome her back with open arms. That all familiar emptiness, or at least that’s what you wish this feeling is. It’s not, it’s pain. It hurts you more to admit it. It’s horrible to realise that you let this man get to you. You promised yourself you would never feel again when it came to him and here you were, seeing blurry from the tears trying to find your way back to your rooms.

Tonight’s festival marked the beginning of spring. Everyone in the city gathered on the main square every year to sing, dance and eat together. It was your favourite thing as a child. Today was the first year you couldn’t enjoy it. You were expected to walk through the crowd at the height of the festival. The king and queen first, although the queen wouldn’t attend due to her illness, then the crown prince and his wife and lastly the second born son. You’re waiting in the carriage. You and Yoongi are seated next to each other, Jungkook sitting opposite of you. The air is tense. You still have no idea if Yoongi noticed you earlier today. You have a feeling that he might have because he’s tenser than usual. So are you. “Alright someone say something before the awkwardness drives me to jump out of the vehicle”, Jungkook says while uncomfortably squirming on his bench. You and Yoongi both remain silent. “By Odin, I bet the mute choachman is better company than you people”. At this you let out a giggle, that in its turn makes Yoongi scoff. Wanting to relieve Jungkook of his suffering you offer: “What do you think the head druid will predict tonight? I hope not another failed harvest like last year”. “Me personally, I’ve been hoping for golden rain ever since I was a kid”, Jungkook jokes with that signature, boyish grin of his. “The druid’s prophecy is no laughing matter Jungkook, Y/N is right. We better hope for a fruitful harvest this year”. “Alright Mr. Cranky, maybe you should jump out of the carriage”, is the last thing Jungkook mumbles before getting kicked in the shin by his older brother. This time you laugh out loud and even if it was just unconsciously, Yoongi is proud that he was finally part of the reason why.

Your carriage arrives after the king’s and when you get out the mass of people outside cheer so loud you almost cover your ears. Almost, because you’re sure that if you did Yoongi would have something to say about it later. You and Yoongi link arms, which is probably the most intimate you’ve been since the wedding. You walk through the path of people to the thrones that have been set up at the head of the square. There are six thrones. The king and Yoongi sit on the two most extravagant ones in the middle. You sit next to Yoongi and Jungkook next to you. Two men are already sitting on the thrones next to the king. These are the head druid and his apprentice. At the end of the evening, they will perform a ritual to predict the fate of the kingdom. During the meal you and Yoongi barely exchange a word. After however, when you’re watching the city’s people dance, Yoongi chuckles at seeing a young man almost trip and light his hair on fire with one of the torches. The man manages to do a sort of twirl and prevent this horrible fate from happening. “That’s Jimin”, Yoongi states: “He’s a bit of an idiot but a good man. He’s the son of the farmer that delivers food to the castle. You might have seen him help his father with the deliveries, the old man is getting sicker and sicker”. You haven’t digested the events of this morning yet and honestly the fact that he’s acting as if nothing happened is pissing you off. “So, you’re just going to act like I didn’t see you grope a maid this morning?”, you ask without looking at him. “Y/N”, Yoongi start, but he’s interrupted by the booming voice of the king. You hate that man for the way he talks to you and for the way he speaks of his wife as if she’s a burden, but you have to admit you’ll always have respect for the way he can make a crowd of hundreds of people shut their mouths. “People of Sargon, turn your eyes to the fire. The Druid will perform the prophecy!”. His voice could reach the deafest of men. The druid got up. You had never seen him from this close. He was quite a young man; most druids were older than stone. He had pitch black hair filled with silver jewelry. It ran over his broad shoulders like a black waterfall. When he turned to bow to the king you saw his face. In your nineteen years of life, you had never seen a man so handsome. After that, his apprentice got up and turned to do the same. This man had dark eyes and an almost equally handsome face. “I think these druids have a potion to make themselves look better, it’s not fair”, Jungkook whispers. “You look fine Jungkook don’t worry about it”, you smile back. “Don’t ya think I oughtta get to the bottom of this then ey?”, he asks in that accent you’ve gotten so used to. “Yes Jungkook, as prince of the kingdom I think you should make it your first priority to find interrogate two druids on why they look so good”, you retort. “Exactly my thoughts”, he grins, but he can barely finish the sentence because Yoongi reaches over you to softly hit his brother upside the head. The druids walk over to the huge fire. The head druid reaches into his pocket and takes out some dried leaves. His apprentice is holding a wooden bowl with a purple looking oil in it. He dips the leaves in the oil and then throws them on the fire. For a moment, nothing happens. The square trembles with suspension. All of a sudden, the flames turn black. In all the years you’ve attended the festival you’ve never seen a fire this dark. It roars and seems to double in size. The head druid is caught off guard and stumbles to the ground. The flames shoot higher than ever, before turning back to their normal size and colour. Everyone is quiet. The man named Jimin, who was laughing seconds before is now looking at the druid with fear in his eyes. That same fear is visible in the eyes of each person in attendance. You feel the heat on your face fade away as the druid whispers: “war”.

After the druid had uttered the word war a shock wave had rolled over the square. The king had ordered the druid and his apprentice to accompany you back to the palace. Once arrived there, he immediately called all his advisors to gather in the main hall. You and Yoongi had followed them in. “What is she doing here?” the king’s voice sounded throughout the entire hall. “She’s my wife and the future queen of this kingdom. She needs to know what’s going on”, Yoongi defended. “Your mother never sat in on things like this”. “I plan on doing things differently”, Yoongi said sternly. The king grumbled but didn’t complain further. “Seokjin, what is the meaning of this”, the king yelled angrily, as if it was the druid’s fault that the fire had behaved this way. “I don’t know your majesty; all I know is that this means war. I don’t know with whom. I don’t know how long, and I don’t know how high our chances of winning are. The rest of the of the evening was spent with old men arguing with even older men about what to do. Eventually they concluded that we would have to wait. After hours the druids had managed to convince the king and his advisors that it was too early to decide anything, but the king decided to start training his men more fervently.

After this evening regular life continued, albeit with a dark cloud hanging above all your heads. Everyone seemed stressed and anxious at all times. You and Yoongi also went back to normal. Normal meant back to how it was before you decided to be nicer. You never brought up the affair with the maid again, and neither did he. That evening at dinner the king showed, once again, why everyone tried to stay as far away from him as possible. “Why is she not pregnant yet?”, the king asked, although a better term would be, demanded. Of course he didn’t ask you. He asked Yoongi and acted as if you weren’t in the room, like always when he said something about you. “I don’t know father. We haven’t had any luck yet”, Yoongi answers stoically, without looking up from his plate”. “I bet it’s her fault. She’s barren and tricked us into marrying her into this family”. “That is not it!” You raise your voice. You’ve barely ever said a word at this table and the king is made of the same thing your nightmares are made of, but you refuse to let him talk about you. The room becomes impossibly tense as the king looks at you. It almost felt as if you could feel his stare sting in your eyes. “Father, you will not talk about my wife like this”. Yoongi says calmly. “Oh, really son? So it’s not her fault? Is it yours then?” Yoongi and the king share 5 full seconds of murderous eye contact before the king delivers the final blow. “I should have known. The God’s refuse to bless you with an heir after what you’ve done”. Yoongi slams his fists on the table and gets up so roughly his chair falls to the ground. He storms out of the room and the sound of the door slamming can be felt in your ears long after he leaves.

Later that evening you are sitting in your chambers. You’re reading a novel when there’s a knock on your door. “Come in”, You say curtly. Yoongi steps into the room. He doesn’t peek his head in first like the servants do. He always enters rooms with the confidence of someone who belongs, something you could only dream of. At least now, when you were a child, you could do the same thing. Somewhere along the way you lost the confidence. It happened to every woman in this godforsaken kingdom. “We should talk about producing an heir”, Yoongi offers carefully. “Oh really, now you want to come to me. For months on end, you leave me alone in the cold of the night but when daddy dearest brings it up you listen”, you bite. “I just think he raises a good point. We’ve been married for months and people will start expecting good news soon”. “What is it really? Are you starting to get lonely, does our stone-cold crown prince need someone to warm his bed?” halfway through that sentence you had gotten up and started getting closer to him. He grabs you by the wrist of the hand you had been pointing in his face with: “You will not speak to your future king in that way!”, he spits through his teeth. You refuse to stand down, so you say: “Maybe my future king should go find another servant to produce a successor with, I bet she speaks to you in whatever way you want, doesn’t she?” Yoongi lets go of your hand. For a moment it looks like he’s about to say something, maybe even apologise. But then he disappears from the room without saying a word. You flop down on your bed. Maybe you were too harsh. You have to admit that you did desire a child to raise. It would give you something to do, someone to love in this cold castle. You would also be lying if you said you didn’t desire Yoongi in that way. When you saw him and that council hall a couple of weeks back. When he had argued with his father about protecting the country, when he had argued to stay calm and not make any rash decisions, he seemed in his element. He was good at this, he was good at strategy, he was a born leader. Seeing him like that had shot a feeling through your body like you’d never felt before.

taglist: @lifeless-firefly @emerald-notes @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @jjkwifestyle @viankiss

[radfemverity]

Tucker Carlson's interview with misogynist, human trafficker and rapist Andrew Tate has been endorsed by Elon Musk, the man who brought Tate among many other reactionary and far-right commentators back to Twitter when he purchased the platform.

There is nothing spontaneous about Musk doing this, and if you're surprised then you're a fool. This has never been about upholding free speech - hence why you've never seen any of these men promote interesting left-wing thinkers.

The ‘SJW’/‘woke’/progressive Left, as unbearably annoying as so many of them are, just keep getting proven right.

They said Nick Fuentes and Kanye were Holocaust-denying anti-semites.

They said Jordan Peterson supported rapists, and didn't believe women should have legal equality.

They said Ben Shapiro and Matt Walsh would use the gender critical movement to blame gay people and women for any and all degeneracies.

They said Tucker Carlson and Elon Musk's recent ‘free speech’ moves were about repositioning themselves so that they could more effectively elevate the voices of overt extremists.

Again and again, their accusations are ageing like fine wine. The reactionary right’s mask is well and fully off.

Andrew Tate, Elon Musk, Tucker Carlson, Jordan Peterson, Ben Shapiro, Matt Walsh, Joe Rogan, Konstantin Kissin, Paul Joseph Watson, Ian Miles Cheong, Andy Ngo, Michael Malice, Elijah Schaffer, Zuby, Milo Yionnopoulous, Tommy Robinson, Nick Fuentes, Kanye West, Donald Trump… obviously some of these men could dislike each other, I can't imagine Shapiro and Fuentes at the same house party.

But their ideal societies don't look too different. None of these mens’ do. Because any racial, religious or ethnic prejudices they have against each other will come second to their common-ground.

The organised reaction against this brand of progressivism that has rapidly come to monopolise every sector of public life in the last 10 years, is well and truly underway. Musk, Carlson and Tate have given us the sign. And while I pretty heavily dislike the current ‘woke’ progressive ideology (and have a lot of questions about its top-down cultural spread), I'm scared of these guys way more. And if you're anything but a straight man who doesn’t care about any demographic besides straight men, you should be too.

The reason I say ‘straight men’ and not ‘straight white men’ is because, come on, the reactionary right is more racially diverse than most left-wing groups at this point. 😂😂 White nationalists the world over have bent the knee to a mixed-race man who admitted moving to an Eastern European country because of their more lax laws on sexual assault, and in turn, the ease he would have in exploiting the local women in the country’s already active sex-trafficking trade.

White nationalists (whose role in the reactionary right cannot be discarded any more, after Trump and Kanye had a personal dinner with Nick Fuentes) feel more of an affiliation with a non-white, human trafficking violent rapist, despite evidence of his crimes having been public for a while now, than they do with his WHITE victims.

Jordan Peterson, whose daughter has revolved her entire public image around him, who works with and for him, and whose lingerie photographs were retweeted by him, made a dogwhistle in May about women having their right to vote retracted.

Examples of men devaluing the contributions and rights of the women in their families, communities and wider societies are withstanding the test of time, over and over again, because no matter where in the world they are, and no matter what tensions the different religions, cultures, ethnicities and races of men have with each other, there are traits that unite them all. Misogyny is the most obvious one.

The men of these diverse, far-reaching societies, in many ways feel far more of a kinship to each other, than they do to any woman, girl, gay person, disabled person, mother, child, or any other demographic.

The pendulum always swings back, and now that we know these men have got the owner of the world's biggest social media platform on their side, that is a major sign it could be coming soon. Be on guard and look after each other gyns ❤️

[nickchamomile]

Well.. I want to talk about a little lore in the Habit family, namely about the three brothers.

Andrey Habit (fanon name) - Boris's father

Grigory Habit - The well-known fanon Uncle Boris

And Pavel Habit - another uncle of Boris, whom, unfortunately, he never saw, because he died in the w@r.

They are triplets, and were born on April 14, 1924. And despite the fact that they are triplets, they differ from each other both in height and in character (and in appearance, of course.) But at the same time, they are friendly and love each other, even if some are embarrassed to show it.

Pavel - A tall and sweet guy with a kind soul and a cheerful spirit, and despite every mess that usually happens to him with his brothers during their time, he is always ready to go with them through thick and thin. Pasha can be called a “mama’s boy,” and it’s true that before he passed away, he was his mother’s favorite, which he didn’t particularly like, because he wanted everyone to be loved equally. he is "ENFJ". Pavel is an understanding and friendly young man, albeit shy, but this did not even stop him from finding a girl before his brothers! The girl's name was Lyra, and there was tender love between them, without any quarrels or mistrust. As Lyra herself would say: “Unlike other men, Pasha knows how to love the soul.”

Grisha - or as everyone used to call him “Grigory”, unlike what he is like now as an adult, as a child - he was a very active child who gets bored, but you won’t get bored with him. In their village, he was like the “Thunderstorm of the area”, even at a more mature age, at about 16 years old, he still loved to play children and spend time with his brothers, although usually his martyr for his own entertainment was always Pavel, because Pavel was I agree to everything for the sake of my brothers. In addition, Grigory was always closer to Pasha, because he could open up to him and not be ashamed of himself and have fun with him, which was not the case with Andrey. Since I said that they have different characters, this was sometimes not beneficial for Grisha and Andrey. There were inconsistencies, misunderstandings, and sometimes even quarrels. And somewhere closer to that very Second World W@r, they became closer to each other. However, in adulthood Grisha was in no hurry to find a girlfriend. He believed that all the girls around him were not the ones he was looking for. And, as he said, “Fate itself will tell you which “the one” is... I will fall at her feet.” He said... and that’s how he met his “same one” a few years later, when he wanted to EPICALLY get out of the car, but got caught on the carpet in the car and fell, by the way, “Dolores” right at her feet. He is an ЕNTP, for him, probably, his family is just as important... as his own opinion.

And Andrey - Among the brothers, he is probably, as he believes, the most “correct”, “adult” and “serious”. Which is probably why he and Grisha had little quarrels. Andrei began to grow up and become more serious a little earlier, due to obsessive thoughts that “If I am an adult and serious, society will accept me.”, which is why he, of course, did not play much with his brothers. But despite this, he still goes where the brothers go. And despite his seemingly firmness, Andrei loves his brothers, even Grisha, he just doesn’t know how to express his feelings, like Pavel or Grisha. But mostly, Andrei makes comments to Grigory, thinking that he will probably always be childish. After Pasha’s death, Andrei became that “mama’s boy,” which he was not against. He is ISTJ. And despite its hardness, perhaps somewhere there, there is still love... probably.

Unfortunately, after Pavel's death, their family fell apart. The mother blamed the father for allegedly leading the children into such danger, because of which they lost one son, and even blamed Grigory, because he did not save his brother in time. Because of which, after this, the children were divided. Grigory grew up with his father, and Andrey with his mother.

And the date of Pavel’s death: June 24, 1944.

This is how the story went. Thanks for your opinion <:0)

[vodika-vibes]

The Sentinel

Summary: After surviving the Purge, you fled to Takodana to rest and recover. And after Maz kicked you out of your depression (literally) you ending up working for a Trandoshan named Cid for Maz. And through her you met what used to be Clone Force 99.

Pairing: TBB Hunter x Jedi!Reader

Word Count: 2807

Warnings: Mentions of Suicidal ideation (Reader was a sentinel who was at the temple when the Purge happened and she blames herself for what happened)

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So I had an idea, and I wanted/needed to put it down. I'm not sure if I have Hunter's personality down, but I hope I didn't butcher him too badly. So if anyone has any comments as to that, it would be greatly appreciated.

Hunter is staring at you.

Again.

You know it. You can feel the way his gaze is drilling into the back of your head.

Honestly, the fact that he’s walking behind you, rather than in front of you, is something of a miracle in and of itself. Maybe that’s why he’s glaring at the back of your head.

Whatever, you’re not a jedi, it’s not like you’re able to read his mind to know what’s bothering him.

(You are. You were. When you think too hard you can remember the scent of blood filling the halls of the temple, and the burning, searing, unending pain that is Anakin Kriffing Skywalker cutting your arm off-)

“Hunter, will you stop glaring at me and just get up here, please?” You ask, cutting off the blood stained memories with an ease that would have worried you, if you thought about it for too long.

“You seemed more than happy to lead,” Hunter replies, his voice low and annoyed, as he steps next to you.

“I was happy to lead because I didn’t want to hear you bitching at me.” You counter with a roll of your eyes.

“Bitch-” He sputters and glares at you fully, “I wasn’t bitching at you. I was reminding you that you needed to pack an extra battery pack for your blaster-”

“Yes, because I’m an actual child and would have forgotten something so important.” You interrupt.

“You know, I’m starting to understand why you and Cid get along so well.” Hunter says through gritted teeth.

“It’s because we have such magnetic personalities.” You snip.

“It’s because you’re both massive-” He cuts himself off before he can finish the insult, “We shouldn’t be far from the rendezvous point,” Hunter says instead, “It’s probably best that the contact thinks that you’re in charge.”

“Thinks?”

He leans into your personal space, and if you hadn’t been a sentinel once upon a time, you might have been intimidated. “Thinks.” He repeats, and then he leans back, and motions for you to take the lead, “After you.”

You grind your teeth, and spin to continue down the man made path. Sometimes you wonder how Hunter would react to hearing that you were a Jedi. That you had survived the purge.

And then you remember that the men you’re traveling with are Clones, and you get a chill. You don’t trust them to not shoot you on sight if they knew. Even Cid isn’t aware of your former affiliations, since you don’t trust her to not sell you out to the first bounty hunter who threatens her.

“Relax. This is no different than any other mission,” Hunter says, his voice closer than you thought. And your skin prickles as anxiety blooms in your chest.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and arch a brow, sending a prayer to whatever entity listens to the prayers of a former jedi that he thinks your anxiety is about the mission and nothing more. 

“You’re tense, and anxious.” Hunter says, “Relax, or the contact will think something is wrong.”

Oh, he’s so much more annoying than Master Drallig ever was. And you used to wish death on your former master when he was at his most annoying.

You regret that now. You’d sell your left arm (not flesh one, not the metal one) to hear his annoyed drawl one more time.

You purse your lips, “Thank you, mother.” You say instead, “Any other pearls of wisdom?”

He smiles, it’s a nice smile, “Sometimes I want to throw you off a cliff.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes I want to throw myself off a cliff, so you’re not special.” You counter, perhaps a bit too honestly based on how his expression falters.

“You-”

“We’re going to be late,” You interrupt, as you start walking faster, “Keep up, Hunter.”

He falls into step slightly behind you, and you can feel his stare on the back of your head again. At least he’s not glaring anymore, you suppose.

“I don’t actually want to throw you off a cliff,” Hunter says suddenly, as the pair of you slow to approach the clearing where you’re supposed to meet your contact, “Maybe push you into a lake, but I don’t actually want to hurt you.”

“Not to worry, I’m sure I can get you to change your mind on that.” You pause just outside the clearing and change the subject, “You have the information for the trade, right?”

Hunter stares at you for a moment, but he accepts the topic change gracefully, “Of course I do.” He tilts his head, “I don’t hear anyone in the clearing though.”

“We are a little early,” You reply thoughtfully as you glance at the chrono embedded in your prosthetic. “By about half an hour.”

“We are,” Hunter agrees, his gaze flickers around the clearing, and then he focuses on you, “Which means we just have to wait.”

You hum to acknowledge his words. Something feels…wrong.

After the Purge, you tried to cut yourself off from the force. It just hurt too much, all the pain, all the darkness, all the death…but even as you did it, you knew that it was a fool’s hope.

The Force can’t be cut off anymore that you could cut off your eyes.

And ignoring a warning from the force is just cutting off your nose to spite your face.

You don’t sense any immediate danger, just a massive feeling of be cautious that you would be foolish to ignore. So, slowly you head into clearing, your gaze scanning from one side to the other.

There’s nothing.

Even Hunter, who’s the most cautious of the clones you’ve ever worked with, doesn’t seem to be terribly concerned. So, you push your concerns aside as paranoia.

45 minutes later, your contact finally arrives.

He’s a rather squirrely looking Rodian. He speaks quickly, and his hands flutter anxiously, as though he’s afraid that if he stays still for too long something terrible will happen. 

The deal happens smoothly, with you taking the lead on gathering the information that Cid needed, and trading your information. And your contact flees from the clearing as quickly as he arrived.

“He was certainly nervous,” Hunter says slowly, his nose scrunched as though he smelled something disgusting. 

“Well, information broking isn’t exactly legal in this day and age,” You offer as an explanation, “I mean, it wasn’t legal in the time of the Republic either-”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s gone. He smelled awful.” Hunter grumbles as he rubs his nose, “Ugh, so bad. I don’t suppose you have any of your perfume on you, at least that smells good.”

You shoot him an odd look, “I don’t wear perfume. I don’t wear scented anything since I’m working with you.”

He pauses, and it must be a trick of the light, because you swear his face darkens slightly, “That’s…kind of you.”

“Not wanting to send you into sensory overload isn’t kind, Hunter. It’s literally the least I can do.” You fold your arms over your chest, the feeling of danger was still there.

“Well, I appreciate it all the same.” Hunter says, “You don’t seem like the type who would care.”

“Rude-” You stop mid-sentence as the force screams a warning, and you move, lunging forward and tackling Hunter out of harm's way, just as a gunship riddles the clearing with gunfire.

The pair of you tumble behind a large rock, and duck down for cover as the gunfire continues.

“Kriff,” Hunter ducks his head, “Who the hell is shooting at us?” He glances at you, and his expression sours when he sees you pulling a pastel pink compact out of one of your many pockets, “Seriously?”

“Shut up, it has a mirror.” You flick it open and lift it slightly, angling the mirror so you’re able to see the reflection, “And no one thinks twice about women carrying make-up.” You adjust the way your holding the compact slightly, “Karking hell,” You swear, “It’s Imperial.”

“What?” Hunter snatched the mirror from your hand, ignoring your indignant noise, and he lifts it to look for himself. “...kriff.”

“I told you,” You grouse, as you take the compact back and shove it back into your pocket.

“Now is not the time.” Hunter replies irritably, he looks around, “We can’t outrun them. Not with them in a gunship.”

You lean your head back against the boulder, “We can jump.”

“What?”

You point to the side, “You said you wanted to throw me off a cliff, right?” 

“I didn’t mean it!” He snaps, “That will kill us as surely as the gunship.”

“No,” You sigh, “Hunter, there’s a river at the bottom, fast moving, but that works out in our favor.”

“Right, except we’ll either be killed by the gunship before we can jump, or hitting the water will kill us.” Hunter counters.

“It won’t.” You say, quietly, firmly.

He stares at you, silently. 

You’re calm, deadly calm. You were a sentinel once. You protected people for a living. You failed last time. You won’t fail this time. “I need you to trust me…and not shoot me in the back.”

“Why would I shoot you in the-” He stops, his gaze dropping to your hands, where a slender metal tube rests innocently, “You’re a Jedi.”

“Like I said, please don’t shoot me in the back, and I’ll get us out of this alive.” You say.

Hunter says nothing for a moment, the clearing filled with nothing but the sound of blaster fire, and then he nods slowly, “What do you need me to do?”

“So long as they’re not using ballistic rounds, I can get you to the edge, you just need to jump and trust me.” You say.

He glances at the saber again, “Alright. You give the word.”

You exhale slowly and twirl your saber between confident fingers. Your master’s words echo in your mind as you adjust your weight. You are a sentinel. You are the last line of defense between those who would hurt and those who would be hurt. You will not falter. You will not hesitate. Trust in the force, and all will be well.

And you move.

A yellow blade crackles to life, and you spin it expertly.

Hunter ducks out behind you, and you cover him as he runs the short distance to the cliff. You’re aware of him jumping, and you jump after him, twisting the force around you both in a protective shell just before you hit the water.

Hunter drags you up so your head is above the water, which you’ll be grateful for when you’re not distracted keeping the part of you from getting battered to pieces by the rocks in the water.

The pair of you remain in the water for 30 minutes, until you manage to use the force to propel you both onto the shore, near a small cave. Hunter has to half carry you to the cave, you were far more careful with his well-being than you were with your own, and you painfully sink onto a rock as he starts a fire using some sticks and grass he found near the river.

“Are you hurt?” Hunter asks, as he crouches in front of you.

“Bruised and battered, but I wasn’t shot,” You reply.

He looks surprised, and then annoyed, as if he’s just realizing why he wasn’t hurt, “I wasn’t battered at all.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

He pauses, and then sighs, “Thank you. For saving us and for keeping me from getting hurt.”

You smile at him weakly and lean against the wall, “Well, it definitely went better than the last time I used my saber, that’s for sure.”

Hunter doesn’t say anything for a moment, “Can I ask-?”

“I was a Sentinel.” You answer his unasked question, “My job was to guard the temple. I did a bang up job, as I’m sure you can tell.” Your smile is slightly bitter as you tap your metal arm.

“The Purge wasn’t your fault.” Hunter offers, though there’s something in his tone that suggests that he knows that his words aren’t much comfort. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“Oh, I know.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

“Would you?” Your smile becomes something bitter, “I spent the first couple of weeks after the Purge on Takodana healing and trying to cut myself off from the force. And Maz…well, she shoved a boot up my backside, and hired me.”

Hunter sits across from you, “Suddenly so much about your personality makes sense. You must have been terrified to learn that you were working with clones.”

“A bit. I figured if you didn’t think I was a jedi, I would be safe.” You sigh, “I didn’t expect Maz to just let Cid have me for as long as she did.”

Hunter leans back against the wall as well, “If you want, I’ll tell Cid that we can’t work together. You’ll never have to see us again, if you don’t want.”

“Don’t worry about it. I actually like you and your brothers.”

Hunter lifts his head and smirks at you, “Yeah?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” You say wryly.

“Too late.” He lifts one knee and drapes an arm across it, “So, a follow up. If you want, you can join the crew of the Marauder. It’s only a matter of time before it comes out, you being a jedi. And Omega adores you.”

“What, just Omega?” You ask wryly, “Mister you like the way I smell.”

“Right, I was hoping you forgot about that.” Hunter mutters under his breath.

“Nope.”

“Fine. You smell amazing. It’s soothing. I also like the way you look, and I really like how pouty your lips are, especially when you’re wearing that bright red lipstick.”

“...you spend a lot of time looking at me.”

“Yes, yes I do.” He doesn’t sound the least bit ashamed about it either. “A lot more than you probably realize.” You stare at him, and he grins, “I like walking behind you. You have very nice…hips.”

“Right, I’m sure it’s my hips you admire.”

His grin widens, “You think it’s safe for the Marauder to come and get us now?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Yeah, probably.”

“Great. I’ll call them,” Hunter pulls out his comm and connects to the Marauder, and you hear Tech answer. You’re vaguely aware of Hunter giving Tech his coordinates, and giving a very brief rundown on what happened, but you’re not totally listening.

Instead you dig into one of your pockets, and pull your waterproof makeup kit out, pulling your lipstick out to apply more.

You hear Hunter stumble over his words for a moment as you apply the vibrant red lip paint, and you glance at him, and see that his gaze is locked on your lips. 

You don’t bother to hide your slightly smug grin, as you put your make-up away, and then you walk over to him to peek at his comm. Voice only, probably so his brothers don’t worry when they see him looking like a drowned tooka.

Hunter glances at you, and then to your lips, and then he focuses his attention on the comm again, “So, do you have our coordinates?” He asks the comm.

“I am looking, you appear to be in a ravine of some sort.” Tech says, his voice tinny over the comm.

“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. Can you find us, or do we need to get higher?”

“Hm…a higher elevation would make this easier.” Tech says, but Hunter’s not listening, on account of the fact that you’ve just pulled him down into a kiss. He drops his comm as he presses his hand against the back of your neck, and you quickly catch it before it hits the ground. “Hunter? Hunter, are you still there?”

“I…uh…” Hunter blinks at you, a little hazy, and you smile up at him innocently as you press his comm back into his hands, “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

“What happened? Did you hear what I said?”

“I…yeah. Yeah, I heard you. You need us to get higher.”

“Yes. Do that and then call back and I should be able to find you.”

“Right. Thanks Tech.” Hunter hangs up the comm, without taking his eyes off of you. “You’re trouble.”

You flash a downright angelic smile, “I thought you liked trouble?”

“Oh, I like this kind of trouble.” Hunter breathes out.

You hum, and lightly tap his lips with your finger, “Oh, good.” You stand on your toes so your lips are hovering just over his, “We should get climbing, Hunter. So Tech can find us.”

He groans, “You’re such a tease.”

You throw a grin over your shoulder, “I thought you liked it.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to complain.”

[luna-writes-stuff]

Francesca, Aragorn

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Angst with fluffy ending

Word count: 2651

Tw: Mentions of battle/injuries/deaths. Mourning and loss and whatnot. Aftermath of the Battle of Helm’s Deep.

Summary: When you joined the fellowship, it was in order to protect the ring bearer. You had never been in a true fight, nor had you ever slain anyone before. Your first battle had been a gruesome one, and you struggle to compose yourself afterwards. Aragorn comes to your room to comfort you.

Requested by @rebelbagel . You initially wanted Until It Sleeps, but when I was writing it, I realised the fic was pretty much exactly the same to this one (hurt/comfort). This one was written for someone else who didn’t want to be tagged, but I decided to combine it with your request! I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I still hope you like it <;33

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me? Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?”

You weren’t a fighter. Never had been. You’d never even killed someone to begin with, and that would say a lot considering the life of a ranger. You knew how to hunt, you knew how to hide, but you would never fight unless there had been no other option. And in all your years, the need for it had never been apparent.

You should have known better when you joined the fellowship. You had met Aragorn years earlier, and began travelling together shortly after. You had aided him in bringing the hobbits to safety in Bree, after which you swore to protect him and the ring bearer. You knew the journey would be a dangerous one, and you would never get through it without fighting, however much you wished to have held the same positivity as Merry and Pippin.

You had gotten the relatively easy route initially. Your first kill had been an Uruk-Hai, and though still terrifying, you didn’t feel much remorse for it afterwards - they were ruthless killers to begin with.

But everything quickly went downhill after the Battle of Helm’s Deep. The desperate screams of the women, the final shouts of fallen men, rain water turning red upon reaching the floor, and the abandoned weapons. You had expected to calm down once the battle had been over and you were free to return to your appointed chambers, but somehow, the feeling of desperation and grief only seemed to grow at the impending silence. The second you had entered the room, you had sat down on the bed, simply staring ahead, your eyes glued at the wall, hyper aware of all sounds around you.

“Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change. My life was a storm, since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane?”

You could still hear the sobbing and praying in the square, followed by footsteps in the keep and hushed whispers which you couldn’t quite decipher. But most heartbreaking of all were the mothers crying out for their lost children. Your fight did not lie with the people of Rohan - you had fought alongside them. Yet, it felt as if you were to blame for all this pain.

Familiar footsteps were heard coming up the hall, before gently halting in front of your door. You wanted to call out, be it to dismiss him or to invite him, but you couldn’t bring it in yourself to make any noise. So when he knocked and you remained silent, he let himself in.

“You should let someone see your injuries,” He remarked kindly, having already taken note of your sudden silence after the battle. He knew better than to comment on the whole ordeal immediately. You merely shrugged at him, your eyes slowly falling onto his figure. He sighed as he observed you, silently closing the door behind him before nearing you.

He didn’t say anything as he sat down beside you, his own injuries seemingly not having been attended to as well. You didn’t tease him for it. Not now. You just stared back at the blank wall, your mind replaying the scenes that had occurred only moments earlier.

“If someone asked me at the end. I'll tell them put me back in it Darling, I would do it again.”

His hand on yours is what slowly pulled you out of your mind and back to the present. You didn’t know what to say. No words would make up for what you had seen or what you had felt. It just felt wrong. All of it did.

“The people of Rohan will be safe now,” Aragorn tried to console, but you interrupted him halfway. “These are mothers,” your finger pointed towards the window, where sobbing was still audibly heard. “And they just lost their children.” Then, your head turned slightly, your eyes trailing up to meet his. “How do you cope with that?”

Sincerity and sympathy formed in his eyes as he furrowed his eyebrows together, visibly contemplating what to say next: “We can’t linger on that which is already lost.” You just scoffed at that, shaking your head lightly. “That sounds easy.” He dared risk a little smile at that, squeezing your hand in reassurance.

You tried to copy his smile, forcing happiness onto your features. A single choked sob escaped you as the lump in your throat began to build, your eyes squeezing shut as you tried to push the feeling down. You didn’t see nor hear Aragorn push closer to you until his arms were around you.

“If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again.”

He didn’t speak as you broke down in his arms. Your hands clung tightly to the back of his shirt, your face buried against his chest as your body shook with your sobs. You had endured hardship before this travel, and had seen enough of it during your travel, but it suddenly seemed to become too much. Inexplicable grief washes over you. Grief for people you fought with; whose names you might not have known, but who you would have laid your life down for.

The aftermath seemed to simply be the breaking point. When all adrenaline had worn off and reality had begun to settle in. The moment you realised what you have done and what it had cost. The aching in your body seemed all the more visible now, but somehow it hadn’t even come close to the mental turmoil soaring through your body.

If this is what Aragorn had felt during all his earlier battles, you weren’t quite sure how you would manage after that. You had sworn to protect Frodo, and though he wasn’t near now, you would gladly give your life to pave the way for him. However, now you wanted nothing more than to simply stay here and help everyone build the keep back up again.

“I would still be surprised I could find you, darling In any life. If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I would do it again.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted through sobs, too embarrassed to look back up at him, even though you were sure he wouldn’t have minded. Be that as it may, you heard his gentle voice soothing you, shushing you before speaking: “I understand.”

You didn’t know what you expected him to say, but you would have at least anticipated some resistance. Some voice of reassurance telling you that you would be okay. That it was simply all in your head and that there was no reason to be stuck up on this. You would have anticipated anything but him telling you that he simply understood.

If this was your moment and your decision to stay, he wouldn’t even fight you on it. You and him both knew that you staying here would only make the destruction of Mordor and Sauron more difficult, but Aragorn was willing to risk it all just to let you handle on your own boundaries. If you hadn’t already fallen for him before, you might have just done it all over now.

“For all that was said Of where we'd end up at the end of it. When the heart would cease. Ours never knew peace. What good would it be on the far side of things?”

The hurricane of anguish and anger slowly settled as you properly processed his two words, your crying eventually dying down, though his grip did not fade.

Finally, you looked up at him, confusion on your face. “What if I were to stay? Are you not going to ask me with you?” “Why should I?” He countered softly, no ill intentions on his tongue. “Of course I would want nothing more than you beside me, but who am I to force you into a fight you do not wish to be part of?”

You couldn’t suppress the slight scoff in your throat as his words. Shaking your head lightly, you rested it back upon his chest, his hold now more comfortable than soothing. “This fight requires everyone to take part,” you lectured quietly. “Sauron takes no neutral opponents.”

Instead of a verbal response, he lowered his head lightly, placing a kiss in your hair, letting it linger for a while.

“It was too soon When that part of you was ripped away. A grip taking hold Like a cancer that grows Each piece of your body that it takes.”

“If you wish to stay here, I will let you.” He confessed, his voice a mumble against your skin. You would have loved to stay and get caught up in a fairy tale where you didn’t have to face the consequences of your actions, nor keep to the promises you had made. But you knew better than to remain there that was safe and false.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, hesitation clear in your voice. A heavy sigh came from you as your shoulders drooped. “It was all so much.”

Aragorn hummed in understanding, his hands squeezing you slightly, before parting from your hold. “The aftermath of a battle is the hardest part of fighting.” When you nodded at him, he continued: “But it also reminds me of why to never stop fighting. If I had not, I do not think I would have been on the right side of history.”

Again, you couldn’t help but smile slightly, wiping the tears from your face as you tried to forget about your breakdown seconds prior. “You want to leave a legacy.” You voiced.

“Though I know my heart would break I'll tell them put me back in it. Darling, I would do it again.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But not for the world.” Then, he rose from his seat on the bed, now making way to the window, observing the people walking around on the battle-ridden fields. “For those who properly knew me. I do not want to die, knowing I could have fought.”

He turned around at his own words, dropping his head to the side as if hearing his own advice for the first time. “You live. That is why you keep fighting.”

You wanted to believe him. He seemed so confident about his own speech that it nearly enticed you as well. But as you followed his footsteps and came faced with that which you had dreaded this entire time, your expression fell again: “What about those who lost their kin. Their loved ones?”

Aragorn followed your gaze, spotting an elderly woman weeping at the tears of an older soldier - one who you could have only guessed to be her spouse. Empathy came to Aragorn’s senses. Yes; he did feel bad for the people. It was, in a way, his responsibility to keep them safe. And though a great half of them had been alive, he could not say so for the rest. Yet, he kept his head high: “It is not up to us to determine their sorrow, nor force ourselves into their narratives. Let them grieve in their own way.”

“If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again.”

Your hand found him as you stood beside him, your head leaning on his shoulder as you observed the people. You could understand his point, and you wanted to feel that way as well. But words were easier spoken than actions were executed.

“Yes, lives were lost,” the man continued. “But there always will be. We remember those who have fallen and fight our next battles in their honour. There is no dignity in dying for salvation.”

‘There is no dignity in dying for salvation’. Those were words that you could understand. Words that you might have believed and emphasised with. He did have a natural skill for great speeches. You voiced this to him: “Spoken like a true king.”

“I am no leader.” He chuckled, shaking his head. Before he could bring his argument, you interrupted him, pointing towards Théoden, who was speaking to a small group of men: “I think the people would disagree.” Then, you looked up at him, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I think I would disagree.”

“I would still be surprised I could find you, darling In any life. If I could hold you for a minute. Darling, I would do it again.”

He reciprocated your look, that somehow permanent and effortless expression of gratitude and love written on his face. “I would have you; king or no king.” He spoke sincerely. “I do not care for the thoughts of others.”

In any other scenario, you could have easily said something back. But the comment seemed to come out of thin air, taking you by surprise. Regardless of the amount of times he had expressed his love to you verbally, it could still take you aback at times. Your face heated at his words, a flustered ‘thank you’ spilling from your lips as you forced your eyes to the mountains ahead.

Darkness loomed there, the sky having turned almost black. If there had been any sunlight left, it was not in the east of Middle-Earth. Helm’s Deep appeared to be the final destination of a little sliver of light, its luminescence faint, but apparent. It reminded you of what you had yet to face. That this battle might not be the most difficult one yet. Perhaps you were right to stay. It would certainly be the safer option.

But there was no point in being on the wrong side of history.

“I would not change it each time Heaven is not fit to house a love Like you and I.”

“I could not stay,” you ultimately decided aloud. “If I can do anything about the terror of Sauron, I should. His defeat is near, I know this.”

A snicker of relief came from Aragorn as he let go of your hand. “You have great hope in Sam and Frodo,” he shared. “Keep it; hope is your greatest weapon.”

“No,” you dismissed. “My weapon is my greatest weapon. And maybe you.” Finally, a genuine smile climbed on his face. No assuring chuckles or elevating grins; a genuine, relieved smile. “Maybe me?” “If you were not here to tell me all this, I don’t think I would have walked with you to the ends of the earth.” “You do not have to,” Aragorn tried to convince, but your mind was already made up.

“No, I’m going to.”

“I would not change it each time. Heaven is not fit to house a love Like you and I.”

His arm wrapped around you as he pulled you into his side, a hum of acknowledgment vibrating through him. “Then I am glad to have you at my side.”

You turned your head to the side, leaning down to place a kiss on the hand that held your arm. In response, the fingers flexed slightly; a signal of near affection and endearment. If he could not voice it, he would show it.

“I’ll fight,” you hummed, nodding your head towards the square in front of you. “For them. And for all who might follow them.”

And though a fight against Sauron sounded terrifying, you found yourself oozing with new-found confidence, if not some sort of comfort. A legacy; not for the people of Middle-Earth, but for your kin. Something to remember you by. If you were to go down, you weren’t doing it by giving up. You would do it beside him, fighting for those who cannot. And somehow, that seemed more peaceful than you imagined war to sound like.

“I would not change it each time. Heaven is not fit to house a love Like you and I.”

[pbees]

Marechi!

[𝙐𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙨! 𝙓 [𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧!]

Part 1 ☆

WARNINGS!; future parts will contain Nsfw content!!

This part contains

- Blood

- Violence

- Self Harm [unintentionally ]

Want:

/𝘸ä𝘯𝘵,𝘸ô𝘯𝘵/

𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘰 (𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨); 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳.

⏝︶︶⏝︶ ୨୧ ︶⏝︶︶⏝

強くて美しい

  It was cold.

The blanket you had did not provide much warmth in the freezing temperatures. If you were to die here you would have no one else to blame but yourself- you should've known traveling this far from home would be dangerous, but the promise of a cash reward kept you blind-sighted.

The group you traveled with had called themselves the 'je te l'avais'. They came upon the docs of Nanets boasting about the "créature inquiétante du Japon"

[disturbing creature from Japan]

and promised a hefty cash reward for whoever helped them capture and find it. They said the creature was found in the waters of Japanese shores and would pull people under if they dare come through. The sarcastic tone the group used to boast about the commission piqued your interest making it seem as though it weren't true.

They seemed happier to receive gold than to believe such fictitious monsters existed- So you bought in. You were the last one needed in the party to carry out said commission, no more than a party boat was allowed to attend- either out of fear or greediness to keep their coin.

The boat approached the shore, and they bought a room to rest whilst they stayed in such a foreign place. It was 4 men and 4 women to keep the party equal, the entire sail they would not take what you said into consideration which already -irked you. The only reason you were still on the trip was for the gold, living in France may have been easier than the Americas for someone like you, but you were still largely hated by people you had know bearing with - so getting a job became harder.

After your mother had passed away you were left with debt- paid off with most of the furniture and jewelry she had left behind. You didn't want the house to be taken as well so you took it upon yourself to find any way to make money, you strongly refused to sell yourself to any of the bastard men here so you had to take on harder jobs than what the ladder provided.

'CHO-!"

Snot was now the warmest thing on your body funnily enough.

The feeling in your hands lessen by the second as the snow increased, the party had led you out here in the forest just to be murdered leaving you behind. Even to the end when you commented that they should head back because "they were losing sunlight" they ignored you- and when it seemed like they finally listened and started to head back they were attacked. Someone's head came clean off fresh sprays getting across a woman's face.

Another Woman seemingly flew into the air.

2 men were ripped apart and the last remaining few ran off their cries of "HELP!" being distant please before they too were cut off.

You were sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the group before, and now it had to be even worse. Stricken with fear you couldn't move, hyperventilating being your only call of fear. When you finally had the courage to move everyone was dead, no idea how it happened you tried to pull through. Looting their bodies for food and other small items it would be easy to carry you started to head back silently- but the snow started to pick up leaving you lost.

Once warm blood-soaked parts of your skin as you tried to make yourself warmer. You couldn't even bring yourself to cry in fear of dehydration as you heaved in place of a sob.

Why were you the only one left?

Why couldn't whatever "créature inquiétante" that ate them eat you?

Whatever the afterlife holds, if your mom were there would she laugh at you for such an unfulfilling and pitiful death? You couldn't even call yourself a coward because when you faced the threat you didn't cower frozen on the spot.

Placing one purple hand on the rock you were laying on you shouted ripping your dry lips.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!- I WANT TO LIVE- I want to live my life the way My mother wished!" you coughed watching blood fall from your cracked lips. Standing up on frozen shaky legs you got 2 steps ahead before falling on your face the feeling gone from both feet.

The last thing you remember before your vision finally blurred out was black pants squatting down toward you, you couldn't see what he was doing before you grabbed onto his pants leg and heaved out your final.

"𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦"

__________________________________________

𝘕𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘴; is a City in France

'Je te l'avais; Means "I told you-"

_________

Authors note: Dammmmn I've gotta learn NOT to write on docs the whole time. It doesn't convert my italicized font so the italicized font looks super silly right now😭

-super short future parts will be longer no worries

[dany-is-my-queen]

A Question Of Loyalty XIV

Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader

Word count: 3,5k

Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.

You took a trembling breath as the brooch slipped from your fingers, its soft clink echoing. The weight of grief, loss, and the burden of choices made.

Although you were tempted to go straight to Dragonstone with Rhaenys' remains, you ended up returning to the capital. There was no hunger for answers, no craving for interactions. All you craved was solitude, for the shock still held you tightly in its grip.

Alicent had dispatched a dozen knights to find you and fetch you safely back. Yet, you eluded their search, deliberately taking the longer path home. Your dragon, wounded by the Scorpion’s quarrels, sought solace in the nearby mountains, nursing its strength back to health.

The Dowager Queen yearned to go to you the moment she discovered your return, but you denied her presence, refusing even the comfort of your beloved Haleana, who sought to console you as well.

You screamed through your casement with intensity, your eyes aflame with a fervor on the brink of eruption. Each muffled shout gradually lost its potency, stifled and quelled until your throat could no longer produce a single vocalization. Your outburst resonated with such force that its echoes reverberated all the way to The Wall, reaching ears that stood at a distance.

Rumors, like wildfire, devoured the truth. They whispered of a shattered mind, accusing you of spilling the blood of the King's men, even the Lord Commander’s. They claimed you failed to shield him from the foe, leaving him grievously wounded. They weaved tales of your supposed treachery, plotting to keep him in that weakened state, with the intent to bring about his demise. They called you a failure.

But those who dared to look beyond the surface, who peered into the depths of your pain, understood. They saw it as a struggle within the bounds of family, an act driven by a daughter's love. To them, your actions were justified, as any child with a compassionate heart would have done the same.

Opinions, divided as they were, held no sway over you. The world's judgment felt insignificant. You berated yourself relentlessly for the inability to intervene as you wished, even though the circumstances were beyond your control. The crushing weight of helplessness enveloped you, intensifying the pain of failing to protect those you held dear. Your efforts always fell short, leaving you to bear the consequences.

With your mother gone, the world lost its balance. Without her, Laena, Laenor.. everything felt askew.

Aegon, weakened and burned, found no strength to cast blame or reproach upon you. Aemond, though visibly perturbed, chose silence over comment. Aegon's throne was now occupied by his brother, the Protector of the Realm, as he languished in his bed, unable to govern. Otto resumed his former position.

—

Days melted into one another. Food lost its flavor, and sleep became a mere facade as you sat, staring blankly through the window.

Alicent faithfully visited you every morning and afternoon, harboring no blame for the choices that led to this. She comprehended the extents of your anguish, understanding the why behind your actions. She refused to see betrayal in the loss of her sworn protector. Instead, she offered genuine concern, striving to uplift your shattered spirit. Yet, you couldn't bear the thought of her wasting her precious time on your sorrow.

"I brought the cake we learned to make together when we first met," Alicent gently shared. Memories danced within her words, evoking the image of your amazed face as you discovered your culinary prowess that surpassed even the most skilled cooks in King's Landing. "You possess a natural talent. It may not be as refined as yours, but I asked them to pour their hearts into it," Alicent concluded, tinged with warmth, hoping to infuse some light into your dim world.

"Thank you, dear," you replied, determined not to let your pain dampen her kindness. She refused to give up.

"Nyke miss ao, issa joraelagon," she stumbled in your second language, her effort endearing to you as you witnessed her struggle.

"Jorrāelagon," you corrected her gently, a flicker of a smile gracing your lips, a rare sight in these times. "You're making progress," you teased, and she returned the smile.

"I need more practice; I cannot disappoint you," she confessed, audaciously leaning against the edge of the bed. The gesture brought you ease rather than discomfort.

Silence enveloped you, and as you turned your gaze, your eyes locked with hers. The delicate intensity in her stare made you feel as fragile as glass.

"I’m sorry, Y/N. And I'm here by your side," she whispered. Your attention lingered on her lips, and instinctively, she closed the gap between you, sealing your connection in a gentle, unintended kiss. Without hesitation, you straddled her, the world around you fading as your lips sought relieve in one another's embrace, drawing breaths that fueled the yearning for each other, not mere oxygen.

As the morning light seeped through the curtains, Alicent continued to cradle you, providing serenity that eased the ache within you.

—

Amidst the gentle morning, bathed in the golden rays of the rising sun, you sat by the gardens. Within this a sanctuary was found in the presence of mother and daughter, their bond deepening over the passing months. Despite Haleana's reservations toward forging connections with others, she let her mother in.

In that very instant, a vow surged. You swore to safeguard them, to offer your very life if need be, for the anguish of losing a mother knows no bounds. There was no sacrifice too great, no price too steep.

Haleana, enveloped in her own musings, excused herself, leaving you alone with Alicent. The stage was set, and you knew the time had come to reveal things. Delayed though it may have been..

Alicent spoke of her brother’s eagerness to delve beyond mere formalities and acquaint himself with you. Succumbing to the game, you matched her jest with lighthearted banter, affirming Gwayne's honorable character and striking handsomeness.

"Handsome?" she exclaimed.

"Indeed, the most handsome Hightower I have ever known," you continued, stoking the fires of mirth within her.

"Shall I summon him to your presence, that you may indulge in a conversation, or perhaps embark on a ride together?" she offered, you feigned to be considering the proposal.

"I find greater excitement in riding dragons than horses," you confessed, your words bearing no hidden innuendo, prompting her laughter to cascade. "What have I said?" An innocent grin adorning your countenance.

"That he is the most handsome Hightower you know," she echoed your earlier words, and you tilted your head ever so slightly, directing your gaze solely upon her.

"And you, my love, are the most beautiful Hightower I have ever beheld," you added. As anticipated, a delicate blush bloomed upon her cheeks. "Though, technically, you are a Targaryen, are you not?"

"The colors of your house adorn me far better, do they not?" she mused. "You have always been black and red.”

"I bear fire and the sea within my veins. Yet, you speak true, for one force will inevitably dominate," you confessed, grappling with the figurative language that danced upon your lips. “Alicent..—“ With a fleeting moment of courage, you closed your eyes briefly, gathering your resolve, and dared to maintain eye contact as you stood on the precipice of baring yourself. Alicent, ever attentive, awaited as you prepared to unveil.

“Your Grace, my Lady," a guard's voice resonated behind you, saluting with reverence. "There are urgent matters that demand your attention. Prince Aemond and Ser Otto await you at the Hand's Tower.”

"Thank you, Ser," Alicent replied, her disappointment hidden beneath a mask of regal composure. Reluctantly, the two of you followed the guard's lead.

Upon entering the Red Keep, Alicent firmly clasped your hand, steadfastly refusing to release it, despite the passing gazes of onlookers. You reciprocated the gesture with an equally firm grip.

Within the confines of the Tower of the Hand, Aemond's scrutinizing gaze met your own, a flicker of concern shadowing his features. Ser Otto, ever disdainful of the bond between you and Alicent, maintained an air of disinterest. The presence of other lords, gathered with intent.

"What unfolds, my son?" Alicent cut through the charged atmosphere.

"The Pretender and her forces have gained an army." Aemond responded.

"An army? Have they sought the aid of sellswords?" your curiosity welled up.

“No, not sellswords, but dragons. One of them being the former companion of your very own," he revealed.

"Vermithor?" He nodded.

"How can such a thing be possible?" Alicent's voice wavered, her confusion mirroring your own.

"According to Lord Strong's spies, your father played a hand in guiding the Princess's actions. Their motivations diverged in the aftermath of Rook's Rest, but time pressed upon them. Weeks were spent in search of riders who could mount the dragons dwelling on Dragonstone. Even Ser Laenor's Seasmoke found a place among their ranks."

"Two dragons then.”

"My sources speak of attempts to tame more, wild dragons. Yet, only one yielded to their will—Sheepstealer."

"The capital would crumble beneath the weight of their dragons. They would descend upon us with six in total," Master Orwyle interjected. The scales tipped in favor of the Blacks, leaving naught but a bleak outlook.

"And how were these dragons tamed?"

"Bastard blood holds an extraordinary power, Your Grace," Larys responded, casting a fleeting glance in your direction. Your anger flared.

"My granddaughter does not ride her dragon. Sunfyre, like the king, languishes in a state of inaction. Only Vhagar and Silverwing stand to defend our city," Otto voiced.

"Silverwing has yet to recover fully. It would be unwise to send her into battle, for her presence may sow more damage than aid," you interjected. In truth, you harbored doubts as to whether you desired involvement in the imminent conflict.

"That is the least you and your dragon could offer after your lackluster performance in the recent incident, my lady," Ser Otto retorted.

Aemond swiftly intervened, commanding and authoritative. "Address Lady Y/N with the respect she deserves, grandfather. We must be prepared for any surprise attacks from the Blacks."

The fate of kingdoms teetered on the edge.

—

As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the cobblestone streets of King's Landing, you walked alongside Alicent, she extended an invitation, drawing you into the grandeur of the Great Table.

The Hall echoed with silence as only the two of you sat. The remnants of your interrupted conversation from the morning still lingered, beckoning to be resumed.

"Can you fathom the magnitude of the menace we face?" The very thought of combating so many fully-grown dragons sent shivers down Alicent’s spine. In that moment, the allure of escape, of fleeing the city of chaos with Alicent & Helaena, enticed you. To leave everything behind, to shield your loved ones from further bloodshed, danced on the periphery of your thoughts. Yet, that notion, ephemeral and fragile, dissolved as swiftly as it had appeared. For deep within your being, a burning desire stirred. You yearned to see her.

"We may not have the means to defend ourselves," you admitted.

"And shall we surrender, then? Yielding to her without a fight?" It held a desperate tremor, an echo of the resignation that would inevitably come.

"If your father and Aemond can devise superior strategies, if they can unearth a path to victory, then perchance we may yet elude that fate," you replied, burdened by the uncertainties that lay ahead.

"Whose side will you choose when she arrives?" Her voice betrayed the fear that gripped her heart.

A surge of guilt washed over you as you struggled to find an immediate answer, weary from the ceaseless battles waged within. In the end, it mattered not, for no matter the path you chose, you always questioned if it was the right one.

Shifting the weight of the conversation, you took a long sip of wine, the crimson liquid offering respite. And as the intoxicating warmth coursed through, you began to unburden your chest, the words tumbling forth in a hushed, intimate confession.

"My mother, she believed I harbored resentment, even hatred towards her... When she was imprisoned after King Viserys' death, she revealed the truth of my parentage to me," you confessed, your voice laden with an ache that echoed. A momentary pause allowed the weight of those words to settle. With parched lips, you took another sip.

"I accused her of me being born out of wedlock, of not being hers. And it was then, that she confessed the truth to me," you continued. Alicent's gaze remained fixed upon you, her expression unreadable, allowing you the space to share the depths of your secret.

"The anger within me swelled, for she had never intended to reveal it, and yet Corlys had known all along. He had accepted her, married her. He had accepted me and raised me as a Velaryon, never making me feel any less. For that, I am eternally grateful," you spoke, filled with gratitude.

"My true father was but a sailor, who had got her with child when she was promised to Corlys. He wanted to know me, to be a part of my life... until tragedy befell him, a cruel twist of fate. And that was the end of it. He was from Lys, as handsome as the tales of old, she said.”

Minutes passed, and you remained embraced in silence, leaving Alicent to wonder if it was time to offer her own thoughts.

She cherished the raw honesty that flowed from you, even though it was not the first time she had heard this confession. She understood the tremendous blow it had dealt you when you first learned of your true lineage.

"Perhaps my mother departed this world believing that this revelation was the reason I did not choose to follow her," you confessed, tinged with regret, the specter of missed opportunities lingering.

"But in the end, Y/N, you were by her side. You came to her rescue. In her heart, she knew you harbored no hatred, for it was something you could never possess.”

"I apologize for not confiding in you sooner," you murmured, the weight of your words softened by the realization that you had sought to shield her from the anguish that haunted your past.

"Why did you not?" Her inquiry, gentle and understanding, sought not to condemn but to unravel the complexities of your heart. "Did you genuinely believe... that I would turn you away, knowing your true parentage? You know me better than that, Y/N."

"I could not risk losing you," you confessed, the words weighed down by the fear of abandonment that had silently plagued your thoughts.

"Y/N..."

"I thought you harbored reservations..." The words escaped before you could contain them, abruptly halted as you caught yourself, unwilling to give them a voice.

She finished the sentence for you. "I know you believed that because of the princess's children.I would never turn away from you, Y/N. It pains me that you did not trust me enough to confide in me sooner, but I understand your reasons. And it is alright, truly," Alicent assured you, brimming with warmth and acceptance.

"I love you," you whispered, surrendering yourself to the rest of the night.

—

Rhaenyra recognized the urgency to press forward, as she feared being remembered as the queen who failed to rightfully claim her father's throne—a title she found unappealing and detrimental to her reputation. She had always known Alicent's words were a lie, a deceitful ploy to drive you away for good. Initially, Rhaenyra considered abandoning the fight for the sake of her children's safety, but she reconsidered, she refused to be remembered in such a manner.

For her cause, they had secured three valuable dragons: Sheepstealer, Vermithor, & Seamoke. Seamoke, her ex-husband's mount. She believed him to be alive beyond the Narrow Sea with his lover, Ser Carl. Rhaenyra envied their freedom from the burdens of duty and madness that came with their birthright. In her ideal reality, she pictured a life with you, free from all constraints.

Everything was prepared for their advancement, Jaecerys, the Prince of Dragonstone, was eager to proceed until your alliance with the High Council of the Triarchy altered their plans. Warships had arrived at the Stepstones, leading to a change in strategy. The attack was not only focused on capturing strategic locations but also targeted your father’s ancestral seat, High Tide. As those who entered the Gullet south of Dragonstone faced resistance, Prince Jacaerys fought back on Vermax, but the men from the Free Cities refused to give in. More dragons appeared above the Dragonmont, aiming to eliminate their opposition.

Sadly, the dragon ridden by Rhaenyra's eldest son couldn't withstand the assault and crashed into the sea. The heir to the Throne met a tragic end, struck by multiple arrows and swallowed by the ocean. There was no doubt about the bravery of Jace, just as his younger brother Luke had shown. The news of their demise spread quickly, leaving you with a different kind of helplessness than when you learned about Vhagar's attack on Arrax. You knew your eldest nephew wasn't a craven, and you were certain he fought until his last breath.

If you held faith in the afterlife, in.. realms beyond, you believed that Jace and Luke were now reunited.

You knew Rhaenyra’s assault on the capital was imminent, awaiting the opportune moment.

You also discovered that Daeron, earned the title of ‘Ser Daeron the Daring’. He displayed bravery by saving Lord Ormund and joining the rescue mission at the River Honeywine, becoming the hero of that battle. You knew he didn't claim all the credit for himself; he shared it with his companion & she-dragon, Tessarion, with whom you had shared many adventurous afternoons and joyful moments. Time had transformed him into a courageous, audacious, and kind-hearted lad.

Rhaenyra knew of your loss, for she, too, held deep affection Rhaenys. Upon discovering your deeds in Rook’s Rest, she naively believed you would return home to her. Yet, you did not. Finally, she comprehended that you would no longer choose her, rendering her waiting in vain. She wanted to confront you, face to face, regardless of the outcome. Expectations evaporated, leaving only the desire to extricate you from her mind and heart, allowing her to forge ahead.

—

Aemond, undeterred by counsel and brimming with conviction, persisted in advocating for a daring plan that involved riding forthwith to Daemon's doorstep. His aim was to seize his adversary unawares, ending his life within the ancient walls of Harrenhal, where the Prince had long entrenched himself. With each stride taken toward this perilous objective, Rhaenyra's vulnerability would be amplified, bereft of both husband and one fewer dragon.

Yet, despite the fervent dissuasion voiced by yourself and his mother, he scorned the wisdom proffered by those closest to him. Fuelled by his own impetuous resolve, he hastily sought to mount Vhagar's back, with Otto at his side, who embraced his shared vision.

"Tarry a while longer until your brother is fit for battle. It ill behooves you to court such hazard alone," Alicent implored, her pleas ringing forth with maternal concern.

"Mother, place your trust in my capabilities," he reassured. "Vhagar has emerged unscathed from countless fights, fret not for my well-being." Upon hearing Aemond's declaration, an almost uncontrollable surge of wrath surged within you, tempting you to lunge forward and deliver an instinctual blow upon his unwary countenance. Yet, for the sake of it, you restrained yourself, holding firm against the tempestuous emotions that coursed through your veins. "The defense of the City shall not languish," he proclaimed with unwavering confidence.

"It could, Your Grace," you interjected, your words carefully chosen to maintain a semblance of deference.

"Mark my words, I shall return bearing my uncle's head ensconced within a bloodstained sack, a fitting tribute for you, my Lady," he pronounced, with certainty and unabashed arrogance. In response, you narrowed your gaze, choosing to forsake any further attempt to dissuade him.

"Lady Y/N, I submit that you should accompany Prince Aemond, for it is wiser to traverse this treacherous path with a stalwart companion, who also happens to possess a fierce dragon. And since he spurns aid from Storm's End or his younger brother, it behooves us to act prudently," Lord Jasper proffered.

“My lords, do not misconstrue my decision as an act of cowardice. I will not forsake my post, leaving the Queen Dowager and Queen Haleana vulnerable to the machinations of their adversaries," you proclaimed.

"Fear not, for valiant men stand ready to safeguard them against any who would bring them harm. Knights capable of shielding them from all danger," He continued.

At this juncture, Alicent seized the opportunity to voice her own retort. "No knight can lay claim to greater valor or loyalty than our Lady Y/N," she admonished Lord Jasper. The men within the chamber exchanged furtive glances, and Lord Wylde, could not mask his sense of humiliation.

"'Twas naught but a humble suggestion, Your Grace, yet I shall yield to your wisdom," he conceded with an air of acquiescence.

"Come morrow, I’ll depart," Aemond declared.

~~~~~

Taglist: @nnightskiess @loveislove4 @evattude @lethal-minds @sophiexoxsblog @claymoresword @tired-ninfa @glorioushamsterqueen @alicenter @newcaptainofsquad9 @pindoris @oh-thats-cute @rxscpctals @laenordeservedbetter @voniikg @bugwritesstuff @letlovee-in @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valenciavv @the-camilucha @joliettes @itssecret2109 @i-nail-jello-to-walls @cone-fused-mind

[lizcameron]

Daddy's Little Girl

This one is a little off-brand. No smut, fluff, or angst. Just a little creativity exercise.

Request: “Would you write a dark fic with jj x sister!reader where she kills their dad with a knife after all he’s done to them. She gets arrested, of course.” - @tracymbcm

Word Count: 1501

Warning(s): MURDER, mentions of SA, domestic violence

Thank you @pankowperfection for passing along this request. I hope I did it justice! It’s not as dark as I anticipated; I couldn’t bring myself to make it premeditated.

You could hear shouting as you walked along the curve of the dirt road leading to your neglected house. Quarrels like this were not uncommon in the Maybank household. Your father was always coming home high on something heavy, his mood worsened by alcohol. Most of the time, he was bitter and spat harsh words at you and your brother. That was the easy end of the stick. When he got really drunk, he was a mean, violent man. He would do and say spiteful things out of resentment and self-pity. He blamed you and JJ for your mother’s sudden departure, having left when you were 5 and JJ was 6, though you believed she must have seen a ghost of what he would become and fled before things got really bad.

You sigh heavily, slowing your steps, hoping to wait out the argument until JJ and your dad inevitably shut themselves in their respective rooms. When you hear a crash and shattering, you sprint to the porch door on the side of the house, throwing it open to see that the two men must have been at it for a good while. The entire living room is in shambles, coffee table on its side, papers littered everywhere, and the couch shoved out of its typical place. The sheets that usually hang by nails to cover the windows are torn down, blinds behind bent and broken.

Your eyes scan the room, and you spot the pile of dishes shattered on the floor before landing on your brother, who has your father in a headlock. JJ is struggling, Luke being shorter than him but with the weight of muscle and a beer gut giving him an edge. Luke is clawing at JJ’s forearm over his airway, but JJ has his back braced against the kitchen counter and one leg pushing against the counter across from him, the support making up for Luke’s weight advantage.

“JJ, what the fuck,” you scream as you rush into the kitchen and try to move past Luke’s kicking legs. “Let him go!”

“No can do, little sis,” JJ strains. “‘M not lettin’ him get me back.”

You stare, aghast, eyes raking over your dad’s flailing body. You are severely out-gunned in the current situation. Not knowing what else to do, you shove at JJ, trying to loosen his grip on your father.

“Shit, Y/n!” JJ shouts. “Get outta the way before he gets you square in the nose. Just go to your room!”

“Enough, J! You’re gonna kill ‘im,” you wail.

JJ scoffs, but you can tell he’s beginning to weaken. “Just putin’ dear ol’ dad to bed. Don’t worry; he’ll be up by mornin’.”

You grit your teeth in frustration, widening your stance to steady yourself. You push against JJ’s shoulder again, this time not letting up until JJ loses his balance and tips over, back hitting the wall. Luke is on the ground with him, choking in air.

Before JJ can reach for him again, Luke scrambles to his feet, putting the length of the small kitchen between the two. Both men are heaving, trying to catch their breath from their struggle.

“Now what is this all about? Are you drunk, Dad?” you ask needlessly. You can smell the beer and cheap whiskey in the room, and it’s not coming from JJ.

Luke ignores your comments and locks eyes with JJ. “Big mistake, boy,” he rasps. “You shoulda gone home to yer boyfriend, Routledge, like ya always do.”

JJ grunts at that remark but doesn’t let it phase him.

“What’s a-matter, boy? Can’t finish the job? Gonna let your pretty little sister do it for you?” Luke drawls with a snicker.

You snap your eyes up to JJ’s and see the fire in his pupils. Nothing infuriated him more than when your dad spoke of you in that way. In the past few months, Luke had started commenting on your body and your “pretty little mouth,” little insinuations here and there when he was particularly too far gone. You insisted he didn’t mean it like that, but JJ knew where Luke’s thoughts leaned when he’d had so much to drink that even his murky boundaries muddied.

JJ roared as he charged across the room toward Luke, but your father was too quick, the coke in his systems making his senses a little sharper than JJ’s were through his cloud of rage. Luke dodged your brother, catching the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to where he pinned him to the floor. He straddled JJ with his hands around your brother’s throat.

It all happened so quickly. You hadn’t had any time to react, to stop JJ. Now he was jerking under your father, trying to get out of his hold, but it was no use. Without his legs under him, JJ couldn’t overpower Luke. You knew your father wouldn’t stop, not after JJ had put him in a similar position just moments earlier.

“Stop it, Dad! Get offa him,” you scream, moving to try to push him off of JJ, but Luke swats you away. You shove at him again, and his arm swings out and catches you in the cheek just under your eye. You ignore the wetness that drips down to your jaw as you can see your brother turning a sickening shade.

“Daddy, please! You’re hurting him,” you wail, violent sobs now shaking your body.

“He did this, Y/n! He asked for it,” Luke hollers back.

JJ’s movements begin to slow, and you panic, knowing you’ll surely lose your brother if you don’t get Luke off of him. You’re hyperventilating as you look through blurry eyes around the room for something to hit Luke hard enough to render him unconscious long enough for you and JJ to make your escape. Your hands clatter along the kitchen counter as you fumble blindly for anything to help you. Your fingers clasp around a handle over the stovetop and you raise it, not cognizant of its weight.

Blinking back your tears, you make your way over to the struggle by the kitchen table. You raise your arm, implement in hand, and bring it down swiftly to the side of your father’s head. You do not hear a resonating sound as you expected from a frying pan against your father’s head, but rather a sharp, wet sound. You blink several times around the confusion, clearing your eyes, and as the blur dissipates, your gaze lands upon Luke leaning lax over JJ with the sharp edge of a meat cleaver sunk just above his ear.

The house quiets as your sobs stop. The only sounds remaining are the harsh breaths both you and JJ drag in. JJ pushes out from under the weight, letting it fall with a dense thud.

“Y/n… Y/n,” he whispers, conscious not to startle you. He knows you could crumble at any moment, and you don’t have time for that.

JJ could hear the sirens in the distance. The neighbors must have called the cops because of all the screaming. You were in shock, though, and didn’t hear them.

“Y/n, you have to move. We don’t have time to run,” he says gently. When you don’t budge, he grabs you by the shoulders and begins guiding you. “You have to lie down. Lie down next to him.”

JJ menuevers you to the floor, laying you back beside the kitchen table. When your hand touches the growing puddle beneath you, the glaze over your eyes pulls back and your face contorts. You look over at your father’s lifeless body beside you, then bring your gaze to meet your brother’s.

JJ’s mind is a million miles ahead of yours already. “We’ll say he was trying to take advantage of you. Ya’ got the cut on your cheek to prove your struggle. I walked in and stopped the fucker with the first thing I could get my hands on. C’mon, lay down. We have to spread the blood so it looks like he was on top of you,” he rambles, motioning for you to comply.

Your grimace deepens, and you can feel your stomach starting to churn. “J, no, that’s- that’s not what happened. He was killing you,” you croak, throat tight.

JJ pulled his head back, looking at you incredulously. “Y/n, I’m not letting you go to jail for this. It was me. I did this. He was trying to hurt you,” your brother pleads. The look in JJ’s eyes is excruciating. “Please,” JJ whispers as you hear the screen door swing shut.

Shoupe takes a few steps in, hands poised on his hips. “Kids,” he begins. “What the hell happened here?”

[katshuya]

Lyanna Stark carries some blame too!

Warning: This is not to hate on her, nor I'm denying that she was a young girl and to some degree MAY have been fooled. This is about accountability first and second her genius fans and the shippers

I literally talked to several people here who ships her with Rhaegar and they were ones who have posts that have most likes over discussions about them as I have seen so far and very clever takes that break down every argument as other Rhaegar and Lyanna fans claim. And I swear to god the amount of cope and stupid theories they say is ridiculous. Like all long posts and literally nothing!

My only regret is how I didn't take screenshots of their very clever arguments. All of them ended up deleting my comments when they couldn't reply and was hurt by me saying that Rhaegar could have very possibly liked Elia in Romantic way to some extent and that copmplex realtionship doesn't necessarily mean there was no love or attraction.

Apparently now we are liars and don't care about Elia and just want to shit on Rhaegar and Lyanna and if we truly liked her we'd want her to be a woman who never loved Rhaegar at all.

Not even a little feeling to the man, she agreed to risk her life for him and his prophecy no. We should say according to them that she did that to stabilize her position as future queen and mother of the next heir who eats, drinks and sleeps peacefully and that is more feminist as they MOCKED than her being hurt by Rhaegar (Rhaegar who is said to be very charming to all women but apparently he never charmed Elia according to their little hearts that refuse to accept there might have been something of romance between her and Rhaegar) .

Them: Like, what do you mean she would mind seeing her husband love another girl more after she did everything for him?😡 That's very not good interpretation and characterization of Elia. She should only care about her position! oh! She is the victim of her mother's AMbiTIOns

AND! Her liking Rhaegar and risking her life to give him children makes her weak!

Trasnslation: I can't accept her liking Rhaegar, or this will make the asshole prince I ship myself with as a self-insert of Lyanna more asshole and unlikable to others So Elia must never like Rhaegar in order for my ship to work! Let's work hard on making people believe this is the only possible scenario AND the only way for Elia to be strong good character otherwise she is weak silly girl if she loved her charismatic husband so my ship can sail!

That's the true strong woman and we Elia-fans are just bunch of haters and don't really like her and we are the actual misogynist for not saying she never liked Rhaegar and for not loving their GIrl BoSS lyanan stark.

No, I don't ship Rhaegar and Elia. I'm just stating a very possible scenario. I really don't do ships. I simply like Elia.

As for Lyanna....

Yes, Lyanna carries some blame, too, in case she knew of Rhaegar's plan and agreed to it and went willingly. You don't get to tell me that I shouldn't blame her because most blame falls on men, and she was young?????

Like make it make sense. To what extent could your age protect you from accountability when you hurt others? Since when being young gives you the right to escape accountability? How else do you make sure that they don't turn out nasty?

Her escaping Robert and her eloping with married man EVEN in a scenario where Elia agreed are two different things that don't connect. (Elia would never agree happily. In such a scenario, she has no choice because of the prophecy.), it doesn't delete her mistakes. It simply makes her less guilty.

Reminder! She didn't escape until Rhaegar appeared. This may mean she never intended to escape until she fell in love with this married charismatic prince charming even in a scenario where she was a greenseer and saw her and Rhaegar are a MUst Be. They still ignored many things like others' safety for unsure prophecy.

Her story is so much more than just her age.

You all just ignore everything to make her look like nothing but a victim.

I had one tell me we shouldn't blame her because of the girl's girl and because men take most blame in her story??? Yes, they do, and??? Is that how we deal with women's mistakes now? As long as the biggest culprit is a man and you are young, you are free from accountability?

If this is what a girl's girl means now, then I'm not a girl's girl.

And guess what? Yes, I blame her to some degree and don't hate her. Yes, I definitely don't see her as likable but definitely not evil, and I know many of you don't accept these things mixed, but like or not they do with me and with many others who are silent about it because they don't want to be called ridiculous for disliking young girl. But not me. I don't mind.

[hamliet]

while i was rereading the grandmaster of demonic cultivation again its about the two woman that came to lotus pear sisi and bi cao, there was something its about the reaction the cultivators had about there stories I was thinking what these two woman represent?

Hi! I've written a meta on Sisi before--she's one of the most important minor characters, I think.

I think her pairing with Bicao exists to make the reader ponder their own questions about what righteousness means and what justice is. After all, Sisi is a prostitute who openly admits to sleeping with married men, is coerced into assaulting someone to death, and is physically scarred. On the surface, she seems like someone society will and does indeed condemn.

But Sisi is the bravest, most righteous character in the entire story. She is not ashamed of what society and life have done to her; it's not like she had a choice in any of the above, after all, and while it's convenient to blame her, she had literally not a shred of freedom her entire life. At least not from whenever she entered the brothel, and we know from Jin Guangyao's comments about Meng Shi that the women there weren't there out of their own free will.

And yet, Sisi comes forward knowing people will condemn her purely to get justice for the other prostitutes who were coerced into this and then murdered. They were the ones not even brothels wanted anymore--too old, too sick, too ugly. The ones every last bit of society threw away, and she came to face scorn solely to get justice for them. She directly says this.

In contrast, Bicao came forward for money.

Now, that's not inherently a bad thing. Bicao is a servant. She's part of society, unlike Sisi, but she's not well respected or anything like that. However, Bicao knew about Qin Su's mother being raped by Jin Guangshan, knew about the Jins being siblings, and said nothing--fair enough. There's nothing wrong with wanting to survive. Where we do get into dubious moral territory is when she directly goes to Qin Su and gives her the letter.

Wei Wuxian himself notes that Qin Su had to have immense trust in Bicao to instantly believe its contents. She emphatically states that Bicao would never lie to her.

But Bicao also knew the likely outcome of her revealing this to Qin Su--that it endangered her, that she would probably be suicidal if not in danger from her husband, and Wei Wuxian directly says this as well. Bicao handed the letter to Qin Su for money knowing it would mean her misery, ostracization from society at best, and death at worst.

Bicao's not a blood relative of Qin Su, of course, and there's a tendency to be like "oh, she's a servant, she owed her nothing." To a degree, sure, but also to another degree we're absolutely supposed to compare and contrast Bicao's treatment of Qin Su with Wei Wuxian's treatment of the Jiang family, and with of course Sisi's treatment of her sisters in the brothels (which we know was always the case from how she protected Meng Shi). Wei Wuxian was derided for his disrespect of the family that took him in despite being the son of a servant, yet gave literally everything, even his golden core, to try to help the Jiangs.

We're also supposed to compare and contrast Bicao and Sisi, both of whom reveal information damning the child they once protected. Bicao did it for money and was aware of what she was doing. Sisi did it for justice and, as far as we know, was not aware that Jin Guangyao was Meng Yao.

This itself of course leads to questioning Nie Huaisang's quest for justice and whether his justice is the same flavor as Sisi's. He freed her because she served his purpose, not out of any desire to free her because she is a human being who doesn't deserve to be locked up forever. He paid Bicao to sacrifice Qin Su, who was completely innocent. Yes, he couldn't have known everything that came from his actions but he definitely knew the likely possibilities (again, Wei Wuxian explicitly says this).

These comparisons invite us to question justice and its link to power, to society, to what we owe one another, and to what it means to be righteous. These are good thematic comparisons wherein the point isn't even "Sisi good" and "Bicao bad" (which can be true even while acknowledging that Sisi is framed much more positively) but instead a multilayered approach designed to provoke questions rather than simple answers.

[xpao-bearx]

"Partners In Crime"

Officer Callahan x Bad Girl!Reader

SUMMARY: As the resident "bad girl" of Hawkins, you truly only want one thing: to get into the pants of the resident dorky and dedicated police officer, Phil Callahan (and hey, maybe steal his heart too!).

NOTES: I recently just finished Stranger Things and yeah, great show, but have you SEEN the men??? 👀 Anyhoe, being the ✨️whore✨️ that I am, it really comes as no surprise that I'm simping over all the hot dudes but one of the hotties I've become obsessed with is CRIMINALLY underrated 😭

And so, of course, I took this grave offense ✨️personally✨️ and wrote this lil piece! Though I can't really call it little because it is SHOCKINGLY long (for me) and I sacrificed hours upon hours of sleep 🥲 But hey, when Phil fucking Callahan (and his gorgeous actor John Reynolds) makes you horny and inspired, YOU👏SEIZE👏THE👏GODDAMN👏MOMENT👏

If it isn't already obvious, this fic contains 18+ SMUT AND MATURE CONTENT and it gets preeetty steamy if I do say so myself~ It's also set roughly around Season 2, and I say roughly cuz I suck at remembering plots and shit so I just went with the flow 😅 And as always, PLEASE don't be a silent reader! Likes, comments, and reblogs are VERY much encouraged and appreciated!! \(^o^)/

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this baby! This is my first ever humble contribution to the ST fandom and, who knows, MAYBE not my last ;)

In the small town of Hawkins, you were popular as the "bad girl". You were loud, headstrong, and constantly got into trouble--completely unlike any of the "proper" ladies that talked shit behind your back. But the trouble you caused, despite the chaos it unfailingly left behind, was never anything actually hurtful. Hell, you were even caught a few times using your colourful language to make some middle school children cry when you saw them bullying some poor boys (one of them, you remember, being the Wheelers' son who always looked like trouble followed him himself).

A bad girl with a golden heart; a cheesy, living cliché. But that's what you were. You just wanted to have fun, to live in the moment. But in this bumfuck town where pretty much nothing happens before that Byers kid mysteriously disappeared then reappeared, how could anyone really blame you for trying to stir shit up simply for your own entertainment and for your damn sanity?

But some of the locals knew you on a personal level. Particularly, the Hawkins Police Department. Before you stumbled upon Hawkins a few years ago, you were a drifter; chasing after the high of wherever life would take you, free yet lost. Whether it was by chance or by fate, you only stopped at Hawkins to fuel up your motorcycle and have a quick bite at the local diner until suddenly--like something out of those fucking romcoms your mother used to watch--you met him.

Phil Callahan. He was only a rookie officer at the time, having not even grown out his beloved moustache yet. You noticed his police cruiser parked at the gas station with an evident bump on the front of the car. He was fuelling up, but his hand holding the pump was limp and he was as pale as a ghost; eyes comically wide behind his horn-rimmed glasses, brunette locks tousled and sticking out every which way after frantically running his free hand through it god knows how many times.

And staring at this clearly stressed, slightly pathetic man, all you could think was: HOT.

Before your brain could process what you were doing (though, let's be honest, you never really used your brain much in most of your life decisions), you found your feet walking away from your bike of their own accord and towards him.

Once you were by his side, it's only then that you realized just how tall he was. So much taller. He easily towered over you and it made your mind drift to other, much less innocent thoughts.

Namely him bending you over his car and fucking you within an inch of your sorry excuse of a life.

"Can I help you?" Your head snapped up from the stranger's voice, eyes meeting his narrowed ones. And--dammit!--he was much more unfairly handsome up close. His light brown eyes reflected almost green, raising a suspicious brow at you as his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Sorry, Officer--" Your gaze strayed to his shiny name tag, a grin tugging up the corners of your mouth. "--Callahan. I just couldn't help but notice you. You look like you just died inside, man."

His brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder to the bump on his car before quickly darting back to you. "Thanks for your concern, ma'am, but I'm fine. Nothing a civilian should be worried about, anyway."

"If you don't mind--" You piped up once more as he set the pump away. "I think it's got something to do with that nasty bump ya got there, huh?"

"Uh, okay, actually I do mind." He sighed exasperatedly, no longer able to hide his growing aggravation. Today was just not his day, it seemed. "Ma'am, like I said, it is none of your concern." He put on his police hat, tipping it to you. "Good day."

As he turned away from you, you sidestepped him so that you were in front of him again. Your grin was much bigger this time, practically reaching your ears. "Uh-oh, are you in trouble, Mr. Policeman~?" You purred, one hand reaching out and playfully drumming your fingers along his chest. You intently studied him from head to toe, as if admiring an artistic masterpiece before biting your lip and giggling. "Lemme guess... You're a young, new police officer who doesn't know any better. You got so excited driving a police car for the first time that you drove it a bit too fast and crashed into a tree or some shit. Sound about right?"

His face flushed scarlet, and you weren't sure if it was from the shame of having his dumbass misdemeanor exposed or from your fingers making a shiver run down his spine--probably both.

"How do you--"

"This ain't exactly my first time having a lil run-in with the law, so I know how men like you work." You winked. "Hey, tell ya what, how 'bout I help you? You can tell your other piggy buddies that I'm some crazy bitch with anger issues you caught for speeding and in my oh so scary rage, I purposely crashed my motorbike to the front of your car just to fuck with you. You can even put cuffs on me~"

He blinked, utterly dumbstruck as he stared down at the total menace that was you (and the fact that a certain part of him reacted at you graciously allowing him to cuff you), feeling like forever until he finally found his voice that cracked slightly as he spoke. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Y/N L/N." You hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned up on your tiptoes and dangled slightly off of him with the few inches left between the two of you. The sudden action caught him completely off guard, his hands dropping to your hips to support you and making him blush even redder. But you didn't care, smiling mischievously up at him. "Feel free to search me up in the system, Officer. I've got a permanent record, after all~"

And that's how you met Jim Hopper, Calvin Powell, and the rest of the Hawkins Police Department when Callahan brought you with him back to the station. They definitely didn't believe you guys, especially when you didn't have a single scratch on you that indicated you "crashed your bike to his vehicle" (Callahan cleaned up your choice of wording a bit). But it was amusing to see Callahan dragging you along in handcuffs, who appeared all too joyful with a shit-eating smile as if you just won the lottery. Meanwhile, Callahan's cheeks were flaming hot and his voice adopted to a nervous high pitch as he lied to everyone who were just barely containing their laughter.

It also wasn't long before you decided to settle into Hawkins in some shitty trailer park, but you couldn't really complain considering your drifting years weren't all sunshine and rainbows either.

Besides, Callahan made it all worth it.

It wasn't love at first sight, but there was absolutely attraction. Hell, you were practically (if not literally) throwing yourself at him during your first encounter, and after that it would be the same--if not more intense.

You were no stranger to trouble, but often times you would seek for trouble yourself on purpose just so you could wind up in the police station to bother--ahem, I mean, very persistently try to hang out with Callahan. Or you'd just go to the station despite having no business there, but Flo the secretary usually kicked you out before you had the chance to even lay eyes on the gorgeous four eyes.

Today, however, Flo wasn't there. You didn't believe in some higher power, but it was a fucking miracle that you were grateful for and didn't dare to question. And so you more than happily made yourself at home in the station, sitting down at Callahan's desk as you curiously pried into his stuff before a deep laugh from behind you broke you out of your little reverie.

"This is just ridiculous now, Y/N." Hopper shot you an incredulous though very much amused expression. "If you like Callahan so much--which I have no fucking idea why--then just ask him out on a date already."

It was no secret that Hopper can be a total grump, but oddly enough you became fast friends with him. He never gave you a hard time and you never bullshitted him, which in turn formed a weird sort of respect between the two of you.

You rolled your eyes at the huge man, turning back to Callahan's desk and inspecting his assortment of pens--which you thought was way too much and he probably doesn't even use all of them, but that only amped up his dorkish charm to you by, like, a thousand.

"You're one to talk, Hop." You scoffed, snatching a pen and beginning to click it continuously. "I bet your hand's tired from jerking off to Joyce Byers."

Hopper scowled, but a faint rosiness dusted his cheeks. "Okay, first off--" Click. "I do not jerk off to Joyce--" Click. "and unlike you--" Click. "I actually have the balls to ask her out--" Click. "she just hasn't--" Click. "WILL YOU STOP FUCKING CLICKING THAT GODDAMN PEN?!"

You didn't even flinch, casually stashing the pen away in your pocket before you stood and faced him. "Enough about you." You huffed, crossing your arms as your eyes levelled with his. Hopper may as well be a living brick wall walking around ready to punch whoever crossed him, but you were never intimidated by the chief of police whom you've admittedly grown a soft spot for. "Callahan on for patrol duty tonight?"

"Yeah, and you owe me big time." He frowned when you blatantly ignored him, but what was new? "I need as much manpower as I can get to investigate what the hell's going on with the pumpkin patches yet here I am, like a fucking idiot, helping to set you and Callahan up."

"You looove me~" You teased, patting his shoulder and granting him a Cheshire Cat-like grin. "This is all for a good cause, big guy. And just think, the sooner Callahan and I get together, the faster I'll be outta your hair!" You chuckled. "And hey, you're thinking too much into those pumpkin patches. Probably just some pumpkin farmers having a pumpkin war. Go big or gourd home, am I right?"

Hopper watched as you laughed obnoxiously loud at your stupid pun, looking so proud of yourself as little snorts wracked your smaller frame and your shoulders shook from sheer glee. He shook his head, sighing heavily to himself.

"God, I actually feel kinda bad for Callahan..."

•••♡•••

Night couldn't fall any quicker, but once it finally did your entire body was practically bursting with excitement like a child who's about to go out for trick or treating.

You hopped onto your bike, revving up the engine and driving even more maniacally than your Munson neighbour did out of the trailer park. You didn't even keep track anymore of how fast you were going, your hair flying as you raced down the road and were greeted by Halloween decorations strewn about in various houses' lawns.

A few minutes later, you found yourself on the empty road leading out of Hawkins. And just as you predicted--had hoped--the shrill blare of a siren sliced through the air and the all too familiar red and blue lights nearly blinded your vision as a police cruiser followed close on your tail.

You couldn't suppress the giddy grin that tore across your face, slowing down by the side of the road and the car pulling up next to you.

The butterflies in your stomach were doing fucking somersaults now as you heard the car door open and shut close, boots thudding on the ground as your favourite officer approached.

"Well, well, well... Lookie who we have here~?" The singsong voice made your grin widen even more if it was possible, making your cheeks hurt. The beam from a flashlight hit your eyes, and once your sight adjusted there was none other than Callahan, staring down at you with his pretty brown eyes. "If it isn't Lil Miss Trouble."

"Cally!" You giggled like some lovesick schoolgirl, and if we were being honest, you pretty much acted like you are. "Fancy seeing you here~ Halloween ain't 'til tomorrow, so why are ya out on patrol?"

"Beats me." He shrugged. "The chief suddenly put me on duty. Also, you know how much I hate that nickname." He grimaced, turning the flashlight off. It was quite dark, but you could still see him well enough due to a lone street lamp a couple feet away. "Get off."

His sudden commanding tone sent a shiver down your spine, a certain part of you getting wet. And it didn't help that you decided to forgo panties, your slick coating the seat of your bike. You then jumped off, your breasts bouncing slightly. This action didn't go unnoticed by him, his eyes dropping to your chest and trailing down your figure until his gaze landed on your skirt--if it could even be called that.

You were wearing a leather mini skirt that left little to the imagination, hugging your curves just right and showing off your thighs. He thought that if you made one wrong move, you'd flash him your panties; of course, not knowing you weren't even wearing any.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love your moustache?" You purred, heart leaping when he went speechless and his mouth hung agape.

His eyes flicked back up to meet yours, snapping out of his trance. "Only the first hundred times." He then cleared his throat, pointing an accusatory finger at you with a hand placed on his hip like a parent scolding their child. "Flattery won't work on me, Y/N. Do you know how fast you were going? And why weren't you wearing a helmet?"

"I know I was going pretty fucking fast!" You guffawed. "As for not wearing a helmet, well, what can I say? I don't like feeling restricted. I like being free. If I could, I'd totally go naked."

You saw his Adam's apple bob as he gulped at your emphasis of "naked", a death grip on his flashlight as his jaw squared. "That's public indecency." He stated simply. He was getting better dealing with you, but the ever so slight crack in his voice was a telltale sign that you still very much had an intoxicating, beguiling effect on him. "And where the hell were you going? Were you...leaving Hawkins?"

You didn't miss the plaintive way he had asked the question, your heart melting. He cared for you. No matter how much trouble you caused everyone, caused him... He would still check up on you, and you even caught him several times keeping watch outside of your trailer when Will Byers went missing a year ago. He claimed that the police were patrolling every nook and cranny after the kid's disappearance, but you never saw Hopper or anyone else guarding other people's homes like how Callahan did yours.

"I'm not leaving, Phil." You breathed out, nothing more than a whisper as you looked up at him; serious, for once. Because as boring as this town was, you've grown fond of it. And Callahan played a big part in that and even if you weren't together, he was the closest to home that you've ever felt in a long fucking time.

He searched your face for any lies, brown eyes soft before a genuine smile graced his features. "You better not, Lil Miss Trouble." A beat passed between the two of you, breaths mingling together and you only just realized how close you both were standing to each other. He had you caged against your bike, and you had to strain your neck just to be eye level with the tall man.

Then something in his expression shifted, and soon he was drawing away from you. "W-Well, I'm gonna let you off with a warning. Just this once, though! Think of it as thanks for that time--" You cut off his rambling when you reached out, grabbing his hand.

"I didn't leave." You declared, an almost pleading tone in your voice. "So don't leave either, Phil."

For what felt like a dreadful eternity, you were swallowed by a deafening silence. You, who was usually so confident, found your will breaking with each passing second. Your grasp softened until you let go, feeling your heart sink to your stomach.

"...Forget it. Thanks, Cal--" But you couldn't finish; because in a blink of an eye, his lips were on yours. It was brief, feather light. But the chaste peck made your heart explode, and you didn't even question if this was just one of your silly fantasies. It felt too real--too good.

He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours and his warm breath tickling your nose. "I'm not leaving." He murmured, such beautiful, sincere greenish brown eyes locking with yours. "I'm not leaving you, Y/N."

You felt tears prickle your eyes, but before you would ever allow them to fall you wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled your nose with his. "Then prove it." And you crashed your lips with his, this time fiercely, passionately. You felt the rough brush of his moustache, but that only made everything feel astoundingly better.

He finally closed the gap between you two, looming over you, the flashlight clattering to the ground as his much larger hands clutched on to your hips before he easily lifted you and plopped you down on your bike's seat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, nipping on his bottom lip that elicited a gasp from him which you gladly took as the opportunity to slide your tongue inside his mouth. His tongue tangled with yours and coaxed it into a sensual dance, earning him a most heavenly moan from you.

You two only pulled away for breath, a thin string of saliva connecting your tongues. But his glasses were foggy and tinkly laughter bubbled out of you, feeling like a druggie high off of life--high off of him.

He chuckled, taking his glasses off to wipe them before putting them back on. "Sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "That ruined the moment, didn't it?"

"On the contrary..." You were still laughing, but you held one of his hands still on your hip and guided it lower, lower, lower...until his palm was right on your bare pussy. "You always turn me on, Cal. It's pretty fucking ridiculous, honestly."

His breath hitched sharply when he felt how drenched you were, his pupils dilating and mouth forming an 'O' at the realization that you've been half naked this whole time. He pressed his palm closer to your core, your laughter instantly dying down as his thumb slowly rubbed circles around your clit. One of your hands flew to his hair, something you've always dreamt of doing ever since you saw the incredibly sexy messy state it was in the day you met him. Your other hand clung onto his shirt for dear life, a gasp escaping you as he pinched your nub and began to stroke his fingers along your slit.

He leaned down to your ear, his fingers gradually increasing their pace and you trembled from the pure ecstasy that overcame your senses just from his deft fingers. "You really are a little troublemaker, huh?" He chuckled, voice dropping an octave lower. "You planned this all along, didn't you? Fucking slut..." His lips dragged down your ear to the crook of your neck, biting down and leaving a mark that had you crying out. "My beautiful fucking slut."

"All yours, Officer~" You mewled, your hand latched onto his shirt making its descent to his crotch. You palmed him, feeling his prominent erection aching to spring free as he groaned. "Just be mine, too." You peered down at him, eyes hazy with desire and desperation. "Pretty please?"

"I think I've been yours ever since we met. Not like I had a choice on the matter, anyway." He snickered before capturing your lips once more in a sultry, intimate kiss. Your mouth moved in perfect tandem with his, but you both took your sweet time as everything else faded away. There was only you and Callahan, Callahan and you. And it's all you ever fucking wanted; all you needed.

Not breaking the kiss, you shucked your leather jacket off and carelessly tossed it to the ground. Your hands came up to cup the sides of his face, fingers caressing him tenderly while his hands crawled beneath your white tank top; imagine his pleasant surprise to discover that you didn't wear a bra either.

"Jesus..." He muttered, yanking your tank top up before kneading and squeezing your perfect breasts as his lascivious gaze met your own. "You're gonna kill a fucking cop here." He grunted, making you giggle which immediately turned into an elated whimper as he tweaked your pert nipples.

"Get down. Turn around. Ass up." He ordered, and you didn't at all hesitate to obey. In your haste, you nearly tumbled off of your bike though Callahan steadied you. "Eager, are we, Y/N?" He chuckled, but something about the way your name smoothly, seductively rolled off his tongue had you wanting to fall down on your knees and reverently suck him off instead. But you didn't dare disobey, spinning around with your back to him and bending over your bike.

Though something dropped to the ground as you bent over, making Callahan arch a brow as he picked it up.

"My pen?" He scoffed, and though you can't see him, you can feel his disapproving stare boring into the back of your head like daggers. "Naughty girl, now you're stealing? Tsk, tsk." He flipped up your skirt, your ass now in full view as he licked his lips. His hands groped the pillowy soft flesh, releasing a low whistle of appreciation as he squeezed before suddenly raising his hand and spanking you.

"Ah..!" You exclaimed, looking over your shoulder with glazed eyes and flushed cheeks. "M'sorry, Officer~"

Smack! Another slap had you reeling in the best way possible, your pussy clenching at--unfortunately--nothing as you whimpered.

"Uh-uh. Didn't say you could look at me, did I, naughty girl?" He chided, seeing that you were wiggling your ass and trying to inch closer to him.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Three slaps, one right after the other. Your flesh glowed red with his handprint, making him smirk devilishly.

"M'sorry..." You said again, your voice coming out as a meek squeak. But more. You wanted more, more, more. "I'm a good girl, I promise!"

"I'm sure you are~" He hummed leisurely. "Just gotta prove it to me, right, baby?"

Before you had any chance to reply, he prodded your legs apart with his knee and his pants unzipping sounded like the most divine music to your ears. Both of your breaths got caught in your throats as the tip of his cock pressed against your pussy, stroking up and down your entrance slowly, teasingly. Your lustful impatience getting the best of you because, fuck, you deserved this, you were just about to slide down onto him when he suddenly pushed his entire cock in with no warning.

And fuck he was big. Much bigger than you ever fantasized, completely stretching you out as a long moan was drawn out of you and your upper body fell like a ragdoll on your bike. You vaguely heard him laughing huskily before he started to move; carefully, as if he was afraid you might break.

But with you? That didn't last very long, any pathetic thread of patience he had snapping as soon his thrusts started to become rapid, hard, wild--hitting that amazing spot deep inside your gummy walls over and over again, the lewd squelches of his cock slipping in and out of your pussy perfectly harmonizing with skin slapping against skin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuck..!" You screamed, toes curling and grinding your ass in time with his thrusts as he watched, utterly transfixed, with how you seemed to just fit him like a puzzle piece; the fucking addicting way you slammed back down onto him, your skin rolling with each bounce, your pussy clenching his cock like a goddamn vice and effortlessly accepting all of him.

He then wrapped a hand around your neck, squeezing just enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head before pulling you up so that you were standing and your back was pressed against his chest. He nuzzled his face just beneath your ear, hot pants grazing your skin as he never seized his pleasurable assault to your cunt as he continued to pound relentlessly into you like a beast in heat.

Suddenly, he pressed his pen to your clit. Your eyes widened as you felt the long, thin object rubbing against your sensitive mound, stroking and poking at your folds as his cock drove in and out, in and out.

"Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" He whispered, planting butterfly kisses along the delicate column between your neck and shoulder, his grip on your neck tightening ever so slightly as he humped against you.

"Y-Yes, fuck, yes Officer..!" You choked out, rocking your hips desperately as you could almost see stars.

"Then cum, Y/N."

And you did; your walls fluttered and clamped down on his dick, your body stilling and eyes crossing as waves of the highest rapture coursed throughout your body. Callahan soon followed, a nearly animalistic groan accompanying the spurts of cum that gushed into your deepest, most intimate part as his hips stuttered to a halt.

You basked in silence, revelling in the satisfying afterglow. Then, agonizingly slowly, his twitching cock slid out of you, making you convulse and you could feel the hot cum trickling down your legs. He spun you around and gently grabbed your chin, tipping it up and examining your completely fucked out expression. You stuck your tongue out, and he didn't waste a precious moment as he leaned down and entwined your tongue with his. He held you closely, securely; hugging you to his broad chest as he stepped backwards until his back bumped into his car to support the both of you.

You were the first to pull away from the sloppy liplock, laying your head on his chest and sighing deeply. "That was..." You looked up at him, blinking dazedly. "...not what I expected."

"Did you not have fun?" He chuckled, though there was a hint of worry in his voice as his thumb lazily caressed your swollen bottom lip, kind brown eyes seeking yours. Shit, did he overdo it? Or worse... Did you realize that you actually weren't that into him?

"I did, it's just..." You trailed off before a giggle erupted out of you, shaking your head. "Y'know, the first time we met, I actually thought of you bending me over your car and fucking me. I never imagined I'd be bent over my bike."

"For fuck's sake, Y/N, you really are gonna be the death of me!" He whined dramatically, making you laugh and soon he joined you.

"So..." You grinned, fixing his glasses that had fallen to the bridge of his nose and running a hand through his sweaty, unruly curls that you loved too fucking much. "Was I a good girl, Cally~?"

"The fucking best." He returned your euphoric grin, booping your nose and, though he'd never admit it, he actually liked your nickname. Just for him, only by you. "Buuut you're a good girl that's coming back to the station with me."

"Huh? But I thought you're gonna let me off the hook for speeding?" You questioned, confused.

"I am, but you're forgetting your other crimes." He cleared his throat, rising to his full height and looming over you yet again. "Public indecency..." He traced his pen on your pussy, making you shudder as the cold metal glided across your skin up to the valley between your breasts. "...and theft."

"Well, Officer, if that's the case then you're not innocent either~" You smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck and dangling off of him much like you did the first time. "You stole my heart, after all~"

His face was as red as a tomato, smiling like a doofus as he hooked his hands under your plush thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Taking you by surprise, but definitely not unwelcomed as he stared up at you with a stupidly smitten expression.

"We're partners in crime, then, Lil Miss Trouble~"

[moriartyluver]

FALSE LOVERS CHAPTER I

MY DEAREST MOTHER AND FATHER,

How are you? I do hope the two of you are well. I truly miss you both and as if fate has brought us back together once more, I am writing to invite you to visit me in London. I look forward to hearing father's wholesome laughter and mother's silent but affectionate smile.

After months of mother reminding me that I must find a husband to secure my future title of the Grand Duchess [Last name], I have finally found a suitable husband for myself whom I love with all my heart.

Do you remember when you came to visit me at university when I was eighteen years of age? I hope you do. There was a boy there who was talking to me right before father approached me with mother following behind. Father joked about how he seemed to be a potential suitor to which I promptly denied in annoyance.

That young, once irritating, boy is to become my husband within the next few months. We had been courting secretly for a while before our engagement, and the day of the proposal was possibly the happiest day of my life.

William, that is his name if you didn't remember, is a good man. His older brother is Earl Albert James Moriarty, a man who works for the military and his younger adopted brother, Louis James Moriarty is equally noble despite his background. William holds them both dear to him which I find the most beautiful thing.

He's selfless, intelligent (I recall mother making the remark that I would find it difficult to settle with a less clever man than I because I always sought competition in a partner. I suppose she was right because our rivalry in intellect is what drew me to William in the first place) , and very, very handsome. Not like those older men with bushy facial hair and large statures who repulse me ever so slightly, but rather, William has a beautiful sharp and youthful face with the most darling red eyes, more precious than any jewels I've seen in my days in [home country]. His hair is silky and soft with the prettiest blond colour and he always, even when enveloped in fatigue, maintains this angelic beauty.

I couldn't be more happy with any other man. I now realise that the two of you were right when you said I would find a man for myself someday who I will love dearly, and who would love me even more, just like my dear parents love each other.

Was this unexpected? When I was sent to Britain for my studies by the request of my parents, did you ever feel the urge to keep me in [home country] with you? When everyone told the Grand Duke and Duchess that I would become less desirable if I studied in a man's field, did you ever agree with them?

I wouldn't blame you, of course. Although higher education is becoming more available to those of my sex, it is still surprising to some. Thankfully, [home country] is slightly more progressive than England. Sending your only child, and daughter at that, to a separate and somewhat controversial country due to Great Britain's relations with [home country], only for her to study in University then work as a professor despite my status, it must have been upsetting.

I'm glad that during my youngest years as only a mere child with a heavy interest in books and mathematics, Father and Mother, you both noticed my talent. My intellect was recognised and I am forever grateful towards both of you for raising me, not as a feeble young girl, but as the daughter of [father's name] and [mother's name], the Grand Duke and Duchess of [home country]. I was raised with swords and books alongside my dolls and dresses. I wasn't forced to reject my femininity but instead encouraged to embrace it whilst also enhancing my strength and intelligence.

Thanks to the two of you, I am working only for myself and I never, no matter how many degrading comments from noblemen I received, changed myself for anyone. With that upbringing, I had high enough standards to accept a man like william into my world. I hope that you both grow to love him as I do.

So until I see you again, with your blessing for my marriage, I bid you farewell.

With love and admiration,

[Name] [Last name]

"I wonder if that'll convince them," (name) turned to look at her closest aide. "What do you think, Josephine?"

The girl in question looked at the letter in (name)'s hand, her grey eyes skimming over the paper. Her mistress had taught her well and she was able to read the letter with ease.

"You write all that and you still deny that you love Lord Moriarty?" Josephine laughed as she teased (name), who scowled and quickly folded the letter, sliding it into the envelope.

"I don't love him!" she exclaimed, her eyebrows furrowing as her previously empty expression shifted to an irritated one "I just..I needed it to be convincing. My parents, well my father may act a bit silly, but they can both see through me easily in person. I've had to practice my acting skills in the mirror every morning whilst trying not to laugh! It's difficult work Josephine Evans!"

Josephine only laughed more, to the extent tears even threatened to spill from her eyes. A pale finger reached over to wipe her eyes as the brunette tried to regain her composure. "My..ha..My apologies, your ladyship, but I don't think you'll have any issues convincing your parents. Even I find it difficult to remember sometimes that you an' Lord William aren't a real couple."

"So it is convincing..?" (Name) trailed off  "I suppose that issue is sorted..I don't think my parents care too much for the status of the man I marry. Mother is tired of me constantly rejecting my supposed admirers, and father would be glad that his little (nickname) has finally fallen for a man after so long."

"Uhm.." Josephine opened her mouth to speak. (Name) turned around in her chair to face Josephine who was standing behind her. She raised an eyebrow.

"What is it Josephine? You know you can speak freely with me. I'm not a tyrant." (Name) said

"Right..my apologies if this sounds rude, but..how are you to deal with the issue of.." Josephine felt her freckled cheeks grow red in embarrassment

"The issue of...?"

"Offspring!" Josephine said a bit too loud " I mean-..how uh..do you plan to uh...you said earlier that your father joked that he wanted grandchildren so-"

(Name)'s face visibly darkened as if she had seen a ghost. The thought hadn't crossed her mind before hand. It would have been deemed improper in such an era when even seeing a woman's ankles was scandalous.

"I..don't know.." (name) whispered in a depressing tone. "For the first time in my life, I don't think I know the answer.."

"I'm sorry Lady (name)!" Josephine exclaimed as she bowed repeatedly to her depressed mistress "I shouldn't have asked!!"

"I think I should probably talk to William about that..wait no..that's be embarrassing..but if I don't produce an offspring, rumours may spread that our marriage is an unhappy one or that I'm infertile..because of course it's always the woman's fault..maybe rumours would spread that William has a secret lover behind my back..I don't think I could bare that at all..and I can't expose a child to murder and death like that.."

(Name) had started muttering and spiralling in her thoughts. Surely doing..it..with William would be out of the question, right? He wouldn't even dream of such things..at least she hoped he wasn't a pervert of some sort..no..William? A pervert..? Surely the man was still chaste anyways..no woman would be attracted to such a rotten man in (name)'s eyes, let alone love him.

"L-Lady (name)..? I think it's best you sleep on it..it is late after all, and your uncle," Josephine spoke, snapping (name) out of her thoughts "I mean the Marquis, has reminded you to rest every so often.."

(Name) nodded, "I'll quickly stamp this letter and have it sent before morning so it can reach my parents before the engagement ceremony, then I'll sleep.." she said as she poured red wax on the seal of the envelope, stamping it with her personal seal and handing the envelope to Josephine who quickly left to send it off whilst (name) went to bed.

And how did this young lady somehow trap herself in a fake marriage? The problem had routed to about a year before, when she had to ask for help from a certain blond for the first time in her life.

At the time she regretted doing so for the sake of her pride, but now, there would be a lot more to regret in the future thanks to her involvement with Professor William James Moriarty..

The Lord of Crime.

A/N: hey guys, first actual chapter lol. Please give (nice) feedback because I’ve never uploaded a long series to tumblr before so I don’t really know if you guys will like it or not 😞 (please be nice about the feedback or I will cry) Also let me know if you guys wanna be on my tag list bc I’m thinking of making one.

[goodqueenaly]

Hello, thank you for your previous answers. I've got another one for you. Are there any reasons (Doyalist or Watsonian) that Oberyn only has (or claims?) daughters?

Number one, this detail underlines some of Dorne's unique cultural qualities compared to the rest of (continental) Westeros. In Dorne, as Maester Yandel writes, "[t]hey [i.e. Dornish people] are not greatly concerned if a child is born in wedlock or out of it, especially if the child is born to a paramour". Likewise, Dorne is a land of (mostly) equal primogeniture, where Princess Nymeria is a revered foundational figure and (again, to quote Yandel) "[g]reat ladies and famous princesses abound, and are the subject of songs and tales as much as the great knights and princes". Oberyn's daughters were never considered the heirs to Sunspear, of course, but their existence as specifically female bastards who are nevertheless publicly acknowledged and raised by their highborn father reflects these aspects of their native culture. Indeed, when Obara's (nameless!) mother attempted to use Obara's gender in part to dissuade Oberyn from taking their daughter, Oberyn refuted the suggestion that as a mere girl she would not be wanted, declaring that "[g]irl or boy, we fight our battles ... but the gods let us choose our weapons" and confirming his paternal ownership of Obara through the latter's choice.

Number two, and related to that first point, it emphasizes Oberyn's own exotic strangeness, especially as he is first introduced through Tyrion's eyes while the latter was welcoming him to King's Landing. Oberyn's reputation did not just proceed him, it portrayed him as, to borrow a turn of phrase, mad, bad, and dangerous to know, someone who defied convention and thrived on blood and scandal. For a man who had supposedly murdered Lord Yronwood with a poisoned sword, "learn[ed] the poisoner’s trade and perhaps arts darker still, "soldiered in the Disputed Lands across the narrow sea", "bedded men and women both" and "crippled the heir to Highgarden”, fathering and raising exclusively female bastards might seem simply another aspect of Oberyn's unorthodox life and personality (again, especially in the view of non-Dornish Westerosi). Where for Tyrion, the note that Oberyn had fathered no sons is an intriguing detail amid the rest of that unusual life, and where elsewhere in Westeros such a fact might be taken as a slur on one's masculine virility (compare, say, the sniping comment made by Tytos Blackwood against Jonos Bracken, that Jaime would have to take one of Bracken's daughters as a hostage because "[f]or all his [i.e. Bracken's] rutting, he has not proved man enough to father sons"), for Oberyn there is no shame in the gender of his offspring.

Number three, it characterizes Oberyn as a man who genuinely cares about his female relations - an extremely relevant point when considering Oberyn's larger personal and political motivations. Oberyn makes no secret of the fact that he still vehemently blames the Lannisters for the murder of his beloved sister, and that he seeks vengeance for those murders. Oberyn is most certainly not the man to abandon the memory of the sister he loved, any more than he is to leave his daughters as unacknowledged bastards (which, again, as a highborn Westerosi male he might have been well within social expectations to do). These girls and women are as close and important to him as his brother or, more to the point, any son he might have had. (Indeed, Oberyn himself strengthened this familial connection by naming his eldest daughter by Ellaria "Elia", explicitly after the sister to whom he was so close.)

Number four, it provides a contrast between Arianne Martell and her cousins in their respective positions. The Sand Snakes may be bastard born, but they are publicly acknowledged as both the daughters and, for lack of a better term, spiritual successors of their father: Oberyn took them from (at least some of) their mothers, he raised them as his own, and he gave them the tools to live the sort of independent life he enjoyed. They were given paternal acknowledgment, trust, and the freedom to make their own decisions (especially in their choice of husband, at least theoretically since none have actually wed). Arianne, by contrast, might be the legitimately born daughter and heiress of the Prince of Dorne, but she believes (and not entirely unjustifiably) that Doran did not want her as his heir (and specifically that he was disappointed in her gender), does not trust her with any but the most superfluous tasks in that position, and would marry her against her will to the first available non-threatening aristocrat, the better to remove her from the succession. That the Sand Snakes are exclusively female assists in this direct comparison: Arianne can see young women of an age with herself and consider how she believes she has been treated by her Martell princely father compared to how they have been treated by a father of nearly equal dynastic standing.