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youcouldmakealife · 1 day

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KS Fill: Gabe/Stephen; not on the list

For the prompt: I would say Gabe and Stephen’s wedding because I want that more than anything in the world, but I suspect that’s coming without my prompt? But if it’s not…

It would come either way, probably, but this started the ball rolling.

More Gabe and Stephen, more lists. No actual wedding, but we get pretty damn adjacent.

Gabe knew the list would backfire the moment Stephen started making it. He even told Stephen as much, but Stephen just shrugged a shoulder and kept working on it. He got into it as it grew too, enjoying it so much that Gabe told himself he was probably worrying about nothing.

And maybe the list wouldn’t have been a problem if the only person he’d told about it was Gabe. Probably would have been fine even if knowledge of it extended to the Marksons and Petersens, which happened sooner rather than later.

But telling Gabe’s teammates — that was a mistake.

“A what list?” Jared asks when Stephen first mentions it.

“An anti-wedding list,” Stephen says.

Bryce sits up. “You guys aren’t getting married?”

From this angle, Gabe can’t see how withering the look Stephen gives Bryce is, but the kick Jared aims at his ankle is probably related.

“Obviously we’re getting married,” Stephen says, like he wasn’t panicking for a good few days after they got engaged, and only the potential wrath of Miriam Markson kept him from fleeing on the next flight out of Vancouver. “It’s a list of shit we don’t want at our wedding.”

“Um,” Bryce says.

“You know,” Stephen says. “The wedding traditions we’re vetoing.”

“We is such a strong word,” Gabe says.

“Unanimous approval or none at all, Gabriel,” Stephen says. "A veto only needs one."

He's right. And Gabe guesses he would know, consdiering he's the one vetoing everything.

“So wait, what exactly are you vetoing?” Jared says.

“Nobody’s wearing white,” Stephen says, starting to tick items off on his fingers. “I mean, white dress shirts are fine, obviously, but nobody’s a virgin here, we’re not doing any all in white shit. No flower girls or ring bearers. No little groom cake toppers. Fuck knows there aren’t going to be any garters involved. I don’t remember the rest off the top of my head, but I have it all written down."

“I like the little grooms,” Bryce says, sounding hurt. Gabe hasn’t seen any pictures from Bryce and Jared’s wedding, since it was very much on the down-low — and he truly wishes he could see how those two managed to put together a wedding on the sly when they couldn't even sit across from each other without Gabe figuring out they were married — but he bets there were little grooms on top of their cake. He also bets Bryce still has those little dudes hanging around somewhere.

“Can I see the list?” Jared asks. “I’m kind of curious how many our wedding had.”

“Sure,” Stephen says, with a hand wave. “I’ll email it to you when I’m finished. Have a few more items to add first.”

“Cool,” Jared says.

After Bryce and Jared leave, Gabe mentions it might not be a good idea to send Jared the list, but Stephen just scoffs.

“What’s he going to do?” Stephen says. “Wear white to my wedding? Put little grooms on his piece of cake? He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not going to anything that actually fucks with the day, he’s not Dmitry.”

“Our wedding,” Gabe says.

“Oh come on, you already know what’s mine is yours,” Stephen says.

“You stabbed me with a chopstick over the last soup dumpling last night,” Gabe says.

“Stop saying I stabbed you,” Stephen says. “I didn’t even break the skin.”

“It hurt,” Gabe says, and Stephen takes his hand, planting an officious kiss on the back of it.

“Better?” Stephen asks.

“It was the other hand,” Gabe says, smiling when Stephen sighs dramatically before kissing it too.

“You’re really going to give Math that list?” Gabe says. “Blind trust isn’t usually your thing.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll lead to something hideous,” Stephen says. “But think of it this way: your idiot teammates are going to do something, so I may as well give them some parameters.”

“Huh,” Gabe says. “Good point.”

“I’m not exactly new to this, you know,” Stephen says.

“No, I know,” Gabe says.

At least whatever it is that’s coming, it won’t come out of the blue.

Gabe did not foresee this. Sure, when he gave Stevie and Dima and Bullet bachelor party planning rights he anticipated some variety of disaster, but he underestimated them, he thinks. Or overestimated them. There was some mis-estimation occurring.

He looks around. What initially looked like chaos seems oddly recognisable. Almost familiar.

It’s sort of wedding themed, which makes sense, considering the occasion, but everything’s slightly off, and not just because they’re in a venue more suited to clubbing than matrimony.

His eyes land on the big cake at the centre of everything. It looks more like the kind Gabe saw at Cup celebrations than a wedding one, decorated to look like a rink, with two little figures at centre ice. He’s too far to see the details, but he’s pretty sure they’re hockey figurines rather than grooms, and someone has decided to use the manipulable joints for, well, evil probably isn’t the right word, but maybe immaturity — Gabe’s pretty sure one of them is straddling the other. He guesses he should just be grateful no mounting is taking place, considering Dima’s probably the responsible party.

There are so many elements, and they don’t seem to fit together at all — elegant baskets of flowers that look almost painstakingly put together, surrounded by a scatter of rainbow confetti that feels like it's moonlighting from a completely different event. Some kind of crooner — Bublé? — playing, also from a completely different event. None of it seems to fit Gabe's picture of a bachelor party planned and attended by hockey players, even if the wives and girlfriends present also got involved in the planning.

It’s the guests themselves that help Gabe put it together. There was clearly a dress code, one that only Gabe and Stephen weren’t informed about, everyone all in white, neon bright under the black light. Like an item of a list come to life. Like one of many items of a list come to life.

He can see Stephen put it together a mere moment after he does, his eyes narrowing, mouth going flat. Playing at unimpressed for the — many — eyes currently on them, avidly waiting for a reaction.

“I’m going to fucking kill Jared,” Stephen says, and Gabe decides not to tell him just how proud he sounds.

“I wonder which one of the Canucks is wearing the garter,” Gabe says, and grins when Stephen forgets his audience and his composure for a moment, throwing his head back with a laugh.

#fic snippet #gabe markson #stephen petersen #jared matheson #bryce marcus #dmitry kurmazov

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guardian-angle22 · 3 days

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Happy to present to y'all this 911LS fic list for stories related to one of my favorite episodes 3.13 Riddle of the Sphynx! I try to make these as comprehensive as possible, so if you have any you think I missed, let me know so I can add them. (I also might make edits to these posts to add more fics as they get written. If I ever do so I'll be sure to reblog the post for visibility!)

Enjoy all of our amazing fandom writers and leave them some comments & love!

[Disclaimers: • If you're an author and don't like to be tagged or linked for any reason, let me know and I'll remove the tag and make sure not to do so in the future, no questions asked. • I usually post TWs in rec lists. Due to the episode subject matter, assume all of these have a TW for discussion of addiction/drug use and possibly discussion of parent death/grief.]

◆ Chasers by @carlos-in-glasses (Words: 13.4K; Rating: E)

After 3x13 – while TK is alone with Cooper, Carlos is alone with his thoughts. Both recall times they’ve chased the next high, other men, or each other. When Carlos arrives home, TK still has something important to say – and it's something he didn’t tell Cooper.

◆ trying my best by @reyescarlos (Words: 10.3K; Rating: M)

An exploration of TK's sobriety journey from 2017 to now. Or, a season 3 coda spanning 3x08-3x13

◆ You Showed me How it feels to Truly be Seen by @ramblingdisaster73 (Words: 3K; Rating: T)

Carlos works through the events of 3x13 "The Riddle of the Sphinx".

◆ Measure of a Man by @chicgeekgirl89 (Words: 1.8K; Rating: T)

“I want to be everything you need. That I can’t be, it hurts, T.K. It feels like a failure on my part. And as much as I’m trying to accept it, it’s hard.” A 3x13 coda in which Carlos struggles with a new definition of being "enough."

◆ I'll be here all the same by @strandnreyes (Words: 4.8K; Rating: G)

“I am glad you have someone you can talk to who can maybe do a better job at fixing things,” Carlos insists before dropping his eyes to their tangled together fingers. “All I want is for you to be okay.”It’s not surprising to hear, but it hits as if it was. That really is the root of this whole thing. As much as Carlos wants to do what he can to be the person to get TK to that place, at the end of the day all he really wants is for TK to get there.“I will be.”Or, three late night conversations following the events of 3.13

◆ Trigger by comes2gusu (Words: 4.7K; Rating: T)

TK is struggling with his newly found sobriety. After being triggered at an NA meeting, Cooper takes TK for omelets

◆ this love we carry by @thevenstar (Words: 7.6K; Rating: T)

A 3x13 coda in which Carlos has a conversation with a friend, puts his heart to rest, and learns that walking away does not mean surrender.

◆ Those Pieces by @taralaurel (Words: 7.3K; Rating: M)

"I, I'm not telling you all - this - so you can fix me," TK huffs a hot breath against Carlos' chin, "or save me or really, do anything, okay?" Carlos nods against TK's forehead. TK has done a lot of things in his life to deserve the bad that has happened to him. He has no idea what good he's done to deserve Carlos. Coda to 3x13

◆ the one i want by @chaotictarlos (Words: 2K; Rating: E)

TK gets Carlos to take his shirt off.

◆ i want you to unravel me by @reyescarlos (Words: 4.2K; Rating: E)

In the aftermath of the strain that's fallen over them, TK and Carlos bridge the gap with open conversation that brings them closer together, both emotionally and physically. [3x13 coda]

◆ Just Wanna Breathe by @theoceanismyinkwell (Words: 1.9K; Rating: G)

Carlos doesn’t dare look at him for long, knowing that his eyes have always been the window to his soul, the weakest part of his body, unveiling everything in the well of truths he’s kept a lid on for years and years. His family may not be able to read him as well as he feared for the decades he was in the closet, but TK has a way of crashing into his life with a formidable gentleness and a piercing understanding that unmoors him in every possible way.And that’s precisely what TK is doing now, keeping the warmth of his palms flush against the beating of Carlos’ skin, cradling his face, forcing them both to gaze into each other’s eyes and face each other’s unspoken terrors without flinching.TK sounds like he has a lump in his throat. “I’m going to say something, and I want you to listen to me and I want you to remember it.”---Or: What happens when Carlos comes back home after TK's talk with Cooper, and the confessions that spill out after.

◆ waiting on the sidelines by @morganaspendragonss (Words: 1.5K; Rating: T)

They’d promised each other no more secrets, and while Carlos rationally knows that these aren’t exactly secrets, there’s still this grain of resentment inside of him that scratches away with every beat of his heart. It’s something he can’t let show in front of TK ever again, which is why he’s here, outside Owen's house while TK and Cooper talk in the loft.If anyone’s going to understand what he’s feeling, it’s Owen Strand.

◆ Three Weeks In by @masterroadtripper (Words: 3K; Rating: T; TW: self-harm)

It’d been three weeks since Sadie had drugged them - nineteen days since TK started a ninety-day NA sobriety program at the local Synagogue and eleven days since Carlos had met Cooper for the first time - before Carlos realized that there was something else TK wasn’t telling him.

◆ What We Need by Ehm (Words: 3.1K; Rating: T)

"You okay, bud?" Cooper startled him out of his thoughts and he let go of the spoon with a clinking noise. He straightened up, embarrassed. "Sorry, I zoned out." "I can see that," Cooper sounded vaguely amused. "You wanna talk about it?" --- Three times TK has a conversation with Cooper, and one time he talks to Carlos. Or, 3x13 and beyond from TK's point of view.

◆ Nocturne by @sanctuaryforalluniverses (Words: 735; Rating: T)

Carlos comes home. (Post-ep for 3x13)

◆ Precious Love by @rmd-writes (Words: 11.6K; Rating: M)

This is five times TK thinks he doesn’t deserve love and one time he knows he does – an exploration of TK’s relationship with love and self-worth.

◆ Inside a snow globe by @goodways (Words: 6.9K; Rating: E)

It isn’t until TK is on top, lavishing Carlos’ neck, stroking his hand up his side, that Carlos brings their faces together, barely a suggestion of a kiss between them. He holds TK’s jaw and keeps him close whilst he readies the question in his mind. He breathes out a straightforward and tempting, “fuck me,” over TK’s lips which silences the world outside their bedroom. TK’s response whenever he’s asked for this has few variations between immediate enthusiastic compliancy and the sweet reassurance he knows Carlos is dying for. The answer is always yes. - The evening after TK gets his one month sobriety chip.

◆ my home has been your heart since the day i met you by @lavendergiroux (Words: 1.8K; Rating: M)

After Carlos leaves Cooper and TK to talk, all they do is talk about him. When Carlos comes home - they are still talking about him.

◆ Deep Talks and Cuddles by raniaswritings (Words: 1.2K; Rating: T)

TK talks to Cooper and Carlos comes back home after a few hours

◆ “What are you doing?” “I don’t want you to do that.” by @irispurpurea (Words: 1.1K; Rating: T)

Fictober 2022 Day 13 and 14. Prompts: “What are you doing?” “I don’t want you to do that.” “What are you doing?” Carlos looks up to find TK frowning at him from their bedroom. “I…” Carlos holds up the blanket in his hands, unsure what else to say. He thinks it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing. Then again, tonight has proven that he can’t do anything right, apparently, when it comes to TK.

◆ "It's your shirt..." by @lavendergiroux (Words: 780; Rating: M)

TK really didn't want to talk about it, he just really needed Carlos to claim him...

◆ sunkissed face by mooshkat (Words: 1K; Rating: T)

To show his appreciation, TK decides to make Carlos breakfast.

Spec Fics Written Prior to the Episode Airing/Canon Convergence:

◆ if the darkness comes, i'll stay by @doublel27 (Words: 3.2K; Rating: T)

“I had some things to do,” TK says, his stomach twisting. “Some things?” “Carlos, I texted,” TK reminds his boyfriend, because he did. “It’s fine.” “Is it?” Carlos asks, his voice dangerously calm. or TK comes home late for the third night in one week, and he and Carlos have a necessary confrontation. A speculative fic for 3x13.

◆ Caught by @littlemissmarianna (Words: 761; Rating: G)

“Who’s that?” Carlos doesn’t answer Mitchell’s question because he doesn’t know. There’s only a handful of people he can identify from the back, and this guy isn’t on the list. He has broad shoulders, though, and nice hair and is probably good-looking. Why else would TK be staring at him so intently?

◆ In Order to Get Back to Us by reyestrand (Words: 2.2K; Rating: G)

Carlos waits up for TK when he’s late coming home and they talk about the things they’re afraid to. - a 3x13 speculation fic

◆ still comparing your past to my future by @kiras-sunshine (Words: 17.4K; Rating: T)

Something else than the wallowing feeling of uneasiness, anxiety and hurt in the bottom of his stomach. All of it seems to have a chokehold on his heart and no matter what he tries to think about, his thoughts always go back to TK, to worry that keeps mixing in with everything, and the brightness of TK’s smile, the way the corner of his mouth curled up and his eyes shone, when he smiled at someone else than him.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic rec #fic recs #fic rec list #tarlos fic #episode: s3e13 riddle of the sphynx #fic writers are amazing and we need to hype them up #my gifs #cutting it close on finishing up this list while still on the rewatch week for it!

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stusbunker · 3 days

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Spotless: Furia

Chapter Twenty Three

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Isaac/Tamara,

Word Count: 1780

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, the thing is they hurt each other a lot, most of the time without meaning to.

A/N: We pick up right where we left off. Trouble tries to get ready to go out on tour, Dean sets off alarms.

Series Masterlist

It wasn’t fair, you were not being fair. But that didn’t change that sick feeling crawling up your throat. Face burning, you looked at Dean who was pointedly not looking at you. You counted the deep breaths he took, his nostrils flared less the longer you sat in suffocating silence.

You should have said something.

You had no idea how to take it back. It wasn’t even what you said, it was how you said it, so derisively.

You wanted to disappear.

The traffic on the freeway only seemed to get worse the longer you sat. It had been a good day, even with Dean’s snippiness over the Rolling Stone article. Why did you have to open your big mouth?!

You bit the inside of your cheek, you were not going to cry. You knew how guys felt about girls crying, it’s a cop out, or a pathetic ‘get out of jail free’ card. Despite knowing girls usually cried out of frustration rather than actual sadness. You didn’t want to come off as pandering or fucking weak.

“Look—- I don’t want to make you do something you’re uncomfortable with. But, we’ve all seen how well the press and the fans have responded to you two. Is this something I need to put the brakes on? Because I need to know before we start touring.”

Dean huffed. “It’s fine—- it’s not about Bela, okay? It was just an honest question.”

You waited because it felt like he had more to say. You owed it to him to let him say his piece.

He let out a self deprecating chuckle. “You really think it’s just because I’m a horndog, I’d want out?”

“Dean— I didn’t mean it like that, I—”

“No, you did. You were very clear. I just gotta know, Y/N, is there no other reason you can think of for me to want out than some easy lay?”

He wasn’t even pretending to keep his eyes on the road anymore. His jaw was tight and his eyes were dark and glossy and every hope you’d ever had fluttered in your stomach.

You were supposed to say something back.

But you had already said too much.

You couldn’t lose him over something as avoidable as a misunderstanding.

“I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t— nu-uh, that’s not what I asked. I don’t want your apology, here, okay? Just—- tell me there’s something else that could get me out of this without being the bad guy.”

It hurt to look at him.

But God was it even harder to look away.

“I can talk to Crowley— work out a timeline if you want?”

Dean shook his head, looked to the ceiling of the impala, and exhaled deeply. “No—- we’re good. But if you ever think of an answer. I want to hear you say it.”

You looked down at your lap, your phone case biting into your palm where you squeezed it.

“I don’t know what you’re fishing for, Dean. I’m sorry. I know you said not to apologize, but I feel like I can’t help but put my foot in my mouth tonight.”

“It’s okay, Trouble. No hard feelings. Promise.”

You looked up to make sure he wasn’t still pissed.

“Seriously?”

Dean’s mouth twitched with a ghost of a smile. “Seriously.”

It wasn’t until you were safe and distracted with drinks and everyone else at Elizabeth’s that you realized Dean had called you by your real name. You couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

No one really talks about the non-glamourous tasks required before going on tour. Especially not the ones that have nothing to do with the music and everything to do with leaving your home for months on end. Your personal to-do list always fell by the wayside when it came to the band, but you were running out of time on it now. In less than 48 hours, the opening act would take the stage.

And three days after that you would officially be on the road, for nearly six months straight.

You shoved a quart of half-eaten fried rice into a garbage bag and moved onto the vegetable drawer. Cleaning out the fridge didn’t take very long, but going through your pantry was a nightmare. When did you even buy half of this shit?! The cans would last, but a lot of the boxed stuff was already halfway to expiring so you set them aside to drop off somewhere over the next couple of days.

Then you wiped everything down.

By the time the kitchen surfaces were done, you were sweaty and gross. But you had too much momentum to stop there. You swept and mopped the floor. You took a breath and pushed on. Later that evening while taking out the trash, your neighbor, Isaac, waved at you over the half-fence.

“Getting ready to get back on the road then?” His accent was pleasant as ever.

You sighed and blew a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. “Getting there. I never understand how much I need to clean with it just being me. But here I am, like usual.”

He poked at some meat on the grill as he made conversation. “Tam said we’re due over tomorrow to go over things before you leave?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah, anytime after you both get home from work is fine, I’ll just be forcing myself to actually pack at that point. I really appreciate you guys looking over the place.”

“It’s nothing really. Plus you more than compensate us for it, love.”

“I know, but still.” You looked down at your dust streaked tshirt and ratty sweats and decided you had been out in the world long enough looking like that. “Alright, I better get back inside. See you tomorrow, Isaac.”

“TTFN!”

You smiled to yourself as you stepped back inside through the side door. You were so lucky to have good neighbors, especially with the way your job worked. Dean had told you all about Tamara and Isaac before you moved in, making sure you knew everything from the seriousness of not asking about kids to the humor of not insulting classic Doctor Who.

When Dean remembered, he’d still meet Isaac at one of the few English style pubs for a football match every now and again.

And they didn’t seem to mind housesitting for you whenever you needed.

The smell of the dry rub from Isaac’s grill haunted you as you went back into your clean, yet emptied out kitchen. It just meant another night of delivery was in your future.

You woke up grumpy from an incessant buzzing coming from your phone. The first notification was from Twitter and you opened it without checking anything else.

Ugh, okay, fine. Dean dropped Bela off late last night. You weren’t too worried about it. So you tried to go back to sleep. But a nagging feeling in the back of your mind kept prodding the possibilities into your thoughts.

Before jumping to any conclusions, you got out of bed and started a pot of coffee.

There had been a lot of little things you had to ignore in the day-to-day of being the band’s publicist, and even more you had to try and bury as their friend. Cas’ penchant for banging journalists was one of the ongoing thorns in your side. And of course all of Lee and Pamela’s on-again-off-again nonsense came up more than was even happening. But Dean knew how to leave a hook up. He also knew when he was being tailed.

This entire headline smelled fishy.

You bit your lip and opened your contacts. It was still too early for a business call, especially since you knew he was out until after bar close, but you couldn’t wait any longer for answers.

The phone rang in your ear and you silently begged your coffee pot to brew faster. Dean answered just before it would have sent you to his voicemail.

“I’m up— where’s the fire?” Dean mumbled into the microphone.

Without any preamble, you started in on the questions. “Have you seen the latest? People are up in arms over you squealing out of Bela’s driveway this morning. What happened?”

“Uh, hold on,” Dean must have moved the phone or covered the mouthpiece because you could hear his voice rumbling, but couldn’t make out a single thing he said. Then came a bunch of muted background noises and a door opening and closing. “Okay, wanna run that past me again? Slower and without the accusatory tone— it’s not even fucking nine am, Trouble.”

Your suspicions continued to rise. “Where are you?”

“In a hallway.”

Not ‘the’ hallway, not ‘my’ hallway, an unspecified singular hallway.

“Dean—”

“Look. The paps were fucking vultures last night, I caught one of them trying to lowjack Baby. So, I ditched her, and Sam got her back home safe. I circled back after I knew they’d scattered and I stayed put. There’s nothing to worry about. Just people trying to make me look bad for being too smart for their slimy ways.”

Your brain hissed like a television left between channels, not a signal coming or going in either direction.

“You’re at Bela’s.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep.”

Your business brain rebooted, slowly.

“Trouble?”

You called him, you should have said something already. “Okay, so, uh, I guess just make sure to leave publicly. Or go out for breakfast or something. Just don’t leave it how they’re spinning it.”

Dean huffed. “Makes sense. Anything else?”

“Tomorrow is the morning show interview, you said you’d pick me up? Is that still gonna happen or should I just get an Uber? I’ll just call an Uber.”

“I mean, yeah, gotta be home to drag Sam with anyway. So you don’t gotta. We’ll be there with bells on right at five.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I should go—”

“Right, of course. Bye.”

“Talk to you later.”

You hung up and your coffee pot finally whistled, signaling it had completed brewing.

You moved through your morning routine in a fog. Even when Bela posted a gorgeous fruit plate between matching mimosas sometime before noon, you only gave it a heart and moved on to folding your next load of laundry. Once you let yourself look at what was happening, you gave into the anger. You screamed into an old hoodie until you were hoarse.

Dean was actually sleeping with Bela.

Your two best friends were fucking.

The same best friends you had set up to help make your job easier.

What the fuck was your life?

And how the hell were you supposed to pretend any of this was okay?!

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

#spotless series #dean winchester fanfiction #dean/reader #dean/bela #slow burn #rockstar au #fake dating #but is it even fake anymore #dean angst

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dazed-and-confused23 · 6 hours

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Dear Hearts and Gentle People 18

Summary: Cooper comforts you after the two of you leave Vault 3. There isn't anything he can do to take your memories of that place away, but he sure as hell could try.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: Not many? Hurt/Comfort. Cooper does his best. Drug use and sexual assault are mentioned. Lots of cuddles and crying.

Masterlist

You don't remember how you got out of the Vault, and you don't care to recall how either. You lay in bed in your room at the Atomic Wrangler for three days, recovering from the copious amount of chems that the fiends have shoved into your system. Julie Farkus had told Cooper that she was lucky to be alive and that most women didn't have someone that could save them like he had for you.

Cooper had grit his teeth, lips pulled in a nasty sneer, and told the good doctor that it'd almost been too late, but he was just glad that Julie could help him. Today was the first time that you felt up to more than just sleeping, and the ghoul made sure to be by your side. You sat up, back pressed against the wall, and played with the plate of food in your lap.

"You gonna eat, smoothskin?" He asks and shifts his weight in the stool beside your bed. Cooper's been here for the better part of those three days, only leaving for necessary reasons and never for long. The bounty hunter is dressed down, only his jeans and button-up and boots, and you finally look at him.

You clear your throat, lips pulled in a harsh frown. "Yeah, I will."

Cooper doesn't like the tone you use and sits forward, elbows on his knees, and he stares you down, "Do I need to feed you?"

You scoff at the vauge threat and pierce a piece of steak before popping the morsel in your mouth and slowly chew it. You eye Cooper then swallow, "Happy?"

The ghoul narrows his amber eyes, "Not yet."

He watches your lips purse and look away from him, shoulders slumping and hands going limp. He doesn't expect to see tears growing in your eyes or to watch the way you fold into yourself, lips trembling as a broken apology spills from between your lips.

Cooper rises and takes the plate away from you, setting it to the side so that he can crawl into the bed with you. He sits against the headboard and pulls you back so that you rest between his legs against his chest. You don't bother fighting against him and simply cry a little harder when his hands rub soothing motions across your back.

"Wanna talk about it yet?" Cooper offers quietly. You've not said shit to him about your time in Vault 3. He understood the big picture when he'd arrived down there. His smoothskin had been treated worse than a fucking dog, drugged up and left to wallow in your own filth.

You shake your head. You don't understand how Cooper even wants to touch you right now. You feel disgusting, and the phantom feel of the fiends' hands still haunt you at every second of the day. You want another shower, but hot water was a precious commodity.

"Stop apologizing," Cooper rumbles after a moment, and you snap your mouth shut, unaware that you'd just said everything out loud. His arms tighten around you, and you bask in the strength of the hard planes of his body.

"Nothing those bastards did to you could make me love you any less."

His words only make you sob harder, but you can't help but feel relief at them. Your ghoul loved you and had taken on an entire vault of chem addled cannibals to save you. He had come out on top and dragged your sorry body all the way back to Freeside, snarling and demanding help from the followers.

"Thank you," you say, and press yourself as close to Cooper as you can. You never want to let go, and you never want to see the inside of a vault ever again.

"You're mine, Darlin', "Cooper rumbles and tightens his hold on you, "And nothin' will ever stop me from comin' for you."

*sorry if this one is a little lackluster. I had some trouble with it. ❤️*

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #x reader #the ghoul x reader #dear hears and gentle people

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deliciouskeys · 5 hours

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Cozy Corner Domaystic prompts #16: Going through immigration and #24: Identity theft.

Guys. Guys, I’ll be honest. I have no idea what possessed me. I think I found these two prompts as some of the most challenging to imagine as a domestic fic, and… my thinking got a little bit too outside the box.

This fic will have an intended audience of about 1 (me). But I want to give major major props to @olliveolly who introduced me to this game and was the one who came up with this That’s Not My Neighbor / Boys crossover AU (with a couple lovely art pieces on the theme). The “lore” of this horror game is very simple. Tell me you don’t see it:

Butchlander. That’s Not My Neighbor crossover/AU. Rated E (why). 3.3k words (why). 2nd person to allegedly reflect the feeling of first-person gameplay (why). Is this domestic fic? Welllllll. It takes place in an apartment complex so it counts, right? Lax interpretation of ‘going through immigration’ but honestly that’s what this game really reminds me of 😂

Another day, another interminable shift working as the concierge in the dreary lobby of this apartment complex. It was exciting at first, sure, what with getting to play the first and last line of defense against the doppelganger monsters that attempt to sneak in every single day. But you’ve just gotten too good at noticing discrepancies. Nothing gets past you anymore. You know every single feature- hell, every single freckle! -of every single resident in the building. By this point you’ve got all their phone numbers memorized, for no better reason than there is simply too much tedium to this job. You find yourself wishing you could actually watch the D.D.D. ‘decontaminate’ the lobby, as they so euphemistically put it, instead of just sitting there twiddling your thumbs behind a pulled down rollup metal shutter after summoning them. You could still make out screams without seeing the brutality, and you knew the D.D.D. employed flame throwers and other serious weapons to deal with these monsters. Sometimes you caught yourself feeling just a little bit of sympathy for the doppelgangers, even though their main goal in life appeared to be to imitate people to blend in and then feed upon human flesh, and your main goal in life was supposed to be to ensure none of them would ever get let in through the locked inner door.

John Gillman comes in through the first door and gives you a tired, nominal wave before fishing around in his pockets for his documents to gain entry. He might be your favorite resident— always polite, always in that clean-cut milkman uniform at least when you happen to see him, because no one really leaves the apartment building outside of work obligations. There’s no nightlife in New York anymore, not with everyone nervous of dark alleys or being alone on the street, especially after dark. When you came over here from London, you certainly didn’t expect to get stuck here during a worldwide apocalyptic event like this that has resulted in curfews and lockdowns. You certainly didn’t expect to get zero action and get a mindnumbing job just to make ends meet. It was probably still more interesting than your gig working as a bouncer back in London, but at least you got fresh air there, and sometimes a date to go home with after closing time. Maybe that’s why you’ve started hyperfixating and daydreaming about one of the residents— the involuntary celibacy is getting to you.

John just always looks uncannily attractive. Maybe it’s that silly uniform that’s easy to fetishize. Maybe it’s because his tired eyes also look like bedroom eyes, or the dark circles function the same way eyeliner would. Why is he always so tired anyway? You know he lives alone up there in F03-02. He never gets any visitors either. How much can a person masturbate, really? There’s a rumor around the building that Becca Saunders’ tyke might be his, but you don’t really see the resemblance, and have your doubts that this didn’t just start as a “sleeping with the milkman” joke that got out of hand. People just like to gossip about single mothers. Things like this shouldn’t be considered scandalous. It’s 1955 for god’s sake!

“Sorry, William,” John says, hurriedly shoving his ID and entry request form underneath the glass so you can take take a look. “Almost thought I left my ID at work.”

“Long day, huh?” you ask without expecting a reply, pretending to scrutinize the documents while making small talk. You know this is John. You’d know him from a mile away. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have a little bit of fun. “Looks okay, and you are on the list of people authorized to come and go today. But can you take off your cap?”

John grabs his milkman cap off his head, exposing a mop of blond hair, looking mussed after being under the hat all day. You really wish you could test him, see how far you’d be able to take things before he refused to cooperate. Take off your shirt, John. Gotta make sure it’s really you. You never know these days. But of course you don’t. All you’ll have is your fantasies about breaching every code of ethics and using your master key to gain entrance into his apartment, seducing him, ravishing him right in the middle of what must be a depressing bachelor pad. Give him much darker undereye circles by keeping him up all night. Give this apartment complex a more interesting rumor to spread about the milkman in their midst.

“You’re good to go,” you say and press the green unlock button to let him in. He gives you a wan smile and walks out of view, and you listen to his footsteps ascending the stairs.

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful, only a few people coming and going, and a couple of doppelgängers with laughably strange appearance or bad credentials being dispatched quickly. Or at least it’s uneventful until John walks in, just a little bit past curfew.

“Hey William,” he says, sounding distracted, rummaging in his pockets for his documents as a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. This better be a doppelganger, you think to yourself. But he has both his ID and the entry request filled out correctly. He looks identical to the John that passed by here a couple of hours earlier. This can’t be.

You start dialing John’s number, not taking your eyes off the man in front of you.

John’s eyes widen with alarm when he sees that you get an answer from the other end of the line.

“Yes, hello? John here. I’m not expecting any visitors.”

You hang up pretty abruptly, staring at the John in front of you, searching his appearance for any subtle defect or inconsistency but finding none. Your finger is hovering over the alarm button.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, you think I’m someone else? It’s me, William! I swear to god it’s me! I don’t know who you let in earlier, and who’s answering the phone now, but it’s not me up there!”

And shit, you believe him. You must have fucked up. Gotten smug and sloppy. Maybe the doppelganger handed you a fake ID but you didn’t notice because you were too busy daydreaming about fucking him.

“William, please believe me, please!” John is pressing up against the glass at this point, clearly scared that you’re going to quarantine him in the lobby and sic the D.D.D. on him. They don’t tend to ask questions. You’ve never had it happen, but you’ve heard of innocent people getting snuffed out on the mere suspicion of being doppelgangers, the D.D.D. rarely admitting to such mistakes even after the fact.

“Alright, alright, I believe you. I just have to think…” you mumble. “I’ll let you in, but don’t go up to your flat. We have to figure this out.”

John nods frantically and slips into your office after you buzz him in.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, and if you weren’t scared shitless at the moment, you’d probably get a kick out of how vulnerable and scared his expression is compared to his usual tired, impassive one.

“I should call the D.D.D. and get them to go up there,” you think out loud.

“Won’t you get reprimanded?” John asks, and oh how sweet of him to worry about your job when you’ve fucked up so royally and almost gotten him killed with your negligence. Maybe already gotten some of his neighbors killed.

“I just don’t want you losing your job over this— you’re the best concierge we have,” he says and then looks down shyly, as if realizing how strange that concern is.

What is this? Are you dreaming? Maybe you’re just out of your mind with adrenaline, but John sounds like he’s got feelings for you.

“Let’s just go up there and see what’s going on,” he says, and damn he’s persuasive as fuck. You want to go and deal with the mess you made, and protect him.

“I’ll go up there and just check,” you say, hardly believing yourself as you grab the fire extinguisher from the wall as a makeshift weapon. Everyone who was scheduled to return to the building has, so you shouldn’t get any more legitimate people coming through, but you still tape up a note that you’ll be back at your post in a few minutes. “Right then. You just stay down here and wait. I don’t want you putting yourself at risk. If I’m not back in five, call the number on the post-it.”

John shakes his head and follows you up the stairs. “I’m not letting you go up there alone,” he says in that quiet irresistible voice and you start to wonder if there’s something strange going on. Why are you going on this potentially suicidal mission to deal with a doppelganger on your own? So what if you get fired? No job is worth your life, right? But you probably wouldn’t see John ever again if you lost this job and that’s clouding all your judgment right now.

Knocking on John’s apartment door is probably not a good idea, and will just give the monster inside time to prepare or hide. So you take out your master key and turn it in the lock as quietly and quickly as you can. The door swings opens with an ominous creak, revealing a dark living room with no sign of anyone there. Did he hear you coming up the stairs? You try to keep John behind you and shield him in case anything sudden happens from within the apartment, but then you feel a strong push from behind and both you and John are in the flat now.

You’re so stupid, so critically, fatally stupid. The John you let in earlier was the real one. You’ve let a doppelganger convince you that you made a mistake, and now you did let one in. You whirl around, try to hit him upside the head with the fire extinguisher you’re brandishing, but he blocks the move with little effort.

“I thought we agreed,” he says, and you realize he’s speaking not to you but past you to someone else in the room.

“Thursdays are my days,” an identical voice answers from behind you and you step back and try to make sense of what you’re seeing. Two John Gillmans, both in the same uniform, neither one looking the least bit spooked, both looking mildly irritated if anything.

“Since when,” the John who came up behind you asks of the other one. “I get to be here every other day, doesn’t matter what day of the week it is.”

“So now what are we going to do about him?” the John who was in the apartment asks, pointing to you. “Why didn’t you just leave once he called me? Are you stupid?”

Your heart may be racing, but your thinking feels as slow as molasses. They’re …. both doppelgangers?

“What have you done with the real John Gillman?” you whisper hoarsely. The twins turn to look at you and you’re creeped out by the very similar smirk that spreads across both of their faces. They’re really impeccable facsimiles of the real person, but this is an expression you’ve never seen on John.

“You’ve never met the ‘real John Gillman’,” one of them says.

There’s enough cold sweat that’s broken out on your back that it starts to trickle down as drops.

“We like you William. It would be such a shame for our friendship to end.”

You hold up the fire extinguisher in front of yourself defensively, but you’re not sure you can really do anything against two of them. You’ve never noticed before, and maybe the real John’s teeth didn’t look like this, but the two doppelgangers have sharp looking canines when they’re grinning. It’ll serve you right to get devoured in this dark flat for making so many mistakes and bad decisions in a row today.

“So you’re just going to kill me then?” you ask.

“We’d really rather not,” one of the twins says. “A murder would bring a lot of snooping law enforcement if not the D.D.D. Itself.”

“And it’s so hard to find good lodging to spend the night.”

They must be joking. “You really expect me to believe you’re not just here to eat people?”

One of the twins rolls his eyes. “Eat people! Yeah, that’s why we’re here, clearly.”

“Has anyone in this apartment building ever disappeared in all the months you’ve worked here?” the other one asks.

“How should I know?” You’re beginning to feel like this has to be some sick nightmare. You can’t possibly be having a civil conversation with a couple of cannibal monsters. This thought has a strange calming effect on you. “If I didn’t know you lot were masquerading as John Gillman, how am I to know how many other residents are real people?”

The twins turn to each other, still smiling and shrugging.

“We’ve been on a vegetarian diet for a while,” the other says and you can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Laugh all you want,” the other one says, spreading his hands in concession. “But milk is more than enough to sustain us. We do think people are delicious, but there’s one thing we like much more than eating them.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, emboldened by the possibility that you’re just in a ridiculous, paranoid, bad dream of a worst case scenario at your job.

“We’ve been watching you William. We think you’ve been interested in us.”

“We’ve never fucked anyone from this building, and never fucked together, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”

You just stand there, fire extinguisher still raised up defensively. No question about it, this must be a nightmare that’s slowly but surely twisting itself into a sexual fantasy.

“Come on, William. Let’s make you comfortable.”

You can hardly protest as one gently pulls your makeshift weapon out of your loose grip, and the other one sweeps you off your feet with preternatural superhuman ease and carries you over to the couch in this sparsely furnished apartment.

Gentle but insistent hands undo the buttons on your trousers and then maneuver you so they can pull them off completely and free your legs.

“Humans are such fun creatures,” one of the Johns comments when he sees that despite your fear of the situation unfolding right now, you are sporting a half-hearted hard-on. It somehow only gets harder when you hear them talk about people as another species.

Both Johns are still fully dressed, situating themselves to kneel on the floor on either side of you. It’s wild. You must be dreaming. And as you watch both Johns lean forward, extending their tongues and licking your cock up and down from opposite sides, you realize that if this is a dream, you never want to wake up.

They know what they’re doing. They bring you right up to the edge of orgasm and then pull away, leaving you feeling desperate and even annoyed. You’re not annoyed for long though as they both strip down, and you see that their human-mimicking powers are perfect, down to the most minute details that would never be seen under clothes. Granted, you don’t know what John Gillman looked like naked, so maybe they’ve taken artistic license and embellished. Whatever it is, they’ve compared notes, because they still look indistinguishable to you.

“Like what you see?” one of them asks and you realize you I’ve been staring, maybe even with your mouth hanging open. You never imagined you’d hook up with a doppelganger, let alone two of them at once. But you have imagined foisting yourself on John in this very flat, and you’re about to live that daydream.

You end up doing things with the two of them beyond what you’ve ever dreamed of. You fuck one of them, and at the same time get fucked by the other one from behind, the cheap bed’s metal joints creaking and moaning from the motion of three bodies rocking against each other. You let them suck your cock and rim you to get you back in the mood for another round, trying not to think about how unsettlingly hungry they both look, and who they really are underneath the human-looking exterior. The exterior slips periodically when they’re in the throes of pleasure. You wince when they betray just how strong they really are, whenever they flip you over or change positions, as if you weigh nothing. You try not to pay attention when their eyes start glowing red when they’re particularly turned on, but it’s impossible to ignore in the darkness of the bedroom.

“William, you are fucking delicious,” one of them declares, licking his lips obscenely after swallowing down your cum, and all you can do is emit a short nervous chuckle, and think that even if they do decide to eat you at the end of all of this— either to cover their tracks, or just because they might start feeling peckish after all this is over— it will still have been worth it.

You don’t get eaten. In fact, you’ve had the time of your life, and as you get up from the bed and mumble that you have to get back to your post before your shift is over, the two Johns lie languid, naked on the bed watching you, each enjoying a post coital glass of milk (that’s all they have in the fridge— you saw when they opened it), like perfect mirror images.

“You won’t be making any unnecessary phone calls, right William?”

“We can count on you to be discreet and keep a secret, right?”

Through the combined haze of being scared for your life and then having the time of your life, there’s still one thing that bothers you, and you ask about it, against all your best self-preservation instincts.

“So what have you done with the real John Gillman?”

They turn to look at each other, not exactly conspiratorial but it still makes you uneasy.

“Oh, John Gillman never existed. We’ve been around a lot longer than you humans think. Many of us never tried to replicate and replace real humans.”

“Yeah, and a lot of good that did when some of us started! The ones who are doing it are the reason we’re being hunted now. Unoriginal hacks. And so bad at mimicking too.”

“So many embarrassing ones out there.” They both nod at each other.

You’d like to believe them. You really would. “So why choose this persona?”

“The milkman gets free milk and gets around in your society! And humans seem to like this look,” one of them says, grinning and gesturing with his hand over their naked bodies.

“But we only ever get to enjoy bored housewives.”

“And why are there two of you?” you ask hesitantly, glancing at the clock on the wall to verify that you’re not late yet.

“Oh there’s more than two of us,” one of them says and they laugh in unison in a way that sends a chill down your spine.

~~~

You think you’ve got it all worked out. You’re letting the John Gillmans stay in the apartment undisturbed, and you let them through even when it’s obvious that there’s more than one of them coming and going. You figure it’s a win-win. They promise to protect the building from any rogue doppelgangers who infiltrate and intend to harm the residents, and in return get a place to stay the night peacefully. You get to visit apartment F03-02 after your shift ends and have mind-blowing sex. They seem to enjoy the orgies as well. They know your shift hours and try to only come and go during those times. There doesn’t seem to be a problem with this arrangement.

Or at least not a problem that you’re going to make into your problem. When one of the Johns walks in, visibly smeared in blood, you do give him a hard time.

“Come on, John. Just because I’ll let you in, doesn’t mean you can just stop trying to look decent. God forbid I call in sick and someone else is here.”

John shrugs and goes through the formality of pushing his ID and entry request under the glass window.

“And get a new ID…” you tell him when you see bloody fingerprints all over the worn paper.

John shrugs, doing his usual tired act, despite how ridiculous it looks to be so bored and nonchalant when you’re smeared in blood.

“Whose blood is that, anyway?” you ask, wondering why you’re not more disturbed.

“Someone who was of no consequence and who won’t be missed,” John replies, terse and cool as a cucumber.

“I thought you said you were vegetarian?”

“I’ll take a cheat day if I run into a wifebeater,” John says, shrugging.

You buzz him in, telling him to get washed up before someone sees him, wondering if you’re being colossally naive to believe his story, and wondering if you’ve got a death wish because you’re still looking forward to going up there once your shift ends in a few hours.

(What in the world. 💀)

#cozy corner domaystic #lol #butchlander #that’s not my neighbor au #homelander #billy butcher #the boys #the boys tv #fic #mystuff

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nunalastor · 16 hours

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Dark Forced Family Recovery/Overlord Found Family + Angel Dust

Alastor made sure the overlords didn't know what was going on in his head after waking up—or they said he "woke up" but Alastor couldn't remember going to sleep. In his head he was never asleep, he had been somewhere else, somewhere he couldn't feel any pain, somewhere away from everything where no one and nothing could find him. He knew that wasn't real, but that begged the question of what was? Where he was now was better than where he had been, in his hotel territory that became his prison, he thought this wasn't real because it was too good to be true. He got his powers back at a level he wasn't used to, his full powers had returned but stronger, he could only assume it was a gift from someone, but who? Lucifer? Roo? They forced him to be weak, that didn't make sense, but who else had the power to? Was it someone who rescued him? He still could barely process anyone came to save him. Rosie he had hoped for, Zestial and Carmilla he was only slightly surprised by, but Vox? Why was Vox here? Why, after everything? Did Vox think this would undo everything that happened between them? He didn't trust Vox, he didn't want to be near him or spend even a moment in V-tower, but he had no choice. Nobody could know what happened to him, and thinking about being under the red skies where Lucifer or Charlotte could be hiding and ready to snatch him up made his skin crawl and shake outside of his control. Lucifer and Charlotte were still watching him, they still wanted him, he wasn't stupid enough to say otherwise. They probably just let him go to fix himself up and when he was fully recovered they would come back for him and—

"...Al?"

Angel Dust. He knew that voice anywhere, and hearing it made him lose his grip on the physical therapy bars, crashing to the ground in a humiliating fashion. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! No option was good, he hadn't done cocaine that day to empty his head because his control over his body was even worse while high, but if he wasn't high that meant he was losing it or worse: Lucifer and Charlotte found him. This damn tower was supposed to be safe! Static took over his vision so much he didn't see Angel running over and trying to make sure he wasn't hurt from a nasty fall. He could have been silent or begging for all he knew, static took over his hearing too.

Angel for his part was still shocked he ran into Alastor here of all places. He helped with the rescue but didn't think he had any right to see Alastor again for not taking action against the DFF situation sooner. Zestial agreed it was best he not see Alastor unless Alastor was ready, and if he had to guess from Alastor's reaction to seeing him being to fall and go into some kind of panic attack, muttering nonsense that Angel translated to roughly "I'm still broken, you don't want me yet, don't take me" (a claim that was a massive can of worms for prideful Alastor to say in desperation) Alastor was in no way ready. Angel wanted to leave, let Vox know he ran into Alastor on accident and someone needed to help him, but when he saw Alastor getting frustrated and punching hard on his own legs that barely reacted, Angel put the pieces together of what was going on and that he had to do something.

"Hey, look at me, Smiles. I'm not gonna hurt you, and I'm not gonna tell anyone I saw you. Okay?" He used his second and third set of arms to stabilize along Alastor's ribs and pull him up to his feet, Alastor flinched but was now more focused on staying upright than he was on being terrified. Angel waited until the panicked haze over Alastor's eyes cleared, waiting again for a fight that didn't come. "Come on, let's get you walkin' again."

👀

#hazbin hotel #nunalastor asks #dark forced family #overlord found family

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crabbng · 1 day

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i actually got some in process shots for this #WebcomicDay ! they are of an episode 12 page, so this doubles as a sneak peek 🤣 you can see i forgot to take a pic of the finished lines before i started on coloring (whoops)

there are a few secret steps after finishing up backgrounds etc. (scanning, cleaning up) but since this is a sneak peek, i didn't want to put the Final Product out there.

I guess I'll ramble a little bit about The Process below the cut.

SKETCH: I don't plan out my pages as much as I should other artists do. I think about the next couple shots I want, what I can probably fit on the page, and then decide how tall the panel should be. after that I draw a big line across the page 🤣 sometimes the panel gets bisected, usually not trisected. I love it when people consider the whole of the page and make the paneling choices that elevate the art. I just don't do it lmao

luckily for me, I don't have a requirement to make every piece of my comic pages The Best. So, I focus on what I enjoy: expressions and conversations.

LINE DIALOGUE AND PANELS: For inking/lining, I ABSOLUTELY have to put in my dialogue/dialogue balloons first. Since I'm doing everything on the same page of physical paper, I can't really shift things around partway through to make the dialogue and art fit better together. I also have to make sure it all fits within the panel lines I have planned. I've gotten into situations where the WORDS fit in, but in order to make a word balloon with decent space around the words, I cross over a line. Sometimes it works, but for me.. it doesn't work most of the time. So, gotta plan ahead.

You can also see down in the final section, I handwrite my dialogue! So, if I mess up, I sometimes have to add in a few letter that I can substitute in during editing.

FINISH LINES & ERASING: All I have to say about finishing lines/erasing, is that erasing can be such a challenge lmao. JUST YESTERDAY... when I was erasing.. I tore a page a little bit. And I often accidentally crinkle a corner while erasing. The obvious solution, and what I know people do, is to sketch on one page, and then use a light table (or equivalent) to do a cleaner, lighter sketch on a new page, and then do lining on that. Which is a good idea, maybe someday I'll try it lol.

COLOR FIGURES: There's really no good reason I start with the figures, besides that I like watching them come to life with the colors. It feels weird when they're blank on the page. They're also generally the most important part of the page for me, and seeing them colored helps me decide on which panels I want to do flat color backgrounds for.

But! This means I can't go back and edit skin tones etc. to be in different lighting after the fact, unless it's to make them darker! So that's something I have to be cognizant of and plan for in advance.

I use Copics for most part of the figures, except when I know there's going to be several large areas to color, like Aoife's hair or her sweater and pants. I have character's hair planned in Copics, but I have several browns from other brands (Prismacolor, Blick, Winsor and Newton, Artist's Loft) that get pretty close to her hair color. Clothing that has large areas that need to be colored are planned as being from one of those other brands from the start. I don't want to use up all my Copic juice on them!!

Also don't you just love seeing the texture of the paper through the marker? I love it. I love the natural variation you get.

BACKGROUNDS & OTHER DETAILS: Color everything else! Backgrounds and shadows generally. For backgrounds I'm once again using my alternative brands. I've got a lot of space to cover, and those markers, along with being cheaper, are generally larger than my Copics. So it works out.

Sometimes I tend to go a bit wild with the single color backgrounds, to the point where I think it can get distracting. So I have to rein it in and leave some panels with white backgrounds, so the reader isn't just blasted with colors from every angle. My rule of thumb is to try and only have color on one panel in each of my lines of panels, and to alternate sides, if possible. I feel like that guides the eye easier.

Doing things traditionally means I don't really get any shortcuts when it comes to backgrounds, including just flat color backgrounds. Every square millimeter has gotta be colored purposefully by me. And maybe that seems like a pointless use of time and effort! But man, I love the end result. I'm all for shortcuts, it's just a lot of the ones I see floating around don't apply to me 🤣

I'll talk about my other steps here too, might as well.

SCANNING: After colors and everything, I scan the pages. They're too big to fit in my scanner, so I scan the top and bottom halves separately, and stitch them together (I use PhotoStitcher).

From there, I rotate it to (more or less) make it straight on my canvas, make a .clip version, and send it off to my iPad!

I got my iPad in a workplace raffle, and though there's a lot about the UI I don't love, it's been really convenient!

EDITING: Editing consists of: cleaning up things that should be white (like eyes, teeth, and word balloons), and then cleaning up marker that's bled over into areas it doesn't belong, and is distracting. I try not to overdo it on marker cleanup, because 1) it takes a while, 2) it can stress me out if I decide I need it all to be PERFECT, and 3) it feels slightly disingenuous, just TO ME, about my OWN work. I don't think 3) is valid, so I try to ignore that part, but sometimes in my head I'm like 'mm but Jacki can you say its traditional if you have to do so much work in post to make it presentable??' (said in a very snobby voice). I went from not really caring -> REALLY caring -> hopefully I'll get to caring a reasonable amount.

FINISHING: Last steps are to send it BACK to my computer, where I have two auto actions to size the page and to export it as a .png in a large and a small size. I should be rightfully criticized for how I size the pages lmao, it's 2647x3560 pixels. Why that number specifically? That's 1) how I've done it since the beginning, so they are all this very strange size, and 2) it's about the maximum area of scanned page I can consistently get.

I think that's it? I don't know why you would, but if you have any questions, feel free to hit me up and I'll answer them to the best of my ability. Hope someone finds this interesting or helpful LOL

bye 💕 happy webcomic day!

#webcomicday #webcomic day #kings of sorts #draws

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yourheart-inmyhands · 3 days

Note

hiii! I’m currently crying because I really like the Tsaritsa but there’s no content of her! Like anywhere!! I know that you are very busy but please bear with me😅 I’m sorry if I’m bothering you btw 😢

what if Yandere!Tsaritsa has a lover who loves to cause trouble/hates the Fatui. It’s to the point she can’t maintain them, do you think she’ll ask her harbingers for help? Like have the 9th bribe them with money in order to keep them away from going on with their evil villain schemes 😈(just that they’re trapped in the middle of nowhere and don’t have much freedom..) or just have a harbinger check up on the Tsaritsa s’ s/o each once in a while

by the way, I feel like I may come here a lot (I normally do, but I don’t request) so can I be 👛 anon? 🙏🙏 thank you for reading, I know this was trashy (it’s my first time requesting 😭)

Hi i'm sorry it took a bit to get to this, i was worried about not being able to do good enough and wanted to make sure i could do your request justice! if you're still interested in being an anon for my blog i would love to have you :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behavior, implied being held against ones will, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

While she isn’t against asking the Harbingers to get you under control, she prefers to handle you herself. The Tsaritsa knew what kind of responsibilities she’d be taking on when deciding she wanted you, and thus she tries to avoid relying on them. At first, she tried to mitigate any negative feelings between you and her Harbingers by having you attend meetings with her, Fatui-related events, and other such things, but she has quickly learned it’s better to leave you in your shared bedroom and deal with any attitude when she returns home.

During times when she has to be away from Zapolyarny palace or outside of Snezhnaya and can’t bring you, she’ll task one of her dear Harbingers with your care. It’s usually Pantalone or Capitano, Pierro is generally too busy, Pucinella is too easy on you, and the others have quirks of their own that she doesn’t hold high faith in.

Long, slim fingers brush through the strands of your hair, tucking back any loose pieces and fixing the parting as she mulls over a thought in her mind. The Tsaritsa knows she has only another hour or so with you before she has to set off again, leaving you in the capable hands of her dear Harbinger Capitano. She hasn’t yet broken the news to you, knowing you’ll pitch a fit that is better dealt with by giving you space to lash out. She’d chosen Capitano this time specifically because you’d been extra testy lately, plotting escapes and trying to fight some of the lower-ranked guards posted outside your door. The large man could take quite a beating and she was hoping he’d be up for the challenge of your care. “My sweet Snowball, I’ve neglected to inform you until this point, but I have to leave Snezhnaya for some time. A minor god has appeared in a nearby nation and sparked trouble, Celestia has requested I step in to assist in handling them.” Her fingers pause in your hair for a moment before pulling away, allowing you a moment to process what she has told you.

As much as she hates to do it, she often lies to you about where she’s going or why she has to be out of Snezhnaya. The Tsaritsa knows of your dislike for the Fatui and their motives, but she cannot simply halt her plan because you are heartbroken over it. Thus, she often will tell you false information, playing the part of the darling Archon that Celestia expects of her, but only in front of you.

Really, she rarely leaves Snezhnaya, often traveling to different parts of her nation to handle difficult tasks that the calloused hands of her Harbingers are not capable of. She has on occasion ventured out of the controlled walls of her nation, daring to visit neighboring ones in search of valuable items or materials, but she prefers to stay in Snezhnaya. While she may be powerful and well capable of defending herself, she sleeps easier at night knowing that you are within the same nation as her.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x gender neutral reader #tsaritsa x reader #tsaritsa x male reader #tsaritsa x gender neutral reader #yandere tsaritsa x reader #yandere tsaritsa x male reader #yandere tsaritsa x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin #genshin yandere #yandere tsaritsa #tsaritsa yandere

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queen-seren · 2 days

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A Laurance Zvahl Character Study

Just a fun Laurance study I slapped together of his life before becoming a Shadow Knight, the final section being a sort of a optional ending, as I thought up the scene and really wanted to include it.

Please enjoy!

Dissension

“Do you have a dream?”

It’s dark, nothing but the cold light of the moon peeking through the pulled back curtains along each of the windows lining the large room. The slow, rhythmic breathing of the other sleeping children is the only sound that fills the silence that lurks between me and my bedmate.

I tread that fine line just on the cusp of sleep, yet my mind entirely too busy to finally catch some shut eye.

“We all do.” I whisper in response, peeking my eyes open to peer at the girl next to me, her name entirely lost to time. I can hardly make out her face, only a lone, disjointed voice in the depths of my memory. There are too many orphans to keep track of, so many that we often share beds to accommodate.

The younger ones don’t mind it so much, thinking it to be an eternal slumber party. Little are they aware of how sick you can start to feel of it the more the time goes by. But, whatever. It's likely they’ll be adopted long before they can feel the discomfort—the restlessness of it all begin to seep in. Before the grounds of the orphanage engrave themselves on the back of your palm, like a branding that never quite leaves.

This girl is young, easy enough to tell by the way she slurs her words and that sweet, high pitch of her voice. I can’t help but wonder what’s kept her awake this long.

“But, do you?”

“Of course I do.” I answer easily, knowing too well what to say. “What’s yours?”

“Mine?”

“Yes. Yours.”

“I… I want a family.”

Isn’t that always the case? Ask any orphan around the place, and surely enough you can piece together their answers, just to find that their wants meet back in the same place where it all began. A longing for what was taken from them so young—a lone call in the dark starless night. A frightening notion that we will always be alone.

She’ll likely find her family soon. And if she doesn’t, then she’s welcome to join the club. She’ll find she’s met with whispered gossip amongst the workers, and worry that is useless in meaning. He seems so grown for his age. Do you think he’ll be here until he’s an adult? All in good nature, I’m sure. Doesn’t seem to sting anyless, though.

“You have one right here.” The words find me, spoken so often on my tongue that I’m beginning to imagine they have a flavour—something bittersweet. No matter how many times I say it, I struggle to believe it myself. Perhaps, that's merely a testament to my selfish way of life.

“You really think so?”

Clever girl. She sees right through me.

“Of course.” I turn on my side to face her properly, just barely able to make out the curve of her large, doll-like eyes in the dark. I reach out a hand, estimating where the top of her head is before I pat gently at her hair. “We’re all family here.”

“What about your dream?” Sleep seems to overtake her words, exhaustion finally catching up to her.

I pause—sucking in a deep breath through my nose, slow and steady. The truth sits itself in the palette of my mouth, stuck, never able to quite find the right words to capture every emotion that locks itself away in the facade of a warm expression and a stupid smirk.

Even if it's only a small girl asking it of me, likely to forget my response by morning.

“What I want..?” I repeat softly, as if to remind myself what the word dream entails. To be an orphan is to be a dreamer, the two seem to go hand in hand. A dream is nothing more than a want that seems so out of reach, that you feel the need to kiss it into shooting stars, and hope Irene herself hears it.

I want a family too.

“I want you to sleep.” I chuckle, tugging the girl into a warm embrace, hoping to lull her off. She doesn’t fight it much, snuggling up and getting comfortable before murmuring out one final time as her breathing slows.

“I hope… You find one too.”

I spend the night staring at the wall behind her—sleepless. Rolling her words over in my head again and again, as if there were another way to read them.

There isn’t.

By morning, I find myself being adopted.

—

“Cadenza! Don’t just run off like that!”

The summer heat of Meteli is sweltering, sun glaring down on my shoulders as I pant, attempting to catch up to the girl who is so fond of scurrying about. The air is always thick when the heat picks up, a trait that comes with the village being situated in the marsh. The adults tend to complain the most, no good solution in place to the stench that tends to radiate off of the murky waters, and the cry of the cicadas at night when summer hits its peak—but the children can’t be bothered, taking the first chance they can to sink into the cool waters of the river hidden just down a cobblestone pathway behind the village.

“It’s not my fault you’re too slow, Laurance!” She giggles, hands grabbing at her dress, tugging it upwards as her feet dip into the running water. From behind, she’s nothing but a head of fiery red hair, curly and frizzy amongst the humid weather.

“You’re older than me, you know?” I whine, sweeping back brown hair doused in sweat. “I’ve been training all day too.”

“You’re really becoming a guard?” By now, she’s found herself a spot to sit, keeping her dress perfectly dry with her feet submerged underneath the waters. Irene forbids she ever get her clothes dirty.

A wooden sword fills the scabbard at my side, just having started training as a guard. An idea that still perplexes me. As if picking up a blade was nothing more than a thoughtless task, perhaps I really am just bored. I had started practising on my own in secret, having snatched up a sword from the rack in Joh’s home, thinking he’d never notice one gone from the plethora he’d amassed. Still, to trick a Lord was a difficult task. To trick your own father, an even greater one. It didn’t take long before he caught me swinging at nothing in a small clearing in the forest, arms too weak and wobbly to properly hold the sword I had chosen.

Of course—a few slaps on the wrist were expected.

"A real sword?" My adoptive father questioned incredulously, and all I could do was sheepishly grin back up at him before I received nothing more than an admonishing sigh. “Boy, tell me. Why do you swing this sword?” Joh held the polished blade in his own hands, keeping it from my reach as he towered over me. He gripped it with a practised hand, always ready to pick it up and fight, to defend himself. Yet, his posture was always relaxed—too relaxed. Perhaps, that was what made him most intimidating.

To grow the son of a Lord, I had learned two things.

One, the role of a Lord is vital to the village. They are who keep the village alive, and running. Without a Lord, a week is all it would take for a village to descend into disarray.

Two, the role of a Lord is minacious. Nothing more than sitting cattle should they let their guard down. Lords tend to cycle in and out rather quickly, never staying the same for too long in smaller villages that dot the outskirts on the eastern coast of Ru’an. A Lord’s life is always in danger.

“I want to protect everyone,” I answered with what I thought he’d want to hear.

“You cannot protect everyone if you are a guard. Who will you point your sword on then?”

“I…” Warmth bloomed across my face as I glanced away from his gaze. The truth was simple, yet it seemed too selfish to speak aloud. Yet, my adoptive fathers gaze burned into me, neither of us would leave before he received that answer.

“Who is it you wish to protect?” Joh questioned once more in a sharp and steel-edged manner that I’ve only ever seen him use with the trained guards straight out of the academy, bowing their knees and requesting to become his soldier.

“Um…” I sputtered, “Innocent people?”

There was a moment of pause—and it was times like those where I could never quite read what was going through his head. His gaze lingered on me, as if to peel away at me, to unveil my truths and lay them bare himself. For I was an orphaned child, trust would never come easily. Even to the man I called father. The truth would always find itself stuck between my teeth, thicker than the sweet taffy that Cadenza snuck from her fathers home and shared with me.

Joh knew this.

“Try again.”

“Huh?”

“Your answer isn’t sufficient enough.”

“But I—!”

“Then come back to me when you have a better one.” Joh turned his back, blade in hand as he began his march back down the path he came. With a pause, and his back facing me, he spoke once more. “For now, use the training swords in the guard house.”

Not sufficient enough…?

I struggled for a few moments to wrap my head around the implications of his remark. Mulling over his question, I began to frown. Swept beneath a rug—not good enough. It irked me, made my blood boil beneath my skin as his words ran me for loops, as if spoken in a foreign tongue.

“—rance… Laurance!”

Cadenza’s calls tear me from the thoughts I hadn’t realised I had gotten entirely lost in. She glares at me, expectantly—Cadenza hates being ignored. Perhaps, it came with her upbringing, cherished and coddled by Hayden. Of course, the reason she sought out my company of all people was due to our similarities. Her and I both orphaned and adopted, many of the other children would never understand the severance it brought with it. That thick, heavy feeling that plagues us at night, urging us that we ought to grip our blankets tighter should we wake up in another bed by morning.

“What were you asking?”

“Seriously? I asked if you’re really becoming a guard.” She frowns at me, and perhaps a part of that frown is her worrying over my safety. She really should look after herself—a flower of a young girl. She’s likely to be sought after endlessly once she’s of age.

I shrug, kicking off my own leather shoes as I approach the river bed. “Probably.” I respond, sinking my feet into the cold water, holding back a shiver that dares to creep up my spine. “Then I’ll be able to protect you.”

“So romantic, Laurance.” She rolls her eyes, but a smile dances on her lips. “The ladies will surely love you if you keep that up.” She’s clearly teasing, but it pulls a bright smile onto my face, unsure how else to respond.

“I’ll be a heartbreaker before you know it.” I continue the bit, hands dipping into the water and launching some at her—only for her to shriek as it hits her.

“Ugh! My dress!” She moans, thoroughly drenched as she hastily stands from her spot to follow him deeper into the river. Clumsily, mind you. Almost slipping on the rocky stones beneath their feet. “You’re such a ladies man!” She returns the favour, dousing me generously.

This version of Cadenza is my favourite. Broken free from her expectations of a dainty little girl, staying docile and pretty in hopes to find her place in the home that Hayden has provided her. She seems to forget just how much the man cherishes her, losing this spark whenever she roams the village. Happy, free and feral. It's a look that suits her. I can only hope that she will one day learn to embrace this side of herself.

I laugh and laugh. Soaking from head to toe, the wind is cool against my skin, but the sun is burning overhead. Her laughter reaches my ears as well as I toss more water in her direction. I never want this moment to end.

Joh's remark from earlier lingers.

“Boy, tell me. Why do you swing this sword?”

A reason? Yes, I suppose everyone has a reason for what they do. I must as well.

It's later that night that I approach Joh, having finally understood his question. He seems to know what I’ll say—a newfound resolve found in the stride of my walk as I enter the Lord's house.

He asks again.

“What do you wish to protect?”

I answer something along the lines.

Moments like these.

I wish to protect this family of mine.

—

“Easy now…”

A low sound rumbles in the beast's throat, wounded and abandoned in the forest behind Joh's home. Its eyes dark as coal but deadly, ready to bite my head off my shoulders dare I take a step too close.

Alas, this is no ordinary beast. Anyone would only need one glance to know this creature is otherworldly, covered in golden scales. With its long snout that holds sharp teeth, baring them in my direction. But, the trail of blue blood dotting the grass up to its spot is indication enough that it's injured. It seeps from one of its large wings, left unfolded against its side, likely stinging with an aching pain at every unnecessary movement.

A wyvern.

It's said that none have been spotted for hundreds of years, yet here is one in my own father's backyard.

Its black, beady eyes burn holes into me as I slowly take a step closer, and then another—gently, gently, gently so as to not scare it. As if approaching a wounded dog, although, this creature would do much more than any dog could ever.

“Let me help you.” I speak in the softest tone I can muster, wondering if it even understands my words. I reach into my satchel, pulling out the lunch Cadenza had handed me earlier, chiding me for practising all day without any food on me. It's a sandwich, not much really, but it's a peace offering I give, holding it out to the wyvern with a steady hand.

It observes me for a second, the low trill of its growl dying out for a moment as its large eyes stare down at my hand.

Until it turns its snout to my lunch.

“No good?” I chuckle, wrapping the sandwich back up and placing it back in my bag. Still, even without the food, its demeanour has shifted. It seems a bit calmer, sniffing at the wound on its wing before snapping its attention back to me the moment I attempt to take another step closer. My heart crashes against my ribs, nervous down to the tips of my fingers where they buzz with life.

For a moment, I’m reminded of the time Cadenza chastised me for being oh so horrible at dealing with stray cats around the village.

“Like this,” She had sighed, taking my hand herself and holding it out towards the cat. “It will come to you when it's ready.” I had stared at her for a few moments, her own eyes trained on the cat in front of us. And yet, before I knew it, I felt a small tickle against my skin as it had begun to rub its face against my hand.

I wondered, if perhaps, I too were like a stray cat in her eyes. If she had used such tactics when drawing me in and tearing away at the walls I had placed between myself and everyone else once I had been adopted. Always a hot head, I was stubborn, lonely—afraid. Perhaps she saw a bit of me in every stray she beckoned, and even a bit of herself as well.

I find myself absentmindedly following her advice once more, reaching out my hand with a twinge of hesitance. Realistically, I’m nothing more than prey in this moment, pinned down beneath the heavy, deep black of its eyes. Pits in its skull, as vast as the space between stars that splatter the night sky—attempting to drag me in. Still, I dare not look away. Our eyes meet, still as the surface of a lake, hard as crystalline diamond.

I suck in a deep breath, and wait.

It waits too.

We wait and wait until my arm begins to grow tired, and I find myself wanting to laugh at how foolish I surely look. And it's only when I close my eyes for the slightest of moments, the glare of the sun becoming a bit too overwhelming, do I feel cold scales brush against the skin of my palm.

my heart reaches my throat, thrumming wildly as the beast presses its snout further into my palm, quiet—submissive. At least, that's what I assume until I open my eyes to meet its gaze once more, audacious and cautious. Ever so familiar, it's a look I once held in my own eyes—still do.

Wordlessly, it speaks to me—snagging onto a bit of my soul.

You and I are the same.

His name is Ungrth.

—

Sasha sinks into the magma before my own eyes, her face frozen in an indescribable agony that surely rips across her entire body, burning her down to the bone—and then some.

All I can do is stare for a few baffled moments, the sword at my side so new I can still hear the rhythmic clang of the blacksmith hammering it down into a blade. The air of The Nether is impossible to breathe, sweltering heat practically melting my armour off. My heart pounds against the drums of my ears, head on the verge of bursting.

I’m petrified.

As if it were my own life flashing before my eyes, my mind wanders. It wanders and wonders, back to a time where Sasha had slapped me across the back the moment I had returned to Meteli from the guard academy, dragging me into my first night shift with her down by the docks.

“Are you ready?” She questioned, her eyes trained on the lone moon. Its light fit her complexion nicely, she had always been a beauty of the village. Hair as pale as porcelain, eyes as deep as obsidian. Steady, calm, but ever elusive.

"For what?" I responded.

She looked at me, knowingly with a gentle smile. She knew I had the answer, competent as I was. So, she refused to respond, instead, holding her hand out for a moment towards the moon, a golden band adorning her ring finger. A pledge of love.

She would marry her fiance soon.

Her question resonated once more in my head as I stared down at the calm waters.

Are you ready?

Or, perhaps.

Are you willing to put your life at stake?

“Go!” She cries at me, her voice mangled and raw—attempting to rouse me from my stupor. It takes Ulrich grabbing me by the arm and dragging me away from the sight before my legs find feeling once more and sputter to a momentary stop.

“No! We can’t just—”

“She’s gone.” He reasons sharply and pulls at me until I give, not an ounce of emotion in his voice. Yet the set of his face says a thousand words. He had watched her grow as a young girl. He would be the first to break the news to her fiance.

Sasha’s groans of agony reach the cusp of my ears, and the purple firmament of the portal barely brushes my nose. Ulrich tugs me past the film, and I snap my head back to glance at her one final time.

A figure cloaked in red stares down at her writhing form, nothing but a head of black hair from what my eyes see.

Until the world yawns back into existence.

—

“You want me to dye your hair?”

The wound of Joh’s death still lingers in the pit of my chest, festering and bubbling into an unending black maw that drains and drains. I feel an ache in the same spot the arrow had pierced him, as if the tip had shattered and taken root in the centre of my own heart.

It’s my fault.

“Yeah, just… Do whatever you want with it.” I glance up at Cadenza, sitting down on my bed. Surely, she sees the bags under my eyes, yet she says nothing, only looking at me similarly as she did the day we returned from The Nether without Sasha. She reaches into her own deerskin purse, pulling out a small wooden comb she’s kept on her as long as we’ve known each other—a keepsake from her mother's vanity before she was orphaned.

She sits herself down on the bed next to me, reaching for my unabashedly dishevelled hair. I haven’t brushed it since—

“Do you want to cut it?” Cadenza hums, beginning to work her way through the knots in my hair. It's moments like these where she feels like the mother I’ve never had. Yet, it's bold to call her such with no point of reference—so instead she remains my sister, even if not by blood. She has no qualms in the matter.

“No…” My eyes trail down to where my hair ends at top of my chest, I hardly remember why I grew it out so long in the first place. It must have been cut last on the day I left for the guard academy. Joh had sat me down with a pair of scissors and snipped it off himself. One of the few moments I can recall him being something of a true father.

The memories ache like bruised skin, a feeling not unfamiliar, stinging more the further I press on them.

We sit in silence for a few moments, nothing but the sound of her comb, occasionally catching on a knot where she gently tugs at it until it comes free.

“So, what will you do?”

“I told you, do whatever you—”

“Not that. You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

I bite at my bottom lip, brows setting in harsh lines against my forehead.

“It's not your fault.”

But, her reassurance means nothing. Not when I had sworn to protect him. The Lord of Meteli. The man who had adopted me. My father.

“Then who am I meant to blame?” My voice catches with emotion, agony—longing. A wish to turn back time that will never be fulfilled. “I’m not fit to be anyone's guard. Not even yours.”

“Nonsense.” Her hand pauses for a moment, and her tone finds a sternness she rarely takes with me, “You are one of the most capable guards in this land, Laurance. But, you are only human.”

Only human…

“Must I become something inhumane then to finally feel like I’m enough again?” The weight of my words fracture me like glass, scattered down to the depths of my soul. Yet, they are better spoken and set free than left to decay me any further.

“No, Laurance…” I can hear the frown in her voice as she reaches to hug me close to her chest from behind. Cadenza doesn’t say anything else for a long while, but I somehow know the sentiment that echoes in her mind.

You will always be enough for me.

—

Aphmau… Aph-ma-u… The name seems to linger on my tongue as she walks towards Hayden's home. Something about it is uncanny, in the same sense that water does not flow upwards, nor does your reflection wear a different expression than your own.

She seems ambitious enough, beautiful in a way I can’t quite place. It's not the slope of her nose, nor the shape of her eyes that draws me in. No, not even the plump of her lips. It's her entirety that's alluring in a way I almost want to describe as otherworldly—unnatural. All this I’m aware of, yet I have fallen still.

Enough so to make a blundering fool of myself with nothing but un-noteworthy words of grandiose and corny invitations to dinner. It is all I know to do, a familiar face I’ve adorned when speaking to women of the village. No one likes someone who is too pushy. It's the best I can do to avoid their machinations.

I want to study her, want to know what draws me towards her like no one else ever has. Peel away at her for as long as she allows me to—which doesn’t seem to be very much—just so I can find the root of this feeling festering in my chest. For her countenance is entirely ordinary, yet I have become a moth to a flame—for she is like the sun.

She returns the next day, tension high in the village, my own mind spinning circles around the disappearance of Cadenza. I cannot move from my post, fearing Kenmur and Hayden may rip each other's heads off should I leave, already at eachothers throats attempting to claim the position of Lord—Cadenza’s absence only adding fuel to their fire. So, Aphmau is something of a godsend when she agrees to search for Cadenza in my place.

One of many favours I will be indebted to her for.

—

Okay, okay…This isn’t good.

Scratch that.

This is awful.

The smell of The Nether, charred and burnt—brings back enough memories to turn my stomach—yet the urgency of the moment wills me to push forward. Now is no time to freeze up, not like last time.

I just need to get Cadenza and leave.

Sasha…Sasha, she’s alive somehow. Or is alive even the right word to use? I saw her with my own two eyes in Pheonix Drop. Yet, mere moments ago I had passed the spot she had sunken into the magma on that fateful day. Tried my best not to stare at it, a battle both in front and behind us, Aphmau’s voice beckoning for my help (she hardly even needed me), but I stuttered only for a moment to glance.

Surely enough, there was nothing to see but bubbling lava.

“Go, Aphmau! You need to leave!” I urge her—the spectre of The Shadow Lord pounding against the barrier Castor had quickly scrambled together.

“What?! I can't leave you here, Laurance!”

“Take Cadenza and leave! Now!”

Castor, of course, grabs Aphmau by the arm and begins to drag her down the stairs in which we came, Cadenza in hand. I just need to buy them some time, and then I’ll make an escape—surely.

I wonder how Sasha felt in her final moments as the lot of us sprinted to the portal, leaving her behind. She was already gone, I know, but I’ve spent nights mulling over the image. Her figure haunts me in my darkest dreams, cold, dead, ghastly fingers gripping at my shoulder, alongside Joh. A reminder of the weight on my back. The duty I serve.

So, this is the least I can do, right? The highest honour a guard can receive is to sacrifice themself. Well, that's what I was always told at the academy. Battered and bruised every morning and every night, they’d remind me what I’m fighting for. What they believed I was fighting for. The guard academy never questioned its students why they were there, everyone had a reason. All they assumed is that you’d chase honour just as the rest do. To a guard, there is nothing more important. Whether or not I fully agree with it… Whatever, surely now isn’t the time to dwell on it.

I can hardly breathe by the time I escape the fortress, the heat cooking me from the inside out. A group of mindless Shadow Knights skirt along my heels as I push past what my body deems capable in a full sprint towards the portal, and soon enough it comes into sight.

I made it. I—freeze to a halt at the sight of another man by the portal. His eyes are a striking green, much like my own, and I can almost make out something of an apology in them as he reaches to tamper with the purple warp that would guide me back home.

“What are you…”

It shatters. It shatters into a million pieces, as if it were the thinnest glass tempered. The portal lays there bare and empty, my exit gone.

Something within me fractures—slowly, at first. So slow, until I begin to feel the gaps between myself as if they were beneath my own fingertips, hardly noticing that I’ve been dragged off away from the portal, back into the fortress.

…

It’s difficult to piece together the moments of lucidity from that point on. I taste nothing but blood in the back of my throat, as pain finds its way onto every inch of my skin, stinging—burning. They bleed me out onto the warm, deep red floors of the fortress, and my mind begins to wonder where my blood ends and the ground begins in flash seconds of clarity. It's a miracle my heart still beats.

The fractures widen.

Sasha visits me in the prison alongside another man, my eyes bleary and mind disjointed. I can’t piece together how long I’ve been here for, how long they’ve tormented me.

“Just get it over with, Gene.” She glares at the man next to her, Gene, and he smirks.

“What? Can’t stand to see him this way, Sasha? Feeling sentimental?”

“No.” She retorts, jangling a key in her hand which presumably will open the door to my cell. “His blood is stinking up the place.”

“Do it yourself then.”

She scowls, unlocking the door to the cell and waltzing in. I’d move if possible, but more bones in my body are broken than I can still count. So, I simply stare at her. Watch her every move with sluggish eyes. Whisper her name in a broken plea. As if she were the Lady Irene herself—I beg for salvation.

She doesn’t seem to hear it, or perhaps, she doesn’t care to.

She pulls me up from my slump by the hair, taking a moment to glance me up and down before a bemused smirk finds her lips.

“You look awful.” It’s difficult to tell whether she’s talking about the orange hair, or the countless gashes across my skin.

I muster enough energy to spit blood at her face, leading her to recoil and drop me back onto the floor. My mind howls, yet my lips barely twitch.

“What? Wanted to look a little bit more like Cadenza?” She snickers in disgust, wiping my blood and spit from her cheek before digging her shoe into an open wound on my thigh. “Mommy can’t save you now, Laurance.”

No matter if this woman wears her face, this isn't the Sasha I once knew.

Further and further apart, the space between the shards reflect back a darkness in me I never knew.

"Shall we proceed then?" Gene questions from behind her, and Sasha takes a step to the side, generously lifting her foot off my wound, to allow him passage. "Looks like you won't hold out much longer if we just leave you here."

He crouches down to meet my gaze, and what I had assumed were black pits for eyes reveal themselves to be a deep, cerulean blue. For a moment, bleeding in sepia, I imagine myself back by the docks in Meteli. The fresh air, and the scent of salt wafting along the wind and through my hair. Reminded of the cool stream of the riverbed, Cadenza's figure perched along the grass, toes dipped in the water. I take in a deep breath—suffocated by the heavy, hot atmosphere of The Nether.

"Let me ask you, Laurance, why did you become a guard?" Gene questions, a menacing, blood tinged greatsword in his hand. The tip of the blade rests against my chest, right above my heart.

Every nerve in my body lurches, begging me to move. I can't.

"What's it… To you?" I muster out, voice hoarse, throat torn and dry.

"Just thought a reminder would be nice."

I stare at him for a few moments, perplexed. Until something about my gaze is so hilarious that he can't stop himself from laughing.

"Oh, no, not for me." He grins, "You're the one that's going to need it."

It's nothing but a moment of sharp pressure against my skin before the blade wedges itself into the centre of my heart.

And it stops.

What was once whole now shatters, two sides of one mirror—split apart. A few lone pieces scatter off into the abyss, memories and fondness that will never return, forever lost. The nothingness seeps in to fill the gaps, and the world itself is rendered to an absolute—agonising, euphoric and finite. The corporeal slips away, and the mind splinters down to the soul. A severance so deep that it cuts through the ligaments, separating the body from the spirit. All to make room for a new found darkness in the hollow space where the heart lies caged between the ribs.

And it starts.

Your body feels wrong. Every inch of your skin, every bone beneath. Every cell in your blood, every beat of your own chest. Its rhythm is wrong—you are wrong.

“Do you have a dream?”

So, so many. Yet they’re nothing but blank canvases once you glance back at them.

“Boy, tell me. Why do you swing this sword?”

You… You can't seem to remember.

"Are you ready?"

Have you ever been? Knowing this would be your fate, what answer would you have given her then?

“Must I become something inhumane then to finally feel like I’m enough again?”

How ironic to think back to that in such a moment. You have always been the nostalgic sort. But, most cruelly, a lone voice swims in the pits of your mind, so familiar, so soothing. Her voice that of a swan song. She sings her response which you never heard to begin with.

"You will always be enough for me."

Cadenza is safe, far far away from The Nether. For that, you may at least be proud of yourself.

Ah, right… That is why you swing your sword. To keep her smiling in every shining memory. Protecting your loved ones, a task you deemed to be ever so noble as a small child. To covet those moments, safely locked away in the soft spot of your heart.

Cadenza… Aphmau… The prospect of her alluring beauty somehow a guiding light in your disembodied mind. A lone dove in the darkness, a white, pure feather. Ethereal, delicate—intangible.

She would be prettiest pierced by the edge of your own blade.

Rest.

For this is only the beginning of your neverending strife.

—

(Time passes.

So much time passes.

You hardly recognize the person you started as before the entire journey began.

The world has shifted fifteen years. The trails you ran along as an orphaned boy now grown over and forgotten, the river you played in now dry, only its husk remaining. The town you once called home now a desolate ghost—an inconsolable wasteland of your once cherished memories.

Yet, you struggle to cherish them the same as you once had all those years ago.

So when Aphmau (Irene bless her lost soul) approaches you, asking for your advice in this war as she had done so before, you no longer have the words that will solve her issues. Not a single solution finds your tongue—for you are a wanderer, a mere rabid dog, leashed by devotion, just itching to bite.

The gaps you feel within yourself never seem to close up, no matter what you do.

All you can tell her is that you have no clue what this war will bring, and what devastation it will cause, but that it can only end in bloodshed.

Anxious, always on the tips of her toes, and eyes constantly over her own shoulder, her weariness begins to bleed in. She's exhausted, she dares not admit it—yet her eyes will never lie to you.

She asks you why war seems to always follow her.

You tell her that war will always wage, no matter where she goes or where she looks. Should she eradicate every threat that taints this land, there are other wars to worry of.

"Where?" She questions.

However, her face shifts in a painful understanding before you can even utter a word.

She seems to have found the answer herself.)

#laurance zvahl #mcd laurance #aphmau mcd #aphmau #minecraft diaries #aphverse #cadenza mcd

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jeankluv · 1 hour

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But daddy I love him - Satoru Gojo [ch.01]

Short series

Summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.

Tags of the series: +18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n.

ch.01 | ch.02 |

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

Note: this is going to be a short series, of around two or three chapters, it’s a way to say thank you for the 300 followers. The tags are in general for the series, in this chapter there are only suggestive language and some misogyny comments and actions, according to the time that is set. Oc and Satoru are +20

words: 4k

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You were on the beach, near the house, you had gone for a walk and read a book by the seashore. The morning was warm and your blue dress moved due to the sea breeze that hit you. Placing a lock of your hair behind your ear, you looked at the immense sea before you.

You had rarely left your place of residence and even less had you crossed the sea. But this was a fervent dream that you had longed for since you had started reading stories from different places in the world.

But your parents were strict and you had a weak body to be able to make that journey. So the only thing left was to long for something that would not happen and immerse yourself in your beloved books.

You turned the page of the book you had brought with you and continued reading. It was a romantic book, one of those that made butterflies flutter in your stomach with just words written on a piece of paper. You had always wondered if it really happened, if when you were in love with someone those butterflies appeared and fluttered.

You had never fallen in love, but you had always longed for it. You knew that when the time came, you would be married to someone, but the mere idea of marrying someone, with whom you could never feel those butterflies or any kind of affection, terrified you.

You were terrified of the idea of ending up like your parents and raising your children in a loveless home, like you had.

“It’s the book good, angel?” A deep voice spoke in front of you.

Resting the book against your chest, you looked up, meeting a face you didn't know. His gaze was sharp and even a little arrogant. You stayed watching him, while her gaze continued to rest on you and you felt like she was somehow undressing you with her. You held the book tighter to your chest and drew your legs up a little.

“Oh don’t be afraid princess. I don’t bite, unless you want me to.” You felt your face heat up at his words.

“Who are you?” You murmured.

“Satoru.” He said, giving a bite to the apple on his hand. “What are you reading angel?” He pointed to the book.

You hesitated, unsure if you should keep talking with that unkown man. “I think I should leave.” You said getting up carefully.

The man whose name was Sukuna cleared his throat. "Come on angel, don't tell me that my presence scared you."

“I would rather be alone sir.” You whispered. “Now I will take my leave.” You said turning around and moving fast across the beach.

You could still feel his gaze on you, never leaving you, not until you disappeared from his sight. Walking across the dirt road that connected your house to the beach, you looked back to make sure the man wasn't following you. Your breathing was labored and your heart was beating rapidly when you reached the door. Taking another breath through your nostrils, you straightened your back and put on the best of your smiles as you entered the house.

"Miss." One of the household maids approached you. “Her mother wants to see her.”

"Something happened?" You bowed your head.

“No, miss, I just want to talk to you about the dinner that will be held tonight.”

“Oh, yeah okay.” You nodded.

Still clutching the book to your chest, you walked through the house. You were not the wealthiest in the county, but your father had a good fortune and from time to time he held parties, in a desperate attempt to get one of the rich men to notice his daughter and thus marry her.

That night she would once again have to endure the lustful gazes of men three times her age, while she made excuses not to commit to them. But time was fleeting and his excuses were slowly running out.

You knocked on the door and heard your mother telling you to enter.

“Mother.” You bowed your head. “I heard you called me.”

“Yes.” She said. “Tonight as you know there will be a party in our house.” You nodded. “I want you to stay away from one of our guests.”

“Stay away? Wouldn't that be rude?”

“No. That man is no good news.” She stood up and walked to the window. “It doesn’t matter how wealthy he is, he is no good for our family.” Then she turned around and walked towards you. “So please my beautiful daughter, don’t you dare approach that man.” A shiver ran through your body when you saw your mother's threatening gaze and you nodded with fear.

“May I ask, what’s his name mother?” You said, still frightened.

“It's Duke Satoru Gojo. I heard he is good looking but besides that, there is nothing good about him.”

Satoru

That was the name of that man, wasn’t it?

“Is something wrong?” Your mother asked.

“No, nothing is wrong mother.” You responded feeling the nervousness in your words. “I retire to my room to start getting ready for the party.” Your mother nodded and you left the room.

You walked back to your room, thinking about the man once again. Just thinking about him sent a shiver down your spine. Mother had asked you not to approach him, but you had the feeling that he would be the one to approach you. Remembering your meeting on the beach, you wouldn't have thought he was a lord or anything like that. To tell the truth, you thought that he was one of the villagers in town who wanted to bother you, for the way he was dressed up.

He was wearing a white shirt, with the top buttons unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up. With just one glance you could see that he was well toned. A subtle blush appeared on your face as you realized what you were thinking about. You shook your head to get rid of those improper thoughts.

“My lady?” A knock on your door brought you back.

“Rose!” You smiled at your maid.

“I’m here to start your preparations for tonight’s party.” She smiled with a small nod.

“That’s perfect. Let’s begin.”

And before you realized it, you were already putting on the final touches of your makeup and the sun had already set on the horizon of the sea. Rose said goodbye to you when you headed towards the door and with a firm step you headed to the entrance where the guests were waiting and where that man would surely also be.

Going down the stairs, you stood next to your parents, to welcome the guests arriving at the party. The faces of people already familiar and new, passed by one by one. Feeling a relief in your chest when you saw that that man did not appear, you entered the party. There were hardly any people your age or people with whom you could start a conversation that you liked.

“My lady?” You turned to see the face of the man who had called you.

He was a marquis from near the capital, he was approximately 40 years old, you heard that his wife died and now he was looking for a young girl to remarry and thus give him a male heir.

Taking a step back you greeted him. "Sir." You put on the best of your smiles.

“You look absolutely beautiful, my lady.” He flattered you, bringing the glass of wine to his mouth, his face was dyed a soft red so, it was more than evident, that this was not his first glass of wine. “It's a shame no one has courted you yet.” He said taking a step forward, you took one step back.

“The right man hasn’t appeared yet, sir.” You wanted to escape that conversation as soon as possible.

“My lady, how about I invite you to my country side house and let me court you properly?” He raised his hand so you could place yours on top of it.

Your mouth went dry and your hands started to shake. “I…” You wanted to say no, but that would be nonsense and disrespectful.

“I think the lady is not very interested in an insect like you.” A deep voice spoke behind you.

A chill ran down your spine when you heard that voice. It was him.

You raised your face to see him standing behind you, with a frivolous smile looking at the marquis you were conversing with.

”Duke Satoru Gojo, excuse me. How are you? I didn’t expect to see him at this party.” The marquis who seconds ago possessed tremendous confidence was now shaking like a wet puppy.

“Pretty annoyed, because I have to see insects like you believing themselves to be something they're not.” He scratched his head and took a step forward, standing at your height. “Now disappear from my sight.” You trembled as you heard his tone and saw his murderous look.

Who was that man? Your gaze was fixed on him and you did not see the marquis flee the place in terror. When you realized you were both alone and he looked at you with those same hungry eyes with which he had looked at you that morning on the beach.

“Angel, we met each other once again.” He bowed a little. “You look even more beautiful than this morning.” He tangled one of your locks in his finger.

“Duke.” Taking a step back from him, you bowed to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You said without looking at his eyes.

Mother told you to stay away from him, so you needed to escape from there as soon as possible.

“Oh I’m a bit disappointed that you won’t look at me.” You heard him chuckling. “You are scared of me little one?”

“Sorry duke, but I must take my leave.” Trying to move away from him, he held your wrist pressing you against his torso.

“Careful angel.” He whispered into your ear, causing your legs to tremble at his warm breath. “You almost dumped into the waiter.”

And then you noticed, the waiter that was there holding the tray with more drinks. "I’m so sorry." You told the waiter.

The waiter shook his head and smiled at you, leaving your sight. "You have to be more careful angel, you could have hurt yourself." He whispered again against your ear.

“Thank you…” You whispered, releasing you from his grip and separating you from his muscular body.

Being close to him, his warmth and touch had caused a strange feeling in you.

“Angel, are you avoiding me?” His face came dangerously close to yours and your cheeks turned a subtle crimson red.

“No duke, that would be rude.” You looked down to your feet.

“So angel, how about you join me for a walk on this warm summer night.” He extended his hand towards you.

Your heart was beating strongly in your chest, doubting what you should do. Your mind wandered to the conversation with your mother, where she implored you to stay away from that man. But your heart wanted to grab that hand of his and take you for a walk that night. With your hand trembling you grabbed the duke's hand and together you left the house.

The cold of the night hit your body, causing you to shrink subtly, trying not to let your body heat escape. Instinctively you squeezed your hand, causing you to squeeze the duke's hand subtly. Realizing this, you moved your hand away and placed it against your chest, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

The duke looked you up and down and took off his jacket, slinging it over your shoulders. You don't know if it was because of the jacket or because of the gesture, but you felt an intense heat settle on your face.

“Thank you duke.” You murmured holding into his jacket.

The duke just nodded and continued walking. Your gaze focused on his back and your mother's words echoed in your head again. You still had time to return to the party and ignore that you had been with that man there, but as before your heart decided for you and you walked following his step.

“So angel.” He spoke, taking what it looked like a cigarette out of his pocket. “Was the book you were reading good?”

“Yeah… it was.” His voice was making you feel things.

“What was it about?” He put the cigarette on his mouth and smiled at you while lighting up.

“About…” Your words didn’t want to come out of your mouth. “About a girl and boy that fell in love and escaped.”

“Oh… interesting.” He smiled. “You still don’t seem to trust me very much angel. Did someone talk bad about me?”

“No duke, not at all.” You hated to lie but you couldn’t expose your mother or else things could get complicated for your family.

“I don’t like when beautiful girls lie.” You felt his hand under your chin. “Tell me angel. What did they say about me?”

You trembled under his touch. “That… that you are no good news.”

With a crooked smile he spat the cigarette smoke away from you. “And that’s what you think, princess?” He asked you, narrowing his gaze.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to meet the duke, so I can not give an opinion.”

With a smile and with the cigarette between his teeth, he removed his hand from under your chin and walked to a stone seat overlooking the sea and sat there. You looked at his figure, muscular and large, feeling that heat in you again.

“Angel, don’t be shy and sit here with me.” He extended his hand and gestured for you to come closer. “I would like to know more about the beautiful lady of this house.”

You sat down next to him, placing your hands thighly on your knees, still nervous due to his presence.

“Ask me whatever you want, angel. I already told you.” He got near you. “I won’t bite you, unless you ask me to.”

Taking a deep breath, you spoke. “Why do you have a bad reputation?”

“Well…” He chuckled. “People think I killed my brother, to take the title and the power.”

“But those surely are just rumors right?” Your heart was beating faster and faster with each passing second.

“Maybe I did kill him, angel.” You began to feel dizzy, was he for real? “Don’t look at me like that angel, I didn’t kill him. My brother was clumsy and an idiot, he died due to his clumsiness but I loved him, at the end of the day he was my brother.” He threw the cigarette away. “But everyone started to believe that lie and to say I manipulated him because the title, instead of going to his son, it was leave it to me.” He shrugged. “Do you still think I’m bad angel?”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry you have to face those rumors.”

“How sweet of you angel.” He smiled. “That man… he wanted to marry you, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“Someone your age would be expected to be already married.” He pointed out.

“Yeah but I have a weak body, so my parents are trying to push it away.” You explained.

“Are they?” You looked at him confused. “Or are you?”

“What do you mean? I would never…”

“Princess it seems to me that you don’t want to marry any of those old insects and that you use the bland excuse of having a poor body to get away with it.” He cockily smiled. “I’m wrong?”

“That’s a gross lie, I would never lie about my body being weak.” You blurted out, embarrassed by his words.

He chuckled softly. “Okay angel, I will try to believe in your words.” He turned to face you. “But honestly, you would need a better match than those suitors your parents want to assign you. A princess like you doesn't deserve to be with those insects.”

You looked down. “I don’t have a say on what my father chooses for me. Once the moment comes, I will marry the person he chooses for me.”

“And that’s what you want, angel?” You felt his breath on your ear. “Or you want one of those love stories?”

You took a deep breath. “Those stories never come true, I’m destined to marry someone I won’t love, but you know.” You smiled looking at him. “Maybe with time love can happen.”

“Or maybe it never happens and you are unhappy for the rest of your life.” He said with those eyes all over you.

“Why are you telling me these things duke? Isn't it a bit rude to be talking like that to a lady?” You said.

“Is it?” He tilted. “I don’t know angel.” He stood up and you followed him with your gaze. “So you say you will marry anyone your father chooses. Interesting.” He smirked and watching that smirk, it made your body tremble.

You watched as he took a pocket watch out of his pocket and how he looked at it. “Duke…” You called him. “Why did you come to the party?” It was a question you have been wanting to ask since your mother informed you he was coming. “I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but the travel from your residence to here is quite long.”

He put the watch back in his pocket and smiled at you. “Just wanted to see with my own eyes how beautiful the lady of the house was or if the rumors were all fake.” He held your hand and brought it to his lips. “And the rumors were not wrong.” He said planting a kiss on your knuckles.

Your legs shook as the duke sank his teeth into the fabric of your gloves and gently began to remove it. But the real weakness came when he ran his tongue between your fingers while his piercing eyes were fixed on you.

An immense heat was established in the lower area of your abdomen and as much as you wanted to remove your hand from its touch, the pleasant sensation it was causing in you, prevented it.

“I will keep this glove with me, angel.” He kissed the glove and put it in his pocket. “We will see each other again soon, angel.”

And you watched him walk away, disappearing in the darkness of the night. You stayed on the bench for a few minutes, thinking about what just happened and feeling a new sensation on your body that you could not quite understand.

Standing back up you walked back to the house, getting welcomed by the noise of the people speaking, singing and dancing.

“Where were you?” Your mother appeared. “And whose jacket is that?” She raised your voice.

“I was outside and a…”

“Outside on your own?” She held your arm.

“Mother, you’re hurting me…” You whispered.

“Don’t tell me you were being a slut in our garden?” She asked you.

“What? Mother no, I was just taking fresh air.” You felt how your eyes got wet. “Please mother.”

“Agh.” She let your arm go. “Come with me, your father is going to introduce you to someone.” She turned around and walked.

You followed her in silence and with your head low, still feeling scared for your mother’s tone and angry look on her face. When you looked back up, you saw your father talking with a man, an unknown man for you. He looked the same age as your parents and was laughing with your father while smoking and drinking.

“Oh!” Your father said. “Look Marquis Harrison, this is my one and only daughter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.” You bowed your head.

“You have a really beautiful daughter.” The man spoke looking at your father.

“Yeah.” Your father laughed. “And you know Marquis Harrison, she is still unmarried and in the perfect age to to conceive.”

You felt your pulse accelerate and your breathing shorten, while you listened to your father speak. You knew where that conversation was going and you didn't want it to get to that point, you didn't want to marry that man.

You felt like the corset was tightening you more and more and how it was difficult for you to breathe with each passing moment.

Duke Satoru had been right, you had been lying about having a weak body and you had been paying gold coins to your personal doctor to corroborate it. But that excuse would soon be exhausted.

“Oh it’s that right my lady?” The man spoke to you.

You noticed the vein in your neck throbbing strongly, you felt like you would faint at any moment.

“Answer to Marquis Smith.” Your mother, angrily whispered to you.

“I…”

“Angel.” That deep voice again. “I totally forgot about my jacket.” He approached you causing all eyes to fall on him and then on you when he was in front of you.

Your cheeks turned red as you saw his face again, as if something about him had an instant effect on you.

"What does this mean?" Your mother raises her voice.

“Oh ma'am, I'm afraid I didn't get a chance to properly introduce myself to the hosts of the party.” He turned to face your parents. “I am Duke Satoru Gojo, thank you for inviting me to this party.” He smiled, bowing slightly and placing her hand on her chest.

“Are you the one who gave the jacket to my daughter?” Your mother asked.

“That's right ma'am, I found her daughter outside getting some air and I lent her my jacket.” He lied.

Your mother took two steps towards you and she grabbed you tightly by her arm, she didn't care that all eyes were on you. “Didn't I tell you to stay away from him, don’t tell me you are a slut who spreads her legs out there?”

“Mother please.” You felt your eyes sting.

Your father shook his head. “Our daughter is a bit poorly raised, Duke, we are sorry if something uncomfortable could have happened.” You felt like crying at that very moment, you wanted someone to get you out of there. You needed someone to do it.

The duke looked at you and then at your father. "I think the only rude people here are the hosts of this party, who dedicate themselves to humiliating their only daughter in front of all the guests, while trying to marry her to the highest bidder." The Duke's words came out like darts from his mouth and his gaze was so extremely sharp, you would swear he could cut the air.

“How dare you…” your father blurted out with his face slightly red.

“I want to marry your daughter.” The duke cut your father.

A loud gasp was heard in the room and you looked at him stunned.

“Stay away from her.” Your mother blurted, still holding your arm thighly.

He completely ignored your mother. “I will be staying in the house, so your daughter and I can meet better.” He sharply looked at your dad. “I hope this is not an impediment or I will have to contact his majesty the King.” He threatened.

"Alright." Your father stammered, looking at the ground. The duke turned and removed your mother's grip on your arm.

He lifted your chin with his hand and smiled. “Now we can see each other more, angel.”

You swallowed dryly, looking into his eyes and feeling that flame light up inside you once again.

#gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #fanfic jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x you

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