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revasserium · 3 months

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hiii can i pls request zayne with prompt 60 “home”? also love ur writing btw and i look forward to reading more of ur works <333

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

60. home

zayne; 2,264 words; fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", whipped!zayne, implied sex, fade to black, zayne being a simp as per usual

summary: a friday afternoon

a/n: idk i just love writing dialogue for zayne he's so !!!!

The Hospital - Friday, 4:36PM

Linoleum floors and fluorescent lights; the smell of antiseptic, the rhythmic beeps and hums of heart rate monitors and nebulizer machines. He spends too much time here, knows the flow of the hospital like he knows the web of arteries and capillaries in the human body, the wards branching off of each other, the hustle and bustles of nurses and staff familiar, oppressive.

It is only in the quiet of his own office, with its big windows and even bigger piles of paperwork (be it virtual or physical), that he ever allows himself to relax. He glances at the vase of brightly colored tulips on his desk and allows himself a grin. He remembers the shape of you, can feel the weight of your hand in his as you’d tugged him around the farmer’s market on Sunday morning, pointing at the various vendors, asking to try a bite of this and a bit of that, until finally, you’d come across the flower seller — a middle-aged woman with a sweet smile and a gleeful glint in her eyes as she explained about the language of flowers.

“There’s sunshine in your smile,” you’d repeated, looking down at the yellow tulips before grinning up at Zayne.

“Perfect for you, isn’t it?”

He could hear the tease in your voice, see that familiar playful twinkle in your eyes and he’d raised an eyebrow before wordlessly handing over a few bills from his wallet.

And now the flowers sit, quiet save for all their brilliance, on his desk, in a simple vase filled with crystal-clear water. He stares at it for a second longer before pulling out his phone and swiping it open to your contact.

Coming home early today, he texts. Immediately, a typing bubble appears, and a second later, a short shoomp sound as your reply appears on his screen —

oh? dr. zayne leaving work early??? is the sun setting in the east today?

He chuckles to himself before dialing your line and a second later, your voice answers, a little hesitant.

“Hello?”

“If you’re going to be sarcastic, at least do it in person.”

Shuffling noises, and then — “Not my fault you’re never around for me to be mean to you in person.”

Zayne leans back in his chair with a sigh, “Hn. How’s shopping with Tara?”

“Fun! But my legs are getting tired…”

“I can meet you at the main shopping center around 5:30.”

A moment of quiet, and then “Ah… but that’s still an hour from now…”

Zayne scoffs, “I could stay till 7PM like I usually do —”

“No, no! That’s… that’s not what I meant — I’ll see you at 5:30, then? Don’t be late!”

You end the call before he can protest and for a second, Zayne stares at the screen, the picture of your smiling face fading after another few seconds as the phone screen darkens.

“Doctor? Your next patient is here,” the nurse calls through his closed door.

“Yes, I’ll be right there.” Zayne glances once more at the yellow tulips on his desk before pushing himself up and adjusting his white coat. He’ll have to make a note to change the water soon.

City Center Shopping Mall - Friday, 5:38PM

“You made it!”

Zayne turns at the sound of your voice to find you slightly breathless as you jog up to him, coming to a stop a few steps away.

“You sound surprised.”

A blush dusts your cheeks as you avert your eyes, “I — I’m not! I just thought… you might be a bit later than this.”

Zayne keeps his expression neutral even as he reaches out to take your hand, casually lacing his fingers between yours. He feels you give him a small squeeze and contents himself with letting you take the lead as the pair of you start to wander through the mall, glancing at the window displays.

“Oh… that smells good!” you both pause as the smell of scallions and garlic warms the air. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, “I think it’s coming from that restaurant over there! Tara was telling me that it just opened a week ago and it’s already going viral online for their stuffed pancakes —”

“C’mon then.” Zayne starts off for the restaurant.

“W-wait! We don’t have a reservation! We’ll never get in!”

Zayne keeps walking, gently tugging you behind him till you both round the corner to see a truly impressive line outside the restaurant doors. He walks passed the massive line straight to the front where a smiling girl in a flowery apron stands at an electronic podium, taking down the names of the next party in line.

“Is Liam here?”

“O-oh! Uhm, I think so!” the girl blinks, surprised as she looks down at her reservation list, “May I ask who’s asking?”

“Zayne.”

The girl nods as she slips into the restaurant. Beside him, you look up, confused.

“Do you know someone here?”

Zayne nods but doesn’t explain any further as the smiling girl comes back and motions for you both to follow her.

“Right this way Dr. Zayne! Enjoy your meal!”

Zayne gives your hand a small tug as you stumble after him, the confusion on your face blossoming into something like surprise as the pair of you duck into the bustling restaurant to be greeted by an enthusiastic young man, around Zayne’s age, his sleeves rolled up, a bandana tied around his forehead.

“Zayne! You should’ve told me you were coming!”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Zayne supplies, shaking Liam’s hand firmly, pulling you into his side even as Liam’s eyes slide onto you.

“Oh… is this the girl you were always talking about back in —”

“I think we’ll take a booth in the back, thanks,” Zayne cuts him off with a loud cough, already making for the back of the restaurant. Liam laughs good-naturedly, leading you both to a booth tucked in the very corner, away from most of the noise and bustle.

You inch into the booth, casting Zayne a curious look.

“Is that the owner? How do you know him?”

Zayne doesn’t look up as he glances over the menu before pushing it towards you.

“We went to medical school together. Pick anything you want, it’s all very good.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “And he decided to become a chef instead?”

Zayne’s lips twitch, “Is that so unbelievable?”

You shrug, looking down at the menu at last, pursing your lips, “No… it’s just… did he drop out of med school then?”

Zayne shakes his head, “No, he was one of the best in our year.”

“Oh. Then…?”

Zayne taps the menu, “I thought you were hungry.”

You blush, looking down, “I am!”

It’s not till the middle of the meal that Zayne speaks again —

“He said it didn’t make him happy.”

You look up, your cheeks bulging with food. Zayne watches you swallow with a concerted effort, reaching out to wipe at your lips with an indulgent smile even as you swat at his hand.

“Liam? About… being a doctor?”

“Yes. And… in a way, I understood him. He said that the kitchen’s always felt more like home.”

You purse your lips, looking at your half-eaten stuffed pancake.

“Then… does the hospital feel like home? To you?”

Zayne chuckles, leaning forward to add some more veggies to your bowl with his chopsticks.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Then…” you trail off, waiting for his answer. There’s a familiar color seeping into your cheeks as Zayne looks you over before his eyes flicker down to your bowl.

“Eat. Or else the veggies will go cold.”

Zayne’s Apartment - Friday, 7:01PM

“I’m so full!” you slump down onto his couch with a long sigh, patting your stomach.

“You were the one who wanted seconds of dessert,” Zayne says, hanging up his coat and turning to join you on the couch. You make a small noise as he lifts your legs and lays them across his lap, his thumbs absently digging into the backs of your calves.

“Ow…” you make to jerk your leg away as he hits a knot but he only grips your ankle and pulls it back with a soft tut.

“Hold still.”

You bury your face in one of the couch cushions as he continues to silently knead at your calf muscles.

“There, better?” his voice is soft now, tugging on the frayed ends of your subconscious as you turn your head to blink at him, a bit dazed.

“Yeah… lots better. Thanks.”

You make to get up but he loops an arm around your back and lifts you easily from the couch, bridal style.

“Zayne?”

“You’re staying the night, right?” he asks, even as he makes for the bedroom.

“I — I am?”

He glances down at your face as he sets you down on his bed.

“I can still drive you home if you want —” He makes to pull away.

“No! I — I can stay. I mean — I want to stay.” You reach up to tug at his shirt, fingers crumpling the material as he stills. You can feel your cheeks blazing as his gaze flickers over your face before settling on your lips.

“Alright then.”

There’s a breath’s pause before you give his shirt another tentative tug and he tips forward with the motion, leaning in to brush his lips against yours.

A soft groan bubbles out of you as Zayne presses you back and back and back, until he’s caged over you, trailing hot lips down the line of your neck, skimming his teeth along your collarbones.

“Mm — Z-Zayne…?”

He pulls back, his eyes a bit unfocused as he looks you over — you can feel the weight of his gaze as it flutters over the planes and ridges of your face, from the arch of your brows to the line of your nose. You can’t help blushing beneath this intense scrutiny, and you tug once more at his shirt, your fingers somehow having inched up to his collar, one of your fingers hooked into the top loop of his buttons.

He reaches up to cover your hand with his, fingers easily curling around your smaller hand.

“What is it?”

You lick your lips, stomach twisting, the base rumble of his voice sending shivers shaking through your body.

“Nothing just… I don’t remember you drinking at dinner so…”

He leans down to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand before dropping it back to his shirt collar.

“No, but… alcohol’s not the only thing that might cause someone to lose hold of their senses…”

You watch as his eyes darken at your intake of breath, the way his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly.

“Then…” you swallow, eyes fluttering shut as you feel his lips trail back up your neck to your jaw.

“Are you going to make me say it?”

You let out a tiny whimper as he presses a leg up between yours, his breath now hot against the lobe of your ear.

“Say… what?”

Zayne pulls back just far enough to cock an eyebrow at you. And like this, you’ve never seen anything so alluring — the sight of him with his shirt tugged open, his eyes blown dark with desire, his hair slightly mussed from your eager fingers, his lips kissed pink, his cheeks warm with color.

“Hn. Is this my punishment then?”

“For what?”

“For being late to meet you.”

You fight back a grin, “Well… you did say I could be mean to you in person.”

Zayne lets out a sigh, “Alright then.”

You walk your fingers up his chest before pushing him back till you’re both sitting up again. He waits patiently for you to push him down and straddle his hips, slowly tugging open the buttons of his shirt, loosening his tie till it hangs undone around his neck. You lean in to press a soft kiss to his chest and revel in the way he hisses.

His fingers reach up for your hips and you catch them with a quick shake of your head.

“No touching… not till I say.”

Zayne stares at you for a second before relaxing and letting his hands fall back onto the sheets.

And it’s not until you lean down to kiss at his exposed abdomen that he groans, head tipping back. Then, a second later, you find yourself pinned beneath him, breathless, Zayne towering over you with parted lips, the moon casting stark shadows along the lines of his face.

“I said you could be mean… I didn’t say I wouldn’t retaliate.”

After, when the pair of you are curled into each other like pieces of jigsaw puzzle that’s finally found its missing parts, his breath warm along the nape of your neck, Zayne finds himself smiling.

“It’s always been you…” he murmurs, though he’s nearly certain you’re already asleep, your breathing sweet and level, your body pliant and perfect against his.

He laces his hands between yours and drops a soft kiss onto the skin of your bare shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter what I do… or where I do it… because my home has always been… you.”

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the-official-account · 1 year

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Do you love detective stories but hate cops?

Do you love gay detective stories and hate capitalism?

Like disabled main characters who's disability actually comes up?

Like characters of color but not in the mood for stories on racism?

Tempted by the thought of romance at ages of 30+?

Does the idea of stories so queer you'll hesitate before calling any character a "man" or a "woman" make you think "Ah, yes pronoun shenanigans, just like my discord used to make"

And you into an abundance of strong, diverse female and nonbinary characters?

Do you fight for women's wrongs?

I know rep-only recommendations can be annoying, but I'm trying to grab your attention to promote some Indie media. Luckily, though, this post isn't rep-only!

To read my full reccomendation and review of Three of Hearts, click below. ♦️♥️♣️♠️

And if you aren't in the mood for a new thing right now, consider reblogging! Maybe even ping a friend who might be into this! You love supporting queer indie creators!

Note: I am not involved with the making of the show or the game space Kings. I just really like this podcast.

The story

♠️♣️♥️♦️Three of Hearts♦️♥️♣️♠️ centers on two paragovernmental agents in a fantasy, post-war, queernormative 1950s.

Roughly 20 years before the opening, a set of heroes purged magic from the world to turn the tide of the war. But scraps of this thaumaturgic energy still remain. S.U.I.T.S (securing unpredictable injurious thaumaturgic situations) is an agency founded to deal with everything left behind.

When two of the longest standing employees at S.U.I.T.S, Agent Vellum and Agent Felspar, are called onto a new case involving stone crops and a missing person, Felspar isn't surprised (Though Vellum, who's injury had him doing desk work most of his career, is). Things devolve quickly when the Agents realize this case comes from Felspar's home town of Cloven heart, an idyllic magical village that prefers to handle justice on it's own.

Answers yield only more questions, as the Agents realize almost everyone in town has something to hide, and Felspar isn't the only one whose past keeps catching up to him:

How much magic is still around? What's Vellum got sloshing around in there that people think is so juicy? What is Diamond, elven pop star and queer icon, doing in such a small town? Just how big is this case, and how can the Agents balance their legal responsibility, with promises they've made to Cloven Heart?

WHEN. WILL. THEY. JUST. KISS?

(if you're skeptical about central romances, I get it! See notes on aro/aceness and platonic relationships in the rep section for more info)

The combination of magic and newfangled war tech — think telegrams and radios — is somehow just as charming as a rotating cast of characters who will each stake their claim on your heart, but betrayal is imminent and mistrust is rife. The story strikes a wonderful balance between slice of life goodness, and edge-of-your-seat high drama, culminating In a show I highly recommend.

But are they just reskinned cops: my answer has got to be no. While they are technically law enforcement, the main two are entering a commune-like space, where that isn't so welcome. It's a situation they treat with caution and respect. The classic cop-plot of "Should I make myself judge, jury, and executioner because The Bad Guy™ deserves punishment" just isn't a problem. The justice system isn't perfect, in our world or the show's, and the story acknowledges that. But in a social, cultural way, they don't act like cops. They DO act like detectives. But the rules they choose to break and the ones they choose to follow will hopefully satisfy my fellow cop-haters who crave a good mystery

The format

♠️♣️♥️♦️Three of Hearts♦️♥️♣️♠️ is an Indie actual play — this is not DnD, hear me out — podcast in the game Space Kings. All the tension of dice rolls, without drawn out combat or clunkiness, it's a breeze of story-forward listening, even if you've never listened to actually play podcasts before!

If you've tried dnd actual plays, and haven't like the flow of them, I would recommend trying this. A few encounters that may feel random (though they're not) get the story kicked off at a fast pace, but it quickly settles into a story with a tight plot, great pacing, and impactful character development.

The use of a playing card deck to see the outcomes of risky actions means that no matter what happens, success or failure, the tension keeps rising. And the hosts do a wonderful job of explaining mechanics in the show, so it never interrupts the listening experience.

Actual-play connessuires who want to primarily see people playing a game might not be satisfied, as bonuses are given liberally, and I would describe the podcast as more story focused than game focused, But the risks are ALWAYS real, sometimes (often) with thrilling, shocking outcomes.

Also concerned AP listeners should know there's some chaos magic involved! I was surprised when it first came up, and doubtful about how it might affect the story, but it ended up weaving into the rest of the plot really well, and I feel neither like it had no affect, nor like it shook up everything the party was building in an unsatisfying way. Personally I would have preferred to go in knowing it was there, but I also don't think it's major enough to belong in the main synopsis. Now you know, though!

The hosts make a real effort to blend stats and story, and I think the pull it off wonderfully without spending too much time on mechanics. If you want to see that though, session 0 and other details are on the Patreon (where you get the same content no matter how much you pay, at a minimum of a dollar a month).

The pod has all the lighthearted fun and banter of a "friends around the table" show, but never once have I had that "oh my god, I'm not a part of your inside joke, shut up and play!" Feeling.

I think it's a delight for AP and non-AP fans alike.

The episodes: roughly 45- 75 minutes long, with a midtro and some post-end music scenes, so listen through the end music, or check that there isn't extra content by seeing how close the play head is when the end music starts. It's not too long and quite pleasant in my opinion! The midtros always come at a nice moment to step back from the story, and are not too long and not irritating. I enjoyed listening to them! At some point, a midtro starts getting reused, and I was slightly disappointed I wasn't hearing new jokes every episode, but it's a small thing. I skip the repetitive ones with my 30 seconds forward button, and while I haven't timed the Intro, that's worked really well for me. I don't have to fiddle with my play head to make sure I don't skip forward too far. Super convient.

Trigger warnings: the show is pretty lighthearted! Listeners sensitive non-graphic mentions of needles, blood, and/or guns might want to skip on this one, but most episodes don't get heavy. The few that do have pre episodes notes that warn you things get dark, how they get dark, and how to skip the darkest bits. Personally, I listened through them and enjoyed those parts a lot! But if that's not your thing, I agree with the warning that they're very skippable, and I think trigger-sensitive listeners will be pleased. As an indie pod, there are no fan made, super specific lists of triggers. However, my DMs are always open if you have particular concerns, and I'll answer to the best of my ability.

I try to emphasize the balance between lightheartedness and drama, but if you mental health is sensitive to grim & dark media, i think this one is pretty safe. Please always exercise caution! But I'd describe 30♥️s as emotionally restful.

Transcripts: transcripts are in the works, but do not currently exist. Three of Hearts is a non-scripted show, so those are also unavailable

The rep

Don't you hate when someone raves about rep and you go in expecting something good and get like. One dog-boy described as having "chocolate colored skin"? Or when people make a "watch for rep" post and then mention like. Gay and maybe trans people and that's it, even when shows DO have disability and POC rep? Yeah that's not me. Here's the spoiler free rundown, race is at the bottom because I get into more detail with it, not because it isn't important:

Edit: For more on some of these topics from a hosts perspective, see the reblogged addition by @/citrusandsalt

MLM characters: Main characters, one confirmed bi the other unknown

Wlw characters: Reoccurring side characters (present or mentioned in every episode I think) Married. Orientation unspecified.

Enby love: LOTS. It's actually hard to really categorize mlm and wlw stuff because almost every character is nonbinary. Anyways— it's VERY queer

Women: I...I don't know exactly which characters are women 😂. But there are many feminine characters, and they're badass as fuck. Some are compassionate, some are cold, some are chaotic, most are a mix! The two main characters are...masculine...(I say with much hesitation) but you will not feel robbed for your woman-ly content.

Non-traditional family structures: All of the families in the story, pretty much, are non-traditional. Adoption is super common. (You want some wlw who just KEEP adopting kids? You got em) Found family is a MASSIVE force in the story. Also, It's a post-war story.........which is to say almost everyone's parents are dead.

Edit: an MC had poly parents, which may not be obvious but is true!

Polyamory: to my knowledge so far, there are polyam characters, and it is definitely present in the world! But no poly relationships in the forefront. I am about 2/3 through the current episodes, so there may be a present polyamorous relationship later, but also if I confirmed it that would be a spoiler. This may be that "playing it by ear" thing that happens with ttrpgs. I wouldn't listen for the hope of polyamory alone, but I don't tell you it's not there/won't happen.

Trans characters: almost all of them. Might think "oh there are only a few!" And you are wrong. You are so wrong.

Neopronoun users: yup! To my knowledge, minor characters. A handful who use at least he/she/they or they/them and may also use neos in a manner im forgetting

Plurality: no system characters yet, but the creators are friendly, I asked ;)

Platonic relationships: YES. As an aro person who hates so many romance tropes this one gets my stamp of approval. There's no real jealousy drama, exes who communicate and are supportive, and romance doesn't kill friendships. There's a central sibling relationship and non-familial platonic ones that have conflict, drama, resolutions, and a deeply satisfying significance in the story. If you don't like romance at all, this one might not be for you. If you just don't like stories exclusively about romance, I think you'll enjoy this. Genre wise, I'd definitely describe three of hearts as a mystery primarily with a strong romantic subplot, not a romance itself, and that comes through in player and character's additives and priorities.

Aro/ace characters: none confirmed yet to my knowledge. Romance is very central, sex is joked about on occasion but it isn't at the forefront of the story at all. There are many, single characters who are thriving.

Edit: Actually! There is one character who discusses demiromanticism in cannon that I forgot, and another confirmed out of cannon character who is ace. Both are non-main major characters!

Age diversity: the youngest characters in the show are older to middling teens, and the oldest are in their 400s. Okay but the oldest in human terms are roughly 60-70. The most common age range, and the ones the central characters are in, is 30-40. The second most common is that 60-70, then some ~40-50 folks here and there, with people in their 20s being probably the rarest (no named ones off the top of my head?) And there are a small number of teens. This is not a story about youth and youthful beauty. Generally, the older a character becomes the most bad ass/spooky powerful they are, and older characters are very involved in the plot.

Mental illness and neurodivergency: to my knowledge so far no characters are in cannon confirmed to have a specific mental illness or ND, though I wouldn't be surprised if it was part of a character or the main characters, and just hadn't come up. Listeners with cluster b or "scary" disorders, or with conditions that may cause them to lash out, will find satisfaction with how compassionately the narrative treats werefolk. To say more encounters spoilers. I would also say that depression, while the word isn't used and it is not central to the story, is present as a narrative force, and also treated wisely and with compassion. Still, as is usually for a good story, all of these bitches need therapy.

Disability: LOTS. There's a lot of "different, not broken" themes that disabled listeners are likely to love, but both of the main characters are disabled! One is a cane user, the other experiences migraines. These have a genuine, pressing, mechanical impact on the story. It's COMES UP. It's a real joy. For a magical world, there is no magical healing! Or there is, but it isn't a perfect solution, which in my opinion is just a magical version of real healing, though yours may differ! Also, there is a minor, reoccurring character who's a wheelchair user, and I think he's really fun.

Disfigurement: Excuse me if I am not prepared with the most sensitive way to speak about this, but I'm doing my best! There is a character with no eyes or nose, who is central and lovely. To my knowledge, there are no amputee characters or characters with limb differences (of the wheelchair user I'm not sure if it's specified whether or not he has legs). There is a character of questionable morality who has significant facial and bodily disfigurement. In as few spoilers as possible: this was not injury or genetic related. The disfigurement is treated with a firm compassion, and does not exist as a "this character is evil" signal. It's a long arc, but I imagine people who relate will be satisfied, though I cannot speak for anyone.

Characters of color: many! The main two are Hispanic and Asian. Terms like "dark skinned" are used for characters, but in the fantasy world race doesn't exactly translate, and I wouldn't call it "important" in this story. Read more about race below:

Fantasy racism: sort of! The word "race" is used to mean "humanoid species" and I know some folks don't like that? None of these fantasy races are oppressed, but specific people (Magic versus non-magic people) have conflict about that aspect of their identity, and policing is a related concern. I would place the allegory more in the space of transness and disability/neurodivergency if pressed to choose, but it doesn't feel like it's trying to tell a story about real-world oppression, primarily. I have more complicated thoughts on exactly what I'm trying to communicate here, but they involved some spoilers. DM me for more info!

Hosts/creator identity: out of three hosts, two are white, one is not! They are very queer, and disability is also...a thing! These are real life people, so I'm not going to get into detail, but check out their twitters plugged in the show for more on how they self-identify.

Okay but are they racist: Real talk! As a black person who thinks I keep my ears sharp, I would say no! Not at all! This is one of those situations where I was like "YOU'RE WHITE?" And shocked about it, (if you listened to TSCOSI, same vibe) which is a very good thing in my books. The hosts are open and sensitive, and I have no complaints, however, this is just one perspective! This isn't coincidental, race is an active consideration in how the story is told — just not a central theme.

Edit: One of the hosts, Essay (@/citrusandsalts) discussed more on hosts identities in a reblog! If this concerns you, and you want less of me walking on eggshells about other people's identities, read her addition too!

Edit 2: Jordan, the GM also has commented additions!

Minor but worth mentioning: A minor character has a name with what I believe is the Nahuatl "tl" sound in it, which is not pronounced correctly. It's a really hard sound! I can't really do it! But if that really irritates you this might not be the podcast for you.

People who might be interested in this post, as always let me know if you don't want to be pinged (I rarely ever do this) and it won't happen again: @citrusandsalt @fyeahaudiodrama @boombox-fuckboy

#my posts are never sponsored i am giving them MY money #tpp #the penumbra podcast #because i think ex penumbra fans would like this a lot #audio drama #actual play #indie podcasts #podcasts #edil chats #edil makes reccomendations #three hearts cast #okay to repost anywhere please repost this #ttrpg #actual play podcast #indie ttrpg #indie role play #indie #uhm. uhhh. uhm. are those enough tags???#listen to three hearts cast

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quinnyundertow · 1 month

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Sanity’s Last Stop

Synopsis

England 1941

Forced to work after the death of her father y/n finds themselves filling a nurses role at Hillsboro Asylum for the Criminally Insane. The patients and workers alike have her questioning her own sanity in this new insular world during WWII.

Ryoumen Sukuna has become a fixture in solitary confinement for the last seven years. His sanity was barely there before but now it is frayed beyond redemption. A good will gesture brings him and y/n into a strange secret relationship

Okkotsu Yuta swears he isn’t insane he didn’t hurt anyone it was Rika who killed those people. Just because no one else can see her doesn’t mean she isn’t there. You believe him right?

AN: So excited to post this! Horror Dark Romance are my favorite genres so this is not going to be the same as my main fic. Please check the tags and trigger warnings!

Setting is England WWII I realize all the characters have Japanese names but there is no avoiding it with the original source material.

TW: Misogyny, Gaslighting, Gore

I made up Takeda Geto all others are from JJK.

Chapter 1

Mind Your Fingers

England 1941

“Stupid girl, what did I tell you about watching your fingers!” The old nurse yells in your ear, just about making you jump out of your skin. You are watching your fingers. You are being painfully careful so as not to accidentally touch anywhere near the open metal slat at the bottom of the heavy iron door. There is a two inch drop from the door’s mail slot style opening to the ground. Your fingers begin to tremble as you hold the tin tray, full of some slop they called lunch, halfway through the opening. Waiting for the person on the other side to take the proffered meal. The tips of your fingers are starting to turn white as you are only able to barely hold the end of the tray. The weight of it strains against you.

“W-what do I do if he doesn’t come to take his tray?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady and sounding somewhat confident.

“Ungrateful spawn of satan.” The elderly nurse Ogami bites out, causing you to flinch at her disgusting words, “Drop it then. He’ll eat it off the floor or he won’t eat.”

Your heart twists painfully at the cruelty displayed. Even though the people residing here have committed terrible crimes the residents are still mentally disturbed and rely on you for care. “There has to be a better way?”

Nurse Ogami rolls her eyes, heaving a sigh that is meant to relay her annoyance with you, “Move girl.” Despite the woman’s liver spotted and wrinkled fingers she has surprising strength in them as she snatches the tray away from you and unceremoniously pushes it to the floor with a clatter. “Keep up this belligerent attitude young lady and you’ll be out on your luck before the month is out. You may think your special with your young looks and connections but there’s no room for error here.” When the old woman spins to you she has a malicious gleam in silver eyes. “The girl you replaced lost three fingers one night. Stupid girl pushed her hand too far in. Ryoumen was waiting just out of her line of sight and the second he saw one of her pretty tan fingers he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her elbow through the food slot. Bit each of those fingers off like he was eating part of his lunch.” You can’t help but shiver and wonder how much of the woman’s story is actually true.

Straightening your bleached white nurse's frock, you meet her eyes and respectfully dip your head, “Thank you for the warning head nurse, I'll be more careful in the future.” You pull the metal lever that shuts and locks the opening you utilized at the bottom of the door. Moving the wooden stepping stool, you thought to bring today, you push it against the door so you can see through the barred and glass protected window at the middle point of the door.

The massive man inside is easy to spot in the expanse of white. His dull orange almost pink hair is a brilliant flare of color in the otherwise stagnant room. It is a wild mess on his head, stroked backwards from repeat combing motions with his fingers. He sits hunched over at the edge of his cot. His entire frame is hulking and muscular and you wondered how he manages to maintain his physique while trapped here. His elbows are resting on his knees, hands knitted together as they flex sporadically. His face is downturned so you could barely see the bizarre facial scarring he had given himself before his capture. “Inmate Ryoumen Sukuna is accounted for.” The old woman says nothing as you step down and mark up the piece of paper you brought with you to make sure each patient receives their proper medication and meal.

You tuck the wooden stool under your arm before going to push the squeaky metal cart down to the last patient in this wing. “Just one left.”

The elderly woman grunts, turning her back to you, “You always feed those in solitary confinement last. They are being punished after all. They’re lucky they get two meals a day and a warm place to sleep. We have noble men on the front line dying from frostbite with empty bellies.” You had heard around the lunch table yesterday that old lady Ogami, as the other girls called her, is especially bitter due to her precious grandson being shipped off to somewhere in Yugoslavia to fight the German scourge. You can’t blame her for being bitter but you don’t feel like that means you have to treat the patients here worse.

The final painted white metal door S25 looks the same as every other one in this wing. Before Mrs. Ogami could comment, you push up your stool and peer in. The young man in this room is almost the exact opposite physically of the man you had just tried to feed in room S23. He is lanky and thin looking; under fed and malnourished. The second your eyes meet the back of his head the man turns suddenly his eyes locking on yours. His dark raven colored orbs met your own. No particular emotion is held there; the man just looks exhausted. Painted under his eyes are large dark circles, his eyes rimmed in red. You couldn’t help but wonder if they are red rimmed from crying or maybe they always looked like that. “Patient present.” Stepping down carefully, you give the stack of papers in front of you a once over .

Patient: Okkotsu Yuta

Sex: Male

Age: 27

The paragraphs below outlined his lack of dietary constraints, medication required and any other doctors notes. You can’t help but notice his notes from the doctor today stated that due to his consistent compliance he is recommended to be moved back to the institution's general population next week.

You make sure his tray is together. Complete with a small paper cup that has two little chalky pills inside to lower his anxiety. Taking the iron lever in hand you tug so that the meal slot screeches open. After giving Ryoumen his tray only moments earlier you can’t help but keep your fingers as far to the back as possible as you leaned to slip the tray into the three inch slot.

The ward is unusually quiet at the moment and due to this you can hear the inmate’s bare feet padding across the tile flooring. You feel the weight of the tray being released from your fingers as the person on the other side takes it gently from you. The man clears his throat before a soft spoken voice emanates from the slot, “Thank you.”

You are surprised as this is the first person today to thank you, “You’re Welcome.” Your response probably sounded happier than it should have but the tiny bit of kindness gives your day a bit of a silver lining.

“You do not speak to those in solitary confinement!” You wince in response to being scolded again.

“I’m sorry, head nurse” You hear a voice on the other side of the door mumble the apology. You bite your cheek instead of replying before repeating the same closing procedures you did at S23. Though when you look up to confirm the inmate is accounted for he is no longer looking in your direction.

As the two of you leave the solitary ward, your long gray dresses swish below you. You still aren’t used to the way everything looks the same in this institution. All the walls are white and not a picture is to be found as decoration. The only thing creating breaks in the staggering white landscape is an occasional sign directing those inside to various locations (Dispensary, Lobby, Clinic) or reminders to staff (When distributing medications check under the patient’s tongue for hidden pills, For Emergency Security dial 99 or pull panic alarm).

Despite any minor complaints you are incredibly grateful to have this job. Not only is the pay more than fair but it is in the field of medicine where you have always held interest. Maybe after you learn the ropes you can make a difference in the lives of those who live here.

You both pause before the heavy set of double doors that lead from Solitary. Demonstrating to the head nurse you are in fact learning you pull the string that rings the brass bell on the other side of the door and wait for security to unlock the door and permit your exit. The wait for the security officers to release you seems to vary from seconds to minutes depending on what is going on across the complex. Your anxiety always seems to ratchet up in the time from when the bell is rung until the large metal lock thunks and the door swings open.

The security guard who greets you on the other side of the door is grinning from ear to ear as he looks you over. “Did you have fun in there?” Your eyes flick to him briefly before pretending you didn’t hear him. His features are handsome and boyish. His fluffy white hair and striking blue eyes have a habit of pinning you in place when he addresses you. His frame is tall and muscular not that you were looking. You didn’t have to look to know his shirt has the name tag Gojo on it.

When you started here you had barely gotten your foot in the door before you were being warned about him by your fellow nurses. He was labeled a notorious flirt and womanizer. One to avoid if you want to keep your reputation clean and above all other warnings, do not fall in love with him.

The older woman looks like she is about to scold you or maybe even Gojo this time when her train of thought is interrupted. “Ah, there you are Y/n.” The familiar soothing tone nearby makes you look over with surprise and fondness. The entire reason you had ended up working in this facility was due to your father’s long term friendship with the esteemed facility director Dr. Takeda Geto. His son, Dr. Suguru Geto and your childhood friend stopped short of your small group. You couldn’t help the quick flush that covered your cheeks, at the attention. You had hoped to assimilate into the facility with as little fanfare as possible. The newest man to the group stopped and placed a hand affectionately on Gojo as they shared an almost conspiratorial grin. On the outside the two couldn’t be more dissimilar but it seems they had also cultivated a long term friendship.

You quickly curtseyed in response, keeping your head down. Despite your friendship with Suguru you wanted to be accepted in this job by your own merits rather than who you knew. Even if being hired hadn’t worked that way.

“Well if it isn’t the young master Dr. Geto.” the old woman doted; the young part surprising you as Suguru Geto had to be in his thirties now. Her tone is much more engaged than it had been at any point during your training this week. You couldn’t help the tiny quirk of your lips in amusement at the drastic change of mannerism.

Looking up you see Suguru has turned to the woman to address her while Satoru Gojo’s eyes are still locked onto you. His cerulean orbs twinkling in a mischievous manner. He is clearly noting your amusement despite your attempt at hiding it. You can't help but lift your hand to your mouth and clear your throat to cover your expression. Suguru turns at the noise flashing you a gentle smile before pushing his glasses higher up his nose. “How has training been going today?”

You look away to study a nearby sign pointing to the Security Desk, “Head nurse Ogami has been very kind and thorough in my training.” you respond respectfully.

Suguru Geto makes a long humming noise while Satoru Gojo outright laughs at the obvious lie. Anyone who has met the head nurse knows about her taciturn personality. Suguru ignoring Gojo gives Nurse Ogami a charismatic smile before noting, “I would expect nothing less from Mrs. Ogami. You can’t help but note the lack of formality he uses when he addresses the older woman now. The fondness you see in her face is not missed by you as she speaks with him. You can’t really blame the woman. Suguru Geto has been known for his charm and good looks for as long as you have known him. His familial wealth and status don’t hurt his public perception either. “Mrs. Ogami, I'd like to borrow nurse y/n for my lunch break if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule too much.”

Surprise evident in your expression, you look up at Suguru quickly, “I’m sorry Dr. Geto I already took my lunch break today-.” At Suguru’s frown, the head nurse speaks over you.

“Not to worry Dr. Geto we have finished the afternoon rounds. Anything she needs to learn can be postponed until tomorrow.” You can’t help but look between the two of them in confusion. The last thing you desire at this point is any form of favoritism, especially in front of your new coworkers who may or may not know your prior connection to the director’s son.

“I-” you are unable to break the silence before Suguru smiles attentively at you, derailing any argument you were starting to craft as to why you shouldn’t go with him.

You see Suguru turn to nurse Ogami giving her a conspiratorial wink, “I owe you one, Mrs. Ogami.” the older woman brushes him off but a faint blush on her cheeks lets you know his words are far more effective than she lets on.

You feel obligated to thank her despite not wanting to go to lunch with Suguru in the first place, “Thank you Head Nurse.” You dip slightly in the appropriate curtsy before looking up at Suguru questioningly. The smile he gives you in response is benign as he gestures for you to follow him. When he walks past Gojo he clasps him on the shoulder before leaning forward to comment something into his ear that you aren’t privy to. The comment provokes a laugh out of Gojo before he heads back to the Security Office.

When you don’t immediately move to follow Suguru, he prods you verbally, “Shall we?” You don’t really have a choice in the matter. At least it feels that way, as you follow two steps behind him trying to keep a professional distance as he leads you to his office. You haven’t actually been in his office yet. Well, his fathers office. He leads you towards the entrance of the building where the directors office is situated. The location makes it easy for him to attend to visitors or in rarer cases government officials.

He takes a moment to unlock the door before gesturing you inside. Once in you take a quick look of the surroundings. Not much has changed in the furnishings since Suguru had unofficially taken over the room. His fathers medical licenses and diplomas have been swapped out for his own and the desk nameplate has been changed. Other than that all the bookshelves and desk items remain the same.

There are two chairs in front of the large oak desk and one behind it. “Please sit.” There is a tinkling noise at the door as you register he’s locking it from the inside with his keys. You can’t help the small shiver that races up your spine. Even if you have known Suguru the majority of your life the action seems strange and internal warning bells are ringing. He jerks the handle to ensure the door will not be opened by anyone other than himself before he opens his suit jacket and tucks the key ring into an inside pocket.

You sit as instructed but you are hardly relaxed. Your body leans towards the edge of your seat, “Why did you lock it?”

He raises a brow at you with a curious smile, “Does that make you nervous?” He moves around the desk to gather a few items, presumably his lunch.

You resolve yourself to sound unbothered as you decide to respond, “No.” The last thing you want to do is offend him.

To your surprise he comes back around to your side of the desk and sits in the chair next to you, “I hate being interrupted. A simple lock prevents that from happening. Besides, this place is full of unstable individuals. One can never be too safe.”

“I see.” You are trying to find a way to voice your concerns to him without being labeled with the tags that women are so often given for having boundaries.

He’s spreading out his lunch an easy going air to him as he leans back in his chain before crossing a leg over another, “Come on, give me a smile you look much prettier that way.”

You try but it doesn’t feel very convincing. You had only been here two days and you had noticed a fairly big change between Suguru’s attitude now and when you had known him before your fathers death.

All your interactions previously had been when Suguru and Dr. Takeda Geto had visited your family's estate in the countryside. The two of you had talked, played, and studied together every summer for years. Your fathers smoking cigars and drinking expensive brandy in the backdrop. Suguru has always been so shy, quiet, and respectful. Now within the property of the Hillsboro Asylum for the Criminally Insane he is still quiet and respectful but there is a confidence behind every movement he makes. He’s in an environment he fully controls and that factor isn’t lost on you.

He pulls out a sandwich and takes a bite; scrutinizes your uneasy expression, “Tell me what’s worrying that pretty little head of yours. You’ve been on edge since you got here.”

“Ah.” You can’t help but feel guilty. Dr. Takeda and Suguru have done so much for you the least you can do is be appreciative. You manage to muster a much more genuine smile, “I’m sorry Dr. Geto I-“

He gives a lazy laugh, his arm moves to rest behind your back on the chair you’re seated in, “You should just call me Suguru, Dr. Geto feels so stuffy.”

His fingers slowly gravitate to a strand of your hair that escaped your starched white nurses cap. He catches it within his fingers tugging it lightly.

You blush heavily at the intimate touch, ��I’m worried about perceived favoritism. I don’t want to be treated any differently than the other employees. I want to assimilate with the other nurses.” He’s watching you closely and you can’t decipher his expression, his fingers still gently twirling in your hair. Your face grows heated, “Private lunches in locked offices won’t look proper.” It wasn’t just your reputation you were worried about even though that was a concern. You hoped to make friends out of the other nurses in this new place you would call your home.

Suguru leans back and considering your words a long humming noise escaping his throat. He sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees now as he takes you in. He has a soft smile on his lips but it isn’t quite meeting his eyes. “It’s a little late to worry about favoritism, don't you think? Why else would I have hired you if not for that? I could have hired any old local girl if not for my preference for you.”

You feel a lump growing on your throat. When Dr. Takeda visited just after your fathers recent passing the job he offered seemed like a lifeline. “I-I have knowledge in the field and experience with medication management-“

Suguru laughs out loud, cutting your words off, “Come now y/n. Sure you’ve read some books but you aren’t particularly bright. Women like you are a dime a dozen.” He takes a bite of an apple his tone conversational and casual. “With the job shortages around the country I have women lined up begging for work and you come here acting high and mighty with unwieldy demands.”

Your face flushes and your eyes burn at his comments, “I’m sorry Suguru I hadn’t considered-“

Suguru stands brushing off his pants and avoids making eye contact, “Of course you didn’t. You only consider your own feelings when all you should be worried about is what I think.” He moves to the door and unlocks it, his every movement laced with irritation. “Leave, your ungratefulness is souring my lunch.”

You quickly stand feeling like you're back in grade school and being dressed down for misbehavior. Suguru has always been so balanced and logical; you can’t help but know it must be you at fault for this disagreement, “I’m sorry Suguru, please forgive me. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. Please don’t be cross with me.” Your tone is higher pitched and more vulnerable than intended. Your eyes glassy with held back tears.

He finally meets your gaze and sighs heavily, “You know I can’t be angry at you for long.” His hand comes up to your face as he softly rubs your cheek with his knuckles. The motion causing a tear to spill down your cheeks. He smiles at that, “There there. Go home for the day and put something nice on. Father and I expect you at dinner tonight, don’t be late.”

Your emotions are all over the place as you head for the exit to the Asylum. You are a fool to think you had been hired on your own merit despite the relationship between your family and Dr. Takedas.

The exit routine for the building takes several minutes. With many weighty doors unlocking and locking. When you reach the front entrance the process is just beginning for another man. The security seeing you approaching waves you forward into the same interlock area as the man to allow you both to do the exit procedures at the same time.

The young man looks up at you, his eyes a golden brown. He’s tall and well built but it is his facial scars that really catch your attention. A thick jagged line races between his eyebrows, the left side of his cheek and lip marred, and under both of his eyes are almost identical check shaped scars. Despite the rugged damage across his countenance when he looks up at you his face goes from a disappointed scowl to concern. “Hey are you okay?”

“Move forward!” A guard calls out ready for you to exit into the next man trap room.

You feel another tear roll down your cheek and you look at the kind face across from you etched with worry. He moves forwards toward you a step and it's only then you notice he is missing a leg, a wooden crutch is braced under one arm.

Embarrassment floods you as you try to wipe away any evidence of your tears. “Yes I’m terribly sorry. How unprofessional of me.”

He tilts his head to the side, the motion reminding you of dogs when confused. “Unprofessional? For having emotions?”

You don’t know how to respond to that. He studies you while the exit procedures are completed and you both find yourself outside in the cold winter air. “My names Yuji, Itadori Yuji.” He’s looking up at the gray cloudy skies with feigned interest, “I’m kinda here a lot. Visiting.” His gaze meets yours again as he gives you a smile that tilts a little on his damaged side. “I don’t think we’ve met yet though.”

Something about his smile is so disarming, “Oh, I’m Y/n L/n, I just started here a few days ago.”

His smile seems to grow brighter, his eyes twinkling with genuine happiness. It has been such a long time since you have seen that in a person. “Well maybe I’ll see you more often then!” He watches you a moment and you return his authentic happiness with a real smile of your own.

“I hope so Mr. Itadori.” He laughs outright at that which catches you off guard.

His grin is infectious, lazy and lopsided, “Mr. Itadori is my Grandpa. Yuji is more than fine.”

You nod the flush on your cheeks now from the cold and pleasant company rather than the shame and embarrassment moments earlier, “Alright, Mr. Yuji.”

He laughs in response, his tone rich. “Not exactly what I meant but that will do. Can I walk you home? I’m heading down to town now.”

The offer sounds nice and you probably would have accepted had it not been in the wrong direction, “I actually live in the nurse’s dorms on the property. Thank you for the offer. I enjoyed our chat and hope we will get to talk again in the future.” You give a quick bob of a curtsey as he gives a jaunty wave in return.

“Nice meeting you Miss L/n!” As he turned to make the slow trek down the lane to the main road you couldn’t help but look back at him. He has the strangest hair color. Despite the rarity of the bright orange pink shade it is strikingly familiar.

#jujutsu kaisen #ao3 fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader #quinnyficrelated #ao3 writer #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu #dark romance #dubious consent #eventual smut #quinnythelibrary

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baker-coded · 9 months

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Barbie and Ken {S.H.}

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Steve Harrington x reader

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 870

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Steve sees you for the first time in a while at the bookstore while getting a present from Robin.

𝓐/𝓝: I wrote this in an hour. Be nice. Also I'm back to writing again so woo fucking hoo. This is set up to be a series btw. And Barbie isn't reader's name but I really hate typing {Y/N} personally. It feels unnatural to me. Anyway. Enjoy <3

Ah yes, Steve Harrington. He goes by many names. "Steve". "Steven". "The Hair". "King Steve". And, sometimes, simply "Harrington" by teammates and coaches... and rivals. Most notably Billy Hargrove.

But this story isn't about those two.

It's about you. And Steve.

You've gone by a few names yourself in your high school years and post-high school it's like no one bothered to learn your name.

"Queen Barbie" is what they called you. "Queen Barbie" was known as a sweet girl by most people and regarded as a bitch to others. But nothing played into your "Barbie" persona as much as your love for the color pink and the smile that constantly adorned your face.

Always smiling even while you worked. It was a job you loved in all fairness. A bookstore. Quiet. Not a lot of people passing through. And you loved it.

The bookstore was a nice change of pace from high school. It was small and family owned. Not by your family of course, you and your family had... issues to say the least. But that's a story for another time.

In school you wore hot pinks and baby pinks paired with white or gold. Working you went for more muted pinks. But pink is pink and nothing has made you less "Queen Barbie".

And nothing made Steve less "King Steve".

Especially when he came in to buy Robin a book for her birthday. If anything that made him better in your eyes. Steve was always kind to you but you never were into him like everyone expected you to be. He was sweet to you but you knew he was kind of an asshole to others.

He came up to the counter with a copy of Patience and Sarah. You saw the book before him and got excited about it.

"Oh this is a wonderful book. Good choice." You said happily as you took it. You turned the book on its back and put the price in the register as you spoke. "It's about a woman and her lover, who's another woman. One of the main characters is pretty masculine and she eventually 'transitions' to a man kinda. Then she goes by- You know what? I'm sorry. I'm rattling on. Uh... it's five nineteen."

Steve just smiled and nodded at you as he got out his wallet. "I didn't know you read that much Barbie."

Your head snapped up to see Steve, in all his glory. His hair was shorter than you remembered, maybe a bit flatter. He was definitely more muscular but you didn't really know what he's been doing to be so much stronger looking.

You hadn't realized how he had freckles in school. They looked good. And he had the prettiest eyes. And he also-

"Uh... receipt?" Your mouth stopped your thoughts. Auto pilot can really be a bitch sometimes.

Steve seemed to be in the same boat. He looked startled when you asked. "Oh, uh, yes please. It's a gift for a friend."

You smiled and handed him the receipt. "I think we have gift wrap in the back. I can wrap it for you!" You offered, totally not still thinking about his eyes and freckles.

Steve's eyes widened as he nodded. "Please. Their birthday is tomorrow."

"King Steve doing something last minute? I'm surprised!" You teased. "I'll go wrap it."

You took the book and went into the back room to wrap it. It wasn't official wrapping paper. It was just brown paper with book covers printed on it. You put a "To/from" sticker on it and came out with a sharpie.

Steve was standing awkwardly by the counter and his face lit up when he saw you with the now wrapped book. He went to grab it from you and you pulled the book back.

"I remember your handwriting." Was all you said to him. You set the book on the counter and took the lid from the sharpie. "Who's it for?"

"Robin Bobbin Buckley."

You blinked at him in confusion. "Is that their name or...?"

"It's more of an in joke."

"Cute."

You could have sworn Steve's cheeks turned pink slightly but you had no idea. You knew he didn't really blush so it was hard to decipher if it was blush or the summer heat was seeping into the store.

Steve rocked back and forth for a few moments as you wrote down what he told you. You had barely finished when he blurted out: "Barbie let's go on a date."

"What?"

Steve stumbled for a second before finally getting out a coherent phrase. "Date. Me. Please?"

You smiled and handed him the book. "How about in two days yeah? Your friends birthday is tomorrow."

Steve smiled and took the book from you. "I can do that. That works. Movies?"

"Just like school."

"Exactly Barbie." He chuckled. "I know how much you love drive-ins and milkshakes."

"It's fun!"

"I agree! That's why Saturday at 8 is going to be the perfect time."

"I can't wait Steve."

Steve left the store as casually as he could before absolutely freaking out in his car. He couldn't believe he got you. And he was gonna do his damnedest to keep you.

#●∘◦ stranger things ◦∘●#━ ◦ steve harrington ◦━#stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x y/n fluff

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 2 years

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Unexpected: Part 3

Summary: Thickheaded idiot Ivar finally realizes he’s in love while going to the market with her to get her new clothes and wise NPC (tm) gives him some advice. Aslaug takes her in for an interrogation à la overbearing mother… More smut ofc, but it’s a bit brief this time!

Beginning Notes: the Brísingamen is a necklace that was given to Freya in Norse mythology. From the etymology of the word, it’s possible that the necklace was meant to be made of amber.

Taglist: @bragisrunes @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @alicedopey @batmandallyboy (hmu to be added!)

Masterlist | Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 | requests are OPEN!

He woke up next to her this morning. Ivar can barely process it. When she moved in her sleep, he’d woken up, and he’d gotten to hold her while she was still sleeping, running a hand through her hair carefully.

She’d smiled at him when she had woken up, kissed him, gotten dressed halfway, and then Ivar had ruined her efforts and they were late to breakfast.

Now that she was his, she didn’t have to serve anyone else. Unlike Margrethe, she doesn’t dare sit down at the table, instead pouring his drink and refilling his mother’s and brother’s cups as well. Ivar glares at Sigurd, who leans towards her just to tease him.

Ivar knows that he is more interested in men than women, and that he’s fucking one ever since Hvitserk and Ubbe are taking up all of Margrethe’s time, but he still clenches his fist in jealousy under the table.

After breakfast, they head out alone. Sigurd leaves first, grabbing his Oud before he disappears to Gods know where, and Hvitserk and Ubbe leave soon after, saying that they’ll spar a bit. Ivar doubts it. Then again, his intentions aren’t the purest either.

She follows him dutifully to the market, carrying an empty basket. Before they can buy anything, Ivar spots Helga, who hands him a small vial. She smiles at her brightly.

“This is for your legs. It’s a new recipe, so tell me if anything is off.” She says, looking at Ivar.

Ivar nods, and she’s quick to take it, putting it in her basket.

“Do you need anything?” Helga asks, turning to her. She shakes her head.

“Bodil’s fever is gone, thank the Gods. It would’ve broken Estrid’s heart if her last daughter died too. That Frankish slave, Lothar, he cut himself quite deep, but the others already shared some of your old supplies.” She replies.

“That’s good. If you need anything, don’t be shy to come to me.” Helga says, walking away. Then, Ivar turns to her.

“How do you know Helga?” he asks.

“She helps us a lot. Whenever she can spare her supplies, she gives them to us. There’s a thrall that used to be in Floki’s service who learned from her. She’s a very kind woman.”

“That is true.” Ivar nods. He didn’t know Helga helped the slaves, but it’s her character to do such a strange thing.

The first stall they stop at is a fabric stall. The merchant looks like he comes from Rus, and his heavy accent confirms Ivar’s expectations.

He offers Ivar a good deal on a ready-made dress and a fur, but when Ivar turns to her, her eyes are wide.

“That is too expensive.” She says decidedly. The merchant immediately tells her he’s unwilling to haggle, but she shrugs, choosing a plain fabric instead. Ivar is sure it’s meant for aprons, but the light blue color suits her, so he hands over his coin.

“You need a pelt for when it gets colder.” He tells her. She looks uncomfortable at the thought, but nods.

“But not from this stall. This is luxury clothing he’s selling.”

Ivar lets her lead him away from the stalls on the main road, and towards a tiny stall that sells pelts as well as a few vegetables that have definitely been grown in the sorry soil of Kattegat.

She seems to know the vendor, who looks surprised at seeing a prince at her stall. Ivar chooses the fur, and she immediately begins haggling with the woman, before they settle on a price, she deems reasonable. Before they leave, Ivar spots a deep green, but still plain dress.

“That one too.” He tells the woman.

“You really don’t have to.” She insists, but the vendor readily holds it out for Ivar to inspect.

“No discussion.” Ivar tells her. “You need more than one proper dress.”

“I can make at least three out of this fabric.” She replies but lets him buy the dress.

They walk back onto the main road together, and she offers to go home. She’s blushing as she looks at the green dress, and Ivar can tell that she can’t believe the amount of money he just spent on her.

“I want to keep looking.” Ivar tells her. The blacksmith lives next to the stalls, and Ivar wants to pick up an axe he commissioned. Then, he wants to go to the stall of a Francian who sells wares from the Mediterranean. His mother loves oranges, so Ivar always goes to see if they have any.

While he’s at the blacksmith, he gives her money to go to the Francian. He follows soon after, only to see that she’s still at the stall.

“I don’t sell to thralls.” The merchant tells her as Ivar comes closer.

“It’s not for me, and I have the money. My master sent me to buy them.” She explains. “And I can take the bad ones off your hands, if you’d like.”

“Stop begging and buy off of someone else.” The merchant hisses.

“Is there a problem?” Ivar asks, stepping next to her. His axe is still in his hand.

“Prince Ivar!” he exclaims. Turning to her, he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me who your master was?”

“I didn’t think it mattered.” She presses out, and Ivar can see the barely concealed anger in the way she clenches her jaw, and her knuckles turn white on the handle of her basket.

The merchant hands over the oranges, and then turns around and gives her another crate.

“The bad ones.” He says. Ivar looks at them and sees a few with marks, some with a little mold on them. He would never eat them, but she smiles brightly and thanks the merchant.

“Why did you ask him for the foul ones?” he asks her as soon as they are out of the rude merchant’s hearing.

“They’re not foul.” She laughs. “Just a bit old. These stalls are luxury stalls, so they usually don’t even sell to random thralls, but once, Bodil found a mandarin after the stall had closed down. She brought it to the thrall quarters and shared it with all of us. We kept the peel because it smelled so good. Since then, we’ve been trying to get more, whether that’s the old ones or something that fell off his cart.”

Ivar thinks he understands. There’s one last stop he wants to make today, but before they make it, she spots a young girl. Ivar follows her gaze. It’s another thrall, who waves to her. The girl can’t be older than seven. Unsure, she glances to him.

“Go.” Ivar tells her, and she almost runs off, taking the young girl into her arms. He sees them chatter and the girl grabs an orange from the crate, holding it up high over her head triumphantly. She reminds Ivar of Hvitserk. Ivar turns to the stall he wants to visit.

“I want to buy a necklace.” He tells the merchant. They know each other well. She’s an old woman, who was already selling her jewelry when Aslaug came to Kattegat. Ivar has been going to her whenever he wants to buy his mother a present.

“For your mother?” she asks, and Ivar shakes his head.

“For the girl?” she guesses, and Ivar stares at the ground.

“Just a simple one. With a stone or so.” He tells her. She turns around, going through one of her displays, until she finds what she’s looking for.

It’s a simple band with an amber pendant she hands him, and Ivar finds it almost painfully on the nose.

“Would you like a ring to go with it?” she asks in an almost teasing voice, and it’s only because Ivar has known her all her life that there are no consequences.

“What would I need that for?” he asks coolly.

“I’ve never seen you with that girl before, but I can tell when men are in love. It’s why I sell so much.”

“Secrets of the trade?” Ivar asks sarcastically.

“Precisely that. Tell her you’re in love. And free her if you haven’t already. I’ve heard nothing bad about that girl, and it’s obvious to me she loves you back.”

Ivar nodded, handing over the money before quickly leaving the stall, necklace clutched in his hand. She enjoyed gossip, entertaining his mother whenever she came to her stall, Ivar knew that. She also enjoyed making money. Was it really true that she liked him?

She’s spinning the girl around as Ivar comes closer, before she hugs her and turns around to find him. She almost bumps into Ivar.

“Oh sorry.” She apologizes. “I’m a bit dizzy. You know, from all the turning.”

Her hairdo is dangerously close to falling apart, and Ivar wants to fix it for her later.

“Who was that?” Ivar asks.

“That’s Bodil. I gave her the oranges so she can share with her family and friends.”

“What about you?”

“I already got fabric and a dress, AND a fur coat. I don’t need more luxuries.” She shrugs.

Shakily, Ivar grabbed the amber pendant. “I still want to give you this.”

She accepts it carefully, as if it’ll crack if she cradles it too harshly. “Thank you, Ivar. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

Then, she hugs him, in the middle of the main road. Ivar freezes, not knowing what to do. Carefully, he lays his head on her shoulder.

They walk into the Great Hall the moment Ubbe and Hvitserk return, and Ivar shoots her a regretful glance as his brothers pull him away.

“I’ll clean your room and change your bedding.” She calls after him, disappearing with her new things.

Aslaug’s POV:

Ivar and his thrall had come back from the market just in time for Aslaug to watch her disappear into his room. She didn’t trust this woman. Perhaps she would use Ivar’s trust to steal something he wouldn’t miss. Perhaps she was as ambitious as Margrethe.

Aslaug was going to find out.

The thrall didn’t notice her at first. She was pulling the linens off of Ivar’s bed, her back turned to the door. Only when she turned around did she see Aslaug.

“My Queen.” She said, bowing her head. “Prince Ivar bought you oranges. I’ve had them brought to the kitchens. Is there anything specific you’d like them with?”

“What are your intentions with my son?”

“I don’t have any intentions.” She replied.

“Why did you sleep with him?” Aslaug continued.

“I thought he was attractive.”

“Despite his legs?”

“I’m not as superficial as some other women.” She said calmly.

“Would you like to be free one day?” Aslaug asked

“Which thrall doesn’t?”

“Do you love him?” Aslaug asked finally. There’s silence from this quick-witted thrall. It lasts too long to be a lie. She doesn’t answer Aslaug at all. The queen grabbed the thrall’s jaw, making her look up at her. Aslaug noticed how young she looked. She couldn’t be much older than Ivar.

She remembered her vision. Aslaug had dreamt that Ivar would marry a thrall one day. She had also dreamt that Ivar would die at sea before he would marry. Her visions did not help her. They only conflicted each other.

“He cannot free you.” Aslaug told her.

“Being his thrall has already made me happier.” She replied.

“He’ll marry someone else. A worthy princess or an earl’s daughter. Not you.”

For a moment, Aslaug sees her façade drop. A second of hurt and jealousy. Then it was over, and Aslaug let go of her jaw.

“Break his heart.” She told the girl, “And you’ll have his family lining up to kill you before he does.”

“I know.” She replied, as if that didn’t scare her. Then, the thrall continued cleaning the bed, as if their conversation had never happened.

Ivar’s POV:

She was talking to Hvitserk. Why the fuck was she talking to Hvitserk?

He creeps closer, trying to make out what she’s saying. Hvitserk’s laughing at something she just told him, and it makes Ivar’s blood boil.

“I can teach them how to make the bread.” Ivar can finally hear her say. What?

Hvitserk sees him, and smiles at Ivar brightly. Absentmindedly, he hands her his cup, and Ivar wants to start a fight with him for disrespecting his woman. Except that she is a thrall, and all she’ll ever be is his property.

“I was just asking her about the bread she made. Now that she isn’t in the kitchen, it’ll be the old bread again.” Hvitserk explains.

“Stay away from her.” Ivar tells him, before going to her.

“Jealous?” Hvitserk teases.

“Shut up.” Ivar almost roars over his shoulder.

“If it’s alright I’ll teach the others in the kitchen how to make the bread sometime next week.” She offers.

“I don’t want you talking to Hvitserk.” Ivar says.

“He’s your brother. I’m bound to see him when I’m living in your home.”

Ivar’s hand shoots up, resting on her neck.

“He’s good with most women. I’m not.” Ivar presses out.

“And I am not most women.” She replies quietly. “I thought we’d already established that.”

Ivar could feel the anger creeping up on him. Suddenly, every man in the room was staring at her. The two shieldmaidens making out in the corner seemed to be waving her over, asking them to join. Sigurd was there, Hvitserk was there, Ubbe was there, even Bjorn was there.

They all look like they were going to take her from him. And the worst part was, Ivar knows they could.

“Go to my room. Now. Take that dress off.” He tells her, before letting go of her neck.

He stays until he can’t bear it anymore before he walks towards their room. Hvitserk throws him a look that used to be reserved for teasing Ubbe, but no one else in the Great Hall notices.

When he gets to their, no, his room, the dress is barely over her shoulders.

“That was fast.” She comments. Wordlessly, Ivar grabs her, pushing her against the door. Her back hits it with a quiet thud, and she lets him tear the dress down her shoulders. The necklace rests between her breasts, a reminder that she’s his.

His fingers are on her, groping greedily because Ivar wants to somehow show her that he loves her, and that he wants her to be his – in a way that she cannot be.

“You’re mine.” Ivar says harshly, “Only mine.”

She nods frantically, and Ivar knows that, in any other situation, she would’ve said something snarky.

“Say it.” He demands. He can feel the desperation inside him growing, he wants her to tell him she feels the same way. He needs her too.

“Yours.” She breathes out, the word ending in a moan when his hand finds her pussy.

She repeats it from her own volition, over and over as Ivar leads her to his bed and sucks dark splotches onto her skin. Her hands trail down his chest, towards his breeches and Ivar lets her do it, because this is something he can trust her with.

Her hand finds his cock and she pumps up and down, until Ivar is groaning into her neck, almost ready to beg her. When he pushes into her, it feels just as good as the first time, but this time, Ivar isn’t tense, only angry.

He wants to be gentle with her, so he kisses her slowly, lets his touch become softer. He still squeezes her neck and grabs her hips, because that’s as gentle as Ivar will ever get. When he’s done, he pulls out, using his fingers to get her to finish too.

They lie side by side in silence, and Ivar can hear the sounds of the feast taking place behind his door. He wonders if they heard them. A part of him wants them to know that he can do it. Another part wants her to be his secret.

Her hand finds his. She holds it as carefully as her necklace of amber, staring up at the ceiling. Ivar looks at her, but she doesn’t notice, and for the first time, he sees her. He sees a reflection of his anger in her. It’s hidden much better, but it’s there.

“Why are you angry?” he asks her. She hesitates, as if she’s considering lying to him.

“The merchant.” She replies.

“I can have him killed if you want.” Ivar offers. She shakes her head, beginning to smile.

“And what would that do?”

“He wouldn’t be able to disrespect you without a head.”

“It wouldn’t change anything. There’ll always be people treating me like I am worth less than cattle. It’s stupid to be angry at them, but I can’t help it. Even if someone freed me, I’d always be the former thrall.” She explains. Ivar knows that he cannot understand fully what she means, and that makes him angrier than before.

“They wouldn’t disrespect you if you were a queen.” Ivar blurts out. She turns to face him, a hand running through his hair.

“My Ivar.” She says, and his heart skips a beat. “We both know that won’t happen. You love your mother far too much.”

I love you too. Ivar wants to say, because he can hear it between the words she does say, I love you and I’d break my promise to my mother for you. I think.

“You’re the only one in the world who understands my anger.” He says instead. It has to be enough, for now.

#ivar #ivar x reader #vikings #ivar the boneless #history vikings #ivar lothbrok #ivar x you #ivar x oc #ivar x y/n #angry ivar #ivar fanfic #ivar imagine #ivar smut #vikings fanfiction #ivar ragnarsson #hvitserk #ubbe #sigurd #aslaug

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the-splorts-eye · 1 year

Text

Do you love detective stories but hate cops?

Do you love gay detective stories and hate capitalism?

Like disabled main characters who's disability actually comes up?

Like characters of color but not in the mood for stories on racism?

Tempted by the thought of romance at ages of 30+?

Does the idea of stories so queer you'll hesitate before calling any character a "man" or a "woman" make you think "Ah, yes pronoun shenanigans, just like my discord used to make"

And you into an abundance of strong, diverse female and nonbinary characters?

Do you fight for women's wrongs?

I know rep-only recommendations can be annoying, but I'm trying to grab your attention to promote some indie media. Luckily, though, this post isn't rep-only!

To read my full recommendation and review of Three of Hearts, click below. ♦️♥️♣️♠️

And if you aren't in the mood for a new thing right now, consider reblogging! Maybe even ping a friend who might be into this! You love supporting queer indie creators, right?

The story

♠️♣️♥️♦️Three of Hearts♦️♥️♣️♠️ centers on two paragovernmental agents in a fantasy, post-war, queernormative 1950s.

Answers yield only more questions, as the Agents realize almost everyone in town has something to hide, and Felspar isn't the only one whose past keeps catching up to him:

WHEN. WILL. THEY. JUST. KISS?

(if you're skeptical about central romances, I get it! See notes on aro/aceness and platonic relationships in the rep section for more info)

mid post note: I am not involved with the making of the show or the game space Kings. I just really like this podcast. Also, if you are seeing this text you are looking at a copy of the original posted on an unused sideblog so that I can keep the notes separate from my naturally spreading original without looking like a bot, and not get blaze notification spam.the references to "look in the notes for more" won't work for you. Yes, I spent my own money on this.

The format

The use of a playing card deck to see the outcomes of risky actions means that no matter what happens, success or failure, the tension keeps rising, because there are only so many successes in the deck before you shuffle. The hosts do a wonderful job of explaining mechanics in the show, so it never interrupts the listening experience.

The hosts make a real effort to blend stats and story, and I think the pull it off wonderfully without spending too much time on mechanics. If you want to see that though, session 0 and other crunchy details are on the Patreon (where you get the same content no matter how much you pay, at a minimum of a dollar a month).

The pod has all the lighthearted fun and banter of a "friends around the table" show, but never once have I had that "oh my god, I'm not a part of your inside joke, shut up and play!" Feeling.

EDIT: i did not know "friends around the table" was the name of another podcast. no hate to them I'm sure they're lovely, this was just the use of a phrase.

I think it's a delight for AP and non-AP fans alike.

Trigger warnings: the show is pretty lighthearted! Listeners sensitive non-graphic mentions of needles, blood, and/or guns might want to skip on this one, but most episodes don't get heavy. The few that do have pre-episode notes that warn you things get dark, how they get dark, and how to skip the darkest bits. Personally, I listened through them and enjoyed those parts a lot! But if that's not your thing, I agree with the warning that they're very skippable, and I think trigger-sensitive listeners will be pleased. As an indie pod, there are no fan made, super specific lists of triggers.

I'm trying to emphasize the balance between lightheartedness and drama, but if your mental health is sensitive to grim & dark media, i think this one is pretty safe. Please always exercise caution! But I'd describe 3o♥️s as emotionally restful.

Transcripts: transcripts are in the works, but do not currently exist except for episodes 1 and 2. Three of Hearts is a non-scripted show, so those are also unavailable. Some of the money given to the show will be used to hire a queer disabled transcriptionist! So if you listen and love it, consider sending cash their way. All transcripts are on patreon for free.