#AND SHE LOSES SO MUCH MORE BUT DO WE EVER SEE THE EFFECTS OF THAT? NOOOOO NO WE DONT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dirtyvulture · 11 days ago

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Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader*

18+ only read at your own risk

Word count: 3248

Requested by anon: Hi i love your work..you don't have to do this request if you don't want.. i was kind of was wondering since we haven't heard from Sergeant Nat and reader. If we could hear from them? I was thinking since Nat is always the confident reassured one in that universe like maybe something happens where shes not sure where she stand with reader? Like jealous or maybe reader lets one of her military friends borrow her laptop and they use it to watch porn...and nat finds it and thinks its reader. And nat kind of loses her mind in a way that we havent seen. (Not like crazy but for the first time shes like am i enough). And reader is high key oblivious bc she worships nat. Some communication to sort out and then smutty times. Only if you want. If not i look forward to whatever you post yay.

AN: *Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Thanks for the idea, anon! This was a lot of fun to write. :)

This is Part 5 in my Sergeant Beef series. Read the first one here.

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” Sam asks, poking his head into your room.

“Why?” You don’t even look at him, focused on you video game on the tiny television mounted to your wall.

“I dropped mine in the lake, so I had to buy a new one but it won’t get shipped off until later this week,” Sam explains.

“Okay,” you say, hardly listening to him as you race your little car across the screen to bump the giant soccer ball towards the goal. “It’s in my room on the–”

“I know where it is. Thanks.” Sam whisks in and helps himself.

“Close the door on your way out!” you call, just in time to hear the door slam behind him. Turning your whole focus back to your game, your fingers mash the buttons to a triumphant win.

***********************************************************************

A few days later, Natasha is over at your apartment. While the two of you had discussed a thousand times moving in together, you had always stalled or walked around the subject. Natasha wasn’t sure if it was because you were nervous what the public’s perception would be of your relationship, or if you preferred your own private space too much to give it up. Ever since the deployment, you had been more likely to retreat and hide away (even from Natasha) when you were upset or moody. She wondered if it was a side effect of your PTSD, but you never seemed ready for that conversation so she left it alone.

For dinner, you grilled some steaks (setting off the smoke detector in your apartment) while Natasha made a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. Afterwards, you went to take a shower while Natashas lounged around and found a movie on Netflix for the two of you to watch. She sits on the couch, opening your laptop and finding the web browser. She looks up Netflix and then browses through the recommendations on your home page, but none of them pique her interest.

She goes onto Google to search what other people are recommending and wades through a sea of titles and descriptions to find one. Swapping back and forth between tabs, she finds a website with a host of titles and flips back and forth until she finds a movie that is both on the list and currently on Netflix. But in the process, she loses track of the tab and accidentally closes it, silently cursing to herself, before going to check the history to find it again.

But what she finds in the history is not what she had been looking for.

Natasha feels almost scandalized when she sees the words “big busty blondes” in your search history, followed by a list of pornsites. While she knew you watched such videos in her absence, she didn’t know what genre you were into, and now a deep sinking feeling of insecurity fills her. She was not blonde, nor was she particularly busty after the years of hard workouts had shrank some of her assets a little. You always told her she had the perfect body, but now she wasn’t quite sure if she should believe you.

“Nat? Did you pick a movie?” You poke your head out of the bathroom. You’re not wearing a shirt and your wet hair is dripping water down your chest, emphasizing the lines of your muscles. Natasha can see the bullet scar on your ribs from the deployment that almost ended your life. But you walked away with every member of your team alive, and your tale of bravery had become something of a living legend in the community.

She knows you could have any woman you wanted. She had seen the way the recruits eyed you and how bold the other brass were with you. Before your promotion to sergeant, you were often overlooked and completely ignored. Natasha, perhaps a little selfishly, always considered herself the catch in your relationship: she was one of a handful of female sergeants with outstanding credentials, and looked great in and out of a uniform. But maybe she thought too highly of herself. You had developed into a very competent sergeant, were extremely good-looking, and had the most lovable personality anyone could ask for.

What if you didn’t want her anymore? What if you wanted someone younger, or someone you could start a family with? Natasha hadn’t yet disclosed to you her inability to have children, but if the subject ever came up, she knew you’d need no other excuse to walk away.

“Nat? Did you pick out a movie?” you ask again.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “We can watch Trolls.”

“Okay. That sounds fun.”

You come out in a sweatshirt with matching gray sweatpants and join Natasha on the couch. Instinctively, you put your arm around her shoulder and she snuggles against you, letting you rest your head against hers.

You seem to enjoy the goofy children’s movie, laughing out loud at the jokes and cheering when the main characters hug by the end. But Natasha can’t focus for a second, still thinking about the search history on your laptop. She didn’t even know if it was something she should bring up, but it was already eating her alive to think that she wasn’t good enough for you.

Natasha didn’t know if she would be able to survive without you. She would have to do everything she could to keep you by her side.

***********************************************************************

“Give me a sec,” Natasha calls, hurriedly slipping her boots on. She checks herself in the mirror one final time before opening her apartment door to see you.

“Hi, Nat–oh.” Your expression goes flat.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks, her stomach twisting in knots. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“You dyed your hair,” you say, blinking at the short blonde hair she was now sporting.

“You don’t like it?” she asks, her worry growing by the second. She had dropped a significant sum at the salon on base to cut and dye her hair. Perhaps this had been a severe overreaction on her part.

“Oh. No, um, it looks very nice,” you stutter.

Natasha is not convinced in the slightest. Her face flushes red and she bites her lip to stop herself from crying in frustration. “That’s okay,” she mutters more to herself than you. “Where are we going again?” she asks, even though she knows every detail of the outing she had planned with you.

“The gym first, then we can get lunch and go grab groceries,” you list off, seemingly oblivious to her awkwardness.

“Yes, that’s right. Okay, let’s go,” she replies sullenly.

***********************************************************************

Natasha isn’t sure what else she can do to hold your attention after the hair dying incident. She tries to be extra doting with you, but all of her efforts seem to go completely unnoticed. You only say “thank you” once when she gets you your favorite chocolate bar from the commissary. The next time the two of you are in bed together, Natasha feels like she has to guide you through all the motions and you fuck her with a concerningly low level of enthusiasm. Natasha is convinced you’ve found someone else and just the thought of losing you makes her sick.

She’s nearly sent over the edge when she finally gets a text from you:

From Y/N: Can you come over tonight? I want to talk

Natasha feels like the rug has been pulled out from under her feet. Sweat breaks out on her forehead and her stomach starts to hurt like she had a bad meal. What if she just didn’t go to see you? Would you really still break up with her over text?

Her body seems to have a mind of her own as she responds:

To Y/N: Ok

***********************************************************************

“Thanks for coming over,” you say, welcoming Natasha into your apartment. She steps in guardedly, wondering if you’re hiding your new girlfriend under the couch. Or maybe she’s already in your bed. She shuffles down the hallway to subtly peer into your bedroom, which is empty.

“What did you want to talk about?” Natasha isn’t one to dance around the elephant in the room. Besides, she doesn’t want to draw this out any longer than it needs to be.

“Oh. Um…” You sound caught off guard. “Well, I was thinking that–”

“You want to break up with me.” Natasha can’t stop the tears forming in her eyes. She wipes them away, angry at herself for showing such weakness already.

“What? What makes you think that?” Your shock is so genuine, Natasha almost wants to believe you.

Natasha hides her face behind her hand. “I saw it on your laptop last week. The kind of porn you were watching–”

“Porn? I use incognito,” you say. “Unless that doesn’t actually hide things…” you add in a mumble.

“Your search history said you looked up…” Natasha takes a breath. “‘Big busty blondes,’” she repeats, hating the way the words sound off her tongue.

“What?” You sound confused now. “That’s…I don’t watch that kind of stuff. Wait, is that why you dyed your hair blonde?”

“No,” Natasha lies. “But I saw it on your laptop!” she insists, hastily changing the subject.

You pause for a moment, then start shaking your head with a chuckle. “I’m gonna rip him a new one,” you mutter. Then louder, you explain, “Sam borrowed my laptop last week because his was broken. I’m guessing he used it to…you know…” Your expression turns into one of disgust, and Natasha matches it.

“Oh. So, you’re not into big busty blondes?” Natasha is embarrassingly desperate for clarification.

“No, I’m not.” You take a step towards her and hold out your hands. “But I do have a thing for hot redheads who could totally kick my butt.”

“I know,” Natasha says, taking your hands and leaning up to kiss you. Her lips lift into a smile when you return her kiss with more passion than you had all week, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her flush against you. You dig your fingers into her thighs, lightly rolling your hips, and when she feels your hard bulge against her stomach and all of her doubts are cast away immediately. Her face burns in shame when she realizes how quickly she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. You weren’t going anywhere. You were totally in love with her and wanted no one else.

“Wait, so what did you want to talk about?” Natasha asks, trying to ignore the arousal building in her core as you hump her.

“Oh! Um…” Your face reddens, as if you’re so turned on yourself you forgot why you asked her to come. “Uh…I wanted to ask if…you would like to move in with me? Or if I could move into your apartment? Or we could find a new place together…”

Natasha feels like she’s gotten whiplash from the subject change. She had come here thinking you were breaking up with her, but instead you actually wanted to move in with her? Just when she had thought it was never going to happen.

“Why the change?” she asks.

You shrug your massive shoulders. “We spend so much time together as it is. And I was mostly nervous because you know I have those night terrors a lot, but…” You sigh. “I realized I get them a lot less when I wake up next to you.” Natasha wants to melt in your arms. “And it would be really nice if I got to wake up next to you every day. And eat every meal with you. And–”

Natasha cuts you off with a hard kiss. “Yes,” she pants, groping for the tie on your sweatpants and pulling them down. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”

“Nat,” you whine when she grabs your cock. She feels it throb in her hand and her arousal spikes. As high as her own sex drive was, there was little else that turned Natasha on more than to see how excited you were for her. She pushes you towards the bedroom and you understand without needing words, obediently sitting down on your bed and pulling you on top of her. You grunt when her weight lands on your thighs and Natasha immediately props herself on her knees; sometimes she forgets about the injury on your right thigh that still causes you pain sometimes.

“Sorry baby,” she whispers while leaning in to kiss your cheek. It had been a long and sometimes frustrating journey to get back to the same level of intimacy the two of you shared after the deployment ambush and your recovery. The medicines you were on had drastically affected your mood (and performance) and there were still some positions you could no longer do because of the strain it put on your body. But Natasha had been patient and gentle with you, even when all she wanted to do was fuck you senseless. Over time your strength and stamina had come back, and Natasha was thrilled you could still please her in bed.

She leans back and takes her shirt off while you mirror her. You’re almost back to your weight as before the deployment, but the physical therapy has encouraged you to work out even harder, so you are more muscular and toned than before. Natasha eyes your body hungrily, her hand reaching out to trace the scar on your ribs. While she hates the memory attached to your scar, she can appreciate how much more badass it makes you look.

“Nat,” you say, and she breaks out of her thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She pushes you to lie on your back, rolling her clothed lower body against yours. “Everything is very okay.” Her hands skate across your warm skin, squeezing your biceps before resting on your chest, balancing herself as she rocks back and forth. Even though you’re still wearing boxers, Natasha can feel the hardness of your dick pressing against her butt.

“All ready for me?” she hums, digging her nails lightly into your chest.

“Always,” you respond, rolling your hips to match her rhythm.

“Hmm.” Natasha contemplates how she wants you today. You almost never call the shots in bed, but you have no problem with Natasha taking control most of the time. She likes how submissive you are to her and your willingness to please her even at your own expense. But she isn’t feeling selfish today and wants you to relax and enjoy too.

Her body seems to have a mind of its own as she humps along your abs, eventually pushing her panties to the side so you can feel her heat on your stomach.

“Nat,” you whine, gripping onto her waist to guide her movements.

“Just let me ride you,” she says, lifting off of you for a moment to remove her panties completely, and the two of you moan when she settles back on you. You flex your abs until Natasha swears she could grate cheese on them. She angles her hips back and widens her legs so she can drag her pussy along the ridges of your abs, smearing her wetness everywhere. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” she moans.

“So do you,” you say, your hands tightening around her waist.

Natasha moves her hips faster, sliding back until she can feel your cock practically poking a hole through your boxers. She’s just warming herself (and you) up and doesn’t want to rush to the main event. But as she hears your whines and feels the tension in your body, all she wants is for you to flip her over and fuck her until she can’t walk.

“Can you do exactly what I ask you to?” Natasha pants, the building arousal in her stomach almost painful now.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Sergeant. Whatever you want.”

The use of Natasha’s title makes her pussy clench around nothing. Her body aches for you and she’s done playing around.

“Good. I want you to get on your knees and fuck me,” she demands, abruptly climbing off of you and presenting her backside to you. You scramble to obey, wasting no time lining up your cock with her soaking pussy and pushing in eagerly. Natasha inhales sharply when your length stretches her out, filling her perfectly and reaching places she could never reach with her hand or a toy. When you start moving your hips, she whimpers and moans, gripping handfuls of the bedsheets so you don’t slam her into the headboard.

She spasms around you with every stroke, clenching tightly and trying to draw you in as deep as you can go. Natasha loves to hear you moan, knowing she was the cause of them, and more of her slick leaks out around your cock.

“Fuck, Nat,” you grunt, your thighs slapping against her butt with every thrust. “You always feel amazing.”

“Harder,” she begs. “I want you to cum when I do.”

“I’ll try,” you respond, your breathing ragged as you start to falter in your rhythm.

“Fuck, you’re in me so deep,” Natasha moans, wishing that despite your already above-average size, you had more to give her. She lets go of the bedsheets and slips her hand down between her legs, rubbing her clit for added stimulation. “Don’t you dare stop,” she warns, noticing the way your legs are shaking and your thrusts are losing their power.

“I won’t,” you whimper, and Natasha is not convinced you’ll be able to last much longer. Her hand glides back up to her stomach, where she can feel the bulge of your cock through her skin. That alone nearly sends her over the edge, but she has one more request from you.

“Bite me,” Natasha pants, motioning to her right trapezius muscle. Normally, she is very against you marking her during sex because she doesn’t want to worry about hiding them, but now she is panting at the thought of you finally staking your claim on her.

“Bite you?” you say, sounding extremely timid.

“Yes!” she growls, not wanting to repeat herself. “If you don’t bite me, I won’t let you cum.”

You moan and tighten your grip on her waist. Natasha feels your cock throbbing inside her, but she knows you won’t finish without her permission. The bed creaks as your weight shifts and she feels your chest press against her back as you lean over her. She hums in anticipation, feeling your breath across the back of her shoulder. Your teeth graze her skin lightly, your hesitancy obvious.

“Y/N,” she moans, pushing back into you and squeezing your length. “If you don’t fucking bite me–”

Your teeth suddenly clamp down sharply and Natasha keens, gushing around you and not even noticing you finish inside her. White spots of pure pleasure burst behind her eyelids and she feels cum drip down her thighs. It feels like she’s riding out the high forever, but when she finally unwinds, she feels your weight pressing into her back and a dull stinging in her shoulder. She twists her head to see the clear imprint of your teeth in her skin, the flesh reddening already.

“Sorry if that was too hard,” you say softly, as if you’re embarrassed by following her instructions.

“Nonsense,” she says, reaching behind her to cup the back of your neck. She pulls your head down against hers and nuzzles against your cheek. “Next time, you can bite me harder.”

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AN: Sorry to Sam lol

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #sergeant beef au #natasha romanoff x reader

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curseofdelos · 5 months ago

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mentally I'm still here:

Nico insisting that neither of them are going to be sacrificed/left behind to satisfy the prophecy is a perfect encapsulation of his growth over the series and it makes me SO soft to think about

Nico as a character - particularly in BoO - doesn't have a lot of self-preservation. He doesn't really care what happens to him as long as the mission gets done. We see this most explicitly after he almost fades into nothingness after the Bryce Lawrence incident:

And again when he considers shadow travelling into Octavian's tent to assassinate him:

(Nico himself notes here that it was unlikely he would survive another jump. If Will hadn't stopped him, he probably would have died.)

In both cases, Nico was willing to risk death for the sake of ending the war. He puts very little value on his own life, and repeatedly argues to Reyna, Hedge, and Will that the possibility of saving camp (a place he never felt welcome at, might I add) is worth the risk of losing his life.

Even before Nico went on the quest with Reyna and Hedge, the others were concerned about his safety. Percy tried to remind him how unpredictable his shadow travelling could be, and Hazel notes that he has been acting strangely lately:

It's not quite clear what Hazel is worried about here, but my interpretation of this scene is that she's concerned that Nico isn't thinking - or perhaps, isn't caring - about what effect the constant shadow travelling will have on his wellbeing. Between Tartarus, the jar, and the Cupid incident, Nico's mental state is at its worst at this point in the series, and I think Hazel is worried he'll do something reckless - something he can't come back from.

And so in TSATS, when Nico is told that he's going to have to leave something of equal value behind in order to save Bob, the old him would have had zero issue sacrificing himself if that's what it took to ensure Will and Bob's survival. This version of Nico, who's been going to therapy w/ Mr D and opening up more and built a little support system for himself, can't fathom it.

Nico in BoO did not have a future. He had fully convinced himself that nobody cared about him or would miss him if he was gone - not Percy who fought for him at every turn in PJO, not his sister Hazel, not his new friends Jason and Reyna. He was ready to leave both camps behind because he couldn't see himself ever being happy there. He couldn't see himself being happy at all.

But now, in TSATS, he has a boyfriend that he loves, he has friends that he loves, and he has a community in Camp Half-Blood. He has experienced so much loss that losing someone else is his worst fear. The old Nico would have considered sacrificing himself to protect Will and Bob. At the very least, he would have kept that option in his back pocket as a 'just in case'; he wouldn't have sworn on the Styx that he wouldn't stay behind.

This Nico, however, is doing much better - not perfect, but better. He loves Will, and he wants a life with him, and he's not willing to give that up for anything. Nico has hope for the future, and he's clinging to that hope with everything he has. He sees a light at the end of the tunnel, and he wants to reach it. He's not willing to sacrifice himself because it means losing that future.

Gone is the cynical pessimistic Nico who assumes the worst because the worst is all he thinks he can have. Here is the Nico who has had a taste of happiness and is willing to fight to keep it. He's not going to sacrifice himself because he wants to live. He's not just fighting for Will here; he's fighting for himself too.

And seeing him go from "if it kills me, it kills me" to "it's not going to be me" makes me so ASDFGHJKL

#nico di angelo #solangelo #tsats #meta #mine #some points of clarification I want to make here in the tags:#1) I don't think that Nico /wanted/ to die necessarily; only that he didn't care if he lived or died #2) I'm not arguing that getting a boyfriend 'fixed' nico #I don't think he ever would have been open to trying something with Will if he hadn't befriended Jason and Reyna first #ALSO i would argue that Nico's story from as early as BOTL has been about recovering and getting better and moving forward #he has been on this journey loooong before Will had ever entered the picture #his relationship with Will is not the reason he got better; it's the result of Nico choosing to get better on his own accord #because the pre-statue quest Nico would have never allowed himself to get close to another person

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websterss · 1 year ago

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LOVEBUG — COLE WALTER

REQUEST: Can I do a request for Cole Walter where he and the reader are about to sleep together for the first but she figures that he just will hook up with her and go back to Erin. But he actually has feelings for her and he found out it is her first time ever so he makes sure to tell her that he actually has feelings for her. (Some mature content if you’re cool with that)😏

WARNING(S): Angst, fluff, only indication of smut at the end, no actual smut.

WORD COUNT: 2,804

PAIRING: Cole Walter x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! Also, I don't do taglists any more guys!

MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you couldn’t let go of it was trying and not being able to have a conversation with Cole. You found it difficult since he had been avoiding you like the plague. He’d brush past your shoulder in the halls, and if you locked eyes in public he was already walking the other way. Your friendship has been one for the history books. A long-lasting friendship since elementary, but you wondered when and if your bond was soon to expire. You wanted to keep trying though because trying meant you wouldn’t have to lose Cole for good.

You had had your doubts the second Katherine had invited you to attend Haley and Will’s wedding. Your doubts clouded your mind as you felt your presence and attendance would cause a great deal of stress or frustration for Cole. Seeing as how he didn’t want to talk to you, you did your best to stay far away, sit far, but even then you watched as he left in the middle of the dancing. Heading towards the barn. You had wished you had gone after him sooner, but you waited, waited till everyone was asleep. Anxiety was all you felt as you faced his workshop shed. The light was on indicating that he was in there but if it hadn’t been for the banging and clanging of tools against metal you would have assumed otherwise. It was only one foot after the other. You thought to yourself. Some part of you told you to run and turn, but he was alone and in his element, this would have to be your only time to get your chance. You had to be brave, and strong, but you were not at the moment so you went head first, heart second. You had opened the door and made your way inside. You complicated whether to make your presence known but it ended up being one hesitant knock followed by two certain ones. You had barely made your way into the area before his voice made you halt in your tracks.

“Didn’t expect you to be hanging around still. It’s late, shouldn't you be on your way home by now?”

“H-How’d you know it was me?” You gape at him like a fish out of water, not having expected him to speak first.

“You’re the only person I know that knocks after walking into a room.” He continued to twist a bolt. “Plus you do things in threes.”

You gaped at him. “No, I don’t.”

You watched as he turned his eyes towards you, a shit-eating grin on his eyes as he leaned to his left. His hand curls into a fist as he reenacts your entrance. Tapping against the metal for effect.

One… two three.

“Three times.” He smirked, raising his left brow. You wanted to slap him then and there.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to pay attention to things like that?”

“Like what? Like how you scrunch your nose and close your eyes when the sun is in your face, and continue to have a conversation like that. Or how you like to listen instead of speaking when you’re in a group. It's just how observant you are. Or how you do things like knock three times after entering a room.” He chuckles, pointing and mocking where you entered. “Or how you don’t ask or expect anything from anyone because you feel like you’re being a burden. Which you’re not. Or how you go out of your way to help others so much, even though some people don’t deserve to be blessed by your kindness. Or how you prefer bikes to cars cause it means you're helping out the planet a little bit more. Or how you prefer Custard instead of Murphy now because when we were younger Alex said you’d be fine riding him…but then you fell off and you got hurt, and it took a long time to get you to trust us again, and get you back on a saddle. Or… how you’ve been nothing but sweet to me when all I’ve done is treat you like shit.” He slams the hood of his truck down causing you to flinch. Regret fills him instantly. “Or…how you hate loud noises because it reminds you of all the yelling that happens at home.” If your heart could stop you’d have collapsed dead on the floor before him. But it hadn’t, it only skipped and increased in speed because you never thought he'd be so attentive to you.

“Still don’t peg me as the type to pay attention to things now?” He opened his arms out and gave a tight-lipped grin.

“What happened to us?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He brushes past you like he’s done so time after time again. He walked over to his work table looking for a torque wrench knowing the one he needed was over by the truck in his toolbox. He just couldn’t face you right now.

“Cole…will you look at me, please? I’ve been trying to talk to you for months now and-“

“Have you seen my torque wrench anywhere I can’t find it?” He cut you off.

“Cole, I’m serious, if you’d just give me a second-“

“Can we not do this tonight? I need to work on the truck okay? It needed more work after it broke down on me and Jackie the other day and I’d appreciate it if you-“

“Can you just look at me for once, dammit!” You walk over and bang your fist on the hood and flinch. You see his side profile first before his body follows, he raises a brow at you unimpressed.

“On my truck.” He gestures to where your fist rests.

“I have been trying and trying for so long now to get your attention. To talk to you.” You run your hands down your face. “Because I miss you…” You gesture an open hand to him. “I miss my best friend. I miss wanting to know how your day is going or if your knee has been hurting, but I can’t do those things because you don’t give me the time of day.”

“I’ve been busy…” He shrugs.

“Busy right? Yeah, I know what you've been up to.” You close your eyes. “Look Cole, I don’t know if I’ve done anything to make you want to avoid me but if I have then I’m sorry.” You let your head hang forward. “I don’t know what to do anymore…” You hear him before you feel his hands touch your skin gently. In a soft gentle caress, you can’t help but lean into his palm. “I’m sorry…”

“Hey, you don’t have to be sorry for anything. I’ve been a jerk okay…I've been a shit friend and an even shit brother, but I’m working on it. I am. Things will be different. Okay, if my speech was anything to go off of, I meant every second of it. Meeting your person…When I met you, nothing, nothing else mattered to me. I should’ve realized it sooner too but when do I pay attention to you.” He joked slightly, causing you to roll your eyes. “I should've held you closer because as my mother likes to remind me constantly. You’re good for me, to me, and way out of my league…” Cole laughed lightly. “I guess what I’m trying to get at is I’m sorry…for everything. I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven for the way I’ve treated you.”

“You don’t.” Cole retreats his hands from your face. Accepting that as your final word. He’d have walked off with a nod if you hadn’t given him the sweet smile he loves seeing on you. “It’s a good thing I forgave you two days ago then..”

“Wait what?”

“Thanks for fixing my bike by the way.”

He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did you know about that?”

“I had to take Luna to the vet since she got out the night before, she came back with a limp, but that’s a story for another time. Anyway, your mom and I chatted and she assumed we were on good terms again and asked if you had given me my bike back yet. It didn't take long to put two and two together. That and I’ve been missing my bike for a week now.”

“Can’t trust her now.” He joked.

“When did you even take it?” You shook your head.

“When did you start asking people for rides again?” He raised a brow at you but laughed as you went to playfully smack him for he was the reason for your lack of transportation. “I was driving the boys home from school when I saw you one day kneeling beside your bike. I wasn’t spying by the way, I just happened to see you in all your damsel ness…” He dragged out the s.

“Right…” You squint your eyes at him in amusement.

“I figured it could’ve been the chain since you complained about it falling out one time, so it was either that or the tires finally gave out because let’s face it, sweetheart, that thing was ancient.” He started walking backwards with a smirk. “It was supposed to be a surprise but I guess now is as good of a time as any.” He grabbed a hold of the sheet that covered it and yanked it off.

Your heart did stop then and there. You gasped quietly as a cherry red bike was presented before you. Cole rolled it over in front of you before pulling down the support lever. Though it had been the basket with a pink bow on it that caught your attention. It was beautiful.

“You fixed it.” You reached a hand out to touch it but left it hanging mid-air. Too scared to ruin it. Break it. “And…painted it?” You raised a confused brow at him.

“No. I got you a new one.” He grinned sheepishly as you looked up at him in shock. “The basket was a personal touch I added to it though. I thought you could use something to carry your backpack and books, and the flowers you deliver on Wednesdays. You’ve always carried your bag on your back so I thought this could help take that heavy weight off your shoulders.”

“Cole…T-This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you…” His heart swelled as you flashed him a smile. You looked back to the bike…thinking he must’ve spent his paycheck on it. You couldn’t believe he’d done such a thing for you.

“You’re welcome bug.” He nodded. “You deserve something nice. Plus your old bike was on its last limb. That and I thought it’d be good for me to get some exercise in. Work the leg out some more ya know. Believe it or not, I don’t remember the last time I ever rode a bike.” He chuckled.

"Bug...You haven't called me that in a long time."

"It's my name for you..."

"Yeah, I know it is..." You mutter softly. You thought about the name for a second before your brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait if you got me a new one…What did you do with the old bike?”

“Ah thought you’d never ask. I fixed it.” He jogged back over to the corner. Rolling over the old rusted red one out. He swung a leg over the seat. “Thought you can use the company on Wednesdays.”

“Keep me company huh?”

“Yeah, I think it’s time I find a new hobby.”

“Sulking bored you out.”

“Among other things…” He shrugs. “I want things to be different.” He cleared his throat and held your gaze.

“I’m happy for you Cole.” You nodded.

“Anyway…Let’s test this bad boy.” He pedaled out a few feet then you both watched and heard as the clank of the chain fell out. It lay on the floor. You looked up in time to meet his gaze. You had to cover your mouth to keep you from laughing.

“Thought you said you fixed it.”

“Yeah…The chain won’t stay. So expect a lot of stopping when we go out on them.” He gave a sheepish grin.

“You took the old one.” You stated. Turning back to your new one with a new sense of warmth and longing.

“You were due for a new one. No way I could keep letting you ride this thing. I mean, look at it!” He judged the rusted two-wheeler.

“Hey don’t make fun. She held out for as long as she could.”

His eyes flickered onto you, lingering on your eyes a little longer before he let his eyes roam to your heels, up to where your dress ended, then his eyes raked back up to your pouty lips. The accidental double entendre wasn’t lost on him. You had held out for him as long as you could too and he’d been nothing but an ass.

“Yeah, she sure did…” He nodded slightly. You hold his gaze for a bit longer then look away.

“For what it's worth. I appreciate you doing this for me.” You grew closer to him, a timid stance as you fiddled with your already chipping nail paint. “I don’t think I can show you just how thankful I am, but all I got is this.” You exhaled, then leaned over to press a kiss against the side of his cheek. Cole closed his eyes wanting the touch of your lips to linger on him a bit longer. You pulled away the slightest, your eyes flickering down to his lips before you averted your gaze. Cole’s chest rose and fell at the sudden change in the atmosphere. He often wondered what your lips pressed against his felt like. Thoughts and questions he probably shouldn’t have had like what did you taste like? What noises he could get out of you. He was hungry for your touch, and he wasn’t about to ruin the opportunity to do the one thing he longed for.

You watched as he stood up from the bike, letting it lean on the support bar. You took a step back as he closed the distance between you two. His hand reached up to find its place again against your cheeks. “I’m gonna kiss you now.” Your breath hitched at his words. “Let me know if you’d like me to stop.”

“Okay…” You had closed your eyes shut as you waited for him to lean in. It was the barely-there brush of his lips that had you gasping for air. It was the effect he had on you. When he was sure you wouldn’t pull away from him, he slid his hand underneath your jaw holding you there as he walked you both to his work table. The wood had met you back as he knelt to pick you up. Your hands slid over and into his locks. Tugging him closer to you as he stood in between your thighs.

“Say the word…” He pulled away from your lips kissing down your jaw, onto your neck. “And I’ll stop.” He breathed out as he took note of each sigh of contentment you let out.

“D-Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” You lifted his chin to have him look at you once more. You curled a hand into his hair and crashed your lips onto his.

“I won’t stop then.” He pecked your lips, pulling back in a teasing manner. You grabbed both sides of his face to press your mouths together, having enough of his playfulness. You just wanted him then and there. You knew you were in for a long evening hearing him unzip his slacks. His belt buckle following next.

“P-Promise this isn’t just a one-time thing. That this won’t be like Erin or any of the other girls you’ve been with. That you won’t leave after this. This is my first time after all.”

“Is that what’s worrying you?” He leaned in and pecked your lips sweetly.

“Would you be upset if it was?”

“No. Thank you for being open and honest about your concerns to me. But I promise you this time it's different, with you it’s different. I feel something when I’m with you, and I don’t want to find out what my life will be like if you aren’t in it any time soon, but as long as you’re game. I’m in this for the long run.”

“I thought Cole Walter didn’t do relationships…” Cole knew you were only kidding by the teasing in your tone.

“Yeah well that Cole didn’t know what love felt like until he met you.”

“You love me?” You grin feeling that warmth spread over your heart once more.

“I love you.” He nodded certainly.

#cole walter #cole walter x reader #cole walter x fem!reader #cole walter imagines #cole walter oneshot #mlwtwb imagines #mlwtwb #my life witih the walter boys imagines #my gif #writings by juls

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senseofnewness · 4 months ago

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So we all know Art Donaldson is a whiny bitch right? Do you think he'd have an impact kink? Like he says something that annoys reader so she taps his cheek. Do you think he'd be turned on by that?? I saw that gif of tashi holding his cheek and he's looking up at her and UGH it's all I can think about

oh you know his tiny underwear is all wet and sticky as soon as the palm of your hand touches his cheek

MDNI, 18+, tw : BDSM

Art had never been a violent man. He believed violence was for those who couldn't communicate. Therefore, he never imagined that it would become such an important part of your relationship. His father had always taught him that there wasn't a worse coward than a man who hit a woman. Plus, he loved you way too much to ever hurt you. The thought of raising his hand against you was unbearable. However, imagining you doing the same to him did not trouble him nearly as much.

The first time he realized the effect violence truly had on him was after a fight. It was the first big fight of your relationship. Sure, before that, playing rough-and-tumble with you had always made him hard, but he had always blamed it on you straddling him, not on the fact that you were holding him in a chokehold.

That night, you had gone out with your friends to the club and had come home just before sunrise, barefoot, with your shoes dangling from your fingers. Art was well aware of your whereabouts, you weren’t the sneaky type. You had been having so much fun that time had slipped away, and you had completely forgotten to text him. As you unlocked the door to your apartment, you were startled to find Art standing in the dark hallway, arms crossed over his chest. Though you weren’t officially living together back then, he had a key that he often used to sneak into your bed at night. "It's late." He muttered through clenched teeth. You had never seen such an expression on his face, a mix of worry and anger that sent shivers down your spine. "Artie, I'm so sleepy..." You mumbled, staggering towards the bedroom. "Where the hell were you?" He raised his voice, trailing right behind you. "I was at the club, like I told you." You answered, grabbing a makeup wipe and leaning unsteadily in front of the mirror. "With who?" He demanded, his questions becoming more persistent. "My friends." You said, wiping off your makeup. "Did you get fucked?" His question made you turn to face him, mouth agape. What was he trying to get at? "What? No!" You replied, shaking your head, the movement making you feel dizzy. He stepped closer, invading your personal space. "How am I supposed to trust you when you're dressed like a slut?" It only took a second for your hand to land on his cheek with a loud smack.

He looked at you in shock, his hand instinctively flying to his burning cheek. Guilt washed over you immediately. You knew you had made a mistake the second your palm made contact with his face. Hurt and alcohol were a dangerous combination for you, and you wanted to apologize, even though he was just as much in the wrong. While your slap had hurt him physically, his words had cut you deeply. As his cheek reddened, the sting radiated through his entire body. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, goosebumps crawling on his arms. His nipples stiffened, and his cock was in the exact same state : hard.

He felt like he was losing his mind, unable to get his body to follow his thoughts. He had been worried sick and you had hit him. Logically, his cock should have been the last thing to react. His brain had obviously sent the blood rushing to the wrong part of his body. Yet, he couldn’t deny it, there was something undeniably sexy about the way you had smacked him, the heat of your rage burning through your eyes. And the sting. Oh, the sting.

You turned away, avoiding his gaze as silence settled between you. You couldn't bear to see his wounded puppy expression. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you from behind. He murmured an apology, his voice laced with regret as he confessed how deeply worried he had been, how he had lost control of his emotions. You apologized as well, promising never to raise your hand against him againThe anger that had filled the room was gone on both ends, leaving a void that quickly filled with desire on Art’s side. All he wanted now was to feel you, for you to show him how unfounded his fears were, how stupid he was for doubting you. He yearned for you to tell him that no one else could ever make you come like he did. He had tightened his hold on you, his swollen cock pressing firmly against your ass. That night, he had fucked you, his mind haunted by the memory of that slap.

The next big fight was the moment he realized just how fucked up he truly was. This time, it was you who were struggling with insecurities. Both of you had traveled out of state for a tennis tournament, and you had noticed his gaze lingering a bit too long on a fellow player on the TV screen. It would have been one thing if she hadn’t been present at the event, but you had caught a glimpse of her at the opening party. She was even more stunning in real life, and it bothered you how Art’s eyes had followed her so intently. She was his type, and you knew it. A tennis prodigy with a captivating presence. It irked you how they shared this connection. "Do you want to fuck her?" You asked, glaring at him as he sat on the couch, engrossed in a live broadcast of her match. "Who?" He replied, his eyes still glued to the screen. Who? Who was he kidding? He had his eyes on her! "That cunt!" You yelled, pointing angrily at the TV. He looked at you, confusion evident in his eyes. All he had done was watch a tennis match, and he couldn’t understand the reason for your sudden outburst. "No!" He quickly responded, trying to calm you. You pointed at the corner of his mouth. "Lie better next time. You're drooling." You snapped. Who would drool? She was dreamy. He sighed deeply, realizing that no explanation would satisfy you. You were determined to vent your frustration, and he would be the victim of it. "And why not?" You had continued, bitterness lacing your words. "You seem to enjoy watching her in that tiny skirt." She had perfect, endlessly long legs, and her skirt lifted just enough with every breeze to reveal the underside of her ass cheeks. But he had not even noticed her outfit, too engrossed in the game. "She’s so much better than me." He frowned at your words. Being angry with him was one thing, but putting yourself down in front of him was another. No one was allowed to talk badly about his girlfriend, not even you. "Stop it." He had said firmly, standing before you with his arms on his hips. "Why don’t you want her? You already fucked her?" You questioned him, your jealousy pouring out. You knew the tennis world was a small one, and there was a chance they might know each other from previous competitions. But you had to admit, you mostly weren’t making any sense anymore. All you wanted was for him to reassure you, to tell you that you were the only one and that no one compared to you. Not even Tashi fucking Duncan.

That was when he saw it, the fierce, raw rage in your eyes. It was the kind of look that made his pulse quicken and his cock throb in his pants. He craved that sharp, intoxicating sting once more, the one that haunted his thoughts every time you had sex. He longed for you to become physical again, to give him that intense, electrifying sensation that both frightened and thrilled him.

"Yeah..." You seized his jaw with a firm grip, forcing him to meet your gaze. Without hesitation, you kicked him in the groin with all your strength. You felt him crumble under the impact, a pained whimper escaping his lips. Before you knew it, he dropped to his knees before you, begging for forgiveness. He apologized profusely for his past, for sleeping with her, for not having saved himself for you, the love of his life. He vowed never to so much as look at her again. The truth was, he had never really spoken to the woman, let alone slept with her. But some things were better left unsaid. The sharp, throbbing pain in his lower abdomen only made him grow harder, the ache sending electric jolts straight to his tip as he started to leak. He could believe he had came in his boxers like a teenager. He looked up at you as he slid your sweats and panties off. The most sincere apology he could offer was to demonstrate just how much he adored you. He carefully spread your labia apart, his warm tongue eagerly exploring your slick folds. A moan escapes your lips while you pressed your foot firmly against his crotch, almost crushing it with your heel.

Now that he had experienced bliss twice and understood how to provoke it, the only thing on his mind was finding ways to infuriate you. It had begun with him lavishing compliments on other women in your presence,celebrities, friends, strangers, it didn't matter who. He barely paid them any real attention. What mattered to him was the sharp sting of your slap that followed his complement. Nothing made him come quicker than that.

In reality, you had quickly caught on to his little scheme. The Art you knew and loved had changed dramatically, gone was the sweet caring boy you knew, his behavior became more and more provocative. He had started pushing your buttons intentionally, always seeking confrontation only to reconcile moments later. At first, you had thought it was a craving for make-up sex. However, you had noticed the tent in his pants each time you struck him, it was clear that it was the fighting itself that excited him. More specifically, the rougher, more violent aspects of your arguments seemed to thrill him. Now that you understood his desires, his attempts to provoke you no longer frustrated you. Instead, they entertained you.

Two could play that game, after all.

You wanted to be a good lover for him, to inflict pain in the safest and most considerate way. Although you had heard about masochism, you knew little about it. So, you decided to google it to learn more. Most of the results centered on BDSM, explaining that spanking was one of the most common practices within it. So you had begun incorporating it into your fucking, delivering a sharp smack to his ass whenever you found his thrusts lazy. With each forceful slap, he would return pounding into you like a maniac. True, he wouldn’t last long after that, but you didn’t mind. The sight of him on top of you, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape, and a flushed, eager expression on his face, was more than enough to push you to the edge.

On his side, he continued to comment on every little thing he thought might drive you up the wall. From the way you looked, to the way you talked, to the way you ate, he had even criticized your favorite brand of cereal.

One day, he blurted out. "You look just like your mother." You nearly burst into laughter but managed to hold it back. Were you dating an idiot? Of course, you resembled her! Still, you turned to him with wide eyes, stretching the muscles in your hand as if preparing for something. "What did you say?" You demanded, feigning anger. "You look like your mother." He repeated, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he stared at you. You slapped him, and in the exact moment of that sharp, stinging contact, he came.

One day, as you joined him in the shower, he remarked. "Did you gain weight?" The comment hurt deeply, especially when he followed it by pinching your stomach. You looked into his eyes with a mix of hurt and determination. Grabbing a towel, you wetted it under the stream and then sharply struck the back of his thighs with it. The loud smack echoed through the bathroom as he let out a pained moan. You had never used anything other than your body to inflict pain, but with the towel in hand, you felt a rush of power, not guilt. Maybe because he also deserved that one.

Another day, it was : "That color looks hideous on you." He actually loved that color on you. His comments were becoming more and more absurd. Nonetheless, you punched him in the gut, and as if on autopilot, he grew hard.

At times, you felt like the worst girlfriend on earth, torturing him. Yet, when you watched him nuzzling into your hand, his lips tracing the lines of your palm as he begged "More...", you knew you were doing this for him. He seemed to enjoy every second of it. And while you weren’t particularly fond of the roughness, you took pleasure in seeing Art so completely submissive to you.But now, you could see that he was running out of ideas. In bed, he had begun to babble incoherently, throwing out a stream of desperate, half-formed barbed comments for you to smack him around while you rode him. It seemed like the time had come to stop pretending you were oblivious to his newly discovered kink and to address it openly. "You know." You said softly, your voice laced with amusement. "You can just ask for it."

#i'm saying this with all the love in the world but he's the worst #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #challengers smut #challengers fic #challengers fanfic #challengers fanfiction #challengers #ask

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pirateshelly · 3 months ago

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One thing that really fascinates me about interview with the vampire (the show) is this sort of tension between power and powerlessness in all of the characters. Because it doesn't present becoming a vampire as something that just gives you power and magically makes you completely detached from all human concerns and struggles.

And that seems to be something Lestat does very much want to believe, and he's in enough of a position of privilege that he's able to convince himself it's true, and it's a fundamental area where he just cannot understand Louis because Louis CAN'T pretend even if he wants to. (And of course Lestat cannot ACTUALLY separate himself from "human troubles" the way he likes to think he can, he just has an easier time pretending than most). Because as much as becoming a vampire grants these characters supernatural power it doesn't just magically take away the very tangible human ways that they were previously vulnerable or powerless.

Becoming a vampire doesn't negate Louis' struggles with racism; in some ways it amplifies them with how he is alienated from his own family and community; his closest connection becomes Lestat. He loses his economic independence and becomes socially dependent on Lestat in a way he wasn't to anyone as a human because in some ways becoming a vampire made him MORE vulnerable, despite granting him physical strength/speed/etc. The promise of freedom in vampirism Lestat presents to Louis (that I do think he does genuinely mean, but "freedom" means very different things to Louis than it does to Lestat) is never fulfilled.

Likewise Claudia learns the hard way with Bruce and later with the coven that she may be a vampire but the world still looks at her and sees a vulnerable young black girl and that will always put her in danger.

Claudia rescues Madeleine then turns her into a vampire, but rather than protect her from future harm the "crime" of turning her becomes the very thing that gets her killed by yet another angry mob.

And 514 years as a vampire will never be enough for Armand to truly trust or believe in his own power. Because the first 200 or so years of his life he was literally never once allowed any agency at all over his own identity or his own body (child slave sold to a brothel, sold to an abusive master, captured and violently indoctrinated into a vampire cult for centuries). No amount of material strength and power is going to undo the psychological effects of that. (And I know some people like to read his frequently passive demeanor as simply manipulation and a way of catching people off guard (because how could someone so old and powerful possibly feel a genuine sense of fear/vulnerability/etc 🙄) but to me that's an incredibly disingenuous reading of him. But that's a different rant for another time!). Being a vampire does not save him from being horrifically abused, nor does it save him from the lasting emotional effects of that abuse.

And I think there's something interesting to be said about the way that, in order to survive safely, they have to feed on the most vulnerable members of society (people undesirable and therefore least likely to arouse suspicion) in order to go unnoticed. If they want to live they have to prey on those vulnerable in possibly the same ways they themselves once were (and in many ways still are).

There's a frequent argument I dislike that we shouldn't be viewing any of these characters through too human of a lense because they're literal monsters (to be honest it's an argument I see most often made when people simply don't want to talk about the show's complex depiction of racism/misogyny/abuse/etc and used to dismiss those as issues "too human" to be relevant to a story about a bunch of monsters with a supposedly alien sense of morality), but I think the show itself makes a huge argument that for these characters there is no escaping or separating themselves from the very human struggles and vulnerabilities that marked them before they ever became vampires. It's like a sort deconstructed power fantasy.

#interview with the vampire #louis de pointe du lac #armand iwtv #claudia iwtv #lestat de lioncourt #madeleine eparvier

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lych33dragoncookie · 2 months ago

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Only the masterpieces that survive the fiercest flames earn their place in history.

(Analysis post)

Alright, they absolutely cooked this update. Like, undeniably so. I was admittedly not that huge of a fan of the last 2 beast yeast chapters we got; they had really good ideas, and Mystic Flour is a wonderful character, but... Dark Cacao hasn't really been done enough with for it to feel like it had the amount of weight it could have, and it really doesn't feel like much about him actually changed at all. Combine that with a complete lack of interesting dynamics and you have a lot of very good and genuinely pretty well thought out story concepts with extensive cultural research, executed in a way that feels more like a traditional old-school story that weakens the attachment the audience feels to the components of said story.

Here, though? I have no complaints so far. It was absolutely wild in fact, to the point where I don't think it's gonna happen again (nor am I entirely sure it should ever happen again). This was back to back, non-stop, smack to the face one after the other. The moment the first point of conflict came up, it was just shit happening left and right; even in the mandatory moment of rest where we chill out for a bit, it's revealed that hey, these sandstorms? Yeah the sand is actually ashes. It's the remains of all the people that live here. Whether they died off on their own or were killed by someone else.

And if that wasn't enough, very shortly after;

... It's fucking crack.

So, people die and kill each other here very frequently, and not only are their remains visibly on display, their ashes also become sandstorms that make it near impossible to navigate the land; on top of being something that people snort like cocaine to become more energetic and aggressive.

We started fucking wild, dude. This whole thing is pulling no punches.

Though, I do wanna note; I really, really enjoyed the interactions between Smoked Cheese and Golden Cheese. It shows not only how forgiving she is, but how these two have known each other for an incredibly long time, and know each other well. They're incredibly comfortable around each other, despite it all, and despite how brazen and Very Much Not Strategic the queen here can be. I really, really enjoyed them.

Always fun to see a recovering villain do things for good, but in their own unique way that's still not exactly heroic but definitely effective and, at times, very gratifying.

Though I enjoyed all this, there's one thing I wanna talk about above all else.

The star of the show. Note that every single part was enjoyable, of course, and he wouldn't be half as interesting without Golden Cheese Cookie to serve as a parallel, but they've cooked up something special here.

So far, Burning Spice's extent of onscreen appearance is very, very short, but... I don't think I need to tell you that he's already made an impact and a half.

Christ, that's violent. With the sound effects and everything too, god damn. But, I'd be lying if I said this wasn't a pretty superficial source of judgement for this character. It's very very telling of what kind of person he is now, what he's all about, what he's willing to do, what he likes doing, but...

More than anyone else in recent memory, the devil is in the details. So let's look at those details.

Nothing too much so far, other than how much he absolutely loves destruction, but there's already a trend; namely on "Nothing lasts forever. It's as simple as that", "In the end, everything becomes dust.", and "You, too, shall see that destruction is the only way.". There seems to be an infatuation with the natural process of everything fading away, turning to dust and dying out. An entirely honest one, believing that there is just about nothing else to life. These will be important to keep in mind.

Here, we see a bit of his current relationship with his own immortality. He doesn't seem to mind the idea of losing it, finding something that may eventually take him down, but he still takes great pride in it. These lines, in text, seem somewhat miserable (and trust me, they definitely are), but the voicework in just about every language conveys that they are said in a more neutral, even potentially proudly manner. Again, not much on their own, but...

Here's where we get into the fun part.

This. This is the crux of their character. At the start, him and Golden Cheese cookie were more or less the same. Benevolent royalty, close and personal with their subjects. Beloved, and loving.

And then, they lost it all.

One way or another, their kingdoms were lost, reduced to almost nothing. They were overcome by grief, desperate, unable to cope with their loss. One tried to latch on as hard as possible. Preserve what she could, blindly, replacing the harsh truth of reality with an idealized, constructed world, where no one would ever have to know pain ever again. She shut herself off, and retreated in the safety and peace of a false reality. She would rather have lied to both herself and all her subjects than face reality. And eventually, she had to learn to move on. Let herself and her kingdom heal more naturally, facing reality. The other, meanwhile, was desperate to let go. He detached himself, trying to move past the pain of loss. But, of course, he couldn't force it to happen. No one can. And so with the grief of losing that which he held dear, continuing to be faced with the reality that nothing is forever, over and over, while he endured, the world slowly turning to ash around them again and again... It's no wonder something in there eventually cracked.

What will it take to destroy me. Nothing is forever, and yet, I am.

Nothing is forever. And yet, I am.

With time, misery turned to mania, and in an attempt to overcome their grief, they embraced it, in the worst way possible. A coping mechanism gone horrendously wrong. That destruction, that loss, the inevitability of death... It's not painful, no. It doesn't have to be. It can be thrilling. Exhilarating. A new reason to live. If all you care about turns to dust anyways, if that's really the only logical destination... Why not have some fun with it? Why not embody that inevitable, unstoppable force? Why not become what you fear, so you no longer have to be afraid anymore?

... You know, at least that's what I think is going on here. The next chapter could contradict this reading, but... From what all we have right now, it seems like Golden Cheese and Burning Spice are two completely different paths for the exact same type of pain. They are, in a way, the same, but diverge in almost complete opposite ways where it counts.

Spice is genuinely equal parts absolutely terrifying and absolutely miserable; a balance that is incredibly hard to strike in writing, but always absolutely fascinating and wonderful to observe when it happens. I have to say, the more I found out about them, the more I couldn't keep my eyes off everything they have going on.

I'm loving every little bit of this update. Mad props to the devs for cooking something up here that I am genuinely incredibly invested in, almost to the same degree as White Lily and Dark Enchantress. Banger update. Absolute S tier material.

TL;DR: Burning Spice is terrifying, miserable, and ridiculously cool. Everything about this update was an absolute merciless flurry of consecutive gut-punches. And I loved every second of it.

... Now we sit and wait for Shadow Milk's release next year.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie #jester ramblings #cookie analysis

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jainitor · 2 months ago

Text

Kim Minji x 6thMember!reader moments

➮Minji likes teasing you.

!NOT PROOFREAD!

PHONING LIVE:03/28/24

"Y/N, can you tell us more jokes?" Hanni read out a fan's comment with her usual lively tone, switching effortlessly into English. You were sitting between her and Minji, your bodies partially visible on the live stream, but the fans couldn’t quite see everything.

"Please no!" Hanni exclaimed dramatically, even though the playful grin on her face gave away her amusement. She leaned back, clearly trying to escape the inevitable.

"Yes! Wait, let me think of one!" You beamed, delighted that someone actually requested your jokes. It wasn’t often you got to share your brilliance with the world, after all. Plus your jokes didn’t get enough appreciation—at least that’s what you always told yourself.

"Nooooo! I don’t wanna hear another one of your corny dumb jokes!" Hanni groaned, throwing her head back for effect as if the idea of another pun was too much for her to handle. Her exaggerated reaction made Minji laugh softly beside you, her shoulders shaking with quiet amusement. You couldn’t help but smile at Hanni’s dramatic antics.

You rolled your eyes at Hanni’s exaggerated reaction but couldn’t stop smiling. "Hey, my jokes aren’t dumb!" You nudged Hanni with a playful push to her arm. "My jokes are very funny and clever, thank you very much!"

"I think they’re cute," Minji suddenly chimed in, her voice soft but sincere. She glanced at you with an amused but affectionate look, her lips curling into a small smile.

Your heart skipped a beat at Minji’s words, and you turned to Hanni with a victorious grin. "See! Minji unnie thinks they’re cute!" you declared, as if that settled the argument once and for all.

Hanni, never one to back down, smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but she didn’t say they weren’t dumb and corny, though," she pointed out, her eyes widening innocently as she added, "Just saying."

You gasped dramatically, playfully glaring at her. "Shut up." you laughed, swatting her arm, but the teasing was all in good fun.

You turned back to Minji, who had been silently watching the exchange with an amused expression. You knew how to get her on your side. Looking up at her with your biggest, most irresistible puppy-dog eyes, you pouted slightly. "They’re not corny, right, unnie?" you asked, your voice soft and sweet, almost pleading.

Minji glanced at you and immediately felt her resolve weakening. The sight of your pleading eyes and that small pout was almost too much for her. *Why do they have to be so cute?* she thought, fighting the urge to smile too widely. Her eyes briefly flickered away from you, cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

"Ah…" she hesitated, her cheeks flushing lightly. She was losing her composure, and it was painfully obvious.

Before you could press her further, Minji quickly turned to the camera, changing the subject in an attempt to save herself. "Have you all been doing well?" she asked the fans, her voice gentle and calming as she tried to refocus on them.

Hanni burst into laughter, immediately catching on to Minji’s tactics, while you let out an exasperated whine, leaning into Minji’s arm. "Don’t change the subject!" you pouted, tugging gently on her sleeve.

But Minji, still flustered, continued to talk to the fans, clearly pretending she didn’t hear you. "We ate jap chae earlier," she answered another fan’s question, nodding as if nothing had happened.

"Whatever…" you muttered, playfully sulking as you leaned closer to the phone, reading the comments to distract yourself. Your eyes scanned the screen, then you paused at one of the questions. "Where is Y/N sitting? I only see two chairs," you read aloud, your heart racing a little at the realization.

Minji, remained calm, though you could feel her body tense slightly next to you. Hanni, on the other hand, noticed the comment immediately and grinned like a cat who’d just spotted a mouse. She was about to say something when you suddenly blurted out, "Uhh… what kind of shoes do frogs wear?" You rushed to change the subject, trying to deflect attention from the fact that you were sitting on Minji’s lap the entire time.

"Open toa-" Before you could finish your joke, Hanni reacted quickly. "Nooo!" she gasped, half-laughing as she reached over to clamp her hand over your mouth, stopping you mid-joke. "We do not need more of your corny jokes right now." she exclaimed dramatically, laughing as she did so.

The sudden movement made you wobble slightly, but Minji’s grip on your waist instantly tightened, steadying you before you could fall forward. The warmth of her hands and the solid feel of her hold made your heart flutter, even as you felt your face heat up in embarrassment.

Minji, for her part, stayed quiet, her face calm but her ears tinged with pink. Her grip on your waist hadn’t loosened, and you could feel the way her fingers gently brushed against your side, almost absentmindedly. You glanced up at her, catching the slight blush on her cheeks as she looked straight ahead, trying to act nonchalant. But the way her eyes flickered told you she was just as flustered as you were.

PHONING LIVE: 02/20/24

“I’m not great at winking, but Haerin is really—” Minji’s sentence was cut off by a series of soft knocks on the door.

“Unnie, have you seen my headphones?” a muffled voice called out, and the door creaked open slightly, revealing you peeking in with just half of your face visible. Your eyes quickly found Minji, who was wearing a familiar pair of headphones—your headphones.

“Minji,” you whispered softly, careful not to disrupt the live stream. "hm?" Minji glanced at you briefly, her gaze flicking back to the camera as she continued talking to the bunnies.

You stepped closer, a playful pout forming on your lips. “Unnie, those are my headphones. Can I please have them back?”

Minji, ever the picture of composure, pulled one ear of the headphones off just enough to hear you better. With mock innocence, she looked up at you and blinked. “Oh, these headphones?” She gestured vaguely to them, her voice full of playful disbelief. “You mean these?”

You nodded, crossing your arms dramatically. “Yes, those headphones. You borrowed them, like, a week ago.”

Minji leaned back in her chair, the wheels creaking slightly as she put on her most innocent expression. “They’re really comfy. I’ve kind of gotten attached to them.” She then looked at you closely, her eyes trailing down to the oversized hoodie you were wearing. “And speaking of borrowing things,” she tilted her head, “isn’t that my hoodie you’re wearing?”

You glanced down at the soft fabric enveloping you, then back up at Minji with a sheepish grin. “Uh, maybe? I was cold!” you admitted with a small giggle, pulling the hoodie’s sleeves over your hands for emphasis. “And it’s super cozy. Besides, you’re always stealing my stuff too, so it’s only fair.”

Minji turned back to the camera with a lighthearted tone. “See, Bunnies? This is how Y/N shows her love—by raiding my wardrobe!” She glanced at you, gesturing in your direction with her hand, her expression softening. “But, you do look cute in it. It suits you.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you quickly brushed it off, rolling your eyes. “Thanks, But I still want my headphones back. Pleeease?” you added with an exaggerated, dramatic plea, dragging the word out like a toddler begging for candy

Minji let out a soft chuckle before pulling off the headphones and holding them out to you. “Alright, But you owe me one. I’ll expect my hoodie back soon, or else.”

You laughed, the sound mingling with hers, and rolled your eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your hoodie back… someday. Maybe,” you whispered with a teasing lilt, before dashing out of the room. You knew she’d probably invite you to join the live, but all you really wanted was to collapse onto your bed and enjoy some music

My friend helped me think of prompts because I mentally cannot think of one</3

#minji x reader #newjeans x reader #kim minji #kim minji x reader #newjeans minji #newjeans

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katebishopsbaefy · 2 months ago

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Shoot Me

billie eilish x reader

𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

summary: you and billie both get your periods at the same time and are the definition of miserable

word count: 1219

You roll over with a groan, pressing your face back into your girlfriend’s side, clutching your stomach. You feel her arms wrap around you. She obviously wanted to feel you as much as you wanted to feel her.

You and Billie had been unfortunate enough to get your periods at the same time, so now here you lay, sprawled on your bed, clutching your stomachs, groaning occasionally. Somehow you’d managed to not only lose track of your heating pads, but you’d also completely run out of pain relief medication, and neither of you felt well enough to drive to the store to get some.

Billie gently kisses your forehead when you press into her. She grunts as she reaches one arm over to the nightstand to check her phone, muttering out a low “shit” upon seeing the many texts and missed calls from her brother, who she was supposed to meet up with today.

You rub your eye and look up at her. “What’s wrong?” you mumble.

She swings her arm back over to hug you tighter, deciding to deal with Finneas later. “Nothing,” she whispers, starting to rub your back. You hum at the touch. “How’re you feeling?”

You grumble out something about feeling like shit, but it comes out muffled due to your face pressing further into her. Your hand finds its way underneath her loose t-shirt in search of more comfort.

This time, she hums at your touch. The weight of you laying on top of her serves as a weighted blanket, and although it’s comfortable, it doesn’t do much for her cramps. “This sucks,” she states. You hum in agreement.

Your short conversation is interrupted by multiple aggressive dings from her phone. She groans again and reaches back over, checking the new texts from her brother.

“Who’s that?” you ask.

She lets out a huff. “Finneas,” she mumbles, “I forgot I was s’pposed to meet up with him today.”

You whine and grip her tighter in response. “Mmm, don’t leave me.”

“I don’t think I could go anywhere even if I wanted to,” she says, giggling quietly at you.

She hadn’t realized that she forgot to respond to him yet again, getting distracted by you, until the sudden alarm of her ringtone and buzzing of her phone forces her to finally respond. You both jump at the sound before she answers. You can hear a faint “hello???” from the other end.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ignore you,” Billie says, exhaustion lacing her voice. “I’ve been asleep all day, me and y/n have the worst cramps ever.” She shifts a little and waits for Finneas to respond. “Actually yeah, that would be super helpful if you have time.” Another pause. “Can I send you a list?” Short pause. “Okay, great, see you later.”

The loss of her warmth makes you groan as she flips you off of her to sit up. “What’d he say?” you ask.

“He said he has some time, so he’s gonna pick some stuff up for us,” she responds. Taking your shared blanket with her, she gets out of bed. You groan for probably the 500th time, but she ignores you and grabs your arm, effectively dragging you out of bed too. “Come on, we’re gonna go sit on the couch.”

“Just shoot me instead,” you mumble. You clutch your pillow to your stomach and trudge your way down the hall with her to the living room.

She laughs at your remark. “At least we get more time to hang out,” she says, gently bumping her hip with yours. You smile at her and bump her back.

It feels like an hour has passed by the time you make it to the couch. You flop down, immediately leaning into Billie’s side, and you feel her do the same. She sits up for a moment to wrap you in the blanket again before snuggling back into you. “Wanna watch something?” she asks, to which you shrug, and she flicks on a random channel.

You completely lose track of time sitting with her. You have no idea what show’s playing, being too distracted by her hands, which you had taken into your lap. Fingers laced together, palms pressed, her warm hands warming up your cold ones. You’re so spaced out playing with her fingers that you don’t realize you’re starting to fall asleep until she giggles at you.

“Sleepy?” she asks. You look up at her, noticing her eyes starting to droop as well.

“No,” you whisper, reaching a hand up point at her jokingly, “are you?” She shakes her head.

At some point, you had both begun to shift around, so uncomfortable from your cramps. When Finneas arrives at your place, he finds you passed out, sprawled on one side of the couch, gripping your pillow. Billie hogs the blanket on the other side, and your heads meet in the corner. He smiles and snaps a quick picture to send to you later.

He quietly makes his way over to your kitchen, careful not to make too much noise with his bags. Ice cream, chocolate, and other comfort foods are unloaded into the fridge. Despite how quiet he tries to be, the soft rustling is enough to wake Billie, who quickly sits up and pads over to him, dragging her blanket behind her. “Hey, you don’t have to do that,” she says quietly.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Go sit back down.”

“But I feel bad,” she mutters. She plops down onto a seat at the kitchen island, resting her head on her arms.

Finneas slides her a container of pain medication over the table, which she gratefully accepts, downing a couple of pills. “If you wanna do something…” he says, rifling through the bags, “go pop these in the microwave for a minute.” He pulls out two stuffed animals, unzipping them from the back to take out the pad to be heated up. Billie audibly sighs at the sight.

“Oh my God, you’re literally a life saver,” she breathes. After heating them up, she makes her way back over to the couch, where you’re still sound asleep.

“Y/n,” she whispers, gently rubbing your shoulder to wake you up. Your eyes flutter open and you smile at her. “Hi, my love. I’ll trade you,” she says, referring to the pillow you’re still clutching. You gratefully switch with her, pulling the stuffed toy to your stomach and letting out a breath at the relief it provided. “Better?” she asks, kissing your forehead softly as your eyes close again.

You hum. “Thank you,” you say to her, and, louder this time, “thanks, Finneas.”

He and Billie talk for a little longer, deciding to make up the work they were supposed to do another day, and she thanks him excessively, to which he shrugs every time. Then he leaves, leaving the two of you alone again.

As she sits back down, she pulls your head into her lap. Her hand in your hair, yours on her back underneath her shirt. A few short minutes later, your fingers stop tracing patterns into her skin, and she knows you’d fallen back to sleep. She scoots around, getting more comfortable before falling asleep too.

No matter how shitty you felt, she always made you feel better.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader

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surielstea · 3 months ago

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Life Debts

Eris Week day 3: Healing

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eris comes to Reader for a sleeping tonic, but she has run out, so they find other ways to find enough exhaustion for sleep.

A. Note: this wasn’t originally going to be smut but I love to spoil you guys soo 🎀🎀

4k words.

My heart pounded against my ribs at the sound of warriors preparing for battle. Mentally, I wasn't ready to watch all the soldiers lose their life, I didn't think I'd ever be, the male whom I could not save, no matter how much I tried.

I was in the midst of creating a basic salve used for deeper gashes that didn't require stitches, the ointment taking effect long enough to fight off any infection as well as numb the pain.

I was grinding different plants with magical properties into the mortar when a familiar red-headed general came into my tent, clutching his side.

I give the lordling a very disappointed look. "Don't start," He warned, holding up his other hand before I could begin complaining.

"Those stitches took me forever and you've already broken them? It hasn’t even been a full day.” I begin to complain anyway.

He walked with such a casual grace, even with a splitting wound in his side, he did not falter. He sat on my workbench silently. I sighed. "What happened?"

"Training with the others, we leave at dawn and some of my soldiers are paranoid. I was only trying to help them take the edge off." He argued and I shook my head, gathering my medical bag and plopping it down onto the desk beside him.

"You're too careless." I reprimand, beginning to unbutton his simple tunic that would usually have armor over it, slowly revealing more and more of his chest.

I steel my features. I've been cutting clothes off wounded soldiers my whole life, it was nothing to marvel at— but the blush on my cheeks said otherwise.

"Careless? Or did I just want an excuse to come and see my favorite healer in all the lands?" He suggests and I flick my eyes up at him, sending him a glare.

"You don't need an excuse to see me," I mumble softly, finishing with his tunic and pulling it off his arms. He was fully capable of doing it himself, and I probably should've let him, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the feel of his warm skin brushing my fingertips.

"No, but I did need an excuse for you to take my clothes off," He says in a snarky tone and I swallow thickly, rummaging through the medical pack for something to clean his wound with.

I hated him. Not because he was cruel to me, or because of who his father is, but because he made me feel so helpless. I've been patching men up with worse wounds than this for centuries, and yet he had me fumbling with a pack of gauze nervously like some novice.

Anxiety was a healer's worst fear because a single slip up or jerk of hand could cost a man his life. And yet he made me so damned tense every time he was too close.

I somehow managed to conjure a clean cloth covered in antiseptic that I could clean his deep wound with.

He'd be fine, but it'd be uncomfortable for a while. He hisses as the cloth comes to his wound and eases to the side.

I ignore him as I pull the cloth away and grab the sterilized needle and silk thread. My hand is perfectly steady as I begin restitching the wound. "Stop squirming," I grumble.

"Are you trying to make it hurt?" He gritted through clenched teeth.

"You're the one who went and opened your wound after I so graciously healed you." I snarl.

"Well it wasn't as if I asked to—" He was cut off by a particularly deep prick. "Gods, do you hate me?" He seethed and I smiled slightly. Good, it was easier if he hated me. "I do," I hum softly, almost weakly, tuning out all his hisses and groans as I focus on his torso, the suture coming together and helping meld his flesh back together.

I owed my life to Eris, he had saved me from his father's tents and the men he kept around. I had just healed one of the High Lord's commanders when he tried to repay me with what he thought I wanted, typical male pride leading him to believe that doing my job and caring for his wounds was coming onto him. Eris had stopped it and took me to where his battalion stayed, they were a lot kinder, for war mongrels that is. I hadn't expected it meant that I was now his personal healer, but here we were.

"I don't understand you," He mumbled out of the blue and I crease my brows, but don't look away from what I was doing. "You say you hate me, and yet you heal me with delicate hands." He mumbles, perplexed at my opposing sides.

I couldn't offer an explanation, because I too was often confused by my actions. I tried to say it was because I owed him but, I don't, not anymore at least. Then I tried to argue that it was immoral to let a man bleed, but even that didn't feel right. There was a foreign feeling in the pit of my stomach that only ever appeared when he was around, it was something like longing or reverence but it felt deeper than that, it felt like a connection, and seeing him hurt sent my blood boiling that my body willed no other choice but to heal him.

I shrug. "It's my job," I settle on saying. "You pay me, so I have to help you. But no one likes their boss," I say with a huff, not fully believing my own words as I tie off the silk thread and finish with his wound.

"No, no because you're worried about me." He shakes his head and I risk a glance at his amber eyes. "Of course, I'm worried about you," I swallow thickly, unwrapping a pad of gauze and wrapping it around his torso as an extra layer of protection, just in case.

"And if you die at dawn, if I find you on that battlefield I'll revive you," I finish tying off the gauze and look at him with a stubborn expression. "I'll find a way to bring you back, just so I can kill you myself. Understand?" I raise a brow at him and he smirks, standing from the workbench— which makes me crane my neck back.

"How romantic of you," His sultry smile doesn't ease as he tugs his shirt back on. "Perhaps I will die just so I can see the lengths you'll go to bring me back," He purrs and I frown at even taunting me about it, the idea made me so ill that I thought I might hurl.

I grip his shirt in my fist, silently begging. "Don't," I whisper. "Please, don't die." My voice nearly quivers but I will it to remain steady.

He gives me a sloppy smirk and he swoops down, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek and before I can even get the chance to process it he's pulling away.

"Have a little faith in your general, would you?" He arched a brow and the confidence in his voice makes me think he genuinely split his stitches on purpose, just so he could tell me not to worry.

"I'm sure I'll see you in here later," He says and I swallow thickly. I didn't want to, I never wanted him in these healing tents again because he was hurt. I wanted him to be rid of me and alive, rather than in pain and with me.

"Be safe." That is all I can reply with before he pulls back the flap of my tent and exits the space that now feels all too small without him in it.

The knock on my door makes me startle up from bed. I hadn't been sleeping anyway, the aftereffects of war had taken their toll on my mind, if I fell asleep I'd be reliving the bloodshed, seeing the faces of the men who I couldn't save, hearing the screams and pleads for mercy below the battle cries.

I swallowed down my nausea and slipped out of bed, padding on the cold marble towards the door. I swing it open, revealing a familiar redhead, shirtless.

"Don't tell me you split your stitches again?" I groan, looking at his abdomen where his wound was, bandages still intact and recently changed. I smile softly, at least he was taking care of it. My eyes flick back up to his.

"No, no I can't sleep," He muttered. "Do you have a tonic or something?" He scratched the side of his neck and I shifted on my feet, looking back to my room where all of my vials of sleeping tonic were emptied and discarded along my bedside table.

"I'm out, but I can make some real quick," I say, I was planning on doing it in the morning but he seemed that he might collapse without another night's rest. "Come in," I pull the door open wider.

He steps into my small suite, closing the door behind him.

I tiredly stumbled over to the window sill where plants and roots were lined in jars. "You can't sleep either?" The Lord asks, looking around my rooms curiously as if he's never stepped foot in the healers' quarters before.

"There's no point," I say while collecting the herbs and oils needed to make the tonic before dumping them all down onto my work table haphazardly. "It just results in night terrors," I confess, too tired to put a wall up.

His eyes flick back to me, and I can feel them raking up my figure. I hadn't realized I was in a short nightgown until I felt his gaze on my bare legs and arms, the fabric hanging high at my thighs. I ignore the feeling slinking up my spine and begin crushing dried leaves under my palm, then grinding them in a mortar.

He stalked closer, standing behind me now and peering over my shoulder. I could feel the heat rolling off of his shirtless body, but he didn't make contact.

"Have you tried any other methods, of trying to sleep?" He asks, his voice low with exhaustion. I dare a glance back at him, and immediately regret it. His amber eyes seemed to look right through me, to my soul.

I was suddenly very aware of the fact that we were alone in my chambers, both of us wearing far too little, and standing far too close. "Like what?"

His low laugh caught me by surprise, a deep and velvety sound that filled the room and lingered for a moment longer than it should have. He moved forward, leaning his hands against the work table and trapping me between his arms. He towered over me, so much so that I was forced to crane my neck up to keep his gaze. His scent filled me to my very core, cinnamon and clove and crackling campfires. "Well, a lonely bed certainly isn't helpful when trying to get some rest," He suggests and I avert my gaze and turn back around.

His breath was against my neck as I continued to work, quicker than before, my movements almost panicked.

He seemed to notice the shift in pace or perhaps scented my mix of arousal and tenseness. "Are you nervous, Fawn?" He asked and I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "I'm just— just tired," I shake my head, attempting to convince myself more than him. It wasn't a lie, but it surely wasn't the reason my hands shook.

His deep chuckle rang again and suddenly the room was freezing and he was the only warmth, my fingers ached to reach back and touch him. He leans closer, his bare chest pressing against my shoulder blades. I knew he heard my breath subtly increasing, my pulse pounding. "Is that why your heart is beating so fast?" He purred, the sound just beside my ear.

I didn't reply, focused on bottling the thick liquid in the small vial.

Before he can move any closer I whirl around to face him, plugging the vial with a cork and shoving it into his chest. "Finished." I smile gently.

His eyes don't leave mine as he takes the small bottle from me, his hand brushing mine. "Thank you," He said softly.

"You're welcome." I nodded, but didn't move, not that I could get far, I was still caged by his proximity.

Eris knew deep down he should pull away, and give you space during these trying times, but he's never been good at doing the right things, so instead he advanced and his hands moved to my hips.

"If this tonic doesn't work, there's surely another way we could find sleep, yes?" He arches a brow and I shift under his stare, the warmth of his fingertips seemingly burning through the silk of my nightgown.

"Surely," I whisper softly, looking up at him with only one intention being expressed in my eyes.

His eyes darkened at my reply, and one of his hands lowered, past my hip down to my thigh, to the hem of my nightgown. "And would you, my healer, be open to that second option?" He tilts his head, cocking it in a way that was more animal than man.

"In the name of science, or for our own selfish purposes?" I ask, attempting to ignore the way he was toying with the hem of my flimsy nightgown, and the heady scent of my need for him spreading throughout the room.

He smirked and leaned closer, breath mingling as his lips ghosted over your jaw as he said, "Can't it be both?" Into the shell of my ear. A shiver ran down my spine at the intense need that rocked through me. His hand on my waist moved, to my jaw, my chin in his hand as he angled his head up towards me.

"Or would you prefer only for our selfish, pleasurable reasons?" He suggests and my stomach knots. I willed myself to push him away, to tell him that he was a lord and I was little more than a servant. But I couldn't. He smiled at my lack of reply. "Go on Fawn, tell me," He prompts with a foxlike smirk that sent my insides fluttering with butterflies. "What do you want?"

He waited for my words to come, it'd be so easy to pin me to this work table and begin worshipping me, but he reeled in his most animalistic instincts and waited patiently for me to form my thoughts into words.

"You," I finally manage to get out. "I want you to touch me," I say, shame tinting my cheeks pink.

He smirks. "Where do you want me to touch you?" He tilts his head mockingly and my stomach coils. "Here?" He asks, his hand dipping beneath my slip and gripping my thigh. "Or," His thumb inches closer to my core. "Here?" He suggests, brushing over the seam of my panties.

"There," I plead, a gasp shuddering through me. His smile grows into something feral as he feels the way I was pressing my thighs together, wanting so desperately to have his touch.

"Yeah?" He purrs, adjusting so that his two longest fingers pressed into my clothed folds, just enough pressure to tease. It was an effort not to grind down onto the touch.

"You've ruined these panties, my girl, and I've barely touched you," He whispers, his lips ghosting mine. I let out a soft sigh when he rubs my covered pussy. I ached to get the barrier of my soaked underwear off, but he was enjoying this, seeing me restrain from writhing down on his hand.

"Please," I whimper softly. "Please, take them off," I say with a raw tenderness in my voice that sent the male into a spiral of lust and desire.

"You're sure? Once we start I doubt I'll be able to stop," He warns and my nerves set alight at that.

"I'm sure," I nod hurriedly.

The confirmation was all he needed to hear before his lips attached to mine, prying my mouth open and pushing his tongue in to taste me thoroughly. The hand that had been on my chin moved to the back of my head, pulling me in deeper as he claimed my mouth.

It was marvelous, all the tension that had been between us these past few weeks was breaking, finally snapping in two the moment his lips met mine.

I shivered as he pulled at my panties, the resounding rip of fabric echoing throughout the room as the cloth fell from my hips. He drank in every soft sound I made, devouring it and swallowing the noise down greedily.

"My girl," he whispers into my mouth and I let out a sultry moan as his fingers finally delved between my dripping folds.

"Eris," I sighed as his thumb pressed onto my clit. My hands came to his shoulders, digging my nails into the bare skin as he pushed my nightgown up my thighs, bunching it at my hips.

His middle finger traced lazy circles around my neglected entrance and I shivered. "No, no Eris," I panted out and his hand immediately retracted. I grabbed his wrist, not letting him get far.

"What's wrong?" He asks with furrowed brows and I shake my head.

"I want your cock," I beg softly and I swore for a moment his eyes went golden. "I don't want to wait, I need you inside of me," I say, my pleas falling from my lips shamelessly.

"Turn around then," He ordered and my heart rate fluttered.

I do as he says, hinging myself over the work table as he thrashes off his pants and everything else beneath them until we are both bare and needy for each other. He pushed up my dress higher, exposing my backside and I swore a growl rumbled from him.

He gripped my hips tightly, and when his hardened length pressed into my folds I let out a quivering moan, my slick dripping onto him as a natural lubricant. I roll my hips down onto his pulsing cock, my hips digging into the edge of the desk.

"Gods you're dripping," He said, his voice half a groan. "All for me," He smiles and I nod hastily, clenching around nothing as I impatiently wait for his penetration.

After a few more drags of his cock he aligns with my aching core, and without another word, slowly pushes into me.

I mewl loudly as the thick head of his cock stretches me wide, the rest of him filling me to the brim.

"You're so, damned tight," He grunted out as I took every inch of him into me with greedy pleasure. My back bows as he finally sheathed fully inside of me, his hips digging into the plushness of my ass.

"You— you can move," I nod after a moment of adjusting, struggling to form the words due to how he was forming my walls around him, molding me to fit him.

"Tap the desk twice if it's too much, yeah?" He says and I nod in understanding.

He then begins to slowly pull out, then thrust back in, stuffing himself back inside of me.

A soft moan escapes me with every roll of his hips, his speed steadily increasing. He grew faster and faster, rougher until the table was creaking breath the weight and my thighs were pressing into the sharp edges of it. But I barely felt the pain, too caught up in the pleasure of his thick cock buried inside of me.

He finally set on a brutal pace, his length dragging through my walls and toying with that sensitive spot that left me a drooling, whining mess. My body bounced against the cold table painfully, but it was all pleasure when it came to him. "Eris," I gasped and he threw his head back, his fingers digging into the skin of my waist, so possessive I wouldn't be surprised if I found marks come the morning.

"Fuck, say my name again Fawn," He groans and I do, with every thrust, it was his name coming from my lips. "Louder, I want this whole castle knowing who's making you feel this good," He drawls.

I screamed his name, my feet slowly lifting me from the ground as he lost control and began to push me up the table with his thrusts. My toes barely brushed the floor when he pressed my hips down onto the desk, preventing me from writhing any further.

I arched my back and he leaned over me, his sweat-slicked chest pressing to my shoulders. The new angle made him press into a spot deep inside of me that made my vision blur. I clamped down onto his pulsing length and he smiled against my neck, his teeth grazing over my pulse point. "That's it, squeeze my cock just like that," He instructs and I shakily gasp as I keep a leash on my building release.

"I'm close," I warn and he nips at my skin with his sharp canines, not enough to draw blood but enough to inflict pain.

"I know baby, me too," He confesses softly, fucking me wildly with reckless abandon.

"Come inside," I pleaded and his control snapped.

"You sure?" His voice bordered on a growl.

"It's okay 'm on a contraceptive," I murmur. "Just, fill me Eris." I plead and any sliver of restraint he had left disappeared at those final three words.

"Come for me, come on my cock baby," He grunts out through a clenched jaw, and as if by his command, my release crashed through me. My vision hazed as I reached my peak, my very bones singing with the feeling of ecstasy.

His climax quickly followed mine due to the way I convulsed and twitched around him. His cock pulsed violently as his warm come unloads into my womb, still thrusting and pushing it deeper into me, seeping into every crevice ensuring every last drop was nestled inside me.

Eris buried his face into the crook of my neck, his breathing hitching as my quiet moans filled the room. I slowly came down from my high and relaxed onto the work table, my fingers shaky as I planted them down onto the wood. He pressed a soft kiss to the bite mark he had most likely left, the gentle touch rivaling his earlier roughness.

"You did so well," He praised, kissing up to my jaw. My heart swelled at the intimate movement, the kissing somehow seeming more damning than what took place only moments ago.

Ever so slowly he pulls out from my overstimulated entrance. I press my thighs together at the absence of him and he guides me away from the desk, into his arms as he swoops me up bridal style. My eyes droop with exhaustion as I burrow into his warm chest.

"No sleeping yet, I'm going to get you cleaned up first," He ordered and I let out a low whine in protest and he chuckled, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, then one to the tip of my nose, then finally my lips. Weakly I kissed back, my hand coming up to kiss cheek. He bit my lower lip and I smiled at the sensation.

He pulled back and I looked up at him adoringly. "You keep staring at me like that and we're definitely not sleeping tonight," He said and I smirked but averted my gaze and leaned onto his shoulder, allowing him to carry me into my bathing chambers where he drew me a hot bath and cleaned me up.

We both slept in each other's arms last night, a deep slumber encasing us, and for the first time in weeks, I didn't have any nightmares, not when Eris's arms kept me warm throughout the night, reminding me I was safe now.

Comment an “🧡” to be added to the Eris Week tag list!

Eris Week Tag List: @adharanotfound @mp-littlebit @its-me-meg @olive-main @bookwormysblog @inurus @iwishiwasaprincess @randomgurl2326 @tigerlily00 @i-know-i-can @bubybubsters @booklover0318 @lalaluch @hallabongy @paintedbyshadows @ninthcircleofprythian @chasing-autumns-chill @deepestmentalitypersona @myromanempiree

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probablyasocialecologist · 23 days ago

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Many of Harris’s mistakes were similar to those Hillary Clinton made in 2016. Like Clinton, Harris cozied up to billionaire donors. Mark Cuban, for instance, said he was delighted that Harris was abandoning Democrats’ commitments to progressive principles and letting the business community propose the policies it wanted. Like Clinton, Harris and Tim Walz made hubristic campaign stops in solidly red states like Texas and Kentucky rather than spending the final days laser-focused on crucial battlegrounds. Like Clinton, Harris emphasized celebrity endorsements while failing to successfully court unions. (Most notably, the Teamsters declined to endorse her after she refused to pledge that she wouldn’t break a national railway strike.) Like Clinton, Harris focused too much on the danger of Donald Trump (which is very real) and not enough on the reasons why she would be good at being president herself. Most importantly, like Clinton, Harris ultimately decided upon a strategy of trying to woo moderate Republican voters away from Trump, reasoning that it didn’t matter if doing so alienated progressive voters and the Democratic base. Chuck Schumer, speaking of Hillary’s 2016 strategy, infamously promised: "For every blue-collar Democrat we lose in western Pennsylvania, we will pick up two moderate Republicans in the suburbs in Philadelphia. And you can repeat that in Ohio and Illinois and Wisconsin." In fact, they just lost the blue-collar Democrats and didn’t pick up the Republicans! In 2024, Harris, too, aggressively touted endorsements from Republicans, promised to put a Republican in her cabinet (she even cited that as the answer to what she would have done differently from Biden!), and went so far as to praise and embrace Dick and Liz Cheney! The strategy was an abject failure. Because she wanted to appease both Republicans and progressive voters, Harris had to further indulge her weakness for speaking in meaningless word salads, since taking stances that were meaningful could have alienated one of these constituencies. Trump, who is canny about portraying himself as more anti-war than Democrats, correctly pointed out that an endorsement from the hawkish Cheneys should be a badge of shame, not honor. (Specifically he said Cheney is “"the King of Endless, Nonsensical Wars, wasting Lives and Trillions of Dollars, just like Comrade Kamala Harris. I am the Peace President, and only I will stop World War III!")

[...]

The lesson to Democratic leaders in 2016 should have been that Bernie Sanders had been right, that the party had betrayed working-class voters and would be doomed if it could not effectively counter Trump’s pseudo-populist appeal with a visionary alternative. (See the excellent analysis in Thomas Frank’s Listen, Liberal.) Unfortunately, the lessons weren’t learned then, and it doesn’t seem like they’re going to be learned now, either! MSNBC anchor Joy Reid is already insisting that Kamala Harris’s campaign was “flawless” (because she got “every prominent celebrity voice”), and pundits like Jill Filipovic are saying things like, “this election was not an indictment of Kamala Harris. It was an indictment of America.” (Good luck ever winning with the slogan “You’re the problem, America!”) USAToday’s Michael Stern says that instead of talking about “where the Harris campaign went wrong” we should talk about “where the American people went wrong.” The Harris campaign itself is blaming unspecified “obstacles that were largely out of our control.”

6 November 2024

#kamala harris #democrats #us elections #us election 2024 #liberalism

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agentmarvel · 5 months ago

Text

center image by @/ave661

PART II

hitman!ghost x fat!reader (afab, fem) w/ arranged marriage

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

rating: explicit

word count: 3,010

read on ao3

cw: toxic parenting, implied fatshaming, simon begins his descent into madness, so obsessive!simon

♡

It's irksome, the way Johnny fusses over Simon's bowtie. He keeps turning and twisting it in an effort to straighten it out, but the little perfectionist is just never satisfied.

“s'fine, Soap. Leave it alone.”

“Awa’ an bile yer heid. Damn thing's more crooked than yer nose, LT. Not letting ye get hitched lookin’ like a dafty.”

Simon sighs, rolling his eyes with a sly smirk. He's partial to the nickname, though neither of them served a day in their life. Well, not in the traditional sense, at least. But the semblance is a loyalty forged in sweat and blood; Johnny's been with him for years, a parting gift from Price.

“He's a good lad, Simon - real salt of the earth type. Bit chatty, but he works as hard as his old man did. Think he'd do well with you.”

Simon thinks he truly understated the chatty bit, but as usual, was not wrong.

“Aye, there we are.” Johnny finally steps back, admiring his work. “Yer tie looks better now; shame we can fix yer ugly mug, though.”

“Oi, fuck off.”

Kyle snickers across the small room, straightening his cuff with a grin.

“Don't be such a git, mate. Not every day the big man gets married. Frankly, with a face like that, doubted he ever would.”

“You're both fired,” Simon mutters, shaking his head as he moves towards the door.

“Where ye think yer goin'? She's not laid eyes on ye, so I dinnae think she's bolted yet.”

“Better give ‘er the chance then, yeah?”

He slips out the door with an amused hum before wiping his palms against his slacks. Never will he admit it, but a waxing sense of anxiety gnaws at his gut. It’s been years since he’s actually felt… nervous. Not since his first solo contracted kill. Treading unfamiliar territory stirs foreign feelings, but perhaps they’re not all bad ones.

To take the edge off, Simon decides to step out for a smoke. That wasn’t his intent initially, lest Soap bitch at him for disrupting the effects of his subtle cologne, but he’s willing to face the wrath for some nicotine. He pats his jacket, feeling the creased, misshapen cardboard pack in his breast pocket and looks for the nearest exit. It’s just a bit further down the hall.

But something stops him before he steps out. An argument behind another closed door.

“Of course I think you look nice! All I’m saying is that you could’ve put a bit of effort into losing more weight. I didn’t hire a top nutritionist and personal trainer just for you to not need more alterations.”

Simon recognizes that voice. Your father has an unmistakable level of condescension that drips off every word he says.

“And would it kill you to smile? It’s your wedding day, for Christ’s sake! Pretend you’re happy.”

“You’re not in any position to ask anything of me.” The response is acrimonious, venomous, and a voice that doesn’t ring any bells. It’s you.

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me. I am your father, and you will do as I say.” The already bellicose tone swells as his voice raises, and Simon has half a mind to step in. A sense of fury burns within his chest. He should’ve known that someone with such a flagrant disregard for you behind your back would be just as derisive to your face. It’s crass at minimum, especially in the face of your own fucking child.

The only thing stopping him is the want for things to go smoothly today; a temporary ceasefire to ensure that he can fulfill his obligation.

Still, he feels a tug at his hollow heartstrings. No one deserves to be spoken down to in that manner, let alone on their wedding day. He’s certain you look stunning, and he’ll be sure to tell you as much when he finally gets to see you.

He’ll also be sure to limit contact with your father immediately after the marriage license is filed. Keeping that twat on a short leash ought to keep his beautiful bride in high spirits, yeah?

Before he can think better of his decision, Simon sees himself outside. Getting his fix does little to quell the rage stoked by his albeit unintentional eavesdropping. Before he knows it, he’s gone through half the pack and is about to light another when he gets a text from Kyle.

>>> It's time!

He takes the unlit cigarette from his lips and begrudgingly stows it away. Making his way back inside, his stride slows as he approaches the door to the bridal suite. It's partially open, and from what he can see, your father is conspicuously absent. You remain, however.

It's hard to fathom how a man could be so cruel to such a creature of allure. In the most fleeting glance as he passes by, Simon's struck with a gravitational pull. You're the moon, he's the tide. At that moment, he wants nothing more than to turn back. He wants to make his presence known and promise you'll never face another day of derision after today. You'll never endure another vile word. A painful, gruesome death would befall anyone who treated you so disgracefully from this moment on. In that singular frame, Simon knows he'd break John's rules for you. He’d break his own rules for you.

And he's never even spoken to you.

♡

Johnny's waiting for him just a few doors down. As Simon approaches, he sees Johnny’s nose wrinkle.

“Och! Ye smell like the alley behind a fuckin’ pub, ye reprobate. C'mere, ye fuckin’ oaf.”

As predicted, Simon supposes.

It's a quick fix, and Johnny rushes him off to the altar. Simon adjusts his jacket, buttoning it properly before taking a deep breath and pushing ahead. The room goes silent as several dozen eyes abandon their previous gazes to watch him. His confidence doesn’t waver outwardly. There’s no room for that. He keeps his eyes forward as he approaches the pulpit. A familiar face awaits him there in a fresh-pressed three-piece.

“Didn’t know you did weddings,” he laughs, low and clipped.

“Do funerals, too, if you know anyone in need,” John Price hums back with a grin. Simon offers a hand, one Price accepts with a quick, firm shake. “Good to see you, my boy. Been too long.”

“Not long enough if your chin hasn’t caught up with your chops yet.”

“Glad to see time hasn’t dulled your sense of humor.” It’s a dry response, but the creases at the corners of his eyes give away his amusement.

Idly, they chat, waxing philosophical to pass the time. Periodically, John checks his watch and looks into the balcony, but he doesn’t miss a single word Simon utters. Simon’s seen this before; something isn’t quite right, and Price is trying to suss out precisely what it is.

The door at the back of the chapel opens, and a small woman with wiry hair rushes up the aisle as fast as her little legs could carry her without breaking into a jog. She clambers the quartet of steps, looking a bit worse for wear. Sweat prickles her brow, her sunken eyes seeming to recede with each movement. John raises an eyebrow as if to ask her if she’s okay, but she ignores the unspoken concern.

“So sorry to keep you waiting, John. Bride had a little, eh, mishap, but we’re ready to begin.”

Simon opens his mouth to demand more detail, but Price shoots him a pointed look, the aim to keep the dog from barking as he reassures her, “Perfectly fine, Doris. Is the young lady alright?”

“Quite. She's just had a bit of a rocky morning. Nerves and all.”

She shrugs with a timid smile, like that'll placate the intense look of defensiveness on Simon's usually stoic face. He knows she's not being entirely truthful, but to whose benefit?

Price gives her a curt nod and offers his arm to usher her to her seat. Her frail fingers curl around his elbow, blue veins protruding like a web of thread unspooled. She smiles at Simon sympathetically. They descend the short few steps in stagger, and he can’t help but wonder what it is that she knows that he doesn’t.

It doesn’t matter, he decides. After today, none of this really matters. The setting is a mere formality, born of a desire for flamboyancy and extravagance, neither of which have ever been in Simon’s wheelhouse. His preference for something simple and quiet was aggressively overruled from the start.

His eyes drift over the observers that casually mill about the pews. Only one bears any familiarity, the one patting an old woman’s hand before turning back towards the pulpit, while the rest look more like faceless mannequins, nondescript in the forward echoes of memory.

John takes his place beside Simon, asking under his breath in close proximity, “Are you ready?”

Simon nods, folding his hands together in front of him and adjusting his stance to face the doors at the back of the aisle. In his periphery, he sees Price signal the woman who sits at the piano. She begins to play something Simon doesn’t recognize. Immediately, those stark moths flood to their seats like a bright bulb.

The doors open after a few measures, a pair of well-dressed ushers securing them in position. Shortly, the two pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen enter, timely and in sequence. The young women accompanied by Simon’s men are both bright-eyed and all smiles, but the air of wariness is not lost on anyone keen enough to notice. Circumstantially, this wedding is dubious at best, and if they’re close enough for you to ask them to join the wedding party, then they’re close enough to know the truth.

He’s under no illusion that you’re an overtly willing participant in any of this. You were blindsided. Out of the blue - no warning, no inkling - being told over dinner that your father is not the man you always believed him to be, that you’ve been promised to a stranger to improve business prospects, that you’re seen as a pawn rather than a person. Simon feels vaguely guilty for the turmoil, but seeing the lack of consideration for you truncates it. You’ll be better off by his side. That’s not the fanatical part of his brain speaking; it’s factual.

When he hears the music change from a simple, tedious tune to a melodic version of the traditional bridal march, reality pulls him back into his body. His gaze locks on the doorway. For the first time - the first real time - he gets to see you.

You look god damn gorgeous. There’s no other way to describe it.

The dress is bright white, almost blinding. Crystalline and pearl accents around the neck and waist lines reflect sun rays from the windows, giving you an ethereal glow. Delicate charmeuse drapes some of your curves while tulle hides others (much to his dismay). Simon swears the halo above your perfectly styled hair isn’t a trick of the light. You look like a fucking angel - his angel.

His heart is racing, raging against the cage of his ribs like the bars of a prison cell. It wants to escape, break free and put itself in your hands. The pace of his breathing has quickened, palms beginning to sweat, and a foreign euphoria falls over him like mist. His lips curl into the smallest expression of joy, barely detectable, and John nudges him with his elbow.

“Congratulations, my boy. She’s a beauty.”

A sense of pride swells in his chest at that.

Halfway down the aisle, you finally look up at Simon. In the span of seconds, your expression rolls through a series of emotions; bitter, then a mite of surprise, confusion… then admiration and ire.

You take on a more timid look as you approach, though, fingers wrapped loosely around the inside of your father’s elbow. Despite the narrowness of the aisle, you’re still positioned as far away from him as you can be. The anger is palpable, rolling off you in waves. Just beneath the surface, an indeterminable despair. You don’t want to be here, don’t want to be anywhere near that bastard or Simon himself. He may not have gotten to know you in the traditional sense, but he knows human behavior all too well.

You’re hurt. Betrayed. Defiant.

The iniquity of it all gnaws at his bones as he extends a hand to you. He watches your snake of a father wrenches your wrist with a hollow smile to pull you closer before taking your fingers in his with a brutish grip.

“Do you give this woman to be married to this man?” Price asks, an obscure grit of disapproval at the display thickening his voice.

“I do,” your father answers, tugging your arm forward in an offering of your hand.

Simon takes it gently, savoring the feeling of your soft, manicured fingers sliding across his rough, calloused palm. You lift the hem of your dress with your free hand, taking each step like it’ll delay the inevitable. There’s a tremble in your touch, undoubtedly apprehensive, uncertain, scared.

When you’re settled on the top step, you glance at your father with pleading eyes. His expression is stern and hardened. He mouths an inaudible warning before turning to take his seat, and Simon swears he sees the last shreds of your stubborn will collapse.

Quietly, you hand your bouquet to the bridesmaid just behind you before placing your other hand into Simon’s waiting one. Tears spring up in your eyes, and he gives you the softest squeeze.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers so softly that even Price almost misses it. Your eyes shoot up to his. “Let’s just get through this, yeah? We can talk about everything when we don’t have an audience.”

You nod.

♡

It all passes in a haze, like Simon’s somehow running on autopilot while still autonomous in part. Both your vows and his were written by the wedding planner with significant input from your parents. An effort to hide the clandestine nature of the nuptials, he supposes. He recites his from recall, trying to place emphasis where needed like code. Yours, however, have him rapt. While he knows the words are not your own, something about hearing you profess your love ignites a spark within him. Hell, he nearly misses his cue for the ring because he’s so focused on absorbing your presence, memorizing every detail of the way you look right now.

One thing snaps him from his infatuated stupor: “You may now kiss the bride.”

He eyes you warily, seeking any sign of discomfort. There are no sirens sounding, no postings of danger, no flashing warning lights. You’ve resigned yourself to the moment’s arrival, and Simon does not hesitate. His hands curl around the roundness of your cheeks, slotting you into his palms like you were made to fit. The tilt of his head falls opposite yours.

Slowly, he leans forward. Leisurely so as not to alarm you. Your breathing hitches just a hair as he closes in. The tips of your fingers settle against his chest as he reels you closer. His lips barely brush yours, a hint of strawberry as your gloss transfers in brief contact, and you draw him nearer until you reconnect.

It consumes him wholly now, the spark, engulfing his entire being. Flames of desire lick up the base of his spine, rising until your fingerprints are blistering his skin. He’s melting into you, embers glittering as they rise up and away until he’s nothing more than ash, staining every inch of you he may ever touch with a permanent marking that can’t be scrubbed away. Your name is branded on his chest, now and forever. In every way, he is yours.

Price is kind enough to wait until the kiss ends to formally announce the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Simon Riley with a reminder that a reception will occur at a later date. Simon takes your hand in his and briskly leads you back down the aisle, grateful for the guise of a honeymoon flight to stave off a night of questioning and awkwardness.

It’s not a honeymoon that awaits, but rather a lengthy flight back to Manchester. Movers cleared out your apartment this morning, carting it to the tarmac to load. Another crew will be waiting to unload it the moment you touch down.

Simon hopes you’ll be able to get some rest during the flight. You needn’t lift a finger, don’t worry; he’s just concerned for the dark circles hidden under your make-up, the torn bits of skin around your nails, the way your voice rings unsteady and uneven in the moments you’re alone with him.

It’s understandable that you don’t trust him yet. You don’t know him quite as intimately as he knows you. You’re afraid, unsure of what comes next. The life you knew is in upheaval, disrupted by years of lies and deceit. You don’t know what’s real anymore. You doubt everything. Who knew the truth and didn’t tell you? Are your friends even really your friends? Did your parents ever love you, or were you always just a puppet? The strings are too tangled to separate at this point, so you might as well accept your fate and cut them.

You sob into his chest, tears soaking through his white button down. It’s taken so much out of you, hasn’t it? And now you’re here, spilling your guts to a man you don’t know as he holds you, dutifully and steadfast.

One more hour, and you’ll be away from all of this. He won’t lie to you, he won’t hide things from you. You’ll never have to question yourself or the people around you again. You’re getting the life you deserve now.

It’s okay to trust him, sweet girl. Tell him all your secrets, let him in, let him live in your skin, burrow deep in your mind. Simon will keep you safe. At any cost.

part iii

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod x you #fat reader #plus size reader #jj writes

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charlotteharlatan · 1 year ago

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Do you ever think about what would have happened if Mary Hodges (formerly Mary Loquacious) hadn’t interrupted Crowley and Aziraphale’s “intimate moment”?

Because I do. I think about it a lot.

First off, the way that this shot is set up is perfect. Mary - Mary who had a key role in the whole “Antichrist shuffle” fiasco, and who is a walking reminder of the approaching apocalypse that will separate Aziraphale and Crowley - is literally coming between them. The show is full of these beautifully simple, yet easy-to-miss moments that only last a few frames.

Now, on its surface, this part of the scene mostly plays as humorous because Crowley and Aziraphale are sexless-by-default, non-human entities who just happen to come across to most humans as a very aesthetic queer couple. So naturally, Mary makes the same assumption as every other human that so much as glances in their direction, and isn’t that a laugh?

Except that…she’s not actually wrong about it being an intimate moment. Not just in the physical sense, although I think this is the closest we see them physically get in the whole first season (not counting being literally inside each other’s corporations, I suppose).

But it’s intimate in the emotional sense too, because Crowley is worried and stressed about having lost the Antichrist, and now on top of everything else he’s got Aziraphale calling him “nice” and poking at some very old wounds (if he’s so “nice” then why did he Fall?). And Crowley is also probably *frightened* - they’re inside a former Satanic convent that kept regular contact with not just Crowley himself, but also Hastur, and probably other demons too. For all Crowley knows, someone from his side could still be lurking about; they could overhear and get them both in big trouble.

And as if all that weren’t enough, I don’t think I’m imagining a healthy dose of frustration with Aziraphale in the mix either. Just a few minutes prior, the angel essentially tempted Crowley into miracling the paint stain out of his coat, and then broke their rules by saying “thank you” for it. Aziraphale has spent at least the last few centuries sending him some very mixed signals and we can see that Crowley is done with them dancing around each other. That game was more or less fine before, they had time, all the time in the world. But now, in just a few days, all the time in the world will be ENDING. And yet here’s Aziraphale, playing the same game as always, acting like nothing between them has changed, even though they both know better.

So yeah, it all comes to a head in that moment, and Crowley (sort of understandably) loses it a bit. He won’t actually hurt Aziraphale and they both know that, but he has to get across to the angel SOMEHOW that he’s experiencing some Big Feelings. And he doesn’t have a whole lot of options as to how to do that. He’s too worked up to communicate effectively. So he goes with the wall slam. This causes an emotionally charged situation which we’re primed to think will have an emotional payoff - the camera pulls in close, a dramatic transition, drawing us in to the tension of the moment right along with Crowley and Aziraphale.

And then there’s Aziraphale, who…doesn’t defend himself at all. Aziraphale, who is kind but far from defenseless, who used to guard the gate of Eden with a flaming sword, who was supposed to fight in a platoon of angels in the final battle. He’s no pushover, and yet he lets himself get literally pushed over. It doesn’t even seem to occur to him to stop Crowley, not even as he’s wrinkling his precious coat.

And maybe this is just my read of this scene, but Aziraphale’s reaction to Crowley coming into his personal space is interesting in and of itself. He doesn’t act as if this is the first instance of Crowley being that close to him - and it is CLOSE. Their lips are centimeters apart. Their noses are touching.

And one might well say that all of it happens so fast that Aziraphale is caught off guard and freezes up, but as so many have already pointed out about this scene, just after Mary interrupts he looks…blatantly longing, and then more than a bit put out.

And after Crowley lets him go, he casually fixes his clothes and goes straight back to bickering. Which may be partially a defense mechanism, because they don’t have time to talk about what just happened, there clearly won’t be any emotional resolution right now. But really, wouldn’t “you go too fast for me” Aziraphale be more rattled if that were truly the first time they had crossed that physical boundary and shared space like this? He looks affected, certainly, but quickly shakes it off.

And, to take it one step further: Aziraphale knows Crowley. He knows what words are likely to set him off. He has an established pattern of having Crowley do things for him, based on Aziraphale’s own prompting (see also: wordlessly asking Crowley to help Hamlet become a hit). Aziraphale does as much tempting to get Crowley to do “nice” things as Crowley does to get him to do “naughty” things. All of which is to say, Aziraphale may have actually been baiting Crowley here, but the bait is just a little too effective, and Aziraphale isn’t fully prepared for the intensity of the response he gets. But there’s a strong case to be made that by calling the demon “nice,” he’s looking to get a specific reaction out of Crowley. Again, not the healthiest form of communication, but it’s what they have in this context, because honesty would be too dangerous.

Which brings me back to my point: it IS an intimate moment, in more ways than Mary could have possibly realized, and what if she hadn’t walked in on them? How would Crowley have finished his sentence that got cut off, and how would Aziraphale have responded to it, to Crowley’s outburst of emotion, or to their proximity?

Maybe he would have gently and politely pushed Crowley away - but to me, something about his expression and body language says he wouldn’t have. Because Aziraphale is tired of dancing around this too, actually, and in the heat of the moment, he may just have closed the distance. Especially if they’ve had “intimate moments” before this one.

And between you and me, I think they did, and I think it was after Crowley saved Aziraphale and his books during the Blitz. It’s a solid explanation for the increased tension between them in the holy water scene.

Anyway. This meta has been sitting in my drafts since before the first trailer came out, S2 is only nine days away, and I’m clearly very normal about all of this.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #go meta #meta #analysis #scene analysis

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sarawritestories · 8 months ago

Text

Love Story (All To Well Chapter 1 Part 1)

Cassian X OC (Rhys' Sister), Eris VanserraX OC Rhys' Sister (Eventually)

Summary: Under the Mountain, Estella, have flash backs to her 50 years in captivity, and losing hope she will ever see her lover. That is until a human girl shows up and give her and her brother Rhysand something they lost decades ago...Hope and in a matter of mere months she is reunited with the love of her life. The General of the Night Court Armies.

Content Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+, dub con, whipping, poisoning, murder (I think this covers it if I missed something please let me know). Longing for loved ones, while in captivity.

A/N: This was going to be extremely long if I didn't break this up in two parts and I really wanted to get something out to you since I had been teasing this so much!

Word Count: 4.1K

All Too Well Masterlist ACOTAR MasterList

Romeo Save Me

“Hello Beautiful,” Amarantha cooed, circling around Rhysand's baby sister, Estella. The raven haired female held her chin high. “Rhysand, you didn't tell me you had a sister.” Estella's eyes glanced over to her brother. If he was panicked he didn't show it. Amarantha tsked, “Naughty boy, no matter she'll make a fine addition to the court.” Amarantha purred as her eyes grazed the black gown the Princess of the Night Court wore. The silver chains connected the two pieces of fabric at her hips revealing her toned, tanned legs, the neckline dipping to expose her stomach. A tiara of black and purple gems placed upon her head. An outfit she wore in the Court of Nightmares.

Did you know about this? Estella questioned her brother in the part of his mind he kept open for her.

If I did do you think I would have brought you here. Cassian begged me not to. I should have listened.

Amarantha snapped her fingers and the young princess felt hands grip her arms tightly, as fear flooded her system as the dreaded footfalls of the attor came into her line of sight.

Rhys…

I'm here, Little Star.

Estella glanced at the Attor's talon like hand. Faebane. Estella pressed her lips in a tight line, Rhys I'm scared.

She glanced over at his face and found no emotion there, the tick of his jaw the only indication that he was worried. Stay calm. I'm here, Stella. Just breathe.

Before Estella could take in a breath the Attor pinched her nose and instantly she began to struggle in the guards arms. The Attor's smile was sinister and would be the center of the young heir’s nightmare's to come. “Come now, Princess, open for me.

Estella, refused to open her mouth, her piercing blue eyes met the Attor's in pure defiance. Breaking eye contact she looked back to her brother to find Amarantha had wrapped her arms around Rhys pressing his back to her front as if it were a lover's embrace. “Come dear, don't be stubborn, or I may have to punish my new treat here.” She dragged a manicured finger down her brother's exposed chest and Estella maintained eye contact with the self proclaimed High Queen, as she nibbled his ear. To Rhysand's credit he didn't react to her advances he just stared at his Little Star.

Estella's lungs began to burn and her vision began to blacken around the edges and she opened her mouth to take her breath. Wasting no time the Attor poured the liquid down her throat, still pinching her nose as she had no choice but to swallow.

“Wonderful, guards take her away.” Estella watched as she planted a kiss on his cheek another tick in his jaw as they began to haul her away. “Don't worry Rhysand, We'll make sure she is comfortable and well taken care of.”

Before she let the panic settle in her bones she reached out to Rhysand once more; Rhys we need to put up the wards. Keep Velaris safe. Keep him safe. We have to do it before the faebane takes effect.

On my count Rhys voice echoed through there she could feel the beginning of the Faebane taking effect.

1…2…3…

Estella threw out her power to siphon the wards, draining to the dregs and she could hear the pounding of her shields. A familiar presence in the back of her mind.

Cassian she spoke in his mind.

Stella sweetheart, what's going on? His voice sounded distant in her mind as the poison was taking hold and she was being hoisted away.

It'll be okay. I'll be okay. Watch over Velaris for me won't you, General?” The young heir could feel her power suppressing itself. As if her power was trying to combat the drug coursing through her veins.

No I'm coming to get you his voice roared through Estella's mind though it sounded as though he was talking to her underwater. She fought back tears that were stinging in her eyes.

I love you, Cassie. Then she felt the connection being severed and she allowed herself a few tears escape her eyes as she was ripped away from her home, her family, her lover.

We Were Both Young When I First Saw You

“I don’t want to train.” Estella whined dragging her feet as Rhys held a firm grip on her hand as they approached the camp.

Frustration bubbling over Rhys turned around and gently cupped her cheeks. “My Little Star, I love you, I promised Father, Mother, and Astrea that I would protect you.” Estella fought her flinch at the mentioned, of their dead family members. Rhys tenderly brushed a strand of hair that fell loos from her plait and tucked it behind her pointed ear. “I almost lost you once. I won't let it happen again. Could you please try training with my friends? If you don't like it, then I'll leave it alone. I just need you to try.”

Estella quirked a brow as she stared into his pleading violet eyes. With a roll of her eyes and dramatic sigh she replied, “Promise?”

Rhys smiled and kissed her forehead, “Promise.”

With a slight tilt of her head, Rhys led her to the two Illyrian warriors that were standing at the center of the fighting ring. The young heir had yet to meet her brother's friends but had heard stories about his “brothers.” The two were giants compared to her, both warriors wore seven siphons a piece. The shorthaired one with blue siphons, Estella had seen in passing in Velaris before her brother became High Lord, his shadows were hard to ignore. She had never uttered a word to the Shadowsinger but heard his name whispered by the maids in their home: Azriel.

The warrior with the red siphons had his hair up in a bun, his wings rustled as the wind kissed them. His hazel eyes met her pale blue eyes and gave her a toothy grin that caused her heart to quicken. “Finally nice to formally meet the Princess of Velaris.” His deep voice seeped into her bones and warmth pooled in her belly.

Estella then scrunched her nose, “Don't call me that.”

The long-haired Illyrian smirked stalking forward, causing Estella to crane her neck to hold his pointed gaze. “What would you have me call you, Sweetheart.” Heat warmed her cheeks at the pet name.

“I'll call you a dead male, if you keep staring at my sister like that, you prick.” Azriel snorted at Rhys' response. “Stella, the shameless flirt in front of you is Cassian. The stoic one fighting his laughter is Azriel. I'm sure you've seen him around. Gentlemen, this is Stella.”

Cassian's leather clad hand picked up Estella’s and brought her knuckles to his lips, “A pleasure, Sweetheart, if you're ever tired of big brother Rhysie, come find me and we can play.” Rhys growled, as Cassian gave the young female a wink. She gave him a smile in return, then averted her gaze to focus on anything else.

Maybe training wouldn't be so bad after all.

I Got Tired of Waiting

A hand grazed Estella's waist. Sipping from her goblet staring at the High Queen, wearing the Night Court tiara that she ripped from the Princess' head when they first arrived 49 years ago. A male from the summer court pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “Warm my bed tonight, Angelfish.” His breath was sour, and Estella took a sharp breath as his hand gripped her barely covered ass.

She turned into his touch, breaking her gaze from the queen who was kissing her brother's neck. Placing her hand on the male's bare tanned chest, “It would be my honor.” She gave her best seductive grin as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Bile rose in her throat, a feeling she had grown accustomed to since being there.

The male gripped her ass tighter, “I will retrieve you from your cell when I'm ready for you.” He whispered on her lips as if he was her lover. Another wave of nausea burned her esophagus as he pressed his lips to hers once more. A warm memory of kind Hazel eyes, calloused hands with red siphons atop them, and soft plush lips caressing hers bubbled to the surface. Estella forced the memory back down as the male swatted her bare flesh and walked away.

“Stella dear,” Amarantha's drawl felt like a snake slithering up Estella's spine. The young female met the Queen's gaze, her brother by her side his face a mask of cool indifference. “Come here.” Gritting her teeth the heir of the Night Court approached the dais her chin jutted out, the tiara on her head gleaming with the colors of her court. Trying to keep a semblance of dignity, though Amarantha's insistence that the top that only covered her breast and the gossamer skirt that barely covered her ass made her feel less than.

With the snap of the queen's fingers a male approached with a female their hands linked. Estella bowed, aware that her skirt was revealing more than she wished to the fae behind her. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Rise, dear, I have a gift for you.” Estella rose and the couple with their hands linked together smiled in her direction.

Breathe, Little Star Rhys' voice filler her head, Inhale she breathed in, Exhale she released the breath.

“This couple,” Amarantha's voice bellowed out, “Wishes for someone to join them in their bed this evening. You will go and they will do as they please with you.”

Shock flooded her system, so that was what her role was to be concubine…Cassian's face came to the surface and guilt laced her whole body. He will understand, Stella. We are not in a position to fight this.

Bullshit. The princess shook her head, “I will not, your majesty.” She held her head high. I cannot betray him like this, I will not. I'm sorry, Rhys.

Estella! Rhys scolded

Amarantha sneered, “I don't recall it being a request.”

Estella straightened her spine, “I don't care,” she retorted defiantly. “I will not lay down in someone's bed for their amusement.”

Amarantha rose from her throne her dark crimson skirts draping to the floor similar to blood dripping down a body. The Queen approached and Estella refused to cower. Amarantha approached her mouth upturned into a saccharine grin that appeared the most sinister. “Are you defying my direct orders, Princess?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very Well, Rhysand, bring me the Ash whip.” Color drained from Estella’s face. Her brother approached whip in hand and his mouth formed into a tight line. “Thank you, now you will give her 10 lashes for her disobedience.” The siblings heads whipped to the evil witch next to them. “Is that going to be a problem, Rhysand. I figured she would learn her lesson best if it was given to her by someone she cares for. Wouldn't you agree?”

Estella then met Rhysand's eyes, “I do, Your Majesty.” Turn around and close your eyes, Little Star. She did as Rhys told her and the crack of the whip wrung out in the entire hall. With each sting of whip against her skin, and whimper that slipped from her mouth, Rhys’ voice rang in her mind.

I'm Sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm so fucking sorry.

By the end Amarantha had ripped the crown from atop of her head, and the couple had carried her to their room and in spite of her bleeding back, had taken her, over and over again, until she passed out from the pain, where hazel eyes and dark long hair greeted her.

Romeo Take Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone

Estella sat up as the male swiped lazy circles around her stomach, “Would you like some tea?” She asked placing her hand on top of his stalling the movements.

The male hummed his eyes glazed from his orgasm. “That would be wonderful, Angelfish.” He gave a lazy smile that the young female returned and rose to gather her clothes and began preparing him a cup of tea. “Amarantha is generous to share you.” He praddled on as Estella placed the kettle over the flame, grabbing her tea mixture she made a few weeks prior. “I know she has her own whore that warms her bed.” Estella clenched her teeth as he kept talking, “Only to give the court his sister. Truly a gift.”

Estella closed her eyes as she schooled her voice in a calm manor, “I am happy to serve my queen and my court in whatever way is needed.” The words fell to ash on her tongue and tears burned her eyes as the kettle sung to life. Grabbing the kettle she brought it over to the cup with the tea mixture in it. Pouring the hot water and letting the tea steep for 2 minutes, Estella brought the tea to the male, “Here you go, Darling,” She purred. She slipped into his mind easily his mental shield down, Drink all of it for me. The male did as he was told and she cooed in his ear, “Good boy.” She ran her fingers through his light brown curls as his eyes began to droop.

A half hour went by, and Estella leaned over the male’s face, and found that his breathing had ceased and she could no longer hear his heartbeat. She patted his cheek, “This has been fun, Angelfish.” She got dressed and snuck out of his room and ran right into a finely dressed chest. She looked up and inwardly groaned, “Eris.” Estella tried to step around the Heir of the Autumn court when he stepped in front of her.

He smirked his russet eyes that glimmered with mischief, “Hello, Estella. Tell me how my Little Viper is, today?”

She glared at him, “I thought I told you not to call me that, Princeling.”

Eris grinned, “Well I can’t help myself. Tell me who was your victim today.”

Estella sighed, “No one of importance.”

Eris eyes darkened his fist clenched for a moment, “I highly doubt that.”

The princess of Night lowered her head slightly, “If I’m not back in my cell, I could be subject to a lashing so if you don’t mind, your highness.”

Eris slid out of her way, “Have a good night, My little Viper.” Estella shivered but moved past the red-haired Prince, without another word. winding the halls to her cell. Not noticing the Autumn prince sneaking into the room she came out of.

She arrived in her cell, and she found Rhysand standing in the middle of it. “Hey, you.” she said as she stepped onto the threshold of her prison.

“Hey, Little Star. How are you faring?” Rhys looked her up and down, assessing for injuries.

“Fine as always brother,” She got jittery and despite needing to put on appearances she hugged him. He wrapped her arms around her tightly. “I’m exhausted Rhys.” She whispered into his chest.

He pressed his hand to the back of her head and rocked her, “I know. I’m so sorry. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret trying to get you home. Or never bringing you to the Hewn City that day.” He whispered into her hair.

I miss them, Rhys. I miss him.

I know you do. I miss them too. “Tomorrow is Calanmai. Amarantha has granted me to leave.” Estella pulled away from her brother to stare at him and he read her face and shook his head speaking into her own, I can’t risk you being hurt because I attempted to escape. I won’t do it. It’s bad enough I have had to hurt you.

I don’t blame you; you know. She whispered in her mind.

I do…She makes me fuck her with your crown on...

Estella stilled at the brashness of his words, “Rhys...”

He hushed her as he kept her in his arms, “It’s okay.”

Will you stay with me tonight?

I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

Rhysie, please. Estella smiled slightly as he sighed.

I can’t deny you anything. Brat.

Rhys led her to the pile of hay in the corner of the cell and laid her down. The princess pressed her cheek against his heartbeat and Rhys began to rub her back. The two siblings sat in silence for a few moments. “Can you play the music for me, Rhys?”

Rhys smiled and kissed her forehead, “Sure thing. Close your eyes.”

Estella closed her eyes, “I love you.” Music began to play inside her mind, the musicians at the rainbow began to build their symphony and tears welled in her eyes.

Rhys’ voice was strained as he responded, “I love you too. Sleep. I will be here in the morning.”

Estella was beginning to be pulled into slumber when she mumbled, “No one likes a liar, Rhys.” And she fell unconscious to the sounds of her brother chuckling.

Beggin You Please Don’t Go

“You are not leaving this bed!” Cassian pulled her waist dragging her back closer to him the warmth of his bare tattooed chest seeping into her bones. “I don’t need to leave for Windhaven until tomorrow. It’s cruel that Rhys would prevent you from spending the rest of today with me.” He kissed her cheek hips moving down the slope of her neck. “I want to be with my girl.”

Estella giggled as he nibbled her neck, his hands clinging to her waist tightly as if the General of the Night Court Armies were afraid, she would slip from his fingers. “Cass, I need to make an appearance in Hewn City. Apparently, Rhys has been getting shit for it from Keir.”

Cassian turned her to face him. He caressed her cheek gently, “I could care less about Keir. I hate it when you’re there when I can’t be.”

“Because you’re an overprotective bat?” Estella quirked a brow and smirked that the general pushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

He chuckled and kissed her nose, “No, you brat. I just don’t want to be separated from you. Especially when you’re in a place with cruel males that look at you like you’re their next meal.”

She looked laughed, “So an overprotective bat.”

Cassian’s grin was laced with mischief, “Overprotective bat?” He began to tickle the young raven-haired female. Her laughs filled their shared space, “I’ll show you an overprotective bat.” He pinned her back to the mattress and continued her assault on her waist, his fingers tickling her to the point of tears sliding down her eyes. He began pepper kisses over her face picking up her tears.

“Cassian, I yield.” Estella panted and she tapped her hand on his forearm. He stopped and leaned down pressing his forehead to hers. “I yield.” She whispered.

“I can’t help being protective you know.” He whispered in return. There was a long-delayed pause, his eyes growing distant.

Estella growled, “Had I known you wanted Rhys’ attention so bad I would have shifted into him.” Cassian shook his head and flicked her nose and she smiled, “What did he say?”

Cassian sighed as he pressed his lips to hers, “That I can beat the shit out of him when you both come home.”

Estella’s brow furrowed, “I never wanted you two to be at odds, Cass.”

Cassian smiled and interlaced his large hand over hers, “Sweetheart, we have been friends for centuries, he’s stuck with me.” He kissed her nose once more, “Just like you are.” He grinned and she found herself smiling too. “I love that smile of yours.”

She tilted her head, “What else do you love about me?”

Cassian kissed her forehead, “I love your eyes,” He kissed her cheek and Estella closed her eyes. “Your lips.” He pressed his lips to hers. “Your kindness,” He pecked her jaw line, “Your compassion.” His lips moved to her neck, “Your bravery,” moved to the collarbone. “You, Sweetheart. I love you.”

The princess opened her eyes, “I love you too, Cassian.”

And I love you two, as well, but Cassian please get off my sister we must leave soon. Rhys’s voice filled our minds and the two of us laughed as Cassian placed another kiss to her lips.

“I’ll be home before you’re able to miss me, General.” Estella whispered.

Cassian sighed and placed his head in the crook of her neck. “I always miss you, Stella.”

You Were Everything to Me

The human girl was hanging against the wall, her fear flooding her scent. This was the human girl that Rhys had found in Tamlin’s court. Estella had a hard time breathing. As the Attor unleashed another attack on the girl. Rhysand was standing by Amarantha, his face emotionless, and Estella wanted to scream to lash out, to save this girl from the torment. She wrapped her arms around herself, as the screams of the human girl rang out.

Estella released a whimper when a smooth warm hand gripped the female’s hip. The scent of Autumn leaves and cinnamon overtook her senses. His thumb rubbed a circle around her bare hip. “Come to my chambers tonight, Little Viper.” Eris breath grazed her pointed ear.

Estella gritted her teeth, fighting away the tears as the sound of the broken screams rang in her ears while the Attor continued his torment, “Why? Why do you insist on tormenting me, Eris? Mor wasn’t enough for you?”

Eris’ hand stilled, his nose grazed her skin, and her heart raced. “What do you know about that day, really, My Little Viper?” He held her close to him, “I expect you in my chambers when this is done, Estella. I mean, immediately after, no getting those cute little concoctions from your cell first. Or I may let our High Queen know about what you like to do to the males who request your services.” He gripped her hip tighter than her and smirked as a spark of arousal flooded her. The feeling singed away when he removed his hand, and Estella reluctantly missed the comfort of his touch, as the human girl gave out a gurgled scream, causing the young female’s blood to run cold.

Hours of torment and Estella knew that those screams would haunt her forever. Her bare feet padded through the halls as an Autumn court sentinel led her to the Heir of Autumn’s chambers. When they reached the door Estella bowed her head, “Thank you.” She whispered and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Eris’s voice muffled. The raven-haired beauty stepped inside, the red gown with a blunging neckline swished at her feet. “Hello, Viper.”

“Prick.” She retorted; her sharp blue eyes met his copper liked ones. “Let’s get this over with.” She began to pull the straps of her gown down when Eris raised his hand.

“I have no interest in sleeping with you Viper.” Eris rose from his chair; his orange vest lay over top his white tunic hugging his frame. His tanned pants tucked into his brown boots that looked as though they were recently shined. His red hair pulled halfway, and Estella couldn’t deny that he was the most beautiful man she had ever encountered, but he was a wild card and lethal and made Estella’s heartbeat erratically when he closed the distance between them. “I would like to keep my life intact thank you.”

Estella swallowed and her voice low, “Then what do you want with me, Princeling?”

Eris didn’t answer, instead his hands gripped hers and he pulled her into an embrace. The female blinked as Eris gripped her tightly. The kind gesture so foreign to her from anyone other than her brother in 50 years and the emotions erupted in her. She gripped the back of his vest and buried her face in his chest and erupted into sobs. Estella had no idea why he was doing this, or how he knew she needed this, but for this moment she allowed herself the comfort of letting out a half a century worth of feelings into his chest. As Eris rested his head atop hers, hand stroking her dark hair. His other hand rubbing her back almost soothingly.

After a few moments Eris picked her upholding her knees and her back and walked her over to the bed and he leaned against the headboard as the Princess of the Night Court sobbed into the chest of the Prince of the Autumn Court. The latter whispered soothing words in her ear and warmed his hands as an extra comfort for the Princess until exhaustion took over and the viper fell asleep in the arms of the fox.

Part 2

Story Tags: @milswrites @eve175 @melsunshine @believinghurts @awkardnerd @historygeekqueen @mischiefmanagers @mybestfriendmademe @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @glitterypirateduck @littlestw01f @mal-adaptive-dreams @lilah-asteria @hellodarling1357

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