#I have once again discovered that I shine when writing female characters | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mypoisonedvine · 3 years ago

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Hii!! First, thank you for letting us enjoy your writing, I absolutely love it!. And for tonight's sleepover (sorry if it seems a bit off, I'll understand if you dont want to write it) but... What about one of Daniel's characters discovering a knife kink, like they love the way reader can defend by themselves, he admires that and can't help but thinking about reader being so dominant, slashing his clothes or their own clothes teasing him. How would they react once reader notices that?

this just SCREAMS sub!zemo at me and hhnng you know I can't say no to that! knife kink obviously but no blood, oral m receiving, premature ejaculation, mention of anal, and lots of teasing c:

Say what you will about EKO Scorpion, but you were a dedicated unit of soldiers. Maybe it was because most of the squadron came from intelligence first, but there was a discipline a lot of other boots-on-the-ground seemed to lack. While they spent their leave in bars and brothels, you were working; all of you were. Training, specifically. Some of the others were training with weights, a few more with guns; but you and the Colonel were on the other side of the barracks, running drills with a much more ancient weapon.

He was there first, you saw him sparring against a dummy with his sabre and you stopped to admire his form for a moment before he caught you watching.

"What a sad little blade you've got there, Lieutenant," he smirked, "it's nothing compared to my broadsword." He waved the weapon in question just for emphasis, and you had to admit he looked pretty good holding it like that.

"It is little, isn't it?" you admitted as you observed the dagger in your hands. "I'm just using it to compensate for my huge dick."

He scoffed but you knew the comment threw him off a little bit. He did a better job than the other men in the unit at ignoring your female-ness, but apparently thinking about whatever was in your pants-- huge dick or otherwise-- wasn't how he expected this conversation to go.

"Spar me?" you suggested.

"Sure, where's your sabre?" he asked.

"No, I'll use this," you clarified, and he seemed both shocked and amused (again).

"Against this?" He waved the sword again.

"Yes! Now will you just get back into form? And try not to stab me too hard?"

He cleared his throat quickly and squared himself up. "No promises," he mumbled.

You made the first move, and though his sword started to come down over you, you were able to catch it in the divot of your dagger's hilt, blocking him so swiftly that he never had a chance to stop you from twisting around and pointing your weapon at his neck, just under his jaw.

He dropped the sword and raised his hands, taking a step back and pressing himself against the wall as you followed him with a raised brow. "Well, that was a bit anti-climactic, huh?" you smirked.

His wide-eyed expression made your heart swell for no good reason at all: here was your Colonel, your commander, someone you looked up to and obeyed without question, looking uncharacteristically submissive-- and not just in general, but to you. The thought hadn't even crossed your mind before, but you liked the rush it gave you.

His gaze glanced down for a second, at himself, and you instinctively followed it; you weren't sure what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn't an obvious boner pressing up against the inside of his uniform trousers. That's what it had to be, right? What else would have that shape, with the ridge of his head visible through the dark green fabric? It looked thick, too... were you drooling already?

"Okay, maybe not anti-climactic for all of us..." you mumbled.

"Exciting, sure," he awkwardly countered, "but I wouldn't quite call it 'climactic'... yet..."

You grinned and stepped even closer, delicately running the blade over his jaw; he had just enough stubble that you were more likely to give him a sudden shave than to actually cut him. Not that you'd ever want him to shave the stubble, because you secretly loved it. "I can fix that," you whispered. "What was it that got you excited, then, Colonel? The blade, the fight, the way I casually walked in here and kicked your ass?"

"A little bit of everything," he decided after swallowing thickly. "H-how sharp is that, anyway?"

"Really sharp," you promised, moving the blade down lower to run over where his neck met his shoulder. "I could cut you. I should stop then, right? You don't want me to cut you."

"Don't stop," he whispered.

You moved the dagger lower again, this time to the collar of his shirt where you slipped it underneath and started to slowly slice your way down, right through the standard-issue cotton fabric. You mainly just focused on your work but caught a glimpse of his mouth falling slack above you.

You'd seen him shirtless before, you end up seeing your comrades in various states of undress when you're in the field together this long, but it looked different with his chest rising and falling every time he panted, with a thin layer of sweat over the highest point of where his pecs were dusted with blonde-ish-brown-ish hair.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, ghosting the side of the cool metal over his fly and watching him tense up. "Y-you're not gonna cut me there, right?"

"No," you answered, suddenly sliding the shining tip of it right between his legs, where his balls must've been turning blue waiting for you to stop teasing him; he started to creep up onto his tiptoes to avoid getting pricked as you continued, "not if you behave."

You looked up at him expectantly.

"You're going to behave, right?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," he nodded quickly, and it was so odd to hear him say that as if you were his superior. You liked the feeling, though, it made you want this more than ever.

You sliced the button of his fly clean off; you hooked the tip of the blade into the end of his zipper and carefully pulled it down.

"Fuck," you heard him mumble as his cock was freed, looking so lonely and achingly hard. You couldn't even stop yourself from leaning forward and swallowing up the tip of it, hearing him moan and feeling his hands grab at your hair right away.

"Hands to yourself, Colonel," you stopped to correct him quickly, and he slammed his hands back against the wall with all the desperation of a man who would do anything to get you to keep sucking his cock. Thankfully for him you did, running your tongue up under the base of it before suckling at the head once more, going just a bit deeper with each bob of your head.

"Oh god," he groaned, "s-so good, it's so good... please don't stop."

It was the sadist in you that had to stop right then, though you gave him a little mercy by stroking his cock slowly with your free hand while twirling the knife with the other. "How long has it been since somebody got you off, Colonel? Other than yourself."

"Can't even remember," he admitted with a sigh, "even just by myself. You know we can hardly ever get a moment alone in a unit like this. But I know the last time I got off, I was thinking about this."

"This?" you repeated, bewildered.

"Exactly this," he confirmed.

"That's funny, cause the last time I got off, I was thinking about you, too," you grinned.

"Really? You thought about me when you touched yourself?" he smiled.

"I never said I was alone the last time I got off, Colonel," you reminded him. "No, I was with somebody... and while he was fucking me I was imagining how much better you would do it."

"Oh, fuck," he sighed as his head fell back against the wall; you kept stroking him as you started sucking again, bringing the side of the blade up against the crotch of his pants again just to see how he squirmed with his cock still in your mouth. "I'd fuck you so much better, Lieutenant, you know I would... let me show you."

You had to pull off of him before you smiled too hard to keep going. "Oh, Colonel, I don't think that's a good idea. I think I should just keep sucking you off until you come-- shouldn't take you very long, you're already trying not to come all over my face as we speak-- and then leave you be. Keep it simple, you know."

"N-no, I need more, fuck," he hissed.

"No, you definitely don't," you chuckled, "you can come right now, just from this. Is that what you wanna do? You wanna come down my throat right now?"

"No, I wanna see you," he explained, "wanna touch you-- I need to make you come, Lieutenant, it's all I've been thinking about for months."

"Okay, let's make a deal then," you offered. "I'm going to keep sucking your cock and if you can keep from coming for fifteen seconds, you can do whatever you want to me. You can fuck me right here on this floor, you can eat my pussy until I pass out-- you can put it in my ass, if you really want. Whatever you're into, whatever you've been thinking about when you get yourself off."

His eyes were so wide as you said that, you worried they'd just fall out onto the floor.

"But if you come, all you're getting is the memory of this afternoon as material for your pathetic little spank bank of fantasies. Deal?"

He could only nod weakly as he stared down at you.

"Count for me, Colonel," you demanded, hearing him start with 'one' the moment you wrapped your lips around him again.

He almost lost count right away, because clearly he hadn't been expecting you to pull out all the stops-- you sucked hard, you bobbed your head and twisted your hand over his spit-slicked length, you trailed the blade slowly down his thigh through his trousers. "Two, th-three, four, five..." he breathed, whimpering a little when you looked up at him and made a moment of eye contact. "Fuck, uh, six, seven..."

You pressed your tongue against his slit and felt his hand jump up to grab your hair instinctively. You kept sucking and stroking as you circled it with the tip of your tongue, moaning around him even though you hadn't even really meant to.

"Eight, f-fuck... ni-- oh, god!" he groaned, and even you were surprised as you tasted salty, warm come beginning to coat your tongue. He held you down with his grip on the back of your head, cock twitching as streams of come shot to the back of your throat. You almost gagged, but managed to keep it together until he was done, at which point you pulled back and showed him your full mouth before closing and swallowing it in one go.

"Not even ten seconds, Colonel, that's a shame," you grinned, loving how embarrassed and flustered and exhausted he looked, "I was really looking forward to being all yours, however and whenever you wanted me... oh well."

You shrugged and stood up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"You don't last very long in a sparring match, huh?" you chuckled, tossing the blade to him and seeing him fumble but managed still to catch it. "Better luck next time."

You left without another word, though his dumbfounded expression proved he had plenty to say, just no wherewithal to do so. You could only hope that he'd find a chance sometime soon to get his revenge on you, because you were really looking forward to losing your next bet with him.

#sub!zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #colonel zemo smut #baron zemo smut #saturday night sleepover

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viastro · 4 years ago

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second life | xu minghao

ミ★ synopsis: in which jun and jeonghan pick out a book titled, Second Life, and find a message written to someone on the title page. it’s only then that they learn the untold story of two lovers who met at a library 35 years ago.

ミ★ genre: soulmate!au (kinda ?), multiple lives!au, fluff, light angst

ミ★ warnings: major character death (it’s not bad i promise)

ミ★ word count: 4,219

ミ★ pairings: xu minghao x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys! when i wrote this oneshot, i couldn’t think of any other published book, so i decided to reference @sunlightwoo‘s series, Second Life, which is really good so make sure to check it out ! i’m going to be a bit busy these upcoming weeks because i have finals soon, and i also just got a job as a boba barista ! i’ll try to post a oneshot at least once a week, but we’ll see how that goes HAHAHA as always, make sure to give lots of love to minghao <3 i hope you guys enjoy this one !!

“Who would wanna go to the library over the amusement park? And why is it you instead of Minghao?” Jun rolls his eyes at Jeonghan’s questions as the two of them step into the city library. They bow their heads in the elderly librarian’s direction, before walking further into the pretty empty space.

“Minghao keeps telling me to read more cause he’s tired of me bothering him.” Jun mutters as his eyes trail across the numerous books on the shelves. Jeonghan purses his lips, before nodding his head in agreement, knowing that Minghao is on the verge of possibly committing homicide if Jun barges into his apartment one more time unannounced.

“This looks nice.” Jun says quietly to himself as he pulls out the story titled, Second Life. He opens the cover, only to tilt his head at the writing scrawled on the title page. Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at Jun’s confused expression, so he leans in close to check out what he’s looking at.

for yn,

as a reminder for a fairly wonderful day. i hope for many more to come.

affectionately yours,

xmh

“I guess this book was donated?” Jeonghan asks, glancing down at the page to see that it was published long before the two were alive. Jun nods his head, and they head over to the front desk to rent the story.

“Ah, no one’s checked out this book in a long time.” The librarian says softly, hand grazing slightly over the written words. Jun and Jeonghan share a glance, before turning back towards the elderly woman. “Do you perhaps… know the person who wrote that message?”

She glances up at the two handsome men, seeing their curious expressions on their faces. The librarian lets out a smile, nodding her head as she stamps the sticker in the book and slides it back in Jun’s direction.

“They were a beautiful couple. I was just a young girl starting my first job as a librarian when they first met here, actually.” Jun finds himself growing more intrigued, as does Jeonghan since the two appear to be holding onto the librarians every word.

“Can we hear their story?” Jeonghan asks, and they watch as the librarian smiles, before nodding her head. She gestures for them to move towards the couches, and she walks out from behind the desk and sits in front of the two.

“It’s a bit of a long one, if that’s okay.” The librarian warns, and Jun and Jeonghan shake their heads, telling her that it’s no problem. She lets out a sigh, glancing out the window to see the yellow rays from the warm, summer sun shine into the library.

“It was a beautiful spring day when they first met.”

Fucking hate pollen, you think grumpily to yourself as you rub your nose in an attempt to hold back the monstrous sneeze that threatens to escape if you inhale one more breath of the spring air. You notice the library around the corner, and quicken your pace as you walk over to escape from the allergy infested air.

Once you’re there, you practically rip open the door and jump inside the quiet building. You let out a sigh of relief once the door closes behind you, and you pause, realizing how loud you must’ve been when you entered the library. So you turn your head slowly, just to find the relatively young librarian standing there with wide eyes, and you let out a small smile.

“I’m so sor-” The words die in your throat when you feel that familiar feeling in the back of your nose, and you quietly try to fight it back.

god, please. I’m in the place that’s supposed to be quiet, so if you humiliate me and make me sne-

You let out a loud sneeze that resembles the sound of the large stampede of wildebeest that killed Mufasa in the Lion King, and it makes you want to shrivel up and die right in the entrance of the library. You wouldn’t mind, really. It’d be a peaceful way to go out, just right here. In this library. Actually, it’d be rather pleasa-

“Do you need a tissue?” You turn your head to see the young librarian holding out a tissue box from her desk, and you let out an embarrassed smile. Shaking your head, you lift up your hand to tell her that you’re fine, only to stop and turn when you hear the door open from behind you.

A tall man walks in with long red hair that’s parted down the middle. He’s wearing a black turtleneck with a sheer blue button down over it. Running a hand through his hair, he glances up from the floor and locks eyes with you once the door closes.

Love at first sight. You never believed it, didn’t understand the concept, really. Even thought it was stupid. How could you fall in love with someone just from a first glance?

So why is it that you can’t seem to be able to breathe as you stare up into his deep, brown eyes that seem to hold millions of thoughts as they bore into yours. Feeling heat rush up to your cheeks, you turn away first, and he quietly coughs into his shoulder.

“Sorry.” You mumble as you step to the side, feeling embarrassed for just staring at the ethereal man with an awed expression. You’re sure that he thinks you’re weird, and you debate on ways to escape the library while also being able to handle your allergies.

if i just shove the pieces of tissue up my nose, then i won’t sneeze every five seconds. brilliant.

However, the thoughts come to a stop when you find his hand outstretched towards you. Slowly, you glance up at the man, just to find a small smile on his face as he stares at you.

“Hi, I’m Minghao.” Biting the inside of your cheek, you slowly reach out and grasp his hand softly, letting out a grin when you do so. You watch as his eyes seem to twinkle in the sunlight, and you wonder how someone can be so ethereal as you say,

“Hi, I’m yn.”

“This book is taking a rather tragic turn.” You mutter as you turn the page, and Minghao glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He bites back a smile when he sees you upside down on the beanbag chair, reading Romeo and Juliet as you do so. Letting out a breath he responds, “You’ve read that book three times already, you should know that it’s not a good story.”

Rolling your eyes, you close the book and shoot the pretty man a glare. Minghao giggles when he sees you grumble to yourself about him always attacking you whenever you pick up any work of Shakespeares. You don’t blame him, Romeo and Juliet sucks, but you read the story for entertainment purposes.

“Always ruining my fun.” You complain as you move to the aisle to pick up another story. Minghao grins, placing his book down after marking his spot and following after you.

It’s been three months since you and Minghao met at this library, and the two of you have been meeting here almost every weekend just to read together. You’ve discovered that Minghao is not only physically pretty, but his talent and personality is truly unmatched. While Minghao has noticed that you shine brighter than all the stars in the sky whenever you speak of a book you’ve come to love.

Secretly the two of you have developed feelings for the other, but as always, neither of you have made a move.

“Are you going to pick out another boring story?” Minghao teases from beside you, and you shoot him a glare, “You stink.”

Minghao smiles, about to poke fun at you again, only to stop when he takes notice of the young librarian standing at the end of the aisle, holding up two glasses of water. You turn to glance in the direction Minghao is staring in, and immediately grin when you lock eyes with Areum.

“Areum! Are you going to read with us today?” You ask as you and Minghao walk over, quietly thanking her for the beverage as you both take a sip. She grins, shaking her head, and you immediately pout. “Why not?”

“I’m still on my shift, and I know how much you two enjoy your time together.” Areum says with a wink, and you feel the warmth rising to your face in an instant, quietly cursing Areum for her comments about you and Minghao.

Minghao clears his throat when Areum wiggles her eyebrows at him, and she smiles brightly at the two of you. “I’ll try and join you guys when I finish my shift, but just come to the front desk if you need anything.”

You both nod your head and watch as Areum turns and leaves the aisle. Letting out a breath, you turn and pull out a soft yellow book from the shelf, before walking back over to you and Minghao’s designated reading spot in the back of the library.

“What lame book did you get this time?” Minghao asks, and you scoff as you sit back down in the comfortable chair. You turn over so that you’re upside down, and he giggles at your strange position. “You’re lame.”

“Rude.” You grin at his response before holding out the book you chose, watching as the silver letters of the title reflect back at you. “It’s called, Second Life, I actually haven’t read this one before.”

Minghao purses his lips at the unfamiliar name, and you turn the book around so that he can also get a good look at it. Nodding his head, he pulls open his book again, “It seems interesting.”

“Wow, that’s the first time you didn’t call one of the books I chose, lame.” You joke, and Minghao chuckles. He shrugs his shoulders, turning to glance at you, only to find you already staring back at him.

Feeling the air shift between the two of you, you turn away after staring at each other in silence, and open up to the first page of the story. Minghao bites the inside of his cheek, before looking away and going back into his book as well.

The three unspoken words are left lingering in his brain as he glances over his book to take a peek at you, only to look back down.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” You ask as you watch Minghao look through the numerous books on the shelf to try to figure out what to read. He halts his movements, turning to glance down at you. “Do you?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you glance down at the book you hold in your hands as you recall what you felt the first moment you and Minghao locked eyes. The pretty man purses his lips, feeling his heart thump within his chest as he finally pulls out a book he decided to read.

“I didn’t, originally.” Minghao begins, and you raise an eyebrow. He stays quiet for a second, debating on whether or not he should continue as you tilt your head to the side at his silence. Running a hand through your hair you ask, “What happened that made you change your mind?”

Minghao turns towards you, and your eyes widen slightly when you take in how nervous he looks. He bites the inside of his cheek, rethinking his decision one more time.

you can back out, there’s no reason to say anyth-

“Then I met you.” Minghao says softly, completely ignoring his rampant thoughts, and the two of you stare at each other in silence for a long time as you let his words soak in. He lets out a sad laugh at the shocked expression on your face, running a hand through his pretty red hair as he nods his head with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s okay, I understand-”

You take a step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, making the rest of Minghao’s words die in his throat. A smile forms on your face when you feel his arms tentatively wrap around your body, his hand moving to cradle your head.

“You love me too?” Minghao asks, sounding breathless due to the shock of the feeling being mutual. You nod your head, closing your eyes when you hear his rapid heartbeat against your ear.

“At first sight.” You mutter softly, and Minghao smiles at your words. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, and the two of you stay like that for a while in the library aisle. Books that are in your grasp now forgotten as you hold each other.

Areum glances up when she hears the doors to the library open, and lets out a small smile when she sees you and Minghao walking in, fingers intertwined as you both immediately head towards the front desk to greet the young librarian.

“Hi Areum!” You whisper excitedly, and Areum greets you and Minghao with just as much enthusiasm. Minghao watches with a fond smile when the two of you begin to discuss any strange customers walking into the library, and Areum grins when she catches sight of this.

You and Minghao have been dating for six months, and still manage to come to the library almost every weekend. Areum is sure that the two of you have read every single book in this library by now, but she doesn’t question it. She enjoys your guys’ company.

“I’m going to set up our spot, are you gonna talk to Areum?” You ask Minghao once you and Areum finish your conversation on the guy who walked into the library just to look for any dust. Minghao nods his head, and you shoot him a thumbs up, before walking over to the reading spot.

“Did you need something, Minghao?” Areum asks as she begins to sort through the books atop of her desk. Minghao nods his head, glancing over in the direction you walked off to see if you’ll hear anything. She raises an eyebrow when Minghao pulls out a book from the pocket on the inside of his jacket, watching as he places it in front of her.

“Second Life? Are you returning this?” Areum asks, and Minghao shakes his head. He purses his lips, before pointing at the book with his finger as he grabs a pen. “I was wondering if I could buy it. It’s the book yn was reading when I confessed to her, and I think it’d be ni-”

“Of course!” Minghao’s eyes widen slightly when Areum scans the book, having not expected it to be that easy.

“Really? Are you sure I don’t have to go through a process to get the book or like-”

“Nope, just pay the cost and the book is yours. It’s not a big deal.” Areum reassures with a smile, only to internally slap herself when she realizes she’ll have to order another one later in her shift.

Curse Minghao and yn for being the most precious couple ever.

“Thank you so much, Areum.” Minghao says as he hands her money to cover the cost of the book. She grins, nodding her head as she hands back then leftover change. Once the transaction goes through, Minghao open the book to the first page and clicks the pen.

“Are you going to write a message?” Areum asks, and Minghao nods his head with a small smile on his face. She watches as the words make their way onto the page, and she feels her heart warm when he places the pen back down on the table.

“Thank you so much for letting me buy this. I’m gonna go head to the back with yn, are you gonna join us to read later?” Areum nods her head with a smile, and Minghao shoots her a thumbs up. He turns and walks to the back where you are, and Areum lets out a happy sigh.

“Never thought soulmates could be real until I saw those two.” Areum mutters to herself, chuckling when she hears you let out an awe, most likely due to Minghao handing you the book as a present.

“Maybe I should leave the painting to you, huh?” You say as you take a step back to stare at your canvas, and Minghao hums when he turns around from his own creation to take a look at yours. He lets out a smile at the numerous smiley faces and flowers you painted, thinking that the painting is rather endearing. “I think it looks nice.”

You scoff with a playful grin, pointing over at his painting that numerous different colors, all splattered onto the canvas. You don’t understand how he was able to make paint splatters look beautiful, but this is Xu Minghao we’re talking about. The most talented man you know.

“Says the reincarnated Picasso over here.” You joke, and Minghao rolls his eyes. He places his paintbrush into the cup and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around the back of your shoulders and resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Yours is sweet, it speaks volumes on your personality.” Minghao explains, grinning at the excessive use of yellow. You squint at the painting, turning to glance up at your boyfriend, causing him to smile down at you. “Which is?”

Minghao purses his lips, glancing back at the painting once more to think about his response. He giggles, looking back down at you with a teasing smile on his face.

“Someone who doesn’t know how to paint.” You reach out and slap his stomach, making him double over in laughter as you chuckle in response. Minghao lets out a happy sigh, finally calmed down from his joke as he stands back up at his full height. He leans over and presses a soft kiss to your lips, before pulling away and grinning. “I’m kidding, art is whatever you want it to be. I’ll hang this up in my room when it dries.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, watching as Minghao walks back over to his painting to start cleaning up. You watch as he quietly hums a song to himself, and you let out a content sigh, ignoring the pain in your head in order to enjoy what’s going on in front of you. Minghao feels your eyes on him, and he turns back to see you smiling softly at him.

“Mmm, you’re staring again.” Minghao murmurs as he places the paint tubes back into their container. You shrug your shoulders, a sad smile on your face as you stare at your pretty boyfriend, “I just like seeing you.”

Minghao pauses, a slight blush rising to his cheeks as he proceeds to continue cleaning up. You grin, before turning back to start cleaning up your area as well, grimacing from the growing pain in your head that you’re trying to ignore. Minghao turns and catches sight of the sunlight casting a glow on your face, and he smiles softly.

“I like seeing you too, yn.”

Areum walks over to the front desk, moving to check back in the books that were returned, only to hear the bells of the door. She raises an eyebrow, only to let out a smile when she sees Minghao walking in.

“Hey Minghao! Where’s yn? The two of you haven’t been here for a few months.” Areum says cheerfully, only to feel her heart fall slightly at the sad smile Minghao sends her way. He bites his lip as he walks over and rests his hands on the top of the desk.

His long red hair isn’t styled like it usually is, instead just laying over his forehead. She takes notice of the dark bags under his eyes, and the slight hollowness to his cheeks. Areum opens her mouth to ask if everything’s alright, only to stop when Minghao places the soft yellow book face up on the desk. She stares at the cover, and slowly looks up at Minghao, trying to see if what she’s thinking isn’t true when she locks eyes with the pretty man whose face always held a smile when he was in the library with you.

“Yn’s gone.” Minghao mutters softly, thumb grazing over the letters of the title on the book. Areum clenches her fist tightly together at her side, refusing to believe his words. Minghao bites the inside of his cheek harshly, before pushing the yellow book he bought towards Areum’s direction.

“It’s yours now. Thank you for the kindness you showed yn and I whenever we came here, I know she appreciated it a lot.” Minghao tells Areum, before turning around to walk out. Areum’s eyes widen slightly, and she walks out from behind the desk and stands right behind the tall man.

“W-why does this sound like goodbye? You’re coming back, aren’t you?” Areum asks, eyes frantically searching Minghao’s when he turns to glance at her. He reaches out and softly pats Areum’s shoulder, giving her a smile that no longer holds any light. “Maybe if my second life is kind to me, then I’ll be back.”

And with that, Minghao turns and walks out of the library, leaving Areum to stand there, sadness overcoming her heart as she watches his figure slowly shrink until it disappears.

“His name is Minghao?” Jun asks once Areum finishes the story, and she nods her head, taking a sip of water to fix her parched throat. Jeonghan and Jun share a glance, before turning back towards the librarian. “Did you ever hear from him after that?”

Areum nods her head again, letting out a small smile. “He sent me a letter from Singapore a few years after he left the library, but I learned that he got into a car accident a month prior to when I received it. He passed at an early age, but I’m glad to hear that he was doing alright. It’s been maybe, 25 years since he passed.”

Jeonghan purses his lips, glancing at the book Jun grabbed. He leans forward in the seat, and Areum glances up at him. “We actually have a friend named-”

“I didn’t think you guys would actually go to a library.” The three turn to glance at the sound of the voice, finding Minghao standing at the doorway with a bright smile on his face. Areum’s eyes widen, and she slowly stands up from the couch in shock at the sight.

It’s Minghao, she thinks to herself as she stares at him. His hair is now its natural shade of black, a contrast to his long red hair years ago, but it’s still a similar length. He looks up and locks eyes with Areum, and he tilts his head to the side, a smile still on his face as he bows in her direction. “Hello, I’m Minghao.”

Jun and Jeonghan glance at each other when they see the shocked expression on Areum’s face, and the pieces of the puzzle slowly make their way together when suddenly the bell on the door rings again. The three of them glance at the door, and Minghao slowly turns his head, just to feel his breath get caught in his throat.

Your eyes widen slightly at all the people crowded near the door, and you stop when you realize someone is right in front of you. You glance up and lock eyes with the prettiest man you’ve ever seen, and all the thoughts in your brain disappear at the sight of him. A familiar feeling floods your senses, one that you can only relate to the feeling of coming home.

Unbeknownst to you, Minghao is feeling the exact same thing. Except he feels more emotional as he stares down at you, heart pounding against his chest when he catches the sparkle in your eye.

Areum’s mouth drops open when she sees the exact same scene she saw 35 years ago when you and Minghao first met. Her heart thumps against her chest, and she slowly raises her hand until it rests against her heart as she stares at the two of you.

“You look familiar, have we met before?” You ask in a small voice, letting out a smile when you catch sight of the redness to his ears. Minghao clears his throat, smiling when he sees the brightness to your eyes. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment longer, before you extend your hand in his direction. You tilt your head to the side with a shy smile on your face, “Hi, I’m yn.”

Minghao bites the inside of his cheek, grinning when he reaches out and grasps your hand. He feels warmth flood his features at the contact, finding you both beautiful, and familiar. It’s as if he’s experiencing deja vu when he says, “Hi, I’m Minghao.”

Jun and Jeonghan turn and look at the soft yellow book resting on the table, and Jun let's out a breathless chuckle. He runs his hand over the title, smiling when he looks back towards you and Minghao.

“His second life. He found you again in his second life.”

642 notes · View notes

cellophanejpeg · 4 years ago

Text

people throw rocks at things that shine

***gif is not a visual representation of the reader***

Pairing: Ezra x female!reader

Summary: During a ball your parents were throwing, you meet a charming gentleman and discover new feelings you thought it didn’t exist.

a/n: Requested by anynomous! i tried to make this as vague as possible and tried to focus only on Ezra and you. 😬😬, this is uuuuuh something… i tried. also, my brain isn’t capable of writing perfect regency dialogue, so please bear with me.

warnings: REGENCY ERA INACCURACIES!!!!! (don’t read it if you're going to be offended by the lack of accuracy, istg, this is just fanfiction, i’m just having fun pls don’t come at me). slut shaming from a side character, period drama shenanigans, age gap (reader is of age), i gave Ezra a last name sorry! use of the word “flustered”

word count: 9.2k (told you it was long)

masterlist

The room is full of people and it’s hard to breathe with the stuffy air. The smell of sweat lingers in the room, but you’ve grown used to it. People dance to the ballad and talk over the music and over each other, making your ears ring with the sound. You fan yourself, trying to find some relief in the hot room. It’s a way to distract yourself from the fact no gentleman has invited you to dance yet. And it’s almost the middle of the night.

Balls aren’t really your thing anyway. You prefer quiet nights under the moonlight as you watch the stars, or read in the candlelight. Your favorite nights are the ones that rain and you have to stay inside, all wrapped up in blankets by the fireplace to warm yourself. Not hot summer nights, inside other people’s ballrooms, watching everyone being bewitched by your sister.

You’re not jealous of her, no, you’re not. You love her with your heart and soul, she’s your best friend. But she’s the prettiest. The most beautiful. Your parents are so proud of her and the suitors who seek to marry her. She’s not of age yet, though, not like you. No, you’re past your twenties and, in society’s eyes, you’re already a lost cause. No husband, no suitor, no nothing.

You almost roll your eyes at the thought. All of them are so old-fashioned. But you’d be lying if you say you don’t care. Deep down, you wouldn’t mind if one gentleman asked you to dance.

“She’s captivating, isn’t she? The most beautiful girl in the room.” A voice with a different accent interrupts your thoughts and you almost jump, startled by it.

A man stands beside you, golden skin, dark hair – save by a blonde patch, a birthmark, you assume – and brown eyes. His eyes never leave the crowd of people dancing and laughing, not even when you stare at him. When you return your eyes to the people, you see your sister, laughing and dancing and your heart sinks. Of course, he’s talking about your sister.

“Yes,” you respond when you notice you didn’t give him an answer. Your mother always told you it’s impolite to leave people talking by themselves, “Yes, she–”

“So, you agree?” He turns to face you, his eyes piercing your soul, “You agree you’re the most beautiful girl in this ball?”

Your eyes widen and you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Looking away quickly, you swallow hard, trying to think of something to say. He still stares at you as the silence stretches for a moment until you clear your throat and gather the courage to look back at him.

“Forgive me,” you say with a trembling voice, “I thought you were speaking about–”

“Your sister?” He interrupts again with a smirk and a wink, “No, she’s too young. Too young and too naive, isn’t she? Not like you.”

The last statement catches you by surprise and you feel your face burning again. He laughs softly and bows slightly at you as a soft melody starts to be played by the musicians hired by your parents. Your name falls from his lips and you wonder how he knows it. Because you’ve never seen him in your life.

“Perhaps, you will do me the honor.” He offers his hand, still slightly curving his body.

“Of course.” Without thinking, you take his hand and let him guide you to the middle of the ballroom, where the other people are dancing to a soft waltz.

Contrary to his words, the man is polite while he dances with you, keeping his distance and never letting his hands wander on you. You can still feel your cheeks burning and even more when you realize everyone in the room is looking at you. You keep your eyes to the floor, watching as his feet lead yours through the room.

“You’re shy for someone from your family, little bird,” he murmurs, “Keep your eyes on mine. Forget about anyone else.”

And so you do. Somehow, his piercing brown eyes catch yours and you’re unable to look away. Suddenly, it feels like you and he are the only ones in the ballroom, dancing to a secret melody.

“You seem to know everything about my family, Mister,” you say when you finally find your voice again, “But I know nothing about you.”

He smiles then, his eyes dancing between yours, “What do you wish to know, precious gem?”

“Well, to start, I’d love to know your name.” You smile at last when he spins you, then catches you in his arms again.

“Ezra,” he whispers so low, you almost don’t hear it.

“Mister Ezra,” you repeat, tasting the name in your tongue, “How do you know so much about my family?”

“Everyone knows about your family.” He laughs, flickering his eyes to your lips for a second.

“I suppose.” Your voice sounds sad for a moment, but it is true.

Your family is one of the wealthiest in the town, which is why your parents always insisted on giving balls and private parties, to keep relevance in the small society. This is also why most men tried to court you before you rejected all of them. They were all gentlemen, nice men, not all of them were bad people, but… You couldn’t help but notice they were only doing it because they were supposed to. None of these men actually liked you, you knew that. And you aren’t a bad person for rejecting them.

You just want someone who actually likes you.

“Everyone also knows you’ve rejected every suitor in this room,” he says as if he’s reading your mind. Ezra smiles at your discomfort as he spins you around once more, “There’s only so many gentlemen you can dismiss, birdie.”

“I understand now,” you tell him, avoiding his eyes and becoming aware of everyone in the room again, “The motive of your request to dance with me.” You don’t see as the smile falls from his face, “So you can mock me.”

“Little bird, that was not my intention at all.” He tries to explain himself, “I–”

“Then why say such a thing?” You don’t let him speak further as the song fades to an end, “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Ezra, but– I think I’m done for the night.”

Without looking at him, you turn your back and walk away, towards your mother who’s been staring at you from across the room since you started to dance with Ezra. Your intention was to go outside to clear your head, but she stops you before you can head out.

“You need to stay away from that man, child.” She warns you, “If he’s the only one who wants to court you, then our lineage is doomed.”

You pull your eyebrows together, confused, “Whatever you mean, mother?”

“Ezra Waley is no gentleman. He takes innocent girls like you and makes them into desperate dishonored whores.”

I’m not innocent, you fight the urge to tell her, but stay quiet and just nod in obedience.

“May I be an excuse for a breath of fresh air, mother?” you ask, avoiding her eyes.

“You may.” She doesn’t look at you either as she speaks.

With a sigh, you finally leave the room, heading to the private gardens. Your favorite place is actually the maze, where you know the way like the back of your hand. You go there when you’re feeling suffocated by your family, but right now, knowing there are guests all over the place, you choose the most private place you can go.

You take a seat on a stone bench and start to remove your silk gloves, sighing with the relief of the cold breeze that blows on your cheeks. The music from the party is muffled but the thick walls of the mansion you live at, but it’s better than the loud noise from the inside. Leaning back, you bask in the moonlight and close your eyes, longing for a sense of peace.

“May I take a seat?” Ezra’s voice interrupts your moment.

“These are private gardens,” you say harshly, as you look up at him, “and if you came here to ridicule me once more, please spare your time and leave.”

Ezra laughs softly, but doesn't move, “I came to apologize,” he says, tugging at the lapels of his tailcoat, “Sometimes my mouth moves quicker than my head can process. I had no intention to insult you, my lady. I offer you my most sincere apologies.”

It's the first time he treats you with the respect a guest should to a hostess of a party. It catches you by surprise and you look back at the bush of flowers in front of you.

“You may take a seat,” you finally respond to his question, but don't look at him when he sits beside you, keeping his distance as he did when dancing to you. You don’t speak and neither does he for a moment. Then, you both speak at the same time, over each other.

“Do you know–”

“Do you–”

The both of you pause and then laugh for a moment. Ezra’s laugh is beautiful, you notice. Suddenly, it’s like the dance all over again. As soon as you look into his eyes, it’s like everything disappears and it’s just the two of you in the entire world.

“Forgive me,” he says, motioning with his hand to you, “Ladies first.”

You smile softly at him but hesitate to speak.

“The gentlemen I’ve rejected,” you start, unsure he’ll understand you, “they never really... It-it always felt… insincere.”

“Insincere?”

“Yes.” You can feel your eyes watering as you look away, “None of them were found of me. You told me that… I’m not naive like my sister, but perhaps I am. I wish to marry for love, true love. Not just convenience.”

Your fingers play with the hem of your gloves, tracing the delicate stitches.

“Why would that be naive, little bird?”

A silence falls on the both of you as you let the tears roll down your cheeks, your eyes set on the big bright moon.

“There’s no such thing as true love.”

Ezra pauses and furrows his eyebrows, “What makes you think that?”

It’s your turn to pause as you hadn’t thought about it. You’ve never experienced it and you’ve never seen it between your parents. For you, true love is something that happens in books, in the stories you read when you’re bored. While you don’t respond to Ezra’s question, he understands. As he said, everyone in this town knows your family, everyone knows your parents’ marriage happened for mere convenience.

“I advise you not to lose hope, little bird,” Ezra says, all of a sudden. In a bold move, he places his hand on top of yours, “There is true love. You just have to look closely.”

“Have you found it?” You ask, looking at him with teary eyes. He smiles at you.

“No, not yet.”

The two of you share a knowing look and it’s like you’ve known him for years. It’s like this isn’t the first time you met, like he’s an old friend. The connection you make with him is remarkable and, as he tells you about himself and his life, you can’t help but wish you’d known him in a different way.

The night goes by as Ezra tells you he’s planning on expanding his business here with a famous jewelry company. When you ask what his business does, he tells you about the time where he used to explore new lands and found a large number of precious gems that he plans on transforming into jewelry for women. You smile at that, although you don’t really know why.

It’s only when the sun is starting to rise that you realize how long you’ve spent by his side, listening to his stories and laughing at his jokes. The best part is that you don’t have a drop of alcohol in your bloodstream. It’s easy to talk to him, you noticed. You don’t need champagne or wine to listen to him, in fact, he could talk for days and you’d still listen to his beautiful voice every second of it.

“I want to show you something,” you tell him, standing up from your place at the bench. The idea rushes into you like a sea breeze and you can’t let it go.

“What is it, little bird?” Ezra stands up to follow you as you enter a secret passage between two pillars of grass.

It’s a narrow trail and he has to walk faster to keep up with you, the branches and leaves getting in his way. The passage ends right at the maze. In the light of dawn, there are only a few people left, and most of them are leaving the place, tired and drunk from the fun night they had.

“Do you know your way to the middle?” Ezra asks as you start walking towards it.

“Yes. It’s my favorite place outdoors. I go there often.”

You stop at the entrance of the grass labyrinth and look back at him.

“Here.” Your voice is soft as you offer your hand to him, “Take my hand so you won’t go astray.”

Ezra allows himself to be pulled by you as you guide him through the maze. Your soft hands send tingles through his skin and it makes his heart warm with the touch. He watches you, not paying attention to the way or where you’re taking him. You glance at him over your shoulder once, through hooded eyes and a soft smile on your lips.

Eventually, you get to the middle of the maze, where a statue of a beautiful woman is. Your hand is still holding his and you don’t say a word as you bring him to the middle, releasing his hand as soon as you realize you’re still holding it.

“Her name is Aphrodite,” you tell him, voice soft, “She’s the–”

“Goddess of love.” He completes the sentence for you. A beautiful smile spreads your features and you nod, leaning your head towards him and whispering conspiratorially,

“When I was a child, I used to think she would grant wishes. I would come here every day for a wish.”

Ezra laughs softly and looks at you. Your eyes shine in the dawn light, and he fights the urge to lean in and press his lips against yours. How delightful it would be to feel your soft lips on his. To feel your hand on his face, his arms around you. To hug you close to him and never let go.

“Did she grant you your wish?” He asks, instead.

You pause for a moment and look back at the statue, “Perhaps. I don’t know yet.”

He smiles at you, a familiar feeling setting on his gut. His heart told him he knew exactly what you were talking about.

…

“Stupid, insolent child!” Your mother’s voice echoes in the dining room, "The only man I tell you to stay away from! And do you do? Disobey me! Should I really be surprised?!"

Her voice booms in the room, but you're not listening. Shortly after you brought Ezra to the maze, he had to leave, claiming it was past his bedtime. You laughed at his joke and thought about touching him. You thought about holding his hand, cupping his cheek, and kissing him. And you haven't stopped thinking about it, even now. Even after retreating home and changing your garments. Even after having breakfast and even now, as your mother screams at you.

“We just talked,” you say when you realized your mom asked you a question. You weren't listening, “Nothing happened, mother.”

“People saw you taking his hand!”

“So he wouldn't get lost in the maze!” You hide a smile by taking a bite of your toast.

“Do you know what people say about him?” Goodness, she won't drop the subject, “They say bad things about the women who cross his path–”

“That's enough.” Your father saves the day, interrupting your mother, “We all understand your worries, my dear, but Ezra is not that bad of a character after all.”

At that, your ears perk and your attention is turned to your father.

“He might be… A bit unorthodox,” he continues, “but he is a good man. From what I heard.”

“‘From what you heard’?” Your mother has a skeptical look on her face, “This is not about rumors! This is about our daughter’s reputation!”

“And what can be worse than the one she already has?”

The statement should upset you, but it doesn’t. Instead, you bite down a smile and hold your laughter, carefully taking a sip from your hot tea. The tension in the room is visible, you can see in the way your mother’s eyes twitch as she looks intensely at your father.

You clear your throat, setting the teacup down and interrupting the silence, “Well, this is a lovely conversation, but I’m afraid I must retire. I am feeling worn out from the party, so I’ll try to rest before starting my day.”

Your parents don’t look at you as you stand up and leave the room. You weren’t lying, you are feeling a bit drained from standing in a room full of people you don’t like most of the night. But when you lay your back on the soft mattress, in your bedroom, you can’t stop thinking about him.

The back of your right hand still tingles from the hairs on his mustache when he kissed your skin. You feel an unfamiliar sensation inside your stomach, something you don’t quite recognize. Something you don’t want to recognize, out of fear it might not be real.

The next few days go by painfully slowly, as you stay up late most nights, reminiscing the night you met Ezra. Going over what you said and what he said over and over again, wishing you could see him again.

Then, one morning, as you retreat to the library to find a book you still haven't read, your wish becomes reality. As you take the book from a high shelf, it slips from your hand and it falls to the floor. But before you can bend over to take it, a hand is faster than yours and grabs the book.

“You ought to be more careful, little bird,” the familiar voice echoes in the library and your heart skips a beat. When you turn around, Ezra is there, handing you the book. You can’t ignore the way your breath hitches when your fingertips brush on his. It’s like you’re back at the maze, with his hand in yours, guiding him through the walls of grass.

“And you ought to be quieter in a library,” you say softly. Ezra smiles, a beautiful smile spreading his features. You try to bite down a smile, but you can’t. Not when he’s right here again, not when you thought you wouldn’t see him again. To hide your face, you start a slow walk parallel to the bookshelf and you can hear him behind you, “What brings you back here, Mr. Waley?”

“A friend of mine told me the manor was open to visitors,” he says, following you close, “He wanted to see it. I’m just accompanying him.”

You pause for a moment, looking over your shoulder. And in a bold move, that leaves your heart pounding inside your chest, you say,

“So you’re not here to see me?”

It brings a wide smile to Ezra’s lips as he looks away from you, laughing softly. Then, he leans in, caging you with his body.

“You’re such a naive little bird,” he tells you, voice low and raspy, “Why else do you think I would come back here?”

A moment of silence hangs between you two, a moment where you lean back on the bookshelf, the hardwood digging on your back. He looks at you through eyelashes and the sight makes your heart palpitate as you lean towards him, slowly closing the distance between you two. Ezra leans in too, his breath fanning on your face and his nose touching yours. Your lips barely brush against his when a voice interrupts the both of you.

The governess speaks, telling Ezra the library is closed to visitors. She completely ignores the way you and he jump, taking a step away from each other. You feel your cheeks grow warm and look away from him as he nods to the governess.

“My apologies.” He clears his throat, then bows his head to you, “If you’ll excuse me, miss.”

You want to tell him to stay, but no sound comes out of your mouth when you open it; your heart still beats strongly inside your ribcage as you watch him leave, a disappointed sigh escaping your lips.

…

But it seems like your Aphrodite started granting wishes after all. For a fortnight after you saw Ezra for a second time, he shows up at the manor with a friend once more. You find him as you walk into the family room, a complaint about your sister dying on your lips when you see him; Ezra immediately stands up and greets you, mumbling your name and bowing before you. The gentleman with him does the same but your eyes never leave Ezra.

“My dear daughter,” your father says when you burst the door open, “I suppose you know Mr. Waley.” He gestures to the men before you. You feel your cheeks burn and you look down, nodding and giving them a small curtsey, “And this is Mr. Lawrence. They’re in town for business and they’ll join us for dinner this evening.” Your father ignores the way your eyes keep returning their gaze to Ezra, “Would you fetch your sister for me? I want her to have a proper introduction to Mr. Lawrence.”

With a curt nod and no words, you leave the room quickly, but not before sparing a glance at Ezra once more. Your heart beats so heavily inside your chest that you have to pause at your sister’s room’s door and take a deep breath. Swallowing your laugh and biting down the smile that tugs your lips, you knock on the door.

“Come in.” The young innocent voice of your sister echoes inside the room and you open the door to see her painting on a canvas, red and blue paint smeared on her cheek as she looks at the bowl of fruits on a small table in front of her. Your sister is a girl with many talents and painting is just one of them. Sometimes you get jealous of her abilities, even when you’re not supposed to.

“Father wants to see you in the family room,” you tell her with a weak, trembling voice. She looks at you with a frown between her brows and immediately puts her art supplies down.

“What’s happened?” She asks, reaching behind her to untie the apron on her body.

“Nothing’s happened,” you lie, your brows softly furrowed.

“I’ve never seen you so agitated,” she comments as she walks past you, “Has mother been yelling at you again?”

Unfortunately, one of your sister’s talents is knowing you too well. While you both aren’t best friends, you still are sisters and, sometimes, she would surprise you with how observant she was. Your stomach twists as you walk with her back to the family room, the mere sight of Ezra has made you all flustered and you don’t like it at all.

“Wait.” You grab her arm and turn her towards you as you both stop at the door of the room where your father and the other gentlemen are. You lick your thumb, then presses on her cheek, cleaning the paint smudge from her skin. Ignoring as she grimaces, you huff softly, “You can’t appear in front of Mr. Waley and Mr. Lawrence with a dirty face.”

“Mr. Waley?” She smiles, giving you a knowing look, “The man you danced with at the ball, you mean?”

Freezing your movements, you look sternly at her, “Not a word about it.”

She just laughs as you knock on the door and opens it again, meeting the same men you met before. As your father introduces your sister, your eyes are glued on Ezra again. Does he remember the almost kiss in your library? Does he regret it? Does he want more?

The questions keep hammering in your head the entire evening, even when you sit across him at the dinner table, quietly slurping your soup. The tension in the air is palpable, even with your mother’s glares and your father’s soothing voice as he tries to entertain the guests. You find out that Ezra is staying in town for another month or two, depending on how he’ll close the deal with the new company. Ezra is not paying attention to one word as he’s immersed in the sight of you. You had changed your clothing to your dinner gown and he didn’t think you’d look more beautiful than you already are. But you keep surprising him each time. He hasn’t spoken a word directed to you yet, only stolen shy smiles from you, but it is you who speaks with him first, surprising everyone in the table, including yourself.

“Did you have a good tour of the manor, Mr. Waley?”

Ezra is taken aback for a moment but then clears his throat and nods, flashing a bright smile at you.

“Yes, I did.” He fights the urge to call you little bird in front of your family, something he never thought would make him physically squirm on his seat. All you do is nod at him and smile shyly again and no other word is spoken between you two during dinner.

…

The condensation of your breath is a contrast in the darkness of the night as you make your way towards the middle of the maze, the walls of grass looking taller than they are in daylight. You hold the skirts of your thin nightgown, trembling with the cold and cursing at yourself for forgetting to bring a coat with you. The excitement of dining with Ezra is still running in your veins.

When the dinner was over and Ezra and his friends were getting ready to leave, you excused yourself for a moment, only to return out of breath, just in time to have Ezra kiss the back of your hand. What he wasn’t expecting was the small piece of paper you had dropped in his hand while he held yours and the message written on it.

Meet me at the center of the maze when the moon is high.

The message was an invitation, a plea for him to come. It was a bold move, but the fear of your mother finding out was clouded by the desire of seeing him again soon. You certainly didn’t want to spend another day without seeing him.

You breathe hard when you reach Aphrodite, the statue looking more intimidating in the light of the moon, and so the fear of rejection starts to overrun your heart. What if you read him wrongly? What if he didn’t want to come? What if your mother was right about him?

The thoughts in your head are interrupted when a twig snaps loudly in the dark of night and you whip your head, trying to find the source of the sound. For a second, your heart thumps inside your chest. Would it be him? Or maybe someone found out about your little plan and is coming to drag you back home…

But when Ezra’s figure emerges from the darkness, a sigh escapes from your lips, relief flooding your body. He takes long steps towards you and smiles as he cups your cheeks with both hands.

“Little bird,” he whispers in the dark, “I cannot express my happiness when I read your message. I had been holding myself the entire evening– The entire week I wished to see you...”

“Ezra.” His name falls from your lips as you melt in his touch, “I could not stop thinking about you.” You confess, “When I saw you in the family room, I– I felt as if my heart would explode and I don’t know why, I don’t– I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

Ezra smiles as you hesitantly reach for him and touch his face with delicate fingers, “I have been the same, sweet bird. Your face never leaves my mind, especially when I sleep. I dreamed of you countless times since we first met.”

His words warm your chest and you feel your stomach churn with happiness; Ezra feels himself leaning his face towards you and gently pressing his lips on yours. The touch is so light weighted as if he’s testing the waters with you, giving you space to pull back if you wanted. But you don’t. As soon as he pulls back, you lean in and kiss him again. His thumbs brush on your cheeks as your fingertips travel through his facial hair.

The feeling is almost overwhelming. It takes over your entire body and it makes your legs shake a bit, but you don’t mind. All you care about is the feeling of being in Ezra’s arms, his lips on yours, the warmth of his body on yours…

Ezra whispers your name when he pulls away again, and you beam at him, your delicate fingers gently holding his wrists. When he lets go of your face, you feel the chill of the night air.

“My mother will not like this.” You laugh softly, still not believing you're here with him.

He furrows his brows and looks around, as if he's searching for something.

“I don't see her around,” he tells you, playfully shrugging. The laugh you let out is a little louder this time and you quickly quiet yourself, bringing a hand to your mouth. Ezra gently pulls your hand away and brushes a thumb on your lower lip. An unfamiliar feeling bubbles in your core, making your head spin and your heart beat furiously.

Ezra kisses your lips one more time and the word is on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite tell what it is.

…

The next three weeks are summed up with clandestine meetings, stolen kisses, and quiet laughter. You feel like you know Ezra more than anyone else, which is something new to you. You've never felt like this about anyone ever and it excites you and scares you at the same time.

Then, one night, the sun hasn’t risen yet as you return to the manor, after your time in the maze with him, you run into one of the maids on your way to your room.

"Forgive me, Miss,” she says, offering you a curtsey, “I didn't think you'd be awake.”

“It's alright,” you assure her with a soft smile, and nodding at her as you walk away.

“Miss?” The maid's voice makes you stop your tracks and look back at her. Her pale cheeks were red and her hands fidget with the hem of her apron. You frown, approaching her, ready to ask her what was wrong when she speaks again, “You should be more careful with that man.”

You feel your heart skip a beat and your hands tremble. How does she know? Have you not been careful?

"I-I– You–” You stutter, feeling heat creeping on her face, “W-what man?"

“Mr. Waley. He's not a good suitor, from what I heard.”

“Mr. Wal–” You swallow hard, feeling like a young child who was caught disobeying the governess orders, “I wasn't– I was at the library,” you quickly lie, “I haven't been able to sleep lately, so…”

That's when the pink shade of her cheeks turns to red, “Miss… The gardens are not that private as they seem.”

Your breath gets caught on your throat, you feel like your face is on fire, “Please don't tell anyone…”

“I won't. But I have to warn you… The majority of the staff already know. Gossip runs fast here.” She laughs awkwardly, a sympathetic look on her face. You bring a hand to your face and widen your eyes. You don't blame the staff for gossiping, it’s only natural that they talk about the people they work for, “Miss, I may not be in the position to tell you this, but… As soon as word gets to the governess, she'll…”

She didn't have to finish the sentence, because you know. You know what will happen if the governess learns about you and Ezra. She'll tell your mother.

“Yes,” you say, straightening your back and giving her an assuring look, “Thank you for telling me. Now, please get some sleep, it is too early to start the day.”

“Thank you, miss.”

You know you still have some hours to sleep before you have to get up to do your duties, but you can’t sleep after what the maid told you. Somehow, you’ve always known your furtive meetings with Ezra wouldn’t last long. The past week has been like paradise, his nocturnal affirmations only fueled the feeling inside you and the more you spent time with him, the more you wanted to spend time with him.

And you’ve never wanted to spend time with anyone. The certainty that being alone was what you liked the most is slowly being dissolved by Ezra, like sugar in a cup of water.

But now, you have a weird feeling knowing that your mother might find out about it. It’s not like she’ll forbid you to see him, but you’ll never hear the end of it. And keeping the secrecy of your relationship with him has been so calm and quiet. You’re not sure you’re ready to let that go.

A sigh escapes your lips as you turn on your bed one more time, closing your eyes and trying to get some sleep.

…

That same night, you meet Ezra in the middle of the maze again, trying not to think about what the staff will think. You don’t mind. You’re certain you care about Ezra, those few encounters you had with him felt magical. As long as you’re with him, nothing else matters. Let them talk.

The look on Ezra’s face is different when he finds you, but he beams when he looks at you.

“My sweet little bird,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing his lips on the back of it, “You are balm for my soul.”

“Ezra,” you whisper, forcing a smile. You try to keep appearances, but you’ve never been a good actress. Besides, Ezra already knows you enough to distinguish your emotions, even if you try to fake it.

“Something’s happened.” It isn’t a question, he already knows something is up.

You remain in silence as you take his hand and guide him out of the maze, through the other way out. Ezra has a confused look on his face, but he complies as you take him to another of your private gardens, where you hope no one would see the both of you.

“All of them know about us,” you tell him when you’re certain you’re alone with him.

“All of them?” Ezra brushes his knuckles on your cheek gently, trying to soothe your nerves.

“All of the staff,” you explain, “We can’t meet at the maze anymore.”

He looks at you in silence for a moment and you think something is wrong, but the question has been on your mind all day long and when you see it, you’re already speaking before he could say anything.

“A maiden advised me to stay away from you.” You barely recognize your voice, “She’s not the first one to do so.”

Ezra looks away and releases the grip on your face, taking a step back. His semblance looks defeated as if you touched on a sensitive topic.

“I have done many things I regret in the past,” he says, eyes still on the ground, “I believe what they say about me is true. Back then, I was filled with rage and greed and– All I can tell you is that I’m a changed man now. And I– I can only wish you, in such grace, will still have me, little bird.”

A beat of silence hangs in the air. You look at him and feel the urge to touch him, to comfort him.

“My father says you’re a good man, though.”

At that, Ezra looks up at you, eyes gleaming with hope.

“And I chose to believe him. Ezra, I do not care what you’ve done in the past. Who we were does not matter anymore. And I–”

You stop yourself, unsure of the feeling you want to express. It’s unfamiliar but pleasant and it makes you feel light on your feet, wishing you could see him every day of your life. Then, the penny drops and by the time you realize you’re in love with him, Ezra approaches you quickly and crashes his lips on yours and an urgent feeling takes over you.

Suddenly, all you want to do is touch him, kiss him, be with him in every way possible. Your head spins as Ezra backs you up to the nearest tree, pressing you against the bark and trailing kisses on your jawline and neck. You feel a strange sensation growing in your lower belly, making your core pulse with need and desire. The hands seem to have a life on their own as they make their way to the back of his neck, your delicate fingers tangling on his dark locks.

“Ezra!” You gasp, the air leaving your lungs when his teeth make contact with your skin.

Then, Ezra stops and touches his forehead on yours, letting out a quiet sigh as you both catch your breaths, chests rising and falling as they touch.

“Forgive me, little bird,” he whispers, eyes closed as if he’s holding himself back.

“What for?” Worry is explicit in your expression, your hand touching a cheek of his.

He hesitates for a moment, opening his eyes and looking right into yours. His hand covers yours, the one touching his face, and he brings your knuckles to his lips before pressing it against his chest. When he speaks, you feel his chest rumbling with his voice.

“I’m leaving in three days.”

The statement takes the breath out of your lungs. You open your mouth to say something, but your head is still processing the news. It’s as if something broke inside you and it hurts, making your stomach twist in a strange pain.

“So soon?” Your voice is the tiniest whisper ever. Although you’ve spent weeks meeting each other, it still feels like the time spent together was a mere day.

“I was in town in business. And business is done,” he says as you look away, tears already watering your eyes.

“Oh.”

For a second, you’re tempted to think your mother and everyone else were right. The heartbreak of his departure blinds you from the man you claim to know so well, but you choose to not let it affect you. Ezra is a good man, you don’t care what other people say. They don’t know him as you do.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Ezra gently places something on the palm of your hand. It’s a simple chain, with a small green rock in a pendant.

“This is an emerald,” he says, voice soft as you look at the necklace through tears, “It is known as a symbol of truth and love and it’s said to be the gemstone of the goddess–”

“Aphrodite,” you whisper quietly, eyes still on the beautiful green gemstone.

“Yes.” Ezra takes the necklace from your hands and helps you put it on. Your eyes don’t leave his as he clasps the piece of jewelry behind your neck, his large hands brushing the skin there.

“It’s beautiful,” you say when you remember to thank him for the gift. But the tears are still there, threatening to fall from your eyes, “Ezra… Please, don’t go.”

The request leaves your lips softly, a pleading look on your face makes Ezra’s smile fall from his face. Holding your hands tightly in his, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment.

“Little bird, I need to ask you a question that might be unfair to you, but it has been distressing my mind since I’ve learned of my departure.”

Suddenly, your heart starts hammering inside your chest with the suspense Ezra creates between you too. You squeeze his hands, silently encouraging him to keep talking.

“Before I do, however, I want you to think before giving me an answer. Please, don’t say anything you might regret later.”

“Ezra.” You choke out, “Why are you being so cryptic? Say what you mean already.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at Ezra’s lips before he says it.

“Come with me. I know it might be too soon but…”

Your eyes light up instantly at the proposal. You want to say yes immediately, you don’t have to think twice to give him an answer. You’d go with him in a heartbeat. Still, you bite down a smile which gets impossible at his next words.

“I-I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m rapidly falling in love with you. There’s not a day where I don’t think about you, about us and I– I know this feeling all too well.”

A pause hangs between you two as you process again what he said. Ezra is full of surprises tonight, and he doesn’t expect you to accept his love or his proposal, but when you lunge yourself forwards, wrapping your arms around him and planting a kiss on his lips, he knows your feelings are reciprocated.

“I-I feel the same, Ezra, I–” A breath escaped your lips, “I have been trying to put a name on it, but for some reason, I could not… But now I know.”

The smile that brightens his face makes you smile too and, for a moment, there’s nothing in the world you care about besides this moment. You and him, in each other’s arms, forgetting about the world around you for just one night. If it were up to you, you’d leave with him right now, in the middle of the night, barefoot in your nightgown. You’d go anywhere, as long as he’s with you.

“Will you think about my proposition?” He asks once you’ve both pulled away.

You smile at him, “I already know the answer. I would go anywhere with you, Ezra.”

Ezra was quiet for a moment, holding back his excitement from you, “Would you leave your family, and everything you have here, just to be with me?”

Standing on the tip of your toes, you press a light kiss on his lips, then another on his cheek.

“I have nothing here,” you whisper in his ear and brush your lips on his earlobe, “Not without you.”

“Little bird.” He shudders under your touch, the breath he exhales comes out shaky and nervous, but he puts his hands on your shoulders and looks right into your eyes, “You have your family here. Your home. You can not just give everything up for me. Did you forget about what people say about me?”

A silent pause hangs between the two of you as you think about what he said. You know he wants you to go with him, but he also has his insecurities and the lack of faith in himself makes you want him even more.

“Do you want to know what I wished Aphrodite when I was little?” You say, breaking the excruciating silence. Ezra looks up at you, waiting for your answer, “Someone who loved me. For who I am, not– Not for my name or not for my parents or the money they have. I wished for someone who truly loved me.” You can see Ezra’s misty eyes in the moonlight as you speak, “I know it’s stupid and childish, but I–” You shake your head, then smile, cupping his cheeks with your hands, “But then I met you and, although you did not make the best first impression, I still fell for you. Ezra, I love you.”

Ezra exhales softly, closing his eyes and leaning to your touch.

“I love you too, little bird.”

“Then, let’s run away.” You smile at him, brushing your thumbs on your cheeks. Ezra smiles back and suddenly hugs your waist and brings you close to him, wrapping you in a tight hug that makes the air in your lungs escape.

“Let’s run away, little bird.”

…

The plan was simple. By midnight of the next day, you’d dress up and meet Ezra in the back of the house, where a carriage would be waiting. He instructed you not to bring much with you, only the essentials, so you pulled an old, smaller chest that you used to use when traveling as a little kid from the closet and chose some clothing you’ll need for the trip. Ezra told you he’d buy you a thousand dresses when you get home.

Home. The thought of having a home with Ezra warms your heart and it makes your stomach bubble with excitement.

You spend the entire day trembling with anxiety, trying to hide your secret as best as you can, and abstaining to socialize with your family. Maybe it is insensitive, you realize at lunch, to avoid them when you’re leaving to probably never see them again, but keeping secrets is not one of your talents.

In the afternoon, you write a letter to your sister, explaining why you’d leave and that you’d write whenever you can. You hope she understands. Despite what people might think, you are not enemies with her, she’s your sister after all and you love her dearly.

When the time comes, you bid goodnight to your parents, taking a moment to look at them one last time. Your mother, mad about something your father told her, dismisses you easily, but your father gives you a smile and nods. Tears water your eyes as you walk away from them, straight to your bedroom.

Before going to your room to play the waiting game, however, you give a pouch of coins to two guards to help you carry the chest outside when it's time to go and an extra pouch to keep their mouth shut. After that, you go to your room and sit on your bed, waiting.

There’s something about leaving a place that you’ve lived your entire life that makes your heart clench with homesickness – and you haven’t even left yet. Things like your room and your belongings you plan on leaving behind make your heart clench.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and let yourself fall on the mattress of your bed for one last night before leaving for good.

When the time comes, you hear a soft knock on your door from the two guards you paid to carry your things. You let them in, to take the chest, but before you leave, you give them instructions, saying you have something to do first. Clutching the letter in your hand, you walk to your sister’s room and shove the envelope under the door, pressing a palm on the wooden material and exhaling softly.

You wish you could knock on the door and kiss her goodbye. But you don’t have time. For now, a letter will do. You’ll write to her once you’re settled in your new home.

When you turn around to leave, you collide with someone, though. Your father.

Oh, no.

“Father–” You mumble, hands trembling, “I–”

“Save your lies, girl.” He interrupts you with a stern voice that makes you tremble, “My office. Now.”

You don’t have time for this, you have to meet Ezra in the back gardens soon. But you obey your father, following him to his office, the place where you’re sure he’ll give you a lecture and stop you from running with Ezra. You wonder how he found out. Maybe the money wasn’t enough to buy the guards’ silence.

But you’re taken off guard when you see Ezra standing in the room. Your eyes widen and your breath gets caught in your throat. Did your father find him in the gardens? Did someone tell him he was waiting for you?

“Little bird,” he mumbles quietly as you enter the room with a confused look. You can see that he wants to say more, but your father starts speaking.

“I was ready for a perfect night of sleep, after a long day in the offices, after all, it’s all a working man wishes, but imagine my luck when none other than Mr. Ezra Waley showed up at the manor telling me about a plan to elope with my eldest daughter.”

Your eyes widen and your gaze turns to Ezra, a confused look in your eyes. It couldn’t be. Ezra wouldn’t betray you like this, he couldn’t. But as the guilty look falls on his face you realize it’s true. Ezra told you off. Your heart clenches at the thought of it.

What changed? He told you he loved you… Was it a lie or he simply just changed his mind? Maybe your mother was right after all.

“Tell me, daughter, is this true?” Your father asks and it takes a minute for you to return your gaze to him, eyes filled with tears.

“Yes.” A weak sound you don’t recognize as your voice leaves your lips, “Yes, it is.”

A silence hangs in the room as your father leans back on his chair, watching your eyes glimmering with tears. He knows you well, he knows you have things to say, so he’ll sit and wait until you say what’s in your mind. Ezra risks taking a look at you, pain written across his face as he sees the tears rolling down your face.

“Little bi–”

“Shut your mouth.” The words drip like venom from your lips, “How could you?” Your voice trembles, but you still refuse to look at him, “How could you lead me to believe you reciprocated my feelings and then betray me like this?! Break my heart into a million little pieces and stand here as nothing has happened?!”

When you finally look at him, you see the hurt in his expression. The face you adore so much scrunched in pain, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“I–” He hesitates, aware of the authority in the room, your father, “I couldn’t let you come with me, little bird, not if it’d bring dishonor to your family.”

You feel your face fall and a frown resurges between your brows, a confused look taking over.

“While I was waiting for you at the carriage, a feeling took over me.” Ezra continues, “I couldn’t snatch from your house, from your family, not without a warning. I am true to my feelings, though. I know I love you like I’ve never loved anyone, but I must do the right thing. So I came to ask your father for his blessing. To beg for it.”

The confession makes your heart warm and a feeling of shame takes over you. You shouldn’t have doubted him or his love, you shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Your face feels warm as you look away and meet your father’s gaze once more. The look he gives you is one you know.

In the end, it wasn’t your mother who was right. It was your father.

“Ezra…” You whisper softly.

“I would never betray you, my love.” He approaches you, reluctantly taking your hands in his, “Still, if your feeling towards me had changed in the last few minutes, I’ll understand. I’ll leave and you’ll never hear of me again.”

You feel his grip on your hands loosen and you grab them tightly, holding them in place, “No. No, Ezra, they haven’t.”

Then, you look at your father again, eyes begging in your silence, knowing he’ll understand it. The older man sighs, leaning over his wooden desk with his elbows.

“Are you sure you love him, my dear?” He asks in a soft voice, the voice he used to read you bedtime stories when you were little.

“Yes, father. As sure as I’m standing here.”

He sighs again, leaning back on the chair and lacing his hands over his stomach, “Your mother will never approve of this.”

With a pout, you make a show of looking around the room, “Well, I don’t see her around.”

Ezra’s eyes widen before he laughs softly at the stolen comeback. Even your father smiles as you say it, bold and confident. A few seconds of tension pass in silence as the oldest man in the room eyes you two, but takes a little longer staring at Ezra. It’s like they have a silent conversation with just one look before your father speaks.

“Then go.”

Your heart bursts with happiness as you show him the brightest smile you’ve ever smiled. Throwing yourself over the table, you give him a quick hug, along with a thank you and a promise that you’ll write. Ezra gives him a nod in gratitude before you grab his hand and leave the room, running and leaving your life behind.

…

The cold breeze from the night gives you shivers on your skin as you sit down on the porch stairs to appreciate the night sky. The lanterns from the wooden porch are the only source of light in the backyard of Ezra’s house – your home. You close the cloak around you tightly, trying to stop the gelid breeze to infiltrate the fabric of your clothes. Not long after you sit down, you hear footsteps behind you and, soon enough, a warm chest touching your back, long legs on the side of yours, and strong arms snaking around you.

Ezra leans his chin on your shoulder as he speaks, “And what is my lovely wife doing out here in the cold, all by herself?”

It brings a smile to your face as you lean the back of your head on his shoulder, “Just appreciating the darkness. It was a night just like this when we met.”

“Was it, now? I wouldn’t remember. Someone kept my eyes busy that night.” He teases, fingers squeezing the sides of your torso. You squeal lightly and giggle, biting your bottom lip as you look at his warm brown eyes.

“It’s been a year already,” you whisper, touching his face. The scruff on his skin tickles the palm of your hand as usual.

“Yeah?”

You nod in silence, taking in every detail of his face. A year since you met the love of your life. And several months since you ran away with him. You couldn’t be happier to wake beside the best man in the world every morning. To get to see him every day, not only in the dark, hidden from everyone. You’re truly living the dream.

“I love you, Ezra,” you tell him, sighing and closing your eyes. You clutch the little green emerald on the chain around your neck, smiling as he responds.

“I love you too, little bird.”

And you thank Aphrodite for finally granting your wish.

............

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starberry-cupcake · 5 years ago

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This may be a bizarre subject of discourse to bring up, but let’s talk about Daisy Duck. Or, in other words, about sexism and classic Disney.

I just had the displeasure of reading a comment on a post about Daisy and Donald in the Ducktales reboot, about how Daisy is “actually a bitch” in the comics, etc. (I’m gonna spare you the whole sentence).

This may blow your entire mind, but characters are fictional. People write them. There is a very clear reason why Daisy Duck has consistently been, with very few exceptions, depicted as several negative stereotypes: she was inherently created within a sexist mindset. It’s insane to me that men talk about Daisy as if an anthropomorphic lady duck was a real person, instead of looking into why the men behind her characterization have, most often than not, had the need to depict women in this fashion.

Minnie and Daisy were born out of a sexist idea. They were created to be Mickey’s and Donald’s “girlfriends” and “female counterparts”. They weren’t made out of nowhere, like Mickey, Donald, Goofy or Pluto; much like other female characters of Disney’s early universe, they are female “versions” of their male lead counterparts. They were thought as Mickey and Donald with a bow, so to speak. And maybe kind of literally.

In Minnie’s case, they ended up creating a demure “angel-in-the-house” archetype. Because early on, after criticism on Mickey’s problematic aspects, adult audiences of the 30s wanted Mickey to be less of an asshole and more pure and wholesome as a “role model” for kids. Mickey’s shortcomings started to become something born out of his innocence and honest mistakes, to avoid this perception of him being a “negative role model”.

So Mickey being always positive, well-intentioned and pure turned Minnie into the “feminine” version of that in most of her depictions, especially from the 20s to the 40s: a lady in distress and, later on, a demure housewife. Minnie cooks, cleans, attends to the house, keeps Mickey down to earth and scolds him when necessary. A very clear example is the 1941 short The Little Whirlwind, in which Minnie requires Mickey’s assistance to work on the garden while she bakes.

Donald, on the other hand, was the character allowed to go wild. He was referred to as the “problem child” by Walt Disney and he permitted the type of comedy Mickey was not allowed to provide. He was easily angered, violent, prone to physical comedy and sometimes downright a jerk. Which is, probably, why he’s the most featured character in all of Disney, with even more appearances than Mickey or Goofy.

Even if Donald’s characterization has fluctuated through the years, maybe being the most developed out of all of the classic Disney characters (something possible due to the fact that he was allowed to be flawed), these basic notions are the ones they used as a base to create Daisy in 1940. The feminine version of Donald’s charming wild manliness was, for the 40s mindset of womanhood, a “bitch”.

Daisy was conceived as a more “refined” female character, because making her a “high maintenance” girlfriend was a prompt to give Donald more “funny moments” in which to fail and get upset. Daisy’s nature, matching Donald’s in attitude, added what they considered a feminine poise and a constant need to try to change him and “better” him, which turned hypocritical when she herself was also quick to anger. Because, women.

With time, some of Daisy’s characteristics were refined and developed. She became a career woman in instances like Quack Pack and in other instances she has been shown as a fashion designer, in 2018 she had an entire meet and greet centered on her designs for Donald’s Dino Bash, for example.

Still, for both Minnie and Daisy, some of their early characteristics were never fully gone.

House of Mouse (which is a really good show, don’t get me wrong) still saw Minnie as a manager for Mickey’s business and Daisy as a diva wanting to shine. The Three Musketeers, which is one of the best trio movies, still had Daisy playing the "hard-to-get” object of Donald’s unrequited attentions until the very end. In the Mickey shorts, Donald and Daisy often show up in opposition to Mickey and Minnie as a couple with issues, like in The Adorable Couple.

Before Ducktales, Daisy’s last animated appearance was Legend of the Three Caballeros and OH BOY. All the steps forward, albeit minimal, that things like House of Mouse or The Three Musketeers had done with Daisy, this show erased. And it’s a pity, because the show is funny and the Caballeros are fantastic, but Daisy once again becomes the nagging girlfriend with high standards who wants to change her boyfriend and blah blah blah.

I didn’t know if the Ducktales reboot would be allowed to have Daisy, because the old show did not and they don’t have authorization to use certain characters (seriously people, how would having Mickey in an episode tarnish his image?).

When I heard she was going to be in season 3, I was hopeful yet hesitant, because things were not going well historically for my girl Daisy. Was she going to be the nagging ex like in Legend? A spotlight-seeking Diva like in HoM? Play “hard to get” as in 3M?

The answer was: none of the above. Donald and Daisy did not know each other previously. They don’t immediately fall head over heels for each other. Donald isn’t insistently seeking her despite her rejection and she isn’t constantly nagging him despite his attempts to be better.

They are just two people with similar ways of reacting who, listen to me, respect each other. I was floored.

Daisy is a designer, much like in previous iterations of her character, and she is bossy around her job because she’s intent of seeing things through and wants to succeed in her field. Donald isn’t immediately taken by her, he gets to know her and sees some of himself in her, as she does, and then they defend each other from those attacking them.

But the most mind blowing thing in the Ducktales episode was that the key to their relationship so far is...wait for it...communication.

Donald has been established to have communication issues with his family, not only literally, because he speaks like that, but also because there’s a lot he doesn’t tell others, like when they discovered he was seeing someone about his anger management issues because he wanted to take good care of his nephews after his sister disappeared (how good is this show?). He even struggles sometimes reaching his friends, Panchito and José (although he had a heart-to-heart with Goofy that was pretty sweet). And he fights a lot with Scrooge, especially when both had to pretty much deal with Della’s disappearance in their own distinct ways.

So Daisy comes in and listens to him. She understands him. And he listens to her. This is HUGE.

I don’t know how this will be developed, but the fact that Ducktales was able to introduce Daisy in a way that didn’t erase her personality and yet treated her with respect blew my entire mind.

So, to respond to this person’s comment, maybe it isn’t that “Daisy is actually a bitch”, maybe Daisy is a fictional character who has been consistently written and produced by men with a sexist mindset and it took a reboot that actually gives a damn to give her the foundation necessary for her to be a character that is independent from these outdated ideas.

#long post #ducktales #ducktales season 3 #disney #daisy duck #i have Thoughts and Feelings #sorry for writing long posts #i was going to add visuals but #i thought it'd be too much #i know I'm gonna get 'well actually's but this post is mainly centered on animated appearances #because the comics are a can of worms i'm not gonna open #but the point of who writes her still stands the exact same #albeit in a different specificity #also I'm not making a complete chronological dissertation on daisy because you wouldn't read it lol

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haliyam · 4 years ago

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interim (iii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Hello! This came out longer than I meant it to be, but I enjoyed writing it. I admit that the chapter couuuld have gone without the middle bits, and I trimmed out a lot already, but this is purely self-indulgent fanfic and I love writing about the Warriors/the candidates, so I hope you enjoy it too.

Reminder that the Reader/OC is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background/surname, but please feel free to set the substitution for the Reader to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension if you’re reading through the browser! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your chosen First Name.

Chapter 3

If Zeke is going to shut his door in your face as soon as you try to enter, he gives no indication of it. Eyes to the ceiling, fingers barely grasping his doorknob, he doesn’t even look at you as you take one step closer, then two, only urging you to hurry up with a flick of his fingers. As if anyone else is still awake. With nothing for it, you step inside.

Zeke’s room is lit a warm yellow from the lamps standing next to his desk and sitting at his bedside table. It hasn’t changed much, save that he’s replaced his old bed with a much larger one. That makes sense, even though you hadn’t imagined he could get any taller as a child. The only other addition apart from his much fuller bookshelf is a pack of cigarettes on his desk.

You can’t help but pick it up. “You smoke now?”

Closing his door behind him, he snatches the pack from your hands and walks past you, tossing it back by his desk lamp on the way. “Problem?”

You shrug. You’re surprised, but you suppose that sort of thing doesn’t really matter when you’re a Titan shifter.

He pulls out the chair by his desk and takes a seat, crossing his arms at you with a brow quirked. Somehow, he manages to be intimidating in his pajamas—though that could very well be your guilt. “You wanted to talk,” he says. “So talk.”

The indifference in his voice makes your throat catch, but you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, one hand scratching at the other’s wrist. It seems your courage fell apart at his door. “I’m sorry I didn’t write for the last five years.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I should have.” You wrap your arms around yourself, tucking your hands under your elbows. “We were friends. You and Pieck were—are,” you hope, “my closest friends, and… and I left you hanging like that. Even knowing every year that the others hadn’t returned, how worried you must have all been… I didn’t write. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Zeke says slowly, irritated. His lip curls, and you feel nauseous. “Why did you stop writing back?”

Your nails dig involuntarily into your arms. “I was a stupid little teenager. I was upset.”

He scoffs, like he can’t bear the sight of you. “What did that have to do with me? ...With us?”

You swallow, eyes downcast, though they briefly flicker to his. “Am I secure here?”

Zeke glares at you. “Of course you are.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

His gaze softens just a little before the walls shoot back up. “Yeah.”

You nod. And then, after a long moment, you reluctantly begin. “Willy sent me to boarding school once I caught up with the necessary schoolwork. It was… well, you know. Boarding school was an entirely different world.” He does know - you had written them until the end of your first year. “And then summer came. Willy wanted me to spend it with them at home, and I did. The first week or so. But he had business to attend to, as always, and Mila invited me to her tour for the Foundation instead. Willy thought it would be nice for us to bond, and I thought…” You gnaw on the inside of your lower lip in embarrassment. “I thought she was finally giving me a chance.”

“Lucy,” Zeke murmurs. You can’t tell if it’s pity or disappointment, and you don’t want to know. You’re staring at his lamp, as if doing so long enough will burn out the memory from your mind.

“We visited Marley’s new southern nations at first. It was strange to be treated so well again.”

Zeke shifts in his chair. He has his cigarette pack in his hands now, fingers idly folding and unfolding the lid. “What did you expect? You’re Lucy Tybur.”

“I meant by Mila.” When he falls silent, you continue. “And then we visited Ulodana.”

Your eyes meet at that name. No reminder needed for that—Ulodana was the first country to which the regime deployed its new Warriors only months after they inherited their Titans. By then the rest of the unit had been informed of your true identity, and it was the brass’s idea to bring you along as a spectator. Imagine what more the motherland might achieve if the War Hammer were to join the fight, then-Commander Bruning had whispered to you, the mushroom cloud of Bertholdt’s transformation setting your eyes alight.

“The nations in the south had had time to recover. Grow accustomed to Marleyan rule. But Ulodana was still... bleeding. For the most part, we stayed in the cities which had already begun to rebuild; ones with budding military bases and an increasing Marleyan population. But Mila insisted on bringing us further from the coast—places you and I had last seen as smoking rubble. The people there were… They were still so afraid. Many of them…”

You gulp, pressing your lips between your teeth to regain your composure as you remember the survivors. You can still see them, hear them, smell them. Feel their hands in yours. Mila had pulled you aside and scolded you when you first shed tears before them, saying it was not you who had a reason to cry. And she had been right.

“So many of them were Eldians; others non-Eldians too poor to join the earlier evacuations. They still saw us coming that day, and with no aid forthcoming, they thought the Foundation had returned to deliver the finishing blow. They were terrified, Zeke.” His fingers fall still around the pack as you say his name, but he wears no expression, only studying yours even when he reveals nothing. Even Mr. Ksaver had been unable to read him when he was like this, so you know better than to try.

“Mila spoke with the people there, comforted them. It was jarring to see her so kind, but she was. And even then, it was hard. They aren’t exactly the regime’s priority, and the promise, even the swift arrival of aid with the Foundation’s help, could only do so much.”

Zeke’s gaze stretches far beyond the walls of his room, but he brings it back to you when you pause. “So,” he concludes, “you hated us for doing that to them.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. You saw what Lady Tybur wanted you to see.”

Appalled by the lack of sympathy in his voice, you square your shoulders at him. “Mila didn’t conjure those victims out of thin air, Zeke!”

“That’s right, Lucy.” Zeke rises out of his chair back to his full height, reminding you that he only lets you glare down at him. “The Warriors destroyed their military, their cities, and their homes. And if there were civilians who were too slow, Bertholdt and I destroyed them, too. The ones you saw just weren’t lucky enough to die.”

He advances toward you as he speaks, stopping near enough to barely graze your chin with his chest, and it takes all of the girl from back then to stand your ground. But you can only bear so much, and the sound of the boy you once trusted entirely so remorseless as a man has restrained grief ringing in your ears. “Don��t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?” Zeke asks closely, head tilted toward you. Even with the reflection of his lamp shining into his glasses, his eyes, half-lidded with what must be disinterest, bear no light in them. “Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

“I’m not crying.” You fix another glare at him, but it doesn’t last long. Your vision is blurry and your cheeks are wet with runaway guilt, and you wipe them with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, all right?” you raise your voice, speaking forcefully through your shaking voice.

“I… I thought I’d seen everything here in Liberio, but that place was hell. And Mila said to me… She said it was greed back in Marley that kept things this way. The regime’s… but ours, too. To free the Eldians in the Marleyan internment zones, you… we... made things worse for everyone else in the world. I ate it up. I couldn’t bear to face those people knowing I had been a part of that, no matter our promise. It was easier to turn against the idea of you.”

Zeke is no longer looking at you. You feel like the earth swallowing you whole would feel better than the pressure crumpling at your chest, but there’s no way to go but forward.

“So I did. Held onto that for months and had nightmares about Ulodana for twice as long. By the time I realized how pathetic, how stupid I was… I was too ashamed to write back.”

The steel that has constituted Zeke’s bearing since your arrival has withdrawn. He seems exhausted, resigned as he sets his eyes upon you again. You watch each other for what feels like eternity, in the place where you first became friends, both trying to feel out whether a sliver of that bond between clean hands still remains between the two of you now.

Whatever it is he decides, he asks, “If you knew better... why didn’t you visit? We all heard about Lord Tybur making trips here over the years. He never stopped sending his gratitude to my grandparents and Mr. Finger, either.”

You huff, not at him but at the thought of your older brother, even as you sniffle. “Willy wouldn’t let me. I became… too willful.”

Zeke raises his brows at that.

“When I figured out Mila’s true intentions, I realized just how much the Tyburs were at fault. They hid it all from me when father died, but… I learned everything. Our relationship with the regime most of all.”

You’re grateful when he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, because despite everything, you don’t want to tell him the whole truth about the Tyburs. If there’s anything that might make him hate you for good, it might just be that. You know that certainly did it for you in spite of Lara’s good intentions.

“We knew. My ancestors knew about Fritz’s vow and still refused to speak out for Eldians, didn’t protest the development of the Warrior program when it happened. I mean—” Your hands rake through your hair, stopping only when they’re caught in the end of the half-ponytail you’ve been wearing. “Child soldiers? We always knew Marley was vicious, but we—Marley—sent children to Paradis on a recon mission, alone! I didn’t realize it until I saw my niece. She’s eight now. A baby. At that age we were slogging through the mud, learning to assemble weapons, to kill! What kind of monsters would allow…”

Your hands slide down your face and cover your mouth as your head shakes on its own. You’ve said this all before, to Willy, to Lara, to Pieck, and you’re exhausted. You both know the answer to that question, anyway.

“The Tybur family doesn’t get involved except to play the benevolent Eldians to the world’s devils, all to soften Marley’s image to the world. It doesn’t care that Eldians abroad are even worse off than we are here because of our Titans. It doesn’t care that Marley draws that debt on Eldia’s name,” you murmur, voice fluttering with emotion again, “not its own. Willy didn’t appreciate how angry I was and wanted to keep me at the estate until I could calm down.”

You only realize you’ve been rambling when all you hear is the cracking of your knuckles beneath your thumbs at your sides and the low hum of the lamps around you. Biting your tongue, you venture a glance up at Zeke, who has his back to you on his way back to the desk, hand in his hair. You don’t know if it’s worse than seeing what he must think.

“But I really am sorry,” you take a step, another after him when he doesn’t turn to look. “You all deserved more. I… I understand if...”

Zeke whirls just before you touch the hem of his shirt, seized instead by a thought. “Why let you choose to study here, then? Magath’s summons?”

At this point, you practically leap at the chance to respond, hands raised slightly. “No. It was Lara. She convinced him to let me, when she saw how much I’d studied. Actually studied, you know,” you chuckle, nervously when he acknowledges it with only a tilt of his head. “And by then I had learned enough of Mila’s game to pretend I had given up.”

“Oh.”

You barely just catch the disappointment in his tone.

“And I missed you,” you scramble to add, obviously. “I missed you all so much. I swore to be on my best behavior just so I could come back.”

A hint of warmth fills Zeke’s deep blues, but he glances away with a familiar eyeroll. “Good save.”

You frown. “I mean it. I just didn’t know it had to be said. You were my first friends. I didn’t exactly make many in boarding school. They were too different.”

“So you were just lonely.”

“Not just lonely,” you say, prepared to launch into another passionate speech about how much you ached to see your friends again, how much of your pride you sacrificed to pester Willy to let you go with the promise of Liberio’s impressive own medical program, when you catch the slight amusement tugging at Zeke’s mouth. “You—are you—” you sputter, embarrassment seeping in cold, before you manage to close your mouth. “You… are awful.”

Zeke smirks. “Even if I forgive you?”

It’s infectious, and you have to resist the urge to both laugh and cry at the very concept of his forgiveness. Eyes wide, you watch him carefully. “Do you?”

He crosses his arms again, sitting back against his chair. “I can put you through more hoops, if you’d like.”

“No!” you gasp, the heat of indignation taking over the chagrin, only to sigh when you realize you’ve given yourself away. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you. You have all the right to be angry.”

“...I was a pretty angry teenager too,” Zeke shrugs. “Then a spoiled little girl had to come and keep disturbing me because if she couldn’t get any sleep, then neither could I.”

Your jaw drops. “That is not how that went. Besides,” you raise your head, every inch the Tybur, even as you slowly make your way to the edge of his bed and take a seat, “that girl was the reason you have any friends at all. I… I bet you missed her.”

“Sure. Now where did you put her?” The full familiarity in his voice has you smiling now, or maybe it’s the grin he openly wears. “Only figured out it was you when I realized there could only be three Eldian runts Magath would ever care to acknowledge.”

You stare at him for a beat and then make to push yourself off the bed. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep now that I’ve apologized.”

“Aw, come on,” Zeke laughs, reaching for your arm, and you squint at him as you dramatically tear it from his grasp. Still, you fling yourself back upon the edge. He leaves his desk to occupy the space next to you, one knee drawn up over his sheets. “Honestly? I was more surprised they’d let anyone in Magath’s office with such a messy armband.” He reaches over and adjusts the pale one wrapped around your arm, pulling out the edges folded in. “You know you don’t need to wear this at home, right?”

For some reason, your breath catches as the heat of his fingers gently press through the cloth of your sleeve. You recover with a cough and a quick oops. “Force of habit. That was the one thing boarding school was stricter about than the military.” You smile at him, leaning away from his touch. “Thanks.”

Zeke suddenly withdraws his hands, now watching you instead of the sleeve. “...Yeah. Just make sure you check it before you leave the house tomorrow,” he says sternly. Not a tone you’ve ever heard from him in private.

Regarding him strangely, and desperate to bring you both back from this alien tension between you, you sit up straight and stiffly raise your hand to your shoulder in salute. “Yes, Warchief.”

Zeke responds with a blank look in his eye, mostly, save the tinge of humor kindled by the upward tug of your lips. You can tell he’s about to kick you out of his room.

“I’m kidding.” You lower your arm, sensing the return of that comfortable familiarity. “I haven’t congratulated you on your official promotion, either.”

His mirth fades. “Do you hate me for it?”

“No. No,” you stress, as though he has no reason to ask. “You’ve done what you’ve had to.”

After a long inhale, Zeke sighs as he nods. This time, it is he who fills the silence. “Uh—I’m sorry again about your father. So he was the...”

“Yeah.”

He gives you a once-over, as if to search for Titan marks. “Are you…?”

“No, I’m not.”

The slight bitterness in your voice draws Zeke’s gaze back to yours. You shrug before he can say any more of it and try to put it out of your mind. Those are, after all, matters for the Tybur estate. You’re here now, and Zeke has forgiven you. In spite of everything else, the thought makes you giddy with relief, and you rear your head toward him with a smile.

“So… is there anything you want to tell me?”

Zeke wonders who might have been chosen to inherit the War Hammer instead of its most obvious candidate, but mostly he’s glad it isn’t you. It’s a selfish thought he keeps to himself, but the idea of you living past your twenty-sixth year is one that does not fill him with dread.

Thirty-nine. He’s thinking about how you’ll live to be thirty-nine when your voice interrupts what he imagines you might look like by then. Your tone says you’re fishing for something, so he opens his mouth, meeting your gaze to tell you you’re not quite as much taller than Pieck as you think (he has one joke), nor is subtlety your strong suit, when the whole of you seems to come at him all at once. Your now messy hair, crinkled eyes, that expression he used to find both funny and irritating on your mouth—except the obnoxious grin that subsumes it as he lets the silence pass is suddenly... adorable.

Huh?

Sitting back, Zeke abruptly presses his palm to your face and promptly pushes it away. “Don’t press your luck, Blanchard.”

You smack his hand off, face flushed as you cry out, “Rude!”

He’s already laughing, using your indignation to overcome the urge to gulp down the breath caught in his throat when you suddenly lean back on his bed and raise your foot. You kick it into his side with a strength he absolutely remembers, sending his ribs knocking against his footboard with a groan. “Ow! You—get out of here and let me sleep already!”

You smile to yourself as you lower your legs to the floor, feet searching for your house slippers. “I chose not to go for your face, you know.”

“Are you seriously studying to be a doctor?” Zeke mutters, rubbing at his side. “You haven’t changed at all.”

You chuckle through a yawn, hand over your mouth as you ease yourself to your feet. “Okay.”

He rights himself quickly when you’re crossing his room toward his door already. “Lucy, wait.”

You stop, lean against his desk with a small smile like it’s your room. “Hmm?”

Zeke pretends to shake his head at your audacity, letting you grin a little longer before he asks, “Do you want to meet the new Warriors tomorrow?” You blink, and he starts to regret the question. “I just figured—”

“I’d like that.” You open your mouth, ostensibly to say more, when both of you hear movement from down the hall. Footsteps by the stairs. “I should go. See you tomorrow.”

He waves, content to watch you hurriedly leave his room. When he hears the door to yours open and click shut, he goes himself and catches his grandmother still sleepily making her way out into the low lit corridor. Her hands are searching for the stairway light switch.

“Grandma?” he asks, coming over to set a supportive hand along her upper back. “Why are you up so late?”

“Zeke,” she smiles in greeting, yawning. “I was just going to get some water.”

“Let me. I’ll get new glasses for you and grandpa, so go back inside.” When his grandmother thanks him, he heads for the stairs, bounding down the steps with sudden enthusiasm.

Your words will stay with him long after you’ve forgotten them, and perhaps not for the better—but for the moment, Zeke feels inexplicably light.

So do you when you awake the next morning. Of course you’re still sorry for all you did, or didn’t, do, and you know you deserved all the guilt, the anxiety, being on tenterhooks about your friendships for all that you left Zeke and Pieck hanging. But now that their forgiveness is a certainty, you feel utterly content. Now you can start making it up to them.

Then again, you are so pleased that you could lie in bed all morning and hardly feel guilty.

But you have miles to go, so you roll out of your blankets and get yourself ready for the day. Briefly, you wonder if Zeke has gone ahead again, but you find the answer you wanted as you open the door to the dining room downstairs.

He’s chewing on a piece of bread as he waves at you, the last bite in his hand. “Morning. Breakfast?”

He really has forgiven you, and everything can go back to the way it was. “Morning,” you beam, though you decline as you pass him on the way to the kitchen. “No thank you. I ate too much last night.” You pour yourself some water instead. “Did you have some of the blueberry pie?”

“Yeah. The Galliards always make quality stuff.” He dusts his uniform off as he stands and heads for the sink with his plate. “Though I could tell who cut it because she left the side with the slightly burnt crust in.”

“It’s crispy, and you know that’s my favorite part,” you huff, leaning against the counter next to him and handing him your empty glass. “That was part of my apology.”

Zeke grins, eyes to his task. “Yeah, yeah.”

You refrain from elbowing him and move to start cleaning his crumbs off the table and the floor. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Yeager?”

“Market day. Oh—bring a book. We can drop in on the candidates come lunchtime.” He glances over his shoulder. “Or did you have other plans today?”

“I wanted to pass by the university and find the general book list for the first years, but after the line I went through yesterday... I’m not in the mood. I’ll bring a book.”

“Good.”

The two of you head out once the dining room and the kitchen are spotless. The sky is overcast this morning, so the zone takes its time waking up for the day, even with others already on their way to work.

It starts to properly stir on your way to the gate. The view of the zone coming to life is something you once enjoyed watching on break days, especially compared to the lonely silence of the estate and eventually to the rigid rush of boarding school, but you don’t get to see all that much today—Zeke purposely avoids the larger avenue coming to the gate and leads you through side streets and alleys instead. Something about avoiding the morning rush.

You don’t mind. You’re still waking up, too.

Eldians have no real hope of rising through military ranks, save those sacrificed among the Warrior unit, so Zeke’s office is quite impressive. He has his own mahogany desk, an entire bookshelf packed with volumes, yet more books and maps stacked against the wall, and his own gramophone. Not to mention the view outside the window behind his desk. He even has a cabinet to the side for his own alcohol, tea, or coffee—the latter of which he offers to you once you two arrive.

“Coffee, please,” you say, on one of the pillowed seats surrounding the coffee table at the center of the room. Sitting back, you throw an arm over the backrest to peer at the bookshelf behind you. “That’s quite a selection. I can’t believe you have your own office now.” You grin, turning back to watch him quietly preparing you a cup. “Zeke?”

“Coming right up.”

His response seems a little muted. When you question him with a tilt of your head, he jerks his in the direction of the gramophone.

Ah, you mouth. Even the Warchief can’t have his own office without being tapped. Par for the course when there are Eldians about, you imagine. That explains why the guards at the front gate delayed you with meandering conversation as soon as Zeke mentioned taking you to his office.

“So what kind of work do you do anyway, Warchief?” you continue far too seriously, absentmindedly flipping through your book for your marker.

“You know that’s top secret, Miss Blanchard,” says Zeke, who of course plays into it. “Unless you’d like to join the ranks again. You’re certainly welcome to.”

You sigh. You never win when you try him like this. “Commander Magath told you?”

Zeke chuckles, walking your coffee over. “He mentioned hoping you might still be interested in our line of work.”

“Was he mad?” Regardless of your feelings about the regime, you have always remained conflicted about your former drill instructor. There was a time you were certain he wanted you dead, and you won’t forget what he and Commander Bruning put the rest through even more than yourself, but there were flashes of kindness you saw from him that you’ve never witnessed from any other Marleyan as Lucy Blanchard. You still don’t know how to feel about him.

Zeke snorts at such a childish question, pulling out several folders from his desk drawer as he takes his seat. “Should I ask him?”

“Of course not!”

He chuckles in response, and then starts to ignore you completely for his work. Grumbling incoherently at him from behind your tilted cup for good measure, you turn to your book and begin to read.

Your coffee is long finished next to a similarly empty glass of water by the time you start yawning. You’ve read the same page thrice now, and that’s when you know you need to get off your ass and take a little walk around the room.

Zeke yawns as you start a cross-arm stretch by the door. “You’re so noisy.”

“The nerve of this man, inviting me to his office and then complaining when I breathe.”

He smiles. “Breathe more quietly, then.” Slamming the folder he was reading shut, he follows you to his feet and pulls at his sleeve to check his watch. “Almost lunch time. Want to go check on the candidates?”

Your deadpan stare at his earlier remark remains until you feel just how empty your stomach is. Skipping breakfast was not your best idea, but you prefer it that way before you have to see the poor children who will one day replace your friends. “All right.”

The two of you wind your way through the complex and out to the courtyard, where the sun remains blessedly hidden as you watch the children at the far end doing their loaded running for the day. You hear them more than you see them, panting as they do their best to earn the honor of that red armband on Zeke’s sleeve.

Zeke catches your doleful expression and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I do not miss those days.”

You grimace at him. “My body hurts just remembering them.”

“Don’t remind me. I was dead last in my class before I built any endurance.”

You don’t comment on the real story behind that. The children are coming closer to your side of the courtyard, though they don’t appear to notice you, and Zeke points them out: Udo, a boy with glasses whose family moved to Liberio from Marley’s new southern territories; Zofia, a girl with a heavy fringe who reminds you strangely of Annie; Falco, a blond boy who—Zeke cuts himself off when the last candidate pushes past them all with a yell. That one is Gabi Braun, Reiner’s younger cousin.

“Cousin? Extended families aren’t made honorary Marleyans?”

“I was a special case, for obvious reasons,” Zeke answers your real question. “And yeah. Otherwise there would be too many of us, right?”

You frown, starting to fall into deep thought again when a familiar bark makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Hey! No Eldian civilians allowed on base!”

An older man is jogging over, almost comically shaking his fist at you. It’s as he comes up to the building that he notices Zeke on your other side, and now he peers more closely at your face, head cocked forward.

“You—” he starts. The years have been kinder to him than to Commander Magath, so there is no mistaking him. As his footsteps slow, his posture shifts from indignation to surprise, and then finally settles on diffidence. “Is that you, Miss Ty—”

“Blanchard,” Zeke coughs.

“Miss Blanchard?” he finishes.

“Instructor Marras.” Among the three who assisted Magath with Warrior training, he was probably the most bearable, if only because he left you to your own devices. He was much kinder when he discovered your true name, which was a shame. “What a pleasure.”

“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again around here,” he smiles widely, briefly acknowledging Zeke. “What brings you back around this end of Marley?”

“This and that,” you say, not quite in the mood to get into it when you can see the children still running. As though he’s read your mind, Zeke steps up next to you and signals toward them. “Isn’t it about time for lunch?”

Marras follows his gesture. “Ah. They got a little mouthy since I’ve been going easy on them, so training has been extended. But,” he says, attention back to his visitors, “you rarely come to check in on the new candidates, and you visit us even less, Lucy!”

Waving at you to wait just a moment, he barks at the children to come over. They’re even smaller than you imagined up close, just like your niece Fine, panting as they clutch their replica rifles for dear life. They do their best to salute Marras, but very obviously find it difficult to keep their composure when they see Zeke.

“It’s the Beast Titan,” Udo yelps.

“His name is Zeke Yeager, dummy,” Gabi nudges him with what she must think is a whisper.

Zeke raises his hand in a bland wave, “Hey, kids,” but you can’t help your delighted chuckle. Fine is a very reserved little girl compared to these excitable children. Wide with effort and at a real Warrior’s arrival, their eyes all dart to you, and Gabi’s in particular squint at your armband. “I thought civilians weren’t allowed in HQ?”

“And I don’t remember asking if you had questions, candidate,” Marras snaps in his Instructor Voice. The children straighten up at once.

“Sir, sorry, Sir!” Udo and Gabi yell out. Zofia and Falco quietly exchange glances.

“Hello. I’m Lucy,” you cut in with a smile. “I was a Warrior candidate in my time, just like you.”

You can all tell that they’re itching to ask why your armband is grey instead of yellow like Porco’s was until recently, but Marras doesn’t let them. You find yourself grateful to him for once. “It’s thanks to Zeke and Miss Blanchard here that you’ll get an early lunch in spite of all that yapping earlier. So thank them, get changed, and get your sorry asses to the mess hall.”

“Thank you, Zeke! Thank you, Miss Blanchard!” They mix up whose name goes first between the four of them, but Marras doesn’t bother with a correction and nods. The children salute, all of them a mixture of suitably chastised and utterly relieved.

“Dismissed!”

Nodding and offering you and Zeke grateful little smiles that make your heart melt, the four walk as quickly as they can to storage to deposit their load. Gabi nudges Zofia on the way, challenging her to a race, and the boys bump each other to catch up while Zofia chooses to keep her own pace, simply shaking her head.

Marras sighs, hand over his stomach. “I should get going myself.”

Zeke agrees, “Don’t let us keep you.”

“All right. But you should drop by more often, Miss Blanchard,” says Marras. “I’m sure the Commander would be pleased to see you. He worries. About all of you,” he adds, nodding toward Zeke.

Neither of you replies to that when Marras departs. In fact, you pretend not to have heard it as you both stare into the courtyard. “They seem like sweet children,” you start after a while, “though I don’t remember being that boisterous.”

Zeke breaks the mood with the most disgusting snort as he bursts into laughter. “You? Sure, Lucy. All right.”

You peer up at him, refusing to dignify such a violent reaction with one of your own, even if it does please you to see him laugh so much around you again. “You know what I mean. Maybe I was insolent, but I wasn’t boisterous.”

“Maybe, is it? Well, all I know is I’d grown out of all that by the time you and Pieck were selected.”

“Apparently not enough, Yeager, if you think Marley pays you to tour civilians around HQ.”

You and Zeke whirl in perfect sync to raise your right hands at that imposing voice, except you manage to swing yours right over your ear to pretend you were tucking stray hair behind it just in time to meet Commander Magath’s lifted brow. Behind him stand a surprised Porco and another Warrior candidate, much older than the eight-year olds you just met.

You clear your throat at once, hand falling to your side. “About yesterday, Sir...”

Magath nods at Zeke in acknowledgment before waving at you. “Don’t mention it, Blanchard. It’s a choice for a reason, and really it was supposed to be the briefing.”

That’s as much of an apology as you’ll get around the others, so you nod. “I understand, Sir.” You lean a little on your right side, trying to steal a peek around the corner. “So Pieck has already gone?”

“Not that you need to know, but yes.”

You try not to flinch at the reprimand. Force of habit. “And Braun, Sir?”

Now Magath peers at you. “His debriefing ends today, if you want to see him that badly. Yeager, I’ll leave that to you since she’s your guest.”

“Yes, Sir.”

With a nod of dismissal at all of you, he continues down across the courtyard, leaving Porco and the candidate behind.

Porco glances between you and Zeke. “Friends again, huh?”

Zeke stares at him. “Problem?”

You don’t know it, but that’s Zeke’s Warchief Voice, one Porco has never heard outside of training. He immediately shrugs. “Just curious.”

“All right. Lucy, we might as well have lunch first before you go see Reiner.”

You nod, and gesture unsurely at the two before you. “Would… you like to join us?”

“I’m good. Got errands to run for the Commander since Pieck is out and you’re too good for chores,” says Porco, gambling a glare at Zeke in jest. When Zeke chuckles, he sighs. “See you around.” Giving the quiet candidate next to him a light smack on the shoulder, he heads back the way they came.

By now the Warrior candidate looks very confused but also very familiar to you. Luckily Zeke has decided that it’s finally time to introduce you, a former Warrior candidate yourself—and then the boy, who cannot be older than fifteen. “This is Colt Grice. Falco’s older brother, and the new Beast Titan candidate.”

“Oh.” It feels like a weight has settled in your stomach when you realize that it is about time they selected the candidate meant to inherit from Zeke, who received the Beast Titan around a year ahead of the rest. Seeing the children just made you… complacent, think that there was more time. “I guess it makes sense that they chose someone a little older, too.” You smile, slightly guilty about his obvious unease after your reaction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colt.”

“No, it’s my pleasure, Miss Blanchard,” he says politely, shaking your hand.

“You can call me Lucy,” you insist, and then jab a thumb over your shoulder. “The children left for the mess hall, by the way.”

Zeke raises a hand to correct you. “Colt doesn’t need to know that. He’s not made to babysit them like I was.”

“Really?” you ask Colt, who nods in affirmation. “But that was half the fun.”

“She means half the torture,” Zeke says to Colt, who chuckles nervously at his superior. “No, I figured he could take on other responsibilities. Like letting the barracks know that Reiner’ll be having visitors after lunch, and then meeting us at the mess hall. Right?”

“Yes, Sir,” says Colt, clearly eager to please. He gives you another smile before he runs off.

“Falco’s older brother,” you repeat, when the boy is out of earshot. “This isn’t like Marcel and Porco. Why is Falco in the program?”

Zeke clicks his tongue. “The Grices are nephews of one of my parents’ co-conspirators. They need to prove their loyalty, for their family’s sake.”

“After all these years. Poor things.” Not that you’re surprised. Marley has a long memory, however false. “Did you have a hand in choosing him?”

“Wouldn’t that make the brass suspicious? It was the commander’s choice alone.”

“Huh.”

“They’re good kids, Colt especially. Now come on—” he nudges you forward with his elbow as he passes you, “you should eat before you see Reiner or you’ll lose your appetite for good.”

“...That bad?”

Walking ahead of you, Zeke only shrugs. You don’t know if that should worry or comfort you, so you follow suit.

Reiner is in his own room in the barracks, resting, when you visit him. He’s just finished eating his lunch when you arrive, and your shock at seeing him is a perfect reflection of his at seeing you. You last looked upon him as a boy, and though you know he only turns eighteen this year, he is now, most undoubtedly, a man. Almost everything about him is unfamiliar to you. His height, for one, his broad build, the slight stubble he’s neglected to shave for the past few days. His demeanor as he stares at you.

You thought Pieck spoke of growing up in general when she compared the two of you having become completely different, but it’s only now that you understand what she meant. Long ago, try as you might to deny it, the two of you were, with Porco, the most boisterous Warrior candidates in your generation. You left no challenge, even your superiors at first, unanswered; Reiner was certain, no matter his rank among you, that he would inherit before the Paradis operation; and Porco was quick to remind you how stupid and ridiculous you both were.

But that was many years ago. Porco failed but has remained mostly himself, and you failed and realized the sham that is Tybur pride. Between the three of you, only Reiner achieved his dream—and yet you are more similar with one another than with Porco. Even amid his utter shock, the shame in his gaze as he meets yours, though unfamiliar on Reiner to your eyes, is one you’ve intimately known for some time now.

“Lucy?”

“Reiner,” you greet.

Reiner smiles in spite of himself. You do too. You were never close, but if nothing else, you were still Warrior candidates together. “You’ve... grown.” His voice is deep now, just like Zeke’s, but his is… gentle. Another unexpected development.

“That’s an overstatement, compared to you,” you chuckle. He smiles just a little wider, almost shy, but only for a beat. He remembers swiftly enough when he is, just like you.

“How are you, Reiner?” you can’t help but ask. Wrong question. You quickly follow it up with, “I’m glad your debriefing has ended. You deserve to rest at home, with your family.”

“I…” He appears to disagree, lowering his head at once. For one heartbreaking moment, you wonder if you see a shimmer beneath his lashes, but he only seems curious when he blinks up at you again. “Thanks, Lucy.” His voice is steady. Maybe you were imagining things. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since you were called home.”

You don’t complain about the change in subject. “Yeah… I always wished I could have seen you all off,” you murmur, even if part of you is glad you didn’t have to witness Pieck’s sorrow firsthand. Seeing it in Reiner at the mention of the operation, though, you add, “Oh, actually—I just got back a couple days ago, not too long after the rest of you. I’m enrolling in the medical program at Liberio University.”

“Oh?” He considers your words. “So you didn’t…”

That is the question of the century about you, isn’t it? At least among the Warriors. But then who else really knows who you are? “No.”

“Ah.” Reiner nods, more times than is really necessary. You know he doesn’t know whether to congratulate you or to apologize. “The medical program, though. That’s… unexpected.”

“Why does everyone say that?” you laugh. “Is it really so strange for me?”

“Uh—no,” he replies with an apologetic rush. You realize just how much you dislike it in his tone. Zeke says you were always last to say sorry, if you did at all. The same went for Reiner. Where is that obnoxious little boy you knew? “It’s better that way. You’ll do great.”

“I hope to,” you admit, but this visit isn’t supposed to be about you. “Anyway, Reiner… I just wanted to see how you were doing. I missed you all, and I’m really glad you’re back home.”

He’s too slow to conceal his surprise this time, or the way he blinks away coming tears. He always was a bit of a crybaby. To a child who desired to live up to her family name, that was a weakness. To a woman who knows better, you wish you could have told him it was all right. “We… I missed you all, too. It was…” he swallows. “I...”

The truth is you were a crybaby too, just not in front of the others, but you can’t help it when you hear the tremble in his voice, so grown and yet still the same. The first familiar thing of his that you’ve witnessed. Flicking a knuckle at your nose, you nod when he trails off. “You don’t have to say anything. Pieck told me the little she could.”

“Yeah?” he asks innocently enough. And then his voice shifts into something just a little tougher. Maybe harder. “What did Zeke say?”

“Zeke? We didn’t really…” It comes to you as you say it. “...talk about it.”

Of course you didn’t. You were busy talking about you, and he quite literally pushed you away when you tried to ask. But that doesn’t seem to be what Reiner is searching for in the first place. Not with that look on his face—another familiar expression, but not because you know it from your own heart. It’s familiar because you saw it just last night.

“Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

Zeke’s eyes as he said those words were recalling a memory you can never understand, you know now, because it’s the same with Reiner. Whatever he went through in Paradis for years will only ever be a tale to you. Your shared memories ended before you turned thirteen.

Still, the resentment that you saw in Zeke remains in Reiner’s golden eyes; only this time you don’t believe it’s meant for you.

You reach out to him, clearly elsewhere as his fists clench over his knees, but stop when your hand rests on the edge of his bed. “Reiner?”

“Sorry,” he blurts out when he returns to his senses. Somehow, he seems more tired than he already did.

“That’s all right. I should let you rest.” When he nods, shoulders still slumped in apology, you put on a reassuring smile. You understand Reiner even less than you did before, but somehow he also feels more like a kindred spirit than you remember. “When you’re well enough to return, maybe we can have lunch with Pieck.”

Reiner visibly hesitates, but he nods in the end. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

You bid each other goodbye, though you tell Reiner to stay seated when he tries to walk you to the door. When you close it behind you, glancing around, you assume Colt has been sent on another errand. Only Zeke now awaits you along the wall outside, one hand in his pocket as he smokes a cigarette, gaze once again far beyond the buildings ahead.

When he isn’t playing up his irreverence to deflect or get on somebody else’s nerves, Zeke has always been aloof in public. In that way he hasn’t really changed, but you realize now that you were a fool to think things could just go back to normal between the two of you. Not that they haven’t, on the face of it; he seems perfectly happy to return to your old dynamic, and maybe all this strangeness is just in your head, or a natural consequence of growing up.

Seeing Reiner, though… you realize maybe you were a little too hasty trying to go back. Just like you, just like Reiner, Zeke must have changed. You wonder how; wonder what he could have done, apart from suggesting the debriefing, that would make a now gentle Reiner wear such resentment. You have some idea, but you brush it aside before you can dwell on it.

“If you want to try smoking,” Zeke chuckles, “all you have to do is ask.”

You blink, cheeks tingling with embarrassment and a sheepish smile when you realize he’s caught you staring. He holds the smoke out for you, but you wave his hand away. “No thanks.”

“So?” He pushes himself off the wall, putting the cigarette out under his shoe. “What do you think?”

You fall into step with him and take a deep breath. “I think maybe he just needs more time to rest. Grieve properly.”

“Generous evaluation.”

“I think it’s more… it’s not my place to say.”

Zeke regards you with an indecipherable look, but it disappears as soon as you try to capture it. He only shrugs. “Okay. I need to get back to work. Want to stay, or will you be going home?”

You pretend to give it some thought. “I can stick around your office a little longer.”

“Good. Just try to keep it down.”

He chuckles at your eyeroll and starts to head back to the offices with you in tow. You stare at his back as he turns a corner ahead of you until he glances over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still with him. You give him a smile, brows raising with a question he answers with a shake of his head. But he’s smiling too, the one you got to know past that wall of apathy, and you know that he can’t possibly have changed all that much.

Zeke is still your best friend—the only one who knew everything about you, and the one who trusted only you with everything about him. You’re sure of it.

/////

I mean, obviously, aside from Mr. Ksaver. Do I think Zeke was the guy whose only friends were younger kids he was forced to interact with for his own survival? Yes. His best friend in canon and the only important person he trusted in his childhood/adolescence was his father stand-in, and even if as he grew up I'm sure he became more sociable (and likeable/'admirable' to Marleyan Eldians as a Warrior), Zeke's existence is a lonely one in my eyes because of the way he viewed life and the lives of others. There would have had to be certain circumstances to gain his absolute trust I think, so feel special, Reader/Lucy. Haha. I swear I love Zeke even if I see him as this sad and lonely bastard.

Also, I know it's not obvious, but I don't dislike Porco. I actually like him a lot (except when he's like -that- to Reiner) and he influenced/es Reader/Lucy more than he knows. And I know I didn't mention Bertholdt in this chapter but that would have been a sensitive topic for Reiner, so Reader/Lucy knows to avoid it for now. (I just wanted to make that disclaimer because I love Bertholdt and I miss him a lot.)

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think so far.

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amandaoftherosemire · 4 years ago

Text

Hey Pretty

Fandom: Marvel AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers

Author: @amandarosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,133

Format: One-shot

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only, sexting, language, masturbation (male and female), descriptions of explicit images, sexual intercourse, minor dom/sub dynamics if you squint.

Summary: Steve wakes up from dreaming about you while away on a mission. Sexting and smut ensue.

A/N: I spent most of August working on getting back into writing in between catastrophes. Why this manifested in a smutty, fluffy bit of Steve fic, I don’t know, but I’m not really worried about it. I am a little concerned that this gives away that my kink is people doing what I tell them, but I also imagine I’m not the only one who think it would be a lot of fun to tell Steve Rogers what to do.

I had this done a while ago but hadn’t found a moment to proofread and post it because I started a new job. Then my state’s seasonal wildfires went crazy thanks to record winds and everything fell apart again. Then it settled into a white-knuckled waiting game while we literally prayed for rain. Now that it’s pouring once again, I could sit down for five minutes to shine it up and post it. I hope y’all enjoy. :)

Texts from you in Bold.

Texts from Steve in Italics.

Hey Pretty

The air was close and thick, each breath in hot and slow as syrup. Every one of those humid breaths carried the warm seductive scent of sweat and sultry sex into his head, his mind, leaving him lost. The taste of salt and sweet on his mouth vied with the sensation of silken skin as his lips and hands slid over soft flesh, seeking both to feel and be felt.

Soft whimpers and low moans poured into his ear along with gentle, demanding whispers that set his brain and body ablaze. Every part of him yearned to fulfill every request, satisfy every need. All he wanted in return was to saturate his senses in the endless pool of desire into which he’d fallen.

When soft hands slid into his hair to clench and grip, his willpower broke. As he moved to give in, to let himself be taken over by desire, by pleasure, he woke gasping and hard enough to cut glass.

Staring at the ceiling of a motel room he shared with a friend and teammate, Steve focused on keeping his breathing slow and silent. He didn’t want to wake Sam, whose soft, even snores sounded from across the room. He valiantly tried to ignore the fact that it would take maybe three strokes of his hand to finish what dreaming of you had begun.

Folding his hands behind his head, he attempted to put the dream out of his mind by going over the mission he’d be running in a few short hours. He failed almost immediately, his imagination too detailed, his senses too keen, his memory too clear. You haunted him.

He could too easily recall the scent of your hair, the softness of your skin, the sweetness that he'd discovered lay just a little under the surface. He’d only needed to scratch a little to find it.

Steve gave up and rolled to his side to snatch up his phone. He’d typed out I miss you and hit send before he could think better of it. As soon as it was gone, he wished the words back, still anxious about showing too much vulnerability, not to mention breaking protocol by texting anyone while on this mission. Doing quick mental math to figure out what time it was back in New York, he waited, a little worried, for your answer.

You have literally no chill, Rogers. You’re lucky you’re so sexy.

Steve grinned at your response, his tension dissipating in the rush of electricity he always felt when you teased him, your warm humor lighting him up, the first of a thousand things he’d fallen for. Any contact with you, any reminder of you could rocket through him and make him shine. The smell of your perfume, the sound of your voice, your words on a screen, anything you did filled him up and steadied him, no matter how empty or fragile he felt.

Hey, pretty. I miss you too btw.

His heart sighed when your second text came through. You were sharp and strong and since the moment you’d come striding into his life in combat boots and covered in attitude, he’d been riveted, unable to resist you. When you’d turned the sweet sunshine beneath the attitude on him, he’d been captivated, unable to refuse you.

I was dreaming of you. Woke up and needed you.

Steve stared at the message for a moment with his heart pounding. He'd gotten better at this kind of honesty, but it still terrified to step out on the ledge. He hit send before he could rethink it and then rewrite it until he sent nothing at all. You'd never yet made him regret telling you how he felt. He was starting to trust that you never would.

Must have been some dream to have you breaking radio silence during a mission. Good? I hope?

He grinned, practically able to hear your wry, seductive tones as he read your message. That sultry, smirking attitude had drawn him in from the beginning and had only wrapped him more and more tightly the more time he spent with you. By the time he’d worked up the nerve to ask you out, he’d already fallen half in love with that alone.

Us. The night before I left.

His heart sped a little more at the images flashing across his mind. A mixture of the heated imaginings of his unconscious mind and the memories of the one and only night he’d spent with you had his skin running with heat even as the erection that refused to abate hardened almost painfully.

Ahhhhhh. I love it. Tell me everything.

Steve stifled a laugh at your answer. He’d swear he’d never met anyone like you. Tough and terrifyingly efficient during business hours, he’d never imagined the hidden depths he would find as you'd slowly let him in. Under that fierce exterior, he'd first found a warm and generous humor, then a soft and generous heart. He'd most recently been delighted to discover an avowed and generous hedonist in your bed.

I shouldn’t. I’m sharing a room with Sam.

He felt a brief twinge of regret, wondering what you'd have said or done if he'd told you about his dream, if he'd been alone and free to do so. The full intimacy that had just blossomed between you had followed an intense courtship where he'd learned how diabolically patient you could be. He'd long since discovered your ability to drive him wild from a distance.

You’re so fucking adorable. I bet you could get some privacy in the bathroom.

Heart kicking, Steve immediately moved to get out of the bed. Whatever you had in mind, he knew he needed privacy to deal with it. Not that he wasn't certain he'd like it. He always enjoyed letting you have your way with him, no matter the situation. Tapping out a quick reply, he moved as silently as he could to the bathroom.

Do I need privacy?

Shutting and locking the door behind him, he waited for your answer with bated breath.

For what happens next, yes.

Steve dropped down onto the closed lid of the toilet when his knees went weak. Anticipation had his heart already pounding in his ears.

Okay. I’m in the bathroom. What happens next?

His mind raced with possibilities as his skin ran hot. He’d learned from experience that you could always surprise him, especially with the creative turns your mind could take. He’d long since given himself into your hands with no regrets.

Turn the shower on cold.

At least, he’d had no regrets until now. Steve frowned at his phone but stood to comply with the command even as he hoped you weren’t about to send him into a cold shower. You had a wicked sense of humor so he wouldn't put it past you to be having fun with him.

Unless you want Sam to hear you.

Steve grinned, relieved and yet edgy, and shivered in anticipation. He could almost feel your breath on his neck, could almost hear the sultry undercurrent to your voice. He loved it when you had fun with him like this, was happy to take your orders, especially when those orders took on this tone.

At the end of your first date, you’d seen through him to the twitchy anxiety he'd been poorly hiding. Instead of the disdain he'd feared, you'd responded by taking his face in your hands to kiss him for the first time. That sweet first kiss had spun out when he’d forgotten his anxiety in the gentle press of your lips against his. He’d fallen completely under your spell when you’d whispered against his mouth, “Why don’t I tell you what I want, Steve, so you don’t tie yourself in knots trying to figure it out?” The relief he'd felt at the mere thought had allowed him to kiss you properly the second time.

Since that day, you'd made good on that offer in a thousand ways, leading him on a tempestuous journey of affection and fun with an honesty so sweet and hot that it left him putty in your hands. All you’d asked in return was that he be equally honest about what he felt, what he wanted.

Done.

Hands shaking a little, he kept his eyes on his phone as he waited for the next step. He was certain now you were about to lead him on an adventure. Though he knew he shouldn't follow, knew he could tell you he wasn't comfortable and you'd easily segue into something light and probably funny, he also knew he wasn't going to stop this. He'd told you he'd woken needing you; he wasn't surprised that you'd offer to give him what he needed.

Have a seat. ;)

The winking smiley face was your way of letting him know you were fully up to no good and if he wanted out now, he should speak up. He adored how careful you were to make sure he was fully on board with whatever you wanted to do. You took care with him but wrapped it in a warm humor that was almost as seductive as the tenderness underneath.

Now take that pretty cock out and wrap your hand around it.

Steve was grateful you'd told him to sit down as his knees turned to water in the rush of lust that blew through him. The hand not holding his phone moved to obey even as he let out a shuddering breath of reaction. Knowing he had to be quiet or risk embarrassing himself made his heart race in either anxiety or excitement, he wasn’t ever really sure when you tempted him out onto ledges like this. His chest tightened, his breath choking in his lungs, making him feel like he was on the verge of an asthma attack, if he still had those.

But every other time he'd followed you into this sensation, he'd found nothing but pleasure and passion on the other side. He wasn't going to back out now. As he pushed his underwear down his other hand tapped out a quick reply.

Yes, ma'am.

Steve's brain offered up the image of your slow, wicked smile whenever he gave in to your demands and his desires. He loved that his obedience to your commands brought you as much excitement as it did him. He loved knowing he could please you, loved that you never left him in doubt as to how.

You're so pretty. Does it feel good?

God

Yes

Steve didn't move, his hand wrapped around his cock but not stroking, not yet. Not until you told him to start.

Mmm. What were we doing in your dream the moment you woke up?

That 'mmm' stood in for the sultry laugh that came out of you whenever you were deliberately teasing him. The thought of that tease, that laugh had his dick twitching in his hand. You knew he adored the slow build, had taken your time working him up to the night he'd spent with you right before leaving on this mission. He'd loved every minute of it, thoroughly enjoyed the odd paradox of frustration mounting through repeated satisfaction. Making love to you, at last, had been glorious.

His breathing already ragged, the memory of that night in the soft romance of his dream drifted across his mind's eye. You'd been sweeter that night than he'd ever known possible, tender in your demands, gentle in your requests. A night unlike any other in his experience, he'd never expected the dark and debauched to be so bright and beautiful.

I was sliding inside you for the first time. I could have cried when I woke up.

Muscles quivering with the effort to stay still, Steve waited. He wasn't disappointed.

Pretty. Are you as hard now as you were then?

Almost

Oh, I wanna see. Would you take a picture? Send it to me?

Steve bit his lip to stifle the moan that wanted to lift out of him. He was more certain now that it was excitement, not fear, but he felt a prickle of anxiety run up his spine, nonetheless. Not only was he naturally shy, he was uncomfortably famous. He examined how he felt, and decided quickly, typing his response and hitting send just as a text from you came through.

Yes ma'am.

I'll go first, sweetie.

Steve quite simply melted. He adored the strong and sarcastic, but he had no defense against the sweet and kind. The way you’d asked combined with the endearment you only used when you were being particularly tender eased every fear, every worry. Still feeling shy, he nonetheless lifted the phone to snap a picture of his achingly hard cock in his still motionless fist.

As he was preparing to send it, however, your picture came through. He whimpered at the sight of you on his screen, pink and glistening. His hand reflexively tightened, and he started to moan aloud before he remembered himself. His cock hardened to the point of pain as he locked his muscles, resisting the urge to move his hand for a little relief.

Panting, he snapped another picture, knowing you’d love to see what the image of your fingers sliding over and through and into your pretty cunt did to him. He’d already been flushed and on the edge. Looking at you, remembering how you’d felt moving under his hands only intensified the sensation of aching need and the red heat that suffused his skin. He sent you both pictures with a text that read, How do you do this to me?

Mmm. Did my picture get you that excited?

God yes

You’re killing me doll

Me too sweetie. So fucking hot. Go ahead and start sliding your hand up and down that gorgeous cock of yours, pretty.

Steve shuddered in relief as he slowly began to move his hand, though the way you spoke to him had his stomach muscles tightening with lust. He bit his lip to hold back the moan of pleasure, the sensation made more intense by the wait. His eyes fixed on the picture you’d sent, he imagined replacing your fingers with his own.

I like that you were dreaming of me. I loved taking you. Being taken by you.

Another groan tried to escape as Steve tried to type despite the pleasure running over his skin. His hand moved faster as wetness spread over the head of his cock and eased the motion.

God me too. It was so good. I’ve dreamt of you every night this week.

"Oh, fuck!" Steve whispered the words in a voice tight with lust as his hand began to speed. You'd sent him another picture and the sight was more than he could stand. The photo was taken from the same vantage point he'd have if he was about to use his mouth on you, the memory of which had him thrusting mindlessly. The smooth columns of your thighs framed your pleasure as you arched under your own hands. Your body was bared and beautiful and your eyes glowed with power and promise. Slick and wet, his hand moved more quickly over his cock as memories of you over him, under him seared his mind.

Do you want to do filthy things to me, pretty?

Steve's mind exploded with possibilities and immediately triggered the climax he'd been trying to hold back. Reliving the glory of being inside you, of making you cry out in ecstasy, he came with a soft groan, shuddering as he coaxed every last quake of pleasure from his body. Panting and boneless, he lay in awe of your ability to wreck him even when you weren't there.

His hand shaking slightly, he tapped out the first thing that came into his head.

And you call me pretty. You’re so beautiful. I couldn’t hold back.

Too heavy for his neck, Steve let his head fall back, resting it against the wall behind him as he tried to catch his breath. He found himself once again awed and baffled by your ability to tempt him so easily into situations that he couldn't have even imagined before he met you.

Mmm. Are you a mess? Show me?

Blushing rosy red against the creamy skin of his face, neck, and chest, he lifted his phone to take another picture. Angling the camera to capture both his naked body and his shy smile, he snapped a photo he knew would make you crazy. You loved to see what you did to him, loved to see him sated, soaked in pleasure. When you went to such sweet effort to bring him to this point, he couldn't see how it was fair to deny you the evidence.

So sexy. I love it. I’m so close. Tell me about your dream

Steve smiled at your response, gratified by the knowledge that he could drive you as wild as you drove him. He wondered if you were making the little whimpers in your throat yet. He could always tell when you were about to let go, when he'd pushed you up and over the edge.

I was touching you. Sliding my hands all over you. You’re so soft.

Not sure how to continue, Steve hit send. The dream had been nothing but sensation, hot breath and slick skin. He paused a moment, considering the best way to describe for you the images his subconscious had conjured. As he weighed his words, a picture of you came through.

Tousled and smiling, your face had taken on that particular softness his perfect eyesight had memorized in recent weeks. Saturated in pleasure, your face only looked this sweetly relaxed after you were satisfied.

Mmm. Pretty. You fuck me so good, baby.

Steve laughed softly, exhilarated if a little shocked at how easily he always let you lead him into temptation, let you take over. Other attempts at relationships since he'd come out of the ice had always ultimately failed when he couldn't relax enough to be himself. But being with you was as easy as breathing, in no small part because you so confidently took command.

Looking down at himself, he shook his head at the mess you'd once again made of him.

How do you do this to me?

Standing up, Steve set his phone on the counter and glanced at the washcloth hanging on the towel bar. He figured he'd need a shower before he started the day anyway and it was close enough to dawn that he was done with sleep for now. When your message came through, he smiled at your unrelenting sweetness.

You let me. Don’t forget to turn the hot water on before you get in that shower.

Except I might still need to cool off.

Can’t argue with that. Go get the bad guys, then get your ass back to me.

Yes, ma’am.

Your heart kicked into high gear when you heard that the quinjet had touched down.

Steve was home.

Steve, with his serious eyes and hands so gentle it almost ached where he touched, would soon be walking through your office door for debriefing. And you were expected to cope with that.

Steve Rogers, a man with a heart as good as it was wild, was enchanted with you. The very idea was still largely inexplicable to you. You'd never been the sort to argue with a good thing, however, and you certainly weren't going to start now. What mattered was that you were making each other happy, that he was as sweet as he was sexy and you clicked in a way that you'd never expected but for which you were profoundly grateful.

That didn't mean that you knew how to handle it.

The whole thing had started so innocently, lunchtime walks over the grounds of the compound. Steve had started coming by your office in the middle of the day, his excuse that he wanted to make sure you weren’t chained to your desk, get you moving. You’d thought he was simply being himself, kind and caring and a little overly conscientious.

Over the course of those walks, however, you’d become friends, and dear friends, but you’d never expected anything more. He was so careful, so guarded, you'd never realized that you were seducing him with your playful teasing and genuine interest in the man behind the shield. When, after a couple of months of those daily walks, he’d asked you to dinner with the dread of rejection sick in his smile, you’d been completely shocked.

You didn’t know it, but your complete surprise at his invitation had been utterly unexpected; Steve had thought himself painfully obvious in his crush. Your astonishment, followed by a slow, delighted grin spreading across your face, had made Steve’s heart jump in anticipation. Your reply, voice full of fun and mischief, "Steven, I would love to have dinner with you; I like a pretty view while I eat," had made him blush and smile in a way that had made your heart pound like a drum.

That first date had been wonderful, an extension of those daily walks but with a new dimension revealed by the change in your relationship. You were flirting with purpose now, not simply to tease a friend. He was so adorable, you couldn't resist, his blushing, gratified smiles too tempting.

When he'd walked you to your door, the sick dread was back in his smile and you'd had an epiphany. Making the first move was agony for someone like Steve. Having to put his true self on the line to be accepted or rejected at the whim of another was a nightmare for him. You could see he was terrified of the moment he'd have to lean in to kiss you good night, dreading the possibility that you might turn him away.

As you reached your door, you'd turned to him with a sultry smile and slid your hands up and over his gorgeous chest, something you'd been fantasizing about for a while, until you had his pretty face in your hands. You'd pulled his face to yours and pressed soft, warm lips to his, kissing him firmly, but gently.

"Why don’t I tell you what I want, Steve, so you don’t tie yourself in knots trying to figure it out?”

The breath of relief he'd huffed out would have made you laugh if your mouth hadn't immediately been taken in the hottest, sweetest tangle of lips and teeth and tongue you'd ever experienced. His arms had come around you to cradle you against his body like you were delicate and precious and in that moment you felt it, certain you were already in over your head with Steve Rogers.

"I'd love that, doll," he'd whispered in return when the kiss finally broke, his breath ragged. "What do you want?"

You'd chuckled darkly at that, your body humming and blood rushing with lust. "I want to take you inside and have my wicked way with you," you'd brushed your fingertips over the nape of his neck and made him tremble, "but I think we should take it slow, take our time. So, I'll take another kiss like the last to keep me warm for now."

“Yes, ma’am.”

The smile that spread across his face right before his lips met yours told you that you'd made the right call. Steve was the sort that moved at a slower pace, needed room to feel. Over the next couple of months, you'd given him that space as you slowly deepened the intimacy between you, learning what he liked, teaching him what you liked. With only a little patience, he’d proven eager to learn and innately adept at the study.

As you’d become more physically familiar, you’d also explored the added emotional dimension to your relationship, the vulnerability that comes when you allow a friend to become something more. Not that you’d had reason to regret that decision yet, Steve having also proven a sweet and attentive boyfriend.

By the time you'd come together, you'd found a number of creative ways to satisfy both of you while still building the anticipation. The wait had ensured that you were physically comfortable with one another before you’d gotten to that last glorious night together.

You’d deliberately chosen a night before he left for a mission to invite him to stay, to make love with you and wake in your bed. You’d been unable to wait any longer, the desperate need too much to hold back, but you'd also wanted to keep the edge of his desire for you well honed. You hadn't considered what the enforced separation after such a night would do to you, too. When he’d broken radio silence to text you during a mission, you’d been both moved and gratified, but you'd also needed him with an ache you'd never known before. You'd been unable to stop yourself from using the opportunity to take the edge off.

You'd also been exasperated, radio silence had been placed on the mission for a reason, but that was professional.

No harm had come of it, but it was still a breach in protocol.

You looked up when Steve knocked on the door as he opened it, poking his head into your office, as had become his habit over the previous months. “Come on in, Cap," you said with a slow, warm smile. "Have a seat."

"Yes, ma'am." His eyes were hot as he settled into the chair on the other side of your desk. The words sent a shiver of lust up your spine and over your scalp when coupled with the sweet appreciative grin that lit up his face. You had to be ever vigilant lest you get lost in his ocean eyes. The man was unfairly pretty, hence the pet name.

The debriefing went quickly as the mission had gone mostly to plan. What few deviations had occurred were in minor variables and were easily documented. Steve didn't have anything to add to what you'd heard from Sam and Natasha, but you believed in being thorough. Once you heard it once more from Steve, you pushed all of it aside without a twinge of guilt.

Before you moved on entirely, however, you fixed him with a gimlet stare. "I'm surprised I have to remind you of this, Captain, but radio silence was put on this mission for a reason." One eyebrow and the corner of your mouth lifted as he grinned at you.

"That takes care of business." You got to your feet and rounded your desk to cross to the door, flipping the lock as your heart started to race. "Now," you went on in a purr as you circled back around to slide into Steve's lap. Heart singing, you pressed your lips to his in a soft kiss. "Hey, pretty."

Steve was in heaven. He wrapped his arms around you to press you close and reveled in the feel of your body against his. Dimly, in a far-off corner of his mind, he wondered if he should be concerned by his tendency to get lost in you, the ease and speed with which you enthralled him. But you were nuzzling your mouth across his cheeks and mouth, seducing him all over again with sweetness, and he couldn't find it in him to care. "Hey, babydoll," he sighed happily as his eyes fluttered closed.

"So ya missed me, huh?"

Steve smiled at your playful tones but kept his eyes closed as he basked in the feeling of your mouth against his skin, of being adored by you. How could he not miss you when you made him feel this way? His voice a sigh, the sound made you tremble deep inside. "I did."

"I like that." Your voice throbbed with an emotion you weren't ready to name but knew you'd have to deal with soon. Steve seemed to hear it, as his eyes opened to see your face, his eyebrows quirking in question. Your smile twisted wryly as you shrugged a little. "I like being missed."

Steve's pretty face melted into a smile rich with affection as one of his big hands slid up your back, his warm palm between your shoulder blades and pressing you into his chest. His lips as soft as his touch, he kissed you with the same tenderness he'd shown you from the start, the same tenderness that had seduced you before you'd realized it was happening. You didn't know what he'd seen in your face to make him kiss you like this, but you weren't going to argue.

Your breathing ragged and your throat thick with that nameless, dangerous emotion, you broke the kiss to bury your face in the crook of his neck, brushing your lips over the soft skin under his ear. "I missed you too, sweetie," you whispered, your breath wafting across his ear and making him shiver agreeably. You could feel it, and it made you needy, made your voice turn husky with that need. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about those pictures you sent me."

Steve stretched his neck to give you better access, the sensation of your mouth on his skin a temptation he couldn't resist. Simply being in the same room with you was intoxicating; he’d already been hard as steel by the time you'd slid into his lap. Your touch, your voice, your scent, everything about you set him aflame. "You didn't keep them?"

"I told you; I'm the jealous type." You lifted your head to nip at his lips with a wicked smirk and eyes that burned. "I couldn't risk anyone else seeing them. Only way to be sure was to delete them."

The hand that had been squeezing your hip came up to cup your face when every part of him softened in adoration, appreciation. He wasn't the least surprised to find that you'd acted to protect him, but he was still deeply grateful. "I deleted yours, too." His mouth twisted when your eyebrow raised in mock suspicion. "Didn't want them falling into the wrong hands. Damn near broke my heart to do it, but…"

When he trailed off with a shrug, you tilted your head back and laughed out at the twinkle in his eye behind his look of broken-hearted regret. You combed your fingers through his hair, fisting your hands there and tilting his head back to smile affectionately into his gorgeous face. "I'll send you more, you pretty thing."

When his grin flashed, cheerful and sweet, you couldn't resist his plump, pink lips any longer. You took his mouth with yours, kissing him deeply, with heat. With purpose.

Gasping breaths inward escaped as panting moans as your mouths pressed and tangled together. You shamelessly rubbed your breasts against his chest as your hands began to skim over the muscles of his shoulders and arms. Your tongue curled around his as you encouraged him with your mouth and body to touch you more, kiss you harder.

Steve cradled you in his lap as gently as he could while still pressing you close, holding you tight. He knew his strength, tried to be mindful of it out of concern that he might hurt or scare you. Sometimes he thought he gripped too tightly, his mind so easily muddled by you, but you never complained.

In fact, sometimes you straight up ordered him to stop treating you as though you were as delicate as he knew you to be and touch you already. Sometimes, like today, you showed him your impatience physically, pulling at his clothes and arching into his hands. When you tore your mouth from his to scramble to your feet, he was confused for half a second before you were pulling him up with you.

"Doll," he breathed, his heart running away with him as you backed into your desk and boosted yourself up onto it, "I'm falling hard for you." You wrapped your legs around his hips as you fisted your hands in his shirt to drag him close. "I don't know if you want serious, but I can't help it."

Steve thought he'd just made a colossal mistake when your movements slowed and your eyes lifted to his, your face a study in consternation. His heart started beating again when your face softened into a smile and then a laugh as you lifted your hands from his belt to his face.

"I'm trying to fuck and you're trying to talk about our relationship." You pulled his mouth to yours and kissed him softly, sweetly, utterly charmed. "Steve," you crooned as you smoothed your thumbs over his cheeks, "my sweetheart." You huffed out a shaky laugh, the vulnerability of the moment hitting you all at once. Your mouth twisted with wry affection as your eyes searched his worried face. You went on, your voice an aching sigh. "I don't want you to help it. I don't know how to do serious, but I'm starting to think I'd do anything for you."

Steve felt the muscles in the back of his neck relax. On a sigh of relief, he rested his forehead against yours as the hands at your waist slid around your back to hold you close. He had known you wouldn't make him regret telling you the truth about his feelings, but he'd barely hoped that you would reciprocate them. He'd never anticipated that anyone could make him feel the way you did and was gratified to the bone that he could make you feel the same.

Arms wrapped around your back, one hand squeezing your hip, the other cupped around the nape of your neck, Steve kissed you. Slow, and gentle, he coaxed your lips apart like a man with nothing but time. His mouth brushed and clung to yours with a diabolical kind of tenderness as his body pressed more firmly against yours. Eyes bright and warm, he broke the kiss to smile and whisper, mild concern and confusion chasing one another across his face. "I know the feeling."

The relentless honesty that characterized Steve could be its own kind of trouble. He was in so many ways an open book, it made it easy for you to see the struggle he sometimes had with his emotions. On the other hand, you had only to pay attention to know what he was thinking and feeling. Steve, and everything he was, made you feel safe and secure in a way no one ever had before.

"Oh, baby, don't worry," you murmured, linking your wrists behind his neck and nuzzling at his mouth. "I'm as flustered by this as you are. I know you can't believe the things you'll do if I ask it," your voice dropped to a rasp as your thighs tightened around his hips, "because I can't believe it either." You shrugged, and you let him see how he dazzled you in your smile. "I talk a big game, but every day I'm stunned all over again that you like it. That you like me."

"You are so fucking sweet." Steve's voice was rich with wonder as he spoke. His eyes burned as he huffed out a laugh of astonished joy and his head dipped to yours. No longer slow and gentle, he kissed you with an urgent passion that you soaked up and returned with abandon. When his hand slipped from your hip to squeeze your ass and his lips grew hungrier on yours, you chuckled in your throat and let your hands drop back to his belt where you went back to unfastening it.

Steve couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up at the sound of your dark glee and the feel of your hands teasing the erection behind his zipper. He lifted his head just enough to look into your face, the warm affection in his so pretty it made your throat ache. Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed over your cheeks, but your hands went back to work on getting into his pants. He started chuckling, but that quickly turned into a low moan when your hands slipped under the waistband of his underwear to push them down. "I don’t just like you, doll."

“Good.” You replied with a nip at his lower lip as you closed your hand around an impressive erection. “Because I’m just crazy about you.”

Your smile as you caressed him was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Starting bright and happy, Steve was awestruck by the way your whole face seemed to shine with joy. In the next moment, your smile was melting into a look so hungry his cock hardened even more and his hips gave an involuntary thrust into your hands.

The sensation had you grinning recklessly as you twisted your hand around his length and made him groan. You lifted one hand to cup the nape of his neck to pull him forward for a kiss as his breathing sped in excitement. "Steven, I wore a skirt for a reason," you purred against his mouth and felt powerful as a goddess when his hands immediately left your hips to fumble at the long peasant skirt you'd worn. The feeling of his hips stuttering slightly as those hands closed around your thighs made you feel irresistibly sexy as well.

Being with Steve made you feel adored.

His mouth drank from yours with ever more urgency, even as he gripped your thighs more tightly and spread your legs to pull you closer. You encouraged him with murmurs of approval and gentle, teasing touches designed to inflame. His long fingers squeezed the flesh of your ass and legs as his body bent to yours, over yours. His thumbs caressing the insides of your thighs made you feel like you were going to fly apart and had your arm sliding around his neck to bring your body flush with his.

Steve tore his mouth from yours to gasp for breath. He buried his face in the crook where your shoulder met your neck and panted in excitement, in pleasure, the tremble of his lips against your skin sending shivers through you. "Babydoll," he whispered, the taste of you going to his head and muddling his mind, "I can't stop thinking about being inside you."

His thumbs had reached the apex of your legs and were brushing lightly over the soft skin he'd found there. His breathing was as ragged as yours, shuddering gasps of reaction mingled with moaning sighs of pleasure as the two of you touched one another. "Is this okay?" he asked gently, lifting his head to look into your face as one of his long, beautiful fingers slipped between your folds to tease at your entrance, to feel your wetness.

"God, yes," you moaned and made him smile. You were dazzled by the feel of him between your thighs, the sight of him flushed with his excitement and shuddering with need in your hands. When his thumb pressed you open and he circled your clit with the pad of his finger, your hips jerked forward in response, the sweet sensation of him gently caressing you so intimately overwhelming in its intensity.

Steve's hand slid down and he pressed into you with a soft groan of reverence, of hunger. You tilted your hips to allow him easier access, your head falling backward on your neck as you gasped with pleasure at the rasping sensation of one long, finger stretching you open. Your thighs tightened around his hips and your hand around his cock as you shuddered out a moan that made him crazy.

His mouth moved over your neck in desperate open-mouthed kisses as he reveled in the feeling of your wetness covering his hand. He loved feeling the proof of your desire for him. He loved that he'd brought you to this point, clutching at his shoulders and sobbing his name. He loved that you could so easily bring him to this point, panting with need and ready to beg. When your hand smoothed over his erection with a twisting motion and your lips at his ear whispered, "Play later, pretty. Inside me now," he could have promised you the moon.

He ever so slowly withdrew his hand from where he'd been pumping his finger slowly, gently in and out of your soaking pussy, dragging his fingertips over your clit as he went. The sensation was exquisite, prompting another gasping moan from you and making you fumble as you let go of his cock to bunch your skirt in your fist. You pulled it up and out of the way so you could see where you connected, wanted to watch him slide inside you. You wanted to imprint forever on your memory the image of Steve Rogers making love to you.

Tight t-shirt rucked up over a perfect stomach, belt and pants undone and pushed down below his ass with his underwear to reveal him flushed and shiny wet with anticipation. His hands, big and beautiful, gently held your thighs apart as his fingers pressed with just enough force into your muscles. The sight, along with that of his cock, hard as steel and pressing slowly into you, had your body clenching in need and your mouth running away with you as you rasped, "So pretty."

Steve flushed with the praise. As he eased into you, he marveled that his memory hadn't done you justice. He'd thought he remembered how good you felt wrapped around his cock, thought he'd remembered the ecstasy of the moment when he rested buried to the hilt, but he hadn't even been close. Once there, his hands left your thighs where they were wrapped around his hips. Skimming up over your waist, he took you gently in his arms, one palm on your lower back, one between your shoulder blades. Gasping for breath and grasping for control, he rested his forehead against yours and shuddered with restrained greed.

You wrapped your arms around the barrel of his chest and nuzzled under the collar of his t-shirt to brush your mouth across his perfect collarbones. Murmuring words intended to incite, you breathed adoration into his skin. "Sweet pretty Steve." You tilted your head back to look into his face. "You feel so good."

The sight of your face, warm and soft with passion as you almost whimpered the words took Steve's breath away. Unable to help himself, his head dipped to kiss you as his arms tightened, his hands grasping you close as he started to tentatively thrust into you. You kissed him back, your hands avid as they clutched at his back and hips to encourage him to move faster, thrust harder.

You loved that Steve was as close to out of control as you'd ever seen him, loved that he was lost in you enough to move instinctively. He was still following your lead, but he wasn't thinking anymore, was letting his body rule. His hand slid down to close around your thigh to hike it higher, using the leverage to pull you onto him more forcefully. A happy squeal muffled by his mouth expressed your approval, as did the arms you wrapped around his neck to pull yourself more tightly against him.

Though Steve would have at least tried to go slow, you weren’t having it. You’d twined around him like a vine and were using your grip to rock your hips to his in abandon. The uncomplicated affection on your lips and the desperate need in your sighs of pleasure came together on his tongue to seep into his mind and send him reeling. Unable to stop himself, he gripped your thighs and ass to tilt you to the perfect angle for his relentlessly pounding hips and gave in. Groaning in his throat, he let your genuine passion wipe his mind clean of everything but you.

Steve's fingers were digging into your flesh with just enough pressure to feel delicious. His mouth was avid on yours and so sweet you had to tear yourself away to drag in a breath. You released that breath on a shuddering moan when he immediately buried his face in your throat to taste the skin over your pulse under your jaw. Your hands clenched in his hair and you rocked your hips harder and faster into his, chasing your climax. Steve was a perfect fit; you were fully enthralled with the sensation of his cock gliding into you, rasping out.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chanted, each more frantic than the last, as the rhythmic slam of his hips against yours built you swiftly and steadily to peak. Hearing that you were nearing your climax, Steve lifted his head from where it was buried in your cleavage and pressing open mouthed kisses to the curves of your breasts. He loved to watch your expression while you came, loved to see you taken over by rapture, especially of his making. When you shuddered out, "Fuck me, baby," he knew you were close.

Steve's grin flashed and he started to thrust harder and faster into you, shaking your desk enough to knock a few things to the floor. The sound of soft thumps as a stapler fell to the carpet and pens scattered made you laugh. The thought that it was Steve Rogers you were fucking on your desk in the middle of the day met the joy of the moment and pushed you happily to the edge where need met satisfaction.

Pretty, sweet, reckless Steve with his bashful smiles and sad soldier’s eyes was building you to peak with ever more force and speed, about to send you tipping over that edge with flashing hips and a whimpering moan. You tilted your head forward on your neck to look into Steve's smiling, blushing face, his flashing eyes. With a sighed, "Pretty," you smiled as you let go and fell into rapture.

At the same time you spoke, Steve could feel the beginning of your orgasm fluttering and squeezing around him. His hands tightened around your thigh, your ass as he shook with pleasure at the sensation. The feel of you in his arms, clutching at him in ecstasy pushed him to the edge of his control. The sight of your eyes, glowing with pleasure both given and received, sent him tumbling over.

The beautiful groan Steve released as his head dropped to your shoulder made you tighten around him in every way. You gave in happily to the overwhelming urge to hold him close as he came inside you with stuttering hips and shaking limbs. Twining around him, you basked in the scent, the taste, the feel of him as you dragged him into the same spell that held you.

Everything about you softened like wax when he turned his face into your neck and nuzzled in with a sigh of contentment. He was holding you against him with that astonishing tenderness he possessed, cradling you in his arms like you were something infinitely delicate, infinitely precious. The sensation never failed to turn you to mush.

You combed your fingers through his hair and rubbed your cheek against his temple, holding him with the same tenderness he showed you, something he found utterly beguiling. He brushed his mouth over the soft skin of your throat and murmured in appreciation, "How do you do this to me?"

You couldn't help but love how that question had changed over time. At first, he had asked with concern vying with bafflement, but he'd come to ask with warmth, humor, affection. The answer had changed, too, from curiosity to pleasure to something more, something neither of you knew how to name. Not yet.

"I ask nicely," you replied with a smirk.

Steve burst out laughing and lifted his head to grin at you. You had a look on your face of such infinite tenderness, such warm wonder that his heart jumped and jumped in response to an emotion he wasn't sure how to describe, or if he was ready yet to do so. He pushed it aside, gloriously and willingly lost in you. "That would do it," he admitted with his heart in his eyes.

"In that case," you leaned forward to kiss first one side of his mouth, "would you like to come over for dinner," then the other, "stay the night?" Your eyelids dipped with a hint of shyness and made Steve's romantic heart yearn, inspired that still nameless emotion. "I really liked waking up next to you."

His eyes lit up in a way you'd never seen before; his smile was bright and joyous and made you want to promise him the world. Warm and affectionate, his expression held everything you could want as he replied, his voice low and full of fun. "Yes, ma'am."

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zodiyack · 5 years ago

Text

Like Mother Like Daughter

Requested by anon: Hello love! Would you write something about the reader being Polly's lost daughter that finally found her and she goes to her house and Polly of course is insanely happy and they catch up all night ,immediately connected. The next day she gets introduced to the rest of the family and Tommy is super rude to her because he thinks she's there for money,but she's just there for Polly and just as fierce as her mother, putting him in place? :)

Pairing: Shelby & Gray family + Gray!Female!Reader (No romance)

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, probably a trash story that was also probably really horribly written, posting with out proofreading oops

Note: I apologize sincerely for the likelihood of a shitty background story of how reader discovers Pol being her mum. I am also so sorry if this sucks lol, I couldn’t think of good responses for the angsty part sigh. I really hope you guys like this one, again, I’m sorry if I didn’t quite write the situation all too well. However, the more I write, the more I get to know the characters, so this is a start haha

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace, @simonsbluee

masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist

Today was the day. Polly fiddled with her fingers nervously, anticipation for what was to come. Her daughter, Michael’s sister, was just confirmed alive and well, and was being sent to their home. Michael didn’t know he had a sister and Pol had been uninformed of her daughter’s state of health.

It was a surprise, the only person of the family who knew was Polly herself. Y/n was her daughter anyways. The boys could wait until after they caught up; she was eager to reconnect with this girl, who very dear to her heart. Her palms were sweaty, thanks to her nerves.

The news graced her ears just last month. Her lost daughter, alive and well, and pleading with her adoptive mother to let her go and seek out the mystery woman who’s name was with her’s on papers in her father’s office. The girl had no success, getting rejected over and over due to her parent’s hatred for her discovery. Polly, however, found a way to anonymously convince the parents to let her daughter go. Whether it was legal or not, it got it done, and that’s all that mattered.

The door creaked open, the light from the sun shining onto Y/n like a spotlight. Polly’s eyes filled with tears as she scanned her daughter with a small smile on her lips.

“Hi mum...” Y/n smiled back at her, inhaling deeply, not sure if it was real or just a dream. She wished, if it were a dream she could have it every night for the rest of her life.

Polly’s mouth opened slowly, but no words left her mouth. Her hand began it’s journey up to her mouth, stuttering half way, and covered her growing smile. She didn’t know what to do. She was so happy, she could hardly move. True, she was excited to have Michael back, but this was her daughter. A year younger than Michael. More naive than Michael. Lost longer than Michael.

Her words betrayed her, but her body made up for their faults. Pol stumbled towards Y/n and wrapped her arms around her in a bone-crushing hug. “Is that really you? My baby girl?” Her tears soaked into Y/n’s dress clad shoulder, but neither of them cared.

“Mhm.” Y/n too had no luck with her words, too caught up in emotions and snotty tears to give a shit. They chose to make use of their wordless greetings, hugging tightly for a few more minutes. Once they separated, Polly took Y/n’s face in her hands and let her eyes take in the image before her.

“You’re so beautiful... I wonder what you looked like as a child...” More tears fought to escape her eyes. Her breathing was unsteady, like she had just calmed herself from a crying fit, when really, she was doing the opposite, tears greeting her warm cheeks.

“Polly, it’s alright-”

“Mom.” She chuckled softly, “You can call me mum, dear. You are my daughter, after all.”

Y/n didn’t respond. She wracked her brain for words, but they fled at the quiver of her bottom lip. So, she did her plan B. She removed Polly’s hands from her face and quickly surged forward into Pol’s arms. Y/n felt Polly’s arms wrap around her figure protectively, like she was scared that if she let her go she would lose her again.

“Well, mom, we have a lot to catch up on...” They finally separated, but Polly’s hands gripped Y/n’s, the same fear as the hug taunting her heart.

“That is true...and you and your brother have some catching up to do as well, but that can wait until tomorrow.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow with pure curiosity, “Brother?”

. . .

Tommy was walking calmly and sleepily to the kitchen area until he heard laughter coming from a voice that he didn’t recognize. His pace quickened with the need of settling his confusion.

A girl sat next to Michael, laughing at something he said. Tommy felt a slight jab of anger at the sight of a stranger in their home, everyone seeming so comfortable with this new person not even a day into her arrival.

He stepped into the room fully. His brothers and aunt tried to greet him good morning but they were interrupted when he glared at the girl next to Michael. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Might as well as you the same thing, greeting not only a lady, but a relative with a shit attitude like yours.”

“She does have a point. Tom, this is Y/n, Michael’s sister and Pol’s daughter. Which, if you haven’t guessed already, means she’s our cousin.” Ada smirked, astonished at Y/n’s retort.

“Mhm. And she just, somehow showed up over night, am I correct?”

“Actually she showed up before dark. You boys just didn’t meet her because I wanted to catch up with her as much as possible first. You would too if you had met your daughter whom you thought was dead for seventeen fucking years.” Pol’s attitude seemed to drop from cheery to annoyed.

“So? You chose to believe her?”

“Yes! She’s-”

“She could be a complete stranger who just wants out money or- or- maybe she is your daughter but she also just wants our money.” Tommy turned to Y/n, “Is that it? You’re just lookin’ to take from us? Is that your tactic? Pretend to be our Aunt’s daughter and steal? Or are you not after money? Maybe you work for someone? One of our enemies perhaps?”

Michael rubbed Y/n’s back, he was unsure to why Tommy was acting so shitty today. His reaction was more controlled than this when he met Michael, so why was meeting Y/n any different? Michael furrowed his eyebrows to his older cousin and squeezed Y/n’s hand. She smiled to her brother in reassurance before smiling back at Tommy, not letting his not-so-good-first impression get to her.

Polly, having enough of Tommy’s angsty mood, walked out of the room. She mumbled something about him ruining her day and the reunion.

He grunted and walked past the family, poured himself a shot, leaned against the wall next to the counter, and crossed his arms. Y/n snickered to herself as she viewed his actions. “Oi, what’s so funny?”

“You’re crossing your arms and leaning against the wall in an act of dominance. An attempt to intimidate others, but honestly, your word and argument choices betray your failed claims of top-dog.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” she got up from the chair and pushed it back in, walking over to Tommy, “you’re acting childish. Throwing out accusations willy-nilly without reason, acting over dramatic when we could talk like civilized adults, and to top it all off, crossing your arms and pouting when you don’t get your way.” She paused, smiling mischievously.

Her cousin stayed silent. His breathing was a bit off, telling her that she had indeed managed to, if not the tiniest bit, piss him off.

“I came here to see my mother, who I’ve never seen in my entire fucking life, and then I find out I have more family. You can imagine my surprise, happy and finally feeling at home. But now, can you imagine my reaction to the cousin my mum spoke so highly about acting the way you did?”

She didn’t give him time to answer before continuing, drawling out some words and sentences with the intent of mocking the Peaky Blinder.

“You see Tommy, tough guys are what Birmingham sees you, and those of your brothers who are adults, to be, yet I only see two out of the three of you as ‘tough guys’. And now, I’m looking at the missing piece to their ‘tough-guy’ count, but all I see is a whiny child who would rather believe paranoia than his own family. Which, by the way, Polly said you cared most about.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. Y/n’s face held a victorious smile. “Oh, and one last thing.”

“And that is?”

She swiped the glass from his hands and walked back to her seat, holding Tommy’s shot-glass cautiously. “Trust me or don’t trust me, I don’t care much, but for you and your reputation's sake-” She downed the shot, “you should really man the fucking hell up, cuz.”

Y/n set his glass onto the table, giving him the bird joined with a kind smile before she left the room to chase after her mother. The family, minus Polly and Y/n, sat in silence, processing the personality shift of their newly discovered family member.

“...Yep. She’s Pol’s daughter alright.”

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natsspammityspamspamham · 4 years ago

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Why You Should Watch SKET Dance

If I were to tell you what I took away from SKET Dance from old lessons to new, I would say that it said something along the lines of this:

“You are not the mistakes you made in the past. You are not defined the person you were before. If anything, the past is something that you cannot change, but you can surpass those regrets and try to change for the better. Trauma is something that cannot be left behind, but it can get better, especially when you are surrounded by the right people and support. Helping people doesn’t always change the world, but it can change the world of that person and maybe even yours.”

That cheesy quote took a while to write (so did this whole post), but that’s because I wanted to get it right. I wasn’t even sure where to start with this post of sorts.

I will warn ahead of time that if you aren’t familiar with anime, SKET Dance might be an overreach. It does have some references that are niche, and it has a lot of “manzai” (tsukkomi/boke) jokes with tons of mentions. There is fanservice, but no more than you’d see in some of the other series that were released under Shonen Jump. Sometimes the humour and everything can be a little cringy, but I think that’s a given with the fact that you are watching anime.

(This is spoiler-free, gluten-free, no trans fat, and took me too much time.)

Story

I get that it’s like Gintama, but I wouldn’t say it’s a “poor man’s Gintama”. Instead, take it for what it is. It’s like comparing a younger sibling to the older sibling. You’re not letting SketDan shine on its own, and it deserves to.

SketDan has a really simplistic story. It’s about a school club that wants to help people. There is no big war, massive battles, or over-the-top villain that needs to be crushed. I can’t say that it’s episodic, but it definitely leans towards the more “slice-of-life” approach. It has its own arcs that come one after another in good bits and pieces. This series balances itself so well with its drama and comedy. The backstories were done so well, and they didn’t even get to all of them! In fact, one of the best ones was left just in the manga.

The story is made by the characters. It doesn’t rely on the environment or the world around them. Instead, the world to them are the people they are surrounded by. No aliens, samurai, ninjas, or great big event, it’s just them, their high school, and their unconventional club.

Characters

This has got to go down as one of the best ensemble trios in anime. All of them do get their time to develop, and they balance each other out so well. You’d think these characters were friends for their entire lives. I can’t even say who’s the best because I think they’re all the best!

Bossun is a sensitive guy who’s insecure about being the main character of this series (yes, he does mention that). He doesn’t have any spectacular “Shonen Jump” skills. He has no “bankai”, “rasengan”, or “Kamehameha”. He has a hat and goggles. His power is concentration. These are completely valid reasons to be worried about your character status because, on the surface, Bossun sounds downright pathetic (and he knows it). But through the story, you get to see why he’s actually one of the best main characters out there (even if the cast doesn’t want to acknowledge it).

Himeko is one of the coolest characters in this series. I haven’t seen a weapon of that kind… ever. She isn’t afraid to slap the stuff out of anyone and will do anything for a friend. I don’t want to get into her character too much due to spoilers, but it’s revealed early on that she is quite legendary. She’s quite important for the humour of this story. It’s often brought up that she’s the “tsukkomi” (the one who responds to the “boke” stupid).

Last but not least of the great trio, we have Switch. This is probably the character I was most blindsided by. Even though I knew his backstory beforehand (nobody stops me from clicking from “show spoiler” button, it’s quite a problem). He’s the local otaku and database. And he’s probably the most observant. Even though he never “talks”, he’s one of the funniest characters in the series even when he isn’t in the limelight. I legally cannot dig into more about his character due to spoilers. You really need to see it for yourself.

The supporting cast is nothing to put aside either. A lot of them become more and more important as time passes, and the roles they play soon play right into the main plot of the story. We’ve got someone who speaks in “yabasu”, a ghostly occult member, a samurai, a captain, a tsundere, a visual kei star who doesn’t speak in any actual language, a 1.8m tall woman who can literally murder you with a slap, a voice actress idol movie star, and a teacher who makes drugs and bombs. That doesn’t even touch on the student counsel. Anyways, discovering these characters is part of the charm.

Art

There are too many good faces in this anime. While the art isn’t always consistent, it’s never “bad”.

The faces in this anime are on-par with other comedy anime. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

Music

*downloads all the music*

I’m going to pretend like I haven’t listened to some of these on repeat since I finished the anime. Not all anime will literally have a designated band that are made after the characters. That was a really nice touch. There are a ton of special insert songs that go with certain arcs too.

SKET Dance is like any other anime in a way. It benefits from having a good OST. A good OST will add to the story. It will add to the anime, and it will convey all the right feelings. It helps with the comedy, the drama, and the random “what am I watching” moments.

Seiyuu

I wanted to save this category for last. This anime actually changed the way that I look at all the main seiyuu of this anime. It’s not that often that the Vomics (voice acted comics) have the same cast as the anime. They fit their characters so well, and I really can’t express that enough. I associate their voices with their character. It’s like how you can look at a picture of your favourite character and remember exactly what they sound like (or maybe that’s just me).

I haven’t actually heard a lot of lead roles by Hiroyuki Yoshino because he has such a uniquely odd voice. I think the last anime I watched where he actually played the protagonist was Kekkaishi which was quite a while ago. He did well for that role too. Another anime where he played one of the main characters was in Hai to Gensou no Grimgar which didn’t have a very enjoyable cast compared to other anime including SKET Dance (but still worth checking out if you like tamer isekai). I’ve also seen him play a suave character, but I actually skipped most of his lines going, “Not this again.” Present Mic is a character that he seems to be popular for, but those specific niche characters didn’t give him nearly the range that Bossun did. From the moments we were laughing with him and at him to the serious moments that really made me go quiet, it felt like he was truly the character.

Ryouko Shiraishi is such an underrated seiyuu. She admits that she doesn’t have a very cutesy voice, and due to that, the number of female characters she can play goes down, but I wouldn’t dismiss how great she is. For one, she’s really good at the Kansai dialect. Second, she plays a lot of younger male characters. She makes Himeko really cute but also really tough and spunky. She carries a lot of the humour as the reactor “tsukkomi”. And if you’ve watched Demon Slayer, she plays one of the demons and is so good at it. I really like her unique voice because it deviates from the norm just like Himeko’s character.

Gintoki—I mean Tomokazu Sugita is great as Switch, and even though sometimes we forget that he’s a legitimate voice actor who can actually voice act and not just scream on command. Of course, he’s funny. That goes without saying. Almost all of his well-known characters are known for being funny. Even the guy in real life is really funny. I’m not sure how much explanation would be needed for him.

Summary

Overall, I had such a good time with this anime. It made me laugh, feel the feels, and really smile (I mean the type that people really ask you what the heck you’re watching because you’re smiling like you just watched someone you hate fall down the stairs). It reminded me of what I liked from comedy anime, but it also reminded me what I like about anime that take it to basics with just its characters. Actions and battles are good once in a while, but the characters are the heart, soul, and being of this anime. If you’re looking for a good laugh or smile with a ton of gags and jokes with a great ensemble cast, look no further! SKET Dance is here!

I’m going to recommend this anime to anyone who has read this, @azroazizah, @brettyblease, @tsukiomoon, and anyone else who likes those Shonen Jump shenanigans.

P.S. It is totally worth picking up the manga after watching the anime.

#sket dance #anime recommendation

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alinaastarkov · 4 years ago

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Motherhood - Arya, Daenerys, Brienne and Sansa

So this is in response to an ask I got and it ended up really long so I thought I would post separately. I’m not great at writing proper metas but this is my poor imitation of one at least, so here goes.

Motherhood and children are key parts of Arya, Brienne and Dany’s arcs. They all act as mothers to other characters in their stories and seem to have a natural maternal instinct that you normally don’t find in female characters who are gnc because men usually just can’t write strong women. Ususally female characters get the choice between children or having skills, but Brienne, Arya and Dany get both in their arcs. On the flip side, Sansa on the outside is a prime candidate for motherhood - she dreams of having children, is romantic, traditionally feminine, etc. But GRRM deconstructs these tropes by almost making her not very maternal at all.

Sansa outwardly conforms to patriarchal gender norms but she doesn’t take joy in or have the instincts of a mother. Her dreams were usually limited to marriage and not much beyond that. She’s growing out of her superficial desires, obviously, but she always thought about romance and being a lady, and having babies was a part of that because of the society she grows up in. She never wanted to actually care for children, she was just told that was an essential part of a “happy ending” and so she bought it. Her dreams about children were only ever about babies. She wants the fantasy, not the reality of raising kids. We can see with her behaviour with Sweetrobin - though it is improving - she really doesn’t have those motherly instincts and disdains the truths of having to care for someone younger.

It was more than Sansa could stand. "Robert, stop that." Instead he swung the doll again, and a foot of wall exploded. She grabbed for his hand but she caught the doll instead. There was a loud ripping sound as the thin cloth tore. Suddenly she had the doll's head, Robert had the legs and body, and the rag-and-sawdust stuffing was spilling in the snow. Lord Robert's mouth trembled. "You killlllllllled him," he wailed. Then he began to shake. It started with no more than a little shivering, but within a few short heartbeats he had collapsed across the castle, his limbs flailing about violently. White towers and snowy bridges shattered and fell on all sides. Sansa stood horrified, but Petyr Baelish seized her cousin's wrists and shouted for the maester. - Sansa VII, ASOS

Robert's lip quivered. "I was going to come sleep with you." I know you were. Sweetrobin had been accustomed to crawling in beside his mother, until she wed Lord Petyr. Since Lady Lysa's death he had taken to wandering the Eyrie in quest of other beds. The one he liked best was Sansa's . . . which was why she had asked Ser Lothor Brune to lock his door last night. She would not have minded if he only slept, but he was always trying to nuzzle at her breasts, and when he had his shaking spells he often wet the bed. - Sansa I, AFFC

Alayne understood all that well enough, but it meant that the burden of getting Sweetrobin safely down the mountain fell on her. "Give his lordship a cup of sweetmilk," she told the maester. "That will stop him from shaking on the journey down." "He had a cup not three days past," Colemon objected. "And wanted another last night, which you refused him." "It was too soon. My lady, you do not understand. As I've told the Lord Protector, a pinch of sweetsleep will prevent the shaking, but it does not leave the flesh, and in time . . ." "Time will not matter if his lordship has a shaking fit and falls off the mountain. If my father were here, I know he would tell you to keep Lord Robert calm at all costs." "I try, my lady, yet his fits grow ever more violent, and his blood is so thin I dare not leech him any more. Sweetsleep . . . you are certain he was not bleeding from the nose?" "He was sniffling," Alayne admitted, "but I saw no blood." "I must speak to the Lord Protector. This feast . . . is that wise, I wonder, after the strain of the descent?" [...] "Just give him a cup of the sweetmilk before we go, and another at the feast, and there should be no trouble." "Very well." They paused at the foot of the stairs. "But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer." "You had best take that up with the Lord Protector." She pushed through the door and crossed the yard. Colemon only wanted the best for his charge, Alayne knew, but what was best for Robert the boy and what was best for Lord Arryn were not always the same. Petyr had said as much, and it was true. Maester Colemon cares only for the boy, though. Father and I have larger concerns. - Alayne II, AFFC

In the last quote she says she has “larger concerns” than Robin’s health. All these characters are forced into motherly roles, even if they don’t like it at first, but Sansa is the only one of them who never actually feels that instinct to care for the child over other concerns. Not all people have motherly instincts so this is not a bad thing, it is simply a truth about her character. She does not have the connection to motherhood and children that others do.

Brienne, Arya and Dany on the other hand don’t conform to gender norms but they don’t disdain traditionally feminine women and all have super maternal instincts. Motherhood and children are an important part of all these characters’ arcs. With Dany, it’s blindingly obvious, and Brienne and Arya have this on a smaller scale, but they all care for and protect people like mothers. Sometimes this means being forceful to ensure they listen and are protected, but all mothers do the same.

The fire leapt from one house to another. Arya saw a tree consumed, the flames creeping across its branches until it stood against the night in robes of living orange. Everyone was awake now, manning the catwalks or struggling with the frightened animals below. She could hear Yoren shouting commands. Something bumped against her leg, and she glanced down to discover the crying girl clutching her. "Get away!" She wrenched her leg free. "What are you doing up here? Run and hide someplace, you stupid." She shoved the girl away. - Arya IV, ACOK

They found Gerren too, but he was hurt too bad to move. As they were running toward the barn, Arya spied the crying girl sitting in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by smoke and slaughter. She grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to her feet as the others raced ahead. The girl wouldn't walk, even when slapped. Arya dragged her with her right hand while she held Needle in the left. Ahead, the night was a sullen red. The barn's on fire, she thought. Flames were licking up its sides from where a torch had fallen on straw, and she could hear the screaming of the animals trapped within. Hot Pie stepped out of the barn. "Arry, come on! Lommy's gone, leave her if she won't come!" Stubbornly, Arya dragged all the harder, pulling the crying girl along. Hot Pie scuttled back inside, abandoning them . . . but Gendry came back, the fire shining so bright on his polished helm that the horns seemed to glow orange. He ran to them, and hoisted the crying girl up over his shoulder. "Run!" - Arya IV, ACOK

"Mostly just roofs," Arya admitted, "but some chimneys were smoking, and I heard a horse." The Weasel put her arms around her leg, clutching tight. Sometimes she did that now. [...] "If we see any leg potion, we'll bring it," Gendry said. "Arry, let's go, I want to get near before the sun is down. Hot Pie, you keep Weasel here, I don't want her following." [...] "You leave Weasel alone, she's just scared and hungry is all." Arya glanced back, but the girl was not following for once. Hot Pie must have grabbed her, like Gendry had told him. [...] Lommy and Hot Pie almost shit themselves when she stepped out of the trees behind them. "Quiet," she told them, putting an arm around Weasel when the little girl came running up. [...] "She ran off when she heard you coming," Lommy said. "You made a lot of noise." And Arya thought, Run, Weasel, run as far as you can, run and hide and never come back. - Arya V, ACOK

She would make much better time on her own, Arya knew, but she could not leave them. They were her pack, her friends, the only living friends that remained to her, and if not for her they would still be safe at Harrenhal, Gendry sweating at his forge and Hot Pie in the kitchens. If the Mummers catch us, I'll tell them that I'm Ned Stark's daughter and sister to the King in the North. I'll command them to take me to my brother, and to do no harm to Hot Pie and Gendry. They might not believe her, though, and even if they did . . . Lord Bolton was her brother's bannerman, but he frightened her all the same. I won't let them take us, she vowed silently, reaching back over her shoulder to touch the hilt of the sword that Gendry had stolen for her. I won't. - Arya I, ASOS

Arya with Weasel is such a strong example of her motherly instincts. Even though Arya is only 9/10 herself, she takes it upon herself to care for others even when everyone else is telling her not too. Like every other mother, she forces Weasel to do what’s best for her, protecting her even if it makes Weasel upset for a while. At least she’s alive and safe. And she’s good at being motherly too. Eventually, Weasel is actively seeking out Arya as her protector, clinging to her leg, and Arya holds Weasel so casually and naturally, it’s pretty much automatic. And her attachment to her “pack” throughout is just an extension of this because she is always “at the head”, the leader, the protector, the mother.

"They will not hurt me," she told him. "They are my children, Jorah." She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. "Mother," they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. "Mother," they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. "Mother, Mother, Mother!" - Daenerys IV, ASOS

Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. "No," she said. "I will not march my people off to die." My children. "There must be some way into this city." - Daenerys V, ASOS

Safe. The word made Dany's eyes fill up with tears. "I want to keep you safe." Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. "No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don't always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …" "… mother," whispered Missandei. "Mother to dragons." Dany shivered. "No. Mother to us all." Missandei hugged her tighter. "Your Grace should sleep. Dawn will be here soon, and court." "We'll both sleep, and dream of sweeter days. Close your eyes." When she did, Dany kissed her eyelids and made her giggle. - Daenerys II, ADWD

The motherhood part of Dany’s arc is pretty much undeniable. She is the mother to dragons, mother to all her people. She calls them her “children”, they call her “Mhysa” and their care is her primary concern. As seen in the last quote, she agonises over not protecting them well enough, she worries constantly that she is putting them in danger when all she wants to do is keep them safe. Missandei reminds her that she is their mother and she is protecting them as best she can, and like Arya and Brienne she acts motherly in a more personal sense here, making Missandei giggle. Without a doubt, Dany is the best protector her children could have asked for. Motherhood I’m sure will only become more prevalent in Dany’s story going forward.

So far he had been true to his word, and Brienne had been true to hers. Podrick had not complained. Every time he raised a new blister on his sword hand, he felt the need to show it to her proudly. He took good care of their horses too. He is still no squire, she reminded herself, but I am no knight, no matter how many times he calls me "ser." She would have sent him on his way, but he had nowhere to go. Besides, though Podrick said he did not know where Sansa Stark had gone, it might be that he knew more than he realized. Some chance remark, half-remembered, might hold the key to Brienne's quest. - Brienne III, AFFC

Brienne had been betrothed at seven, to a boy three years her senior, Lord Caron's younger son, a shy boy with a mole above his lip. They had only met the once, on the occasion of their betrothal. Two years later he was dead, carried off by the same chill that took Lord and Lady Caron and their daughters. Had he lived, they would have been wed within a year of her first flowering, and her whole life would have been different. She would not be here now, dressed in man's mail and carrying a sword, hunting for a dead woman's child. More like she'd be at Nightsong, swaddling a child of her own and nursing another. It was not a new thought for Brienne. It always made her feel a little sad, but a little relieved as well. - Brienne III, AFFC

One of the women was very old, one was heavy with child, and one was a girl as fresh and pretty as a flower in spring. When Meribald took them off to hear their sins, Ser Hyle chuckled, and said, "It would seem the gods walk with us . . . at least the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone." Podrick looked so astonished that Brienne had to tell him no, they were only three marsh women. - Brienne V, AFFC

"Podrick has never harmed you. My father will ransom him. Tarth is called the sapphire isle. Send Podrick with my bones to Evenfall, and you'll have sapphires, silver, whatever you want." [...] Brienne felt the hemp constricting, digging into her skin, jerking her chin upward. Ser Hyle was cursing them eloquently, but not the boy. Podrick never lifted his eyes, not even when his feet were jerked up off the ground. If this is another dream, it is time for me to awaken. If this is real, it is time for me to die. All she could see was Podrick, the noose around his thin neck, his legs twitching. Her mouth opened. Pod was kicking, choking, dying. Brienne sucked the air in desperately, even as the rope was strangling her. Nothing had ever hurt so much. She screamed a word. - Brienne VIII, AFFC

Brienne is similar to Arya in terms of motherly instincts. She maybe begrudges her responsibility to Pod at first, but she recognises that responsibility straight away and takes it on nevertheless, protecting him, teaching him, encouraging him. Pod meanwhile seems to love Brienne, taking pride in being her squire, wanting to be at her side at all times. In the end, honour, quite possibly the most important thing for Brienne, is sacrificed to save Pod’s life.

It’s another deconstruction of classic fairy tale characters. Motherhood is associated with protection, and so the gnc women in the series taking on protector roles of the more traditional sense (ruling, wielding a sword, knighthood, etc.) are also mothers at the same time, and the classic princess is what she would realistically be like - superficial and largely without those instincts. It’s another reason to think Arya/ Brienne/ Daenerys will end the series with children of their own.

#asoiaf meta #my meta #this one kind of got away from me #but here you go anyway #daenerys targaryen #arya stark #brienne of tarth #sansa stark #motherhood #acok #asos #affc #adwd #it's not really a meta or that well written so I apologise

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xbellaxcarolinax · 5 years ago

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Heartbreaker- Part 2

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 5573

Warnings: Sexual content, language and angst.

Beautiful mood board by the amazing @peterquillzsblog Thank you again 💙

So clearly, I have no self control. I got a little carried away. This was only meant to be a one-shot and here I am posting a second part 😅 @youbloodymadgenius, I hope you don’t mind 💙 Thank you for all the wonderful feedback from the first part, it inspired me to write this second part.

Part 1

...

“Here we have the famous Oseberg Ship. It was discovered by a farmer in Vestfold over a hundred years ago in 1904,” Her heels click against the hardwood floor, coming to an abrupt halt right by the ancient Viking ship, “It is known as the most beautiful Viking tomb to be discovered.” She watches the tourists surround the vessel, all sporting wide eyes as they take in the sight of the giant ship.

She goes on to explain the history of the ship, the noblewomen that were buried within and the various items unearthed in the vessel. She never grew tired of watching tourist faces twist in fascination as she educates them on the Viking Age and of the narrative that most didn’t know about besides knowing that the Norse were fearsome warriors. They were much more complex than that. The last half hour was spent exploring the rest of the exhibition and alerting the small crowd of the donations that would kindly be accepted for the preservation of the vessel.

Leading the small group back towards the entrance of the museum, she waves them off, thanking them for their time and wishing them a good day. That was only her first tour of the day. 2 more to go. Smoothing down her nicely fitted black pencil skirt, she goes behind the ticket counter, greeting the 2 cashiers, Anders and Christina, before checking the roster posted by the register for the next tour.

“I’d like to purchase a ticket for the tour at 2.” Immediately her head snaps up to look towards the familiar voice, her jaw clenching as soon as she sees those familiar blue eyes. Fuck. Her hand grips Christina’s shoulder tightly, causing the cashier to look up at her before she could hand him his ticket and change.

“What?” Christina questions, shifting away from her touch before smiling prettily at Ivar, “Enjoy the tour, sir.”

“Thank you.” He smiles back charmingly, the same kind of smile that had her hooked at that stupid party. His eyes shift to hers immediately, cocking his head as he purses his lips, trying to elicit a reaction from her. The reaction would have been to slap him, but she’d rather keep her job. Adjusting the collar of her white pinstriped button down, she turns away, muttering something to the cashiers before going straight toward the museum cafe. She ignores Ivar completely, her nude heels clicking desperately against the floor as she tries to get away from him as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t be able to catch up with her with his crutch. He must have been in pain that day to be going out with it. And who cares? Fuck him.

She gets herself a bottle of water, tapping her foot impatiently as the cashier takes his sweet ass time getting her change. She should have given him her card. Before she could slink away, Ivar gets a firm grip on her wrist, his large hand pushing her bracelets up against her skin uncomfortably.

“Wait,” He says smoothly, turning her gently to face him. She bites her lip, finally bringing her eyes to meet his. She couldn’t read him at that moment, but really, could she ever? Ivar was like a fucking android when he wanted to be. “You blocked me. I’ve been trying to reach you for days now.” She scoffs, removing herself from his grip and folding her arms over her chest.

“I’ve been unavailable.” She says with a shrug, giving him the best glare she could muster. It had been a little over a week since the incident and she had done well to stay out of his way, not that it was difficult to do so in the first place. They lived about 15 minutes away from each other, but it was still far enough that she wouldn’t really run into him, and Ivar drove everywhere which was the upside of her walking and taking public transit. Thankfully, they worked completely different jobs. What a nightmare that would have been if they didn’t. Of course, he knew where she worked. The museum wasn’t far from his office and he sometimes picked her up after work when he had the chance. She supposed that was the downside.

Ivar gives her a once over, admiring how her pencil skirt hugged her gentle curves and how her legs seemed endless in those pricey heels. He remembered how happy she had been when she bought them for herself. He insisted on purchasing them for her, what was a measly 2000 krones? That wasn’t easy on the salary of a museum tour guide, but she refused of course, and he kinda liked her all the more for it. But that was in the past.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He corrects, leaning heavily on his crutch, masking his discomfort as well as he could, but he couldn’t fool her. He licks his lips, raising a brow as if insisting she give him a decent answer. Who was he to insist upon anything?

“I have nothing to say to you, Ivar.”

“Come on, really? Nothing? I doubt it,” He snorts with a shake of his head, “Did you at least like the flowers? I stayed up all night finding the right florist that had your favorite flowers and that could deliver them early on such short notice. I had to pull some strings. It wasn't easy, you know.” What, did he want her to fall to her knees and kiss those expensive ass beige Chelsea boots that went well with his navy blue fitted suit? Fuck, she needed to stop.

“Oh yes, I loved them so much that I had to throw them out. They were too pretty. The little card was the best part. Thank you so much for that, asshole.” He trailed after her when she pushed past him, rushing out of the cafe. 5 minutes left till the tour started.

“Wait, slow down,” He calls out to her as he maneuvers himself through the crowd of people, finally catching up to her quick steps, “What did you want me to say? I warned you-”

“Yes, yes, not to fall in love with you, got it,” She dismisses his comment, “And I’m trying to accept that, so why aren’t you?” Ivar clears his throat, shoving a hand into the pocket of his tight dress pants.

“I want you to come back.” She snorts at his audacity, and he frowns, abruptly coming to a stop in front of her. He looks deeply into her eyes, her lashes nice and thick from her coat of mascara. He moves his eyes down to her lips, set in a snarl. That’s not the reaction he wanted, but at least she wore a pretty shade of lipstick.

“You must be out of your mind. Go back where? Your bed?” She whispers harshly over to him, “You’ve made a decision and so did I. Go do what you do best and leave me out of it.”

“But we were doing so great,” He whines, and she found it hard to believe she was talking to a grown ass man, “And I miss you.” He missed her body, not her.

“Fuck you.” She spits, fighting the urge to pour her entire bottle of water over him. Wouldn’t it be a sight to see him looking like a drowned rat.

“That’s what I’d like for you to do, yes. Preferably with you on top.” He smirks, loving how her face burned in both embarrassment and anger. He absolutely loved when she got flustered. It was cute. She quickly looks around hoping no one has witnessed their little exchange.

“This is a professional setting Ivar, so please do me a favor and respect my job,” She looks down at her watch, “I don’t have time for your bullshit. The tour is about to start. I gotta go.” She could already see the small group lining up, waiting to be led into the exhibit.

“Luckily, I’ll be joining you.”

“You hate museums.”

“Please, I’m totally interested in…” He pulls out the ticket, squinting his eyes at the description typed in the finest of print, “...The Gokstad ship.” He didn’t even know what tour ticket he fucking purchased.

“Oh god.” She groans, rushing over to the group to greet them. Ivar smiles, following right behind her.

God, her ass looked great in that skirt.

…

“The Gokstad ship was built at the height of the Viking period,” She begins, trying her very best to ignore Ivar’s piercing gaze. She was used to having eyes on her whenever she did her public speaking, but Ivar’s eyes were different. He wanted to devour her. “It was extremely versatile, but mostly used for raids and voyages.” The group of tourists, consisting of families with young children, began their picture taking of the massive ship.

“If you look up toward the stern posts, notice the absence of the notorious dragon heads. Although most of the wood has rotted away, archeologists believe there were never dragon heads fitted in the first place. This ship is quite fearsome without them, don’t you think?” The group erupted in murmurs as they turned their eyes up toward the very top of the ship.

The only person who lacked interest was Ivar. He smirks at her, leaning against the arched entryway while the rest of the group roamed around the perimeter of the ship, unaware of the silent battle between the handsome crutch man and the pretty tour guide. The fucker was making her nervous, her hands beginning to sweat as she fumbled with her fingers behind her back. When she shifts her eyes back to his she gulps. Slowly, he drags his tongue over his lower lip, coating the plump muscle in a shine before he bites down gently, wiggling his brows in suggestion.

Fuck him.

After what seemed like hours, the Gokstad tour finally ended and once again she brought the group back towards the entrance of the museum, suggesting they visit the cafe for a quick meal before bidding them a good day.

“I forgot how smart you are,” Ivar pulls up right behind her, his breath close enough to form gooseflesh on the nape of her neck, “My little bookworm, hmm?

“I’m nothing to you,” She whirls around, looking up at him with sad eyes and the same frown she’s been wearing for most of the tour, “Have a good day, asshole.”

…

Norwegian weather never seemed to agree with her. It was pouring outside and she didn't bring an umbrella. There wasn't even rain in the forecast till tomorrow. She runs down the steps of the museum, careful not to slip in her damn heels. The sidewalks were already slippery, and she had to mind her steps to avoid falling on her ass.

A familiar expensive car pulls up right beside her. This fucker waited an extra 2 hours for her to finish work, just to pull up in his car? "Let me give you a ride." Ivar lowers the window of the passenger seat, tapping on the gas pedal lightly to match the extremely slow pace she had in those heels.

“I’m fine.” She bites out, awkwardly maneuvering her trench coat over her head in a pathetic attempt to shield herself from the rain. It wasn’t too bad, she told herself, and the train station wasn’t that far.

“Seriously? You’re soaked and you’re gonna get sick. Stop being stubborn.” He scoffs, craning his neck to get a better look at her.

“Ivar, you're holding up traffic, just go.” The cars behind him began to honk their horns at Ivar’s turtle-like pace, but all he did was roll down his window and flip everyone off.

“Which is exactly why you should get in. Come on, it’s the least I can do.” He flashes her that charming smile, and all she could really do in that moment was to stare at his pearly white teeth and his perfect lips.

“Fine.” She grumbles, opening the door as soon as she heard him unlock it, quickly shuffling inside. She sits on her trench so as to not wet the fancy leather interior of the sleek black car. That was way too nice of her.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“Just shut the fuck up and drive.” Ivar chuckles at her irritation, unaware of the potty mouth she had, but he liked that. He does as told, hitting the gas and taking off down the street.

The drive to her flat was mostly silent with the exception of the radio playing softly in the background. She makes sure to look out the window, staring at the most mundane details of a tiled roof, or counting how many people she could spot walking down the street. That was the only way she could successfully ignore Ivar without getting trapped by his gaze. After 25 minutes he pulls up in front of her building, and she doesn’t hesitate to hop out the car, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He rolls down the window, calling out to her retreating figure.

“Fuck no.” She yells back, not bothering to look back at him.

An elevator ride to the 3rd floor and a quick conversation with her neighbor, and she was entering her cozy flat in no time. After tossing her keys in the ceramic dish, she removes her heels, setting them to dry by the coat rack where she hung her trench and purse. She removes the tie holding her hair up in a ponytail, quickly ruffling her fingers through the knots to no avail. After switching on her fairy lights, she immediately goes to pull out a bottle of Pinot Noir from the cupboard, wasting no time in pouring herself a glass and gulping it down in almost one go. There wasn’t enough wine in the world to muddle her thoughts away from Ivar. Her heart was beginning to ache again.

The loud obnoxious knock on her door had her sighing dramatically as she already knew who was behind it. All she wanted to do was shower, maybe watch a show, eat takeout, and go to bed. It could’ve been so simple if it weren’t for Ivar.

“No one’s home.” She calls out, leaning her back against the door with the glass of red wine in her hand. She sips it lazily, hearing Ivar’s frustrated grumbling from the other side.

“Can I please come in?” His tone was boardline pleading, and she let out the most unbecoming snort before turning around and flinging the door open.

“What do you want?” She questions.

“A ‘thank you’ maybe?” He was leaning heavily against his crutch now, all that standing, walking and driving catching up to him. His nice clothes were damp from the rain and a few strands of hair escaped his almost neat bun, plastered down on his prominent forehead.

“Thanks. Goodnight.” Before she could slam the door in his face he shoots a hand out, stopping the door from closing any further.

“Please.” Was all he said, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was something akin to sadness swimming in those big eyes of his. Fuck. She steps to the side, opening the door wide enough for him to slip in before slamming the door shut. He stands there awkwardly as she moves back to her kitchen counter, pouring herself another glass before going on her phone in search of a playlist.

“Well?” He finally questions, removing his dressy boots and placing them right beside her heels.

“Well?” She questions back, brows raised.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a glass?”

“Here’s the wine,” She pushes the bottle forward, “I’m sure you remember where the glasses are.” She hears Ivar grunt in displeasure as she flopped down on the sofa, not caring that her clothes were soaked and most likely seeping through the material of the sofa. She should probably invest in some leather ones. After a minute Ivar plops down beside her, setting aside his crutch with one hand while gripping his wine glass in the other.

Once again, there was silence between them as her playlist filtered throughout the living room from her hidden wireless speakers. She always did have a love for classical music, Ivar realized. It was something to calm her nerves, like the star projector in her room. He does a quick scan of the living room. He hadn’t been inside her flat in a while, but nothing really changed. Maybe she added a couple of new plants to her collection but that was it. He wasn’t sneezing yet, which was a good sign. That meant no candles were lit. And that fucking cat hasn’t shown up to hiss at him, another good sign.

“You want some takeout?” She asks him in a bored tone, the kind of tone she used when she wasn’t particularly keen being in someone’s presence, mostly towards those she disliked. It was always the one she used when around a specific set of Ivar’s friends, or even his brother, Sigurd. She bends forward, picking up the stack of takeout menus that were neatly placed in a pile on the small wooden coffee table, filtering through them until she pulled out a menu that caught her eye. “Mexican?”

“Mexican is fine.” He agrees, taking another sip of the bitter wine as he raked his eyes over her form for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Her cheeks were dusted in pink and her hair was a wet mess. Her white button down was soaked, giving him a great view of the white bra underneath the thin cotton fabric.

“Stop fucking staring,” She mutters, “You’re not entitled to that anymore.”

“You’re right.” He clears his throat, bringing his attention to the TV that never seemed to be in use. He stared at his reflection off the black screen, wondering just what the fuck he was doing there. It was all spontaneous, you see. He’d woken up that morning with dozens of messages from his brothers and another dozen missed calls from Freydis. But none of them were from the person he wanted.

After his lunch break he decided to take the rest of the day off, much to Ubbe’s annoyance. He left his older brother’s office while hearing him shout out something along the lines of him being a lousy paralegal. Instead of doing his actual job, which was to draw up contracts for Ubbe’s clients, he decided to pay the fucking Viking Ship Museum a visit. He decided to pay her a visit. He didn’t give a flying fuck about those Viking ships, and he had little to no interest in his ancestors and their artifacts, but there was no denying that she looked amazing while talking about it.

While she orders over the phone, her cat decides to hop on the coffee table, baring his teeth and hissing at him immediately.

“Benji, come on,” Ivar groans, lolling his head to the side to eye the angry calico, “I send you your favorite treats and this is how you repay me?” Benji hisses at him again, standing on his little legs to appear more intimidating, but all he did was look like a fat spotted meatball. She tosses a throw pillow at him, successfully hitting the cat in the face and he immediately bolts off the coffee table and into her room.

“Your cat hates me.” Ivar complains, watching her set her phone down before getting up to pour herself another glass of wine.

“That makes two of us.” Was her snarky reply, her lower lip resting over the rim of the glass. Her eyes held a glint of danger, like she’d chuck the glass at him at any given moment. Thankfully she wasn't crazy like that. Instead she rolls her eyes at him, taking a sip of her drink as she leaned against the counter.

“You hate me?” He asked softly, his brows curving up in a worrisome look. He had absolutely no business looking the way he did. It was borderline adorable and she hated her thoughts for even thinking to describe him that way.

“Maybe hate is a strong word,” She says, swirling the dark liquid around the glass, “Dislike. I dislike you, Ivar Ragnarsson.” He frowns, turning away from her searing eyes for a moment, grunting when he stood with the help of his crutch. Fucking legs. Today was not the day. He walks over to her small kitchen, stepping closer to her until he gets in her face, arms caging her in as his hands gripped at the edges of the counter. His nose was mere inches away from hers, his blue gaze so penetrating she thought she could melt right into his arms. No. This was bad.

“What a shame,” He whispers, tilting his head down until his brow touched hers. He could hear her intake a sharp breath, her fingers gripping the wine glass tightly in the small space between them as her eyes fluttered closed. She looked so beautiful like this, cheeks flushed and lips parted as if begging for a kiss, and he had the biggest desire to do just that. He tilts his head, his nose tracing alongside hers, his lips so close to molding perfectly over her own. The knock on her door had him releasing a breath of pure frustration, groaning at the interruption. She blinks up at him, her eyes glazed in that lustful way he was familiar with. God, he missed that.

Shaking her head as if to clear her mind, she pushes Ivar away with little grace, hearing him stumble a bit as she made for the door. This was bad. Very bad. Searching the pocket of her trench coat, she pulls out her wallet, fishing for a few bills before pulling the door open, grabbing the bag of food from the delivery boy and handing him the money.

“I could have paid, you know.” Ivar says as soon as she slams the door closed, watching her drop the food onto the coffee table and rummaging inside.

“Paying for food isn’t going to change anything. Flowers aren't going to change anything.” She says, sitting on the sofa with a taco in hand. Ivar bites the inside of his cheek, sitting beside her and grabbing a taco of his own. She turns on the TV, putting on some random documentary about the Sami people as she takes another messy bite of her taco. Had she always looked this good while eating? He didn’t notice before, but he sure as fuck did now.

After a few minutes of silence, she gets up, packing away the trash and moving back to the counter to pour herself the remainder of the wine. She only drank like this when she was anxious, meaning, Ivar was making her anxious. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Hurt maybe? No, women never hurt him, not since that incident with Margrethe. He was the one doing the hurting now. So what made this any different?

Again, he gets to his feet with the help of his crutch, walking over to her and caging her in again, this time with her back pressed up against his torso. He lowers his chin to her shoulder, feeling her tense up at his actions. She smelled of her usual perfume. Chanel? He couldn’t remember, but the scent was amazing and had a desire raging within him. She pushes him back just enough to turn around within his arms, tilting her head up at him in a type of defiance that made him want to ravage her.

“It seems like that blonde hasn’t been fulfilling your needs. What was her name again? Freydis?” She knew what she was doing when she fluttered those lashes, worrying her lip between her teeth. She was teasing him, he knew. He didn’t want her to mention Freydis. He didn’t want to be thinking of that bimbo, not when he’s been craving her like madman for the past week and a half and finally, she was right in front of him just waiting to be tasted.

“She could never do what you can.” He mutters, inching his face closer to hers, his lips hovering over hers as they did before. He tries to steal a kiss, but she turns away from him, his lips landing on her cheekbone. Ivar groans, annoyed, pulling back to reveal his utter displeasure. He was desperate to kiss her, to feel her lips on his where they rightfully belonged.

“What a shame.” She shrugs, bringing her glass to her lips and taking another slow sip of her wine. She knew she was driving him crazy. He wanted her, she could see it in his eyes, in the way his body yearned for hers, how his hands gripped tightly at the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. He was like a wanton whore, silently begging for release.

“She could never do what you can.” He repeats again with a sigh.

“And what’s that, hmm?” She inches closer, her face so close to his as she questions him, “What is it that I can do? Because from the look of it, you seemed quite happy with her under your sheets.” She didn’t mean to say those words that angrily, but they came out rushed and heavy, the rage bubbling up within her. Ivar takes note of the vexation in her eyes, shifting his gaze back down to her lips. Fuck it.

He surges forward, crashing his lips to hers, molding them just like he wanted to. She takes a breath of surprise, hesitating to return the passion he was giving her until finally, she gives in, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down towards her. She moans, delighting him greatly, and it was enough to grip her backside in his big hands, lifting her up onto the counter.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” He mutters over her lips, pulling out her dress shirt from her skirt, desperate to feel the soft skin beneath, “I’ve missed you.” She doesn't bother to reply, continuing to kiss him while she pushes his lapel jacket from his shoulders. She tosses it to the floor, moving to untuck his white dress shirt. “Did you miss me, kitten? I think you did.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, asshole.” She growls, working on unbuckling his belt. Ivar grins as a new wave of arousal hits him, slapping her hands away in order to rip her shirt open. The buttons flew everywhere, clinking over the counter and onto the floor, and wherever else they happened to fall, he didn’t really care. “Ivar! Benji might eat one of those!”

“Fuck it. I’ll buy you a new cat.” He says, pulling down her damp bra to release her breasts, her nipples immediately hardening as the air hit her skin. He wastes no time in latching on to a nub, swirling his tongue over her heated flesh. She squeals, her fingers weaving their way through the roots of his hair and giving a harsh tug, his neat bun tumbling down into a messy ponytail.

“Shit.” She groans, tilting her head back as Ivar nipped and sucked, worshiping her skin until finally dragging his tongue toward the valley of her breasts and up towards her neck. Just the way she liked it.

Ivar makes a noise of approval, grunting at the tight grip she had on his shoulders. He peppered kisses up her neck and over her face, being as gentle with her as he possibly could. Usually Ivar opted towards the rougher side of sex, with heated touches and sloppy kisses, but not that night. He wanted to give her soothing touches and tender kisses, anything he could do to please her. Anything to get her back to him.

He pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, moving his hand to cup the side of her face while the other holds onto the edge of the counter. She was breathing heavily, uncertainty swimming in her eyes as she looked up at him with a growing desire.

“Bedroom?” He whispers. She sighs, biting her lip. This was very bad. Bad, bad, bad. She nods her head weakly.

“Bedroom.”

…

Ivar didn’t notice when she had turned on her projector, but he was staring up at it now, watching the stars twinkle brightly against her ceiling. He laid with an arm behind his head, his skin still damp from recent physical activities. It was amazing, like fireworks shooting off in his head and it was exactly what he needed. It was exactly what he’d been missing, the touch of her skin, her little moans and whimpers, her nails scratching down his back. He was sure his back was riddled with angry red lines, and he knew it would sting once he showered, but he enjoyed it, so it didn’t bother him much.

He turns to look at her when he feels the bed shift, watching her naked form move in the darkness to light those damn scented candles around her room. He smiles, eyeing the little dimples on her lower back that became more pronounced when she leaned over her nightstand. The scent of roses filled the room, reminding him of the garden back in his family’s summer home. His nose pricked with the familiar sensation of a sneeze, and he immediately wrinkles his nose to keep it at bay.

She settles back on the bed, bringing the quilt patterned sheets she favored over herself. She faces him, but doesn’t look at him, choosing instead to follow the geometric shapes of a mandala printed on the linen. Ivar reaches out to touch her cheek, his finger tracing down her skin in gentle swipes. She looked so beautiful. The starlight from the ceiling and the flickering candles danced over her skin, draping her in a glow that made her look ethereal.

Any other time before last week, she would have enjoyed such touches. Okay, maybe she was enjoying them a little too much in that moment, but this was probably the last time she’d let herself fall into his sly little trap, right? Feeling his toned chest under her palms felt amazing, and his skin still had the lingering scent of his body wash. He was always meticulous in the products he used for himself, which meant he never used one of those 3 in 1 body washes that are a typical man’s holy grail. His skin always had a fresh smell, like cucumbers, and his hair had that pleasant coconut scent from the shampoo she introduced to him.

“You’re amazing.” Ivar whispers, bringing her out of her thoughts. His eyes flutter with the signs of sleep, his day ending in complete satisfaction. She was almost sad to be bursting his bubble, but if it were the other way around he wouldn’t be sad to burst hers. She clears her throat, preparing her next words carefully.

“Ivar?”

“Hm?”

“You can leave now.” Whatever drowsiness he felt had disappeared almost immediately, eyes now wide enough to bulge from his sockets. She wanted to laugh, but felt it would ruin the moment, and he wouldn’t take her seriously if she broke out in laughter, so she kept her serious face on.

“You don’t want me to sleepover?” He asked, dumbfounded, sitting up to lean on his elbows, gazing down at her.

“What for? You hate it here.” She says, waving her hand around to make her point. Ivar frowns, not really understanding her. She used to beg for him to stay, and she eventually stopped asking him after a while, but he was so sure that having him there and him deciding to spend the night would make her happy, so why was she not happy?

“I don’t.” He answers.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” He pouts, “I just prefer my place.”

“I’m not stopping you from going, Ivar.” She says flatly. His expression was comedic, mouth slightly agape and eyes blinking stupidly. The sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, staring down at his hands. His ego had just taken a beating.

“Are you serious?”

“Very.” Ivar’s face twists in utter confusion. How could she deny him? She wanted him. She loved him...didn’t she?

“But…”

“What’s the matter?” She moves closer to him, “Are you upset?” She taunts, her naked chest in full view for him to admire, but before he could, she grabs his jaw tightly, holding it in place to lock eyes with him. His blue irises were intense and mesmerizing, and was one of the reasons why she fell for him so hard. Ivar was beautiful, but his heart was ugly, and he needed to be put in his place. “Did you want me to still be in love with you despite the many times you’ve warned me not to?” Ivar remains silent, searching her eyes for something more than the words she’s uttered. There was nothing there.

She loosens her grip on his jaw, pushing him away from her. His face falls, utterly dejected. The corners of his mouth twitch as he stares at her, noting the little smirk that played on her lips.

“Get the fuck out of my flat, Ivar.”

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff @syrenak

#ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #vikings #vikings ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #ivar smut

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pocket-luv101 · 4 years ago

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Summary: Mahiru is an actor. To promote his upcoming movie, he must pretend to date his co-star. (KuroMahi, Actor AU)

“This is the most ridiculous marketing tactic I’ve ever heard of! I’m not going to date someone to promote a movie. The movie’s plot should be enough to draw people to watch.” Mahiru argued. He sat across from the movie producer and the man’s expression didn’t change. He turned to his manager for help. “My contract said that I will go on interviews to promote the movie. I won’t date a stranger.”

“The person will be your co-star so he isn’t a stranger.” His manager’s words took Mahiru aback. He didn’t expect him to agree with the producer so quickly. “This will help your career as well, Mahiru. You entered this industry onto a year ago and this will be your first major picture. Fake relationships are more common in Hollywood than you’d think. You’re an actor so this should be easy for you.”

“What if my co-star is in a relationship already? It won’t be fair to them or me.” Mahiru desperately searched for a way to change the producer’s mind. He understood that gossip magazines would draw more attention to the movie than a short trailer could. On the other hand, he couldn’t agree with their plan. “I’m an actor but my job is limited to my time on set.”

“Then we’ll find another person for the lead role.” The producer said coldly and a rock dropped into Mahiru’s stomach. He tightened his hands into fists on his lap. The movie was important to him and he was excited to be the lead. He had only starred in small indie movies and this was the first production where he would be the lead.

Beyond that, the movie was an adoption of the book series, The Stray Cat. His mother loved the books and she would read it to him each night. She had died when he was young and he planned to dedicate the performance to her. Mahiru now felt conflicted about the role because he didn’t want to date his co-star. He bit his lip and debated what he should do.

A knock on the door broke the silence in the room and they turned towards the door. Mahiru was confused to see Kuro enter but this presence calmed him. Kuro walked into the room and he placed a stack of papers onto the table. “Sorry to barge in like this. Hyde wants to make a few changes to his script but he needs the producer’s approval. He asked me to deliver these notes right away. Can’t deal.”

“Hyde considers this a few notes?” The producer sighed and flipped through the binder. “It will take me all night to read through these. He doesn’t have the decency to wait until my meeting ends before he gave this to me. The Servamps may be talented and powerful in the industry but that family is haughty. Are you their new assistant? Tell Hyde that I will email him later tonight.”

Kuro didn’t correct him and tell him that he was Hyde’s brother. His family had various roles in the entertainment business and they were influential. Many people would treat him differently once they learned of his name. Luckily, he was a voice actor and only a few knew his face. “Hyde is already writing revisions to the story so you should go talk to him right away. He said something about changing the setting to the North Pole.”

“Fine.” The producer said and then he turned to Mahiru. “We’ll talk about your decision at tomorrow’s meeting. Think about it carefully.”

“Thank you for your time today.” Mahiru politely bowed to the producer yet his voice was a little stiff. His manager started to speak with him but Mahiru stopped him. “May I have a moment to think about this alone, Takashi?”

His manager nodded and then left the room with the others. Mahiru followed the others outside and he walked down the hall alone. He thought over what he should do. Pretending to date someone as a marketing scheme was outlandish to him. Mahiru was grateful for Kuro’s sudden appearance because it gave him a night to think over his decision. He didn’t know how he was able to save him so many times. The man was the main reason he didn’t want to agree to the producer’s plan.

For the past few years, Kuro and Mahiru had been secretly dating.

He noticed Kuro standing at the end of the hall. Mahiru didn’t know if his thoughts had summoned him or if Kuro had simply waited to speak with him. He was happy to see him after the stressful meeting and his steps quickened as he walked to him. Kuro bought a can of orange juice from the vending machine next to him. As Mahiru stopped next to him, he handed the drink to him.

“Congrats on landing the role. How did the meeting go? You looked tense when I came in.” Kuro whispered to him. While Mahiru tried to hide how uncomfortable he was with the director, he was able to read his expression easily. He subtly took Mahiru’s hand and squeezed it tenderly. “Do you want to drink this outside? The fresh air might help.”

“I don’t think we should. Someone might overhear us.” He answered in a soft voice so Kuro would be the only one to hear him. Mahiru glanced at them and he was glad that they were alone in the hall. He pulled Kuro to an empty office next to them and locked the door. He didn’t want anyone to over hear their conversation and possibly discover their secret.

Mahiru pulled the curtain closed as he thought of how he should tell Kuro about the director’s plan. He turned to face Kuro and leaned back against the cold door. “Misono will be in New York for a week so he gave me the key to his office. He said I could use this room if I need to talk to you while we’re working. No one should be able to overhear us while we’re in here.”

Only a few people knew about their relationship. There were times Mahiru wished he could go out with Kuro without worrying that someone would see them. He met him in high school and they had been close ever since. No matter what challenges they faced, Mahiru was happy with Kuro. He sat in a chair and told him about the meeting.

“I don’t know what we should do. Acting like a couple on a movie set is different than pretending to date someone for a movie.” Mahiru sighed and his gaze fell onto his lap. He felt Kuro’s lips brush over his hair as he stopped in front of him. He placed his hands next to him and his warmth surrounded him. “He says this is normal in Hollywood. Is that true?”

Kuro didn’t know how to respond to him. He had told him how important the movie was to him and he wanted to encourage him. On the other hand, he didn’t like the thought of someone pressuring Mahiru to date another person. A lot of things in the entertainment industry were fake. It was difficult to find honest people like Mahiru. “You already signed the contract so they can’t replace you easily.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled at his reassuring words. Mahiru touched the gold bell that hanged around Kuro’s neck and twirled the string around his finger. He couldn’t help but feel a little worried though. “The producer made it clear that he won’t be happy with me if I keep arguing with him. I don’t know why he’s so fixated on this plan to market the movie.”

“It’s an easy way to draw attention to the movie. The paparazzi are troublesome but using gossip can help us sometimes. A fake relationship is one of the ways to do that. I don’t agree with them.” He had grown up with reporters following his family for a story. “Hyde is the screenwriter for the movie. Maybe he can talk to the studio and ask for a new producer.”

“It’s okay, Kuro. I think I can handle this on my own.” He didn’t want to rely on Kuro and his family. Due to his family’s name, people would pretend to be Kuro’s friend with the expectation he would help them become famous. Mahiru never wanted Kuro to think that he was like the ones who hurt him. He fell in love with him for the kind and strong person he was. “It’s like Licht said, my hard work will shine through and show people that I’m the right one for the role.”

“Licht likes to say crazy things but that one sounds reasonable. Are you sure your uncle didn’t say that instead of Licht?” Kuro joked. He was happy to hear Mahiru giggle lightly and finally smile again. While Mahiru didn’t voice his thoughts out loud, he knew the reason he wanted to face the issue alone. He respected how strong and independent he was but he wished he could do something to help him. “Have they chosen an actress to be the female lead yet?”

“No,” He shook his head. “Hopefully, she’ll disagree with the plan as well and the director will give up on promoting the movie with a fake relationship. If only the character was a man and you could be my co-star. The irony would be funny.”

“Mahiru.” He was surprised by the sadness in Kuro’s voice when he said his name and he looked up at him. There was a mixture of affection and longing in his red eyes. He wondered if the director’s comment bothered him more than he thought. Kuro rested his forehead against Mahiru’s and said, “You don’t want our relationship to be public. I understand but I hate feeling that we have to be a secret like it’s something shameful. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“It’s hard to not tell people that we’re dating— especially when someone tries to flirt with you in front of me. You’re mine.” Mahiru wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed a small kiss onto the corner of his lips. “But this is the best way to protect your career. The tabloids will write stories about you if they knew that you’re with a simple man. I heard Hugh discuss it with you the first night I met your family.”

“What?” Kuro’s brows furrowed and he leaned away from Mahiru so he could look into his eyes. “Hugh warned me to not date you but I told him I didn’t care. I love you.”

“I overheard that part too. Honestly, I was hurt when I heard Hugh say you shouldn’t date me but he was only looking out for your career. I want to protect you too, Kuro.” Mahiru had never told him about the night because he knew how important family was to Kuro. “Thinking simply, Hugh won’t have to worry about you dating a ‘simple man’ if I’m also a famous actor.”

“You’re not a simple man to me. Hugh shouldn’t have said that. I don’t care what reporters write about me or what the world thinks. The only thing that matters to me is you.” Kuro cupped his face and kissed his soft lips.

“Good morning, Sir.” Mahiru greeted the producer. He arrived at the meeting early so he could discuss his decision with the man. He didn’t want to waste the meeting with an argument. “Thank you for the opportunity to play the lead. I will do my best to make this movie a success but I can’t agree to a fake relationship with my co-star. Is there something else I can—”

“Oh, there’s no need for that anymore.” The director gave in quicker than Mahiru expected him to. His explanation shocked him further. “Last night, Kuro Sleepy Ash Servamp contacted me and asked if he could audition for the role of the antagonist. He’s a voice actor so he never auditions for live action movies like this. This will draw a lot of attention to our movie. I gave him the role right away.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation and he looked over his shoulder to see Kuro and Hyde enter. He sat next to Mahiru while Hyde spoke with the producer. While the others were distracted, Mahiru reached under the table to lightly touch Kuro’s hand. It was obvious that he only auditioned for the movie so he wouldn’t have to pretend to date his co-star or quite the production. “Thank you, Kuro.”

There was a hint of a smile on Kuro’s lips as he said, “This is my first time acting on screen. Maybe we should practise our lines together and you can give me tips. You’re the star of this movie.”

“You’re already a talented voice actor, Mr. Servamp.” They needed to pretend as if they were meeting for the first time. He hoped they could be together more openly now that they were acting in a movie together. Reporters wouldn’t question why they were together. “I look forward to working with you.”

#servamp #kuromahi #sloth pair #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #fanfiction

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shewholovestoread · 5 years ago

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Birds of Prey (2020) Review

I’ve seen Birds of Prey twice now and both times, it was an absolute joy to watch! Never have I enjoyed myself quite this much, I screamed, I shouted and laughed throughout the film. Birds of Prey was everything I hoped it would be and so much more.

Where do I even start with this film? I loved everything about it, the writing, the cast, direction, the action, all of it.

Now, lets get the negative out of the way, I’ve read some reviews that pointed out that the film has pacing issues and maybe it does but only if you’re looking for it. Birds of Prey is also operating from a place of disadvantage where other superhero films are concerned (predominantly Marvel) Barring Harley, whom we saw in Suicide Squad, the rest of the squad is not very well known. Birds of Prey had the tall task of introducing all of these other characters in a way that made sense and still have a reasonable run-time. Black Canary, Huntress, Renee Montoya did not have the advantage of having their own standalone films. Christina Hodson, Margot Robbie and Cathy Yan did a great job integrating all of these characters and their arcs and the intersection of said arcs.

The writing was so on point, it felt like the writers had a keen sense of the characters they were writing for and to an extent that is true. Robbie was part of the writing process and helped shape the film and it’s not surprising, I doubt anyone (barring those who write the actual comics) could have had a clearer picture of who Harley is. Cathy Yan does a great job of bringing the words to life and infusing them with an energy that was electrifying. It was cohesive and coherent film, full credit to Hodson and Yan.

I loved that all of the women are badass without exception but the film also gives them time and space to be vulnerable. These are not male characters in a female body. These characters are feminine and lean on their emotions instead of shutting them down. The ass-kicking aspect is amazing, the action set-pieces are fucking fantastic but it was equally gratifying to see the women be supportive and protective of each other. They quickly became a sisterhood once they came together and that was a pleasure to see on film.

Birds of Prey is feminist, explicitly queer, diverse, irreverent, brash, unapologetic and a no-holds-barred female power fantasy, it is wish fulfillment at its finest. It was so gratifying to see the female characters defy conventional, patriarchal expectations time and time again. They are allowed to be messy and flawed, they make mistakes and bad decisions and they are better for it.

Margot Robbie has made Harley hers in a way that I doubt another actor could match in any capacity. I loved her journey, I loved that she was a mess after her breakup and she needed time and space to truly heal, to discover her worth independent of her partner. I loved that she is canonically bisexual in the film. Her action sequences are some of the best in the film and she is amazing in them but I loved that we also saw her pain and loneliness, her desire to be a part of something and be appreciated for who she is. Her act of blowing up Ace Chemicals, while not thought through completely, is symbolic of her beginning to breaking away from the shackles she placed on herself.

Jurnee Smollett-Bell as Dinah Lance / Black Canary was amazing. You can see her feel torn between her need to survive and the terror and disgust she feels for Roman Sionis. Plus the Canary Cry was fucking epic and I wish we’d gotten more of it.

Rozie Perez as Renee Montoya was perfect, she brought dimensions and layers to the role that a younger actor would not have, the film is richer for having her in it and I am glad that both Yan and Perez fought for it. She had the right amount of cynicism and weariness that her role needed, like she’d been doing this for a while and though she was great at her job, she rarely got the credit she deserved. I also loved that she was also explicitly gay in the film and even meet her ex-girlfriend.

Mary Elizabeth Winstead as Helena Bertinelli / Huntress was plain delightful! I wish she’d had more screen-time. She was the right amount of socially awkward paired with someone with deep-seated rage issues. But she never loses herself to that rage, case in point, when the women are fighting together in the amusement park, she takes a moment to speak to Cassandra, give her something to ground her, to distract her from the violence and brutality.

Ella Jay Basco was great as Cassandra Cain. I loved her spirit and her interactions with Harley and the gang.

Ewan McGregor as Roman Sionis / Black Mask was equal parts spoilt brat and sinister and he played it so well. He was unpredictable and that’s what made him so menacing, you never knew what could set him off (snot bubble) And then there’s Chris Messina, brilliant as the unhinged Victor Zsazs, they were perfect for each other, 2 peas in a pod, each feeding the others’ sociopathy.

The action in the film is one of the best parts of the film, it is beautifully choreographed and you can feel the impact. All of the women get their time to shine, given that each has their own individual approach to how they fight. I also loved the costume design, I loved that NONE of the women were sexualised or objectified. They all looked amazing! But they were practically dressed, the way one dresses in real life but with more flair. Credit to Erin Benach.

Films like Birds of Prey that are written, produced and directed by women, for women are sometimes held to an unrealistic standard, almost as if they need to be perfect films (such a thing does not exist)They are held to standards that films made by men are not, which is why a man can make one mediocre film after another and no one blinks but if woman makes a film and it’s anything short of spectacular then it’s labeled a failure and used as an excuse to dismiss other proposals / pitches by female content creators, that is a deeply misogynistic approach and it needs to change. But we also need people to go out and watch films like Birds of Prey, Wonder Woman so that we can have more diverse voices and experiences reflected on screen. So please, if you haven’t already seen the film, make sure you do, go with your friends, mothers, sisters, whoever and watch it. It is a joy and a delight to watch.

Now, can we please have a Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy team up! Please, I desperately need it And while we’re at it, I need to them to get romantically involved. Pretty please

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pridebooks · 5 years ago

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It’s Trans Day of Visibility, so have some books!!

Full list of books (with synopses) under the cut.

First picture: Books by trans authors (most also have trans characters)

Memoirs of a Man’s Maiden Years by N. O. Body - "I was born a boy, raised as a girl. . . . One may raise a healthy boy in as womanish a manner as one wishes, and a female creature in as mannish; never will this cause their senses to remain forever reversed." So writes the pseudonymous N. O. Body, born in 1884 with ambiguous genitalia and assigned a female identity in early infancy. Brought up as a girl, "she" nevertheless asserted stereotypical male behavior from early on. In the end, it was a passionate love affair with a married woman that brought matters to a head. Desperately confused, suicidally depressed, and in consultation with Magnus Hirschfeld, one of the most eminent and controversial sexologists of the day, "she" decided to become "he." N. O. Body was identified as Karl M. Baer (he/him).

Spy Stuff by Matthew J. Metzger - Anton never thought anyone would ever want to date him. Everyone knows nobody wants a transgender boyfriend, right? So he's as shocked as anyone when seemingly-straight Jude Kalinowski asks him out, and doesn't appear to be joking.The only problem is ... well, Jude doesn't actually know.Anton can see how this will play out: Jude is a nice guy, and nice guys finish last. And Anton is transgender, and transgender people don't get happy endings. If he tells Jude, it might destroy everything.And if Jude tells anyone else ... it will. Matthew J. Metzger (he/him) is a queer trans man.

I Wish You All The Best by Mason Deaver - When Ben De Backer comes out to their parents as nonbinary, they're thrown out of their house and forced to move in with their estranged older sister, Hannah, and her husband, Thomas, whom Ben has never even met. Struggling with an anxiety disorder compounded by their parents' rejection, they come out only to Hannah, Thomas, and their therapist and try to keep a low profile in a new school.But Ben's attempts to survive the last half of senior year unnoticed are thwarted when Nathan Allan, a funny and charismatic student, decides to take Ben under his wing. As Ben and Nathan's friendship grows, their feelings for each other begin to change, and what started as a disastrous turn of events looks like it might just be a chance to start a happier new life.At turns heartbreaking and joyous, I Wish You All the Best is both a celebration of life, friendship, and love, and a shining example of hope in the face of adversity Mason Deaver (they/them) is nonbinary.

George by Alex Gino -When people look at George, they think they see a boy. But she knows she's not a boy. She knows she's a girl.George thinks she'll have to keep this a secret forever. Then her teacher announces that their class play is going to be Charlotte's Web. George really, really, REALLY wants to play Charlotte. But the teacher says she can't even try out for the part . . . because she's a boy.With the help of her best friend, Kelly, George comes up with a plan. Not just so she can be Charlotte -- but so everyone can know who she is, once and for all. Alex Gino (they/them) is genderqueer.

Starglass by Phoebe North - Terra has never known anything but life aboard the Asherah, a city-within-a-spaceship that left Earth five hundred years ago in search of refuge. At sixteen, working a job that doesn't interest her, and living with a grieving father who only notices her when he's yelling, Terra is sure that there has to be more to life than what she's got. But when she inadvertently witnesses the captain's guard murdering an innocent man, Terra is suddenly thrust into the dark world beneath her ship's idyllic surface. As she's drawn into a secret rebellion determined to restore power to the people, Terra discovers that her choices may determine life or death for the people she cares most about. With mere months to go before landing on the long-promised planet, Terra has to make the decision of a lifetime--one that will determine the fate of her people. Phoebe North (they/them) is genderqueer.

Power Surge by Sara Codair - Erin has just realized that for the entirety of their life, their family has lied to them. Their Sight has been masked for years, so Erin thought the Pixies and Mermaids were hallucinations. Not only are the supernatural creatures they see daily real, but their grandmother is an Elf, meaning Erin isn’t fully human. On top of that, the dreams Erin thought were nightmares are actually prophecies.While dealing with the anger they have over all of the lies, they are getting used to their new boyfriend, their boyfriend's bullying ex, and the fact that they come from a family of Demon Hunters. As Erin struggles through everything weighing on them, they uncover a Demon plot to take over the world.Erin just wants some time to work through it all on their own terms, but that's going to have to wait until after they help save the world. Sara Codair (they/she) is nonbinary.

Out of Salem by Hal Schrieve - When genderqueer fourteen-year-old Z Chilworth wakes from death after a car crash that killed their parents and sisters, they have to adjust quickly to their new status as a zombie. Always a talented witch, Z can now barely perform magic and is rapidly decaying. Faced with rejection from their remaining family members and old friends, Z moves in with Mrs. Dunnigan, an elderly witch, and befriends Aysel, a loud would-be-goth classmate who is, like Z, a loner. As Z struggles to find a way to repair the broken magical seal holding their body together, Aysel fears that her classmates will discover her status as an unregistered werewolf. When a local psychiatrist is murdered in an apparent werewolf attack, the town of Salem, Oregon, becomes even more hostile to monsters, and Z and Aysel are driven together in an attempt to survive a place where most people wish that neither of them existed. Hal Schrieve (xie/hir) is a genderfluid trans man.

This is Kind of an Epic Love Story by Kacen Callender - Nathan Bird doesn’t believe in happy endings. Although he’s the ultimate film buff and an aspiring screenwriter, Nate’s seen the demise of too many relationships to believe that happy endings exist in real life.Playing it safe to avoid a broken heart has been his MO ever since his father died and left his mom to unravel—but this strategy is not without fault. His best-friend-turned-girlfriend-turned-best-friend-again, Florence, is set on making sure Nate finds someone else. And in a twist that is rom-com-worthy, someone does come along: Oliver James Hernández, his childhood best friend.After a painful mix-up when they were little, Nate finally has the chance to tell Ollie the truth about his feelings. But can Nate find the courage to pursue his own happily ever after? Kacen Callender (they/them) is a demiboy.

Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee - Captain Kel Cheris of the hexarchate is disgraced for using unconventional methods in a battle against heretics. Kel Command gives her the opportunity to redeem herself by retaking the Fortress of Scattered Needles, a star fortress that has recently been captured by heretics. Cheris’s career isn’t the only thing at stake. If the fortress falls, the hexarchate itself might be next.Cheris’s best hope is to ally with the undead tactician Shuos Jedao. The good news is that Jedao has never lost a battle, and he may be the only one who can figure out how to successfully besiege the fortress.The bad news is that Jedao went mad in his first life and massacred two armies, one of them his own. As the siege wears on, Cheris must decide how far she can trust Jedao–because she might be his next victim. Yoon Ha Lee (he/him) is a trans man.

Second pic: Books with trans characters

Gracefully Grayson by Ami Polonsky - Alone at home, twelve-year-old Grayson Sender glows, immersed in beautiful thoughts and dreams. But at school, Grayson grasps at shadows, determined to fly under the radar. Because Grayson has been holding onto a secret for what seems like forever: “he” is a girl on the inside, stuck in the wrong gender’s body.The weight of this secret is crushing, but leaving it behind would mean facing ridicule, scorn, and rejection. Despite these dangers, Grayson’s true self itches to break free. Strengthened by an unexpected friendship and a caring teacher who gives her a chance to step into the spotlight, Grayson might finally have the tools to let her inner light shine.

Beautiful Music for Ugly Children by Kirstin Cronn-Mills - "This is Beautiful Music for Ugly Children, on community radio 90.3, KZUK. I'm Gabe. Welcome to my show."My birth name is Elizabeth, but I'm a guy. Gabe. My parents think I've gone crazy and the rest of the world is happy to agree with them, but I know I'm right. I've been a boy my whole life.When you think about it, I'm like a record. Elizabeth is my A side, the song everybody knows, and Gabe is my B side--not heard as often, but just as good.It's time to let my B side play.

Symptoms of Being Human by Jeff Garvin - The first thing you’re going to want to know about me is: Am I a boy, or am I a girl?Riley Cavanaugh is many things: Punk rock. Snarky. Rebellious. And gender fluid. Some days Riley identifies as a boy, and others as a girl. The thing is…Riley isn’t exactly out yet. And between starting a new school and having a congressman father running for reelection in uber-conservative Orange County, the pressure—media and otherwise—is building up in Riley’s so-called “normal” life.On the advice of a therapist, Riley starts an anonymous blog to vent those pent-up feelings and tell the truth of what it’s REALLY like to be a gender fluid teenager. But just as Riley’s starting to settle in at school—even developing feelings for a mysterious outcast—the blog goes viral, and an unnamed commenter discovers Riley’s real identity, threatening exposure. Riley must make a choice: walk away from what the blog has created—a lifeline, new friends, a cause to believe in—or stand up, come out, and risk everything.

The Art of Being Normal by Lisa Williamson - David Piper has always been an outsider. His parents think he's gay. The school bully thinks he’s a freak. Only his two best friends know the real truth: David wants to be a girl.On the first day at his new school Leo Denton has one goal: to be invisible. Attracting the attention of the most beautiful girl in his class is definitely not part of that plan. When Leo stands up for David in a fight, an unlikely friendship forms. But things are about to get messy. Because at Eden Park School secrets have a funny habit of not staying secret for long…

Mask of Shadows by Linsey Miller - Sallot Leon is a thief, and a good one at that. But gender fluid Sal wants nothing more than to escape the drudgery of life as a highway robber and get closer to the upper-class—and the nobles who destroyed their home.When Sal steals a flyer for an audition to become a member of The Left Hand—the Queen’s personal assassins, named after the rings she wears—Sal jumps at the chance to infiltrate the court and get revenge.But the audition is a fight to the death filled with clever circus acrobats, lethal apothecaries, and vicious ex-soldiers. A childhood as a common criminal hardly prepared Sal for the trials. And as Sal succeeds in the competition, and wins the heart of Elise, an intriguing scribe at court, they start to dream of a new life and a different future, but one that Sal can have only if they survive.

The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried by Shaun David Hutchinson - A good friend will bury your body, a best friend will dig you back up.Dino doesn’t mind spending time with the dead. His parents own a funeral home, and death is literally the family business. He’s just not used to them talking back. Until Dino’s ex-best friend July dies suddenly—and then comes back to life. Except not exactly. Somehow July is not quite alive, and not quite dead.As Dino and July attempt to figure out what’s happening, they must also confront why and how their friendship ended so badly, and what they have left to understand about themselves, each other, and all those grand mysteries of life.

I Was Born For This by Alice Oseman - For Angel Rahimi, life is only about one thing: The Ark – a pop-rock trio of teenage boys who are currently taking the world by storm. Being part of The Ark’s fandom has given her everything – her friendships, her dreams, her place in the world. Jimmy Kaga-Ricci owes everything to The Ark too. He’s their frontman – and playing in a band is all he’s ever dreamed of doing. It’s just a shame that recently everything in his life seems to have turned into a bit of a nightmare. Because that’s the problem with dreaming – eventually, inevitably, real life arrives with a wake-up call. And when Angel and Jimmy are unexpectedly thrust together, they will discover just how strange and surprising facing up to reality can be.

The Pants Project by Cat Clarke - Whoever wrote the uniform policy decided (whyyy?) that girls had to wear skirts, while boys were allowed to wear pants. Sexist. Dumb. Unfair. “Girls must wear a black, pleated, knee-length skirt.” I bet I read those words a hundred times during summer vacation. The problem wasn’t the last word in that sentence. Skirt wasn’t really the issue, not for me. The issue was the first word. Girls. Here’s the thing: I may seem like a girl, but on the inside, I’m a boy.

#trans #tdov #trans day of visibility #transgender day of visibility #tdov 2020 #books #trans books

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madamemayura · 5 years ago

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interesting post you've written about Cass/Raps being a tragic romance. maybe you'll be feel better if you write a longer one on your thoughts on that... ;)

Okay this took me WAY longer than I expected but y’all ask for tragic readings and I deliver, so may I present: Rapunzel and Cassandra as a tragic romantic subversion of the Knight in Shining Armor.

Alright, as a disclaimer I will say that the way this reading works is that it’s just that: a reading. Cassandra and Rapunzel as a tragic romance (while simultaneously remaining a fantastic depiction of female friendship) is an interpretation of TTS that I find incredibly valid and, in a storytelling sense, rewarding. This isn’t to say the creators intended it to be that way or that this is the one and only reading of Cassandra and Rapunzel’s dynamic, but it is a reading I subscribe to and believe to hold evidence, support, chemistry, and immense value in a literary and creative sense.

So let’s get into why that is.

Consider Cassandra and Rapunzel, together. Their friendship is well established even as the show starts, and over the course of the series we watch Cass serve as a foil to Raps in a multitude of ways: she’s the experience to her inexperience, the logical to her creative, the knight to her princess. Cass wears dark earth-tones in her preferred clothing while Rapunzel opts for a vibrancy of pinks and purples; Cassandra’s approach to problems is straightforward and direct, while Rapunzel’s involves planning and imaginative thinking (see: Queen for a Day, the use of the Demanitus Device); Cass is private and reserved, Rapunzel open and outgoing.

The building blocks of their dynamic are prime material for a developing romance, complete with tension, conflict, and positive growth. They’re complementary opposites in most of their mannerisms, yet both are brave, adventurous, intuitive, competitive, and though they show it in different ways, ultimately good and compassionate people.

So why is this a tragedy? Why is it that Rapunzel and Cassandra’s relationship is inherently doomed, shot through with hairline fractures that lead to a temporary yet heartbreaking betrayal in Destinies Collide?

The answer lies not only in context and circumstances, but even deeper, in the very core of their characters; Rapunzel’s driving force is freedom, and Cassandra’s is control.

While the previous description of Cassandra and Rapunzel as foils lists complementary opposites, puzzle pieces that ultimately still fit together, these two forces are repelling magnets, each of them informing many of Cass and Rapunzel’s individual character flaws and virtues.

Perhaps the root of the tragedy that encompasses Cassandra and Rapunzel’s story is that both are justified in being driven by their respective desires. Cassandra, who has spent most of her life striving for a position she can’t reach, trying to prove herself worthy of respect and trust and arguably doing just that, has yet to see the rewards for her hard work. She is never given the position of control and influence she desires, despite having developed both her skills and her instincts.

Rapunzel, similarly, has every right to the freedom she was crucially denied in her past; after enduring emotional manipulation and abuse throughout her childhood, abuse exacted with the intent to keep her isolated and caged, there can be no other resolution than that she fight against any and all restraints.

Yet freedom for Rapunzel is a double-edged sword. Despite her escape from the tower that was her prison, she finds herself in the position of a princess and future queen, a role that comes with rules, regulations, and no shortage of trials. As Rapunzel and the audience discover in Queen for a Day, her royalty can put her in positions where she is anything but free to act, and if she’s to be an effective ruler, she has to learn to compromise. Sometimes, to devastating results.

Cassandra, likewise, is forced to show some of her more fatal flaws when it comes to her desire for control. Her stubbornness and occasional tunnel-vision are a result of that need to be in charge, that need to be heard and listened to oftentimes above anyone else. Being unfairly ignored, combined with her tendency to keep her true feelings bottled up, leads to her putting ambition over her relationships and sometimes lashing out harshly, going further than she previously intended. It happens in Challenge of the Brave when she competes less than ethically against Rapunzel, Great Expotations when she backs out of her agreement with Varian, and most notably in a brilliantly written yet incredibly heartwrenching episode, Rapunzel and the Great Tree:

“Cass, you of all people should know I can handle myself pretty well out here. I don’t need someone to keep me safe.”

It begins here, with Rapunzel’s honest but unintentionally hurtful remark. As the audience already knows, Rapunzel doesn’t need protecting, but in the moment she says it the question must be asked: if Rapunzel needs no protection, no guardian, no knight… what does that make Cassandra?

Cass, who has chased after a position as a guard of Corona, who promises her king that she’ll keep his daughter safe, whose moment of truth in the first season was stepping up as captain and leading the attack in Old Corona. If she’s not the knight in shining armor, who is she?

And of course, we might be able to come up with a plethora of answers. She’s Rapunzel’s best friend, an excellent strategist and fighter, an adventurer, a hardworker, her own individual woman, and much more. Yet, despite her frustration of being put in second place, of literally waiting in the wings, Cassandra insists on existing in Rapunzel’s shadow. She wants recognition, a position that comes with honor and control, but she wants them in close relation to Rapunzel because of the love she holds for her.

There lies Cassandra’s dilemma: she’s afraid of what might happen if she ever breaks out of that shadow, if she ever achieves her goal and comes center stage. If she’s not Rapunzel’s protector, will she have any place in her life? Cassandra, desperate to remain near the woman and friend she’s fallen in love with, has meticulously sculpted her own future around her, and in doing so has forgotten to take into account that Rapunzel might not follow that exact route.

Now, is there anything wrong with Cassandra wanting to serve as Rapunzel’s protector? Not at all. The two of them have proven on multiple occasions that they’re a formidable team, as well as close friends, and Cass is more than up to the task. Yet we-the-audience know that Rapunzel, driven by freedom and currently undergoing an arc that’s whole purpose is reclaiming her agency, deserves the right to make her own choices (a fact driven even further home as we see Zhan Tiri’s disciples, the most significant of villains in the series, try desperately to take away that exact ability).

And those very choices are what cause the rift between herself and Cassandra.

“I can’t do that, Cass.”

“What do you mean you can’t do that? Are you that obliviously naïve that you can’t–”

“Enough, Cassandra!”

It’s in this particular moment where Rapunzel and Cassandra’s staple characteristics flip: Cass, normally able to keep her feelings tightly bound, is emotional and angry, while Rapunzel (in stark contrast to her uncertainty in Queen for a Day) becomes stern and unmoving.

The brilliance and heartbreak bound in this scene is that Cassandra, though ultimately right in her insistence that the group move on from the Tree of Zhan Tiri, has unknowingly echoed rhetoric that Gothel, Rapunzel’s abuser, once used to keep her in line. The tragedy is that Cassandra is right but goes too far, and that Rapunzel has every right to respond harshly.

Because, when it comes down to it, Rapunzel retains her freedom through having the control Cassandra cannot.

And thanks to the particularly tense events of season two, the two of them have not found a compromise that allows them to share it. As Cassandra attempts to exercise the control she’s worked towards for so long, she is unwittingly depriving Rapunzel of the freedom she’s only just recently found. On the other hand, Rapunzel, in exercising her own agency and stepping into the role she has long been training for, deprives Cass of an agency of her own.

It is important also to remember that, though friends, Rapunzel and Cassandra retain a professional relationship of a royal woman and her subject, a princess/heir to a kingdom and her sworn protector. It’s this relationship that ties control and freedom so closely together for both of them, further complicating their character progression and dynamic.

And truly, why shouldn’t Cass be respected and her advice heeded after all she’s proven her capability? And again, why should Rapunzel have to sacrifice any of her agency or her own sense of capability for the sake of Cassandra? There’s a balance between them, but one that is delicate and often interrupted, eventually to the point where we realize that Rapunzel and Cassandra’s motivations, however justified, are doomed to clash.

A comparison between the dynamics of Rapunzel, Cassandra, and Eugene is vital to this reading, though not in the ways one might think. Both Eugene and Cass legitimately and truly love Rapunzel, and neither of their love is diminished by the other. The main difference is within Cass and Eugene’s individual characters; while Cassandra and Rapunzel are both in the midst of their journeys of self-discovery (the thing that leads Cass to most of her inner and outer-conflict), Eugene was not.

Eugene and Cassandra parallel one another in their roles as Rapunzel’s support, but Cassandra isn’t satisfied or even entirely comfortable in that position. Her desire for control, for her own agency, provides an obstacle that Eugene simply doesn’t have throughout the majority of the series. This, as it happens, is the root of his crisis in Destinies Collide; Eugene’s betrayal to the group is so brief due to the uncertainty of the situation, and ultimately is overcome by him reaffirming the identity he’s always had.

Cassandra, however, has not yet fully discovered her own identity. She has no deep foundation, no certainty to fall back on, only her contrasting desires and an incredible drive to accomplish them.

Unlike Cassandra, Eugene has already lived center-stage as Flynn Rider. We watch him develop past his selfishness and arrogance, watch as Rapunzel becomes his “new dream,” and continue to watch as their relationship is reaffirmed in the series. One of the most refreshing aspects of Eugene and Rapunzel as a couple is the healthiness of the dynamic, the lack of manufactured drama (i.e. drama for drama’s sake), and the genuine love and maturity woven into their relationship.

None of this is to say that Eugene is at all better or superior to Cassandra, or Cassandra better or superior to Eugene; rather, the parallels and differences between their two characters help illuminate the inner-workings of their respective relationships with Rapunzel. They both love her, but how that love thrives in one dynamic and hurts in the other comes down to this: Eugene is done with center stage, and Cassandra has never even been in it.

The tragedy of Rapunzel and Cassandra’s romance, then, is this: though they deeply love and care for one another (and always will), though they have helped one another grow, have made each other better people in a way no less valuable than Rapunzel and Eugene have, they’ve reached the point where they no longer can. They aren’t toxic to one another, but static; if Cass wants her moment in the sun, a moment she fully deserves, she needs to pursue it on her own.

And Cassandra is afraid to accept that.

This aspect of analysis will try to avoid going into too much speculation, since the whole story behind Cassandra’s betrayal is still a mystery. That aspect aside, this moment is undeniably where Cass’ inner-conflict comes to a head.

How does Cassandra get everything she wants? How does she stay with Rapunzel while also getting the control and agency she craves? Cass won’t accept a world where she has to operate independent of Rapunzel, yet it’s independence that she longs for. This, possibly combined with a desire to protect Rapunzel and save her life (and/or supernatural influence from mysterious room in Rapunzeltopia), moves her to grab the moonstone, to stop “waiting in the wings” and move center stage.

The tragedy isn’t that Cassandra is evil, or that she’s too selfish or arrogant or jealous. No, the tragedy is that Cassandra is a character perfectly tailored to have her own protagonist’s journey, but cannot let go of being her princess’ knight in shining armor. And it’s that very armor she now wears that might well end up corrupting her.

#tts #tangled the series #cassunzel #cassandra #rapunzel #rta #rapunzel's tangled adventure #cassandra x rapunzel #holy crap this took me forever but here it is #send me an ask if you want me to expand on anything #I could have gone on even longer wtf #anyway tl;dr cass and raps are in love and VALID #also the ot3 is alive and I WILL die on this hill #good day.#my meta

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