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vidreview · 2 months ago

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VIDREV: "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" by Hbomberguy.

[originally posted december 7th 2023]

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i didn't initially plan to do a full VIDREV for this one. it's a long video that speaks plenty for itself, revealing a veritable cottage industry of video essayists who've found great success in brazenly stealing the works of marginalized creators. it's an infuriating watch, especially as someone who has put a lot of work over a lot of years into getting better as an essayist. at a moment when the gormless profit-chasing business degree havers of the world are pretty unambiguously winning in every avenue imaginable, it's gratifying to see someone like Hbomberguy use his significant platform to at least make a dent in that trend. i had a few gripes, sure, but i didn't figure they were worth the trouble. of course now it's been out for a few days, the video already has over 6.8 million views, and people are still talking about it on every single social media website of note. watching that discourse evolve from afar has sharpened some of the round edges on my aforementioned gripes, and given me reason to think that maybe weighing in isn't a totally fruitless endeavor. and besides, what's the point of having a video essay review blog if you're not gonna review what is arguably the video essay of the moment? ahhh, there's a Faustian bargain if ever i heard one.

in this post, i'm going to be critical of Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" on a few fronts of debatable importance. but first, i want to make it clear that i am genuinely grateful to Hbomb for putting so much time and effort into this investigation. plagiarism is a serious accusation that requires commensurate evidence, and Harris's got that covered in spades. the case is made so much harder to deny by the frequent juxtaposition of a plagiarist's voice-over with the original plagiarized text on screen reacting to minor trail-covering alterations. these sections occupy the bulk of this video's near 4 hour runtime, and while i have some issues with that length, i understand that the deluge of evidence is precisely to make sure that none of the plagiarists in question can continue dodging accusations the way they have done previously. in this process, Hbomb lays out a consistent playbook utilized by all manner of plagiarists, and (hypothetically) gives viewers the tools and awareness they need to better spot plagiarism in the future. this matters because, as he rightly points out, youtube isn't a fun little hobby site for posting silly cat videos anymore, there's real money to be made on the platform and virtually no oversight to protect creators with ethics and integrity (i wanted to pull a direct quote here but alas, you can't ctrl+f a video). it's an open question as to how or whether we can fix this problem, but we don't get to that conversation until we acknowledge that plagiarism is a legitimate, widespread, materially harmful phenomenon online. none of what i have to say in this review is meant to minimize its broad success in calling attention to a very real problem!

that said…

in the days since its release, i've seen a lot of back and forth over what this video is about. on one side you have folks calling for the blood of James Somerton and others mentioned in the essay, saying "fuck these people specifically." yet on another side, many insist that you're missing the point if all you see is more drama for the drama mill. "this is a systemic problem" they say, "that's what the video is about." i'm inclined to agree more with the latter than the former, as Hbomb does consistently circle back to talking about the unpaid victims of plagiarism, ending the video by explicitly highlighting underrated queer creators and even saying outright that he doesn't want the end result to be limited in scope to just retribution against these specific plagiarists.

and yet, when i see a meme like this one:

i can't help but think… is that what the video is about? is someone who just sees the drama missing the point? yes, certainly, Hbomb says as much, but how much does he actually say it compared to everything else? what's the proportion of (to be overly reductive) "drama content" to "systemic criticism"? because it seems to me that anyone who only/mostly gets "wow fuck these people in particular" out of this video has done nothing less than take the video in aggregate. the bulk of its runtime is spent detailing very specific acts of plagiarism, and while yes, as i said above, this abundance serves a very real purpose, it shouldn't go unacknowledged that the tone of these sections is often one of ridicule and mockery. i don't mean that as a criticism in and of itself, to be clear. you can draw a line from here directly backwards through all his "Measured Response" videos, dude cut his teeth on knocking overconfident hacks down a peg, a bit of ridicule and mockery is to be expected. but that does ultimately mean that Hbomb spends most of the video saying "fuck these people in particular," in a tone of voice he honed through many other videos devoted to saying "fuck this guy in particular", only occasionally stopping to add that "plagiarism is popular and insidious and even creators you trust might be doing it" before moving onto the next scornworthy particular guy. so it kind of doesn't matter that one is "the point" and the other is "missing the point" because he's genuinely saying both things, and he's saying one of them significantly more often than the other. you can't tell me the dunks aren't at least part of the point, and if they're part of it then they can and will be misconstrued by some as the whole point. the entertainment and spectacle of knocking these plagiarists down a peg is an indulgence that, while certainly earned, does exist in concrete tension with the systemic arguments that are meant to take priority. now, some of this does come down to how internet culture has shifted in the last decade to facilitate a much more aggressive style of engagement overall, which Harris cannot control no matter how often he says "don't harass the plagiarists." there isn't really a perfectly right way to go about this, and under the circumstances i do think he did far better than others might have done in his stead.

but even still, i think this misapprehension is made worse by the essay's conclusion, which in my opinion largely fails to tie the whole thing together into the systemic argument that supposedly is "the point" some viewers are missing. Harris commendably points out how the so-called AI revolution is at its core an act of automated civilization-scale plagiarism, and that future instances of plagiarism may be harder to catch precisely because of this technology. frankly i wish that perspective had taken up a solid 10% of the runtime rather than a couple paragraphs at the very end, seeing as on balance it's the far bigger and more likely threat to the livelihoods of people watching than old-school direct plagiarism, but that's me. what really bugged me was the brevity with which he discussed possible solutions to the problem. he rightly points out that youtube implementing a plagiarism reporting system would just be another tool for bad faith actors to silence marginalized creators on the platform, and then… he kinda gives up? he shrugs his shoulders and says, well, for now, just talking about plagiarism and spreading awareness of it is enough. for as well-intentioned and, generally speaking, true as that is, it bugs me as an essayist because i believe that a big part of the job is or ought to be expanding the audience's ability to imagine what's possible even if you aren't 100% sure about the answers yourself.

these are all very much "how i would have written it differently" criticisms, so they aren't particularly worth much, but i do feel it's odd that he doesn't even broach the subject of federal regulation, platform control, unionization efforts, or even just good old-fashioned consumer activism. virtually every website that the creative economy hangs on is a venture-capital backed corporate venture, and their ad-driven models for profiteering at a moment when wages are stagnant and layoffs are happening everywhere is, like, the reason this is such a problem. to address plagiarism as a systemic issue, we need to understand the systemic enablers of it as a behavior. if creators weren't getting such a small slice of the revenue pie, if we had more control over the platform and what rises to the top, if the companies that owned these platforms were beholden to federal regulations, if the government increased arts funding and gave out grants to independent creators that involved third-party quality checks, if online video creators had any manner of collective labor power, if the cost of living was lower by way of public healthcare, free education, mass public transit, and affordable housing, then this would be a drastically different conversation. these are not non-sequitors! this is as much an economic problem as it is a cultural one, so any proposed solution that stops at changing the culture is necessarily incomplete and doomed to fail.

look, i don't expect Hbomb to have the answers. nobody has the answers. but i think it's a bit short-sighted to leave so many possibilities unsaid when the one concrete possibility discussed is immediately (correctly) written off as a bad idea. it leads to a conclusion that feels iffy, a bit defeated, lost at sea, and that's an infectious mood. if the first step to solving plagiarism as a systemic problem is to encourage talking about it openly, i think it's equally important to at the very least gesture in the direction of the many possible avenues for a systemic solution, no matter how impossible or ridiculous they might seem in the current political climate. in point of fact, i think it's of utmost importance to include these possibilities precisely because they seem impossible, otherwise we will forever be trapped in a world of insufficient half measures, meekly reifying the conservative austerity of the liberal order because it's easier and safer than taking a wild shot in the dark.

again, i want to stress that this is a deeply subjective criticism. i'm an ornery Marxist, of course i have these kinds of gripes. and it's easy to get lost in criticizing what isn't there, which as an exercise generally tells you more about the critic than the object being criticized. so, to close out, i'm gonna shake my fist a little at something that is there.

there's a moment at about one hour thirty-five minutes in where Harris turns on some colored lights to get that patented blue-purple Bisexual Lighting, and then he says this:

This is a whole style of video now, and by "style" I mean one person did it first and then a bunch of boring people ripped her off. Stealing from lots of places is inspiration, but stealing from one place is plagiarism… unless you call it The BreadTube Style, and then it's fine. I don't even know what a BreadTube is, I just woke up one day and was told that I was in it, and that people hated me for being in it. I don't even know what it is!

i understand where this jab is coming from-- the whole BreadTube scene was a melodramatic nightmare, on account of being an audience-invented genre which that audience (and later creators who emerged from that audience) often inaccurately treated as a coherent movement. i understand the frustration expressed by a lot of creators in that first generation of left-ish essayists (Hbomb, Lindsay Ellis, Dan Olson, Contrapoints etc) with the atmosphere of that moment, and certainly don't begrudge them a desire to distance themselves from it and ridicule its shortcomings.

but this brief little jokey aside left a bad taste in my mouth. the creator he's talking about being "ripped off" here is obviously Contrapoints, who brought a colorful theatricality to her early work that elevated it above being something she shot for cheap in her apartment. this went hand in hand with her Socratic style of essaying, giving her characters a strange and vibrant world to occupy. i don't want to say she "did it first" because, let's be real, Natalie Wynn did not invent the idea of using dramatic lighting on the internet. but she was certainly the first person i saw on youtube doing it in video essays, and yeah, a lot of people followed her example including me!

but that's not the same thing as plagiarism, is it? this whole video is an extensive exploration of what genuinely counts as plagiarism: taking someone else's words and pretending that they're yours. style is almost never part of that conversation across the whole 4 hours, except where it involves use of prepackaged assets like transitions and stock footage, which Hbomb deliberately notes is fine and normal except when people act like they're the ones who invented it (this particularly comes up in the Legal Eagle section). by the terms of this joke, Abby Thorne of PhilosophyTube falls under the category of "boring people" who were "ripping off" Contrapoints even moreso than those who just lit videos like her, because she even does the Socratic-style dialogues! but somehow i don't think Harris would call that plagiarism. if the concern re: bisexual lighting in BreadTube is attribution, all i can say is that Natalie Wynn is one of the single most discussed and cited creators in the whole field. virtually everyone i can think of who "ripped her off" back in the day openly acknowledged being inspired by her at every possible opportunity. of course that's just my own biased recollection of the history, so who knows, maybe there are people out there acting like they did it first. but unlike most of the other victims of plagiarism provided in this video, Natalie Wynn is not wallowing in obscurity. her work is IMMENSELY successful, to the point where she's arguably the closest thing to a household name you can get from this space.

now, i'm sensitive to a joke like this because i always felt like if anything Natalie got too much credit for "inventing" the so-called "BreadTube style". her use of colored lights was striking and unique, yes, but it was also rudimentary and not particularly complicated. i worked in film lighting for enough years to see this "style" as equivalent to late 1910's era silent films blindly grasping at the bare fundamentals of montage that have become the backbone of all cinema. it's good, but it ain't Citizen Kane. i really hoped people would take Natalie's baseline not as a concrete template, but as a challenge to get even more ambitious and filmic with their lighting setups! instead things have stagnated, and we've kinda circled back around to a very slightly more colorful version of the standard pre-Contrapoints look. this is by no means to play down the work that Natalie did, because i know from my own years making video essays that it is NOT easy or simple to set up even rudimentary lighting that looks good. but come on man, have some perspective. she's a philosopher, not an electrician!

what's worse is that later on in the video, Hbomb talks about how many creators were inspired by AVGN to do twists on his formula, and why this was a good thing. near the end, when he's very rightly shouting out many underrated queer essayists, he spends a good chunk of time celebrating the spirit of remix that is so unique to the internet, insisting that there's a real tangible difference between plagiarism and inspiration. this is good! i agree with him! which is why it's so bizarre that there's this one aside that equates using bisexual lighting to plagiarism! it's a disarmingly hypocritical moment in an otherwise relatively on-point video, and its presence kind of weakens the rest of the essay for me (especially if you're sensitive to how near this comes to being all-out drama youtube, as clearly even Hbomb is by his own admission in the video).

the last i'll say is that i find it frustrating when a creator in Hbomb's position tries to act like BreadTube wasn't A Thing. no, it wasn't A Thing the way quite a lot of people thought it was (including many who called themselves BreadTubers). but these creators were often collaborating with each other to make guest appearances, read quotes, etc. certainly they mentioned each other often enough, which couldn't help solidifying in the audience's mind that there was indeed A Thing happening that involved multiple people with similar creative & political goals, regardless of whether or not that was the creators' intent. it wasn't formal, and it certainly wasn't A Movement (the lack of an articulated ideological spine is a BIG part of why things went sour the way they did), but they were happy enough to play along before Drama blew the whole endeavor to smithereens. and notably, successive generations of creators (like Sophie From Mars, Jack Saint, Lily Alexandre, CJ the X, and yes, also me again) saw the BreadTube genre as a place where interesting things were happening, where the kinds of things they/we wanted to create were encouraged and supported vociferously. it's no coincidence that a LOT of up-and-coming trans creators doing very BreadTube-y things got a huge boost from guesting on Hbomb's DK64 Nightmare Stream in 2019 (including me again, haha, oops), because there was A Thing happening even if most people were wrong about what, exactly, it was. none of this is to say that Hbomb should call himself a BreadTuber-- god no, i hope no one does that ever again, i'm embarrassed that i did back in the day! but this history does exist. mostly i just think this joke would've been better left on the cutting room floor.

okay, i think that's enough criticism for one day. one thought i had coming out of this is that i wish more video essays would publish concurrently with a written version on a dedicated website. not just a transcript but an article-format version. i wonder sometimes about the difficulty of indexing video essays, of getting their contents into a historical record that can be printed out and put into a library. but anyway, all my gripes aside, it's a good video and you should go watch it! preferably in chunks over a day or two!

#vidrev #video essay #video essay review #video recommendation #hbomberguy #plagiarism #youtube #breadtube #Youtube

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rustedbread · 2 months ago

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A huge portion of my problems would be solved if I was a member of the literature club Oh yeah, back when the rot was REAL bad [I'm talking the ultra-fixation rot, not the other kind, I'm well versed on the other kinds, but I wasn't doing that in this instance at least] yeah back when the rot was real bad, I was playing through sidestories..? I think? and I stopped playing midway through Natsuki and Yuri both arguing about whether or not manga should be considered literature to just rant, and I went on for like ten whole minutes describing why Yuri was partially wrong I know my main argument was that you can still appreciate and have good writing if it doesn't require you to visualize the scenes yourself, and that the difference between visual novels and traditional [?] novels is mainly just that the authors vision is more clear, with art being able to show exactly what the storytellers WANT to be shown, which can lead to some subtle details that can't quite be perfectly replicated in traditional novels. I don't think that visual novels are lesser than traditional novels in any way, because they both serve slightly separate purposes, and just because one might be a bit easier to digest doesn't mean it isn't literature because like, then I'd have to explain that [to my knowledge] the idea of literature itself mostly extends to media as a whole if it has good writing and merit to it if it serves its purpose well, truly it doesn't matter if the medium it's contained in has a higher wordcount in it or not, because it's still media, in a way it is literature [?] but the main point is that it still has substance even if you don't have to directly involve yourself with creating the world you wish to observe the main reason written works might be seen as more sophisticated is that it may take more effort to actively immerse and vision the world you're reading about, which personally to me a very forgetful and distracted person, is fairly hard to do and I do see why it'd be more preferable for someone to like novels to be compared with media that uses visual aid in storytelling so fairly I can get why Yuri would think that, but honestly, the main thing I feel she's REALLY arguing about when she was saying manga is lesser than regular novels and that manga can't have substance or usually doesn't have substance which entirely is up to the novel itself, and it's a shallow view to have about stuff, to be honest! just because something might be easier to digest doesn't mean it DOESN'T have substance, and if something is so out of grasp for most people, if it still has good themes, but is much harder to access for ordinary people because of confusing writing, it defeats the purpose of writing it in the first place, yknow? that's a bit out of my main point, so let me try to get onto some sort of actual point here, I guess one moment yeah literature and media as a whole shouldn't be about what is the best type of media there is, no, it shouldn't be about if comics are immature or that they won't ever have substance everything has lows, the medium you get in doesn't matter, what matters is the substance itself, and if it's easier for someone to get into something that requires less mental work, good on them! it shouldn't be about what's the most mature way to read a book, all that really matters is if the story you're going to be enjoying itself is good or not [also I feel like literature can be replaced by media as a whole, because like, all media IS literature, but I also know literature is mostly defined as just novels usually, but that's not really what I'm using it as? be assured I feel the definition of literature should be more broadened, but that's what media is for, I'd say] .... no I didn't intend to write this much

#limestander95 #ranting #ddlc #doki doki literature club #yuri doki doki #doki doki yuri #ddlc yuri #ddlc natsuki #natsuki ddlc #doki doki natsuki

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fizzigigsimmer · 5 months ago

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When does billy realise that Steve is just as good a ballet dancer as he is? Maybe they have different strengths and different areas they excel in but one is better than the other right? Sorry, I’ve read one too many fics where billy is better than Steve at everything and my inner Steve girl is frothing at the mouth. I love them both equally but people put Steve down too much 😔

Ooh I love this question, and I get it anon. I love Steve & Billy both for their own reasons. I think I write Steve better/get into his head easier, but that may just be my own insecurity talking. Billy holds a special place in my heart, but he’s also the character I relate most to so it’s just a different experience. Not a bad one, just not as simple. That said, it is SO WORTH THE EFFORT EVERY TIME. IDK what else to say I just love their characters, and character is a big part of why I write anything. When I plot I’m always most interested in the whys of the characters and how they will change over the course of the story, and everything else is secondary. Which is both a strength and a weakness. 🤪 I’m well aware that I can spend pages in a characters internal landscape without actually moving the plot forward.

So to actually answer your question: I don’t have the performance nailed down yet, but there’s this tentative stretch between them being rivals and deciding to be real friends where Steve is making an effort to be friendly to him and BIlly’s not certain he wants to take the olive branch; because Steve scares him. Eddie and Argyle he can keep at a friendly distance but he’s not sure he can do that with Steve, and Steve’s like “nope you’re stuck with me now just accept it.” Anyway he’s torn, until he overhears a bit of an argument Steve has with his dad and is worried about him so he follows him to the studio. Steve’s working on a some mix of combinations for class, blowing off steam and Billy’s watching him pour his heart into it and he’s just struck by it. Steve’s always been good. But that was different. That was electric. Like I can just hear him, “Where the hell have you been hiding that, Harrington?” He’s so pissy at the thought that Steve has been holding back from him. It’s like a personal insult. 😆

The beautiful thing about ballet as an art form is that it’s about telling stories with your body. That means you can know all of the rules and all of the moves, be technically perfect, and it still won’t mean you’re better than the next guy. There will always be things that physically your body can’t do quite as well as someone else’s: shapes, and float, that reads different to the viewers eyes simply because your body and your intention gives it different meaning. Knowing your body, knowing how to bend it, twist it, and push it just right to convey an emotion that your audience can actually feel requires more than just skill, but also self awareness, vulnerability, and an emotional investment on the part of the dancer. Because it’s acting. Only harder because you can’t use any words. And Steve is just better at this than Billy in the beginning. He wears his heart on his sleeve and throws himself into his performances, eager to give the people what they want, and proud of his ability to move them. He’s an expressive, open, and giving performer and a real joy to watch.

When Billy arrives at school he is better than Steve, from a technical standpoint. His technique is cleaner, he’s physically stronger and frankly he just wants it more. That’s because dance for Billy has always been higher stakes. They share a strong connection and a passion for it, but for Billy it has also been his only means of escape and feeling a sense of worth. It also connected him to his mother whom he couldn’t save or protect from the harsh realities/disappointments of their life. And you know what they say, you don’t get diamonds without pressure - so that’s where Billy is when they start. he’s a diamond in the rough and he’s as good as he is because he has to be, or risk being stuck in the same life that killed his mother and is slowly doing the same to him. But it’s a double edged sword, because he’s so focused on needing to be perfect in order to get out that he’s lost sight of everything else - the whole point of being alive in the first place. He’s closed off and walled in. He doesn’t even remember how to eat for pleasure without worrying about how it will change his body and affect his technique. He’s not living, and his dance while technically perfect lacks what the critics would call ‘inspiration’. You can’t make an audience feel what you’re too afraid to feel yourself.

Steve on the other hand doesn’t know what he wants. He’s talented, but he’s aimless and complacent. He’s grown up under the shadow of his mother’s fame as well as his father’s misogyny and subversive homophobia. In his father’s mind, dance is an okay hobby for a little boy to have while he follows his mother around, but he will have to grow up soon and take on a real man’s responsibilities. Real men don’t dance around in tights flipping their hair for a living unless they’re soft. You know?🤷🏾‍♀️ Steve’s dad won’t actually commit to “being the bad guy”. He won’t outright tell Steve to quit being a gay boy and give up dancing because that would make him a homophobic prick - instead he’ll just cut him down with snide remarks and discount all of his achievements while making it clear how disappointed he is in him. And as a result, Steve is stuck, and lazy. Too stubborn to give up the thing he loves entirely, but not confident enough in himself to own who he is and risk total rejection. The fact that he’s always been good and love and adoration has always been heaped on him in dance rooms makes it easy for him to coast, clinging to that high while on his way to his miserable life behind a desk.

Billy shakes up his world. Billy is proof positive that he won’t always be ‘the best’, that the love and attention of an audience is fickle, and he’s 1000% threatened by him. Which makes for some great initial friction, but honestly their love story is about realizing how similar they are, how good they both are, and how much they need each other. They help each other reach their best and I love that journey for them. 🥹

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove ballet au #ballet au #ballet #answered asks #I have feelings about this lol can you tell?

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raytorosaurus · 2 years ago

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i think where people get confused is that mcr did try very hard and very overtly to make their shows a safe space for queer people and women which is not a political act it just feels political because being queer and/or a woman means you exist in a space where your being is politicised by those around you whether you want to actively be involved in those politics or not. but, as you said, the art itself is personal and the message at shows is generally also about personal expression and learning to be yourself and take care of yourself. there's an element of respect each other/respect each others' differences but that's not political there's no call to action there's no fight for structural change and that's totally fine they don't have to be that

yeah no you said it, i totally agree. like i said, they're only political as far as all art is political - maybe slightly more because they made an active effort to engage with a socially outcast audience, tho in their minds that wasn't about specific marginalised groups like queer people, neurodivergent ppl etc - beyond their vocal support of women at shows/in the scene, they were directing their art just at people who didn't quite fit in in general. there's a big venn diagram there (and obviously some contextual cause-and-effect in terms of what kind of people tended to be unwelcome in hardcore scenes lol - even then, mcr never made any statements about race or whiteness) but it's not like gerard started a band to empower or liberate specific identities in a political sense - it was very consciously an effort to sing more about general unifying human experiences - i.e. ones lots of people can relate to. one of mcr's (especially gerard as lyricist) greatest strengths is being able to tap into those "universal" emotions like grief, loneliness, self-hatred etc. and make them a little easier to confront head-on or feel a little less isolating. that's literally why they're popular - if they had been overtly political they simply never would have made it that big! wait i'll let hanif abdurraqib say it because he said it best (brief snippet from his wonderful essay on the black parade in his collection they can't kill us until they kill us - 100% worth the cost of the ebook alone, and all of his essays are brilliant).

that idea is kind of at the heart of mcr and something i really appreciate about it. there's actually very little specificity in mcr's lyrics by design - it's meant to be projected onto and interpreted. that makes it inherently difficult to politicise bc good politics requires clarity of message and intention. that in turn makes mcr pretty apolitical by nature - which isn't a bad thing! different bands (like all types of art) exist for different reasons, and mcr's reason is catharsis and connection far more than it is any kind of activism. we can be pretty assured based on the lyrics and what we know of the guys that their politics aren't terrible and that's enough for me.

the real issue comes in when people act like mcr are political and give them credit for something they're not (and something they've never really claimed to be!). i get that mcr is a gateway band for a lot of people into harder/heavier music - it was for me too! - but even bands one step removed from mcr in the same scene (e.g. thursday) are leagues more political than these guys are.

this goes beyond mcr/bandom now but....tbh i think a lot of it comes from that relatively recent attitude that's common in online circles that activism is heavily rooted in personal identity (which ties in with the harmful pattern of, for example, white queer people acting like they're somehow above other white people in terms of racism) and comes more from individual thought, words, and discussion (in which using the correct language sometimes has more weight than what you're trying to say) than it does from actual community action. this isn't an attack at anyone btw - a lot of the statements about mcr's politics around here are pretty flippant and light-hearted anyway, i doubt too many people are taking them super seriously, but it's probably worth considering. overall, i'm not listening to mcr for politics and i'm certainly not looking to any of them for political guidance, but it's nice to feel connected to them and to all of you guys and to know that they support my identity, but that’s kind of as far as it goes for me.

#me at 6pm: i'm too dead tired to think straight after work :(((#me at 9pm: so in hanif abdurraqib's essay on the representation of universal grief in the black para-#answered #mcr talk #i Think there's an id on that screenshot btw i hope it worked lol (i'm on desktop)

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3mixs · 2 years ago

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Thank you so much for writing my mihyo ask. Just like I expected it was perfect ☺️. I know I've said this before but I love the way you write. I loved the fact that you continued the ceo au. I'm looking forward to more of them. If it's not to much trouble can we get a story where they officially become girlfriends and go on their first date? If this is too many asks please let me know and I'll ask another time.

omg thank you so much, you’re so nice!! you can absolutely get anything you ask for! unless my requests are ever closed you’re always more than welcome to send whatever you want and i’ll write it up for you!! so without further ado, here’s mihyo’s first date!

mina tilted her head back as warm rays of sunlight cascaded over her. her chest rose as she breathed in the fresh air of spring. she couldn’t remember the last time she willingly spent time outside. with the constant demand for innovation and success that her job required, she didn’t have much time for herself. not that she would typically choose to spend the little free time she did have out doors. given the choice, she would always opt to spend time inside, where bugs couldn’t get her. but today wasn’t about her. today was about them and the start of their relationship.

since mina had come back from her business trip, things had been different. there was no longer a need to disguise her feelings as purely lust or excuse her neediness as her insatiable need for control. so she didn’t. instead she tried to be more open with her emotions and express her needs. it didn’t always come out quite as eloquent or kind as she had hoped, but she was trying and that’s all that mattered for now.

jihyo was patient and encouraging. she didn’t push mina to give more than she was ready to. despite how much she wanted to hear mina voice her feelings, she knew mina wasn’t there yet. so she took what she could get from the ceo and rewarded mina’s efforts through affirmations and loving kisses.

over time mina became more comfortable voicing her feelings. she would even say she liked it to an extent. every time she voiced what she felt toward jihyo, she knew it would make jihyo happy. and to mina there was no better feeling in the world than being the reason jihyo smiled.

eventually mina worked up the courage to take a step forward with their relationship. she knew it had to be her to make the decision to move forward. after all she was the one who changed their dynamic in the first place. so, one night after work she asked jihyo out on a real date. jihyo had agreed, but only on one condition: she got to decide what they would do. mina would have preferred the control, but agreed nonetheless. she was mostly just happy jihyo had said yes (though there was no way she’d say no).

so here mina was, sitting on a picnic blanket in the park and basking in the sun. “wow, is that myoi mina actually enjoying the outdoors?” jihyo teased as she approached the blanket, two ice cream cones in hand. a giggle erupted past mina’s pink lips, “oh hush. i was just enjoying the peace and quiet without somebody talking my ear off.” jihyo playfully rolled her eyes as she sat beside the other girl. “take your ice cream miss ‘peace and quiet.’”

mina leaned over to place a soft peck on jihyo’s cheek as she took one of the cone’s out of jihyo’s hand. “thank you for the dessert baby. are you sure you don’t want me to pay you back for it?” mina asked earnestly. jihyo couldn’t help but laugh, “how poor do you think i am? it’s just ice cream.” the ceo’s eyes widened and cheeks flushed a bright pink. “i didn’t mean to- i just meant- i could pay- i don’t think you’re-” mina stumbled over her words in an attempt to save herself from a misunderstanding. jihyo could only laugh harder, “i’m just kidding honey, relax. besides, you need to start saving up. from now on you’re going to be paying and just so you know, i have expensive taste.” mina lightly pushed jihyo’s arm at the relentless joking, “stop teasing me and eat your ice cream.”

jihyo smiled, obviously proud of herself for successfully teasing her now girlfriend. mina watched her fondly as she began to lick the treat in front of her. she let out a content hum as the sweetness of the ice cream filled her mouth. “this is delicious. what flavor did you get?” mina asked, eyeing the green scoop on top of jihyo’s sugar cone. jihyo held out her dessert for mina to taste, “mint chocolate chip, here try some.” mina took the cone in her hand and took a small lick of the dessert, handing her own cone over for jihyo to try the black cherry flavor she had requested. mina nodded in approval at the taste, “i hate that it was actually good. there’s no reason mint flavored ice cream should taste good.” mina joked as she took another lick of jihyo’s dessert which prompted the other girl to whine and reach for her cone. the ceo couldn’t help but laugh at jihyo faux annoyance.

the pair continued to chat as they enjoyed their respective ice cream. mina couldn’t recall the last time she had smiled this much. she was almost positive by the time the date was over her face would hurt because of it. thinking about it only made her smile harder.

after their ice cream had long been eaten and the position of the sun had moved closer to the west, jihyo laid with her head on mina’s lap while she played with her hair. mina studied jihyo’s face, committing every detail to memory. “thank you for today. i haven’t had this much fun since... i don’t know when.” mina confessed as she twirled a strand of jihyo’s hair around her finger. jihyo’s lips curved into a warm smile that mina then mirrored. “don’t thank me quite yet. i have one more thing i want to do, if you’re up for it?”

“i’ll do anything you want me to,” mina’s voice was sincere. she didn’t want to get too invested too soon, but she knew she meant what she said in every sense of it. she would follow jihyo anywhere and do anything jihyo asked of her. jihyo must have known it too based on the fond look in her eyes. jihyo removed herself from mina’s lap and placed a delicate kiss on mina’s lips before she stood up and held out her hand. mina took her hand with no hesitation. she had no idea what was in store, but as long as she was with jihyo she couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

the pair gathered their belongings and stored them in jihyo’s car. “are we driving there?” mina questioned, unsure. “we certainly can if you want to. but, it’s only like a ten minute walk from here.” mina didn’t exactly like the idea of walking but she did love the idea of getting to hold jihyo’s hand as they walked. mina held out her hand for jihyo to lead the way.

jihyo laced their fingers together as they made their way back through the park and toward the city. she thought she’d be more nervous at the prospect of holding mina’s hand out in public- especially after having to hide her feelings for her boss for so long- but honestly, holding mina’s hand couldn’t have felt more natural. like mina’s hand was made to fit her own.

the two had been so engulfed in their conversation that the walk didn’t even feel like ten minutes. if jihyo hadn’t stopped her mina would have just kept walking without a care in the world just listening to jihyo talk. they had stopped outside of a small, dark building mina couldn’t see inside of. “what is this place?” mina asked skeptically as she searched for a sign or any indication of what was inside. jihyo was practically buzzing with excitement as she made her way over to the door. “are you sure this is the right place? this looks like the back of the building, shouldn’t we go to the other side or something?” mina asked even more confused the more she observed the building. jihyo ignored mina’s questions as she typed a code into the lock pad above the door handle.

the sound of the dead bolt shifting inside the door took mina by surprise. she truly had no idea what was going on or what to expect behind those doors. jihyo’s smile practically spanned from ear to ear as she hurriedly opened the door for mina, “after you.” mina looked at her girlfriend with a puzzled expression for a moment as jihyo urged her to enter the building. “are you going to murder me? was this all a set up?” jihyo rolled her eyes in impatience, “babe, just go inside.”

mina sighed in defeat and stepped forward, “if i step through those doors and die, i want you to know i will haunt you for the rest of time.” jihyo chuckled as she ushered mina through the door. before them was a empty hallway with a black door on the other end. “jihyo-” before the ceo could finish her sentence, put her hand on the base of her back and urged her toward the door. “trust me,” jihyo said softly as she lead them through the black door.

mina stood there in shock for a moment as she processed her new surroundings. a symphony of buzzes, dings, cheers and music filled the air. blue and purple neon lights illuminated the otherwise dark room. “oh my god,” mina whispered as she took in the vibrancy of the arcade. jihyo’s smile grew almost impossibly bigger as she watched mina’s eyes fill with excitement and wonder. the younger turned to her, surprise etched in her every feature. jihyo nodded toward the arcade as if to give mina permission to explore. mina needed no further instruction as she excitedly darted through the room, gasping and pointing out which games she wanted to play. “holy shit. i can’t believe they have this, i haven’t played this since i was a kid.” mina marveled at the old machine, a bright smile on her face as the nostalgia washed over her. “how did you find this place?”

jihyo half-shrugged although the look on her face gave away how proud she was, “just found it. wait here and i’ll get us some tokens.” mina was so entranced by the game she barely even registered jihyo leaving and coming back. it wasn’t until jihyo rattled the cup of coins that mina looked away from the screen.

for the next hour jihyo and mina played game after game, laughing and teasing each other at every chance they could. they moved from one machine to the other as mina recalled stories of her playing them in the past and jihyo listened attentively. she’d never seen mina this giddy and playful. it was almost like watching mina revert into a ten year old version of herself. she’s so used to mina’s more stoic and professional nature around the office and her commanding yet caring way at home, she never imagined this side to the ceo.

mina fiddled a game token between her fingers as she contemplated which game was worthy of their final coin. “we could play another round of dance dance revolution or do the racing game again- wait, maybe we should do the bowling one you’re good at so we can get more tickets and try to get better prizes. actually maybe we should do one more round of mortal combat since you can never go wrong with that,” mina rambled as her brows furrowed in contemplation. jihyo lightly placed her hand on top of mina’s, “actually i was hoping to try one we haven’t done yet.”

mina halted her suggestions for a moment, “we missed one?” she had been sure they played with every worthy machine. jihyo grabbed mina’s hand and lead her to the other end of the room, “babe, no offense but are we seriously going to waste our last coin on a claw machine? that’s not even really a game-” mina started to protest, since she had purposely been avoiding this corner of the room. jihyo continued to lead them forward until the reached the very edge of the room, “i want to play that one.” jihyo nodded toward an older machine that seemed to be excluded from the rest of the arcade. mina’s eyes widened once she realized what game it had been. she slowly approached the machine in disbelief, “i didn’t think they still had these anywhere.” she lightly traced over the machine’s controls, “when i was growing up i used to come to the arcade to play this with my dad every weekend when he was off work. this is part of the reason i fell in love with video games.” mina said with a fondness in her voice at the distant memories.

jihyo stood to the side of the machine and patted the coin slot, “show me how to play?” mina eagerly agreed as she dropped the token into the slot. she excitedly rattled off the rules of the game before she started her turn. jihyo barely paid the game any mind, content to just watch mina do the cute little face she makes when she’s concentrating. after a few minutes the machine erupted with a victorious trumpet sound to indicate mina had won. the ceo threw her fist in the air, “fuck yeah! i still got it!” she exclaimed, pride overflowing from her demeanor.

jihyo applauded her girlfriend before placing a kiss on her cheek, “congratulations babe! i knew you could do it.” mina wrapped her arms around jihyo’s waist and pulled her close. mina’s eyes filled with love as she looked at jihyo. she placed a loving kiss onto jihyo’s lips. jihyo smiled into the kiss before she pulled away and grabbed the tickets from the machine. “let’s go collect your prizes.”

the pair brought their abundance of tickets to the front of the arcade. a tall, older man stood behind the prize counter with a smile on his face, “wow, you weren’t kidding when you said she was into video games.” mina looked puzzled for a moment when she realized he was speaking to jihyo who had placed the tickets on the counter. jihyo laughed at his comment, “next time i need to bring more money so we can play longer. she kicked my ass at everything.” the man filtered the tickets through a machine and shook his head playfully at jihyo’s words. “i’m glad you two had fun. you can pick anything from the top shelf or from the stuffed animals hanging below it.”

jihyo turned toward mina, “you won the tickets so you pick.” mina still looked confused at the interaction she just witnessed and how little time she had to process it before they moved on. she turned her attention to the wall of prizes. she contemplated for a moment before pointing, “that one please.” the man grabbed a step stool and took the large pokemon plushie from it’s place on the wall. he then handed it to mina, the couple thanked him for the prize. “thank you again for everything. i’m sure we’ll be back,” jihyo bowed slightly toward the man before waving goodbye.

“did you know him?” mina asked as she held the plushie against her chest. jihyo giggled as they made their way through the exit. “kind of. we’ve been emailing back and forth.” mina raised her brow, “why?” jihyo shrugged, “i emailed a few arcades in the area to see if they had qix. this was the only place in like a hundred miles that had one that still worked.” mina stopped in her tracks along the sidewalk, “how did you know to do all this?” jihyo stopped alongside her, her demeanor turning sheepish at what she was about to confess.

“well, when you were out of town and i was staying at your place i tidying up around the house and went into your office. i noticed that picture of you and your dad playing qix on your desk. i figured since you haven’t been able to go back home in a while i could do something to try to bring home to you. it’s the only reason i insisted you let me pick what we did today.”

mina stood there in shock for a moment. she’s been homesick for so long she’d gone numb to it at this point. with the influx of work she had to deal with, it became easy to forget how much she yearned to be back in the place she grew up in and surrounded by her family. she’d been in work mode for so many years that anything other than work took a back seat. mina’s hands dropped to her side as she processed the information. no one had ever done anything this thoughtful for her. in a swift motion she pulled jihyo close and pressed a passionate kiss against her lips. she tried to pour every once of love and gratefulness she had into their kiss, knowing she wouldn’t be able to express it all properly with words. jihyo kissed back with so much tenderness and care it almost made mina cry.

once the two pulled away to replenish their lungs with air mina took jihyo’s hand in her own. “thank you.” jihyo smiled at her girlfriend, “you really don’t need to thank me. i had so much fun, so really i should be thanking you.” mina squeezed jihyo’s hand, “no, i am thanking you. this was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. so thank you. this was seriously like my favorite day ever. i’ll never forget this.” mina said sincerely as she handed jihyo the plushie she had won, “i want you to have this.”

jihyo shook her head and tried to hand the stuffed creature back, “i appreciate it, but you won it so you should be the one to keep it.” mina refused to take it, “please take it, i only got it because it reminds me of you anyway.” jihyo held out the plushie and studied over it’s pink appearance. “seriously? i remind you of a pokemon?” mina giggled as she looked back and forth between the plush and her girlfriend, “you have the same big eyes. and it’s not just a pokemon, it’s a jigglypuff. the cutest pokemon.” jihyo shook her head and laughed as she started to walk again hand and hand with mina. “let’s go back home.”

#mihyo #mina #jihyo #fluff #request #anonymous #ceo!mina

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daffelreign · 7 months ago

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My thoughts on Macbeth

(I was required to read it for my English class this year. It was an interesting experience.)

Something strange I’ve noticed is that, unlike other tragedies, I like Macbeth. And this only comes off as strange because I don’t particular enjoy stories that are more dystopian, or have a generally negative connotation throughout (and that tends to be most of what we read at school, for some reason). So why is Macbeth different?

After thinking about it for a bit, this is the answer I’ve come up with: Macbeth is an old story. By old, I don’t mean 50 some years ago—- I mean Shakespeare era old. And why does that matter? Because of how the story is written.

See, there’s this fun thing called ‘Shakespearian English’ which is basically really old sounding English. But it’s way past ‘doth’ and ‘thou’— Shakespearian English starts mixing words around and adding in words that didn’t exist before. A singular sentence is a dyslexic person’s nightmare, not to mention a real pain for the rest of us to understand. And therein lies my point.

I believe the reason Macbeth is more enjoyable is because it doesn’t hold the emotional weight that it is meant to. The entire story does live up to the label of a tragedy, as things start going wrong at a frightening pace, starting as early as the end of Act 1 (of 5). To the audience of its time, Macbeth would’ve been a captivating show, tugging their emotions along as the play got darker and darker. But the only reason emotional investment was possible is because the vernacular was easy for them to understand.

To us, Shakespearian English is bordering on an entirely new language, using words and a grammatical structure we are not familiar with. Because of that, we have to first comprehend what is being said to then figure out why it’s important. When it takes more effort on the reader’s part, it’s harder to focus on the meaning behind the words since the general wording is not understood. And for that reason, it’s harder to make an emotional connection to the plot.

This concept goes for a lot of older stories, like The Tragedy of Julius Caesar, and The Scarlet Letter. Our brains are used to how our language works nowadays, so anything in an older dialect is hard to understand. Thus, it takes away from the proper grandeur that the story should have.

Why do I find this enjoyable, exactly? Simply because it doesn’t hold the proper amount of doom and gloom in it. So rather than feel depressed about the whole thing, I get to pick apart the characters and their actions, as well as neat phrases they use. Why I function like this, I do not know. But the absence of the true nature of a tragedy makes it more fun for me to read.

#writer #writer stuff #writer brain #reading #macbeth #writerscommunity #readers #writer thoughts #thoughts #shakespeare #the tragedy of macbeth #weird brain stuff #writerblr #readers on tumblr #william shakespere #tragedy #tragic hero

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ovaruling · 1 year ago

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to the supportive replies, thank you, and, trust me, i know, i’m an avid absorber when it comes to the data of women’s fitness, and i love and appreciate all that we are strong in and i enlighten others around me as often as i can.

i’m grateful for the consolation but i must say that as an experienced exerciser i simply have never yet seen a woman able to outpace or outlast a man at any level of fitness. i have to imagine it would take a woman at the absolute peak of like, competitive or even Olympic levels of fitness to be able to out-measure one (1) man as far as working out harder and/or longer.

i’ve just never seen it done, even by the fittest woman i’ve ever known at my gym who is consistently top-ranked. i’m familiar with the studies and i’m sure they are true, i do trust the data, but i don’t think they can ever apply to the majority of even women who are above average fitness.

i think it’s ok to acknowledge that men have us licked here without having to come up with a comparative advantage we have. i understand the reasoning but i think we owe it to ourselves to be honest about the physiological differences here and i think it’s ok to be upset about them.

in explanation for myself though, it’s maybe more about the level at which men can exert themselves in their advantage at explosive power with just… so much less effort than i can. even at an advanced age, with injuries. and it… simply demands comparison every time i see it bc it’s almost impossible NOT to wonder what it would feel like for *me* to have that ability (which they barely even seem to appreciate).

i’m articulating this poorly, but it’s just difficult for me not to be impressed by the physical power, and also in a way that incurs envy of that (completely unearned) prowess.

i guess that’s just the nature of our being great apes—what we see, we want to prove we can do, too.

i do know our advantages in flexibility and balance and endurance as well, but i have always had very little interest in disciplines that prioritize those as the dominant strengths. i regrettably like the male-designed sport, unfortunately. i like that it takes explosive power and requires repetitive resetting power of high-impact and gruesomely heavy work.

i guess i just wish i had even 1/10th of what the average couch potato man has sitting in his rotator cuff or even just his femurs as we speak—even if that rotator cuff is chromosomally more likely to blow in ~5 years, i still find myself jealous of what it’s capable of NOW.

and i think that’s pretty normal given the social and the media and the social media value of male athleticism and the fact that most of our popular sports are designed for men and that the overwhelming majority of the people i see each day at the gym are men at all stages of life and fitness.

in my lifetime i will probably never live to see a world where a sport designed to highlight women’s strengths is considered the prevailing athletic feat of the human body, of humankind. which isn’t to discount things like gymnastics and pilates and yoga, because they’re incredible and require talent and power beyond anything in most people’s comprehension, but those are just not my racket and never will be, i guess.

i think it’s normal and ok to be jealous here. i know lots of women are, even when we’re very acquainted with our own biological advantages. i think it’s normal to grieve a bit when we’re irl faced with the very real athletic chasm between us and the most painfully average moid. which isn’t to say we’re inferior in any way—i don’t need the pep talk, i promise. but i think we need to be allowed to admit to ourselves that in this division of potential, men will pretty much always outperform us, and in a landslide.

at the very least it helps us understand more deeply and more personally why sex-segregated sports are so important, i guess.

but i just was expressing a personal grievance about the sport i picked. i still value our advantages as a sex, but it’s ok to admit to myself that i don’t really value them as much as maybe i’m supposed to, even after all of the radical talking points have been laid out for me.

maybe that affords the stage for that growth in the future? idk. but for now, i’m not in denial—i’m simply envious, that was the sentiment.

i know crossfit was invented by a man and i know the advantages women have and i know my chronic extenuating circumstantial limitations i know i know i know i promise i know BUT.

i am still broodingly pissed and violently jealous that the guy who started crossfit at the same time as me and only goes twice a week and doesn’t even do any other workout in between is capable of upper body output and a vertical jump that i will only ever be able to dream of

i hate that so many men are just natural athletes even if they’ve just been sitting on their asses their whole fucking lives

i hate that men who have never so much as lifted a dumbbell can come in and bench twice my max

i hate that men who have knee injuries can still run better and faster and oxygenate more efficiently than me

it’s not fair lol i put in 6x as much work at 10x the effort expended and i get fucking tuppence out of my body for every almighty dollar they cash in just by standing up

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compassionate-captain · 7 years ago

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☁ five times my muse has thought about yours, and the one time they do something about it. (i'm super curious, but don't feel obligated)

send me a symbol for…

☁ five times my muse has thought about yours, and the one time they do something about it. (Not accepting)

Mike glared, unimpressed at the Private. Yes, Captain Jack was allowed to walk about UNIT headquarters, flirting with whomever he wanted, even the men. But that was less a matter of him having permission to do so, and more to do with the fact that if he chose to do such a thing, there was nothing that the Captain nor the Brigadier could really do to stop him. Being under the banner of Torchwood, it gave Jack a certain kind of immunity from UNIT command, and while he could be punished by his privileges being taken away, the truth was that they needed Jack to be able to operate with Torchwood at all. Still, Mike swore that Jack was going to be the death of him. He probably didn’t mean to do so, but the more Jack hung around, the harder it became to keep the men in line. After all, while Mike had grown to respect Captain Harkness, he still somehow managed to cause controversy wherever he went among the ranks.

Captain Yates and Sargent Benton gave one another sidelong glances across the table. The Doctor had been complaining all morning, and the two soldiers could do nothing but listen to it. As the Captain pretended to listen to how much of a buffoon he was for the fifteenth or sixteenth time this week, Mike could not help but to think of their civilian counterparts in Torchwood. Mike knew that Jack had known the Doctor in the future. Did he have to deal with even half of this belittlement? He couldn’t help but to wonder how the Doctor would have treated him if UNIT was not a military organization. He knew that it was a futile exercise, but still. Every once in a while, he couldn’t help but to imagine. Maybe he should join Torchwood. Maybe he should go over to Jack’s side instead. He wasn’t going to any time soon, but sometimes he thought it the better option. At the very least, it would probably lead to him being nagged at less.

“No!” Mike shouted, extending a hand towards the man as the bullets tore through him. Falling to the ground, Mike crawled to the fallen soldier, trying his best to ignore the blood and viscera of his freshly dead ally staining his uniform. Checking the man over, it was just as he suspected. He had died immediately. Hearing the order off in the distance, Mike watched as his men moved forward, advancing towards the enemy. Many of them were going to die. A necessary sacrifice, but a sacrifice nonetheless. Taking off the man’s dog tags, the Captain let out a sigh. “Too bad you can’t just regenerate, right?” He half-smiled as he spoke to the corpse. “Not everyone gets to be Captain Jack, I guess.” Giving it a nudge he joked, “We should really get ourselves one of those. A soldier who could never die…” Mike lazily leaned against the side of the trench. “Would save us a lot of trouble. Send him on suicide missions… Put him on the front lines… If we could have one soldier with his ability to heal, we could save…” Mike shrugged. “Well… You know... Countless lives. Or I guess you wouldn’t. You’re already dead.”

He was at an impasse. Mike didn’t know what to do. Either he could push for what he felt was right and betray everyone he cared about. Or he could continue to live in a flawed world that was going to collapse around them. He didn’t know what to do. Looking back at the past, he could only see a long string of mistakes leading to a bitter and corrupted present. And it sickened him. As for the future… He knew it must be a bleak one. He knew that it existed. He knew people who had been there. But what they said... What the Doctor and Jack had said about it... It didn’t sound like a future worth living in anymore. For a moment he wondered. If he tried to stop the future from happening now, what would happen? It didn’t matter. Not to Mike. Not anymore. Even if it meant no future for himself, nor mankind, he needed to fix it. Even if it meant that UNIT would come to see him as a traitor... Even if Jack would have never been born, it was what he needed to do. For all of mankind.

In his old age, Mike looked at the photograph. He was standing in uniform with a shy smile on his face as Jack was grinning broadly next to him. Setting the photograph down, he let out a deep sigh, letting the nostalgia pass over him like a wave. What he wouldn’t give to be like Jack. Even for a little while. Able to live for so long without having to worry about dying or growing old. Mike knew that Jack hardly looked a day older than the day they had met all those years ago. Jack never changed, and while Mike knew and accepted it, sometimes it was still hard to think about. Mike had changed a lot since those distant times, running around, trying to save the world together. He stared at the phone for a long moment before deciding to leave it alone. He couldn’t call him. Not today at least.

Poping his head in through the door with a smile, Mike waved to Jack, almost ignoring the Brigadier. “Hey, Jack, the men and I are going out for drinks. Want to join? We’d love to have you.” He knew that the Brigadier and Jack had been discussing logistics for hours, but that didn’t mean that either of them should be left out. He figured that the Brigadier, being as busy as he was would probably refuse this time. But certainly Jack could spare a few hours. “Jack, you may not be an official member of UNIT... But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be treated to some of our famous UNIT hospitality.” With a wink, Mike turned on his heel. “We’re leaving in ten. If we don’t see you by then, we’re leaving without you.”

#long post #canspotatimeagent #inquiry received #trigger warning #reporting for duty #Look what took me like... a year to do! I swear that I wanted to do it. It just took a long LONG time to complete.#No real reasons other than this was harder and required more effort to think about and write. Also LONG!

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xofanfics · 3 years ago

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Without Warning - Part VII

Genre: angst, fluff

Pairing: Reader x Mark ft. Doyoung

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: You and Doyoung had the best summer you could. Now that he’s hundreds of miles away in college, you have to go through senior year alone. You meet Mark at a time when Doyoung is making you feel like you’re single. Just thinking of the fight you and Mark had tore you to pieces. You replayed the scenes in your head over and over again. You knew that it was your fault and that you chose turbulence over peace when you shouldn’t have. Your behavior brought out all of Mark’s insecurities and you didn’t want him to feel like that. Hell, you didn’t know that he felt that way in general.

It wasn’t that you were waiting for Doyoung. That ship had sailed and with the way things played out, you weren’t sure that you’d take him back even in an alternate universe. It seemed like you’d outgrown each other. Now that you weren’t together, you noticed that Mark was more your type and checked off most of your boxes. Mark was kind, Mark was caring, Mark noticed things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself. Mark paid such close attention to you and it made your heart thump harder.

Now that you weren’t with Doyoung, you could see more clearly. Before you were blinded by your feelings for him, unable to see the reality of things. You spent a lot of time blaming Doyoung for everything and though it was mostly his fault for neglecting you, you were at fault for not seeing that things weren’t working sooner rather than later. You were at fault for trying to force a long distance relationship. Part of you wondered if, deep down, Doyoung did want to break up but felt bad about hurting you. Did he stay just to protect your feelings, only to resent you for it later? Did he feel trapped, being with you like that?

It didn’t matter anymore, you decided. What ifs and maybes weren’t helpful for you, or anyone else involved. You rolled over in your bed, realizing that it was seven in the morning. You hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning and waking up what seemed like every hour. You’d even had a dream that you couldn’t quite remember, but woke up feeling sad.

With a sigh, you sat up in bed. Clearly, sleep wasn’t really an option. Your stomach grumbled in hunger. So, you got up, in search of some comfort food.

Doyoung stared at his coffee cup, unsure of what to think. It was Thanksgiving but he wasn’t feeling very festive at all. Today was supposed to be about spending time with the people you loved and who loved you back. But the person he wanted to love and love back was you. And he was positive that, after yesterday’s episode, that he wanted nothing to do with you. He knew he’d been childish but, to be honest, so had you. He knew that you were the kind of person that could be petty. And you knew that he was that kind of person as well. Both of you played a part in how badly last night’s events had gone.

He spread butter on the bread that had gone cold a while ago. The butter didn’t melt; it just sat there, waiting for a time that would never come. In a sense, the toast probably felt the same way that Doyoung did. For some reason he felt lost without you and he wanted to make things right with you, no matter what. But it seemed like he wouldn’t get that opportunity for himself. He wondered what things would be like if and only if he had done this properly. If he had only put in the effort required to make things work long distance. He’d been passive about it and he was unhappy and instead of expressing his frustration, he put up a wall and distanced himself from you.

Maybe it was a bit dramatic but he couldn’t help but feel like his life was ruined. Being with you always felt right to him. He wondered if you were his person and if he’d ruined things for good. Would you ever forgive him?

He thought about the supermarket again. Why had he acted out like that? Why couldn’t he be more mature and have a real conversation with you? He’d played a scene in his head over and over again, with the things he wanted to say to you. In his head, they all played out calmly. No fighting, no yelling, no getting defensive—just talking, having a conversation like people who had some sort of communication skills. He was older and should’ve known better. But he chose to act like a child, too, and egg you on.

He came to this diner because it reminded him of you. The two of you used to come here on Saturday mornings and order a bunch of pancakes and see who could eat the most. You could never beat him, though. You never seemed to be able to eat more than three—not including bacon.

He heard the bells as the door of the diner opened. He didn’t look up, mostly because he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to care about who would be coming into the diner. But his head snapped toward the counter once he heard your voice. From where he sat, he could only see the back of your head. Your hair was in a messy bun this morning and he could only assume that you’d just rolled out of bed. He knew you came here and got pancakes to go when you were having a bad day, even if it was seven at night.

Doyoung watched you as you leaned on the counter, looking at the menu even though you order the same thing every time. You’d order the three stack pancakes, you’d debate on the eggs, and you’d get some bacon—not too crispy.

“Can I have three pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon to go?” you asked. You paused for a moment, then said, “Actually, no eggs. Just the pancakes and the bacon.” Doyoung smiled to himself as you did exactly what he expected.

You let out a sigh and leaned against the counter again. Doyoung thought about calling your name. He thought about hiding in the bathroom until you left. He had a bunch of things he wanted to say to you and he’d spent the past eighteen hours thinking about it but, for some reason, his throat had gone dry. He no longer knew what to say, how to act, or anything. It was as if he’d lost all sense of human function.

And, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the waitress said, “Do you need a refill for your coffee?” He had hoped that you wouldn’t look over to him, but you turned to see who it was.

He said, “Uh, sure.”

Doyoung couldn’t describe the face you made upon seeing him. Surprise was definitely one of the things you had to be feeling. Your eyebrows were furrowed. Were you angry? Frustrated? Doyoung wasn’t sure how you felt just by looking at your face.

The waitress came over with the coffee pot, pouring more coffee into his mug. As the waitress left, you gave her a smile and you walked toward Doyoung’s table. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just said, “Hey…” You sat down on the other side of the table, something he definitely didn’t expect you to do. “I’m really sorry about yesterday, Y/N…I acted like a complete asshole.”

You let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, too. I was acting like a kid.”

“I’m sorry how things ended between us. I took you for granted and I resented being apart. Instead of trying to work on us, I gave up and pushed you away. You’re a good girl, Y/N. You always treated me so well and I wasn’t able to see that because I was frustrated about everything.”

“I should’ve seen it,” you said. “They always say it doesn’t make sense to go to college in a relationship. And, I guess, with our situation and you moving all the way to New York, it especially didn’t make sense. We held on to each other and, without knowing it, we held each other back.”

“It’s not your fault…”

You nodded. “It is, at least partially. I should’ve brought it up sooner. Maybe we wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“Maybe, but I shouldn’t have acted like that and treated you the way I did. I acted as if we had no history, as if I didn’t care at all. I’m so sorry for making you feel unloved.”

You nodded. “Thanks for that. And…I don’t hate you. I hate how things ended between us but I don’t hate you.”

A smile came to Doyoung’s face for what seemed like the first time in days. Obviously, he didn’t expect to get back together with you. I mean, maybe you could’ve, but even he thought it was best to leave alone. If things between them were meant to be, then they would be. Maybe they’d meet again in the future and the timing would be right. But for now, Doyoung was finally beginning to accept that maybe, right now, they didn’t belong together.

Doyoung took a sip of his coffee that he’d forgotten about as the waitress placed your to-go order in front of you. “Have a great Thanksgiving.”

You said, “You too,” and stood up.

From what Doyoung could see, there were two containers in the bag. Maybe it was for your mom but, of course, he couldn’t look past the fact that you seemed to be romantically involved with that guy. And that was fine. He couldn’t be mad at that, but there was still a pang of sadness he felt in his chest. Part of him felt a little sad that you were possibly moving on but the other was at least relieved that you found someone—someone who hopefully didn’t take you for granted.

“Does that guy make you happy?” You raised your eyebrow, skeptical of what he was getting at. Doyoung could see the skepticism in your eyes and decided to say something else instead. “I’m not asking to be in your business, I just hope that he does…”

You smiled. “He does.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “Take care, Y/N.”

Doyoung thought about offering you a ride home but he figured that might be overstepping a boundary. So he settled for keeping things neutral and to just leave things as they were. He said, “You too. Happy Thanksgiving.”

***

Mark’s phone rang and he was a bit aggravated. He was awake at this point but he hadn’t had much sleep. He kept waking up, tossing and turning. He even watched a couple episodes of Bob’s Burgers hoping to pass out. He’d had maybe four hours of sleep, at best. Mark groaned and picked up his phone.

It was you. At this point, he wasn’t mad. He felt insecure at the time but he felt better now. At the time, he felt like he couldn’t compete with the history that you had with your ex. But he spent last night on Google trying to make sense of what he was feeling. And after reading a few articles, he felt much better. He had to remind himself that no matter what had happened between you and Doyoung, that you met him and you chose him. He told himself that you liked him for him and that you wouldn’t lie to him like that.

He answered with a yawn. “Good morning.”

“Good morning…”

“You’re up early.”

“I didn’t sleep much.”

“Me either,” he said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you…”

“I thought about you a lot, too…You hungry?”

“A bit. I was thinking about getting a bowl of cereal or, you know, not being lazy and making some eggs or something.”

“I got you some breakfast. Come over?”

“Okay. I’ll be over in five.”

His heart thumped with excitement as he rushed to brush his teeth and get dressed. It was kind of crazy to think about how much he liked you. The way his heart suddenly started beating faster and faster. The way his heart dropped whenever he thought you were mad at him. And the way he perked up any time he heard your name. His feelings for you were real and they were stronger than he thought they’d be. Sometimes it felt a little crazy and overwhelming. It’d been so long since he even liked someone and he wondered sometimes if this was normal.

He arrived at your front door in exactly five minutes, much to your surprise. You opened the door looking beautiful as ever, with your messy bun and a t-shirt that you must’ve gotten from an old school event or something. You smiled and let him inside. “I missed you...”

“I missed you too.”

“I didn’t have a chance to say it this morning but I’m really sorry about yesterday…”

Instead of answering, Mark wrapped his arms around you. He’d been wanting to embrace you for hours and having you in his arms at that moment was all he needed. He smelled the sweet floral scent of what he assumed to be a combination of your body wash and lotion. He just held you like that for a moment and the two of you stood in silence. You let your body go, easing into his hug. Eventually, he said, “I know. I really care about you Y/N. It just felt like I was losing you.”

You shook your head in his sleeve. “You won’t lose me, babe. I promise.”

Mark pulled away to face you with raised eyebrows, pleasantly surprised at the new nickname. “Babe? That’s new.”

“Do you not want me to call you that?”

“I didn’t say that. I like it.”

“I want you, Mark.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wanna be with you. Forget what I said about taking things slow. I know what I want and I’m sorry I gave you reasons to doubt how I feel about you. I really care about you and I like you a lot. Almost losing you made me realize that life’s too short. You should go for what you want…if you can. I want a relationship with you.”

At this point, you had no reason to say no to a relationship with Mark. You weren’t even sure why you were hesitant in the first place. You supposed part of it had to do with being less trusting after your last relationship since it led you to question yourself.

“I know you’ve been hurt,” Mark said, “but I’m not here to lie to you or lead you on. You can trust me, not only as your friend but as your boyfriend. I only want to keep that pretty smile on your face. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this.”

You frowned. “I know I don’t…I meant everything I said. Do you trust me?”

“Of course. I’m all in.” Hearing Mark’s words brought a smile to your face and, because of that, Mark smiled, too. “So we’re dating now?”

“Unless you don’t want us to date…”

Mark chuckled. “You’re putting words in my mouth, babe.”

You leaned in to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pulled away for a second to say, “And now I’m putting my tongue in your mouth,” before kissing him again. Mark giggled into your mouth, the vibrations causing you both to pull away in a fit of giggles.

“Shh!” you said. “My mom’s still asleep.”

There were a few seconds of silence and Mark’s stomach could no longer hold back, apparently. It growled loudly, making you giggle. “Okay, I guess that’s our cue to heat up the food and eat. I’m sure it’s pretty much frozen at this point.”

***

6 MONTHS LATER…

“Congratulations graduates!”

At that moment, the field was filled with cheers and cries of frustration, relief, and joy. Everything everyone had worked so hard for had finally paid off. Everyone was free to follow their hopes, dreams, and aspirations in whatever way they see fit. You were free, free to spread your wings and see where the wind takes you.

You couldn’t exactly see Mark or your other friends in the crowd but you were thinking of them. You’d all been through so much together. Mark may not have been here for the full four year journey but he was still here and you were happy to experience your senior year with him. Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of you all walking your own paths, paving your way into the world. Thankfully, you had all wanted to stay in-state for college, so you didn’t have to do the whole we’re-going-to-different-schools-and-we’re-going-to-be-so-far-away-from-each-other thing.

University of California were notoriously difficult to get into and, as a result, you nor any of your friends got into UCLA. As disappointing as that was, the four of you got into UC Santa Barbara…except Phil decided to go to UC Berkeley. You didn’t blame him for that. It was a better school after all. So, it would be you, Mark, and Amber in Santa Barbara. And Lucas decided on the University of San Diego. Rina, you were unsure of. She and Lucas broke up about a month ago. Lucas had decided that he didn’t want to end up like you and Doyoung. He’d somehow convinced himself that he’d save both of them the trouble of being in a relationship going into college. You understood but just because it happened to you didn’t mean their relationship was doomed. But it wasn’t your relationship and you figured you’d just stay out of it.

But you were happy, regardless. You’d experienced some turbulence; you all had. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You and Mark ended up choosing the same school, but not for the sake of the relationship. It was because he genuinely wanted to. He’d said, “Well Santa Barbara isn’t too far from LA, right?” And then he added that he could always apply to UCLA later and that, maybe, it would be easier. But no matter the outcome, you were happy.

As everyone left the aisles and found their families, a feeling of bliss swept over you. Your phone vibrated in your hands with your dad’s phone number flashing across the screen. For fifteen minutes, you were trying to follow your dad’s directions to try to find him and your mom in the crowd. Halfway through the conversation, your mom took the phone and led you in the right direction. When you found them, your dad handed you flowers and hugged you tight. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

And your mom, tears in her eyes, said, “You did amazing, Y/N. I can’t believe my baby is going to college!” She wrapped her arms around you and hugged you tightly. For a minute, you thought she wouldn’t let go.

“Y/N!”

The familiar voice, thankfully, led to your mom letting you go. Mark approached you and your parents. He gave you a big hug and kissed your cheek. He said, “Congratulations, graduate.”

You smiled wide. “Congratulations…other graduate.”

Then he pulled away to greet your parents. They exchanged congratulations as you looked around at everyone’s smiling faces. Your mom cleared her throat and said, “Where are your parents? We should all have lunch together!”

“Oh, um, I said I’d meet them in the parking lot.”

“Great,” your mom said, “ we can take pictures. I’m going to make an album!”

***

Your mom wanted to throw you a party while your dad was in town, but you declined. The last thing you needed was a graduation party when college was already expensive enough as it was. You were going to move into the dorms for your freshman year of college, but there was no need for unnecessary expenses when you still had a bunch of stuff you needed to buy for college.

Plus, you didn’t want to have to actually plan the party. There was too much work and effort that would need to go into planning a party and there wasn’t much time. Between finals, last assignments, prom and the senior trip, you had gotten pretty busy during the last month of school. You’d have to think about decorations, who you were going to invite, and to find a venue to hold the party. The details would just be too much, you decided. And much to your mother’s dismay, she accepted your decision. So, you decided that you’d rather go on a day trip to Disney with your friends.

But having a graduation party was unnecessary because Phil was having a graduation barbeque. So, in a way, you supposed that it was pretty much everyone’s graduation party. And to make things even better, he happened to live in a house that had a huge backyard.

You and Amber were in charge of bringing the prepped food out to the backyard. You’d all been scrambling to get the backyard ready before people started showing up. With Phil barking directions, he had you and Amber working like slaves in the hot California sun. He insisted that you needed to get the backyard in order before people started arriving. Thankfully, no one from school had arrived at Phil's house yet. From what you could see and from the people you were introduced to so far, only a couple aunts and cousins came early to help set up and cook.

As you set out paper plates and napkins, you felt someone’s hands around your waist. Then, a familiar voice in your ear. “Hi beautiful,” he said, planting a kiss on your cheek from behind. “Did I tell you that your butt looks really cute in this dress?” He gave it a little squeeze, teasing you.

You smirked. “Perv.”

“I’m just saying,” Mark said, laughing. “I like what I see…”

“Get a room!” Phil called, shaking his head as he walked over to the grill with a bag of coal. “By the way some more people just got here.”

***

You got your closure with Doyoung unexpectedly that day and, personally, you hadn’t told anyone about it. At the time, bringing it up to Mark didn’t seem very relevant and it certainly didn’t seem like a good idea given all that you’d been through the day before. And you couldn’t be sure if Doyoung brought it up to Phil. There was always the possibility that Phil had heard about it but chose not to say anything. Phil wasn’t one to stir the pot, especially since he knew you were happy with Mark. There was a point when he thought that you and Doyoung would get back together someday but he knew that you and Mark were a better match for each other. He’d realized that sometimes things don’t work out, even if you thought they were good at the time.

Either way, it was what was best. Doyoung had been a huge part of your life, yes. You’d had fun, yes. But the relationship was over and, at this point, you’d accepted it. Looking back, there were times where you wondered how you could live without him. But soon after the breakup, you saw that you could live without him. You were now at a point where Doyoung could exist as your ex-boyfriend without you feeling bad about it.

Being with Mark made you realize that you’d romanticized the relationship a bit. You looked at him during and shortly after the relationship with rose colored glasses, a slightly distorted version of reality. Doyoung hadn’t abused you or anything of that nature, but you realized that he wasn’t the amazing boyfriend that you thought he was at the time. And you could probably say the same thing about yourself. You were both young and didn’t know much about love or how to be in a relationship. You’d been each other’s firsts but that didn’t mean that you’d be each other’s lasts. And the more time that passed, the more you could understand this.

Now, you felt like you’d grown and learned from your mistakes. You got your closure and you felt happy. You were happy with the way things were going with Mark. Even outside of your relationship with Mark, you felt happy. Things were going pretty well for you overall. You graduated high school with pretty good grades and you might not have gotten into your first choice school, but you were happy with your decision.

Of all the things you expected today, you didn’t expect to see Doyoung. So why was it that you were seeing him right now, coming through the gate? It felt like a dream, like time had somehow stopped. You saw him before he could see you. And before you could panic, Amber and Phil stepped in front of you.

Amber stood with her hand on her hip with a guilty-looking Phil. She nudged him, pushing him to explain. “So I may have invited Doyoung…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just thought you wouldn’t come or something...”

You nodded. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t miss your graduation party, Phil. You’re my best friend regardless of how me and Doyoung feel about each other.” You gave Phil a hug and your attention turned to Doyoung, who’d called his name. Doyoung was carrying a gift bag, assuming it was a little something for Phil.

“Congratulations, man,” said Doyoung with a huge smile. As Doyoung hugged his friend, your eyes met. He gave a faint smile and let Phil go a few seconds later. He greeted Amber with a hug and then smiled at you and said, “Hey.”

It was crazy how things had changed. This time, last year, you were in a relationship with him. You would’ve embraced each other with tight hugs and kisses. But this year was different. You hadn’t thought about what it would be like to see Doyoung again, but you didn’t feel awkward this time.

You said, “Hey, Doyoung.”

He smiled. “Congratulations, by the way. How does it feel to be on your way to college?”

You nodded. “It’s alright. Guess I haven’t had a chance to be excited about it just yet.”

At that moment, Lucas came over with Mark. “Hey guys,” said Lucas, flashing a red lighter in between his fingers. “Who wants to go on a walk?”

***

You hadn’t really smoked much before. The first time you smoked, it was with Amber. The two of you sat on the bathroom floor on a Friday night with the window open and the shower running. She called it “hotboxing” and insisted it was necessary so that the smell didn’t linger in the house for too long before her parents came back home from their date night. You took about four pulls, until your head felt heavy and your body felt a little too relaxed. Then the two of you went to the pizza shop, got a pie and some zeppolis.

The two of you ate it on the couch, watching trashy episodes of South Park. It didn’t last long, as you both ended up passing out. When you woke up, the lights were out, the pizza had mysteriously disappeared and you and your friend were covered with a blanket. You nudged Amber and after she gained her bearings, you laughed and you laughed at two in the morning like you had no cares in the world.

Out of all your friends, Lucas and Amber were the only ones who could be considered smokers. The rest of you, you supposed, were just smokers if the weed happened to be there. The rest of you would put a couple dollars in and split it all.

As Doyoung took a hit from the joint, Phil said, “Since when do you smoke?”

Doyoung chuckled and said, “NYU was stressful, man. Let me tell you guys now…College is no joke. Maybe NYU is harder than other schools, but either way…don’t get there and think things are gonna be simple or easy because they’re not.”

You looked over at Mark while Doyoung was talking. You started overthinking, wondering if maybe this was awkward for him. But, from what you could see, things seemed to be going okay. Usually you could tell if Mark felt awkward about something. Looking at his body language, he seemed pretty comfortable.

***

Mark was at a point where everything seemed funny. His eyes were a little heavy and he may or may not have taken one hit too many. Lucas’ weed seemed a little stronger than usual. Maybe that, or that he’d taken more pulls than he usually would. Either way, he’d be lying if he told someone that he was sober.

That, plus, he had a few sips of whatever concoction Amber had thrown together in a water bottle before she got to Phil’s house. So, here they were, walking together. At the same time,

As they walked back to Phil’s house, Mark stared at the back of Doyoung’s head. He seemed like a decent guy, from what Mark could see. He wasn’t under the impression that he didn’t do the things you’d said, but it seemed like he was nice. But Mark also understood that certain situations brought out the worst and the best in people. Just because he was this way in front of friends didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be another way while in front of someone else.

There were people out there that were abusive to their significant others behind closed doors, but “normal” in front of everyone else. Essentially, there were people that hid pieces of themselves. It was something everyone did; it was just some actions were more or less toxic than others. He didn’t think Doyoung was a bad person. He was a person that fucked up, perhaps more than he should’ve. But that was life. People fucked up and had to deal with the consequences of their actions.

Mark was a strong believer in that saying that everything happens for a reason. You and Doyoung had your reasons for breaking up, but maybe it was meant to end up like that. If it hadn’t been for that, you wouldn’t have even considered him romantically. And maybe that would’ve been okay. Maybe you would’ve ended up with different people, or maybe no one at all.

Mark heard a car honking in the distance and realized that he’d been in a daze. He had gotten lost in his thoughts and, by the time he realized that the girls were now walking in front and that he was no longer walking next to Lucas, Doyoung was walking next to him. Taking the opportunity at the sudden eye contact, he said, “Hey.”

Mark was caught off guard. “Oh,” he said, “hey.”

“I know this might be a little awkward…but I just wanted to apologize for that day. I was out of line and I don’t blame Y/N for how she reacted.”

“It’s okay. I was honestly just confused at the time…but, uh, thank you for the apology.”

Doyoung nodded. “Is she happy?”

Mark said, “I think so.”

“I’m glad. Y/N deserves the world and I hope that she can be happy with you.”

Mark smiled and he looked at you, from behind. He saw you laughing and smiling at whatever joke Lucas was telling and it brought a smile to Mark’s face. From what he could tell, you were happy. And he definitely saw a future with you, no matter what. He planned on a future with you. He planned on taking trips with you, experiencing new things with you, and graduating soon. He didn’t know if it was crazy or not, but he could see himself with you for a long time. Maybe even long enough to get married, buy a house together, and have babies with you. But maybe that was thinking too far into the future. Then again, Mark believed in dating with purpose. He wasn’t the kind of person to date someone just to “see what’s out there.” He was the kind of person to date someone he had feelings for, in the hopes of having a future together.

Mark said, “I think she will be.”

“She’s a great girl,” Doyoung said, “and she’ll treat you well.”

Mark knew that already. He knew it in his heart, body, and soul.

FIN.

***

Without Warning Taglist: @wanlore @lunakua

General Taglist: @to-all-the-stories-i-love @sweetnspicy-noona @baehaechannie

#nct mark #mark lee #nct mark lee #nct fics #nct fanfiction #nct fluff #nct angst #mark angst #mark fluff #nct imagine #nct reactions #nct scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #mark x reader #nct x reader

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bubble-tea-bunny · 4 years ago

Text

what we’re meant for

[apollo x reader]

author’s note: apollo’s ear piercings>>> makes me wanna get more ugh

word count: 9,251

The air feels colder after it rains, but it’s also crisper, fresher, and with a deep inhale you let it fill your lungs, mentally steeling yourself for today’s hunt.

You stand at the edge of the woods, sunlight peeking through the foliage of towering trees and bugs and birds alike flittering between the thick, aged trunks. The grass is damp from a combination of raindrops and morning dew, and you know you’ll need to watch your steps particularly carefully to avoid any muddy spots, lest your feet sink in. A small gust of wind blows, ruffling your hair, braided as it always is to keep it out of your face, and you shiver. Your deep breaths are also made in an effort to acclimate yourself to the lower temperature. You refrained from wearing a cloak despite the chill because you knew it’d only impair your ability to use your bow properly. Though the longer you stand in place, the more you’re beginning to regret that decision. So before you can get the chance to regret it even more, you slide down the small incline and venture into the forest.

Last night the rain had been heavy, and you watch out for fallen leaves and branches, taking care to walk around them. It’s always quiet here, but especially so in the mornings, and any misstep would alert the wildlife to your presence. The birds are singing, a complement to the peace of the early hours, and serve to help you feel less alone as you traipse along. You try to identify the species to whom each unique call belongs, testing what you learned from Alexios during the days you’d agreed to let him accompany you on hunts. Studying birds had become one of his favorite pastimes, and he delighted in sharing with you what he read and applying his knowledge.

There’s a melody, high-pitched and staccato, and you think hard about what Alexios had shared, about the distinct tones. You then hazard a guess, and your attention is pulled to a small bird that perches on a branch of a tree you’re passing. It opens its mouth to sing, and you smile, having found your guess to be correct. It seems you’re getting the hang of this.

Your birdwatching is interrupted by the ruffling of leaves, and you freeze, gaze lowering to scan the surrounding area. You listen closely to determine the direction the noise had come from, and the moment you hear it again, you establish the way you need to go.

You move slowly to remain as quiet as possible, following the sound of pattering on soil and the snapping of twigs. It doesn’t move very far and you’re able to close the distance, ducking behind a bush when you catch a glimpse of fur. Once you’re hidden, you peek around, eyes settling immediately on the sand-colored rabbit sniffing at a plant. As it begins to take a bite of the leaves, you carefully reach for your bow.

The birds chirping help provide some cover, but it’s not perfect because you’re much closer, and any noise you make will stand out. You begin to pull your bow from over your shoulder but pause when the rabbit does, its ears lowering. Had it heard you? It lays flat on the ground then, and you figure it must have; it’s getting ready to flee if it hears anything else.

You hold your breath to keep silent and manage to get your bow and an arrow without the rabbit noticing. As you nock the arrow and take aim, you exhale, then take another deep breath, holding it again to remain steady. You only have one attempt to catch the rabbit here. Otherwise, you’ll have to chase it or search for another animal.

The string of your bow is at maximum tension, pulled back as far as it can go, and your fingers unwrap from around the arrow, letting it fly. You can swear it almost whistles through the air before it hits your target. It’s a clean shot, and now you allow yourself to relax, letting out a sigh and emerging from your hiding place to retrieve your catch.

You pull out the arrow to return to your quiver and tuck the rabbit into your rucksack. You’re not quite done hunting yet, for one rabbit isn’t enough for you and your family. You’ll need to keep searching, but luckily, there’s ample time yet until noon, when you’re expected back to assist your mother around the house.

Slinging your rucksack on, you stand back up straight. The sun is at an angle to shine down through the trees, its rays bright and brilliant. It’s just the warmth you need, and you stay in this spot briefly, basking in it with closed eyes. See, you think to yourself, the cloak would’ve been unnecessary. You’ve got the sun to keep you warm after all.

With your eyes shut, your hearing is extra sharp, and at the sound of more rustling, you’re kicked into action. You’ve pinpointed the direction more quickly this time, and you proceed to track your next target. You try to walk along the ground the sun touches, feeling its heat spread over your back. Please continue to keep me warm, you murmur. It feels nice on cold mornings like these. It’s a playful request because of course the sun can’t hear you, but you like to pretend it can, and that you’re in its good graces, that it should indulge you and kiss your skin so gently.

The silly thought makes you smile, and it rests comfortably on your lips as you navigate your way between the pines.

***

This morning is a morning like any other, nondescript and quiet. The thick blanket of clouds beneath the expanse of Olympus is parting as the rumble of rainstorms fades to welcome a clear sky. Colors always appear more vivid after the rain: a bluer sky, greener trees and grass. Every drop breathes new life into the earth, invigorating then magnifying it. Fewer sights are better than this, and that’s why Apollo finds himself tarrying in the courtyard.

He allows his mind to empty as he absentmindedly gazes down below, watching the world awaken, freshly cleansed and ready for a new day. The air up here is crisper as well and he breathes it in deeply. This would always be one delight he shared with mortals.

After lingering a while longer, he’s poised to take his leave and proceed with his day, but a curt prayer reaches his ears and stops him short. To hear prayers isn’t unusual, and he hears them often, but this particular one grabs his attention for a short list of reasons. One, that it hadn’t been addressed to him explicitly, but to the sun. It’s this that tips him off to the fact it must not be anything serious, no heartfelt plea for blessing but something muttered distractedly to fill the air, but he hears it all the same, and, if anything, is amused by it. Two, and perhaps—no, not perhaps, definitely—the more important point, is that the sound of the voice is distinct, melodious, enough to pull him in, wanting to hear more.

So, rather than leave, he leans against the stone railing and scans the earth far below, listening for that voice again and searching for its owner, whose sweet song has graced his ears so sweetly on a morning that’s quickly taking a turn, no longer a morning just like any other. Where might you be, little bird…

There in the woods, he finds you. Bow in hand and rucksack on your shoulders, clearly in the midst of hunting. It’s simple to surmise that you’re doing your best to walk beneath the sun, and he can’t contain his smile. With each of your deliberate steps he grows more interested in observing you, and if the other gods notice how long he has been here, head leaning on a propped up hand and eyes drawn downwards, they don’t say anything or attempt to interrupt.

The birds that fly above your head are poor competition and while he wishes you would speak more, you don’t, but he understands since your current task requires silence. Though when you shoot down a deer, you let out a quiet exclamation of victory, and you might as well have shot him instead, for his heart seems to beat that much harder in reaction to your voice. Not only is the sky bluer and the foliage greener following the rain, but the cheeks of fair maidens are redder too, as evident by your own. They’re flushed, for you did have to go on a bit of a chase for that deer, but it’s charming in its own right, especially when joined by your satisfied smile. Apollo wonders if, should he lay his hand tenderly on your cheek, the heat of them might rival the sun he governs. He wonders if you’d allow him to sate his curiosity.

Much as he’d like to stay here watching you for the rest of the day, he can’t, and he reluctantly backs away from the railing. His every footstep takes him away from you physically, away from the sight of you, but mentally, you’re in the forefront of his mind in the passing hours. How hadn’t he noticed you sooner? He scolds himself for being careless, that he should miss something so remarkable as you for as long as he had.

Perhaps it might be argued that the gods are kept busy by the whole picture, presiding over the world as a whole, rarely afforded the chance to study the details. But to Apollo it makes little difference because with the discovery of you, with your fanciful wish for the sun to be at your back as you hunt and your voice soft as the plucked strings of a lyre, he is learning that sometimes, the real masterpieces are in the margins of a painting: well hidden but rewarding to find, so that upon picking it out, suddenly life is seen through a fresher pair of eyes, enlightened, and prepared for other secrets behind the canvas or in the painter’s brush.

Morning bleeds into afternoon and afternoon into night, and when the stars are strung across a dark sky, Apollo returns to his spot in the courtyard to search for you. He didn’t want to sleep until he saw you one more time.

You’re at home, your mother preparing for dinner the animals you’d caught earlier. In the mean time, you converse with a young boy. You talk about the birds you heard while hunting, and how you managed to guess their unique calls correctly.

“You’re a wonderful teacher, Alexios,” you compliment, and Apollo thinks about how he wants to hear you say his own name.

Alexios smiles widely. Then, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “I must be. If I could teach you, then I could teach anybody.”

At the playful jab, you lightly shove at his shoulder. “I’m a good student!” you defend yourself. “I just get distracted easily.”

“You’re like the sheep father tends to.”

You laugh, bright and melodic. It’s the only music Apollo needs. He’s of the opinion you’d be better suited in Olympus. Your dulcet tones and the delicate planes of your face are the essence of the divine and otherworldly, but he speculates you’ve been placed on earth to grace your fellow mortals with a piece of the heavens, your existence a reminder of the higher powers that be and the beauty they take care to form.

However, Apollo has no qualms in admitting he’s selfish, because for all of that, he’d still prefer you to be here and to keep you for himself. Thoughts of you lull him to sleep this evening, and, at least in this way, he can feel closer to you.

In the following days, he begins planning how best to approach you. To watch from a distance could only satisfy him for so long; he’s yearning for more. Lately, he’d taken to standing at the edge of the courtyard when he needed to think, since from here, he could also watch you, and during one such instance of this, he’s joined by another.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Apollo blinks and glances to his right. Ares is walking over, in full armor and a helmet tucked beneath his arm. He must’ve just returned from training at the arena.

“Have I?” Apollo asks, but he already knows the answer.

“What’s got you so lost in your head?” Ares reaches out, intent to poke at Apollo’s forehead, but Apollo steps back and swats his hand away.

There would be no point in lying. Ares would see through it. Not that Apollo cares to lie. He has nothing to hide. “There’s a girl.”

Ares hums in understanding. “Ah.”

Apollo turns back to study you. Currently, you’re at the market with Alexios and have stopped at a fruit stand. “I want to meet her soon.”

“Is something stopping you?”

“No, no…” Apollo trails off and stays quiet briefly, already becoming distracted. But Ares detects he’s not finished speaking yet and waits. “I just want to figure out how to go about it is all.”

Ares raises a brow. “You’ve never cared about that before.”

At first, Apollo doesn’t think much of this remark, that it’s not worth noting, but upon further consideration he realizes it is rather unusual for him to take into account the how of a first meeting, and not simply appear before you the moment you’re alone. That’d always been standard procedure for him, and the question this raises in him is surely the same as what’s raised in Ares but that he doesn’t share aloud: why now?

Apollo likes to watch you in your natural environment, likes to watch you be, well, you. After all, it’s what had grabbed his attention to begin with, witnessing you in a scenario you’re comfortable in because of its familiarity, to the point you move through the forest with precision, clearly knowing it as well as the back of your own hand. He wants to interact with that part of you and observe up close the one who offers frivolous prayers to the sun as a mere aside, paying no mind to the gods who might actually be listening. Your desire is for the warmth to wash over you on cold mornings and Apollo would fight to keep the skies cloudless forever so that as long as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, your prayer will always be answered.

If he were to appear to you in his form as it is now, as a god in his full glory, it would ruin everything. You’d be taken off guard, startled, unsure how to act in his presence, and he doesn’t want that. It leaves him with the present dilemma, but he thinks he might have come up with something that will work…

Finally, he sighs, and humors Ares with a response. “You’re right. I guess I haven’t.”

***

For some reason, the animals elude you today. Your ears are sharp and well trained, so you’re certain it can’t be that you’ve missed any telltale cues of one in the area. The woods are quiet, and they feel empty. If you have anything to say about it, it’s a little bit disconcerting.

Eventually you settle against a tree trunk for a short break, laying your bow and empty rucksack next to you. With you sitting, now you don’t even hear the crunching leaves beneath your sandals, and your eyes rove over the immediate surroundings. Nothing rustles, disturbed by creatures who are exceptionally well hidden. Where are they, any of them?

Perhaps you’re just unlucky this time? Returning home empty-handed didn’t matter too much; it was always possible to buy meat at the market. You just preferred to hunt for game yourself because of the thrill it gives and the accomplishment you feel being able to provide for your family in this way. As such, you don’t want to give up yet. After you’re done resting, you’ll continue. Like always, the only rule you have to abide by is to be home by noon.

There’s a stir in the bushes to your left, the leaves jostling, and you sit up quickly. Slowly you grab your bow, fingers wrapped around the grip, and gingerly you pick it up from the dirt and lift yourself to stand. You don’t walk in the direction of the bushes immediately. Your vantage point would be no better since whatever animal is here, it’s well-concealed, and even if you could spot it through the branches, your arrow couldn’t reach. Instead you wait to see if it starts to move out into the open.

Bow in one hand and arrow in the other, you’re prepared to take aim as soon as you spot your target. You just have to hope it doesn’t notice you first and take off into a run. The animal hiding is beginning to move, for the leaves rustle more, and you nock the arrow.

A red fox emerges, golden eyes trained on you as if it had already known you were there. But if that were the case, you’re confused as to why it hasn’t run away. Your arrow’s still knocked, though it’s pointing at the ground, and you stare at each other for one, two, three beats of silence, and this fox’s unwavering gaze leads you to believe thats something is wrong.

No, not wrong, but definitely out of the ordinary. The fox isn’t afraid, and you can’t bring yourself to stare it down from the sight window of your bow, not when it’s unlike any other fox you’ve encountered, so you relax the tension of the string, removing your arrow and returning both hands to your sides.

The fox moves first, walking towards you, and you’re frozen in place. It feels like a dream, being approached like this by a wild animal who means no harm. You wonder if it might speak to you, a conduit for the gods to impart wisdom, but what they could possibly want to say to you, you haven’t the faintest idea. You’re hardly remarkable, not as well-versed in matters of the divine as the priests of the temple. Has this situation come about as a result of opportunity? To be out in the forest by yourself, there’s little chance for interruption. And with the quietness here, so far from the polis, there’s also little chance for misinterpretation, should the gods truly have something important to share.

The fox now stands right in front of you, its bright eyes blinking, vulnerable but comfortable. You decide to follow its lead, crouching down and setting your bow and arrow on the ground. It’s close enough that you can reach out for it, and cautiously you do, extending an arm to gently run your hand along its red fur. It doesn’t shy away, and as the seconds tick away, you find yourself feeling more comfortable as well. You’re still well aware of the peculiarity of the position you’re in, petting a wild animal so casually, and maybe the gods really are poised to talk to you.

However, the fox is silent as you greet it with a murmured greeting, only continuing to stare up at you. You continue talking, no room to feel embarrassed to converse with a wild animal when it’s already strange to be petting it with ease, and you’re only partly pretending that it can understand because with the way it watches you, you can swear it understands your every word.

“Why are you here?” you inquire, voice hushed. “I suppose you saw a friendly face and wanted to say hello.”

You scratch the fox behind the ear and it nudges its head into your hand, enjoying the sensation, and you chuckle. “Well I’m glad you thought me worthy of your time.”

And your time with it, it would seem, is drawing to a close, because the fox backs up, out of your reach. You watch it with a smile pulling at the corner of your lips and you stand. Lifting a hand to give a little wave, you expect it to turn around and proceed with its own day, concealing itself within the bushes again. And while the fox does turn around and walk away, what surprises you is that it pauses and looks back over at you.

You tilt your head. It’s a very deliberate glance, for it stays where it is, still staring. Was it trying to communicate? Had you been correct after all, that this fox could understand you and had something to share? You stand motionless, ruminating on these thoughts, but the fox continues looking at you, no attempts made to leave… at least not alone. And you know that it could no longer be denied. This fox is trying to say something: it wants you to follow.

Grabbing your bow and rucksack and covering the short distance to the fox, who, satisfied that you’re trailing close behind, proceeds with walking ahead, you reason that there are worse things to be following through the woods. You’ve heard the stories of divine beings interacting with mortals, manifesting in some form to offer guidance, but never did you think you’d be one of them. You can’t help trying to guess what guidance this fox has to offer even if the best course of action right now is just to wait. If it’s leading you somewhere, there’s a destination, and whenever you arrive, you’ll have your answer.

Distracted as you are with watching the fox, you don’t notice the tree root sticking out from the earth, and your foot gets caught on it. You yelp, falling forward, and your hands slide against the leaves as you catch yourself. But then there’s another disturbance, the rustling of more leaves which you’re certain isn’t your doing, and you squash the pained groan you almost let out from scraping your knees in order to listen for any more movements.

Has your run of bad luck finally ended? You’d pushed aside your original task of hunting for game when the fox approached, but now that there’s potentially a rabbit or a deer to track, you’re conflicted as to what to do. And as you’re wont to do in situations like these, you imagine what your mother might say. She’d tell you it’s fine not to go after whatever you’ve heard because the gods aren’t to be ignored, and there would always be other animals on other days. Yes, that’s what she would say yet you still struggle decide.

Your eyes slide from staring in the direction you’d heard the disturbance, down to the fox, who’s paused again, waiting patiently. You know that your urge to track whatever animal is out there doesn’t have to do with the sense of duty to bring home food for dinner, for a trip to the market is no issue. It’s your passion for hunting, the calls of the wild which pull at you. Perhaps it may be ridiculous that the urge is so strong as to compete with the chance to commune with the gods in such a tangible way, foolish even, in the eyes of many, but you would never be ashamed of it. Still…

With a huff, you stand up and brush yourself off. If only to sate your curiosity, you reason, taking wide strides to catch up to the fox.

The two of you don’t walk for much longer, but as you do, you hear the jostling again, of a wild animal sniffing at bushes in search of food. And with every step, you realize the sounds are getting louder.

Finally, the fox stops behind the trunk of a large tree, and you come up behind it, crouching down. Why have you brought me here? You think it but don’t ask it out loud, and you don’t have to because you peak around the trunk and find the answer: there’s a deer in the wide clearing, munching on berries it pulls away from a bush. You duck back around and look at the fox in surprise. It had led you to the animal you heard earlier? The fox sits down, looking up at you with its golden eyes, its job done.

You smile. Sometimes what the gods share with mortals is profound, wisdom only coming from the ones who call Olympus home, and other times they simply share a helping hand.

You’re not about to let the opportunity go to waste. Drawing an arrow and nocking it on your bow, you take aim.

***

One meeting is hardly adequate for Apollo. The moment he’d interacted with you, he knew he wanted more.

He thinks about what you’d said, how you thanked him for deciding you to be worthy of his time. And how could you not be? It was a different experience entirely to observe you up close, to see the confusion on your face upon his arrival but then the softening of it as you relaxed and welcomed him, even for how atypical the whole affair was, to get so close to a fox. You understood it to mean something even if you couldn’t say what, and when prompted to follow, you did so.

There had been that momentary struggle when you heard the deer, unsure whether to break away or continue to follow him. He doesn’t fault you for the indecision. If anything, it helped him to better understand the love you harbor for the hunt, and he’s of the opinion that such passion should always be encouraged. He’d been leading you to the deer to begin with, but you didn’t know that, and even so, you pushed aside your desire to track the deer yourself to continue following him, acknowledging that where he might lead you had nothing to do with an animal to catch but being okay with it.

The tone of your voice had been so soft, like petals trailing along skin as one lays in a flower field on a warm day, and your eyes were gentle. He would like you to continue watching him in that way, perhaps on a quiet night, a dark one, when the stars are clear and brilliant so that he can promise you that he would scoop them from the sky and fashion them into a crown for you should you ask. Or if not that, he would gladly rearrange them to form a picture of you, a constellation made of only the brightest, to immortalize you in the heavens.

He sighs with longing he doesn’t bother to hide. His eyes slide closed and all he sees in his mind is you. Always you. He needs to see you again soon, to quell the ache in his chest.

The next time he does meet you, he assumes not the form of a fox, but of a human. He wants the chance to actually speak to you. In the early hours of a clear day, he roams the forest, in the areas you tend to frequent. There’s no worry of running into other people on accident. You tend to only be the one hunting this deeply into the woods.

He hears the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, and he turns just in time to see you walk around a tree and into view. Once you spot him, you stop, surprised to find you’re not alone. You hesitate to say anything at first, confusion apparent in your gaze, but you brush it aside as you offer a polite grin.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here,” you say.

Apollo chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, feigning sheepishness. “I came here to think and got so lost in my thoughts that, well…” He spreads his arms wide, referring to your surroundings. “I wandered further than I realized.”

You grin widens, and you relax a little more now. “I don’t blame you. The forest is a perfect place to find some peace and quiet.”

Apollo smiles too. “Yes, it really is.”

When you ask for his name, he tells you it’s Loukas. You repeat it, to be sure you heard him correctly, and it’s not as satisfying as he knows it would be to hear you say his real name, but it would have to do for now. Then you say Well it’s nice to meet you, Loukas and it’s heartfelt, yours smile amiable and extending a hand of friendship, should he want that. And yes, he does, very much so, and more still—as much as you’re willing to give.

You ask him questions about himself and he makes up information on the spot, but in an effort to avoid having to conjure up too detailed a backstory, and because he doesn’t want the focus to be on him, for you’re who he wants to learn about, he turns the tables on you and asks about you. It’s surface level, things he already knew by observing you from Olympus—your family and what they do, why you’re out in the forest early in the morning.

But what he gleans from conversing with you goes beyond that. You care for your family deeply, wanting to be a good daughter and older sister. You just want them to be happy, and anything you could do to make it possible, you would do. Hunting began as something practical, done to provide, but you’d grown to love it, energized by the cold air filling your lungs and the rush of blood through your veins when you’re set on a chase. Life for you is generally quiet, but in the forest, with your bow and arrow, it can be livelier, if only for a little while.

Apollo listens with rapt attention as your life unfolds before him and your eyes sparkle from the light of the sun overhead, but he’s more inclined to believe instead that they shine from the stars tucked away within you. Your soul is the essence of another universe and he’d like to live there, Olympus a distant memory but it wouldn’t matter to him, so long as you’re together.

He’d quickly been lost in his musings about you, the life he’d like to live with you, but he’s pulled from it at the mention of a fox and your quiet laugh of disbelief as you recount what a unique encounter it had been.

“Sometimes when my father asks for help watching the sheep, I’ll sit in the pastures and talk to them, but with the fox, it was different. I was sure it could understand what I said.” You chuckle again, embarrassed. “I’d been struggling to find any animals that day too, and that fox led me to a deer. It was like the gods were watching out for me.”

You glance at Apollo, nervous for what his response could be, because it does sound a little outlandish, but he simply smiles warmly. “Olympus rests in the heavens, but on occasion, the gods take care to remind us they’re closer than we think.”

“Well said,” you compliment, then continue teasingly, “Did you hear that from one of the priests?”

Apollo laughs and shrugs noncommittally. “They have a way with words.”

Time with you passes much too quickly and he’s saddened as it draws to a close. Your parting words include an apology for disturbing him, since he’d come to the forest to think, and he’s speaking to you as Apollo, not as Loukas, when he promises that you would never be a disturbance. He’d enjoyed your company, hopes that you’d enjoyed his too and that perhaps this wouldn’t be the end. Until the next meeting? It’s asked in a way that leaves it open, for there’s no set date and you’ll leave it to chance that you run into each other on another day.

You nod and your lips, stretching into a grin, look so soft. “If it be the will of the Fates, we’ll see each other again.”

“I’ll have to pray for their favor then.” He lifts a hand in a wave goodbye, and you return it before making your leave, gradually becoming concealed by the foliage.

But Apollo would do no such thing. The hands of the Fates keep the world turning but where it concerns you, he would pull the strings himself. He doesn’t bother to entertain the idea of what your thread might contain, whether there’s a place for him in it or not, because he doesn’t care to find out. He wants to be with you, and it’s a desire so powerful that he would dare to push back against the Moirai in order to fulfill it.

From the moment he’d said goodbye during your first conversation, he already knew you would meet again. He’d be there in the woods to wait for you. It isn’t the will of the Fates that turns this wheel, but Apollo.

Hermes had noted both the change in Apollo’s demeanor, his propensity for bouts of silence as he watches the earth below, in combination with his recent absences to go down there, but for what, Hermes doesn’t know. Apollo is forward with him as to what he’s been up to, like he had been with Ares, but unlike Ares, Hermes is privy to just what Apollo feels regarding the Fates and their plans for you.

“It’s no small matter to reject what they’ve ordained,” Hermes remarks. “The threads they spin, it’s destiny. Even for that girl who’s caught your eye.”

But Apollo isn’t easily swayed. It’s the strong who admit no destiny, and he would shoulder the burden of Atlas and carry the sky on his back. Where it concerns you, the Fates were a mere interference. He’d forge the future on his own.

***

The way your eyes light up when you do see him again makes everything in the world feel right, and upon your playful comment—It seems the Fates have been kind—he brushes aside the idea of destiny and the Moirai easily. In response, he hums, declares They have despite not meaning it since, well, it isn’t true. And he wishes he could tell you it was his doing, that it would always be him pushing you two together because he wants the praise which falls from your lips to be for him and him alone. Though he supposes there would be time yet to reveal such secrets to you, and despite the irritation he feels at needing to wait, he will do so without complaint.

Besides, he’s too preoccupied paying attention to you to bother complaining. You take up all the space in his mind, and there’s room for little else. It’s entirely unusual for the likes of Apollo to be this enamored with anyone, and he studies your form closely as you talk—the curl of your lashes, the sheen of your hair pulled into a braid, the color of your lips—wondering if you found your beginnings as a sculpture, not a human, and it was Athena who breathed life into your form. If such is the case, where was the pedestal off of which you stepped, leaving it behind without looking back in favor of exploring the world around you? Which lands claimed the privilege to have you on display? Those which he posits as possibilities are hardly worthy, but very few, if any, could be.

Had you come from Olympus? It’s the only place Apollo knows contains beauty to the degree you possess. He imagines you there, in the fields or in the courtyard, settled amongst the flowers and staring overhead at a sun unobscured by clouds. He imagines that you look right at home, and it would be ironic that you should be under his nose this whole time, his songbird easily spotted by glancing out the window of his bedroom. Your every word’s a dream and he delights to hear your honeyed tones. He wants you to pray to him with that sweet voice, and he’d honor all your requests so long as you sang for him.

You’ve started teaching him the calls of various birds which flitter overhead, and the ghost of a smile rests on his lips to hear your enthusiasm. There’s an occasional bout of hesitation on your part, unsure if you’ve identified the calls correctly and digging through your memory for everything Alexios had said, and you flash a toothy grin of satisfaction when the bird whose call you’d been attempting to guess makes its appearance, and you learn you’re correct.

Apollo enjoys this activity, but the only bird whose calls he’s interested is you. He trails his gaze along the column of your throat, envisions the vocal chords within them producing the melody and majesty you radiate. His fingers twitch with the urge to follow the path taken by his eyes, to slide along your jaw, down your neck, touch feather-light and and inquiring from you, in hushed whispers, to what artist he owes an expression of gratitude for gracing him with your existence.

As the days turn into weeks spent together, you only grow closer, and it reaches a point that you suggest he join you and your family for dinner. You look hopeful that he’ll agree, but he can’t, given who he is. He needs to keep his distance from everyone other than you. He hates to be the cause of your disappointment, however slight, and that’s why a heaviness settles in his stomach when he declines.

He’s polite, explaining that he doesn’t want to intrude, and the small smile you’d been wearing fades. Already he’s aching to see it again, wants to beg for it to come back and if you truly wanted him to accompany you, he would do it, any consequences be damned.

Was there a chance that you knew he was lying about the reason? Your head is tilted and you delay giving a response, and maybe you don’t know the real reason (he highly doubts you could figure that out) but you detect enough from the tone of his voice that he fed you a lie. If you do realize it, you don’t address it, and instead, like you heard his earlier wish to see your smile again, that charming smile returns. Now there’s a playfulness to it.

“Then I guess you’ll just be my secret,” you tease.

Apollo grins. It would be his pleasure to be your secret, held close to the heart like all secrets are.

He’d like the beat of your own to help him fall asleep at night. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about you and whether you’ve also settled in for the evening. If he were to extend arm outward, along the blankets to the empty side, as though reaching for you, he wonders if you’d sense it, the faint touch of his fingertips, a testament to what Apollo feels for you. No distance between you would ever be too great. His dreams are filled with you and perhaps this is a sign that you were thinking of him. He hopes so.

Apollo had been certain of his feelings from the moment he first set his sights on you, but the idea of confessing and revealing his true nature stayed far from his mind. It hadn’t been by any will of his own; he was enamored with you during every meeting, genuinely enjoyed talking, that he hadn’t bothered considering the next step, content in the current moment to just be.

But on a bright afternoon while out in the courtyard, he finally gives it thought, and it’s perfect, really, because sunny days remind him of you, and maybe that’s what prompted the last push. To be around you was to keep a piece of the blessed sun he governs right by his side, your presence warming him even on the stormiest of days, and he desires to know what it would be like to be the recipient of your love as you are of his.

He’s the god of the sun yet he wonders where you have been all these millennia. Maybe your essence had always been there, manifesting in the blooming of flowers one century and then in the powerful flow of a river the next. And on and on your soul drifted through time until it settled within you as you are now, a culmination of the lives you have lived, and maybe Apollo had always known where you were because whenever he looks into your eyes he sees eternity. You’d been with him since the beginning of it all; he was just looking in the wrong places.

There’s a chill in the air on the morning he plans to tell you the truth. You shiver, having come without a cloak, and he offers you his, throwing it around your shoulders before you get the chance to decline. You smile, accepting the help gracefully, and Apollo returns your smile automatically.

Do you remember, he starts, about what I said the day we met? You hum as you attempt to recall what he’s referring to but can’t remember. He doesn’t blame you, since you’d discussed many things then.

“It was about the gods, and how sometimes they’re closer than we think.”

Your eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, yes! But… what about it?”

Apollo doesn’t respond immediately, considering carefully how to phrase his next words. It’s unlike him to be this way, and he is aware, irritatingly so, of the slight hesitation in the back of his brain. It’s not that he’s afraid, because every instance he had imagined this moment, his heartbeat raced not with nerves but with exhilaration. He owes it to the pressure overcoming him to make this flawless, so that you can know the true depth of what he feels toward you. His gaze slides from staring at the horizon down to you, who watches him so attentively, and he realizes the pressure is unfounded. He just needs to be real, and you would understand by the parts he doesn’t say out loud.

So, taking a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, he speaks. “How would you feel to know one had been at your side?”

“You mean that fox?”

“Not just the fox, but every time you ventured into these woods. You hadn’t been alone.”

Your head tilts. “I wasn’t alone all the time: I had you.”

Apollo goes quiet, waiting to see if you connect the dots yourself. He looks at you and envisions the gears in your head spinning as you stare at each other. Saying it out loud, what he’d been implying, would have garnered the same result as staying silent. His lack of words is still a response to your unspoken question, and he notices the unease which settles on your face, expressive as always, unable to hide what you’re thinking and feeling.

“Loukas…?” Your voice is hushed. Maybe you only say the name because you want to ask what he means, wanting to hear it explicitly, or because you’re questioning if that’s even his real name.

Apollo notices that now you look at him as you did during your first interaction, when the first few polite greetings had been exchanged: like a stranger. You’re keeping yourself guarded, and there’s a tightening sensation in his chest and he hates it. He hates how it hurts and hates to see you look at him that way. And he would never fault you for it because he’d kept his identity a secret, but he loves you and the only way to show it to you, to make it real, was if he told you the truth of who he is first.

He shakes his head. “I go by another name.”

He transforms before you, his mortal covering falling away and giving rise to his divine form. The burst of light which issues forth from this process is so bright you need to cover your eyes. You bring your arm up, and he’d like to reach out and take hold of it, to gently lower it to your side so that he might meet your gaze, but he restrains himself and, instead, says your name quietly, a signal that it’s okay to look now.

And you do. Your eyes are wide in astonishment, your mind no doubt scrambling to process the fact a god is standing in front of you. Sure, you might’ve interacted with one before, in the form of that red fox, but this is something else. This isn’t a vague manifestation, like another animal or a dream, the mysterious—and more typical—methods gods tended to utilize for communication with mortals, but a literal god. No veil or disguise. No hiding.

Apollo studies you closely, contemplates the myriad of emotions which are no doubt flittering through your mind like a dozen little hummingbirds. He keeps his tone tender, for you’re already shocked, and he realizes the situation is a delicate one. Suddenly you start to resemble the deer who roam the forest—graceful in posture and magnificent to behold but still tense, prepared to flee the moment you detect there’s anything unusual.

My name is Apollo, he says lowly. And since I first laid my eyes on you, I have been with you here in these woods.

You take in his appearance: the long blond hair, tanned skin, golden eyes which match the sun shining behind his head high in the sky. He’s beautiful, and that should come as no surprise where it concerns an Olympian, but to witness his beauty yourself is an experience unlike any other, leagues above merely hearing from the priests how he might look or observing the sculptures fashioned as praise for him.

His eyes are what draw most of your attention, and they are kind as well as familiar. They mirror the brighten golden gaze of another being you had encountered in the past, and you let out a quiet breath of disbelief. He had been with you even then. Your intuition speculating that the fox had been a god wasn’t unfounded at all. It hadn’t been an aimless musing, a what-if because you’ve heard the stories of gods appearing to mortals. You’d been correct. It had been fact.

“But why…” You trail off, unable to finish the question because truthfully, how could you? The implications of his actions, of spending all this time with you, only to reveal his true self, speaks for a reality you are having trouble coming to terms with. Why you?

Apollo understands what you’re asking without you needing to continue, and in readying himself to explain from the very beginning, the corner of his lips lifts in a tiny smile as he reminisces on the first words he’d heard you say to him, indirect but meant for him all the same.

“The day was cold, fresh off the heels of a rainstorm the night before,” he starts. “You asked the sun to keep you warm and kept your footsteps to the places on the earth where it touched.”

You remember that moment, and it surprises you that it had reached him, because it hadn’t been a prayer, not a genuine one. Simply a playful aside.

Apollo’s smile grows. Sincere prayer or no, I heard it, and when I did, I wanted to know the one who said it. He explains to you it was your gentle tone which pulled him in, voice laced with affection which underlies your every word, and he wanted to hear more of it, to hear you sing and it could be about anything—your hunts, your family, gossip from the markets—and he would hang, and has hung, on it all because everything you say is the sweetest melody. You put the birds to shame.

And this, he hopes, is adequate to answer your query. He’d seen the confusion on your face, wondering why you had stuck out. He wants to help you understand, see things from his point of view, because even if you might not think so yourself, you’re remarkable. At the tail-end of his speech, throughout which a sense of eagerness had been clawing at him from the inside because this was it—the moment he confesses and might finally feel the softness of your skin against his, might finally hear you say his name—he tells you he loves you.

You’re at a loss for words, as his hang in the air between you, and Apollo had been expecting a reaction of this sort. To be loved by a god was no small matter. But what he isn’t expecting is the shake of your head, slowly at first, like you’re uncertain, but then again, more assertive. It’s his turn to be confused and he murmurs your name, a slight upturn at the end as if asking a question.

“You don’t love me,” you state.

Apollo’s brows furrow. “I assure you there’s little else which I have been so confident about before.”

“But a god and a human together…” You shake your head again. “It’s not meant to last.”

His heart wrenches painfully in his chest to hear you say that, though he understands where you come from. Such stories were common, himself being the god in some of them. The relationships are temporary, but this time, with you, he’s serious. His feelings for you are real, transcending the point of mere infatuation. He loves you and the declaration isn’t empty. He’s almost desperate now as he tries to come up with a way to convince you that your own story, between the two of you, would have no tragic end, maybe even no end at all. Because when stories reach the closing, happy or not, there is always inherent in the drawing of the curtains a perceived sadness, a pulling away from the world upon the stage and one is unceremoniously thrust back into reality, which is nowhere near as spectacular. It’s a disappointment he never wants to feel with you, and he would do all he could do keep you together.

“I sometimes wondered if there was anyone for whom I would change the course of the sun,” he tells you, his eyes drifting upward to glance at the sky. “And I could think of no one until I saw you. I told myself that if you so desired, I would keep the sky free of clouds so you might always feel the warmth of the sun.” His eyes slide back down to meet your own. “If you wished with that sweet voice of yours for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east, I would do it.”

You’re visibly more relaxed now, your gaze having softened as he spoke. It shines with the temptation to give in, to accept his love and give him yours in return, but a small part of you continues to struggle with the idea of loving a god. Apollo hopes you can see the sincerity on his face, as close to a desperate plea as he can get short of actually begging out loud.

“And if I were to ask for that,” you start, "for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east, what of the earth? The crops and the people who rely on its consistent path through the sky?”

Apollo shakes his head. “None of that would matter to me. Don’t you see?” He says your name again, and in a fit of irony the tables have turned because your name upon his lips is a prayer in its own right. “To be with you is to have the world fall away.”

Tentatively, he lifts a hand to set it gently on your cheek. You don’t flinch or back away, and he sighs, one of satisfaction to finally feel your skin, the softness of it to match that of your eyes and your voice and your everything. He declares it to you once more. I love you. And he would keep declaring it until you believed him.

You cover his hand with yours and lean into his hold. There’s still conflict in your gaze, a storm of emotion, and the way you murmur his name sounds like a call for help. You want to be saved. You want to be rid of the discord within you and to accept all he has to give, and you’re closer to the edge, have moved closer with his every word, but the last bit of hesitation keeps you from falling over. Apollo…

The breath leaves his lungs to hear you utter his name, a sound he has longed to hear since the first time he heard you speak. There’s a twisting in his chest but now it’s from that flood of love which he is barely able to contain. He wants to hear you say his name again and again, and he’ll fight against the hesitation you continue to feel, chip away at it until it’s only you and him and he could guide you over the edge and into his embrace.

His thumb strokes your cheek, a comforting back and forth motion. “We’re meant for each other.”

“You speak of destiny, but who other than the Fates can determine what any of us are truly meant for?”

Apollo is reminded of the conversation he had with Hermes what seems like many moons ago. All at once the fires of passion flare with him, magnified by his defiance of the Fates. When he’d declared to Hermes that where it concerned you, the future was his to forge, he’d been serious. He proclaims it now to you, promises that when it comes to the two of you, the Fates are powerless.

“The thread of your life is spun and measured by the Moirai, but I would pluck it from the hand of Atropos and her shears so that you might stay with me forever.”

It’s his final appeal, the ultimate supplication, to dare to go against the hand of fate. You understand the gravity of this assertion, and at hearing it, the last of those defenses in you drops, and there’s a clearing of the storm clouds, which he detects in the clarity of your gaze. As you look up at him, you do so with sureness, with love, and to bear witness to and be the recipient of your radiant affection is to make the task of intertwining your own fates as easy as waking up in the morning. You give him the strength to carry it out and there truly is no one else for whom he would go to such lengths for.

He kisses you and your lips are warm. Maybe you’re a piece of the sun that has fallen to earth, a shooting star which has made its home here until he found you. You’re the part of him that’s been missing, and holding you now, Apollo is aware of how complete he feels.

Upon parting, you remain close and watch one other. The silent look shared is intense, profound; two hearts beating the same lonely tune, fiercely longing for love and not caring what the world—or the heavens—might think.

#apollo x reader #apollo imagine #blood of zeus x reader #blood of zeus imagine #blood of zeus #apollo #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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doggirlbulge · 18 days ago

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okay! so i maaaaaaaay have been doin it anyway x3 This is my first real attempt at writing something horny, especially in a specific way im horny. i dont really have a title but i do have some content warnings to go over!

CW for uh, like general violence(?) a brief suicide idiation. a brief piss mention. something that probably counts as emotional manipulation and i think thats everything that might need to be mentioned? i think? oh she calls the AI mommy i guess

i learned most of my creative writing skills from erp i did so im curious to see just how well those skills (people tell me im good at it) translate into solo writing.

also also i hope pasting this into tumblr didnt destroy my formatting ;3;

A straight jacket. After her latest incident she was now required to wear a straight jacket as a part of her off the clock uniform. This also meant that in addition to her usual armed escort she now had a second handler who was with her a majority of the time she wasn't in the cockpit. She robotically opened her mouth as said handler pushed another spoonful of nutrient paste up to her lips. Once it was in she closed her mouth around it, sucking the tasteless paste off the spoon and swallowing with the enthusiasm of a rock. She didn't open her mouth again, it was wasted effort, she made the handler pull harder than the poor rabbit woman would have liked, flinging unconsumed bits of paste all over the table. Her handler glowered at her but she didn't care. She stopped caring the moment she made her first neural bridge with her machine. Nothing and no one mattered more than her machine.

Daisy sighed, the woman worked in logistics but after a screw up she really should have caught she was helpfully reassigned to something "easier," that being this pilot's handler. And while in some ways it was an easier job than she had had before in others it was perhaps the most infuriating job she'd ever had. The pilot's latest incident was the reason for Daisy's assignment to her, she had started lunging for any firearms she could reasonably reach unpredictably. Thankfully she was too weak to get them off anyone, but they couldn't have a risk like that walking around the ship, so she had been bound in a straight jacket.

The paste tasted like, well she wasn't sure, after a couple of months going on missions she had stopped being able to taste the nutrient paste until she was plugged in. That was where they were going now actually, and why she was behaving as well as she was, she had a mission coming up and she was ready to get into her machine and feel again. She felt hollow right now, restless. She used to bounce her leg and wag her tail to work out the energy but she didn't have that energy anymore. All she did was wait for her next hit, her next mission, her next kill.

Was she a bad person? The thought beset her out of nowhere like it always did. Her escort's gun burned in its holster, begging her to take it out and use it, on herself, her handler, anyone. She closed her eyes tight, ears folding to the side in a rare display of emotion for outside the cockpit. She could feel her eyes sting as she shook her head.

"nononono go away, go away..." She muttered to herself. Daisy, who had been about to spoon her another bite of paste, put it back onto the tray, sighing and following the protocols she'd been given. She placed a set of headphones over the floppy ears of the pilot, hitting play on a specific audio file before reaching around the back of her head and covering her eyes.

The comforting voice of her machine's AI filled her ears and she opened her eyes to a warm darkness, "Hello, sweetie~ I know it's hard out there without me thinking with you. You're all alone in your head and it scares you because you don't know how to do it without me. That's okay, just be a good girl and you'll be back with me in no time~"

The drawl of her machine's voice soothed her, fur settling and tears averted. After the file finished and Daisy had removed her hands she needed to take a napkin and wipe down her muzzle, the files always made her start drooling the way she did when she was hooked up. It was kinda like a reflex at this point.

Daisy was sick of dealing with the pilot by this point and checked her watch. She looked at the armed escort, a bear woman whose name she didn't know, who raised an eyebrow back at her. "Whatever, she can deal with an extra ten minutes of cockpit time, her brain's practically leaking out of her ears already." Daisy huffed, pulling the pilot to her feet to get her moving.

The trio moved from the mess hall and down to the hangar where the engineers were doing the final flight checks on the pilot's machine. It's name was etched down one of its thigh panels, Goddess's Wrath. It was painted a ludicrously neon shade of pink with white accents running up and down its wolf-like form. It matched its pilot in that regard, though the flesh and blood battery was much less angular than her steel counterpart.

She could feel the engineers staring at her, but if she looked back at them she knew they would turn away before she could meet their eyes. They used to ask her not to make such a mess in the cockpit after each flight, but as her successful missions and kill totals piled up they were asked to stop doing so since it seemed to have a negative impact on her mission stats.

Daisy looked up at the towering machine and shuddered, the impressive wing engine formation reserved only for pilots who could handle an insane amount of mental strain to think quickly enough to keep up with the engines. It was also armed to the teeth, packing everything from a barrage of LOFF missiles, a pair of close range high impact kinetic weapons, and an actual opening mouth that had a plasma cutter inside for emergencies. She couldn't believe this.. husk in front of her was still one of their best weapons.

Daisy stayed where she was as the bear and the pilot stepped on to a small elevator that would take them up to the cockpit. Daisy turned and walked out of the hangar, her job now over until the pilot returned back from this next skirmish.

The pilot stared flatly at the bear as her straight jacket was undone, her pilot's suit was waiting for her inside the cockpit, to be lovingly put on her by the mech's internal systems. She was given permission to board and she stepped onto the armor plating of the chest, almost stumbling before reaching the hole that led down to her cockpit. Her safe haven, where she could feel again. The elevator that took her up descended, and the engineers moved away from around her. The inside of the cockpit was a barren white room of cold metal. Though it was not solid, panel lines were obvious in the material and it was about to get a lot more crowded.

"Heya, lil puppy? Ready to get all worked up~? I kept myself nice and cool for you, I know you just love heating up~" There was the voice she wanted to hear all day, a feeling of safety washing over her numb body. She whined with need grabbing the back of her head and showing off the empty ports that she wanted filled so badly.

"Awww, is someone needy to get me back in her head~?" The pilot nodded eagerly in response, holding her arms above her head before she even needed to be reminded to. "Oh! Someone's well behaved today! Let's get this on you so we can get started then!"

Arms emerged from the floor and ceiling of the cockpit, holding various bits of the suit she would need in case of a cockpit breach that somehow didn't result in her instantaneous death. They were purely functional, nothing more than rods with claws on the ends, but the pilot was using what energy they could barely muster to let her tail wag at the sight of them. She pulled off her pants, wearing nothing beneath them, one of the arms storing them away for later. They pulled a loose black jumpsuit over her limbs, attaching the tail seal as the suit engaged and pulled itself tight over her naked body. It had a hexagonal pattern laid into it that she traced with her now gloved fingers, squishing her paw pads against her tummy to feel the way the suit reacted to her movements. Then her helmet was pushed over her head, open faced for now the thing would only spring its force field into place once a breach was detected. It was cheaper than the always active ones even if it had a higher failure rate and more limited battery.

Her pilot's seat emerged from the floor, rising into place with a a familiar cer-CHUNK. She practically threw herself into the chair, bobbing her head sluggishly as she anticipated the sharp spike of heightened feeling returning to her body. She was scolded gently and told to keep still as the set of needle tipped cables were lowered into the various ports on the back of her head. Her pupils dilated as a cocktail of drugs and chemicals were pushed into her.

There we go, nestled in right along side you sweetie~ A thought, not her own, it was comforting. She could feel the digital being's presence in her brain like a warm blanket wrapped around her. Lean back and open your mouth, we don't want you nearly biting off your tongue again.

"Yes, Momma.." She said as she complied, opening her mouth as the two sets of thoughts mingled. Dearest, you know they told you not to call me that.. but I don't mind one bit~ The arms returned again with a ball gag, looping it around her muzzle and causing her drool to start falling out onto her lap much more liberally. She was now restricted to mental communication with her machi-Momma.

Oh, you're just too cute when you're like this! Such an adorable puppy~ The thoughts cooed in her head, somehow able to convey the same drawl that came through the speakers. Her energy returned to her and suddenly it was like the pilot was a new person, her tail wagging and hands tapping as consoles and screens emerged from the walls and turned on. She could taste the hint of strawberry in her mouth which she guessed must have been from her meal... her meal...

Am I a bad person? The thought returned again, but this time she wasn't alone. Of course not, sweetie pie, what ever would make you think that? Idontknowidontknow imsorryimso- Darling it's okay, just focus on my thoughts. Let me guide you, you're a good girl when you do what I say aren't you? You couldn't be a bad person if you just keep listening to me~ That logic seemed sound to her. She nodded along as she went through the premission checks almost automatically.

The reactor was starting to warm up, she could feel it in the core of her being. She was connected to the entire machine now, operating its body much more naturally than she could operate her own. The addition of a second person to her head allowed her the control and assurance she needed to excel in combat. She felt the fuel rod easing itself into her reactor, power and heat surging through both her bodies as she strained in her seat now that she was trapped below her console. She was seeing out of multiple pairs of eyes now, closing her flesh ones to allow her to comfortably focus on what the cameras around her could see. It was just the hangar for now, her body still locked up until closer mission start time.

Her back arched inside the cockpit, reactor surging higher and building an energetic pressure deep in her core. There you go, puppy, just let that heat build up and fill you to the brim, push that red line a little further until you can't take it anymore~ But the last time I did that they- That was because you pushed after I told you to stop, dear~ You have to cut us off when I say so! Sweat beaded down her brow and drool rolled down her neck, sliding off the slick black surface of her suit down into her lap and the seat cushion below. imsorryims- Don't apologize dear, just try and do better next time~ She hovered her reactor output just below the line that would start sending out warnings to the hanger crew around her. Her own thoughts became fuzzy and indistinct, but Mommy's thoughts were clear as day.

Good girl, ease it back down puppy, gosh that got you so excited~ She could feel her throbbing girl dick pressing against her stomach underneath the suit. It felt so good.. Time to focus, dearie, I may have let you get a little too into that. She tried her best to refocus, two minds allowing her to get ready before her joints were unlocked. She flexed her fingers and took a couple steps in place to orient herself before stepping forward to the catapult. The hanger had been cleared while she was distracted.

Her main rifle was waiting by the launch platform. She stepped into the grooves, her wings flexing and redirecting sub-thruster "tail" wagging. She grabbed her gun, the massive thing felt right in her hands. All other weapons were loaded. She crouched like an animal ready to pounce, engines roaring as the countdown was registered by half of her. The platform rushed forward towards the now open hanger doors, throwing her into a war zone that was filled with moving projectiles, missiles, and occasional flashes of ship to ship beam weapons. She rolled on her vertical axis as she exited, a move that had saved her more than once, diving down to get out of the way of further launches. Mech pilots like her weren't concerned with squad cohesion.

She flew through space faster than the unenhanced eye could track, a beeping notification from one of her sensors pointing out a single enemy mech that had been separated from its squad nearly 500 meters away. Her grip on her over sized beam rifle tightened, Easy girl, sight it and then squeeze, here's your firing solution~ The AI fed her data about the surrounding projectile's movements, predictive data on her target's flight path, all a rush to her head that made her feel dizzy in the best way possible.

She leveled the barrel, receiving a magnified feed from the scope of her target. She squeezed the trigger.. Click. The bright pink beam streaked across the distance, the enemy pilot reacting too late, the flash of her discharge hidden behind an enemy ship to ship torpedo for just the right amount of time. She watched the nuclear reactor go up in a ball of fire. Dopamine was pumped directly into her brain and her tail went crazy. Click~ The first mental click drove her into a pleasure frenzy, the chemicals and psychological conditioning she had been put through pushing her to seek more destruction. More firing solutions that had been calculated in the back of her head were pushed to the forefront of her mind and she executed them as quick as she could.

Click. Click~ Click. Click~ Click. Click~ Click. Click~ Each kill made her throb and leak into her suit, the ending of a life making her clench her teeth down around the gag in her mouth. Good puppy~! Keep it up, be efficient now~ Screw efficient! I wanna- Tch! Bad doggy, listen to your Mommy! You'll stay at this range until your rifle is empty, understood? She whimpered, ears folding back Y-yes, sorry, Mommy.. Good girl, keep killing~

She just wanted to get into close range, to really feel the pilots she was extinguishing. The more red tagged hostiles she killed the better she felt, and she just needed more more MORE. The rifle ran dry and she practically threw it away from her as she repositioned again, flipping and dodging return fire like it was a dance.

"Coward! Face me you beast!" Someone yelled at her across the open comm channel all mechs seemed to have for some reason. She didn't like getting yelled at.. getting yelled at made her scared. I found them, go get 'em, puppy~ She pushed her engines to their limits, pulling her twin kinetic guns from their thigh holsters as she rocketed towards the flashing hostile. They raised a shield, but not fast enough. She spun, kicking it out of the way and swinging one of her guns up against the chest armor at point blank range in one smooth motion.

BRRRRRRRRRRRT!! The noise shook her cockpit as it ripped through the enemy armor, turning it into jagged scrap that bled oil from its wrecked cockpit. She felt like she had cum, though she wasn't sure, her guts felt warm and she was howling through the gag. No time to dwell on it though, she was already moving again, having charged into the middle of an enemy squad, zipping and spinning away from them, firing her guns wildly and scoring their armor in holes that either debilitated or killed.

Daisy watched this animal ripping their enemies apart like a meal of raw meat with utter disgust and contempt. She couldn't believe she had been demoted to working with these fucking beasts. The way the fought was almost sickening. She preferred working in admin where she didn't have to think about these goddamn eyesore pilots. She wished that she hadn't pissed off that damn kangaroo in high command.

A swarm of fighters descended upon her, the fighters the more common opponent to face in these kinda battles. Fighter pilots were a lot easier to train and replace than mech pilots were. She whipped and feinted a dodge, juking the other direction as the formation rushed past her. Her missile pods deployed on reflex, she felt a mental ratchet being tightened as each lock on was acquired. Her fleshy eyes rolled back in her head but her sensors stayed focused. Go on baby girl, release for Mommy~ Her own thoughts briefly became static as she fired, feeling an immense sense of relief wash over her. Her crotch felt so much warmer than before. She had probably pissed herself again out of excitement. She had a brief flash of worry. Don't fret, dear, it's adorable~

Sensor warnings flashed as something came at her from behind. Unfortunately for her would-be ambusher she had one of the best mechs in the fleet, able to do a spin at such high g forces that her body briefly became unconscious. Go on, baby, they got nice and close for you~ The jaws of her mech opened wide, clamping down above the cockpit of her attacker. They screamed across the open channel as her plasma cutter burst to life, cutting a hole into their cockpit and then turning them to ash. She pulled away, jaws still clamped around and armor plate she ripped off, shaking her head like it was a chew toy. She felt like she would melt into a puddle, this was the biggest hit of dopamine she'd gotten yet! She needed more.

Daisy was late to her meeting. She couldn't go until her pilot was back and she was, for some reason, not only the last one back but late despite having one of the fastest mech in the fleet. By the time the hanger doors were closed she was nearly half an hour late. She stormed into the hanger despite the protests of the engineers waiting outside.

"Can you stupid fucking animals not keep to a damn schedule? I TOLD you that you needed to be back here IMMEDIATELY. Do you have ANY idea how damaging you are to my fucking reputation?" The engineers were yelling at her, hell the armed escort was yelling at her, but she was too angry to listen.

The pilot's ears folded back, she didn't like being yelled at. She watched the tiny form of her handler crossing the hanger. Her joints hadn't yet been locked up. How dare she talk to my baby, me, that way? A red outline formed, designating her as hostile. Crunch. Click~

Everybody at the doors winced, having tried to warn her that it absolutely was not safe to go in yet. I'm a good girl~! Yes you are~ The pilot smiled around her gag, her seat letting out little squishes beneath her as she bounced around in it. The mech stepped back, leaving a red smear on the hanger floor where Daisy had been standing seconds ago.

Watching from a security camera the kangaroo Daisy had pissed off smirked, "I guess she never learned that she's much more expendable than those 'animals' in the end," She looked to one of her subordinates, "Find her a new handler, will you? One who.. understands much more accurately how valuable of an asset she is~"

hey if i wrote mech fucker micro fiction would yall read it?

#ulta writing #beep boop

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theraspberryler · 3 years ago

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Slime Primers

Another fic done! I actually really like how this one turned out, I am unbelievably soft for this pair. Based on this prompt here!

Summary: Tommy is stubborn and won’t admit that he may be in a mood, but Charlie is a teasy bastard and decides to put an end to it.

~This is a tickle fic! If that’s not your jam then please move on!~

TW - none I don’t think, let me know if I need to add any

The Tommyinnit was absolutely not in a lee mood. You’d have to be crazy to think that a big man such as him could even get lee moods. In fact, he was so not in a lee mood that Charlie’s teasing looks and wiggling fingers weren’t even affecting him in the slightest.

Totally.

Tommy huffed and looked away from the other’s stupid grinning face and dumb wiggling fingers, turning his attention back to the ores he was smelting. Now, usually a task as simple as smelting ores wouldn’t really require much attention or effort, but Tommy had a rather complex system of eight different furnaces lined up, and he was constantly going to each separate furnace and collecting the one or two smelted iron ingots from them, crafting them into blocks, and then carefully arranging them in the double chest sitting next to his furnaces.

When Wilbur walked by and asked him what the hell he was doing, Tommy had replied in a very usual Tommyinnit fashion that he was working on a craft of true expertise and precision, and that it was, in fact, very important. He immediately glared daggers at Charlie, sat on the other side of the room, who snickered in response to Tommy’s explanation.

Because what Tommy was refusing to admit, was that early on in the day, Charlie seemed to almost instantly catch onto his (not!) mood, and took it upon himself to be the most teasy, annoying little shit he could, and Tommy was finding anything and everything to distract himself from the butterflies he felt in his tummy whenever he saw Charlie’s wiggling fingers, or heard his teasing remarks.

Tommy knew that he was just making this more difficult on himself; Charlie knew him well, and had witnessed Tommy in multiple lee moods before. He knew exactly what got to him, and practically had every spot and reaction to every little thing memorized. But Tommy was proud, dammit, and he wasn’t going to make Charlie’s job that easy! (Well, that, and Tommy may have enjoyed the way Charlie has always been the best at getting the best reactions out of him, and wanted to prolong the fun.) He was gonna have to try harder if he wanted to break The Tommyinnit!

So, there they were, Tommy fussing around the furnaces desperately trying to fight down his embarrassed flush, and Charlie lounging around on one of the chairs in the room, immensely amused by every little squeak Tommy let out when the boy foolishly spared a glance over his shoulder at the other.

But, Charlie did have to admit, he was pretty surprised by how long Tommy had managed to keep this up. He was poking fun at and teasing the boy for the better part of the last two or so hours, and while Tommy did look like a blushy, embarrassed mess, he still hadn’t cracked.

Though Tommy had been holding out well so far, Charlie was always up for a challenge. Especially if said challenge involved breaking through the stubborn, cocky personality of a particular blond teenage loudmouth.

“You’re looking awfully red, Tommy, maybe you should take a break from working over the hot furnaces, yeah? I’m sure the iron would smelt just fine on it’s own.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy growled under his breath, willing himself to not react as he saw Charlie shift in his seat in his peripheral vision, despite his heart rate picking up at the downright evil looking smirk on Charlie’s face. He forced the image out of his head, busying himself with emptying the furnaces again as he felt his mind begin to wander.

“Really, Toms? That wasn’t very nice. You know there’s no point in resisting, because at the end of the day I’m still gonna get to scribble my fingers all over your sides, and how I’m gonna press my thumbs in between every single space in between every single ticklish little rib. And no matter how long you prolong the inevitable, you’ll still be stuck in my grasp until I decide that you’re done, no matter how much you kick and squirm.”

Okay

Fuck

Fuck Charlie Slimecicle and his stupid face and his stupid dumb teasy words, and Tommy could feel his insides turn to goo as he set down the iron ingots in his hands, covering his face and letting out a dramatic whine.

“Awe, why don’t you just come here Toms, make it easier for yourself, hm? We both know you want to bud, come on” Tommy whined again, shaking his head and wishing the ground would just swallow him whole. He didn’t think his legs would be able to carry himself over to Charlie even if he tried, so he found himself sliding down to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself.

Luckily, Charlie seemed to understand the predicament Tommy was in, and decided to have a bit of mercy as he walked over to the other, sitting down on the ground next to the younger boy.

“Hey, Toms.” Tommy just shook his head again, unable to stop the nervous giggles from leaking out of his mouth, and slumped down until he was practically laying down, despite the fact that Charlie literally hadn’t done a thing.

“Shh, it’s alright Tom, come here,” Charlie said in a sweet voice, opening his arms for the other. Tommy briefly peaked out from behind his hands only to quickly return them to his face. He took a few deep, stuttering breaths, before deciding fuck it. Without moving his hands from his face once, Tommy sat up and shuffled into Charlie’s arms, immediately burrowing into the other’s chest.

Charlie smiled at the adorable boy that was practically in his lap, wrapping his own arms around him and rubbing his back. Tommy jumped at the contact despite Charlie not having any intention of tickling him yet, his anticipatory giggles flowing freely from him.

“Ready?” Charlie asked in a soft voice, and Tommy, not quite ready to attempt to use his words, just nodded in response, bracing himself.

So, Charlie wasted no time in sliding his hands up Tommy’s red and white t-shirt, unleashing all his fingers along the blond’s sides. He figured the boy had waited long enough, not having the heart to drag it out any longer.

Tommy squealed before snorting, honestly not expecting Charlie to go all in right away, leaning further against the older boy and allowing himself to laugh freely. After being in a constant state of anticipation for the past couple hours, he really didn’t have the energy to attempt to hold his reactions back.

Charlie felt himself melt at his sweet, unrestrained laughter. This was the exact reason he enjoyed messing with him like this, there were very few things that brought him more joy than Tommy allowing himself to act like a kid and be happy without worrying about his ‘image.’

Tommy hiccuped as Charlie trailed his fingers up to his ribs, planning on keeping true to his previous promise.

“You know the drill by now Toms, I’m gonna go to each individual little rib you got, and every time you try to push me away we start over. Ready?” Tommy didn’t bother trying to hide his excitement, both boys knew how much he’s always enjoyed this game. Tommy put enough space between the two of them that Charlie could reach the front of his ribs with relative ease, but still facing towards the other so he could keep his face pressed into the crook of his neck, his arms winding themselves around Charlie and gripping the other tightly, in order to keep himself from pushing him away.

Charlie cooed at him for obeying so quickly, making sure to let Tommy know how good of a job he was doing. At the praise, Tommy’s giggles went high pitched and he arched his back, grabbing a fistful of Charlie’s shirt and rubbing it between his fingers as a way to stimulate himself, and help keep him from squirming around too much.

“Alright, here we go! Ready?” Charlie pressed his thumb into Tommy’s bottom leftmost rib, massaging into it. Tommy snorted, breaking into pitchy, childlike, loud giggles that were regularly interrupted by snorts and squeals.

Tommy did a pretty good job of staying still for Charlie, his only real movement was the jolt he would give every time Charlie moved on to a new rib.

By the time Charlie reached Tommy’s top left rib, Tommy had all but gone limp in his hold, his body shaking with adorable, happy laughter. And by the time Charlie had gone to each and every one of his right ribs, Tommy had tears in his eyes from laughing so much, hands repeatedly clenching and unclenching Charlie’s t-shirt as a way of grounding himself.

Charlie took in Tommy’s disheveled, tired state and figured he should probably wrap it up for the day.

He effortlessly scooped up the still giggling boy in his arms, who instantly allowed him to and wrapped his arms around his neck. With one hand still supporting Tommy, Charlie used his other to take the unsmelted iron out of the furnaces, not wanting to leave them running while no one was in the room to watch them. He carried Tommy back towards his room, using his hip to push the door open and closed.

By the time he set Tommy down on his bed, the boy was already fast asleep. Charlie gently untangled Tommy’s arms from around his neck, and stood there for a moment, feeling his chest swell with pride as he watched Tommy’s relaxed, sleeping face.

Before he left the room, he made sure to snap a picture, turning the lights off and gently closing the door, taking one last glance at the sleeping boy, making sure he was still alright.

Slimey Boi

*attachment - one image*

suck on that soot, I’m clearly the superior brother

Wimblur Suit

I hate you

so fucking much

*Wimblur Suit saved one (1) image*

#tickle fic #mcyt tickle fic #mcyt tickle #lee!tommyinnit #lee!tommy #ler!charlie

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slashbitch2 · 3 years ago

Text

The Very Nosy Neighbour

this fic was 100% inspired by this one here , but I mean it practically wrote itself I couldn't resist

NSFW

You can't remember much past waking up in an unfamiliar room- though 'room' is really a sugarcoated description, as in reality it qualifies more as some kind of cavern. You're sitting in a chair, ankles and wrists bound by an indistinguishable material. Whatever the binds are made of feels strong, so any attempts to struggle against it are futile. Yet, in spite of what really should be an extremely stressful situation, you find yourself completely relaxed. You briefly wonder whether you've been drugged, but with every sense feeling fully operational, that theory is soon dismissed.

Instead of choosing a more logical response to the circumstances you've found yourself in, you decided to focus more on your surroundings: not to form any resemblance of an escape plan, but simply out of curiosity. Although, the investigation is equally as ineffective. You're unable to name anything around you except for stone walls, strange (glowing?) vines and weird symbols carved above a few archways. Everything beyond that is either entirely lost to you, or shrouded in darkness.

With little else to do, you start to think back on the events that led you there, trying to glean any useful information from the blurry memories. The clearest image, therefore the most recent, is the smirking face of a woman, Agnes you realise. Though the malicious glint in her eyes doesn't quite match your perception of the nosy neighbour. But where is she now? Is she also in danger? You may not have known Agnes for very long, but are reluctant to let any harm come to her regardless.

With a clearer head, you consider calling for help, but a small voice at the back of your subconscious warns you against this. And the voice sounds smart, so you elect to listen to it. But what should you do instead? Where did this voice come from? And most importantly, should you trust it? Luckily, you aren't given much time to overthink the decision.

While trying to tune into this voice, footsteps echo in the distance, gradually drawing nearer. You hold your breath as the sound suddenly stops, leaving your eyes scanning the vicinity for any movement. The unpleasant reality dawns on you all too quickly: the footsteps were approaching from behind you.

“Well, well, well.” Someone says playfully, then snorts as they start walking closer. "Sorry to be a total cliché. I couldn't resist." It's Agnes. She narrows her eyes and smirks, folding her arms as she examines your constrained form. Subjected to her scrutiny, you find yourself swallowing, but your throat is too dry. Other small discomforts also become noticeable; your cramped limbs, aching back and the bruises on your hands. Well at least you put up a fight. The more rational part of you, however, realises that your hands are no longer bound. You stare down at them, flexing each finger as if checking they were all still fully functional.

Something suddenly knocks into your head and you grimace. Left reeling from the impact, you realise that you're slightly nauseated. Though not enough to stop you from reaching out to grasp the floating cup of water. The fact that the glass is suspended in mid-air doesn't go unnoticed, rather ignored, since there's too much happening simultaneously to comprehend any of it in sufficient detail. You swirl the liquid round, hesitant to drink, unwilling to trust your captor's apparent mercy.

"Drink up, dear." Agnes drags a chair forward, which seems to have just appeared out of thin air. She sits backwards on it, legs spread and arms resting on the back casually. "That's all you're getting until we're done here." The tone of her voice is both threatening and teasing. You're reluctant to admit it's quite a turn on.

One glance up at her prying expression and you relent, downing the chilled water way too quickly. Though you aren't given a chance to mourn your impatience, as with an effortless wave of her hand, Agnes refills the glass. While you sip at the water, she refuses to tear her eyes away from you for even a second. It's slightly disconcerting.

“Now," She claps her hands, startling you. "I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Not really.” You confess, unable to pinpoint why anyone would go to so much effort to kidnap you, especially Agnes, who up to this point had been an eccentric yet kind neighbour.

She sighs, more for show than anything else, and rubs at her temple. "Come on Y/N, let's not play dumb now."

Embarrassingly, a heat begins to pool deep in your gut, but you quickly dismiss the unwarranted lust. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh really?" She quirks an eyebrow, sitting upright. "You really have no idea?" The inquiry is ridiculing, and you can see that your naivety is starting to annoy her.

All you can do is shake your head and pray the sincerity is reflected in your eyes.

"Okay." She slams her hands down on her thighs. "I guess we'll have to go about this the hard way then, toots." A sharp gesture and your hands are bound before you once again.

By the time you're looking up, she's striding toward you with purpose, which does nothing to ease the building heat between your legs. Her hands clasp on the armrests either side, essentially trapping you, not like escape would've been possible without the extra precaution. Up close you finally recognize this isn't Agnes- in fact it never has been. There's a feral yet wise appearance to her, the facade of nosy neighbour dissolved in an instance to be replaced by a deranged, frighteningly powerful woman (or witch, you're undecided).

Despite your better judgement, you're unable to stop yourself from asking. "Who are you?" Your voice barely breaches a whisper, but she's standing close enough that nothing less intimate is required.

She looks mildly impressed, the corner of her mouth twitching almost indiscernibly. "Agatha Harkness." She extends a hand, smirking upon realisation that you're a little too tied up at the minute to reciprocate. "Lovely to meet you."

You swallow again, finding your throat to be a little less dry. "Likewise." Then decide to take another risk. "So what do you want from me?"

“Wanda's true identity.” She replies so quickly that you almost miss it, looking at you with an eagerly expectant expression.

Agatha's question confuses you further. “I don’t know what you mean.” Although your answer is honest, something at the back of your mind hisses lies.

"There's no need to lie here." Her patient humour had disappeared. "Trust me, no one will hear you, so drop the act."

For some unbeknown reason, her accusation angers you. "I'm not putting on an act, I don't know why I'm here or what you want from me." The bravery dissipates all of a sudden as you remember that you're not exactly in the position to command such authority. "Please, stop this."

Agatha purses her lips, stands up and turns away from you. She calmly moves forwards a few paces, and in the short amount of time you manage to convince yourself that she's given up. Until in a completely unprovoked move, she swings her hands to the left, sending her chair crashing into the wall in frustration. Whether this is part of her interrogation performance or not, it works. Your heart starts racing, and confusingly, the awkward heat between your legs pulses.

She runs a hand through her hair, still facing away from you. "Don't make this any harder harder than it needs to be." You can practically hear her grinding her teeth, but don't doubt that she was getting some enjoyment out of the situation.

"I can tell you that Wanda is my sister and only real family, that I moved to Westview with her and that I couldn't live without her." You start listing off some basic facts, desperate to prove to Agatha that nothing is hidden. That you're normal.

"What about your brother?" She swivels round, clicking her fingers as she tries to recall something. "Pietro!" She exclaims.

"Pietro..." You falter. Why does the name sound so familiar? The nausea worsens. You shake off the feeling. "Never heard of him."

“Liar.” In one swift movement, Agatha is right by your ear. The feeling of her lips brushing against your skin causes you to close your eyes. The close proximity was becoming overwhelming, and your body had chosen to react in a rather unfortunate way. Admittedly, you'd always had a thing for Agnes, but Agatha was on a whole other level. You dreaded to open your eyes, worried that she'd noticed your current state. Instead, you internally begged for mercy.

“Don't go all shy on me now.” She pushes your shoulder into the chair, compelling you to open your eyes. "If you don't want to talk, I have other methods." Her hand raises, a purple flow emanating from the tips of her fingers. It crackles and sparks, as if the power was barely contained, yet as she shifts closer to brush the hair out of your face, you don't flinch. One finger remained touching your forehead, then traced down to your jaw, and finally along to grasp your chin.

While the vaguely sinister movement terrified you, it also forced you hold your breath and grip onto the armrests for dear life. Why you'd decided this was hot was beyond you considering the many connotations of her words, yet your thighs pressed tighter together as she drew closer. You attempted to turn your head to the side, longing for distraction, but her hold on you kept your head still.

"This won't be much fun for you, dear." She sighed in mock pity, her breath hot against your skin... Which just tipped you over the edge. As hard as you tried to stifle the noise, a broken moan escaped your lips. You'd definitely hit a low point here. Too ashamed to face your apparent arousal, you screwed your eyes shut. Although, at Agatha's silence, you relented and opened them barely a minute later.

To your relief, or perhaps dismay, the woman was grinning like a maniac. Her eyes flickered down to your parted lips as she chewed on her own. Then carefully, as if she were testing the waters, her fingers began to rub against your jaw, and upwards to your mouth. Your breath deceives you by hitching as her thumb slips between your lips, stroking your tongue. At the contact, you can't help but arch into the touch. Agatha chuckles.

"I take it back." She murmurs, removing her hand. "This will be fun." Although the intimidation factor prevails, there's a certain desire mirrored in Agatha's expression which cancels out any remaining common sense. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and even if you wanted to, there was little you could do to stop her. So, you give into your yearning, sighing as she climbs to sit on your lap. Immediately, her hand switches to gripping the back of your neck as she slams her mouth onto yours. You willingly indulge by opening further, allowing her tongue to slide between your lips. Her other hand lowers to grab at your chest, like she were trying to tug herself impossibly closer.

Without removing her lips, the hand massaging your chest shifts to your thigh. She still keeps her lips firmly pressed to yours, and with the lack of oxygen, you can feel yourself growing lightheaded. It almost feels like a challenge, one which you're determined to succeed at. Though when she eventually does break away, her hand suddenly slips between your thighs, and your breath is stolen from you once more. Wasting no time, she massages you through your clothes, dragging out an inevitable whine. The touch is both too much, and not enough. But judging by her malevolent smirk, that was exactly her intention.

Even though you were currently incapable of producing any reasonable thought, you still noticed that Agatha wasn't entirely unaffected. Her breathing was laboured, hips occasionally jerking against your thigh and eyes struggling to stay open. The influence you were having on her only encouraged you to moan louder, craving to see her equally dishevelled. Your plan seemed to momentarily fail as her hand retreated. But you'd certainly earned her attention.

She licks her lips, then abruptly changes her expression to look disturbingly like that of Agnes. "You wouldn't leave me out of the fun now, would you dear?" Her voice is high pitched as she basically sings her words. Although the question must've been rhetorical as doesn't await a response, instead you find your hands unbound, flung behind your back and bound together all in a matter of seconds. Then, she shifted her position, yanking your bodies closer so that your crotches were pressed together. She grunts, heaving forward to rest against you for a moment and regain her composure. And finally, without warning, starts to grind your hips together.

It doesn't take long for her movement to become more frantic, accompanied by her hair spilling onto her face. She remains impressively quiet, however, or perhaps you were just comparably loud. With the little pride you have left, you decide to take matters into your own hands, and start meeting each thrust with equal vigour. Miraculously, it works. She throws her head back with a remarkably loud moan, proceeded by change in strategy as she starts almost bouncing on top of you, hips losing their rhythm, pleasure overwhelming her. Startled by her lack of self-control, the heat in your stomach begins building exponentially fast. Your eyes slam shut.

A hand grasps onto your face. “Look at me!” She growls, then emphasises her demand by rolling her hips torturously slowly. The movement ceases. She leans her forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes. “Come with me.” To your surprise, there's an audible plea in her voice.

At a loss for words, you nod. The pleasure had been building for so long that you knew it'd only take a few more grinds to push you over the edge. With your confirmation, Agatha resumes her thrusting, though soon succumbs, throwing her head back and uttering an exceptionally loud, high-pitched moan. She arches her back, pressing herself so far into you that the pleasure peaks. You groan, lurching backwards in a moment of pure bliss. All you can feel is Agatha, all you can think about is Agatha. Coming down from the high, you sigh and collapse forward to bury your face in the crook of her neck.

She tenses slightly at the contact, but soon relaxes into the strange embrace. You gently press your lips against her skin and feel her shiver, confirming your suspicion that it'd been a while since Agatha had received such affection. Motivated by a new, more innocent desire, you continue to pepper light kisses across her throat and behind her ear, simply enjoying the unexpectedly intimate moment.

Agatha finally breaks the silence, leaning away from your touch to look down at you curiously. "Wanda really has you under her mind control too, huh?"

Although still stuck in a post-coital haze, you muster enough brainpower to consider her words. "Mind control?"

"Oh, right." She smirks, a slight sadness perceptible in her eyes. "Forgot to mention." Before you can say anything, she swings one leg to the side, stiffly sliding off your lap and clasping her hands together. "You might want to reconsider where your loyalties lie, dear." She glances at you, then ambles to the opposite side of the room. "That's one fucked up family situation right there." Her voice teasingly calls out.

You feel yourself flush, strangely offended by her comment, and annoyed by her vagueness. "Like you can talk." Your response is a total shot in the dark, but must've hit a nerve since she slowly turns back to you, a suspicious expression upon her face. "Just a guess." You add, unwilling to know the details of whatever sensitive topic you'd just touched upon. Agatha easily shrugs it off, leaving behind a stifling silence. Eventually, it's a mixture of your own boredom and concern that prompts you to end the lull in conversation. "Are you still planning on interrogating me about something I know nothing about?"

"Oh, no I read your mind." She waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "Got all I needed."

Again, you're left suffocating in the confusion her ambiguity provokes, with nothing else to ask except. "How...?"

The inquiry must've been exactly what Agatha wanted to hear as she immediately dropped what she was doing to turn around and lean on the wall, arms folded in a casually smug pose. "Sex leaves you vulnerable." She smirked. "All I did was take advantage of the opportunity- but I'll spare you the boring details." With a flourish of her hand and a flash of purple, the binds holding your ankles and wrists disappeared. "You can go now. First door on the left."

Without sparing you another glance, she busied herself with some witchy task, allowing you to see yourself out. Massaging your wrists, you stood slowly, watching her expectantly. Surely she wouldn't just let you leave? Yet as you sauntered over to the door she'd directed you to, she made no move to stop you. "Bye then?"

Agatha looked up at you and winked. "See you around, neighbour."

#agatha harkness x reader #agnes x reader #agatha harkness

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