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novaursa · 4 months ago

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okay this is the final request before close tommorow. make Cregan x dreamer ( Rhaenyra daughter ). How Cregan start to get to used to his new wife. About how she always like whisper, so quiet and how Cregan handle her with gentle & loving husband. Seeing his wife & Rickon. this the final i am sure!!!

make smut if you like

Dreams of Fire

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You brought gentleness to the harshness of the North, and Cregan finds himself warmed by your presence.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark had never imagined such softness in his life. The cold, harsh winds of Winterfell had molded him into a man of strength, his skin thickened by the North’s chill, his hands hardened by a lifetime of battle and labor. But here, now, with you beneath him, there was only warmth. His calloused hand brushed tenderly against your cheek as he pressed his lips to yours once more, careful in his movements as if you might shatter at the slightest wrong touch.

You had always been so timid, so quiet. The daughter of a dragon, and yet you whispered more to yourself than to the world around you. In those moments when you spoke, Cregan often had to lean in close to catch your words, your voice like a feather drifting on the breeze. But tonight, there was no hesitation between you, no uncertainty in your body as it moved with his, answering every touch with an innocent eagerness that stirred something deep within him. His rough exterior softened further, his strength yielding to your quiet needs.

He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the warmth of your lips and the taste of your breath. Your fingers clung to him, delicate and trembling, as though seeking reassurance in his solid form. Cregan allowed you to take your time, to explore this closeness in a way that suited your shy nature. His hand slid down your side, his thumb grazing over the curve of your hip, but always with a gentleness that showed his care for you, for this fragile bond you were forging together.

Afterward, as the fire crackled gently in the hearth and the cold of the North seemed miles away, Cregan lay beside you, holding you close against his chest. Your head rested on his shoulder, your hair a cascade of silver and gold against his bare skin. He marveled at the way you fit so perfectly in his arms, how your timid heart had found its way to his, despite your whispered words and dragon dreams.

It was then, in the quiet of the night, that you stirred slightly. Your hand, so small compared to his, rested on his chest as you whispered, barely audible, "I had a dream, Cregan."

The words caused him to tense, not out of fear but out of the weight he knew those dreams carried. You were a dreamer, like your ancestors, and Cregan had always believed in the power of those dreams. He turned his head slightly to look at you, his dark eyes searching your face, waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed, your voice wavering as you spoke again. "I saw… blood in the snow."

A chill ran through him, not from the cold of Winterfell, but from the gravity of your words. Blood in the snow. Cregan’s mind raced, trying to understand what such a dream might mean, what it might foretell. His hand tightened gently around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a comforting gesture.

"Tell me more, Y/N," he said softly, his voice low and steady, though inside he felt a flicker of unease. "What else did you see?"

You hesitated for a moment, as if gathering the strength to speak, before finally whispering, "Wolves... and dragons. Together, in the storm."

Cregan was silent, his breath catching in his throat as he absorbed your words. Wolves and dragons. He understood the symbolism well enough—House Stark and Houses Targaryen and Velaryon, perhaps—but the storm… He couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant more. Something dangerous. Something ominous.

Still, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to chase away the darkness of your dream. "Whatever comes," he murmured against your skin, "we will face it together. You and I."

Your fingers curled around his, and for a moment, he could feel the weight of your dream settling between you, a warning or perhaps a promise. But Cregan’s heart remained steady, strong. He would be your shield, your sword, no matter what storm might come.

Cregan stood in the shadow of the great hall, watching as the soft glow of the firelight flickered across your figure. His son, Rickon, sat beside you, his small legs swinging off the edge of the high-backed chair. The boy was always full of energy, always charging through Winterfell like a gust of northern wind, yet now, in your presence, he was as calm as Cregan had ever seen him.

You were speaking to Rickon in that quiet way of yours, your voice so soft that Cregan had to strain his ears to catch the words. The boy leaned closer, eyes wide, hanging on to every syllable. There was something about your gentleness that soothed him, a contrast to the wildness in his blood. Cregan couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth in his chest at the sight.

Rickon was too young to understand the complexities of marriage, of alliances and the weight of history that tied the two of you together. To him, you were simply Y/N, the woman who had entered his life with a quiet grace that he found fascinating. In your presence, the rambunctious boy seemed to settle into a stillness that Cregan often struggled to bring about himself.

Cregan had wondered, when you first came to Winterfell, how you would fit into his world. You were so timid, so soft-spoken—qualities rarely seen in the North, where survival meant enduring the cold, the storms, and the hardships with grit and strength. But here you were, and despite your quietness, despite your whispers and your strange, distant dragon dreams, you had begun to find your place.

Rickon laughed then, a light sound that echoed in the hall. Cregan watched as your lips curved into a gentle smile, your fingers brushing a strand of hair from the boy’s face. It was such a simple, tender gesture, and yet, it spoke volumes. Rickon looked at you with a kind of awe, as though you were someone who held a world of wonder just beyond his reach.

“You’ll be a great wolf, one day,” you whispered to him, your voice carrying the same quiet confidence you’d shown when you spoke of your dreams. “But even the strongest wolves need to be gentle sometimes.”

Rickon blinked up at you, his face scrunched in thought, clearly taking your words to heart. It amazed Cregan, the way you could speak so softly and yet command such attention. His son listened to you, truly listened, in a way that was rare for the boisterous boy.

Cregan moved quietly closer, not wanting to disturb the moment, but feeling the need to be part of it. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as he watched the two of you. There was a bond forming here, one he hadn’t expected but found himself grateful for. His son was responding to your presence in a way that filled him with hope.

You reached for the cup of warm milk you had brought for Rickon, handing it to him with a smile. He took it eagerly, but instead of gulping it down as he usually would, he sipped at it, careful not to spill a drop. It was a small thing, but to Cregan, it spoke of the way you had already begun to shape his son, teaching him a gentleness that was rare in their world.

After a long sip, Rickon looked up at you, his eyes bright. “Will you tell me more stories?” he asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

You nodded, your smile soft as you glanced at Cregan, acknowledging his presence now with a look that warmed him in a way the fire never could. “Of course,” you said, turning back to Rickon. “I have many stories to tell.”

Rickon settled back into the chair, his small hand resting on your arm as he looked up at you with the same reverence he’d always shown toward his father. And in that moment, Cregan realized that Rickon had found something in you that he himself had also come to cherish—your quiet strength, the way you could soothe even the most restless heart with just a few whispered words.

As you began to tell Rickon another story, your voice soft and steady, Cregan felt a deep sense of peace wash over him. He had worried, at first, how you would adjust to this life, to him, to the North. But watching you now, the way you connected with his son, the way your gentleness balanced the harshness of this world, he knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And perhaps, he thought with a quiet smile, they were exactly where they were meant to be with you.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan stark #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #game of thrones #fire and blood #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoif/got

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 12 days ago

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Ludos Imperiales III

Summary: Saving your mates may cost more than you bargain for, but how far are you willing to go to save them?

Content Warnings: Branding; Mentions of Slavery/Abuse; Vomiting

Pt 1 / Pt 2

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Fables had largely been forbidden in the Empire, starting in the early reign of my Great Grandfather Hybern II. Fables and fairytales had no use in the practicality of his Empire. Stories and fables gave people ideas, it made them hope and dream of better worlds than this one. The Empire could not thrive on the backs of dreamers. And so books burned in the streets, and the oral traditions of many people died in the following years. Schools taught with books written by Imperial Scholars, all edited and fact checked by the Emperor himself. The world became what he saw fit to shape it as.

To him, the fairytale idea of mates was a weakness. He declared all mated pairs cursed by the Mother. A bond was a manifestation of a weak will. If you could not thrive on your own without needing another to carry you, then you were not fit to be in the Empire. He removed all mated pairs from service, both within the palace walls and in military service. Mated pairs were not allowed to own land within the Empire, Temples were not legally allowed to recognize or perform a marriage ceremony. They were shunned as lepers and regarded as subpar beings. The bond made them loyal to each other first and foremost, and that was an allegiance torn in his mind. He made sure everyone else saw it that way too.

Father would not have such an obvious weakness. In his earlier years, he’d scoured the Empire, searching every village he ravaged and town he conquered for signs of that supposed weakness. He’d felt a pull, to a small ocean village in Elfhaven, and that pull had led him to a healer’s cottage, tucked into the ocean cliffs. He’d stood on the threshold of her doorway, cursing the Mother, cursing whatever weak will he had managed to leave unchecked, and then, he’d tossed her into the sea. His father had thrown a city wide celebration in his honor. Finally, a son who could master himself and his weaknesses. He used to tell me that story at bedtime, when my Mother tucked me in. Love was for children. Mates were for lesser beings. Mother had never argued with him about it either, this was simply a fact in their marriage. Theirs was of convenience, a mutually beneficial contract, and I often wondered if that story was also a means to remind her that she too could be disposed of if a weakness revealed itself.

But, I had been a lonely, and curious child and would often sit with the Nymphs that lived in the bubbling brooks and streams around the River House, and would ask them all the questions I was afraid to ask my Father. They whispered their own tales of mates between the bubbling rocks and rolling waves and I’d latched onto their ideas of a bond so strong it could bridge a soul together. Perhaps it was my loneliness, my need for affection I couldn’t easily find at home, but I clung to that little piece of what everyone else swore was fiction like my life depended on it. It became my lifeline. I’d pray to the Goddess every night for something like that; for someone who could love me beyond reason.

A dream that slips through my fingers as I step into that cell.

Cassian, chained against the wall with a gorsian collar around his throat, spits at my feet as I enter. I’ve seen hatred enough in my lifetime to understand the fire that blazes in those hazel eyes.

All the air in my lungs leaves in a rush, as if he’d thrown a fist directly into my stomach. He hates me. Hates me for what I’ve done to him; hates me for what I allowed to happen in that arena. Hel, judging by the way he sizes me up next to Father, he hates me purely because I look like him in the eyes.

My chest aches like it just might crack open and spill my heart out onto the floor.

For the slight, one of the guards slams the butt of his spear directly into Cassian’s gut, knocking him to the floor.

Despite the obvious malice, I have to physically lock my knees to keep myself from moving towards him; have to bite the inside of my cheek to not tell them to leave him alone. Maybe it’s not his fault he hates me. Maybe I deserve it.

“Charming as ever, Cassian,” Father says.

Cassian glares through the locks of sweat slicked hair falling over his forehead, “Fuck you!”

The butt of the spear slams into his temple and it takes every ounce of training not to let the dark, obsidian power trying to unfurl from my clenched fists turn the guard to ash. It would be so easy, a mere flick of the wrist and the only evidence that he’d ever lived a bit of dust left to mingle in the dirt coating the floor. I want to. Damn me, I want to splatter all of them across the dingy walls; hear the last, sharp intake of breath gurgle out of their chests for putting their hands on my mate. There’s a possessive, ugly thing that rises in my chest, threatening to choke the life out of me if I don’t move, act, on this base instinct. The bond rattles against my rib cage, a beast in its own right. It demands action, swift and immediate. It demands blood.

“You sure you can handle this beast, daughter?” Father sneers.

Cassian regards me with the disdain of someone who stepped in shit while wearing new boots.

“I’m sure,” I say with more confidence than I feel, but I’m too much of a coward to look him in the eyes when I say it. My gaze flicks to the others instead, hoping against reason that I will not see the same hatred on their features.

Azriel remains tucked in the corner, where he can use his body to shelter his broken wings. There isn’t the same malice in his own hazel eyes, but there is a cold indifference that cracks me open just the same. His earlier appraisal must have told him enough, because there is no lingering curiosity, only apathy. I am not asking him to throw himself into my arms; hell, I don’t even need him to smile, I just need something, any hint that my name alone hasn’t ruined this before it even starts! But there is nothing.

I try to keep my shoulders back, try to stop my body from curling in on itself. I want to curl up on the floor and wait until the old stones absorb me.

“I am curious,” Rhysand says, the s slurred like he bit his tongue when he hit the wall. “Why keep us alive?”

“Why let you be a martyr?” Father counters.

Rhysand studies me, violet eyes--glassy from what’s certainly a head injury, especially with the blood still flowing freely from an inch wide gash across his temple--rove over me slowly, starting at my hairline and working down. His head tilts quizzically when his gaze reaches my cheek. He shouldn’t be able to see anything in this light, but I find myself shifting my stance just enough to block the view all the same.

He frowns as his study goes lower, to the singe across my skirts, and the dirt stains from my stumble down the stairs.

“I’d rather be dead than dragged around like a dog!” Cassian spits.

Rhysand won’t stop looking me over, like he’s calculating something. Not exactly the acknowledgment I want, but I will take the intrigue of his study over apathy and hatred as if it is. Curiosity is better than nothing.

“You will honor your word, and send aid to my people?” He asks.

“If anyone is stupid enough to bet on you,” Father counters. “And if it makes it past the highwaymen and looters that have been waylaying my caravans. Your people might have more food if they weren’t attacking supply lines.”

My stomach twists. So Rhysand hadn’t been lying then, things have truly become that bad? Or have they always been that bad, and the sheltered nature of my upbringing had kept me from truly seeing it?

“Do you have supply lines that run through Illyria?” Rhys counters, not rising to the bait. “I can’t recall.”

“You will be branded,” Father says, jaw ticking as he doesn’t get the results he wants. “You will remain in chains and fight when called to fight. Any attempts at escape, and I will drag your people into the arena in droves. They can’t all be as adept at fighting wargs and Giants as you.”

Azriel’s gaze darkens at the threat.

Cassian’s lips pull back in a sneer, teeth flashing.

But Rhysand nods, gaze still on me, like he’s deciding something. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what.

“Keep your end of the bargain, Highness, and we will keep ours.” He says.

“Rhys!” Cassian seethes.

“Quiet,” Rhysand returns. Briefly, his gaze leaves me to go to Azriel, and the other male nods, just barely.

“How noble,” Father sneers.

“We will do what we must to save our people.”

Father waves the guard at the door in. Another follows, holding a glowing hot branding iron in his gloved hands.

“On your knees!” The doorman barks.

The contents of my stomach rise in my throat. I can’t let this happen! I can’t let them do this to them!

Rhysand kneels first, well technically, Cassian’s still down from the blow to the stomach; Azriel follows, grimacing against the pressure it puts on his wings.

I cannot beg for them. I will give myself away. I will doom all of us.

I can’t let this happen either. I can’t stand here uselessly!

“You’ll do it,” Father says to me and my panicked train of thought slams to a screeching halt. What?!

The guard holding the iron snorts out a chuckle. “Doubt she can hold the damn thing.”

Father turns to fully look at me and I do my best to keep my chin up. I have to keep the mask up; I cannot let him see.

“You wanted this. You’ll do it.” He doesn’t think I have it in me; that much is obvious. He thinks me weak and spineless and meek, unable to do what is necessary. I have always known it, but I have never felt it so clearly as I do now.

And maybe he is right. How can I do this, even for the sake of protecting them? How can I raise a hand to my mates?

I swallow the lump in my throat. If I reach out to take that iron, my hands will shake and give me away. If I stand here and refuse, I give myself away. There is no winning; how did I think I could play a game like this? He wins; he always wins.

Not today, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. My body moves without my consent, as if I’m a puppet on a set of strings, being moved by an invisible hand. When I reach out for the iron, my hand doesn’t shake, even though it feels like every part of my body is trembling. The iron is heavy and warm in my hands, I have to use both to lift it, and though I should struggle to keep a grip on it, the invisible grip on me holds it steady.

Two guards move to grip Rhysand by the shoulders, pinning him in place, even though he offers his right arm willingly. His right arm that’s shredded from elbow to wrist from the wargs, blood still trickling onto the floor. The wound is deepest on the outside of his forearm, with enough space above the inside of his wrist to mark. This is cruel enough as is, but to add further to the injury…

One of the guards grabs the torch to reheat the rapidly cooling metal and my stomach is once again back in my throat. I can’t do this to him!

Don’t let him win, the voice whispers again.

My body is still not my own, still moving despite my best efforts to not. It feels like I’m watching myself from outside my body as the iron is pressed to his skin. I can’t even gag against the horrible smell of burning flesh, like someone locked the ability to react behind a wall of adamant.

Rhysand, to his credit, doesn’t even wince, just draws a sharp breath in through his nose. He holds eye contact with my Father the whole time in another silent challenge and I cannot decide if he is the bravest or stupidest male I’ve ever met.

The guards reheat the iron as my body moves away from him, and I’m sure they make some sort of snide comment, but it sounds like I’m hearing it from underwater as I take in what I’ve done to him. The blistering skin forms a perfect circle, with the Imperial emblem stamped in the center. It will be a crude scar and hard to hide. My heart clenches painfully in my chest. What have I done?

The guards move to hold Azriel next, and if I was unsettled before, I’m downright ready to throw myself on a blade now. The apathy has left his eyes, replaced now with barely concealed panic. He pinches his lips together, trying not to make a sound as I approach, but his chest rises and falls rapidly, scarred hands clenching and unclenching in front of him. Shit those are burns on his hands and I’ve got something on fire held out to him.

“What’s the matter?” One of the guards leans down to hiss in his ear. “Scared of a little fire?”

“You motherfucker!” Cassian shouts, trying to stand to get to Azriel. He’s quickly knocked back to the floor with the butt of a spear again.

“Do it!” Azriel hisses at me.

My body is still not my own as it moves to comply. The whole cell reeks of burnt flesh and it is by the sheer force of whatever will moves my limbs that I haven’t heaved up the contents of my stomach on the floor. What kind of mate am I?

Gods I am as bad as my Father! Cassian knows it too; when it’s finally his turn, the look he gives me is one I’ve seen thrown at the Emperor a thousand times. There is nothing but venom and hatred there and the bond in my chest feels raw and thin, like it has been scraped and worn down to a single, solitary thread. And yet my legs still move and my hands still hold the iron steady.

He won’t ever forgive me for this. Even if I can get them out of the Empire, even if I can save them from dying in the arena, it will never be enough. I’ve ruined my chance before it even had a chance to start.

Cassian growls when the brand touches his skin, but he doesn’t scream. None of them did. This displeases my Father, who frowns, even when it’s done. At least he is not proud of me; that would be the final nail in the coffin.

The invisible hand still won’t let go of me, I feel it holding me upright, like it knows, given the chance I’ll crumple to the floor and never get up again. How could I have done this?

Father turns to the guard closest to the door, “Go ahead of her to the River House, make sure the place is secure. Post extra guards.”

The elven male bows with an exaggerated flourish and disappears. I suppose I should feel relieved that we are almost out of this godsdamned arena, but dread settles in my stomach. It is not like my Father to make this quick, not for a convicted rebel, and not for anything I’ve shown an interest in. Taking them home now feels too good to be true and I am not inclined to believe luck or mercy have ever been on my side.

“The arena will have to be fixed before we can proceed with the Games,” Father muses. “I expect you to bring your new toys with you to entertain our guests at Amarantha’s celebration tomorrow.”

They’re throwing her a whole parade for her exports over Illyria, of course she’d want them there to see it. I doubt they’ll be the only Illyrians in attendance.

Cassian growls at that. I’m inclined to share the sentiment.

“As you wish,” I say instead. Hopefully, if I can manage to not let the guilt clawing its way up my insides to consume me, I can remain upright long enough to find us all passage out of here by the morning. This will all be a terrible dream. Even if we have to part--the bond roars in my ears at the thought--at least I will have saved them. It might be the only thing I have to give them.

Father leaves first. I don’t let myself look at my mates as I follow. The guards untether them from the wall and push them out after me, keeping a guard in between us, just in case they attempt to attack while my back is turned. I wouldn’t blame them if they tried; I’d attack me too.

I can’t get the smell of their burnt flesh out of my nose. Every time I blink I can see their blistered skin behind my eyelids. I branded my mates.

The way out of the tunnels beneath the arena is a blur, it doesn’t even register that we’re out until the sudden flash of harsh summer light sears my eyes.

There are horses waiting, and a wagon. At least he’s not forcing them to walk behind my horse, as some of the lords and councilmen make their sponsored champions do.

I don’t remember swinging into the saddle. I don’t remember urging the horse forward, or when my caravan of guards split off from my Father’s. We rode together until we didn’t. Starlight, my childhood horse, does all the directing, taking me home on instinct. The house I grew up in, the house I sequestered myself in with the curtains drawn for months and months looks foreign. The staff coming out to greet us swim in and out of my vision. I must answer their questions, because they move things around for our new guests, instructing the guards to take the wagon around to the back of the house, where there’s a guest wing turned into a cell for them. All this sounds like it happens under water.

I hear the wagon roll that direction, and even though I feel eyes on my back, I don’t allow myself to turn. I cannot bear what I will see.

Someone helps me to my rooms, holding me by the elbow, telling me I look pale and sick. I feel like I’ve stepped outside my skin. The tether in my chest feels raw. What have I done?

The sizzle of the iron on skin echoes in my ears. I can’t stop seeing the smoke. Can’t stop thinking about the panic in Azriel’s eyes. I hurt my mates.

I hurt my mates.

Whatever invisible force had been holding me together in the cell gradually releases me. Inch by inch I become aware of my body again. And I make it to the toilet just in time to hurl the contents of my stomach up. It’s the wine first. Then breakfast. And the acidic burn of bile out my throat and nose.

After Mother’s execution I hadn’t been able to stop crying for days. I’d laid in my bed with the covers over me, hiding in the dark where no one could hear the ugly sounds of my wrenching sobs. I’d thought I’d never weep that hard again. I was wrong. This is far worse.

When I no longer have the strength to hold myself up over the edge of the toilet, I curl into a ball on the floor, the tile cool and smooth against my flushed cheeks. The tears won’t stop flowing and the thing in my chest coils and tightens until it feels like a rock. What have I done?

Eventually the tears run out. The thin slit of a window in the wall bathes the room in varying shades of orange, then pink, then purple as time passes by, uncaring to my turmoil. I still can’t bring myself to get up, even as the heat of the day turns to a cool, evening chill. No amount of cold could move me now, a little suffering is what I deserve.

Someone knocks on the bedroom door. I don’t remember closing it behind me.

I shut my eyes against the noise. All this crying has given me a headache, the echo of the door against the tile makes my head throb. Good. I deserve that too.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

Why should I answer it? I should just lay here until the earth swallows me.

Another knock, followed by a muffled, “Highness?” Anise, my maid. Anise had come with my Mother, a gift from her father as she travelled here for the wedding. Mother had freed her from her servitude and Anise had asked to stay as part of the staff. She loved my Mother like she was her own; I have always thought of her like an Aunt.

“Don’t make me kick the door in!” A grumpy Aunt, granted, but her temper is always warranted.

Shakily, I manage to maneuver myself onto my knees. She really will kick the door in and her joints are old and worn, she’ll likely break an ankle, or a hip, trying. It’s for her health that I manage to get up and get to the door, not because I feel well enough to get up.

She pushes her way in as soon as I turn the handle. “You look awful!”

I feel awful. “Thanks.”

“What the hell is all of this?” She demands, waving a hand towards the hallway. She’s half Dryad, her skin like tree bark, her graying hair made of vines and leaves. Though she is old and weathered, her emerald eyes are still bright and shining. “And why are you so distraught over it?”

She paces as she speaks, not letting me get a word in as she wrings her gnarled hands together. “What’s with all the guards? And those… winged males? They are strange and gruff and I don’t like the looks of them. Which reminds me, why the Hels are they asking for you?”

My heart skips a beat in my chest. “What do you mean, Anise?”

She stops her pacing to come take one of my hands, a gesture for a Dryad that is closer to a hug. Her other hand pushes some hair off my cheek to see the yellow tint of a blooming bruise. “Did they hurt you?”

I’m going to be sick again. “No, Anise, they didn’t.”

“You promise?”

“Trust me, if anyone did any damage, it was me.” And I’ll never forgive myself for it.

She nods. “Ok, then, I will tell you.” Dryads, like Ents, are known for their long winded conversations. They never know when to get to the point. I am used to her extra long pauses and rambling tangents.

I am not, however, prepared for her to say, “Well they were brought food and a medic, as the guards ordered, but they refused it.”

Why the hell would they do that?! Was this some kind of hunger strike? By the Mother did they think I was trying to poison them?

“They said they wouldn’t touch it until they’d spoken to you.”

I think the heat has gotten to me. Did she just say they asked to speak to me?

“It’s very strange,” she continues. “Males in that bad of shape usually fight for a chance to see a medic, but they said they wouldn’t let anyone touch them until they’d talked to you alone.”

Alone? They wanted to talk to me alone?

“Are you sure that’s what they said, Anise?”

“They were very adamant about needing to see you. Rude if you ask me. Who demands to see the head of a household like that? They’re trouble, I’m telling you now.”

“They didn’t say why?” I ask.

“No. They wouldn’t say it around the guards either. I don’t like this, Highness. It’s a bad omen if you ask me. The winds have been whispering all day. Bad, very bad things will come of this, mark my words.”

Bad things had already come, couldn’t she see that? They were not the issue; I was the issue. This whole damn Empire was the issue. We ruin everything we touch. They knew that better than anyone, so why ask for me? What did they want? It certainly can't be the bond.

I absently rub my knuckle against my breast bone. The bond feels like a bruise. No, they can’t be asking about the bond. If they know it’s there, they’re not tugging on it. There is no curiosity, only pain. I’ve ruined the chance for anything more, of that I am certain.

This has to be something else, but how can I face them? There is only so much I can bear.

“You’ll make them wait, won’t you?” Anise continues. “You certainly should. It’s improper for a host to be asked for this late into the evening.”

They need medical attention. Their wounds have to heal. And they need to eat. They have to be starving, I doubt they were given a last meal before being thrown into the arena. Raw and damaged as it is, the bond still prompts me to move, even if I’d rather hide from it for the rest of my life.

“No,” I might as well rip the bandaid off. Maybe they need to tell me to my face that they hate me and never want to see me again. It can be arranged for us not to interact, even with me sponsoring them.

If that is their wish, I will honor it. Whatever it is they need, I’ll find a way to make it happen. I owe them that. “I’ll go see them.”

------

Taglist: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam

@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime

@hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #azriel x reader #Cassian x reader #poly!bat boys x reader #bat boys x reader #gladiator!bat boys #gladiator!bat boys x reader #acotar #acotar au #acotar fic #my writing #my fanfics #bat boys x reader angst

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thewertsearch · 1 month ago

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pipefan413: The children pledged to each other that one day they would run away together. pipefan413: They followed in the footsteps of the dear colonel, in defiance of the old batterwitch. They studied his every jape, and practiced them in secret!

She could have left, then. Planned to leave, even. Grandpa didn’t abandon her, like I'd originally assumed – he always intended to flee alongside her.

pipefan413: But as they grew older, their interests drifted apart. The boy developed a passion for adventure and put aside his study of practical jokes. He dreamed of wealth and fame and discovery and swore he would wander the world. pipefan413: One day he decided to run away with the loyal dog he inherited from their father. He asked the girl if she would come along, but she was too scared of the retribution that might follow.

But I guess the adolescent Nanna didn’t have Grandpa’s confidence, nor his fearlessness. Left alone with a witch of a woman, her childhood was probably not dissimilar to many other children in this sad saga.

pipefan413: The boy scoffed at the danger, and assured his sister there was nothing to worry about. But he had not seen first hand what the baroness was capable of!

It sounds like Nanna directly witnessed some specific evil act. The woman did run a corporation, though, so that was probably just a typical Tuesday for Betty Crocker.

pipefan413: He told his sister that he believed in her, and that she could handle whatever the witch could throw at her. [...]

Those are some pretty harsh words for a girl destined for a lifetime of abuse - but at the same time, he did openly ask her to run away with him, and she couldn't do it. What was he meant to do, kidnap her?

I don't blame him for leaving alone, either. Grandpa was also an abused child, and it would be asking a lot of him to remain in an abusive household to defend another child. He needed to leave that situation for his sake, just as Nanna needed to leave it for hers.

Pipefan413: [...] And with that, he was off, and she would never see him again.

But, all that said, he should have come back eventually. He didn’t need to abandon her for an entire lifetime.

Whatever extenuating circumstances there may have been, it can't be denied that he started his life as an adventurer the same way he ended it - by leaving someone who loved him behind.

pipefan413: One day, the girl was able to gather enough bravery to mention her brother to the baroness, and her desire to see him again. With contempt, she guaranteed that this could never happen. When the girl asked why, that is when the baroness began to reveal to her more than just her baking secrets. pipefan413: [...] The colonel was not their father, nor was the baroness their mother. They in fact had no father or mother at all, nor were they ever actually born. They had both fallen from the sky! They were not actually brother and sister as they had been told either. Again like in many fairy tales, the truth was that they were always destined to become married one day. They were to have two children, a son and a daughter, and these children were meant to save the world! […]

Wait, what? Betty Crocker knew Sburb lore?

...I think it says quite a lot about the Homestuck experience that I'm not even particularly surprised. Of course Betty Crocker knew Sburb lore.

It’s clear that she didn't know everything, though. She was aware that John and Jade would eventually happen, but assumed they’d be born naturally - which makes it sound like she was just getting fragments of future events, much like a Prospit dreamer’s visions.

...or, like a wielder of the Cueball, which we already know was in her family’s possession. It’s sounding a lot like even Betty fucking Crocker was a Scratch pawn all along.

#full liveblog #homestuck liveblog #act 5.2 #s167 #3956

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mofongomuncher · 26 days ago

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Hru, how have your days been going, hopefully they've been going well if your reqs are open can you do a fic between ekko x black reader it's kinda like a pt 2 to bicep if they weren't dating in that one or you can make it separate where they were crushing on each other for a while (for YEARS) and they argued about something stupid and that caused them to distance themselves and they started to feel bad about how they treated each other and what they said and so they go to reconcile and they pull a " I'm sorry" at the same time and they have a fluffy reconcile that lead to reader pulling him into a kiss cause he was adorable and that lead to him asking her to be his gf and she said yes and like they spend the rest of the night like together(cuddling) and giving kisses 😘 thank you

𝘼𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚

(Ekko X Reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko and black reader ¡

❥ Words: 5,000+

Zaun was alive in its usual way—chaotic, grimy, and buzzing with an energy that never seemed to rest. The streets below your window hummed with the clatter of the occasional yelling and chatting by the Zaunties that passed by and shouting of traders selling scraps. You have been used to it by now. You grew up in this mess. But tonight, none of it reached you. The noise outside was drowned out by the storm in your chest.

You laid down on your worn couch, your long, dark curls falling messily over your shoulders. The dim glow of the lamp beside you casted shadows across your face, highlighting the sharpness of your cheekbones and the quiet determination in your eyes.

There was a soft tension in the air, the kind that made the whole room feel too small—like you were trapped, but not by the walls. It was the weight of the silence that had followed the argument with Ekko. The silence that felt like a cold void between you two, and no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, your mind always returned to him.

His face. His words. How they had hurt more than they should have.

For years, Ekko had been your constant. Your partner-in-crime, the one person who never judged you or treated you like you were just another face in the crowded, filthy streets of Zaun. You remembered the two of you as kids, sneaking through alleys, racing down narrow walkways, laughing at the most ridiculous things. He'd always been the dreamer—the one with big plans and bigger ambitions. You? You'd always been the realist, the grounded one, quick to remind him of the risks and dangers lurking around every corner.

But as you both grew older, the divide between the dreamer and the realist started to feel more... complicated. Ekko had become a leader of sorts, a symbol of hope for the Firelights, building something bigger than either of you had ever imagined as kids. And you? You were stuck in the same spot, wondering if you had missed your chance.

Somewhere in those years of shared glances, quiet conversations, and stolen moments, your feelings for him had shifted. It wasn't just friendship anymore. You caught yourself lingering a little too long when he touched your arm, your heart stuttered when he laughed, and you found it harder to look him in the eye without feeling something more. The weight of that realization was something you could never share—at least, not without risking everything.

And now, after everything, you weren't even sure if that was still an option.

You ran a hand through your curls, letting out a slow breath as you glanced at the worn photo of the two of you sitting on your nightstand next to your couch. It was from the first Firelights mission you'd worked together. His arm around your shoulders, his eyes bright with excitement, your head tilted slightly, smiling like the world was something you could actually fix together. The photo felt like a lifetime ago.

Your eyes stung. Maybe the fight didn't just hurt because of the words exchanged. Maybe it was because you weren't sure how much longer you could keep pretending nothing had changed.

It all started in Ekkos room. You were bent over a half-finished project, trying to fix a stupid radio one of the little firelights dropped while they were running around with it. But your mind wasn't focused on the radio, it was elsewhere. The dinner you planned to have with Ekko, you guys had been talking about it for almost weeks now.

You were almost starting to feel like you were just another problem on his list, something that always came second to whatever battle he was fighting next.

You glanced over at him. The boy was hunched over his table, his fingers moving quickly as he adjusted the mechanics of something—probably one of his random inventions. The table was cluttered with metal parts and blueprints.

He always had something going on, always had something bigger to fix, to build, to protect.

You stood up from your workbench and cleared your throat, trying to sound casual, though you felt a bit of irritation creeping up for some reason. "Ekko..." you began, "Are we still on for tonight?"

Ekko didn't even look up, absorbed in the small adjustments he was making to whatever he was making. His focus was so intense, it was almost like you weren't even there. "Hmm?" he mumbled, distracted.

"Uhhh, we made plans. Dinner...remember?" You repeated, your voice slightly sharper now. You'd been looking forward to it for so long, to just spend time with him outside of all this—his endless work and the weight of everything on his shoulders.

"You promised.."

His hands stilled for a moment, and he finally looked up at you. His expression was distant. "Oh yeah...I remember." he said, but there was a lack of enthusiasm in his tone. Clearly, it seemed like he didn't seem to care or understand the importance of it to you. "I've got too much to do tonight. This thing won't finish itself."

There it was again.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest. The response was so casual now, so dismissive. Every single time you made plans, every time you wanted to spend some quality time together, his work—or something else—always took priority. It was like you were constantly waiting for him to be done with whatever big thing he had on his plate, and it was so exhausting.

"Ekko are you deadass?" you started again, trying to keep your cool, but your frustration was seeping through. "This isn't just about dinner...We literally talked about this Ekko. You said you'd make time. It's not just about fixing things or missions. It's about US. It's about you showing up for once, and not just dropping everything for some stupid project or some emergency."

Ekko stood up, his movements quick and sharp. "You don't get it Y/N." His voice had hardened, that familiar edge to it that meant he was getting defensive. "I don't have the luxury to just 'show up..' I'm not some regular person who can afford to go out whenever they want...I've got responsibilities. People that actually depend on me, on what I'm building here."

His words hit harder than you expected. The way he said it, the weight behind it. You knew he carried a heavy burden—the whole city was depending on him, on his inventions, on his ability to make things right after everything that had happened with the Undercity and the fallout with the Shimmer. But sometimes it felt like he used that as an excuse for every single thing.

"Oh please don't tell me you really going to pull the 'people depend on me' card again?" you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. "I get that you're the hero now...You've got this whole responsibility to protect everyone, to keep things together. But you can't keep pretending like that means you can't show up once in a while for the people closest to you."

Ekko's jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment, clearly annoyed. "This isn't just some excuse Y/N—I am protecting our people. People like you.." His tone was harsh. "I'm doing this because I have to....because there's no one else who can."

You could feel the anger bubbling up inside you now. "Okay but what about me Ekko? What about us?" You took a step closer, eyes narrowing as you stared at him. "You keep fucking pushing me aside, making me feel like I'm not worth your time anymore...like I don't even matter."

Ekko's eyes darkened, and his voice was sharper than ever. "I've never said you don't matter Y/N.. But this—" he gestured vaguely at the work around him, the piles of blueprints, the unfinished projects. "this is my life. You knew that when you decided to stick around. I'm not going to sit here and apologize for doing what needs to be done."

"You don't even see it, do you?" You felt a lump rise in your throat, and your chest tightened with the weight of everything you were holding back now. "You're so caught up in saving the world that you've forgotten about the people who are standing right in front of you Ekko. You act like I'm supposed to understand, but it's been years, Ekko. And I'm so tired of this."

Ekko's fists clenched at his sides. You could see him struggling to contain his anger, the frustration of juggling everything in his life bubbling to the surface. He took a step closer, his voice lower than before. "I never asked you to wait. I never told you to stay. If you're tired of it, then leave Y/N, simple as that. I can't keep apologizing for not being the person you want me to be."

His words stung like hell. The suggestion that you should just leave—that you weren't even important enough to make an effort for—was such a punch in the gut.

You blinked, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. "I'm not asking you to be someone else Ekko. I just want you to be here for once. Not just when it's convenient for you."

Ekko stood there, a tense silence between you both. His gaze softened just a fraction after seeing the tears build up in your eyes, but the walls he'd built around himself were still there, towering and sealed.

Finally, he spoke, but his words were as cold as the air between you. "Maybe I can't be what you want me to be then. I don't know how to fix that. I can't change everything for you...Not when I'm trying to keep this city from falling apart."

You shook your head slowly, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. "Huh, I'm starting to wonder if this city matters more to you than I do."

Ekko flinched, his expression hardening once more. "Don't twist it like that Y/N. I'm doing this for everyone."

"Yeah, well, clearly you're not doing it for me right?" The words came out in a whisper, but they felt like a weight on your chest. "What about the person who's been here with you through thick and thin?"

Ekko said nothing. His lips pressed together in a tight line, his eyes avoiding yours, the unspoken truth lingering in the air between you.

You turned away, your heart pounding. "I can't keep doing this Ekko...I'm just done at this point."

Without another word, you left the workshop, the door slamming shut behind you.

Ekko didn't stop you. He didn't try to call you back, nothing.

As you walked away, you couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever realize just how much you had given him—or if he even cared.

Ekko sat alone in his room, nothing felt right tonight. The usual comfort of his workshop, felt hollow, his mind kept drifting back to the argument he had just had with Y/N.

"What about me Ekko? What about us?"

Her voice replayed in his mind like a constant loop, each word harder to ignore with every passing second. He ran his fingers over the worn edges of his table, his mind drifting back to a time when things were so much simpler, when life was just about working on our little gadgets, sharing secrets, running through the dusty streets of the Undercity.

Back when things were just him and Y/N.

Growing up together in the depths of Zaun had forged a bond between them that was almost unbreakable. Ekko remembered the first time he had met her. He was about 10 years old, he had bumped into Y/N on his way into Benoz's shop.

Y/N was different from the other kids—they both had a knack for inventions and painting, something that set them apart from the rest of the kids around. She was never afraid to get her hands dirty, wasn't afraid to dive headfirst into a problem. And, like Ekko, she had a fire in her—a need to just build, to fix, and to make things better.

What really stuck with Ekko was how they had always been able to talk to each other without words. They didn't need to explain everything. Whether it was a glance or a nod, they understood each other in ways no one else did. They had each other's backs through everything—the struggles, the losses, the pain of living in the shadows of Piltover's gleaming towers. It had always been the two of them.

Even after everything that had happened—his rise to leading the Firelights, the battles they had fought, and the weight of keeping the city from collapsing under its own greed—Y/N was always by his side. No matter what it was.

But the weight of his responsibilities, the constant struggle to keep his city safe from those who strived to exploit it, had begun to take a toll on their relationship.

Ekko's gaze drifted to the window. He could still picture Y/N's face, even from memory. Her skin was rich and smooth—her long dark hair, those beautiful lush curls, had always framed her face just right. The way her eyes big brown eyes sparkled every-time she spoke. She had such an elegance to her, despite the chaos of their world—she had a grounded beauty that was so hard to describe.

She never tried to hide her imperfections, never pretended to be something she wasn't. She didn't have to. To Ekko, she was perfect, even with all the scars life had left on them both.

Her smile, the way she would smile when they finished a project together, the way she would light up when they discovered something new—it was these things that made Ekko's heart ache now. Because he had taken them for granted. He had been so focused on his work, so consumed by the mission, that he had stopped seeing her the way he should have.

As a child, he had never really understood the feelings he had for her. She was just Y/N—his partner, his closest friend. But as they grew older, as they became more than just kids playing around in the wreckage, something had shifted. There had always been an undeniable pull between them, a connection that Ekko had tried so hard to ignore. It was safer that way—keeping things unspoken.

After all, what if he couldn't protect her the way she deserved? What if she became a target for his enemies? He couldn't let her get caught in the middle of his war with the city's power players.

Now as he sat in his room, the weight of his own words ringed in his ears, he realized he had made a mistake. He hadn't just failed her as a friend—he had failed her as someone who cared.

"I'm doing this for everyone." he had said when she tried to get him to see reason.

And maybe part of him truly believed it. But the real truth was, Ekko had never been good at balancing it all. The more he built these new inventions, the more he fought, the more he realized just how much he was sacrificing in the process.

He hadn't been there for her—not in the way she deserved. She had been right...he had been so consumed with saving the world, with fixing the city, that he had forgotten to show up for the one person who had always stood by his side.

Ekko clenched his fists, his pulse quickening. It wasn't just about fixing things anymore. It was about understanding that she had always been there, right in front of him, waiting for him to see what was important.

And deep down, he knew he had feelings for her. He couldn't deny it. Not anymore.

The thought of losing her—of her walking away and never coming back was terrifying. He couldn't bear the idea of never seeing that spark in her eyes again, of never hearing that laugh that always made everything feel so much lighter, or feeling the warmth of her presence by his side. He had kept her at arm's length, telling himself that his mission was all that mattered, that his work was what would save them all. But in the end, it wasn't just the work that mattered. It was her.

As the silence of his workshop pressed in around him, Ekko finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth across the room. He needed to fix this quick, to make things right. But how? How could he apologize for everything he had ignored? For all the times he had chosen everything else over her?

The idea of telling her how he felt—scared him. But it was clear that if he didn't, he might lose her for good.

And that thought, more than anything, made his decision for him.

He wasn't going to let her slip away. Not without a fight.

After the argument, everything felt so... off. Like the world had tilted just slightly. You had walked away from him, angry and hurt, but as the hours dragged on now, the anger had slowly faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of longing. Your heart had ached, not just from the words exchanged, but from the thought that Ekko hadn't truly seen you—really seen you—despite everything.

You had always been there for him. For years, through the chaos of the Undercity, the constant fights, the work that never seemed to end. You had been his rock, his best friend, the one who knew him best, even before everything with the Firelights, before the world seemed to make him bigger than the boy you grew up with.

But somehow, over time, it felt like you were just another thing on his to-do list.

In the silence of your apartment, you couldn't help but think about the way he had dismissed you earlier. The words stung still. It wasn't just that he had chosen his work over you again—it was the way he'd made you feel like you were asking for too much....That you were the inconvenience.

Beneath the frustration, you couldn't deny the feelings that had always been there, deep down. Feelings that you'd tried to bury for so many years, telling yourself that you two were just friends. And only that. That it was easier to keep things simple.

But with every glance, every small touch, the feelings grew.

You liked him. You had liked him for a such a long time. You could never quite put your finger on when it had shifted from a deep, comfortable friendship to something more. Maybe it had always been there, hiding beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment.

Maybe it was the way his eyes softened when he laughed, or the way his hands would brush against yours when you worked together. It was the little things that made your heart flutter—things you never had the courage to say out loud. Because you were afraid. Afraid of losing the friendship you had. Afraid of him not feeling the same.

Now, as you sat in your room, all you could think about was how he must have felt. Had he felt the same way all these years? Or was it just you, hanging on to something he'd never noticed?

You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead. It didn't matter now. What mattered was that you had pushed him away. Your frustration had taken over, and in the heat of the moment, you had said things you didn't mean.

Now, all you could think about was how much you missed him. How much you needed him—his presence, his smile, the way he always knew how to make everything seem a little bit less heavy.

There was a soft click of your door that interrupted your thoughts, and you froze. Was it him? Did this man really just open your door without knocking?

You laid up from the couch—looking up at the door. There he was, standing in the doorway, Ekko—his figure framed by the dim light of the hallway.

You got up from the couch, not saying a single thing at first, just staring at him in surprise. There was something different about him now. His usual confidence was completely gone, it was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

He shifted his weight a little, you could tell he was struggling to find the right words, but nothing came immediately. He wasn't going to apologize yet—not yet, but the hesitation was enough to let you know he was trying to understand where you were coming from. And that small shift in him gave you a bit of hope.

Instead of speaking immediately, Ekko walked closer to you, looking uncertain as he placed himself in front of you. He didn't say anything for a long while, and the silence felt heavy, like the weight of everything that had been left unsaid was hanging in the air between you both.

"Y/N..." he began quietly, his voice unusually soft, "I—I didn't mean to hurt you. You... you know that, right?" There was a vulnerability in his words that you hadn't expected, and it made your chest tighten.

You glanced at him, a part of you wanting to hold on to your anger, but another part of you could see how much it cost him to say that.

You let out a slow breath, fighting the urge to pull away. "I just... I need to feel like I'm not invisible to you Ekko. That I matter just as much as everything else in your life." Your voice wavered, and you bit your lip to keep yourself together.

Ekko didn't respond immediately. He simply stood there, his eyes watching you carefully as if searching for the right thing to say.

For the first time, you saw how conflicted he was. The anger he'd shown earlier was gone, replaced by something so much deeper.

"I've always been here Ekko...I Always stood by you. But sometimes—sometimes it feels like... you don't even see me at all.." you murmured, your heart aching with every word you spoke.

You could tell that what you said had hit him harder than he expected. He looked down at the ground, struggling to find the right words.

"I don't know how to do everything Y/N. I really don't....and I'm so sorry." Ekko admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just trying to fix this world, and....and I don't always know how to balance it all. But I didn't mean to make you feel small in the process. You matter... you matter more than I've been showing lately."

The sincerity in his words made something inside you shift. It wasn't the grand apology you'd imagined, but it was real. It was more than just a recognition of what had happened—it was an acknowledgment that you were important, that your feelings did matter.

At that moment, you both spoke in unison.

"I'm sorry."

There was a brief pause. Then, almost as if on cue, you both let out a small, nervous laugh at the same time. The tension in the room seemed to lift, you both exchanged an awkward look.

Ekko's face turned slightly pink, and for the first time, you noticed how shy he looked in that moment.

He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. "I guess we're both really bad at this apologizing thing, huh?"

“Looks like we are,” you teased, a soft giggle escaping as you watched him fumble.

Your heart fluttered at his little reaction. There was something about how awkward he was being right now that made you smile even more. His nervous energy, his uncertainty—it was so... adorable. The way he was standing there, so vulnerable yet trying to make light of the situation, made him seem so much more real, more human.

You couldn't help yourself. You didn't want to hide these feeling anymore. It felt was like there was a magnetic that was pulling you to him. You couldn't stop staring at him, the way his eyes softened, the little pink flush on his cheeks, the way he was trying so hard to be brave but couldn't quite hide how much he cared. It was all just too adorable for you.

Without thinking, you took a step closer to him, then another, until you were right in front of him. His big brown puppy eyes locked onto yours, his expression shifting to something more uncertain as you reached up, your fingers grazed his cheek gently.

His breath suddenly hitched, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

"You're so cute when you're nervous.." you whispered softly, the words slipping between you like a secret you could only share with him. The intensity of the moment had Ekko blushing even harder than before, his usual confidence was replaced with something softer.

“I wouldn’t say cute…” he chuckled nervously, his fingers still nervously rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to shake off the sudden awkwardness. You couldn’t help but smile. “Oh you’re so cute.” you teased, your voice dripping with amusement. “I never thought I’d ever see you all flustered Ekko. I thought you were always the confident one.”

He opened his mouth, probably to snap back at your comment, but no words came out. It was like he was frozen, caught in the quiet tension of the air between you two.

You didn't wait for him to speak, feeling the heat rising in your chest. With a sudden, quiet urgency, you moved closer, tilting your head—as your lips brushed his. It was a soft, testing kiss, as though both of you were taking a breath before diving into water.

But that first, hesitant brush of lips was only the beginning.

You closed the distance between you, your hands instinctively finding his face, cupping it as if you wanted to memorize every detail of the way his skin felt against your touch. Everything inside you seemed to melt. His lips were so soft against yours, the way his body seemed to lean into you, as though he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life too.

Ekko's hands were hesitant at first, unsure, as if still processing what was happening, but soon they found their place at your waist, he gently pulled you closer.

The world around you seemed to fade as everything in that moment focused solely on the feel of his arms around you, the way your chest pressed against his, each breath mingling between the two of you. It was everything you'd been too scared to say out loud, expressed in the kiss—it was raw, tender but desperate all at once.

You felt your heart race in your chest, the realization that this—this was your first kiss, and it felt almost unreal.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you couldn't help but smile softly at the way he looked at you, his face flushed, his big brown eyes wide.

Ekko chuckled, his voice low and warm. "I—uh... wow..." he murmured, his words a little shaky. He looked at you for a moment, still trying to catch his breath. His hands, still on your waist, gave you a gentle squeeze, grounding himself as if to make sure this wasn't a dream.

His gaze softened, and for a second, it seemed like he was trying to collect himself. But when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more serious. "Y/N... I've been such an idiot. You've always been right in front of me, and I've... I've let my head get in the way for so fucking long." He stepped back just slightly, as if to get a better look at you, but the intensity in his eyes didn't waver. "You've been here, through everything—when no one else was. And—And I guess I never realized until now how much I've been waiting for something like this, waiting for you."

"I've always... cared about you, you know? More than just as a friend. But I never knew how to say it, or if I was even allowed to say it. I kept thinking I had time, that things would just... fall into place. But after everything....I just don't think I can't keep pretending like I don't feel...this anymore." He took another step closer, his voice shaking slightly as he finally let himself admit the truth. "Y/N...I want to be with you. I've wanted this for so long. Will you... will you be my girlfriend?"

Your heart was racing at this point, but not just from the kiss. The words he had just spoken had left you completely stunned, each word sinked in with a weight you had never expected. For the first time in a long while, you didn't feel like you were just a bystander in your own life. You were here, with him, and everything—the tension, the uncertainty, the frustration—seemed to just melt away in that one moment.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the warmth spreading through you made it almost impossible. You had been waiting for this moment for years, hoping he'd one day—finally see what had been right in front of him.

But now the truth was out there, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"You really are a mess, you know that?" you teased, a small smile playing on your lips as you stepped closer to him. The light teasing was a way to mask the vulnerability you were feeling, but it felt so right.

This was Ekko. Your Ekko.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and free, a bit of the tension breaking between you both. "It took you this long?"

Ekko blinked at you, his brows furrowed as he took a step closer. "Hey, don't start with me now." he said with a grin, the usual spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "I've had a lot on my plate." He paused, a more serious look falling over him. "But, seriously... I mean it all Y/N. I've wanted to ask for a long time, but I kept putting it off. I—I just didn't know how to say it, and I definitely didn't want to screw things up with you." His hand reached out, brushing a loose curl from your face, the touch soft and intimate.

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest, his words filling in the cracks that had formed between you just days ago.

You reached up, placing your hand gently over his, guiding it to your cheek as you leaned into his touch.

"I've wanted this too Ekko.." you admitted, your voice softer now. "I've wanted you for so long." You gave a playful smile, your fingers tracing over his hand. "You're kind of an idiot for making me wait this long though."

Ekko chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Yeah, well... that's me. Always running around fixing things for everyone else and never fixing the stuff that matters most." He took a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him let his guard down completely, his expression was so soft, so fragile.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, looking at one another. The world outside—the noise of Zaun, the chaotic hum of the city—seemed so far away, like if it even mattered. In this moment, it was only the two of you.

You breathed out softly, letting the quiet of the moment sink in. "So, no more putting all of your little invention and missions before me?"

"That's no more, I promise.." Ekko said, his eyes softening, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, the tension between you two began to ease.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Good. You still owe me dinner, don't think I forgot."

Ekko chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I haven't forgotten doll." he said, his voice warm but teasing. "But dinner's for tomorrow, not tonight. I promise."

You rolled your eyes playfully, giving him a soft nudge with your shoulder. "You always say that Ekko. We all know what happens the next day."

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling back. "I mean it this time. Tomorrow. No distractions, nothing. "

You looked at him with a soft, teasing smile. "I'll hold you to that."

Ekko smiled as he planted a quick kiss on your nose before he lifted you up gently. His biceps flexing as he supported your weight. The way he held you so effortlessly, made your face heat up. The warmth of his body against yours made you feel so safe, and the gentle yet confident way he eased you down onto the couch made your little heart flutter.

He made sure you were comfortable before he settled in beside you. His muscles seemed to mold around you as he curled his body to yours, his chest strong and steady beneath your cheek, making it feel like you could stay in this embrace forever.

"Comfy?" he asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Yeah..." you whispered, your fingers grazing the firm muscles of his arm. The soft, warm skin of his biceps felt so smooth under your touch.

As you both lay there, you could feel the steady warmth of his body, the way his chest rose and fell against you with each breath. Ekko just couldn't help himself—he planted little kisses along your shoulder, your cheek, he was soft and gentle—he couldn't resist showing you just how much he cared.

"You better not forget Ekko, tomorrow…do you hear me?" you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

"Yes ma'am." he replied, a playful glint in his eyes as he kissed the tip of your nose. "You can have my full attention tomorrow. I promise.”

You giggled softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart beat steady and strong beneath your fingers. "I love you little man."

He kissed you again, a quick but deep kiss, before pulling back just enough to smile at you. "I love you too doll. "

The world seemed to disappear as you both lay there, curled up together on the couch, stealing kisses in between soft conversations. The rest of the world seemed so far away, and all that mattered was this moment, this comfort of knowing that you were together.

Chattt I really hope this was alright, this is my first time doing a request fic :,)

Oh also, can you guys tell I have a bicep obsession?

I tried to not to make it obvious in the story

Check out my Ekko one shots on Wattpad for more stories!! :3

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writingoddess1125 · 1 year ago

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Simon with his Triplets

Simon and how he is with each of his triplets.

Hazel

• His fighter and his attitude, Wrapped up in the beautiful bundle that was his Hazel.

• Hazel was the most like him in terms of his fighting spirat, While he had simmered down greatly over the years he saw it everyday in his daughter.

• She carried herself with a sense of pride and strength that he couldn't be more proud of.

• Hazel was the defender of the triplets, being the one to fight if anyone dared pick on her other siblings

• Simon had to pick her up from school far too many times for fighting-

• Simon did had to teach her how to control herself, Having to show her different ways to channel her temper- And the best way he found was Boxing

• Simon still kept in shape, not wanting to get weak as time did him in- So he kept up some heavy workouts. So he had the two of them go to the Boxing gym together

• There she blew off steam and trained with him. Well into her late teens she did this picking up MMA as well on her own.

• "Dad I want to go into the military-" She said, firmly as she lowered her arms from the boxing bag. Her fist still in the skull hand gloves he bought her for her 18th birthday. Simon freezing mid set and looked at her-

• "No-" He said simply, before going back to the bag.

• Hazel glared at him but didn't say anything else but went back to the bag herself. Simon assuming the conversation was over.

• He was going through the mail and sees a Royal Marine letter, assuming it's his he opens it and sees its an acceptance letter for Hazel and her date to start basic.

• Was he proud? Of Course

• Was he also angry that she had hidden this from him, went behind his back and disobeyed him? ABSOLUT-FUCKING-ELY

• Him and Hazel have the argument of the centry- But he was able to calm down enough to hear her out and makes her promise that she won't do anything dangerous as a job- She agrees..

• Then immediately goes in for Special Forces Operations like he did and Simon damn near has a stroke and is ready to drag his daughter by home when he learns of this.

Rose

• Rose- His little princess. His sunshine and rainbows child.

• She is the dreamer of the trio, Always imagining new things.

• She is also the artist- Has Simon cleaned enough crayon, paint, pencil from the floors and walls to last a lifetime? Yes- Has he bought thousands of dollars worth of supplies and made his credit card cry.. Absolutely

• But Simon loves every painting, statue and drawing imaginable. Keeping them in his office- Even if he doesn't understand artsy things he will smile and thank Rose

• Rose is also his hiking buddy- The two taking a weekends to explore new hiking trails together. Which he uses to rip his daughter away from the grips of the crows of boys that seemed to drool over his precious girl.

• Due to her naturally bubbly and sweet nature she gets a lot more attention from boys then Simon would like-

• "I don't like the boys that try after you, You know what they want-" He said in a warning tone, already irritated at the idea of them sniffing around his little girl.

• "W-Well...Daddy what would you say if I didn't like the boys either-?" She said softly, almost at a whisper- The irritation Simon felt damn near flying out his body.

• Simon looks at her quietly, trying to gauge her reaction only to see she was doing the same-

• "So- You don't like boys? What about girls?" He asked softly, unsure of any other way or working it. Her cheeks turning a flushed pink at this-

• "I see-" He said calmly, Patting Rose's shoulder as they made it over the steep hill of the hiking trail. The two looking over the beautiful scenery before them

• "Same rules, We have to meet her and her parents and No closed doors" He said simply and with a hint of a smile on his face. Rose smiling as well and nodding-

• Simon is secretly overjoyed to learn his daughter likes girls, he finds it mentally easier. Meets his daughter's girlfriend and will take her along with him hiking.

• She ends up as a Art Teacher, While he didn't understand he absolutely supported it happy she had found her calling.

Johnny

• Johnny is his Mini-Me and his lad.

• Seeing as your genes didn't even fucking try with Johnny it was just like you copy and pasted Simon. Blonde hair, light eyes and only a shade or two darker then his father. Other then that he got nothing from you-

• He adores his Son and feels proud of him everyday he lived and breathes.

• Johnny still refuses to speak, remaining mute but Simon is fairly certain it's by choice which he respects.

• Simon and him sitting next to each other as you argue with Hazel about something stupid, Johnny discreetly reaching up and taking off his hearing-aids to not hear anymore.

• Simon has to suppress a laugh-

• Johnny often goes hunting with Simon, especially since he's the most into the outdoors besides Rose.

• Is oddly a perfect hunter- Has very quiet steps and is smart with a gun.

• Him and Johnny are sitting in some trees waiting for the elk to go by, Johnny staring out into space a bit as he holds his rifle and thinks.

• Simon seeing this grabs a piece of bark and tosses it at him to get his sons attention. 'Whats wrong?' Simon signs, Johnny sighing lightly.

• 'I guess, just thinking-' Johnny signed. Simon nodding his head for the teen to continue.

• 'Do you wish I wasn't deaf? I could have been military like you, I couldn't have done a lot of things. Like speak.. Does it bother you?'

• Simon felt surprised by this- Shaking his head quickly. 'No-'

• 'No- I do not care about if you are deaf or dont speaak, it doesnt matter to me. You are my Son- I'd have never let you go into the military either way, I don't want any of you to experience what I have. I want you to live good lives, and long ones not just for me and your mother. But for your name sake. So no, it doesnt bother me' Simon signed, feeling the burn in his chest at remembering his fallen comrade and his sons namesake.

• Johnny sat there, his hands twitching as he tried to think what to say but couldn't. Instead just smiling softly with a nod, turning back to see some elk coming into the clearing.

• The two hunted in peace that night not a word spoken between the two of them.

• "Why the long hair?" Simon ask, noticing the lack of haircut from his boy in the last few months. Johnny shrugs and signs 'Growing it out, Going to see if I like it'

• Never cuts it again- Much to Simon's annoyance

• When Johnny goes to University for Aero Space Engineering he almost cries- while he understands absolutely nothing his boy is saying to him when talking about his homework

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lonniemachin · 10 months ago

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Laila reached out to me to help share her fundraiser. She is a 22-year-old Palestinian architecture student urgently raising money to evacuate Gaza and continue her education in Cairo. She has only raised €2,489 out of her €35,000 goal so far! Please donate, and if you can’t donate, please share!

From Laila’s GFM:

My name is Laila Auda. I’m writing to you while my heart is heavy, my tears are pouring down out of fear and despair. My only shimmer of hope to achieve my dream of being an Architect relies on you.

I’m 22-year-old dreamer and 178 days genocide survivor. I’ve endured unimaginable hardships including four major aggressions and countless military escalations. I’m still reluctant to believe that I’m reliving the 177th day of the fifth war in my prime years. Not only have these wars destroyed my dreams, but they have also deepened my trauma and depression.

In 2018, I was granted the opportunity of a lifetime through the ACCESS Micro scholarship Program funded by the US Department of State for 2 years English learning.

In 2020 I graduated from Arafat for gifted high school with honor degree 94.4%. And I was granted to a scholarship for 2 years in EL-UNRWA College pursuing my dream of being an Architect. In addition of finishing 3 external courses of software's used in architecture beside the college. I’ve put immense amount of pressure on my back to fulfill my dreams in my early twenties, having a message of being an inspiring soul of success. I was already in my small circle as three of my siblings want to be architects too! They see how I stay up all night making study models.

Now I’m a third-year architecture student completing my bachelor's degree in the Islamic University of Gaza (IUG). The dream of completing my bachelor's degree in my homeland became almost impossible after the IOF bombed all the buildings of my university and amidst the terrifying conditions we endure daily being stripped of every human right imaginable.

I’m sure you’re aware of the situation we have been living. My words are laconic, but my pain is profound and my mental health has been irreversibly damaged due the state of war. Switching from a person who’s addicted to learning to a person who is thinking of how can I escape death. My dream is completing my bachelor's degree in Cairo university, come back to my homeland and be an active architect in the rebuilding programs.

My target is to raise 35000€, which will be allocated as follows:

(1500$) university registration fees.

( 5000$ ) education fees per year (*4 years > 20000$) as I’ll lose 1 one more year with the courses equivalence due to the difference between the plans.

for life expenses as student for 4 years. ( 10000$ )

Add to that 2.9% GoFundMe would take and the fees on money transfer the bank would take.

The overall sum amount is approximately 35000€ considering the bank my cousin- who's launching this campaign- is engaged which operates in Belgian currency.

Your support could mean the difference between dreams realized and dreams shattered. Together we can make a difference. Together we can ensure that the voices of those trapped in conflict zones are heard, and their dreams are not forgotten.

I love studying and I dream of a life where I can breathe giving. I want to help people to rebuild their homes thinking with them of every detail. I want to see people’s happiness by creating spaces that lies warmth within their souls..

I’m truly grateful for your time, consideration, and support. Your generosity will make a lasting impact in my life, illuminate the path toward a brighter and more hopeful chapter.

Every contribution, no matter the size it will be a step forward achieving my dream

If you would like to confirm the validity of this campaign, you can message Laila on X

Username: Laila_EYO

With gratitude

Laila Auda

#palestine #free palestine #gaza

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plutosfallenangel · 2 years ago

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Random Moon Sign Observations | pt.1

(*based on personal experiences and opinions. look at the whole natal chart to gain insight, just one placement isn't enough and some aspects/house placements can make contradictions to the below information*)

• Aries moon •

-makes more moves in the night (esp 12H)

-extremely protective over those they love

-when comfortable with someone they will make little noises and funny sounds, very animated beings

-feels emotions intensely, the most reactive to their own emotions and environment, in the physical body they feel every emotion deeply

-will jump head first into new passions or romances unless the chart indicates otherwise

-it's like pulling teeth to get their vulnerable side out, as time progresses they learn that they don't have to be the hard-shelled thing their early environments created and that being vulnerable is brave

-most will only have a few people reach their inner soft core in their lifetime

-artists in their own right, alone time is essential for the creative process

-inner competition with themselves, instead of seeing others as competition they will try to beat themselves and be a better version of yesterday

• Taurus moon •

-always around close friends, typically has 1 or 2 people they grew up with that they keep in their lives forever or atleast as long as humanely possible

-is it bad to say these people are pretty when they cry? I've never seen a Taurus moon ugly cry before

-extremely grounded, and extremely guarded

-have a hard time letting people into their innermost self or world, but once they do you won't be going anywhere anytime soon

-emotional support person for close friends/family

-has emotional support accessories

-bad smells can put them into a very bad mood, very sensitive nose

• Gemini moon •

-consistently stimulating themselves through conversations/books/video games/hobbies

-can struggle with consistent mood swings

-appreciates design and loves to build things/put things together

-can be the friend that knows everyone's behind-the-scenes drama

-witty and goofy people (my fav)

-they tend to bury themselves in a hobby when they're not feeling the best mentally (sometimes as a distraction without actually addressing what's wrong)

-asking questions can actually make them feel better, even if it's on random things, emotional support knowledge intake lol

-extremely good at problem-solving

• Cancer moon •

-the most emotionally guarded moon sign, and will guard their family/close friends emotions like their own

-sensitive yet sensual

-gives the warmest hugs

-remembers the smallest details for the longest amounts of time

-has to let their emotional body go with the flow and ride the "waves", once they feel an emotion come over they can't go around it.. they have to see it to the end

-if conjunct the asc their emotions are painted all over their face

-if you've ever made one mad, you know what those claws feel like... they are some of the most scary people to make angry.. imo

-sentimental daydreamers/ and dreamers

-most can't get over that one ex

-4 course meal @ 2am is to be expected, especially if liquor is involved

-one of the brightest imaginations next to Pisces, their memories are alive, well and extremely vivid

• Leo moon •

-once you get close to them, they can feel entitled to spending time with you (in my experience)

-can let things bottle up and EXPLODE

-I've noticed when they are passionate about someone they can keep a lot of those feelings inside and slowly reveal them overtime.. not as extravagant as some would think, but they will definitely make you feel like you're the only one in the world when they care about you

-spending time with them is so fun because they will make everything into a joke and silly

-the goofiest of the moon signs imo (they do it for the attention but I love it, give me more)

-can be very demanding emotionally from others, whether it's communicated or not

-expects the utmost loyalty and gives it back in return, even on small things.. these people are probably the most loyal

-will place people on a pedestal within their bright orbit, sometimes they can fall into people that give them a lot of attention, and not for the right reasons..

-the most generous (and they mean it)

-likes to do things that gets them recognized, even in a small town/group setting.. they want to play sports to get that trophy and team photo

• Virgo Moon •

-please for the love of god bring your own tums

-one of the biggest nurturers

-very specific style and aesthetic

-always on time, or at least their internal clock is

-the sleepiest employee

-out of all the mutable moons, I think virgo can sit and process their emotions the longest

-can also be the same moon sign to brush off emotional encounters until they've processed their end enough

-prone to addiction just like pisces/12H moons, using a substance as an escape, becoming an addiction most times because they strive for routine, and if something bad just happens to fall into that routine.. they can have a hard time removing it (emotional security in routines, even if the routine looks messy from an outsiders perspective)

-literal sweethearts (angels in their own right)

• Libra moon •

-the most loved in the room when they walk in, idk how to explain it

-can be a tad on the partner crazy side, hopeless romantic

-emotional support person for a lot of people but they do expect the same in return

-depending on what else is in the chart, they can become very codependent on another person and FAST.. they won't listen to anyone when it comes to their beloved

-similar to a gemini moon, they can struggle to find emotional balance, but this is mostly caused by allowing outside influences to effect their emotional body (ex: partners)

-when they're good, they're GOOD and when they're bad, they're BAD

-does the best when they're in a 1-1 setting bouncing feelings and ideas off another person, they tend to show up or call at the most random times to chat about something like their car insurance, almost like, can you listen to this idea and share what you think? (I love them for it)

-i know I said it before but, HOPELESS ROMANTICS 💔🔥

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #astrology observations #moon signs #astrology community #zodiac #astrology moon #astrology research

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spiderism · 2 years ago

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Miguel’s conducting a census on the spider-verse when he lands himself on 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇-𝟐𝟏𝟑𝟕 – has no prior information since this is his initial visit, but on first glance recognizes that this is Nueva York; that usually means that the local superhero is Miguel O’Hara, or at least another variant of him. Only he finds out that here, it’s actually someone named Web-Shot, a souped-up version of his own late wife.

"Cariño." It was easier to say before – when everything was right, when his entire world hadn't collapsed in on itself. Now, the word feels strange. His brain reacts as if no time's passed at all; it takes effort for his mouth to form around each of the vowels and the consonants, though – like a rusted cog forced into service after being made stiff from years of disuse.

And while you may walk and talk like her, you’re not. He tells himself not to be fooled by the way your face lights up when you see him, by the way your laughter fills the space between the two of you, and by the way you still tell jokes at his expense.

But then you take the few steps necessary to close the distance to get to him, wrap your arms around his frame like he’s just come home after a long day of being out. It’s all too familiar – your body folding into his, how well the pieces fit together, the softness that he remembers so well; it’s every single inch of his wife that had been catalogued and filed away in the back of his mind for safekeeping – dust-ridden archives that he’d never thought he’d dig up again. You’re a memory in the flesh.

“Web-Shot, because—”

“You shoot webs. That’s cute,” he says in a dry tone.

“Alright, then. Let’s hear yours. You got something better?”

“Spider-man. It’s simple. Clean. Rolls off the tongue.”

“Wow, original. Was ‘Daddy Long Legs’ already taken?”

“Oh, you’ve got jokes. I see your sense of humor is consistent.”

“It’s why you fell for me, isn’t it?”

“Among other things,” he murmurs. “Pain in my ass—”

He asks where your Miguel is, needs to know if the two of you are together, but finds out that he died three months ago – fell from a clocktower during a bad fight he wasn’t supposed to be at, snapped his neck clean in half from the tension when you tried to catch him with your webbing and he ricocheted back up from the concrete like a damn bungee cord. The ring was in his pocket; he was supposed to propose that night before everything went to shit. So your time ended with him fast, early. Before you even really got to start your lives together.

And this other Miguel, the one who shows up in your universe alive (sure) and well (debatable), gives you some insight to his world. His wife was a romantic – an idealist, a dreamer. He’s always been pragmatic – a man of science, an engineer, doing everything within his realm of possibility to make her visions come true. It’s been a long time since he talked about his history and his family: how he proposed, where they had the wedding, his daughter – the way everything was good and perfect until it wasn’t.

After spending the night with you on the Empire State Building, he realizes how much you’re like his wife. It hits him hard, brings up too many emotions to the surface that he’d been tamping down all these years.

Nothing about any of this is fair. And it’s sad, heartbreaking. Especially—

“I didn’t get to grow old with you.”

“We could’ve had a lifetime together and it still wouldn’t have been enough. You get that, right?”

You convince him to stay. Try to, at least. He can be your Miguel, and it would all be so easy. He can take his retired wedding ring off the chain around his neck and slip it on where it belongs.

But it’s not possible. He tells you that much – what can happen, the repercussions that ripple out and affect the multiverse web. Because he’s already attempted that – wouldn’t have given up without trying to get you back.

A part of him wants you to say it one last time. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Instead, he gets:

“Every version of me loves every version of you. And even though I haven’t gotten to see it for myself, I know that there’s no universe where that isn’t true.”

Before he leaves, you ask if he thinks there’s any chance the two of you are allowed to be happy, allowed to live normal lives in all of the places he’s seen.

He tells you that he has: breakfast on the balcony, slow Sunday mornings, and weekend fútbol tourneys with your daughter. This story ends on a good note, but he doesn’t mention that it only exists inside his head.

#i was a lil too lazy to write the full version #honestly i was too lazy to properly format this and put angst warning so you can yell at me if you want #no i did not proofread #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o hara x reader

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virquous · 2 months ago

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jayvik is so beautifully written, they make me sick. "in all timelines, in all possibilities," jayce and viktor are a hymn to inevitability. they are the two halves of a blueprint etched across time, or as they put it, "two sides of the same coin."

what do you mean they are soulmates in every lifetime, their threads tangled in every universe, woven by viktor himself? what do you mean their fates are written in the stars, no matter the sky? in every lifetime, they find each other—a scientist and a dreamer, an idealist and a realist, building bridges where the world would cast walls. their bond is not merely forged; it is carved into the marrow of existence itself, etched into stardust and iron. how do they still fit so perfectly, even as they break apart?

they clash and converge, hurt and heal, love and lament, and yet they remain. in every timeline, through every failure, their story insists: we are more together. they are not just lovers bound by fate, but partners forged by choice, and that is what makes their love transcend eternity.

#arcane #viktor arcane #jayce talis #jayvik #jayvik brainrot

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redwylde · 22 days ago

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I think Felix is my comfort companion in Outer Worlds. I love how jovial and free-spirited his personality is, but he sticks to his convictions with a steel resolve.

Recently I did two Board runs to finish off collecting trophies that I needed, and I just didn't recruit Felix at all. He has threatened to leave for good in previous runs where I accidentally got too chummy with Rockwell out of curiosity, and I didn't want that. He was conspicuous in his absence, though. I'm surprised you can actually play a full Board run with every other companion having zero problem with the Lifetime Employment Programme. Parvati and Nyoka have a single line before entering Tartarus that says they're not completely into it, but that's it.

Anyway, back to Felix. Boy practically begs you to take him out of the Back Bays as soon as he lays eyes on you and he devotes himself to your service so completely that he says "you don't pay me to think, and I don't intend to start now. You're my boss, and I'll walk into the fire with you" before Tartarus - but he's no pushover. I guess it's easy to infantilise him because he's not academically intelligent, but he's great at reading people, his eyes are open to the cause and effect of corporate oppression and if you side with traitors, sellouts and bootlickers in any way, he's out. No discussion.

He's a romantic and a dreamer, so happy to be amongst the stars with his crew and his Captain like the adventure serials he loved growing up, but will jump kick an automechnical to death shouting "hey, Boss, watch this!" because you pulled him from a bad place and he intends to pay you back in teeth and tossball-related injuries.

He's just so well rounded and fun, I love all of the companions but Felix kind of struck my heart the most. He is SO much of a character that fits perfectly in the game we're playing. Revolution-romanticising orphan found in the cargo hold of the Groundbreaker, worked in exchange for port and got into fights with other strays but never stopped looking out at the stars for the day a ship would come in and take him on piratical adventures to uncharted planets.

He's just the best and I could talk about him for hours.

#Sorry Felix posting #I love him he makes me feel safe #the outer worlds #felix millstone

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crackedpumpkin · 7 days ago

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Hi. No one asked me for this but here is my (slightly) more organised opinion on the Ninja.

[ original ask ]

*Everything stated is purely from my perspective and not meant to represent a group or anyone else other than myself. I am aware that not everyone will agree and I do not expect you to, this is like my own mini vibe check lol*

Lloyd reminds me of the sun peeking through a shroud of grey clouds. He's an amalgamation of the entire team, not just because of the fact that they've been around him since he was a literal kid, but because they're his role models in more ways than one.

He's got Kai's spirit, Jay's goofiness, Zane's level head, Nya's courage, Cole's leadership and Master Wu's wisdom. (Not gonna include Garmadon here)

Being through all that he has is more than enough for a lifetime, and I'm thankful that DR is showing more of that side of him. (also as i type this i just whacked away a bug into oblivion) PTSD is a given, and I feel that the way most of the boys express or deal with it is gymming, especially Lloyd, Cole, and Kai.

He wakes up at night in a cold sweat every so often, with lingering blades that press against his neck filled with intent to kill. If Ninjago had the freedom of Vox Machina's explicitness, I would be sat without question.

At his core he is still that ray of sunshine he was back then, but overshadowed by a constant pressure to be perfect in every way possible. His insecurity to me is never being good enough. He'll always fall short of people's expectations, be it saving the world or passing on his knowledge (cough DR)

Love life wise though, I see him as the type of guy to have unintentional rizz. He grew up with Nya so he knows the taboo topics, and not to mention Zane's love language so he's willingly giving away his umbrellas and jackets to everyone. He doesn't expect reciprocation, but like is definitely oblivious to the extent of how hot girls find him. (Have you seen Garmadon like girl he's the only dilf for me thanks)

Kai is like a flame at its brightest just before it flickers out. Fierce, relentless, and unyielding are what I'd use to describe him. His persistence fuels him, his kindness grounds him, and most of all his loyalty defines his character.

He reminds me of Percy Jackson which is ironic considering their elements, but their cores are similar to me. Cockiness is a constant front he has to put up not just because it's yk...Kai, but because since young he's had to be Nya's pillar of support.

I think it truly translates to when he joins the team and becomes a part of it fully that we see how brightly he can burn for them. He has to be there for everyone, but who's going to be there for him?

I personally think he's way more level headed than you expect, having helped raise Nya without much support. He's had to be the mature one to give up his snacks, his time, and his patience. In my depiction of him I try to showcase more of these traits because I truly view him as a de facto leader who's able to step up to that role.

Jay is like the sparks dancing inside a glass sphere that activate upon touch. He's often portrayed as the funny, goofy one but I believe he's a lot more.

He reminds me a lot of myself in both the worst and best ways. We're both impulsive, quick to jump to conclusions, and overly dramatic to the point that I would gasp in dramatic offence if I go on.

But there's a softer side to him that often gets overshadowed by his humour. Jay is deeply kind, generous, and compassionate. He's someone who gives far more than he takes.

I miss the moments when he was shown repairing ships or geeking out over the tiniest details. Those glimpses of his ingenuity and unrestrained passion reveal the parts of him that feel overlooked. He’s not just the comic relief, he’s the dreamer, the innovator, the one who sees potential where others see impossibility.

But also, I could be heavily biased.

He has ideas that can be easily dismissed as folly, but that doesn't dim his spark which I admire. He thinks out of the box and constantly looks for new angles when not being held under pressure.

When he's with a team that fully supports and accepts him, that when he begins to really shine.

Zane is a whisper of the first snowfall, its delicate touch unwavering. When I found out he was a robot in the first few seasons I was utterly mind blown, and we got to explore his struggles in identifying himself.

He's often portrayed as the reliable and consistent one, and there's not really much i can personally expand on. I find that he is however, overshadowed almost as often as Jay is in the subtlest of ways.

There's lots of moments where I feel he's truly taken for granted, and it makes me rather sad. He's the backbone of the group to me, and I see him as someone who never fails to take everyone into consideration when making a decision.

What I do wish for the most, is not making him being a robot his entire personality.

Nya is the raging torrent of a waterfall, its waves crashing into a serene lake, leaving ripples that echo beneath the surface.

Contrary to popular opinion, I strongly believe that she is just as chaotic, if not more so than Jay. While Jay’s chaos comes from impulsiveness and humour, Nya’s feels more deliberate, as if she's carefully choosing when to strike. She’s a tsunami of passion and determination, with a streak of unpredictability that keeps everyone on their toes.

To me, she has plenty of academic smarts, when it comes to theory. Give her an assessment book for quadratic formulae and complex problems and she'd be able to solve it with little to no problem.

In practice however, it's a completely different story.

Things tend to get… messy. Her execution can be chaotic, not because she’s incapable, but because she’s constantly testing boundaries, sometimes pushing too far just to see what happens.

Kind of like a mad scientist, if you think about it.

I hated what they did with her in the earlier seasons of the love triangle, and it gives me utter nightmares till this day.

With that grievance aside, what I love most about Nya is how much she embodies her element in all its forms. She adapts effortlessly to new challenges, flowing around obstacles and finding creative solutions. She can be calm and serene, like a glassy lake, but she’s just as capable of becoming a fierce, unrelenting wave when pushed too far.

Her ideas aren’t always perfect, sure. Sometimes she’ll charge headfirst into a situation with half a plan and sheer determination, but it’s that tenacity that makes her so inspiring. She’s not afraid to fail because she knows she can bounce back and try again.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Taglist:

@ml3czqo @elysiuansstuff

#cprambles #ninjago #ninjago thoughts #lego ninjago

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molluskwritesfic · 2 years ago

Text

Galatea - Chapter One

Masterlist - Ao3

Summary: A cheap Arrakeen prostitute, chained to the city brothel by an unfair contract and desperate for freedom, is offered the chance of a lifetime.

A/N: Basically unedited. Not my best work. Tryna get out of a writing slump so you get what you get

Chapter Warnings: smut, a smidge of knife play, prostitution, mentions of rape, depression, anxiety

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY

This part, Galatea was all too familiar with.

The groundcar waiting for her outside the brothel was nondescript. Grey metal and dark windows. The man that opened the door for her wore a black work uniform stripped of insignia. She knew the type. Spine rimrod straight. Eyes front. Trying just a little too hard not to seem like he was ogling the beautiful woman scantily dressed in fine silk.

Galatea shot him a wink. He blushed.

From there, though, things got a bit more complicated.

She slid gracefully onto the fine leather seats, trying not to think about how desperately she wanted tonight to succeed.

Chances of everything happening the way they needed to were exceedingly slim. She knew better than to get her hopes up. She wasn’t a dreamer, but she had been, once. Despite all she’d been through, it was a habit that just wouldn’t die.

Arrakeen was a city of many pains. And many pleasures. The House of Priapos was the largest purveyor of both. Women—and men—for all social classes. The brothel itself took up a city block, with the Trulls crammed into tiny stalls at the bottom, separated from the street by only threadbare curtains; while the wealthy enjoyed High Courtesans tucked away in luxurious penthouses that made up the highest floors.

Galatea operated somewhere in the middle.

Trapped by an unfair contract that she had signed years ago when she had been young and desperate, she could be dressed up as a courtesan, or down as a street whore, and had no room to argue either way.

Tonight, though, was unprecedented.

Galatea was to entertain the Duke of Caladan and Arrakis.

Although her hourly rate was much higher than the average Arrakeen man could afford, compared to the usual girls enjoyed by Imperium Nobility, she was trashy, at best.

It was a fluke, really.

Zoie, a High Courtesan who happened to be Galatea’s close friend, had recently taken the Atreides Warmaster as a client. He had been pleased with her, and after a few sessions, mentioned that the Duke was in need of a new lover, and asked if she had any recommendations.

Zoie owed Galatea quite a lot, and a recommendation whispered in the right ear went a long way.

The Arrakeen Palace was massive. For all the years she’d lived in Arrakis, it had been a looming mountain above the city, little more than an extension of the Shield Wall’s craggy peaks.

Galatea had certainly never been inside, but she knew a few women that had. She shifted nervously in her seat as the groundcar passed though the first security checkpoint at the outer gate, wondering at how they’d never thought to mention that the outer walls were at least fifteen feet thick. Or that armed guards bristled at every corner.

The groundcar skirted the main entrance and rolled to a stop at a smaller door just off of the courtyard, where a female guard waited. After scanning her for concealed weapons, the guard led the way inside.

She was guided on a long, winding route. Down cavernous corridors and up quite a few stairs. They encountered no one. It was planned, certainly. They were hardly going to advertise when a whore was being brought in for the Duke to fuck.

The guard’s footsteps echoed smartly through the silence, while Galatea’s delicate sandals whispered in afterthought. For a few long moments, Galatea could almost believe that they were the only souls in the entire palace. The utilitarian minimalism of the place did nothing to lessen the effect—the sandstone walls were smooth and bare. Like some suspiciously clean tomb lost deep in the desert.

The illusion was shattered when they rounded a final corner and were faced by two more guards. After being checked for weapons a second time. Her escort led her past them and down a hall that looked a bit more lived in. Still spotless, but a few paintings adorned the walls and a long crimson rug ran the length of the floor.

The guard stopped at a fairly nondescript door and turned to face her.

“The groundcar will be waiting for you at dawn,” she explained, her voice as clipped and measured as her gait. “You will be escorted out of the building. Do not wander. If you need to leave early, tell the guards. They will call for the groundcar. Do you understand?”

Galatea saw it now—the disgust hidden behind the guard’s professional mask. It wasn’t the sort of thing that she usually let faze her. People were disgusted by whores until they wanted to use one. But she was already feeling a bit out of her depth, and the blatant distaste turned the whispers in the back of Galatea’s mind into wailing sirens.

There’s a reason they use highborn ladies for this, she thought bitterly as the guard left her alone in the hall. Cheap is cheap and trash is trash.

But then the logic of Zoie—who was decidedly not cheap—rose out of the mix, accompanied by the trademark shrug of her lovely shoulders.

Who the fuck cares? A cock is a cock. Milk him and move on.

Galatea couldn’t argue with that. She lifted her hand and knocked.

The answering voice was low and soft. “Come in.”

The door opened smoothly on well oiled hinges, and Galatea was treated to the view of the room beyond.

The Duke’s suite was large and spacious, framed on one side by shelves laden with books and strange trinkets from his homeworld, and by the thin slip of a very wide but short window that was a standard Arrakis style on the other. The bed was tucked away at the far side of the room—large and neatly made underneath a beautiful bronze mural of a curling sandworm. A few steps from the bed was a doorway—presumably a bathroom—and a short distance from that, the closet. The room also sported a small breakfast table, a chaise lounge with matching chairs, and a writing desk.

The Duke himself sat at the desk, hunched over a stack of papers with a pen in hand. Galatea’s breath hitched in her throat—half from admiration, half from nerves.

Duke Leto Atreides was an extremely handsome man. Olive skin turned golden by the Arrakis sun and heightened under the warm glow of the glowglobes. He had a sharp, angular face softened by curly black hair and a beard to match, both shot through with elegant streaks of silver. Thick, heavy eyebrows sat above the eyes of a poet, pulling his expression into one of constant brooding.

There was no point in trying to pretend that she didn’t find him attractive. Doing nothing to hide the way her eyes flitted appreciatively around his body, Galatea dipped into a polite curtsy and flashed him her most winning smile.

“My Lord.”

He gave her the barest glance, then went back to writing.

“I’ll be with you in a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”

The disinterest gave her pause.

Galatea was not the first woman that had been hired for this job. Although the Courtesans that had come before her had been sworn into silence, Zoie was persistent. Through her usual persuasion tactics and ability to root out gossip from the most stubborn sources, the beautiful Courtesan was able to garner that, out of six High Courtesans, the Duke had sent them all away.

And if they hadn’t been able to please the Duke, what hope did Galatea have?

Well, he hasn’t dismissed me yet.

She turned to one of the bookshelves. Galatea ran her fingers down a few of the leather bound spines and read the titles. Paper books were incredibly rare on Arrakis. There were no trees; wood and paper had to be imported. She had a digital tablet, though. Reading was one of the few hobbies she could afford. There wasn’t much else to do to fill the time between clients, anyhow.

The Duke heaved a sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Galatea watched him set aside his papers and stare off into space. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Lost in thought.

The decision was made. He stood. Strode purposefully around the desk.

“Alright. Come here.”

The command in his tone made Galatea shiver with anticipation. As much as she hated the brothel, the contract, the lack of choice, her masters—this part, especially when she liked the look of the client, could be a lot of fun.

She met him in the middle. The Duke’s arms wrapped around her, dragged her body against his, left no room for argument. Then his mouth was on hers. Hard. Demanding. Tongues and teeth. No preamble. Absolutely filthy.

Fuck, he was a good kisser. Of course he was. A man as beautiful as he was didn’t skate through life without getting a lot of practice.

Galatea’s knees went weak, and she grabbed onto his shoulders to keep upright. The Duke didn’t seem to notice, and instead used her loss of balance to steer her towards the chaise lounge.

Once he had her underneath him, he wasted no time in pulling the straps of her dress down her shoulders, loosening the silk enough to free her breasts. Then that wonderful mouth was on her neck. She gasped as his beard scraped along her collarbone. Eager to match his intensity, Galatea slipped a hand between their bodies to rub his cock through his trousers. She could feel the outline of him through the thick fabric—still soft, but of pleasing size.

Galatea hummed appreciatively. The Duke paused, his breath ghosting past her ear. She threaded her free hand through his hair and pulled him back in for another kiss.

He reciprocated, but something had shifted.

The Duke tolerated a few more moments of her touch, then he heaved a sigh and pulled away. Galatea was left draped on the lounge, tits out and baffled as he returned to his desk.

“Thank you for coming here tonight,” he said, settling back down in his chair and shuffling papers as he returned to his work. “You may go.”

Shocked, Galatea sat up and fixed her clothes. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Cheap whore or not, she knew she was attractive. It was usually the lead up when a client lost interest—when the knowledge of her unfashionable price and breeding was at the forefront. But once a man got his hands on her, he always followed through.

“My Lord… forgive me, but … have I done something wrong?”

He didn’t look at her. “No. You will be paid in full.”

Galatea could have cried. It wasn’t about the money. She saw so little of the money she made for the brothel that it didn’t have much meaning for her anymore, beyond the fact that she was cheap—which her handlers reminded her of at every opportunity. But the Duke was in need of a lover. Leto the Just, they called him. A good and fair man, one that had the authority and money to pay off her contract with the brothel and set her free, if he liked her enough. If he liked her more than enough, he might even bring her into his House. He could make her a concubine. And finally, after so many years, she could have the quiet, stable life that she’d always wanted.

No more beatings. No more scrounging. No more pleasuring the questionable men that the courtesans above her didn’t want. No more falling asleep to moans and screams. No more knowing that there were women several floors below her getting raped and being able to do nothing about it.

She could be free.

It was a pipe dream. She knew that. But having the hope crushed before it could even fully take root was devastating.

From the despair came indignation, and from that came anger. Anger always made her reckless.

She returned to the bookshelf. Figuring that the Duke wouldn’t leave sensitive information just out on a shelf, Galatea decided it was safe to help herself to one that sounded interesting.

This was an opportunity. Good things never happened to Galatea. She had hours left until the brothel expected her back, so she might as well make the most of the Duke’s luxuries.

And if he really wanted her to leave, he could make her.

Galatea settled down on the chaise lounge with her book and began to read.

It was the Duke’s turn to be shocked. He stared at her, heavy eyebrows low with a frown. “What are you doing?”

Galatea shrugged. “You’ve paid for my time already. How we spend it is entirely up to you. And if what you want is something pretty to brighten the room while you work, then that’s fine by me.”

The Duke blinked at that for a few moments. Utterly perplexed. Galatea wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“… As you please.”

They stayed like that for a while. The silence was soothing, full of nothing more than the occasional shuffle of papers and soft breaths. The world within the Arrakeen Palace was so far from the one she knew in the city—too far above for the bustle and chatter of people, groundcars, and animals to reach. Isolated. Alone in a bubble. Close enough to see the lights but too far away to touch.

Galatea wondered if the Duke was lonely.

She wasn’t really sure of the details. Zoie tended to not make a ton of sense when she was excited. Galatea mulled over what had gathered from the younger woman’s babbling.

The Duke’s concubine—his partner of fifteen years and the mother of his only son—had left him. She, along with their son, had gone into the desert to join the Fremen. The rest was speculation, but there seemed to be a consensus that the son, at least, had gone with the Duke’s blessing. The Fremen had been the reason that House Atreides managed to survive those harrowing first few months of their hold on Arrakis.

Galatea shivered at the memory. She remembered the night well. The sounds of roaring engines and lasguns had made the city tremble. Fire had lit the sky as ships rained down over the Shield Wall. The attack had been massive. The kind that no one was meant to survive.

But the Fremen had come out of the desert—Galatea wouldn’t pretend to understand why—and when dawn came, House Atreides still stood.

Loaning his heir out to learn the ways of the Fremen seemed a small price to pay for an alliance.

But it didn’t explain why Lady Jessica had gone as well.

Eventually, Galatea felt the Duke’s eyes on her again. She thought that he was searching for something to say, so she read aloud:

“Discovery is dangerous…but so is life. A man unwilling to take risks is doomed never to learn, never to grow, never to live.”

The Duke nodded. “That’s Pardot Kynes, the former planetologist. Dr. Liet Kynes gifted me a copy of some of her father’s writings.”

“I’ve heard of him, I think. He was supposed to be a very brilliant man.”

“It seems that way, yes.” The Duke leaned back in his chair, a bitter smile twisting at his lips. “Though sometimes I wonder if his experience was incomplete.”

“How do you mean, my Lord?”

“Perhaps one type of danger helps a man to grow. The experience makes him more of a leader. While others do the opposite. Less of a leader… less of a man.”

She tilted her head. Considered him. The faraway look. The grim smile. Tension pulled at his shoulders and exhaustion at his spine. The way he’d clutched at her reminded her of a man taking medicine—the action of doing something despite not really wanting to because it would make him feel better.

Less of a leader… less of a man.

Ah.

That was something she could work with.

The realization gave her direction, and direction gave her confidence. Galatea stood and crossed over to the desk. The Duke tilted his chin to look up at her, holding her gaze as her knees brushed his when she hopped up to sit on the desk.

Galatea cocked her head to the side as she considered him. She’d had this conversation before. Great care was needed. Proud men had the tendency to lash out, and the Duke of Caladan and Arrakis was certainly a proud man.

But at the same time, this was a man that had committed to one woman for over fifteen years. That, especially among Landsraad nobility, was extremely rare. He hadn’t been able to marry his concubine, but had also refused to marry anyone else. Unheard of.

What sort of a man was Leto Atreides?

Galatea was good at reading people. Getting a snap impression of someone, and then being able to act on it, was one of the most important skills a whore could have. Besides sucking cocks, of course, but that was a given.

Fifteen years. A son. Now he was alone. Responsible for far too many things, all of which seemed to be within a hair's breadth of falling apart. Under a great deal of stress.

This was the sort of man that wanted someone else to take control. Be taken care of. Just for a while. Being bossed around for a bit would definitely do him good.

“Leto,” Galatea began, making careful use of his first name, “when’s the last time you slept?”

Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it. Leto huffed a laugh. “My duties don’t exactly lend to a regular sleep schedule.”

“So in other words, you’ve been living on anti-fatigue pills?”

He shrugged.

“Leto.” He hadn’t corrected her for using his name, and she took it as a signal that she was allowed to keep doing so. She rolled her eyes and gave a disappointed shake of her head.

The Duke watched her, somehow much more interested than he had been when he’d had his mouth on her tits. She couldn’t be offended, though. The intensity of his undivided attention was far too distracting.

Galatea slipped off her sandals and rested her bare feet on his thighs. Rested her elbows on her knees and her hand on one hand. The action forced him to lean back in his seat, his legs nudged apart by the weight of her.

Leto arched an eyebrow. The look on his face was one Galatea had seen many times—the one that said, I’m in complete control of this situation, and I’m letting you do this because I think it’s amusing.

Galatea tipped her head to indicate his crotch. “And you don’t suspect a connection between the two?”

To his credit, he handled the entirely unsubtle reference to his manhood with more dignity than most refined men Galatea knew. A slight widening of the eyes. The subtle reddening of the ears.

She suppressed a smile.

“I… uh…” He cleared his throat. “I was assured that anti-fatigue pills have no…er… side effects…”

“Oh, Leto honey.” Galatea pressed her hand to his cheek. “Beautiful boy. I’m a whore. You can speak plainly about your cock with me. God knows I handle enough of them.”

Turns out, the direct approach yielded delightful results. Leto sputtered and tried to cover it with a cough. He didn’t really want to look her in the eye, so he lowered his gaze. After a moment, it occurred to him that he was looking at her breasts. His eyes shot back up to her face, then drifted off to the side. His blush deepened, creeping down his neck.

Fuck, he was pretty.

“I…uh… wouldn’t want to burden you.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s not exactly something you talk about with a potential lover.”

“On the contrary, who better to ask? These things happen—it’s normal—and most everyone tries to solve it the same way you did.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” He still wouldn’t look her in the eye, but the blush was fading. Galatea vowed to bring it back as soon as possible. “So it’s the pills?”

“Not exactly, but they certainly don’t help. How much sleep have you gotten in, say…the last two weeks?”

“I don’t know. Twelve? Maybe less.”

Galatea felt a wave of pity. No wonder the poor thing was having problems.

“Consider the mind and the body.” She held out both hands symbolically. “They work together, but they’re separate entities. The mind tells the body what to do, and the body does it. The heart needs to beat. Walk from your desk to the bookshelf. Move your hands to write a letter. But the body has opinions too. It tells the mind what it needs. I’m hungry. This hurts. I’m tired. I need to rest.”

She looked at him pointedly.

“I’m with you so far.”

“Good. So your body is telling the mind that it’s tired. You start yawning. Your brain gets fuzzy. You can’t keep your eyes open. But you’re a busy man. You have Duke things to do. So you take one of those helpful little pills, and you can keep going. But the pill isn’t making your body less tired, it’s just shutting up all the usual ways it lets you know that it needs a break. And that’s fine… for a while. But the longer you go without doing the things your body needs, the more desperate it gets. You aren’t listening to the usual signals, so it starts finding other ways to get your attention.”

Galatea gestured to his crotch again. “This is a very common one for men. Auditory hallucinations usually come next.”

Leto let out a breath. He wasn’t as shy now, which was a shame, but Galatea appreciated the glint of relief in his eyes. A small smile quirked at his lips.

“So what would you recommend, nurse?”

“It’s doctor, actually. Dr Whore. And for the long term, I prescribe sleep. No anti-fatigue pills for at least two weeks, unless absolutely necessary.”

He huffed, but was actually smiling now. “That’s a big ask, you know.”

“Make that three weeks, then. Also,” she took his chin between her index finger and thumb, “stop worrying about it. Your cock is fine. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. These things happen a lot more often than you think. And worrying makes it worse.”

“Alright, I get it.” He turned his face into her hand. His lips brushed her thumb. “And what about the short term, Dr Whore?”

“A massage, definitely,” was her immediate response. “While you were having a grope earlier, I felt your back. It’s all tied up in knots. A massage, and then a good night's sleep.” She paused, picked at a lock of his curly hair. It was still a little mussed from when she’d run her fingers through it, and now it was obvious how oily it was. “Scratch that. A bath. A nice warm bath. Massage. Then sleep. Lucky you, I’m good at all of those things. Bathroom’s through there, yeah?”

“A bath? On Arrakis? Isn’t that wasteful?” Leto protested as she slid off the desk and made her way towards the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

The bathroom, as the rest of Leto’s residence, was both spartan and beautiful. Decent sized, with a large tub taking up the center, a separate shower, toilet, and sink with a vanity all rounding the walls with accompanying shelves.

“How can it be wasteful?” Galatea countered, turning on the water. “You have a water reclamation system, right?”

Leto trailed into the room after her, looking a little lost. “Of course.”

“And filters in the cooling systems to collect the steam in the air?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But nothing. You’re the Duke. You deserve a nice bath from time to time. Call it a prerogative.” Satisfied with the water temperature, she straightened up and faced him, hands on her hips. “Now strip. I’m going to see if you have anything here we can actually use.”

With that, she started rummaging through his cabinets. Leto was a practical man, not prone to collecting frivolous things. But at his station, being well groomed was a necessity. Shampoo. Conditioner. Soap. Body wash. Beard oil. Lotion. All decent smelling. But next time… if there was a next time… she would bring some nicer things for him to use.

Galatea gathered up her finds and turned to see that Leto had done as she asked. He leaned over the edge of the tub, deliciously bare as he swished his hand through the water, brow furrowed in thought.

Heat pooled in her stomach. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for her to find clients attractive. But fuck, this just wasn’t fair.

Smooth golden skin stretched over an athletic build. Leto was sculpted as a statue—a beautiful amalgamation of well-toned muscles and soft flesh. A handful of scars smattered his upper body, and Galatea longed to trace them. Those, and the lovely curve of his arse.

Leto glanced up and saw her looking. His pensive expression turned smug.

Galatea laughed quietly and gave his face a light shove, telling him to hurry up and get in the bath. Leto did as he was told, a sigh of relief escaping him as he sank into the water.

“A Duke’s prerogative, you said?”

Galatea set down her things and stripped to the waist. “Prerogative. Absolutely.” She turned off the water and settled on her knees behind his head. “You work too hard. You deserve some things that make you feel good.”

Leto didn’t respond, just hummed absently as she added soap to the water and wet a fluffy washcloth. With it, she began to clean his chest and neck. His skin was hot under her hand, and she thought about what it would feel like to explore the same area with her mouth.

He sighed blissfully at her touch. Galatea imagined that it wouldn’t take much to make him moan.

Perhaps it was these thoughts that set the stage for her next one, or maybe she was riding the high of having made it farther than the other women that the brothel had sent before her. Either way, when she spotted the knife laying carelessly among Leto’s discarded clothing, Galatea got a very, very bad idea.

And GOD, it was such a bad idea. The kind where she wasn’t sure if it was so bad that it was good, or so good it was bad. The kind that, if it didn’t work, could absolutely get her killed. Hell, it might get her killed even if it did work. Fuck. No. It wasn’t worth the risk.

But as she continued to wash the Duke, her hands slowly dipping lower and lower down his abdomen, the idea niggled in the back of her mind.

Galatea knew that she had already set herself apart from the other whores the Duke had hired. No one else had made it past his dismissal. She should be satisfied with that. She should be thrilled by that.

But what about when the Duke’s problem passed? He wouldn’t need Galatea’s brusque attitude and world wisdom anymore. There were far more beautiful women for him to choose from that would be able to more than keep him satisfied.

The terrible idea took root.

Risk had gotten her this far. It seemed only fitting to let it take her all the way.

“Wet your hair for me, beautiful boy,” Galatea murmured in his ear.

Leto hummed acknowledgement and, while his head slipped down beneath the water, Galatea picked up the knife and tucked it safely in the waistband of her skirt.

Outwardly, Galatea calmly squirted shampoo into her hands. Inwardly, her heart hammered so wildly that she thought it might be trying to escape the rest of her body before it was too late.

Her fingers threaded through Leto’s hair. She worked the shampoo into a fine froth and used her nails to trace circles into his scalp. A head massage was one of the things that almost every man adored but never knew to ask for. She took her time with it. Although she was getting impatient, there was no need to rush.

Leto went boneless. His head lolled obediently with her touch. When she tilted his head back against her bare chest, he went willingly. One of her hands ghosted up his throat and scratched along his jaw, adding a little shampoo to his beard.

Galatea took her time rinsing him, too. She had him lean forward while she poured water from a pitcher over his head, careful not to get any into his eyes.

“Conditioner now,” Galatea told him. “Same idea.”

Leto leaned back against her and closed his eyes, so trusting and content.

Galatea reached down and, instead of the conditioner, picked up the knife. Before she could see reason and talk herself out of it, she had it against Leto’s throat.

The Duke inhaled sharply. His eyes snapped open, wide with shock. All of the relaxation she’d coaxed into him dissipated.

“What is this?” He demanded, his voice tight with anger. She thought of him as a coiled spring, ready to launch into motion. Ready to fight. But Galatea was in control. He was at her mercy. So he stayed perfectly still. Waiting for her to make a move.

Somehow, Galatea was able to hide how affected she was—practically trembling with arousal, fear, and adrenaline. Her free hand drifted down his body and wrapped around his pretty cock.

Leto gasped. This time, his body responded to her beautifully.

“Your body is trying to tell you something, Leto,” she whispered against his ear. “What’s it saying?”

She pumped him slowly. A low groan rumbled in his chest. His head pressed back against her sternum as he started to pant.

Galatea watched his face carefully. Checking for any sign of genuine distress. He was smart. By now, he understood what she was doing. The alarm was gone, but he remained guarded. His lovely poet eyes flickered from her face to where her hand worked between his legs.

He had to know by now that he wasn’t in any danger. What kind of assassin jerked off her victim first?

Leto shuddered against her as she increased her pace. With the blade still pressed tightly against his throat, he fought to keep still. The wariness gave way to pleasure. His eyes fluttered closed, and the quiet of the bathroom was filled with his quiet moans.

Desperate to hold something, but knowing better than to grab at her arms—as both hands were very busy—Leto clutched the edges of the tub so hard that his fingers turned white.

“My beautiful boy,” Galatea murmured, her lips touching his ear. “You needed this, didn’t you? You’re doing so well. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t last very long, but then, she hadn’t wanted him to. Leto’s body arched in the water. He gasped and cursed and shuddered. Galatea held him through it, whispering soft encouragement and praises until he slumped back against her, utterly spent.

Galatea lay the knife to the side, dizzy with relief and her own daring. She took Leto’s head in her hands, brushing his wet curls from his face and checking his neck.

To her horror, a single pearl of blood welled from a small cut across his throat. It was hardly more than a shaving cut, but it filled her with terror.

She had held a Duke at knifepoint. She’d made him bleed.

Galatea pressed her thumb against it, willing it to disappear. Leto winced slightly and opened one eye.

“I didn’t actually mean to cut you,” Galatea said weakly. “I’m sorry.”

Leto closed his eyes again and nuzzled against her arm.

“S’fine,” he mumbled. Adrenaline had given his system the kickstart that it needed, but it was fading fast. “Worth it.”

Relieved, Galatea kissed the top of his head. Then she went to work finishing his bath—applying and rinsing conditioner, washing his face, applying beard oil. She did it fairly quickly, knowing that the endorphins, combined with his exhaustion, were calling him to sleep. Galatea was stronger than she looked, but she couldn’t carry him to bed. Leaving him to sleep in the tub wasn’t exactly an option either.

When she guided him up to his feet, he went willingly. Leto stood while she dried him with a towel, meek and obedient as a child. By the time she grabbed the lotion she’d found and steered him out of the bathroom, Galatea thought he seemed half asleep already.

She pulled back the sheets of his bed. “Lay down on your stomach, beautiful boy. There you go.”

Leto all but sagged into bed. He buried his face into his pillow with a relieved sigh. Galatea joined him, kneeling by his hips and lathering her hands with lotion.

Within minutes, he was asleep. Galatea spent a good hour working out the knots in his back. She kneaded and pressed the tension in his tired muscles until they were jelly. Then she did the same to his legs, his feet, his buttocks.

He looked so good like this. If Galatea knew how to paint, she would have gladly spent the rest of the night capturing this image. Truely, it belonged with the ancient Renaissance artworks she’d seen in her holobooks. Exposed, vulnerable, beautiful.

When she was done, Galatea pulled the blankets over him. There was some time left before dawn, but she didn’t dare sleep. Instead, she fetched another book from the shelf and settled down on top of the covers beside the sleeping Duke.

She wiled away the hours, soothed by Leto’s soft snores and the silence of the Palace. She could get used to this. She begged every god in existence to let her get used to this.

Dawn came too soon. Galatea returned her books to their respective spots on the shelves. She had a few of the brothel’s business cards in her small clutch, one of which she retrieved along with her lipstick.

Galatea applied a fresh coat to her lips, then pressed them to the card. The shape of her kiss transferred perfectly just below the House of Priapos inscription. Below that, Galatea wrote her name in an elegant, looping hand.

She left the card on his desk and left, hoping that she would be seeing this place again very soon.

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