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spider-stark · 5 months

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INFINITELY YOU

part three // spitfire

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, minors DNI

WORD COUNT - 4.5k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker // tobey!peter = pete

On the walk back from Peter Pan’s, it seemed as though Parker had managed to entirely escape the sputtering awkwardness that had ensnared him the night before.

And, after countless city blocks of listening to him babble about absolutely everything and anything, you realized that there was one very striking similarity between him and Peter.

Both boys had a fervent interest in all things nerd.

“New Hope takes place nearly two decades after the rise of the Galactic Empire, meaning that Leia is only nineteen when she's kidnapped and forced aboard the Death Star! Which is like, absolutely insane, right? Seriously! Imagine being nineteen years old and stuck inside of something that has the potential to obliterate an entire planet!”

Shoving open the lobby door to your complex, Parker hardly even waits for you to hum your agreement before continuing his retelling of the Star Wars film.

“And at the exact same time, Luke is finally beginning his Jedi training! Which, honestly, nineteen is actually super old for that, but-”

Moving towards the stairs, Parker close on your heels, you cut him off with a question. “Too old? Nineteen is hardly even an adult,” you argue. “What age do most Jedi start training?”

“About four or five, so obviously Luke was way behind,”

Not even a full three stairs up, you come to a grinding halt, leaving Parker to bump into your back. “Four?!” You cry out, wide-eyed as you spin around to face him. “That’s insane!”

Parker only lifts his shoulders, clearly not understanding the reason for your horror.

Furthering your point, you add, “There’s nothing ethical about taking a bunch of little kids and training them to be weird, intergalactic warriors!”

“It’s the best way to train them!” He lifts his hand defensively, explaining, “The earlier they start training, the less likely it is that the kids will have formed an attachment to their families! That way they learn to act out of logic instead of emotion!”

For a heartbeat, you’re rendered entirely speechless by the absurdity of his claim, left to stand with your mouth agape as you blink at him.

“That sounds like emotional abuse,” you finally huff, shaking your head. “Actually, scratch that—it doesn’t sound like emotional abuse, it just is!”

“It’s not abuse-”

You hold a hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Give me one good reason why a group of adults should withhold love and affection from children if they aren’t abusing them.”

“Uh, how about the fact that love is basically what made Anakin turn to the dark side!” Parker scoffs, clearly unwilling to recognize how insane the notion he was pushing actually is.

“Or maybe Anakin turned to the dark side because he was indoctrinated and traumatized by some stupid space cult!”

The expression on his face is downright laughable.

It was as if you had just reached out and slapped him across the face. His jaw went slack, his mouth hung open in blatant offense. As a sputtering noise falls from his lips, trying and failing to come up with a good rebuttal, you smirk.

“Exactly,” you boast, taking his inability to speak as a sign of victory.

Twirling on your heel, you continue up the stairs, nearly all the way to the top before you finally hear him come stomping up behind you.

“The Jedi Order is not a cult!” He finally shouts after you.

Already traipsing through the hallway, fiddling with your keys, you sing-song, “Whatever you say, bug-boy.”

Reluctant to admit defeat, Parker continues grumbling under his breath as you unlock the door, spouting something off about your lack of respect for George Lucas.

“Look,” you tell him, pushing the door open, “if liking Star Wars matters this much to you, then I’ll gladly watch them with you.” A wry smile plays on your lips as you turn to look at him, standing in the doorway, “Maybe watching them will be enough to change my opinion on turning kids into galactic slaves.”

Eyes narrowing in a playful glare, he’s only able to hold the expression for less than a few seconds before a laugh causes him to break character. “I just can’t believe that Peter hasn’t made you watch them already,” he admits. “I had you watch them so much that you could probably recite the scripts from memory alone!”

His amusement dies off as soon as he finishes the sentence. Despite having been the one to bring it up, the mention of his world seems to cast a sullen shadow over him, ruining his sweet, boyish smile.

Curiosity instantly claws at you, begging you to ask him why his world seemed to have such a negative effect on him. Or, rather, why his version of you seemed to have such an effect.

This had happened last night too, when you had asked him if the two of you were friends in his world—and it was because of this that you assume that you’re somehow the common denominator in his discomfort.

Still, you don’t let yourself ask him about it. For as much as you’re starting to like Parker, you don’t know him nearly well enough to try prying into his life.

Not yet, at least.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to force me into sitting through them in this world, too.” You tell him sweetly, sweeping an arm out to gesture inside of your apartment, inviting him. “It’s not like I’ve got any plans for the rest of the day.”

You couldn’t even remember the last time you did have plans. Life had been so quiet since that last night with Peter and Mj—the night when everything went so horribly wrong.

Parker sucks in a breath through his teeth, a hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “I should probably get back out on the streets,” he reluctantly says, sounding more like he was convincing himself of that than you. “But, I don’t know, maybe we can take a rain check on it, yeah?”

Disappointment washes over you, sudden enough that you’re sure it shines through on your face. It takes a shocking amount of willpower to stop yourself from trying to persuade him to stay, wanting to remind him that two other Spider-Men were already running themselves ragged in pursuit of the villains—so why did he have to go, too?

You had grown used to his constant talking, having found solace in the chatter that kept you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay so that you wouldn’t have to be alone; so that you wouldn’t have to risk thinking too long about Doctor Strange or the multiverse or constants or Peter.

The thought of admitting any of that out loud, however, felt incredibly humiliating.

“For sure,” you force a smile, trying to ignore the many thoughts swirling in your mind. Then, eyeing the slightly too-tight Ramones shirt that he’d stolen from you, you add, “But shouldn’t you at least come in and change?”

His nose wrinkles slightly as he shakes his head. “Nah—I think this city has more than enough spider-people swinging around it right now. I figure we might actually benefit from one of us patrolling on the ground-level, y’know? Maybe I can ask around for any giant lizards or blown light bulbs.”

It’s hard to tell if the last bit is meant to be a joke or not, but you laugh anyway if only to avoid knowing why you should be worried about lizards and light bulbs.

“Sounds like a plan,” you second his idea. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then?”

A surprising sense of joy lights his eyes at the sound of your hesitance, unfitting of the simplicity of the moment, but charming nonetheless. He grins—a wide and endearing sort of grin—as he takes a step back, “I won’t be gone long,” he promises before reminding you, “lock the door behind you, alright? And if you need anything-”

He pauses, patting the pockets of his jeans only to remember that he didn’t bring a phone with him to this universe—and that, even if he did, there likely wasn’t a wireless plan good enough to support multiversal travel.

“If you need anything, call 911.”

“Got it,” you laugh, watching as he stumbles backwards towards the stairwell, cheeks red with faint embarrassment.

Turning to go inside, you can’t ignore the warmth that now blooms in your chest.

You could definitely get used to having him around.

A peculiar sensation prickles at your skin, curling along your spine like icy fingertips.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The usually comfortable atmosphere of your apartment had shifted. An eerie tension fills the space, a near-suffocating feeling that has the very walls holding their breath, humming a tune of warning as you inch further into the living room.

Your stomach twists as the sharp tang of exhaust fumes fills your nostrils. By the couch, a faint breeze rustles the curtains of a window, wafting in the nauseating scent of the city street below—a window that hadn’t been open when you left earlier.

A mere foot or so away, you notice that the picture frame Parker had been fiddling with before is now lying on its face, having been knocked off the end table and abandoned. Atop the table, you notice that the lamp is sitting askew, its base just inches from tumbling over the edge and joining the frame.

Someone had come in through your window—and it didn’t appear as though stealth had been very important to them, given that they had clearly stumbled into the table upon their entrance.

Adrenaline floods your senses, your spine stiffening as you take a series of slow, quiet steps.

Moving towards the corner, you carefully reach out a hand to grab the metal bat propped against the wall. The bat had been an unlikely housewarming present from when you first moved in, given to you by Peter’s mentor and your own reluctant renegade, Tony Stark. For nearly two years now it had sat in this corner, unused and gathering dust—until now.

You wrap your fingers tightly around the base, wincing slightly as the rubber grip pulls at the still-healing flesh on your palm, making you curse yourself for not properly bandaging the wound last night.

But you’re used to pain—and so you’re easily able to bite back against it as you ease through the living room, checking for any sign of the intruder's presence.

As you walk, gripping the bat like your life depends on it, you can’t help but hear Tony Stark’s voice echo in your mind.

If you’re gonna live alone, then you should have some sort of protection—he had told you, gently placing the cool steel into your hands for the first time, a ribbon tied sloppily around it—not that you need it.

Satisfied with your search of the living room, you start easing towards the hall. You’re good at sneaking around, having had a lot of practice at it—every movement you make is calculated, every footfall so purposefully gentle that it’s nearly silent.

Quiet as you were, you could do nothing to ease the sound of your blood thrumming wildly in your own ears, your heart pounding against your chest.

The incessant beating worries you—because you know that there are people in the world with the unnatural ability to hear such things. Peter, even with his enhanced hearing, had to be close to someone in order to hear something as soft as their heartbeat; but you had heard rumors that there were others who could hear a pulse from miles away, others like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

The thought makes your blood run cold, though you try to push the worries from your mind. From what you know, the Devil doesn’t have a habit of breaking into apartments, nor was Queen's his usual jurisdiction.

No—what you were dealing with had to be no more than an average burglar!

An average burglar who, somehow, scaled up the side of a building to break into your apartment…

Alright—you think, approaching the end of the hall—perhaps it’s a not-so-average burglar, then! Still better than the Devil.

Peeling one hand from the bat’s handle, you curl your fingers around the doorknob to the guest room, Parker’s room. You ease the door open slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from crying out as you peer into the space.

The sweet scent of vanilla is the first thing that hits you, contrasted by the subtle bite of vetiver.

Parker—the room smells of him, even though he had only been here for one night.

On the bed, the quilt is rumpled and thrown about, pillows strewn about. The doors of the armoire are wide open, a few old shirts hanging over the edge of one of the shelves, no doubt from when he went digging through your clothes in search of something to wear.

The room was messy, but empty.

Your shoulders sag, half-a-breath loosing from your lungs. The relief is short-lived, however; as by the time you edge back into the hall to turn towards your own door, you’re overwhelmed with dread.

If whoever broke in was still here, then this was the only place they could be—save for the bathroom, though you seriously doubt any burglar would have much interest in scouring through your toiletries…

Easily, gracefully, you twist the knob, the metal yielding quietly to your careful touch.

The curtains are tightly drawn, eradicating any trace of sunlight and leaving the room cloaked in shadows. But, even in the darkness, you’re able to see the rough outline of a figure sprawled out across your mattress.

For a split second, you think of Parker’s advice to call 911, the weight of your phone suddenly heavy in your back pocket.

You think of how you should follow that advice.

You think about how fast you could run—if you would be able to reach the front door before they could catch up to you.

But then you stop thinking, disregarding all logic and reason as you take a step into the room, as if drawn in by some invisible force.

Remaining mindful of your surroundings, you slowly approach the edge of the bed. Squinting in the darkness, you try to study the body laid out atop your comforter. Watching the steady rise-and-fall of their chest, it suddenly hits you that, whoever they are, they’re asleep.

Slinking around the corner and coming to stand at your bedside, you’re finally close enough that you can see them in spite of the absence of light. Crimson and blue spandex clings tightly to their arms as they cling one of your pillows to their chest, and you feel your entire body sag with relief as you loosen your grip on the bat.

So this must be Peter 2.

The fabric of his mask is bunched up and resting along the bridge of his nose, which is somewhat smushed against the pillow he’s holding, no doubt leaving him to breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and your perfume.

Lower, you can make out the subtle contours of his jawline and the curve of soft, pink lips. Higher, you’re met with the impassive stare of then white lenses sewn into his mask.

The lenses shield his eyes from your view, and a curious feeling begins to tug at the furthest corners of your mind. Take it off—it seems to whisper, compelling you to move in closer, your shins pressing against the side of the mattress—take it off.

You grit your teeth and try to ignore the feeling, try to ignore the velvet-voice slithering through your mind; begging you to look at him, to touch him, to notice him, to-

Pain shoots along the side of your temple, likely in response to the sudden tightness in your jaw. It distracts you enough that you’re able to shake the strange feeling long enough to regain your focus—even if the remnants of it still linger.

You shouldn’t be interested in him—you should be pissed at him.

Not only had he broken into your house, which was already bad enough, but he had also climbed into your bed and made himself cozy! The absolute gall, the audacity he must have, has you allowing the tiniest sliver of rage to ignite inside of you.

Both hands still gripping the bat, you lower it from where it rests against your shoulder to swiftly jab its head into his stomach.

A cough sputters past his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lungs.

You’re actually shocked that you landed the blow—in truth, you had expected his spider-sense to kick in and detect the incoming hit, waking him with just enough time to dodge the shot. But, apparently, his instincts had made the mistake of assuming that you were of no threat to him.

“Morning sunshine,” you chime, your feigned cheerfulness set off by a sneer.

He’s scrambling into an upright position, knees sinking into the mattress as he presses a hand against the sore spot you’d created on his stomach. “What the fu-”

His voice is hoarse—from sleep or pain, you’re not sure—and he doesn’t finish the curse spewing from his mouth once his head shoots up towards you, as if finally registering the sound of your voice.

“I don’t know what things are like in your world,” you muse, swinging your bat back to rest against your shoulder, “but in this one, breaking and entering is considered a crime.”

He’s still catching his breath, and while those damn white lenses covering his eyes give so little emotion away, you assume that he’s going to apologize. It’s what Peter would do, and Parker, too.

But not him.

“Your friends said I could stay here,” he defends himself. Taking another deep breath and extinguishing the burning in his lungs, the lower-half of his face transforms into a defiant smirk. “It’s not breaking and entering if you were invited.”

“And did they tell you to sleep in my bed, too?” You shoot back, brows rising in annoyance. “Word of advice: next time you’re invited to stay in a total stranger’s house, maybe try not to repay their kindness by crawling through their window.”

He mocks you without missing a beat, “Word of advice: you live in a shitty neighborhood—if you don’t want people coming through your windows, you should try locking them.”

“Ah, right! Cause the average person is definitely willing to scale the side of a building for the prospect of an unlocked window!”

“You’re a pretty girl in a dangerous city,” he drones, lifting a shoulder as he meets your sarcasm with purposeful calm. “You’d be surprised what people would be willing to do for a chance at getting you alone.”

The insinuation sends a shiver down your spine, but you mask your unease, flashing a smile that’s more predatory than sweet. “Aw,” you coo, “so you think I’m pretty?”

He returns the expression, skillfully avoiding your derisive question. “I think you’re irresponsible—and a little cocky.”

“Better to be cocky than a felon,” you remark. “Just spare my neighbors the acrobatics show next time, would you? Maybe try knocking on the door like a normal person! Preferably when you’re not dressed like… that.”

It’s not that his suit wasn’t nice, because it was. But it lacks the advanced Stark-tech that makes Peter’s suit so uniquely sleek, meaning that it was likely safe to assume that no one in this world would mistake this boy for the real Spider-Man.

Unless they were to catch him scaling up the side of your building…

“I tried knocking.” he sounds exasperated, as if you are testing his patience. “You weren’t home.”

You snort a laugh, wondering if he truly believes that is all the reason he needs to break into someone's home.

“Then you should’ve waited until I got home,”

“I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I was too tired to wait.”

“Then you should’ve slept in the alleyway with the rest of the strays,” you hiss at him, fingers tightening around the bat as your frustration builds.

The sheer ferocity in your voice gives him pause, stunning him into silence.

Then the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards, lazily grinning at you as if he actually enjoys the verbal onslaught.

You can tell that he’s watching you through those white lenses, and his tongue darts over his bottom lip, you feel your breath catch in your throat. “Fine,” amusement dances in his tone as he raises his gloved hands, “fair enough.”

For a moment, no sound comes from your parted lips, leaving you to stand there gaping at him until you remember how to speak. “Fair enough?” You echo, shaking your head slightly. “That’s all you’ve got? No apology?”

He moves, forcing you to take a step back as he shoves his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s not as tall as Parker, but he still stands an inch or so higher than you, making it hard to not feel intimidated as he stares down at you, your own face staring back from the reflection of his lenses.

“Better not push your luck, Spitfire,”

He’s baiting you—he has to be! Using a stupid nickname to get under your skin, to try and prod further at your short temper. And it’s working—god, you hate how much it’s working!—because you find yourself contemplating putting his superhuman durability to the test by whacking him over the head with your bat.

“By the way,” he says before you have a chance to act on your intrusive thoughts, pointing at your hands, “you’re bleeding.”

As if his words switch a flip in your head, you’re suddenly aware of the acute throbbing in your palm. You loosen your grip on the bat, letting it clatter recklessly to the floor as you hold your hand out to examine it.

Unsurprisingly, the rubber handle managed to tear open the barely-healed cut on your palm, courtesy of your too-tight grip on it. You hiss through your teeth, watching as blood oozed from the cut, dripping down towards your wrist.

Slipping past you, the boy only half-manages to stifle his laugh. “You should probably take care of that.”

He’s already slipping out into the hall by the time you regain enough awareness to follow after him, gritting your teeth against the pain.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“To the other room,” he calls over his shoulder. Once he’s standing in front of Parker’s door, he spins back around to face you, his snarky expression still in-tact. “Where I’m hoping you won’t follow me.”

Everything about him causes your blood to boil—his grating voice, his insolent attitude, his stupid soft lips.

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” You exclaim, your voice strained with pain as you try to wrap your hand in the lower half of your shirt.

It takes no-time for blood to start seeping through the thin material, and you certainly don’t look intimidating like this—the lower half of your abdomen on display as you try to apply whatever pressure you can to the wound—but you don’t care.

“I don’t have to let you and Parker stay in my house—I’m doing it because I’m nice, alright? And, so far, you’ve been nothing but a dick!”

The thin fabric of his mask shifts, brows furrowing at the mention of Parker. Unlike Peter, however, he doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname. “Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Especially since you’re the one calling me names.”

The levity in his tone makes you want to scream—what was his deal?!

You press harder against your bleeding palm, your breathing turning shallow. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or pain or what, but you feel like your head is spinning. “Look, I don’t know you, alright? But this? Isn’t gonna work,” you bark at him, chin lifted defiantly as you stare into his mask, unrelenting. “If you plan on staying in my house, then you’ll get your shit together—got it?”

His head tilts, curiously watching as you continue your frantic speech.

“No crawling in through my windows or sleeping in my bed or smarting shit off! And take off that stupid mask!” You huff, shaking your head. “Or, I don’t know, pull it down the rest of the way! Just do something because you look stupid like that!”

The words are spewing from your mouth like a torrential downpour, fueled by the rage swirling in your stomach and the throbbing in your hand and—

He laughs, a genuine laugh that isn’t born of derision, and you feel your racing thoughts slow to a halt. “You should work on your insults,” reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs his mask off. “Because that was pathetic.”

It’s no longer just your thoughts that have slowed, but the entire world. Everything around you feels like it has come skidding to a stop—leaving you staring up at him like a dumbfounded idiot.

He’s beautiful—a commonality among Peter’s variants, it seems.

He’s smirking, an infuriatingly charming smirk that lets you know he has no intention of listening to your demands for him to silence his quick wit. But you’re not focusing on that—no, you’re focusing on the features that had been hidden from you this whole time; his dark hair, tousled from removing his mask, falls in a chaotic halo around his face, contrasting the vibrance of his eyes.

His eyes.

They leave you breathless, and you hate it. Colored with the deepest cerulean you’ve ever seen, his eyes feel like staring into the depths of a crystalline ocean. You can almost feel yourself getting swept up in their tides, feel them enveloping you in a feeling of familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time you had been pulled into their ebbing waters.

“Have we–” your mouth has gone dry, your voice cracking. “Have we met before?”

It’s a ridiculous question, and you recognize that even as it’s spilling from your lips. You couldn’t have met him before—not when the two of you weren’t even from the same universe!

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and you’re already preparing to take the full force of whatever smartass comment he’s about to fling at you. “I’ve met you,” he says simply, taking you by surprise. Then he inclines his head towards your still-bleeding hand, “You should patch yourself up before you stain the carpet.”

You look down at your hand, at the hem of your shirt, soaked in blood.

“But just so I know,” you look back up, his body half-turned towards the door, his fingers resting against the knob, “if Peter and Parker are already taken, then who does that make me?”

You have to force yourself to take a breath. “What did I call you in your world?” He’s silent for a moment, staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Then, pushing the door to Parker’s room—their room—open, he smiles.

“Pete.”

a/n - ayyy, pete's finally here! and, ofc, lots of other little important details sprinkled around as well.

also, i really wanna say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story so far! it truly means the world to me to read all of the nice comments and to know that you guys are interested in this story! so, again, thank you 💖 as always, please comment/like/reblog and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

part four, titled "blooms of subterfuge", to be released april 29th

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karlachismylife · 10 days

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Tough Spot || The Queen of the Clan pt.2

CW: fem!chubby!reader, mentions of animal marking/spraying/urinating

When you took a break in trying to get your behaviorist degree and took off to partake in this documentary on a whim, you certainly were prepared that it won't meet the highest expectations - life isn't a movie, after all, so perhaps you weren't hoping to find the purpose of life magically after you somewhat lost the direction, or to make an earth-shattering discovery that would turn behaviorist world upside down and earn you a place among scientific hall of fame. A distraction from an all-consuming apathy that creeped up in your life, perhaps, some useful experience close to your field of interest. Some connections and friendships, if nothing else - these were your (pretty reasonable) expectations.

Definitely not having to share a tent with a man you barely knew, because a huge hyena sprayed its stink all over your things, making it impossible to stay near your posessions for a long period of time.

Sure, lucky you - most of your stuff inside the backpack was very salvageable, your clothes and food intact. But everything that got under a direct attack - your little tent, sleeping bag, your favourite thermos and a little sitting mat, all that was most definitely due for a deep clean with some heavy scent remover, and your crew was in for a filming trip for the next several days without returning to your main dislocation at a sanctuary just next to the nature reserve you were filming in. So no cleaning and washing for you in aproximately a week. In short - you would've been fucked, sleeping in a smelly tent and sleeping bag or completely unprotected in a roofless vehicle, if not for Kir.

As you stand there with an apologetic expression on your face, hands clenched guiltily, he just laughs all your muttered thanks and apologies off, flashing you the friendliest of smiles as he sets up his own tent. A true knight in shining armor (some cargo pants and a blank, tight-fitting T-shirt in his case), Kir doesn't even let you help, telling you that your chatting is more than help enough as he prepares your new sleeping arrangements. Out of everyone on the crew he was the first to offer you to share his tent, and the fact that he had a backup sleeping bag only nailed the decision in.

"Don't worry, it's not a bother at all. If I was a newbie and something like this happened to me, you'd help me out too, I'm sure," he makes it hard to argue and feel like you're being a burden. Already a veteran of these filmings, Kir disctracts you from your upset mood with similar stories - about some scientist guy walking straight into a buffalo shitpile, a bunch of monkeys ravaging crew's backpacks and pulling out some poor girl's vibrator to play hot potato with it, a jackal finding one of the timelapse night cameras and flooding it generously... "They're animals, they just have a sense of humor like that. No one blames you for that guy taking a liking to you."

Kir's bright smile and cheerful words reassure you. He's being a gentleman about everything else too - allows you to take the higher ground to sleep there since the spot where his - and your now too - tent stands has a bit of an angle to it, lets you choose which sleeping bag you want, stays outside as you change for sleep even though you were perfectly fine doing it in the sleeping bag itself. The only un-gentlemanly thing Kir does is stay up with you until deep into the loud wild night, telling you more stories, already from his job at the sanctuary. As you whisper to each other and try to muffle your giggles, you hear rustling outside, someone walking around on soft paws, stopping several times at your tent and even sniffing loudly - you left your backpack nearby, unwilling to put the stinky thing into the tent. But the smell seems to work for you this time, since whatever it was, it leaves soon after.

In the morning you barely get out, a bit tired after your late night talkshow with Kir, only to learn that there were two hyenas in the camp - a bunch of the crew are crowded around a patch where the parprints are especially visible, getting the footage just in case it'll make into the final cut. One of the scientists measures the prints and estimates the sizes of both hyenas: both could be up to 1,8 meters in length judging from how wide apart their footprints lay. In other words - fucking huge, even for spotted hyenas.

"You think your friend from yesterday came with a buddy to spread some more perfume?" You scrunch your nose at Kir's joke and rush to check on your backpack, but it doesn't seem to be chewed on or reek worse than yesterday. Great news, honestly, since you'll be driving with that thing tucked into the back of a Land Rover while you follow the path of the lion pride you should be filming.

The sun is alredy high up and pretty ruthless by the time you come across any significant wildlife - and it's not lions, but something equally good for the documentary: a big herd of zebras. Once again, you are mesmerized, majestic striped horses so close to you that it doesn't seem real. They are aware of your crew's presence, but stay chill, perhaps seeing people and their weird appliances not for the first time.

Following your instructions, you carefully tread the tall grass to move a bit further from the parked vehicles and take some shots of the herd; you choose your favourite zebra - a mother with a little baby waving it's puny tail and constantly shoving its adorable snout under mother's belly for milk - and zoom in on her, setting quite a neat shot. After you settle the videocamera, you take out your personal one to take some photos, but suddenly the zebras perk up, ears twitching and chewing coming to an end. You lower your camera at first, confused by their reactions - you didn't hear anything? - but then lift it up againt to search for the source of zebras' worries through zoom.

And source of worries you find.

Two hunched silouettes, out in the open, dark manes fluffed up and tails in a clearly aggresive stance - a couple of enormous, compared to the zebras, hyenas are creeping up to them, hind legs tucked up under their bulky bodies, ready to pounce... and then one of them, a smaller one with darker fur, darts forward.

A hunting hyena is an impressive view, their speed exceeding what one might expect just looking at their burly, asymmetrical builds - but exactly that legs length difference allows them to speed so fast that your camera struggles to capture them. But what's impressive onscreen, is fucking terrifying in real life.

Because a herd of zebras is panicking at the sight of a predator closing in on one of them, and in panic they start to run.

You're in their way.

The sound of dozens of hooves hitting dry, solid ground mixes with your own blood pumping in your ears. In an act of brain malfunction, you somehow find yourself more worried about the expensive camera (it's not even yours) being trampled than yourself, and try to pick it up with the tripod - seconds dragging on like molten resin boiling under the cruel noon sun. The ground is trembling under the scared animals, dust and dry grass up in the air.

A high-pitched sound breaks you out of stupor. Loud cackling with an undertone of alarm gets closer too, and as you stumble backwards, a big dark form zooms past you, rushing fearlessly towards the fear-crazed zebras. It's reckless even for a carnivoure they're afraid of: nothing can guarantee that the herd will stop or turn away as the hyena approaches them head-on, and you prepare yourself to witness a gruesome scene of a hunter falling by the hooves of hunted.

But it somehow works. Last moment, the zebras notice the hyena flying at them with a scary laugh and change the direction of their fleeing route, less lucky among them falling and getting pushed over, but hyenas - more of them now, four, it seems? - don't bother pouncing the fallen ones, putting all their efforts into... simply chasing their prey away?

Confused and still stunned into a frozen mode, you watch the little baby zebra buck its tiny legs at a hyena barking at it lazily and clamping its huge maw, capable of crushing huge bones, on thin air. Trotting for a few more meters, the predator stalls and then simply turns away, casting you a glance before slowly treading back to its buddy. The one whose disheveled mane and wide stance you recognize immediately.

Blinking, you finally find yourself able to collect your equipment, although with trembling hands - your shoulders are still tense in a protective manner, and you flinch, when Kir rushes to you to help with the heavy camera.

"Oh my god, are you okay? I thought I'd shit myself when I saw them running at us," he looks sickly, you're probably no better. You dump the tripod and the camera into his arms happily, clutching your own, and walk on stumbling legs back to the rover.

You're met with a pair of bit wet eyes when you finally get to the car.

Somehow a single hyena - where did its buddies go? - doesn't seem all that scary after you nearly avoided being stomped by a hundred zebras, so you take a few more steps before finally remembering to be cautious. Kir is just a few meters away, loading the camera into the car, so it means he walked past the hyena unharmed, right?

You don't get to ask that question or shoo the animal away: just like yesterday, it appears up next to you in a gracious pounce, nuzzling your hip again. The noise that leaves its throat is absolutely horrid, an annoying screeching, sightly hoarse and just as high-pitched as its laugh. Wagging its tail, the hyena circles you several time, bumping into your legs - each time you don't respond or move, the screech gets only louder, until you give up.

"Stop it! Hush! S-stop yelling, shut up!" Bold of you to try and order a wild animal around. Maybe that's exactly why it works - the noise cuts off abruptly, the hyena taking a step back to plop its chonky ass on the ground. It looks at you just like a tamed dog would - mouth slightly agape in a toothy smile, head tilted and ears fluttering, as if it's eager to hear what else you have to say.

You're not made of steel to stay indifferent an wary at this sight.

"Huh. So you do listen sometimes. I guess you just hated my backpack that much," you still grumble at the hyena, and it flattens its round ears with guilt, slowly dipping down to the ground. Aren't they supposed to be like cats? But this one looks at you with the definition of puppy eyes. "You could've done worse... and I guess you saved me today. Thank you, Stinky."

The hyena lights up and sits back up with its chest puffed out as it hears you acknowledge the way it steered the scared herd away from you and your crew, but all its pride fizzles out as soon as you give it a name. You get a disapproving look and a loud giggle, clearly mocking your sense of humor in naming the hyena.

"Don't look at me like that, I can't sleep in my own sleeping bag now because of you. Have to share a tent with Kir," you nod at the young man sitting in the driver's sit with an amused expression, and the hyena turns to look at him too. Judging by the way Kir's smile fades, the look he recieved from the animal wasn't a kind one.

"Come on, we have to get a move on, still about fifty kilometers to cover today," he mutters, and you try to move past Stinky (oh yes, you're keeping the name) to the car, but it suddenly jumps to its feet and barrels at you again, rubbing at your legs and nuzzling your thighs. It even shoves its snout into your crotch, tail flailng up high, but the loud sound of an engine starting right behind it finally scares the weird animal away. It trots to the side, stops to look at you again, as if checking if you're still stumbling after being scared half to death by the herd, then resumes its leisurely pace, waving its tail.

You huff, getting into your seat, and dust your pants of some coarse fur the rascal left.

"Weird fucking guy," you mutter about the hyena more to yourself than yo Kir, who already jokes about you being a hyena whisperer. "And stinky, too."

You'll just have to hope his buddies won't try to follow into his pawsteps.

Part 1 | Part 1.5 | Part 3

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Tagging: @elaineiswithyou-blog

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shoccolatine · 7 months

Note

Do you feel comfortable with writing stuff about mental health issues. Like, MC being depressed due to a mission going wrong or something similar and hiding it from Zayne while they spiral deeper into it until he catches them doing something bad - like idk, self-harm, looking up suicide methods, something like that. Gender neutral reader would be great <3

If you don't want to write this for any reason, feel free to ignore my ask :)

mission failure.

⚘pairing: zayne x gn!reader

⚘summary: after one too many failed missions, you reach a breaking point. zayne comes to your aid. ⚘tags: sfw, 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader, mental health issues, self-esteem issues, depression, suicidal thoughts, non-descriptive/implied self-harm, mild descriptions of morbid thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst ⚘word count: 2k ⚘a/n: thank you so much for your request, i hope i did it justice! this was a very interesting write and i enjoyed it a lot. i tried to be as delicate and vague with the s/h descriptions as i could so as not to trigger anyone, but this fic still deals with sensitive content so please be safe and take care of yourself! much love 💜

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was it. You just couldn’t do anything right.

Another hunting mission had gone poorly. The third in a row, now. They do say all good things come in threes, but could the same be said of misfortune? It certainly seemed so. The first two mission failures had been played off as flukes, but this time…

You made the long trek back to Headquarters with the weight of a tail dragging between your legs, bearing a few cuts and bruises to show for it. Beside you was Tara, who was not quite so worse for wear and, although disappointed, didn’t quite seem to share the same sentiment as you. After all, she hadn’t been the one to let the Wanderer get away. Again.

“Hey, don’t look so down!” she says, in her usual cheerful tone. She pats your arm in an attempt to be comforting. “Can’t win ‘em all, right?”

You give her a look and a frown. “I mean, we should, shouldn’t we? It’s our job, after all.”

“No way! Those Wanderers were tough! I’m amazed we got as far into the Zone as we did!”

But we lost our main target, you thought, yet you held your tongue. There was no changing Tara’s mind once she was set on something. This mission was above her level, anyway, but with every other Hunter either stationed elsewhere or taking a well-deserved break, and Xavier being unreachable as usual, all you had was each other. It had been up to you, as the higher level Hunter, to uphold the team morale and guide you both through a successful mission. But lately, you just kept falling short. Even the most straightforward of missions went awry. Just what was happening?

The entrance doors slid closed behind you as you and Tara headed upstairs for the debrief. Your heart pounded with every step you took. Three failures in a row… Jenna was going to fire you for sure. She might as well do it now, to make space for a newer, better Hunter to take your place and finish your missions properly.

Instead, what came of your debrief was the offering of a week-long break. "Time off to clear your head and refresh," Jenna had said with hard concern, but it might as well have been an arrow to the chest. Just fire me now and get it over with, you thought. Stop wasting everyone’s time and resources and find someone else.

You didn’t need a break. You just needed to be better.

Getting better, however, came with a steep demand you placed upon yourself like a vase upon a pedestal, delicate and teetering. If Jenna wanted to give you another chance, then you would use this week to return to peak performance. You would train, and train, and train, until you were sure to succeed at every mission she threw at you. It was flawless. You’d be back at it in no time.

But as soon as you got off the train and back into your apartment, all you wanted to do was sleep.

And sleep you did. You slept until you couldn’t think of those missions anymore, and when the thoughts inevitably returned, you slept again.

“You’re not eating enough,” Zayne said during your following check-up later that week. He stated it so matter-of-factly, like he did with any other diagnosis, never looking up from his computer as he typed something. You never knew exactly what. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a break right now?”

“How do you know that?”

“Word gets around,” he said, the beginnings of a smile etched on his face. You didn't like the idea of people knowing things like that so easily. People sure do like to talk... Zayne's hazel eyes lifted from the screen and over at you. “You need to take better care of yourself. Now is as good a time as any to catch up on your body’s needs.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped. Sometimes Zayne needed to mind his own business. Wait, but he was your doctor, and one of your closest friends… What was the matter with you? You really needed to go back to bed and stop being such a nuisance.

Maybe it’d be better if you got out of his life, too.

You met his questioning expression and the heat of your response drained out of your face. At that, you decided you didn’t want to wait for a reply. Whatever he wanted to say to you with that curious expression of his, you didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t deserve to hear it. You quickly left his office and never looked back. If he called your name as the door to his office slid closed behind you, it went unheard.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

5 missed calls.

Your phone screen blares the message in your face, blinding against the darkness of your room and blurry against the tears that threatened to fall, that had already fallen, that fell and dried and fell again. Your fingers itch to reply, to call him back or send him a text, but what’s the point? He doesn’t really care. He’s probably just going to scold you for leaving your appointment halfway and being childish and not following doctor’s orders and being rude to him.

Not only have you messed up your job, you’re messing up your relationships now, too. When will you ever stop? Can’t it ever stop?

Your phone buzzes and lights up in your fingers as your ringtone sings into your sheets once more. It’s him again. Doesn’t he know when to quit? You watch his name as it waits idly on your screen. It gets tired of waiting, as it always does, and finally disappears. You sigh as another hot tear slips down your cheek.

Something new happens this time.

1 new voicemail, your phone screen reads. You start to slide the notification away, but against your better judgment, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you give in, tap the notification, and listen.

The line is silent for a moment, and part of you hopes he gave up and left you nothing.

Finally, after what sounds like a throat clearing, he speaks.

“Hey, it’s me,” Zayne’s voice comes through the speaker. It’s got that usual muffled crackly phonecall texture laid onto it, but it sounds enough like him that it feels like he’s right there with you, underneath the blankets. “Are you alright? …Listen. Whatever it was I said, I didn’t mean it. You know that. I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner, but you left so suddenly. Call me when you’re able?”

The silence creeps in again, and you can almost hear him consider saying something more, can almost see his expression as his thoughts thunder in his brain but refuse to leave his lips, but then there’s a click, and the call ends. The robotic voicemail message drones monotonously about saving the message, and halfway through, you hang up, too.

The back of your throat clenches and burns, and you barely fight back a sob as it wrenches itself out of you. Zayne was worried about you. You made him worry. You thought he was mad, you wanted him to be mad, but he’s not. He cares about you. Why…?

You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if you could push back the sting of tears that rush, hot and salty, from your bloodshot eyes. It hurts, and you start to see flashes of bright white stars under your eyelids, but it’s better than succumbing to the pain in your chest. Your heart shares a galaxy with the stars in your vision, a dying star that’s fizzling out, or maybe even being consumed by the void of a black hole. How morbidly comforting. You suddenly want to rip it out.

You wonder, just how difficult would it be to separate the Aether Core from your still-beating flesh…?

You try to shake the thoughts from your mind but they hold fast. Throwing the blankets off of your body, you leave your room hobbling like a zombie, make a beeline for the kitchen, and pull open a drawer.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s late at night when there’s a knock at your door. A slight rap of the knuckles. A sharp one, two. Once, then twice, and on the third knock there’s another sound, too. A rattling jingle. And it’s times like these when you curse yourself for giving Zayne the extra key to your apartment.

He calls out your name as he steps in. You barely hear him. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s far away, or speaking quietly, or if you’re just that far gone into your own thoughts that everything else around you is muted.

He might have called only once, or a dozen times, by the time he reaches your room and spots your hunched figure on your bed. He says your name again, and this time you do hear him.

You meet his gaze, steeled with concern, and immediately regret it.

He sees you, really sees you, and all at once your façade crumbles once more. He approaches the edge of your bed, and you turn your eyes anywhere but at him as you brace yourself for impact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

Zayne grabs your wrist. Yet, his touch is gentle—firm enough to grip you, but soft enough that you could pull away if you wanted. You don't. You’re far too tired to fight anymore. You continue to stare at the floor with teary eyes, but there is resignation hanging heavy on your shoulders, like a wet blanket. Zayne takes your silent compliance as an okay to pull you along with him down the hallway of your dimly lit apartment and into the bathroom.

He sits you down on the toilet. The light clack of the lid hitting the porcelain beneath from your sudden weight seemed to jolt you awake a bit; your eyes refocus and follow his movements as he shuffles through the medicine cabinet. He pulls out a few things and then returns to tend to his patient.

"Hand. Here," he says as he holds out his own. You offer yours, and he meets you halfway. He always does. He’s as meticulous and calm as always as he cleans, disinfects, and wraps your wounds, ever the doctor, but there’s a certain softness in his motions that you’re sure he reserves for only his most cherished patients.

Only for you.

The thought rolls a warm wave over you, the once wet blanket that had been dragging you down now fresh out of the laundry and wrapped carefully around you, cozy and hot and certain. There’s still a bit of damp spots here and there, but those will also dry in time. And you know Zayne will still be here when that time comes.

Your thoughts are broken when long fingers drag against your cheek, wiping away yet more damp spots and fanning through your shining lashes.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Zayne says, repeating his words from earlier that day. Was that really only today? This day was lasting a lifetime. As with before, his tone holds no ice. You regret snapping at him when he was only trying to help. He must feel your tension, because he puffs a breath out through his nose just then, and the warm air tickles the hairs on your forehead. He places a kiss there, the barest brush of his lips on your skin. He pushes your hair back with long warm fingers, tucking a strand behind your ear. “If you need help with that, I’m here. Always. You need only ask.”

Later still and he’s tucking you into bed and giving your forehead another gentle kiss, making you feel like a kid again. He’s surprisingly good at that. You don't know how he does it.

Zayne follows you under the covers, and leaves you an open invitation to snuggle against him, if you wish. You gratefully accept, tucking your head under his chin as he envelops you. He’s very careful not to apply pressure to your bandaged skin.

Right before you fall asleep, he whispers a promise of breakfast tomorrow, and dinner, and whatever else comes next. A promise of staying, no matter what.

#soft zayne is best zayne #change my mind (you won't)#love and deepspace #zayne #zayne x reader #zayne lads #l&ds #l&ds x reader #fics

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upat4amwiththemoon · 11 months

Text

Elevator

Summary: Feelings are terrifying.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x female!reader

Warnings: bit of a mean Wanda, panic attack-ish

Word count: 1546

a/n: Forced proximity trope from the second trope challenge! Tropes second chance romance and hurt/comfort are still without a character

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @wandsmxmff @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

Wanda is considered to be a friendly person, she spends one on one time with everyone equally, buys people thoughtful gifts, and initiates conversations. So, she would say she has a fairly close relationship with everyone at the Avenger’s tower, except with the newest recruit.

Y/N intimidates her. She isn’t scared of her, everyone knows she could take anyone on a fight, but she does avoid her. She is worried she’ll catch feelings if she spends time with her, and she hasn’t had the best experiences with love. All the people she has loved are dead, she doesn’t want that to happen again. Which is why, she’d rather steer clear from the new member of the team.

Wanda frowns as she plays with the rings on her finger. She doesn’t enjoy being so cold towards Y/N, but she knows how her feelings work. Y/N’s bubbly personality will draw her in and suddenly she’d find herself in love with the newcomer.

The elevator makes a bing sound as the doors open in front of Wanda. She steps inside and leans against the railing, thinking over if there’s anything else she could do to tame her feelings.

Y/N would says he has made a good impression to all the members of Avengers during the five months she has been there, except Wanda Maximoff. She isn’t sure why the witch doesn’t like her, but she tries to ignore it, she can’t please everyone. However, it is incredibly difficult when she really wants to please everyone.

When she first met Wanda, she though they would be good friends. They’re likeminded people with similar values, and same interests, like sitcoms. She actually heard about Wanda’s love of sitcoms from Natasha, after hearing they share a hobby, she tried to initiate some kind of contact with Wanda, but got instantly turned down. After a few more efforts of trying go get closer to her, and being brutally ignored, Y/N took the hint and stopped.

She started avoiding Wanda, not wanting to be hurt by her again. Y/N really just wanted to be friends with all of her coworkers, like everyone else seemed to be, but for some reason she was never able to have that with Wanda.

Which is why, Y/N’s eyes widen as the elevator door opens, and she sees Wanda standing inside of it. She debates ignoring the elevator and waiting for the next one, but she is already late for her run with Steve. With her eyes on the ground and hands clasped together, she steps on the elevator, pressing the correct floor and pushing herself against furthest wall away from Wanda.

Their bodies are tense as they wait for their floors to come, for some reasons it seems to be taking forever. The small elevator is full of awkward silence, it’s suffocating them. They want out.

A loud screeching noise and the elevator’s sudden stop in movement frightens Y/N, which in turn makes her lose her balance. Luckily for her, Wanda’s fast reflexes make sure she doesn’t hit the ground, unluckily for the both of them, Y/N is in Wanda’s arms. With quick moves, Wanda pushes Y/N up and away from her. She goes over to the buttons and starts pressing them frantically, but nothing happens.

They’re stuck.

Y/N pats her pockets, but she left her phone in her room. Sighing, she sits down to the floor, breathing in and out deeply so she doesn’t start panicking. Small, locked spaces certainly weren’t her favorite. She closes her eyes, trying to ignore the way Wanda slams the button and curses under her breath. Her mind is starting to reel somewhere she doesn’t want it to go, the fact she is stuck with someone who doesn’t like her isn’t helping the situation.

Wanda slams the buttons one last time before going back to the corner she was standing in, even the call for help button isn’t working. She is pretty sure Tony never check these things when he builds them, being so certain anything he builds will never break, if only he wasn’t so cocky.

Her eyes steer over to Y/N. She can hear the start of her panicked thoughts, she isn’t doing it on purpose, but her thought are too loud to ignore. “Someone will find us soon.” She states, trying to provide some sort of comfort, but her clipped tone only makes Y/N’s body tense more. Wanda frowns. This is the first time she can fully see the effect her actions have on Y/N.

Has she really been meaner than she thought?

She debates whether she should go to Y/N and try to comfort her in a better way, but she decides against it. Instead, she stands there, unmoving, staring at Y/N’s huddled form.

Y/N’s breaths in and out are already shorter than normally. Her head feels light and the tips of her finger are starting to tingle. Her mind has a tendency to betray her, it’s making Y/N believe that the small room is quickly emptying out of air, that soon she’ll suffocate. Her body follows along. Her lungs aren’t using all of their capacity, and her hands and feet are going numb.

Opening her eyes, Y/N rubs her thighs roughly, trying to bring back her ability to think rationally, but it isn’t working. Her emotions have taken over.

Wanda kneels in front of Y/N. She takes hold of her hands, making Y/N pay attention to her. “We are going to be okay, there’s plenty of air for the both of us, okay? We aren’t going to suffocate.” Her voice is gentle, but still stern so it would go through to Y/N. “Don’t listen to your brain, listen to me. There’s no need to panic.”

She hates that Wanda is seeing her in such a vulnerable state, which is somehow making her able to force herself into a slightly calmer state. Wanda’s touch is also helping, but she’ll never let her know that.

Once Y/N is taking deeper breaths again, she pulls her hands out of Wanda’s and moves her body so she isn’t facing the witch. The action makes Wanda frown, but she just sits down next to her. “Why do you hate me?” The question comes out so quickly, even Y/N is surprised.

The two stare at each other, Y/N’s eyes wide and Wanda’s mouth agape as she tries to get hold of the right words. She doesn’t hate Y/N, quite the opposite actually, but how is she supposed to let her know that after being so cold to her.

“It’s fine.” Y/N states before Wanda can even say anything. “I’m sorry, for whatever I did.” She mumbles.

“No,” Wanda sets her hand on Y/N’s shoulder, “I don’t hate you.” Her voice comes out much quieter than she would’ve liked.

“I’m not sure where you’re getting at.”

Sighing, Wanda looks at the floor. Even she isn’t sure where she is getting at. “I don’t hate you, I never have. I just…I don’t know how to say this.” She mumbles, her brows furrows as she concentrates on deciding the best words to use. “I’m sorry,” her eyes move up to meet Y/N’s, “I really am. I handled this wrong. I avoided you, because, I felt something more than I should have the second I met you.”

“Are you saying you like me?”

“Yes.”

“So you decided to ignore me and make me think you hate me?”

“..yes.”

Y/N nods slowly, taking in all the new information she just received.

“I’m really sorry. I know it’s not justifiable, but I’ve had a crappy past with love.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t want those things to repeat.” There’s a gentle smile on her face as she reminiscences her family and Vision. “Maybe we could start over?”

Y/N looks at Wanda. Some petty part of her wants to make Wanda feel the same way she did all those months, but she isn’t like that, besides, she has heard about the hardships Wanda has gone through. “My name is Y/N, I’m your new recruit.” She gives her hand for Wanda to shake.

With a laugh, Wanda shakes her hand, making Y/N smile as well. “I’m Wanda. It’s great to have you here. Would you like to g-“

The elevator whirrs back to life, starting its way back towards the floors Y/N and Wanda need to be on. They scramble to their feet, ecstatic to get out of the elevator. The elevator stops at Y/N’s floor first, when the doors open, the two glance at each other with big smiles.

Y/N walks out of the elevator, but stops. “What were you going to ask?” She turns around to look at Wanda.

“I was going to ask if you’d like to get a coffee with me sometime.”

“I’d like that.” Y/N smiles, leaning her head as the doors start to slide closed. “Pick me up from my room whenever!”

“I will!” The doors close, and Wanda grins as the elevator starts moving towards her floor. She is going to make things right.

#marvel #mcu #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #mcu fanfiction #fluff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female!reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #forced proximity #upat4amwiththemoon trope challenge

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restwellsoon · 5 months

Text

Afterhours

Minors and ageless blogs do not interact (liking/reblogging) or follow! You will be blocked!

Pairing: Jason Todd x F!Reader

Summary: The Red Hood decides to confront you after work regarding a curious rumor you started as an informant.

/ “You know what I do to bad guys, but what I do to bad girls is even worse.”

Warnings: dubcon, crime lord!Jason Todd/ Red Hood, degradation and humiliation, toys, daddy kink, being called princess, mention of drugs (for the plot)

Scrubbing at your arms to get some kind of warmth, you huffed impatiently. The informant was late. Sure, it was understandable why the Bat would want all contact to be verbal; both of you–well, mainly you–would go down if you were caught. Everyone knew what Cobblepot was capable of. The shorter list of convictions compared to other Gotham criminals didn’t mean that he was less capable, and working for the corporate and legal end of his business meant that you were privy to the real reasons behind the sudden company reorgs.

You shivered before deciding to pace around your office. It wasn’t like the informant to be late. Were they caught? Were you busted? Maybe you should just go home. You spent too many hours working overtime anyway.

The goosebumps weren’t going away. The office A/C that you cherished in the sticky and humid summers of Jersey was now a frigid hell. You weren’t sure of who was punishing you–the Batman or the Penguin.

With the creak of your door, you snapped, “About fuckin’–”

The last word fell into the nylon carpet as you stared into the glowing eyes of the Red Hood. The door slammed shut, and he left it unlocked. It didn’t matter. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get past him anyway. Instead, you froze in front of your desk.

“Yeah, let’s talk about getting fucked.” The robotic drawl of your full name in perfect pronunciation made you grimace as he stepped towards you. Any thoughts of him walking into the wrong office and getting the wrong person were gone. “That was pretty ballsy of you to drop my name in your conversations with the Bat.”

You couldn’t even deny his accusation. You thought you were being clever, that maybe you could do some of that double-crossing shit that the vigilantes and villains played so easily. It seemed easy because you were an amateur; maybe you were fucking up this entire time. All you remembered were the extra zeros in your bank account as you played Batman and your boss.

“Mr. Cobblepot has an image to maintain,” you told the informant–Spanky? Or was it Matches? Either way the name was ridiculous–“so he wouldn’t intentionally let this new drug hit his clubs.”

The latest street drug in Gotham had a similar chemical compound to drugs like buprenorphine and chlordiazepoxide. They eased the symptoms of withdrawal, making a more tolerable and safer transition into sobriety.

“So you’re saying that sobering up his clients isn’t in his best interest?” His mustache twitched, and you wondered if it was glued on or real.

“Exactly. His regular clients would seek out other dealers to get the high they’re used to. They don’t go to the Iceberg Lounge for the atmosphere. They go because it’s one of the safer options to get snowed. Who knows what sort of diabolical shit is mixed into the Black Mask’s supply?”

His mustache wiggled as he hummed. “Well, if it isn’t the Penguin, who else would put this on the streets?”

The informant paid close attention to your words as you paused to give him a new lead.

“Well, if you're looking for the name of a cartel or gang, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I don’t know much about its manufacturing or distribution. I work in communications, so…”

Crossing your arms, you blew some air as you tried to think of a name to distract the Bat and keep your wallet fat. “The only crime lord that would benefit from this is the Red Hood, don’t you think?”

Ever since he first showed up on the scene, he’d been adamant about cleaning up the underbelly of Gotham. His strict rules against selling to kids made the areas he controlled safer. Commissioning this drug and letting it hit the Gotham market was a way to help addiction-addled neighborhoods rebuild.

His expression was unreadable behind his dark glasses. The only way you knew that he was satisfied with your answer was when you heard your bank app ding with the agreement that you’d meet again in two weeks.

At the time, you thought that mentioning the Red Hood was ingenious. Compared to other criminals, the Red Hood seemed to be less vicious towards women. Since his rise to power, there hadn’t been any reports or news about him or his henchmen attacking them. If the informant wanted you to name drop someone, you were going to choose someone who would maybe spare your life. Yet seeing him up close gave you some doubt.

You swallowed your nervousness as you edged to the desk. Your hands blindly reached for something that could do some damage, but alas, your laptop was packed away and your pens were in their drawer.

“Look,” he sighed, “if you’re gonna play dirty, you gotta make sure your opponent can’t find dirt on you.” It was a roundabout way of calling you a dumbass.

You half turned to watch him circle round your desk, kneeling to dial in the combo to your locked drawer. Stupidly, you got closer when you heard the click that told you he opened it successfully. Using your birthday backwards as the combo was enough to deter nosy co-workers but clearly wasn’t not secure enough to deter a crime lord with a vendetta. If you made it out alive, you promised yourself that you’d change all of your passwords to something with stronger security–you’d even make sure that you didn’t repeat them on several accounts.

“Jesus,” the Red Hood laughed through his modulator, “you got the rechargeable one too? I’m not sure if Cobblefield ain’t paying you shit, batteries are expensive, you’re environmentally-conscious,, or it’s some combination of the above.”

The sight of a cross-armed Red Hood with your rabbit vibe in his hands was something you’d never imagine in your wildest dreams.

“Your little toy isn’t the only thing I found out about you.”

Oh god, what else did he find? Your face felt hot from embarrassment.

“Did you know that the sites you go on and the things you search can still be tracked by an establishment’s WiFi network log?”

He was grinning beneath the mask, you just knew it. Bastard.

“Yeah, even if you use your phone on private browsing… Crazy, right?”

All you could muster was a choked ‘yeah’ as you tried to recall everything you looked up in the past week. It was highly likely that the Red Hood looked back at least a month. Now what did you search for that wasn’t related to work?

You didn’t have to recall. He listed it out for you in a painfully slow and enunciated manner.

“Red Hood shirtless, Red Hood legs spread, Red Hood dick size, mask or helmet kink, intro to BDSM, what is a service top… And this was just within the past two weeks, goddamn.” He shook his head in judgment. “Should I continue?”

Fuck.

You couldn’t show fear to these types of people, you learned early on in your career. That’s what they got off on.

“What’s wrong with a woman having a healthy sexual appetite?” You asked defensively. “You some kind of prude or what?” That seemed to get a genuine laugh out of him.

“See, here’s the thing,” he told you, helping himself to your luxury office chair, leaning back as his boots settled on the desk. “Everyone thinks that I’m a bad guy, that I just blindly use violence to punish even badder guys. ‘There aren’t any brains under that hood! He’s just some beefy bastard with a fat cock! An idiot! A dunce!’” If he was speaking in some high-pitched mocking tone, his modulator didn’t catch it. It stayed in that robotic monotone.

Jason paused for a second to see if you’d agree, forgetting that a normal reaction was to be scared shitless and mute. When you didn’t make an indication of anything, those combat boots of his hit the carpet with a thud, chair screeching and lurching forward to see your face. Your toy laid forgotten on the desk.

Audibly you swallowed as you looked at him–well, not really him but the mask that he wore, the bright white of his eyes a stark contrast to the cherry red of his helmet. It was the mystery of what he looked like beneath it that drove your imagination wild. What color were his eyes? His hair? How full were his lips? Did he have scars?

As if knowing that you wanted a better angle, he tilted your chin to comply with your unspoken wish. It wasn’t as if it changed anything; you still knew nothing of his looks, but the cool leather of his glove made you more aware of how starved you were of any kind of touch. That healthy sexual appetite you claimed to have suddenly turned into hunger pangs.

“There was a lot of thought put into this plan, sweetheart,” the Red Hood chided.

His glove left your face to press on some hidden panel close to his jaw. There was a soft click that loosened his helmet.

Then you heard him–somewhat muffled and low and incredibly human.

“See, I’m giving you a pretty sick deal. You get to live out one of your fantasies in exchange for recanting your statement to the Bat. Even if I have nothing to hide, I hate whenever the old man comes sniffing around. Don’t worry. I’ll even promise my protection too in the event of retaliation–from him or Cobblepot. Do we have a deal or not?”

Your voice came out breathier than you realized. “And if I say no?”

He made a show of taking off his helmet, and to your surprise, a red domino mask covered his eyes. Tousling his dark curls, he pursed those perfect lips, “Well, shit. When I was searching through those logs, I figured that you’d be so horny for me that refusing wouldn’t even cross your mind.”

It was starting to make sense why Cobblepot was always irritated after dealing with the Red Hood. You laughed. “Look Hood, the quips were cute at first, but they’re getting old fast. You’re so full of yourself. Now tell me what happens if I refuse.”

“One, if you say yes, you could be full of me too.” You imagined that if he took the domino off that he’d punctuate that sentence with a wink. “And two…”

You could hear the smile in his voice along with something devious. When did he get so close? He was slotted between your legs as you sat on the edge of your desk. The cool feel of his gloves pulled your arms back and held your wrists there, leaving you captive to whatever he had to say.

“You know what I do to bad guys, but what I do to bad girls is even worse.”

“Oh yeah?” you breathed out. Fine, you’d admit it. That was fucking hot. “Then show me.”

“Show you what?”

His thigh nudged your center, pushing your dress skirt up with the motion.

“What you do to bad girls,” you said through gritted teeth. His hold on your wrists kept your upper body in place.

“Say it for me first.”

But that didn’t mean that you couldn’t use your leg to drag him closer. You hooked one leg behind him. Now you could feel his length against you though he wouldn’t budge otherwise.

“Please.”

Nothing.

“Daddy, please.”

“You can be obedient when you want to be, huh? Fuckin’ brat.” Jason found amusement in your frustration. “Sorry, but those aren’t the right words. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, we have a fuckin’ deal.”

Finally that thick thigh was back to putting sweet pressure on your clit, the Red Hood’s slight movements providing teasing friction that kept you slick.

“Atta girl, princess. ‘Fraid I gotta shut you up for a few though. I know your performance reviews say that you’re well-spoken, but they made no mention of you being so damn chatty.”

Before you could talk about the irony of his comment, Jason let your wrists go and stepped back, using his free hands to unzip his pants and pull out his cock and balls. Your mouth hung open at the sight.

Giving it a stroke upwards, his balls followed the movement. Jason smeared his precum over the shaft, giving it a nice shine before ordering you to lay flat on your desk with your head hanging from the edge. His sack looked heavy and full.

“So this is what you meant–”

“Less talking, more sucking,” he grunted, taking the opportunity to shove the tip into your mouth.

The girth was unexpected as your jaw stretched to accommodate his size. You gave it a suck before relaxing your throat to take more of him. Jason eased into you slowly, watching as you swallowed as many inches as you could before pulling out and smearing his spit-laden cock across your mouth. You jerked him while gently sucking on his nuts, thinking about the reward you’d get if you could edge him long enough. The thought of him filling you up with a big, hot load made your center ache.

So focused on your thoughts, you hardly noticed that Jason replaced himself with your toy, watching as your drool frothed and dribbled down your chin while you gagged.

“Be patient with me, princess,” he murmured as he leaned across your body, vibe in hand, to push your panties aside, cock pressing against your cheek. You tried to move your head to take his length but the Red Hood’s weight made it difficult to do so.

Jason wasted no time shoving the entirety of the toy inside you, making you gasp. If you wanted him as desperately as he thought, then he had to prep you well so you could take him.

“Patience,” he lightly scolded you. “Damn, if I knew you were this needy for Daddy’s cock, I would have come earlier so the fun could last longer.” He placed himself back in your throat.

Slow deep breaths through your nose, you reminded yourself. It was difficult though when he was facefucking you in sync with your toy. There was little room for your moans and sighs to escape.

He most definitely understood your muffled ‘FUCK’ when he turned on the toy though, both shaft and rabbit ears vibrating. Your knuckles were white from desperately clutching at whatever you could; you needed something to keep you grounded from the assault on your clit, toy shaped perfectly to hit your G-spot.

The vibe kept making you moan, making your throat squeeze in ways that would make Jason cum early. “That’s it for now,” he said to deaf ears, pulling out to focus on playing with your pussy. He repositioned himself so one hand controlled the toy and the other held you down.

“Is this all you got?” You taunted, sweat catching the neon lights from the window. Your hair was disheveled and stuck to your forehead. Your legs quivered. You looked pathetic.

The Red Hood laughed, and you weren’t sure of what you wanted more of–that mocking robotic modulator or the rich tones of his real voice.

“The way your lips are wrapped around that toy tells me that’s more than enough. If you want this,” his cock was still perfectly hard and this angle highlighted the thick veins that lined his shaft, “then we need to take our time. Luckily for you, I have the patience of a saint.”

“Well, I don’t. Sit down, so I can fuck you.”

He was used to more demure requests to ride him, so your brazen words lit something inside Jason. Fuck it, he thought. He was still annoyed at you mentioning his name to Bruce. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he watched you struggle to take him.

The toy came out with a yank, your pussy aching. The emptiness was only temporary though. There was something more filling, waiting for it.

Seeing that slight look of surprise on his mouth was worth it as you pushed him onto the chair, spitting on his cock before straddling him. Your panties were lost in some dark corner along with your bra. Your disheveled office wear struggled to maintain your modesty with loose buttons and crumpled fabric.

“Mmfph–fuck!”

Your nails dug into the Red Hood’s shoulders as you tried to find your pace. You had about halfway more to go.

“Told ya,” he said smugly, reaching beneath your dress to squeeze your ass. He buried his face in your tits, sucking on whatever flesh he could. You gasped when he finally reached your nipple, his tender suction making you shiver.

“Big motherfucker,” you grumbled, bouncing up and down on what you could with his help.

“Damn, you feel good,” Jason sighed.

Lately he’d been so focused on the complicated aspects of his line of work; it seemed like he could never just chill and do something for himself. Isn’t that what all the experts say? That self-care was important?

So when one of his informants told him that Bruce and his band of bat brats were poking around his turf, Jason’s first thought was to dispose of whoever Bruce paid off. When the informant said that the rat was the Iceberg Lounge’s hot publicist, he considered his first reaction too harsh, that perhaps it’d be best if he investigated this personally. Oh, he was so fucking glad that he did.

With each bounce, he pushed you lower on his length, and he’d go by half-inches if it meant reaching heaven. Fucking you with the toy first was a brilliant idea. Even though you didn’t say it, he knew you came. That’s why you were struggling on his cock. That cute little cunt of yours was still spasming from your first orgasm. How could anyone be so tight and wet, he thought, and for him.

He sat back and watched as you kept riding him with frustration. Your sweet pussy nectar was pooling at the base, and the lewd sounds it made was music to his ears. But the sound of his balls slapping your cheeks would be even nicer.

“Good effort, princess, but you’re starting to look pathetic and needy and desperate. What?” He laughed, swiping his thumb along your pout. “It’s cute. Daddy’ll take care of you.”

He hoisted you off him with ease, giving you another reason to make your pussy throb. A part of you wanted to ask him to fuck you while standing or maybe against the wall. No! A small rational voice told you. Let’s see what he does first.

Laying you on the ground, he pushed your legs back with your ankles on his shoulders, exposing your cunt to cool air. It was slick and puffy from all the work you put in. Taking two fingers, Jason spread your lips so he could tease your clit. Each little movement made you twitch.

Perfect, he thought. He knew how to get you where he wanted. The feeling of his thick, heavy tip rubbing your most sensitive spot made your toes curl as you huffed and moaned at his touch. Your hips pressed up in a weak attempt to slip it in. Your heels were nearly dangling off your feet from the movement.

“Since you want this cock so badly, I’ll give it to you, princess, but we’re doing it my way.”

Eagerly, you nodded. Your way, his way. It didn’t matter as long as he was in you.

Yet quickly you found out that you shouldn’t have agreed so readily. He moved impossibly slow.

“It’s a shame,” he tried to make small talk, one gloved hand carefully keeping the distance between you and his cock while the other balanced his weight above you, “that you chose to work for Cobblepot. How bout you work for me instead? Name your salary–I’ll double it. As a bonus, we can even fuck whenever you want.”

“You act as if I need your cock.”

Ignoring your tone, Jason stated the obvious. You did. Your body practically melted in the carpet when he went completely in.

“Look how full you are. You think you can go back to your toys or another man’s cock after this? I ruined you, princess.” Instead of sounding remorseful, he was proud. “I bet in the days after, you’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout how empty you feel without me.”

You didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of being right–his cock felt so good once you got through that first bit of discomfort–but there was no point in being stubborn. The Red Hood didn’t intend on having you hear him out. He was going to show you.

He fucked you as roughly as you imagined, using long strokes that left both of you breathless. There was something erotic about the sudden silence. There was only heavy breathing and moans, slick sounds and pounding.

And when you came, it was like the lights cut out, eyes squeezed shut for total darkness. The only electricity existed in his touch, sparking waves of pleasure throughout your body.

–

Uncertain if you actually dozed off or not, you woke up to a familiar mechanic hum. He had his helmet back on, his clothes back to their baseline level of grunge. Perhaps it was because of the intimacy you shared, but the Red Hood seemed far less threatening now compared to the start of the night.

“Don’t forget about the deal we made,” he told you, standing near your feet.

Like him, going back to how you normally were was easy now that lust no longer clouded your actions.

“And what if I don’t?” you asked, standing slowly from sore muscles. “Like you said earlier, I am a bad girl.”

“I’ve already planned for that.”

You tried to fix your dress to the best of your abilities. It was no use though. It was a poor victim of your decisions.

“Well, if that’s the case, expect another visit.”

You stalled, letting the fabric fall as you tried to decipher his meaning behind the modulator. Was that a threat or a promise?

“And next time, I’m coming during office hours.”

You let the warm sensation of his cum sliding down your thighs decide for you.

Return to

Curated Masterlists

Jason Todd’s Masterlist

#jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #rest writes

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666writingcafe · 1 month

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New Voice Messages (Part Three)

Lucifer

"Hey. I know it's late and you're probably asleep, so you don't have to respond to this right away. I should be asleep, but I keep tossing and turning whenever I try, so I gave up on that hours ago. I'm currently sitting on the rooftop, looking up at the night sky. Well, and recording this message, but that's self-explanatory, I feel. *sighs* Don't mind my rambling. I'm both incredibly tired and slightly tipsy. I finally got around to trying the bottle of Demonus that Diavolo gave us as a housewarming gift, and it's pretty decent. I had a couple glasses of it before coming up here, thinking that it'd help put me to sleep. Obviously, it hasn't, but it was worth trying, I suppose. I at least feel like I can respond to your note without choking on my words or banging my head in frustration. *briefly pauses* Given the way you signed off on it, I'm going to assume that you trust me enough to not abuse your old name. That's also why I'm outside. Less likely to be overheard using it by my brothers. If that's okay with you. If it's not, feel free to tell me off for it the next time we meet. So, MC. *pauses again before lightly singing MC's name* Have I ever told you it's a pretty name? Saying it is comforting somehow. *clears his throat* Sorry. Like I said, I'm a bit drunk."

"Feeling more in control now. Might still ramble a bit, but hopefully not as much as before. *takes a deep breath* The first time I read your note, I ended up crying. Not because you said something wrong, but because it was...sweet? Is that the word I'm looking for? *briefly pauses as a gust of wind gets picked up on the mic* It'll have to do for now, I guess. Anyway...it's interesting how you and Diavolo said more or less the same thing, and yet I'm more inclined to listen to you than I am to him. Perhaps it's the difference in tone? I could definitely tell that he was getting frustrated with me towards the end of our phone call. I know there's a part of him that sees me as a really shiny toy, one that he's quite territorial over. If I were to leave his side, he'd throw a massive fit, I'd imagine, and he might start a war over it. Which is silly. I'm not worth fighting over. *pauses* And yet everyone seems to for some reason. It's like I cause people to lose their minds. I don't know if it's due to the amount of titles and prestige I've had or my physical appearance or something else entirely, but they seem to all go into hysteria after spending any significant amount of time with me. Except for you, MC. You don't care about Lucifer Morningstar, former Lightbringer, Avatar of Pride, yadda yadda yadda. You simply see me as me, if that makes sense. You want to make sure that I'm okay, and you don't expect anything in return. It's a way of repaying back the kindness bestowed upon you in your situation, I suppose. And it'd be cruel of me to ignore all of that and still plunge to my death. So I'm staying. *pauses* You're right. This does feel weird. You better make good on your promise, MC, or I may end up changing my mind again. *chuckles* Don't take that last part too seriously. I'm merely messing with you a bit."

"You know, I wonder what my brothers are thinking about this...offer being made to us. I already know Mammon and Beel would stay, and Belphie's going to do whatever Beel does, but I'm not sure about Levi and Asmo. I mean, you were there when Asmo was yelling at me about leaving the Celestial Realm. Do you think he's eagerly packing his bags as we speak, or--"

A Few Hours Later

"Sorry about the abrupt ending of my last message. Mammon caught me on the rooftop. We ended up talking for a while. *pauses* The two of us have an interesting relationship. Kinda similar to the one I have with Satan. Mammon's sort of my brother and sort of my son, except he didn't spring out of me like Satan did. He's the first angel I felt the need to protect. Everyone else was prepared to throw him away, even though he was merely a child. I couldn't sit back and let them treat him like that, especially not after I held him in my arms as he was crying. He was around the Chihuahua's age when that happened. *clears his throat* I apologize. I know you don't like me calling Luke a chihuahua. I really am trying not to. *pauses* So yeah. Satan's technically the third oldest, since he came into existence in my mind shortly after I took Mammon under my wing. Levi came into the picture when Mammon was a teenager, and the others when he was just becoming a fully-grown angel. *pauses again* It was actually Mammon that insisted that we take care of them, and he was so earnest about it that I couldn't say no. I mean, the fact that he was willing to do for others what I've done for him...I was quite proud of him. Still am, even though he insists on putting on a persona these days. I know deep down, he still cares about everyone. *pauses yet again* Is it weird that I feel comfortable sharing all of this with you, MC? It might be the alcohol still affecting me, but somehow I don't think it is. I...I think I've come to trust you. Completely. I haven't even gotten there with Diavolo yet, and I've known him a lot longer. *chuckles* You truly are special, little lamb. *silence* Shit. That wasn't supposed to be said out loud. I better go before I start calling you more silly nicknames. Good night, MC."

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #in the morning solomon catches mc giggling multiple times as they listen to all of lucifer's messages in their entirety #also mc finds a way to take lucifer's phone and changes their contact name on there to “little lamb” with a heart emoji next to it #both to tease him and to assure him that they're cool with the nickname

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capricornlevi · 4 months

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mild nsfw // mdni

roommate!choso who walks home with you after a frat party, keeps you up late talking and venting and oversharing in your cramped little kitchen, and somehow, some way, manages to convince you to help him practice making out.

he claims whole-heartedly that it's because he likes this one girl on campus and is worried she'll turn him down for his lack of experience; he hasn't done much of anything with anyone, and it's a real point of concern with him.

it's not that you think it's something he needs to worry about -- there's nothing wrong with being new to something, especially something as personal as sex -- but you see his point in that it could help him to build confidence.

(that, plus the fact that you had two margaritas: your self-professed horny drink.)

it all seems like a perfectly reasonable idea to be honest, and you press your lips to his without a second thought.

the first night and the two after it consist of just that -- kissing, no tongue. he's nervous, you can tell by the way he stiffens under your touch, how goosebumps form on his arm as you try to guide it to your waist. it makes sense, you figure, since it must be awkward learning this with a friend, especially when you're interested in someone else. you guide him gently and carefully, letting him lead and explore what he likes, and as it turns out, what he likes and what you like are far more similar than you'd expected.

then on week two of this little arrangement, you start incorporating tongue. it's slow, easy, and he melts into it. you're not sure how, but he's better at this part than he was at just kissing, licking into your mouth in a way that makes you see stars --

-- even though this is purely educational, of course.

but then on week three, your thigh grazes against something hard in the front of his shorts. figures, since it's a natural biological reaction, except his hips close the distance, seeking out your touch as though he's craving it. testing the waters, you grind against him and within a second he breaks the kiss, his head tipping back with a low groan he's been holding in for some time.

you crane your neck to press a slow, wet kiss against his exposed throat. as you do so, feeling the reverberations of moans and 'fuck, that feels good' throughout your body, you start to piece a few things together: the way his eyes tend to linger on you as you make your towel-clad dash from the shower to your room, the pretty little blush he gets on his cheekbones when you ask if he's bringing anyone to suguru's valentines party, the fact you've never seen him spend one-on-one time on campus with anyone but --

you pull away and he looks down to meet your gaze, lips kiss-slick and pupils blown.

perfect time to ask your question.

"choso, who's this girl again?"

#choso x reader #choso x you #may tries to write #cw alcohol #choso is so pretty i wanna cry when writing him

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xadianglyphs · 2 months

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The Dragonscale Amulet: Theory

And finally... literally the reason I made this entire blog. Basically, back in March we had this:

Anyway, I dropped literally everything to catalog the entire breadth of writing, runes, glyphs, etc. in the series so far, all in order to figure out what the hell this means. One theory that has evolved in the meantime is that the symbol on the amulet represents an acorn or seed, but I would like to propose another.

First, let's look at the amulet and symbol, themselves.

The amulet is composed of a dragon scale (allegedly, at least... we haven't seen dragon scales separated from dragons anywhere else) that is red, highly reflective (whether naturally or polished after the fact), and about palm-sized. By that scale, it probably comes from a dragon about Pyrrah's size or a little larger, unless it was carved down to a smaller size when crafted into an amulet. The scale is anchored in a gold setting, with a shape and decorations that have a fair amount of similarity to the Staff of Ziard. (Maybe we should have anticipated an Aaravos/Startouch association.)

As for the symbol, accounting for perspective (to the best of my abilities), we have this:

The symbol is etched directly into the scale's surface. Its lines are less smooth than the ones decorating the setting, which could indicate that it was added at another time (earlier/later) with a less precise tool, or just that gouging designs into dragon scales is hard.

In terms of similarity to other symbols we've seen so far, it could come from a similar system as the symbols in Infantis Sanguine. It also has similarities to a primal rune, though the sharp, wide corners are unusual. Either way, I think this is a pictographic symbol representing an item or concept as a whole, not an alphabetic character—this isn't Laurelion personally going around with a blinged-out "L" necklace.

So what could it be? Well, I propose that it's a heart. Like so:

My initial impression had the horizontal top "crossbar" as the pulmonary arteries, and the vertical center line as the aorta/vena cava, but you could also look at the crossing vertical and diagonal lines as dividing the space into the four chambers of the heart. However, I think there's another direction to go with that diagonal, so let's put a pin in that for a moment.

Why a heart? Because there has a sizeable amount of fairly convincing speculation post-s4 that the dark space in Aaravos's chest is either figuratively or literally representing his heart having been removed. @raayllum's are a lot more coherent, but I've also done my share.

I'm sure someone had this thought before I did, if only because I was super late to the fandom. But I had it!

... okay right, back to the amulet.

Aaravos's heart is also a key part of the "Laurelion and Aaravos are the same person" theory, in part because Laurelion's heart is the center of everything we currently know about them.

Laurelion's heart was pierced by either the as-yet-unnamed Novablade itself or a piece of draconic ivory (i.e. a dragon's tooth) that was later forged into the Novablade, after which "immortal Laurelion was no more."

Aside from creating an additional connection between Laurelion and dragons, making the dragon scale of the amulet even more interesting, let's go back to the symbol in light of the whole "pierced" thing.

Now, TDP has a fair amount of Christian symbolism and imagery to it, some purely because of how deeply Christianity is embedded in western culture but some also definitely intentional. Aaravos was initially framed as a Prometheus figure, but it became progressively more clear that he's a Lucifer one—a tempter, a rebel angel, out to destroy creation. They absolutely know what they're doing with things like the *checks watch* 2019 Aaravos birthday post:

So don't think it's completely insane to take that, Laurelion's death[citation needed], and the amulet symbol, and think of this:

Depictions of the Sacred Heart don't seem to usually show the spear, just the wound, but I wasn't raised Catholic so work with me here. (If you want to get even more Catholic, there's also the Immaculate Heart of Mary, which is almost always depicted with a sword piercing it diagonally all the way through because she's... sad? Look, I don't know.) The idea is that it represents the boundless and fervent love of God expressed through the suffering of Jesus, which... whatever.

I do think it's interesting, however, that we are primed to question Laurelion's "death" and concepts of mortality/immortality, death of identity, etc. in the context of Startouch elves because while there's definitely a possibility that an immortal being stripped of their immortality is a punishment, there's also... a lot of cultural precedent for that as a willing gift of love to a mortal/mortals, whether you're looking at Jesus, Castor and Pollux, or Arwen and Aragorn. So we'll see how that plays out.

Anyway, that's my weird fringe theory: the amulet symbol represents Laurelion's pierced heart.

Probably time to worry about Claudia. (As if we weren't, already.)

Bonus:

#this actually wound up shorter than i thought it would be #dragonscale amulet #analysis #meta

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ador3rin · 4 months

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₊˚ෆ you've got a new follower! | return to main | go to next

there’s a gentle breeze wafting in through the open window, carrying the flowery scent of spring along with it as you stare absentmindedly out at the court yard. the earlier conversation you’d had with your homeroom teacher was replaying in your mind on a loop.

“yn-chan! what’s got you so quiet?” your brunette friend paused mid sentence, catching on to your lack of responses. the two of you were currently hanging out in a classroom, opting to spend lunch inside for the day.

hina had been rambling on about some ridiculous argument she’d witnessed earlier between two girls in the hallway, all the while scarfing down a handful of sweets she’d pulled out of her bag. you made a mental note to swipe a few later when she wasn’t looking.

“sorry hina,” shuffling around in your seat, you sit upright and readjust to properly face the girl sitting across from you. “i’m just thinking about what ms maeko said to me earlier.” you explain with a sigh, hands coming up to rub at your temples.

“huh? the college thing?” her head cocks to the side, confusion evident in her features.

“you’ve got good grades anyway, so what’s got you in such a mood?” you wish you weren’t just as clueless as she was. honestly, you weren't expecting the conversation to head in that direction yourself either.

earlier that day just before lunch had began, you had approached your home room teacher in hopes of seeking out college advice, since the pros and cons list you’d been writing up wasn’t proving to be of much help at all. however, much to your surprise she had a piece of advice of her own. she’d told you to go and join a club.

it would look good on your transcript, she reasoned. you got decent grades so there wasn’t really much else you could do in that department except maintaining them. but according to her, colleges were no longer purely looking for academic excellency.

you frustratingly relayed the conversation to your best friend and mentioned how you had been mentally browsing through the list of potential clubs ever since then. your options seemed slim.

“that’s it? just join the volleyball club.” unimpressed with your woes, she stares at you with a brow raised, answering with a simple shrug of her shoulders. “i mean, i’ve told you how i’ve been kinda swamped lately with manager duties and school work. plus, it’d be really fun if we were both managers together!”.

and that was how you managed to find yourself standing outside the volleyball gym less than a week later. unfortunately, no one seemed to be there just yet so you were stuck loitering around, eyes nervously searching for any sight of hina.

“are ya looking for something?” an unfamiliar male speaks up, and you turn to face the disembodied voice behind you. it was one of the miya twins, standing a few feet away with his head cocked to the side.

honestly, you didn’t really know either of their names despite having seen them around before. you’d only ever registered their existence whenever hina was dropping off something to the gym, or the few times you’d wait for her to finish after school.

just as you’re about to open your mouth to respond, another male voice pipes up.

“would ya quit bothering the lady ‘tsumu, i’m sure she’s not interested.” the silver haired twin appears, casually smacking his sibling in the back of the head. your eyes widened at the scene, unsure of what to say or how to react. was this normal? you really didn’t want to break up a fight on your first day.

the two are almost immediately bickering as if you aren’t awkwardly standing in front of them, and you can feel regret slowly creep through your veins. they both were sporting their club jackets, with similar duffel bags slung around their respective shoulders.

“sorry i took awhile!” your attention shifts to hina’s voice, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of her approaching. “can you two stop fighting? you’re going to scare yn off.” she sternly scolds the males and effortlessly breaks up their squabble. her authority is rather impressive, as this is a side of her you rarely see.

turning her eyes on to you, the brunette beams with excitement as she links your arms, dragging you along with her. “c’mon! the others will be here soon, i’ll show you around inside!”. the gym was surprisingly larger than it appeared from the outside, bright lights lit up the shiny wooden court, and everywhere you looked seemed to be picture perfect.

you were only somewhat aware of the prestige that your school’s volleyball team held, as you’d never really cared for sports before. the guys were currently nearing the ending of their training, and it had taken you a little while to grow accustomed to the slamming balls and squeaky shoes.

hina held a brief introduction before training had commenced, but you honestly couldn't keep up with all the names even if you tried. instead, you’d opted to pick one defining feature of each member and memorised it to their jersey numbers. for example, number ten had very distinct, almost fox-like eyes. number seven was.. a character, yet when he's in the zone he's a completely different person.

it was unexpectedly intimidating to see all the players up close, especially when they’d crowded together in front of you for introductions earlier. you had seen a few of them around school before sure, but being face to face made them seem all the more larger than life.

boasting both height and a sturdy athletic build, it would be a lie to deny that they weren’t all fairly attractive in their own rights. but mostly when they weren’t speaking though. suddenly the existence of the volleyball club fangirls wasn’t as ludicrous to you anymore.

after bidding your farewells and ‘nice to meet you’s’ once the training was over, you now found yourself perched on your window side bed nook, lying on your stomach with both feet dangling in the air. the light from your laptop screen illuminating your features, you eagerly scroll through your timeline, grateful for the peaceful downtime.

just when you’ve decided you’ve had your fill of social media, a notification pops up, grabbing your attention. now fuelled with newfound curiosity, you hastily click on the notification and look over the culprit's profile.

@samusamu started following you!

# mew's notes :

IM SO EXCITED TO BE DOING AN SMAU AGAIN YAY!!!

light mode is yn's pov, and dark mode is suna's

akemi is currently travelling abroad with her family

#♡theunexpectedprotagonist #ador3rin #ador3haikyuu!!#suna rintaro #suna x reader #smau #haikyuu smau #hq smau #haikyuu

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fireinmoonshot · 1 year

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let me walk you home | jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader Words: 1426 A/N: It's been forever since I last wrote anything, so I apologise if this is terrible but I've been in love with Jake since I first saw Top Gun: Maverick last July and really wanted to give writing for him a go and to try and get back into writing!

It was a lot later than you had planned to stay out for, but somehow the Hard Deck was the busiest it’d been all night. It was bustling with people, packed from wall to wall, all drinking, dancing, playing pool and enjoying the late summer Saturday night.

It was a surprise that you were even here tonight. You were not the type of person to stay out late at night at a bar. In fact, if tonight had gone to plan, you’d be at home with a book or a movie on, enjoying the peace and quiet and feeling cozy. It was Natasha’s fault that you were even at the bar. Your plans had been completely tossed aside because of her.

She’d begged you as soon as work had finished up for the day, insisting that you come along with her and the others for just a few hours. You’d decided that it couldn’t hurt. It was one night, and going out tonight meant that she wouldn’t bug you for at least a few more weeks, so you were happy enough with that.

You were sat at a table in the corner with the rest of your group, all of whom were definitely more than tipsy and were showing no signs of leaving any time soon – with the exception of Jake Seresin, who had surprisingly not consumed much alcohol tonight. You’d heard from the others that he could get pretty rowdy on a Saturday night at the Hard Deck, though from your limited experience, you didn’t quite know what that meant.

Little did you know that you were the reason Jake wasn’t drunk.

The second you’d walked into the bar Jake had been surprised to see you – everyone had. But Jake especially. He’d always been intrigued by you. You were quieter than everyone else, less interested in the drinking, partying lifestyle than everyone else. He’d compared you to Bob for a while there, not just because you were a WSO too but also because your personalities seemed similar, but even Bob was more into the late nights lifestyle than you were. It made Jake want to get to know you. But the problem was, he barely ever actually saw you since you never came out to the bar.

He had thought tonight might be the night, but he’d been very wrong considering you’d ended up sat between Natasha and Fanboy, both of whom had consumed a fair amount of alcohol and were very talkative. There would be no use talking over the top of them just to try and talk to you.

You stifled a yawn and looked down at your watch. It was just past midnight, and definitely past your bedtime, but the idea of leaving now and trying to push through the big crowd of people all still enjoying their night to get to the door didn’t seem very appealing.

Jake noticed your poor attempt to conceal the yawn and smiled to himself. This really wasn’t your scene, was it? That simple fact made him even more intrigued by you.

It didn’t take much longer for you to start to feel the itch to leave, though. You were tired, and even though you had the day off tomorrow, you had things to do and you didn’t want to be exhausted or have to sleep in a lot in order to feel well rested. And so it was decided – you’d make your way through the crowd to get to the doors.

Across the table, a drunken Payback laughed at something Coyote had said. You leant towards Natasha, sat beside you, who had been talking to Rooster sat on her other side.

“I’m gonna head off,” you told her.

Natasha frowned. “You’re going so soon?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m getting pretty tired.”

“Okay,” she said, a little disappointed. “But get home safe, okay? Text me when you do!”

“Of course, and you get home safe tonight too, okay?”

Natasha pulled you in for an awkward side hug and then went back to her conversation with Rooster after you stood up, excusing yourself quietly from the table of people too caught up in their own conversations to notice you leaving.

Except for Jake, of course.

He huffed. He’d lost his chance to talk to you on the one night you’d come out to join them at the bar. But then he watched you stop as you reached the edge of the crowded dance floor, watched as you looked around, trying to judge a way through the crowd to get to the doors on the other side, and an idea sprung to mind.

Jake stood up from the table, making his way past a few people and over to you. You hadn’t even moved in the time it’d taken him to get over to you. He stopped beside you.

“You stuck?” He asked, his lips quirking up into a smirk.

You hadn’t even seen him come up beside you and jumped a little at the sound of his voice, eyes moving to look up at him. Stuck? Well… “I’m just trying to judge the best way to get to the exit. I’m not stuck.”

Jake shook his head, amused, then held his hand out to you. “Allow me.”

“Allow you to what?” You looked between his eyes and his hand.

Cute, Jake thought. But this was no time to stand here making idle conversation when his intention was completely clear, at least to him. He’d seen your yawn, he could tell you were tired, and standing around here waiting would just make you more exhausted.

So, instead of explaining himself, Jake reached down and took your hand in his, entwining your fingers together. “Trust me,” he said, and then he was moving, your hand in his, leading you through the crowd. He swerved around everyone perfectly, not even bumping into anyone. It was as if he was parting the crowd, as if they were all moving for him. With a start, you realised that they probably were. Half the people in this bar that knew Jake Seresin were definitely a little bit scared of him.

He didn’t let go of your hand until you had gotten out of the crowd and out of the front doors of the bar. You both stood on the deck, the moonlight shining down on you and the sound of the waves in the distance.

“Thank you,” you said, gesturing back towards the bar. “I guess I was stuck.”

Jake smiled. “It’s no problem, darlin’. Couldn’t have you getting lost in that crowd.”

His words had you smiling against your better judgement.

“You all right getting home by yourself or do you want me to walk you?”

You raised your eyebrows at him. First he’d held your hand to get you through the crowd and now he was offering to walk you home? What had gotten into Jake Seresin?

“You don’t have to do that,” you shook your head.

“And why not?”

“I can walk home by myself, and everyone’s probably wondering where you went.”

Jake shrugged. “Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me if I let you walk home by yourself though, would it? And I don’t really care if they’re wondering where I went.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” he said. “Out of all the people in there, you’re actually the only one I’ve wanted to talk to all night. But since you ended up sat between the two chatterboxes…”

Now his words confused you. You looked at him, tilting your head to the side and trying to figure out what was going on. Was he playing a game? Had someone dared him? You’d never seen this side of Jake Seresin. He was always cocky, always honest. But he’d never been someone you’d talked to or spent too much time around. He was more stories than anything else to you. And here he was, telling you that he’d wanted to talk to you all night?

“Did Nat put you up to this?” You asked him hesitantly.

He laughed. “No one put me up to anything, darlin’. Now, please let me walk you home and let me ask you the questions that have been running through my head all night.”

You looked at him for a few moments. Jake Seresin wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t going to hurt you, and truthfully you would feel safer having him walk you home. What could go wrong by a simple walk with him?

“Okay, let’s go.”

The smile that appeared on his face made your heart flutter.

#jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #jake seresin x you #top gun #jake seresin imagine #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader

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lemon-natalia · 16 days

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Nona the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 32

ngl i thought Crux was a total goner at the beginning of last chapter, but he’s still kicking somehow. he's probably fuelled by pure spite at this point

‘the Reverend Daughter has no cavalier living’ just imagine having to walk around with the knowledge that you are literally dead. like not just that you came back to life or anything, but that your body and you are literally still dead. that's just insane. also what the fuck must Aiglamene be thinking right now, given she has no idea about how Gideon ended up like this

FUCKING IANTHE IS BACK. i fully thought she had finished her ominous appearances in this book, how the hell did she get here so quickly

i love that she’s apparently adopted Augustine’s smoking habit. it really adds to her James-Bond-Villain flair for the dramatic, which is coming out in full force here

speaking of the fact that what’s happened to Pyrrha - namely, surviving - isn’t normal, and none of the other Lyctors’ cavaliers nor Naberius survived in a similar way. it might be unlikely given that G1deon is dead and can’t exactly say anything about what went differently during his ascension, but i hope we eventually get more information about how exactly that happened at some point

yeah the fuck is up with Ianthe, actually. there are so many descriptions of Ianthe looking horrifically pale, and the specific mention here that she looks almost dead and pretty close to Kiriona, who is actually dead, it makes me wonder if there’s something genuinely weird going on with her?

‘Are you ever too late to come into my life and say that’ ooof the relationship between Pyrrha and Gideon is just so painful on both sides

oh for fuck’s sake Kiriona, i can’t believe she’s friends with Ianthe of all people. like they even have a secret handshake, i would kill to know how that relationship developed. these two actually getting along might be the creepiest moment so far actually

okay, so there’s some interesting insight into Kiriona’s motivations here - if we take her at her word here, she’s got a new primary goal of wanting to be John’s cavalier. again i’m really curious as to how Kiriona and John’s relationship developed to the point that this is something she seems to genuinely want. although it could also be less that its something she really wants and more that she literally has nothing else going for her right now

and more importantly for the overall plot of the series, John is the one who told her to open the tomb and kill Alecto, two things that seem pretty opposed to his motivations earlier in the series. he’s told Kiriona that only she can do it, but given Alecto’s not so much a person as she is a Resurrection Beast in a human body, could anyone even kill her? so if John has the ulterior motive of unlocking the tomb, that makes me very concerned as to the reason why

and once again like the end of HtN, if Ianthe is openly horrified by something it seems pretty damn dangerous. she seems to know what will happen if Alecto is released and be genuinely terrified of it, which given the look at how powerful John can get when working with Alecto (see: literally killing the entire solar system), I can see why she seems so afraid. plus i might be reading too much into this, but Ianthe’s (most obvious) major goal, becoming a Lyctor, was achieved all the way back in GtN - from the fact that she wants to keep John ‘nothing’, she seems to be pretty desperate to hold onto that status as his only Lyctor

‘Nona unravelled’ oh no i am not even close to being emotionally prepared for this, even though i knew it was coming

John really went all out on the religious imagery with the whole tomb thing, like he even sealed it with a rock for pete’s sake

Palamedes complimenting (presumably) young!Harrow’s efforts at disabling the traps leading to the tomb is everything to me

also absolutely killing me this chapter are the little hints at Gideon’s continued devotion to Harrow after everything; Gideon begging Harrow, even though she doesn’t know where she is, to ‘keep it together’, the fact that she is so willing to give up all of her blood and die for Harrow a second time. i am so obsessed with these two

wow I cannot believe that Crux of all people is coming in clutch at the climax of this book

oh wtf Gideon DID end up killing Crux, fucking hell!! rip Crux you died as you lived: being a complete hater. he really made sure his last words were to emotionally destroy Gideon as much as possible huh

these whole couple of pages are like a microcosm of all of Gideon’s biggest emotional hang ups really. her projecting pretty hard onto Crux about how he ‘could have lived’ for Harrow but can only die for her, her whole moment of boasting to someone who treated her awfully her whole life about how she actually is someone important. and then ending with killing Crux, which of course doesn’t 'feel good' - killing him doesn’t give her any of the parental love that she missed as a child, or remove the emotional abuse she suffered from him, or actually solve any of her emotional issues

the running narrative in the background about Alecto remembering John leading her to the tomb is pretty disturbing i won’t lie. it's just so creepy to read about him reassuring Alecto as he leads her to essentially what is a jail cell

also i am fully aware that there’s a subplot about Anastasia and Alecto’s relationship in this last chapter, its just that there’s been so much else going on that i honestly just have not been paying attention to it at all

‘Well, happy birthday to me’ oh poor Nona, her wishing herself a happy birthday before she dies just … hurts so bad. she started out genuinely happy and optimistic, and i knew full well it wasn’t going to last, but it still hurts

#whether i refer to gideon as gideon or kiriona at certain points in this post is honestly just up to vibes #tlt #the locked tomb liveblog #the locked tomb #lemon natalia reads the locked tomb #nona the ninth

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deconstructthesoup · 5 months

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I've been thinking about this lately, so, here's my Slay the Princess ships and why I ship them:

Witch x Damsel, aka Sleeping Briars: There's just something that's so compelling about the two "fairytale" vessels---aka, a witch and your classic damsel in distress---who can both lead to some of the most romantic routes in the game. The dynamic between a devious little prankster who has serious trust issues and can't let anyone get close as a result and an adorable sweetheart who trusts everyone and falls in love way too fast is really interesting to me, and I think they'd actually be pretty good influences on each other.

Adversary x Razor: Two ladies who love fighting, bloodshed, and pain in general? The potential is right there. They're different enough that there's some dimension, but they're similar enough that their dynamic would be killer. Literally.

Spectre x Stranger: Honestly, I just think that they're both very charming and would probably get along really well, but there is something to be said about them being the two Vessels you get when you don't really give the Princess a chance---either if you kill her without hesitation and get Spectre, or if you refuse to even meet her and get Stranger. They're both lonely and scattered, and maybe they'd find something in each other.

Thorn x Wild (Wounded): There's something really sweet and intimate about two people who've hurt and been hurt finding comfort in each other. Idk, I think it's nice.

Burned Grey x Drowned Grey: It's... it's right there. The duality is right there. The wedding gown and the funeral gown, the fire and the water---it's right there.

Prisoner x Skeptic: This is really the only Voice/Vessel ship I've got on my list, and it's because in my opinion, it's the most grounded. Prisoner is arguably the most human out of all of the vessels, and Skeptic's whole thing of picking things apart and looking at everything from a different angle feels like a pretty reasonable response to the insanity of the construct. Her cynicism combined with his suspicious attitude could make for a really interesting dynamic, and I think they'd balance each other out well.

Contrahero: Come on. Come on. They're perfect. The first time I saw the Stranger ending, my head was already buzzing with "they're staying in the cabin? Together? Married couple! Married couple!" thoughts. I'm far from the only person in the fandom who sees how amazing the dynamic of the intrepid knight and the goofy little jester is.

Smitten x Cold: The dynamic between the dashing romantic who lives off of passion and feeling and the tired and quiet soul who seems to have cut himself off from emotion altogether is too compelling to ignore. The tension just writes itself.

Stubborn x Opportunist: While these two seem pretty different at first glance, I think the fact that both of them are voices who don't know when to quit speaks wonders as to how they might bounce off of each other. One of them solves problems through fists and fighting and the other solves problems through words and deceit---and I think that creates a pretty interesting duo.

Huntcheat: @tai-janai got me hooked. It's actually pretty damn adorable, I dunno what else to say.

(Also, Nightmare is aromantic in pretty much every one of my AUs, and Paranoid is aroace more often than not)

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silviakundera · 2 months

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Back on my The Grand Princess / The Princess Royal bullshit again but when you know all three are time travelers but only LR and PWX know about each other, the early interactions are so funny to me. At first Li Rong was just weirded out by them spending time with (what she thought was) a 20 year old baby!Su Rongqing. And conversely, I'm pretty sure they weirded him out several times in return.

The two of them were in their respective cells, reading books and records of Go games that had been played, quarreling over a few things in their free time as the days idly passed by.

In the evening, Su Rongqing brought a food box, which he gave Li Rong alongside a few novels, then he gave an account of what happened in the recent days in the imperial court, going over everything at once.

Li Rong listened to his report as she bowed her head and looked through the novels that Su Rongqing had brought her. Once Su Rongqing had finished speaking, she didn’t bother to ask more about imperial court affairs and only said, “These novels you brought me seem very interesting. I should be able to finish reading them in a few days. You can find something similar for me next time.”

Su Rongqing stared blankly for a moment, but then he reacted and said somewhat hesitantly, “Is there anything else Your Highness wants me to bring?”

“No, nothing,” Li Rong said.

🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

(Su Rongqing: quivering like a hunting dog and ready to assist a 20 yr old princess; prepared, if asked, to recite a complete report of every key political occurrence in the kingdom)

(Li Rong, calmly chilling in prision, working thru her reading list: ok see u later i guess)

Pei Wenxuan had almost finished getting ready by the time Li Rong came out after freshening up. The two of them left their cells together, following Su Rongqing out of prison.

It had yet to be daybreak, but everyone was in high spirits. Li Rong got onto the carriage first. Pei Wenxuan was about to get onto the carriage behind hers when he saw Su Rongqing directly board Li Rong’s carriage without the slightest intention of avoiding suspicion.

Pei Wenxuan stopped what he was doing. After a moment, he made a decision.

He also got onto Li Rong’s carriage.

As soon as Li Rong got onto the carriage, she felt a bit sleepy, but she soon saw Su Rongqing come up as well. It gave her a scare, and she subconsciously asked, “What are you doing up here?” 😟

“There are many things that have not yet been explained to Your Highness. This humble official feared that it may be too late to do so upon arriving at the palace. May Your Highness be forgiving.” Su Rongqing respectfully answered.

Li Rong unhurriedly nodded and said, “Su daren is truly considerate…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Pei Wenxuan rolled up the curtain and jumped in. Li Rong couldn’t help but ask once more, “What are you doing up here as well?” 😕

Pei Wenxuan subconsciously wanted to throw out his retort, “He can come up, but I can’t?” But he took one look at Su Rongqing’s face and held back. It didn’t matter if they quarreled loudly on a daily basis, but one must still uphold etiquette in the presence of others 😇, so he respectfully said, “There are some matters to be discussed with Your Highness. This humble official feared that it may be too late to do so upon arriving at the palace. May Your Highness be forgiving.”

Li Rong: “…” 😶😕

Such similar excuses that made it inconvenient for her to refuse.

“Then have a seat and join us, Pei daren.” Li Rong called out for the two to come over. There was not much that needed to be discussed. They took a seat on opposite sides. Li Rong sat in the main seat in between, and for some reason, she began to experience a sense of apprehensiveness and awkwardness that could not be put to words. 😐😬

The three of them were silent. Su Rongqing lowered his eyes and said nothing. Pei Wenxuan closed the fan in his hand, also not speaking up.

With nothing to do, Li Rong poured tea for herself in the meantime. The sound of pouring water could be heard. Both of them were watching her. Li Rong’s movements paused as she held the teapot. After a moment, she revealed an awkward smile and persuaded the two, “Have some tea.”

With that said, she personally poured them each a cup of tea. When she picked up the tea, it became a question of whom to give it to first.

If it was given to Su Rongqing first, she feared that Pei Wenxuan would find a way to retaliate some time later knowing him and that petty heart of his. 😒

If it was given to Pei Wenxuan first, this would not quite be in accordance with etiquette since Su Rongqing ranked higher than Pei Wenxuan in terms of their official post and status. 😅

She stiffened as she held the cup. The two of them quietly eyed the tea in her hands. Li Rong suddenly felt that what she was holding was not tea but a firecracker that could go off at any time. 💀

After a few moments, Li Rong gritted her teeth and decisively drained the cup of tea in her hands in one go and calmly said, “I was a bit thirsty, so I had another cup. Su daren,” She broke through the awkward atmosphere and got to the point, turning to look at Su Rongqing, “What did you wish to inform Bengong?”

Contrary to one’s expectation, Su Rongqing’s matters were neatly laid out, almost as if he was telling Li Rong everything he knew. No matter how big or small, everything to his knowledge was reported to her. ... 📜📑

Li Rong nodded, grateful, as she said: “Su daren is rather dedicated.”

“Handling such affairs for Your Highness is merely this humble official’s duty.”

Pei Wenxuan sat off to the side, quietly listening as the two of them spoke. Once Su Rongqing and Li Rong finished their conversation, Li Rong turned to look at Pei Wenxuan and smiled, “And what does Pei daren wish to inform Bengong?”

“Oh, it’s not a big deal,” Pei Wenxuan smiled and raised his fan, pointing to the hairpin on Li Rong’s head, “Your Highness, your hairpin is crooked.”

Li Rong: “……”

He actually didn’t leave her the slightest bit of face, too lazy to even bother to act perfunctory towards her. 😤

Li Rong was about to have people stop the carriage and blast Pei Wenxuan out when she noticed that the person beside her suddenly got up, placing one hand on his sleeve to draw it back as he raised his other hand to gently straighten her hairpin. He calmly said, “All is well, Your Highness.”

😶 Li Rong stared blankly and had yet to respond while Pei Wenxuan coldly eyed Su Rongqing. Su Rongqing returned to his seat in an unhurried manner, his expressions calm and unperturbed, completely ignoring Pei Wenxuan’s gaze.

Seeing that the atmosphere had become awkward again, Li Rong let out a small cough. When the two looked over, Li Rong hastily picked up a cup of tea and persuaded them, “Have some tea.”

The two of them said nothing, making Li Rong feel even more embarrassed. 🤦

Fortunately, the carriage finally arrived at the palace within moments. Upon arriving at the imperial palace, Li Rong quickly said, “We’ve arrived, let us quickly be on our way.” 🏃 💨

Having said that, she didn’t even notice that the two of them had stood up and quickly jumped out of the carriage. The morning breeze greeted her as she got out of the carriage. Li Rong felt at ease and content. She waved her fan and walked on ahead, telling Jing Lan, “Let’s go, let’s go ahead first.”

“Without waiting for the two darens?”

Jing Lan was at somewhat of a loss. Li Rong should presumably enter the palace with them, but as soon as Li Rong heard her, she quickly covered half of her face with her fan, revealing a disdainful look, “Hurry up and go, let’s put some distance between us and them.”

🙅

#cdrama #the grand princess #the princess royal #the way that SRQ was clearly concerned #about why the timeline had changed and now the yang heir is dead and princess is in prision ⁉#but it was literally all part of the plan so li rong is feeling v satisfied and just wishes baby!srq could go be somewhere else 😂😭

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thelavendernarwhal · 4 months

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I received an ask that a person wanted answered anonymously, so:

But I really, truly cannot stop thinking about this one scene in Legacy. It’s around page 351.

“You mean having Dizznee pull some money from your birth fund and then hitting up a shop for a couple of minutes?” Keefe asked. “Yeah, Dex told me all about how not exhausting that was last night, when he checked in to tell me how things went for you two in London, while someone was off doing something with Mr. Forkle…”

So what I’m hearing is sleepy Dex on call with Keefe? Dex telling Keefe that he’s tired? A cute little nightly convo?

Side note, why was Dex tired? Does his ability make him tired? I need more elaboration, Shannon.

This scene is hella interesting to me since you look at it and it immediately seems like a Sokeefe scene, but in the middle, it has this seemingly random shift into talking about a completely different character dynamic. The context this snippet falls into is Keefe trying to cheer up Sophie after she had an argument with Mr Forkle. It all makes sense within of their relationship and dynamic, but this bit of dialogue is communicating something pretty different. It’s pointing out that Keefe and Dex have a close friendship that Sophie isn’t super aware of and that Sophie doesn’t spend a lot of time with/pay attention to Dex.

Both of these things can be chalked up to the fact the story is from Sophie’s perceptive. The big plot details have to happen or be explained to her or else they won’t make it to the reader. That doesn’t leave a lot of page time for banter, especially for a character like Dex who’s narrative role can mostly be done off stage. Of course, Dex’s character can be used for a lot more than ‘cool gadget guy’ (ie class divides, matchmaking/queer allegories, parallels to many other characters, etc), but that’s a whole different can of worms. Having moments like this that show things happening outside of Sophie helps establish a larger, more lively world. It shows that Sophie isn’t the center of the universe.

But these little moments can be established with many different characters. There are so many background dynamics and friendships that can be leveraged for this purpose which makes it interesting that specifically Keefe and Dex are highlighted. In fact, these two are highlighted in this way fairly often. Back in book 3, the two of them hit it off quickly and spend more time together outside of a group setting which then translates into many Keefex moments (including getting their team/ship name). Late night calls are probably pretty common.

But what really gets me about all of this is the casualness and I think it's because few other relationships in this series have that. Even characters that are established to be best friends have a good amount of tension between them (ie Fitz and Keefe, Sophie and Dex, Stina and Marella), but Keefe and Dex don’t have that. There’s a sense of stability and trust. They hang out and talk to each other without a practical reason to do so. Dex feels okay complaining to Keefe about projects and, presumably, feelings of isolation. Especially seen in Unlocked, Keefe trusts Dex to help him and hear some of the ugly things he doesn’t want to say to Sophie. There's definitely a lot of room for cute late night conversation on call, but also for a chill relationship in a sea of high-tension dynamics.

The length of this thing kind of got away from me but that's my take :)

(Also, I'm exploring a lot more of the mechanics of technopathy in my own writing, so I think that it's possible that Dex’s experience is something very similar to Keefe’s as the Forbidden Cities has more integrated technology that seemingly ‘speaks’ to Dex. That could be very overwhelming for him, hence why he's tired.)

#kotlc #kotlc analysis #keefex #kotlc legacy #kotlc dex #dex dizznee #kotlc keefe #keefe sencen #I present to you: my takes #for more technopathy ideas plz see my fic 'Bittersweet and Strange'#plz im lonely

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bunji-enthusiast · 2 months

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Haiiii I hope you’re doing well! If it’s okay, can I request a scenario or headcannons about lancelot being with a female s/o who is also Tristan’s sister?

We'll Be Countin' Stars

there were similar request to yours, and lately seems to like this particular pairing, lmao. I don’t judge though, it’s actually really cute to think about <3

He could lie, he couldn't, Lancelot never would've expected to actually fall in love with you. But it simply just flowed, like it was right?... He wasn't completely sure, but one thing he was sure of was the fact it was authentic. Though the prince of Benwick found himself to be getting quite the earful of endless teases and conversation from a very protective mother, Queen Elizabeth. Lancelot never expected to find out how close you and your mother were until that happened.

Mutiple lessons of love he forever wished he could sink in the river, but the best lesson that had come to pass was with you. Despite the endless torment of thoughts he had, that he was doing you wrong, that he would ruin you. It all just went away, Lancelot just eventually understood he needed to give this time with you. Though if he were to be honest, he never expected his eventual partner to be you, Tristan's sister.

Lancelot knew that he was most likely never going to hear the end of it from Tristan and other friends alike, his parents too! He though he was gonna die inside every time he heard the subject rose into conversation, you had expressed the same sentiments to his relief, but it had seemed word of the whole thing was never going to go away.

However, without a shadow of a doubt, Lancelot will kill for you. Be it; to save you, on your behalf (if you can't find yourself doing it), or gather food. It is always done with no hesitation whatsoever, and in adept time.

Lancelot has extremely good photographic memory, and seemingly memorizes to some the most insignificant details of your appearances. You share similarities to that of your brother, but you seemed to look more like your father. Whether it's a mole on the cheekbone, a birthmark, he will absolutely remember it. Though he doesn't mean it in an odd sense, he just thinks they are endearing aspects added to your appearance as a whole.

The blonde remembers what you like and don't like, food-wise of course. So you are sometimes surprised with your favorite snack, and Lancelot will absolutely refute your accusations with a bullshit excuse, the blush on his face very clearly betraying what he says. Though he can never get enough of that gentle, content expression on your face when you get to eat your favorite snacks (it's one of his favorite things to see, but his ass will not admit that).

On certain nights, he takes you on a high-end rooftop to watch the night sky, and maybe converse in ways he would never be able too with anyone else. Lancelot can appreciate the deep meaning thoughts in your words, and seemingly just fires off another thought for you to think about and ramble off of. He just likes hearing your voice admittedly, and in particular what you think about the subjects discussed. Though, there are points in which you just suddenly interrupt your rambling by pointing to the night sky when there is a shape of interest.

If there are ever reasons that you may get overwhelmed, Lancelot does his best to reassure and comfort you discreetly. For example, if large crowds overwhelm you (Lancelot honestly agrees), he will lead you away and take the time to calm you down.

When both of you have time off to actually rest and recuperate, the most that will be done on your day off; is just simply cuddling each other as one and the other are to lazy too move, admiring the general scenery, or just people-watching. People-watching is somehow highly entertaining, you don't know why, but it is.

One of the main ways Lancelot expresses his love for you is acts of service, though he can be reliant on physical touch at times. But mainly when focused on acts of service; Lancelot will offer his help when you are having trouble, offer to assist you in training sessions, gift you things you mentioned you like, cares for you should you be afflicted with a major injury or illness.

He doesn't really like it, but Lancelot admittedly does get possessive of you (like father like son, come on). He rarely behaves this way, but when he does he is fully aware of it and hates it. Lancelot knows he shouldn't be so worrisome in certain circumstances, but he can't help but be possessive of you even when you can handle yourself. He tries to be better about it though.

Though you were born with both inherent traits from both parents, you inherited more of your fathers traits and abilities compared to your brother who looked more like your mother. Which had meant your demonic abilities were the more dominant genes compared to your goddess blood, and you sincerely found yourself to be at an impasse. Like Tristan, you didn't have an easy time in coming to terms with your powers. Though, Lancelot always reassured you that he could handle you if you ever lost control of yourself.

The end-game in which the admittance of your feelings for each other cultivated, was that Lancelot had admitted he was in-love with you. Which at first was an attempt, but you had admitted the same, despite the embarrassment however it had made things easier.

For the most part, you do end up cooking for the both of you (if you can cook well). Most of your cooking greatly reminds him of his parents, but he does appreciate the good-natured work and love you put into your cooking. Though off-handedly, he is the one to cook, however he does follow off a list sometimes. He CANNOT remember most recipes off the top of his head for the life of him, it annoys him.

In the beginning of your relationship, both of you realized that neither of you knew next to nothing about maintaining a good relationship. So it was a bit of a process, but during the way, you had gained good memories of laughable moments. But the experience earned had allowed him to take the lead when it came to dates, he was a bit more of a solace and peace kind of guy when it came to dates. Taking you out on the reverie, or just sitting by the lake, maybe hanging out from tree to tree as well.

One of his main favorite things about you, as cheesy as it may seem, is your smile. Lancelot always wants to find a way to elicit it from you, it's like it re-charges his energy immensely the moment he lays eyes on your smile.

However, the very thing he hates the most about you is your inability to accept help when you really needed it. Lancelot knows it's hard, for god's sakes, but why are you refusing help? It can be pretty damn hard to make it through, but he does try his best to respect your decisions wherever possible.

He dearly appreciated your support whenever it had come down to family issues with his parents, it was sometimes difficult to get along with them at times. His father most of all, so who knows where he'd be if not for your support? Lancelot had delved pretty deeply into his issues with his father, and you did hear a lot, which was surprising. But this was part of being with one another, yet you were glad he had trusted you this much to admit such things to you alone.

In return, Lancelot does his best to offer some discreet support when you have issues/disputes with either Tristan or your parents. Sometimes he is unsure of what it may be, and sometimes he knows why you had such arguments.

Between you both, Lancelot covers for physical strength and physical weakness. You cover for emotional welfare and more strategic thinking, many view you both to be a particularly headstrong couple.

#mokushiroku no yonkishi lancelot #lancelot 4koa #lancelot mokushiroku no yonkishi #lancelot 4kota #lancelot x you #lancelot x reader #lancelot #mokushiroku no yonkishi #mokushiroku no yonkishi x reader #seven deadly sins x reader #sds x reader #7ds x reader #nanastu no taizai x reader #nnt x reader

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