#forbidden firefly

[thatpunkmaximoff]

Story: 3/5 Smut: 2.5/5

For a moment, I thought this was going to be a bit too taboo for my tastes (godfather/goddaughter). Fortunately, it wasn't, and I was able to get into it.

I've read MC fanfiction, so I was a bit surprised this took me a little while longer to get into. For the first legit MC book that I own, however, it was pleasant. I will definitely look for more MC books now because I did enjoy this one.

Now enjoy my ramblings as I read..

* So you just gonna start the book like that? What happened to Ahryn?! 🥺

* Man, fuck Mace! What a dick doing that to a kid.

* “He needs to fucking die.” — Ayyyyy. I agree. Let’s do it.

* Thank god Killian got to be the one to take out Mace. Bastard deserved it. Now I’m just scared for anyone else to find out 😬

* Only fifteen and the crush has started. But honestly, I don’t blame her 😂 Killian sounds hot!

* He really showed up to her school and TOLD her he was taking her to school tomorrow. Get it together, Killian.

* Oh no. No, no, no. Don’t go to the lake 😂 🙈

* I knew the lake was a bad idea. And stfu, Julie!

* And that’s what happens when you try to flirt with the bikers 😬 Poor Ahryn. She’s traumatized.

* Oh shit. They lit up their bikes 😂

* Fuckkkk. They went after the wives and Ahryn.

* ONE MONTH LATER?! Don’t do this to me 😩

* They gave her back 🥺 but what the hell did they do to her? And what secrets do they know?

* Uh oh. Feelings are getting weird for these two 👀

* Not the daddy kink porn 😂

* Oh shit. She put on the lingerie to dance in her office and Killian got an eye full 👀 😏

* Lol Killian is so fucked 😂

* So Ahryn kept the club’s secrets, but the envelope left next to her said otherwise? 🤔 What is going on..

* Shiii- Killian woke up on the wrong side of the bed lol. Someone’s got blue balls.

* “You may be my goddaughter, but if you slap me like that again, I will have your ass covered with my handprints.” — Goddamn, Killian 😏

* So she didn’t spill club secrets! They were bluffing. Thank god. She’s a badass for sure.

* Killian voted no! Wtf!? You better make him beg for forgiveness.

* Ugh. Out of all the sweetbutts, why Katherine?

* Ugh. That flashback to Killian’s childhood with his mom hurt my heart. Poor kid.

* Damn. Ahryn’s trauma really came for her right before her first job as a prospect 😬

* And goddamn.. Bane acted like that only because he thought Killian was about to kiss his daughter? Can you imagine if he was kissing her 👀 It’s gonna be a shit show.

* Oh shit. They kissed 😨

* Fuckkk. Who left the note in her pocket? She says they were in a club where a lot of ppl bumped into her, but what if it’s someone closer..? 🤔

* Holy shit! She rode his face as if her life depended on it 😂

* Goddamn.. he railed her 👏🏻👏🏻 My moral compass is officially out the window lmao.

* Hatchet is annoying as fuck.

* Ohhhh. Who’s following Ahryn?

* Damn. They tried to take her out? All hell is about to break loose.

* It all started when?!?!?! You can’t end a chapter like that!!

* God. I feel so bad that they’re fucking behind her dad’s back lol.

* Oh fuck. He just told everyone in Church that Ahryn is his 😨 I knew that wasn’t going to go well. And again, fuck off, Hatchet.

* Oh my god. What is this fucking secret?!

* Oh fuck. She was swapped at birth?!

* Get your shit together, Bane 🤦🏻‍♀️

* Griller.. what the fuck, dude.

* Damn, Ahryn. You really just shot your dad’s bio kid, huh? 😂

* Woo. It’s a property patch. For a moment I thought her birth control failed.

* First motorcycle romance and I definitely loved it. I need more romances like this haha.

[ruciel]

thinking of a yandere! firefly with an IPC! darling. you knew sam first, tasked with trying to catch and detain the mecha by your superiors when it had neared the pier point for aeon’s knows what kind of mission destiny’s slave sent it on. you’re good at what you do, you’re good at your job. not everyone just gets into the IPC and becomes the head of security, albeit, with very hard-work. but you were just no match for the molten knight, it was in a league of its own. the flames that engulfed you and your squadron decimated any and all things in its path. countless stars had burst into supernova, the nearby IPC structures and architecture were crushed to dust, and the smell of rot, flesh, and ash had permanently weaved its way into the atmosphere. everything had perished. all but you. firefly was never known to be cruel. when sam had approached you, finding your sickly and scarred body, it soon stood vulnerable, taking the appearance of a young woman instead. the heat of the metal may have been too much for you, in your sorry state. firefly feared she would melt you by even getting too close, and she revelled in the feeling of the tender touch of another living person, at least before your comrades could come to save you. you never did get the chance to see her, to see firefly, you will only ever know her as sam. and she’s okay with that. firefly understands that she can’t be with you— at least not now. you’ve encountered the molten knight numerous times after the first one, it never pays any mind to you. like you’re some harmless little butterfly on the battlefield of bloodshed. sam has no qualms in tearing down your fellow peers, but you, you are precious. and unbeknownst to you, firefly visits you often, not as sam, but as herself. she likes watching you in your sleep, seeing that she requires much less sleep than the average person. it’s comforting enough to be in your presence, and she always wonders what you dream about. it is also the only time the two of you may ever share each other’s company in peace.

[the-moon-devi]

Devi's De'Luxe

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒙𝒙𝒆 (𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕). 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒅 & 𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕�� 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒆 & 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅. 𝑰 𝒈𝒐 𝒃𝒚 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑪𝒂��𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒂'𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝑻𝒚𝒍𝒂𝒉! 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 16 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔. 𝑰'𝒎 19 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚. 𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝑽𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄 & 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒅𝒔. (𝑽𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐) 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔. 𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒄𝒐-𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒔/ 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 & 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒆. 😭 𝑯𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈! 𝑰'𝒎 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍, 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒅 & 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒈𝒐𝒅 , 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔/𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈! 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒉𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔! 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 & 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔! ~𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵 🌊🐚💙💋

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓢𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓬𝓴 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓞𝓾𝓽…..

❤️‍🔥𝓗𝓸𝓽 𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝔂

𝓦𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓐 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰?

𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 // 𝓡𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓮𝔀𝓼

𝓐𝓼𝓴 𝓟𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓬𝔂 🚨

𝓛𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓮

𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬:

𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐝 // 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬

𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬

𝐀𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬 (𝟒𝟒𝟔)

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬:

𝐀𝐬𝐜 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞

𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬:

𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐚 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬:

𝐖𝐞𝐛𝐛 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐚 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ~ (𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧...)

➡ 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨: 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬 // 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡

𝐊𝐥𝐞𝐭 (𝟐𝟏𝟗𝟗)

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 // 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐫𝐚 / 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐛 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭

𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 (𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝)

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 & 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐏𝐭.𝟏 𝐏𝐭.𝟐

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐀𝐂'𝐒

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐁𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢 🌙

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭

𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬:

𝐇𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐬

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦/𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐎𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

𝐓𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐬,

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡?

𝐅𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡…

𝐌𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲/𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞: 𝟏 𝟐

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐘/ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄

𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐲 / 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬 🍑

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐝𝐨𝐦

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐈 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐩 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲:

𝐍𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, & 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐏𝐓.𝟐

𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝟒𝐡 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲

𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬:

𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐚 (1487)

𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 (1388)

𝐊𝐥𝐞𝐭 (2199)

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞 (3768)

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐚 (268)

𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐚 (149)

𝐊𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 (216)

𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 (1009)

𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐚 (408)

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 (695)

𝐀𝐬𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞

𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞

Moon Devi:

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐍��𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧, 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, & 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡: 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲

𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒍'𝒔 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐬

𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐬: 𝟏 𝟐 𝟑

𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲..... 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐱𝐱

[h0riz0nstuff]

Aloy discovering that HFW has real fireflies instead of the fake ones in HZD

[adorablegorilla]

A moth girl and a firefly girl dating. Is that anything

[luciolefire]

i am,, looking. respectfully,

AKDZXKHSGZHSFZGVD WHY IS SHE SO PRETTY AM I JUST TOO GAY FOR THIS

[chippersweetaloy]

I spend way too much time in photo-mode.

[goldom]

I made a comment to my spouse today that "you can't pretend to kill a character in act 1, then actually kill them in the finale. Well, unless you're Star Trek 2."

But now thinking about it, it feels like there is a nonzero chance of HSR lifting that sequence of events directly.

Before the release of ST2, people had heard that Spock was going to die in it. To get people to relax and enjoy the movie, he "died" early on, but it was revealed to be a simulation. Then at the end, he sacrifices himself to save the Enterprise and dies for real.

I can absolutely see Firefly's story going this way.

But if you know Star Trek, you know what happens next. Spock's body is left on a planet undergoing rapid terraforming that creates life out of nothing, and he is revived in the third movie.

And what do you know, HSR also has a place where life grows wild and death has no hold. Now given how evilly it's been portrayed, they'd have to really reverse course to finish this analogy, but what if we went there next, and in 3.2, TB gets the ol Yaoshi gaze and is able to revive Firefly. Cue To Be Continued, then they finally reunite in 3.3, along with some pretty severe consequences from the Hunt.

To be clear I do not think this is likely, nor do I want it to happen (just let her on the train and be happy), but I would love to see Stelle get full abundancepilled and just give the finger to anyone who doesn't want her reviving her gf.

Or maybe I'm just really into Forbidden Girlfriend Resurrection lately. It's romantic okay

(Another theory is that she's gonna get stellaronned like us, which cures her, but is also probably Not Good in the future.)

[wickedzeevyln]

Of Rain and Fireflies

Tonight, the moonlight casts a sickly glow, jaundiced, nauseating, the kind that stiffens hackles and makes the skin crawl. Shadows slink through the forest like wraiths with vocal cords ripped out of them. Iwai descends. Her wings rustle and woosh in the fierce wind, they beat a steady thump-thump-thump, until she lands on the moss-covered stone with a final thump, her feet as light as…

[horizon-series-details]

Took me a minute to find the correct angle to properly capture it, but the fireflies seen around the red grass you can hide in actually have a rather detailed model! With my minimal knowledge of fireflies, I really only have the color of the light, combined with the colors and shape of the head to go off of. However, I believe this is based off of the Photinus Pyralis, more commonly known as the Common Eastern Firefly.

[pa1nrema1ns]

Master and Apprentice || Sung Jin-woo (Part 1 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader

A/N - Hello everyone! This fic was inspired by the lovely @forbidden-sunlight's siren!au. We both collaborated on this piece and it serves as a direct sequel to her imagine, so do be sure to check it out first! This story picks up right where her imagine left off.

╰┈➤ Chapter Index

🪸 Prequel by @forbidden-sunlight 🌊 Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies 🦈Part 3: In a Sea of Fire

Content warnings: 18+ MDNI, mythical creatures au, canon divergent, a/b/o dynamics, afab!reader, suggestive themes, obsessive thoughts, slightly ooc Jin-woo (he's very reverent towards Ashborn), mentions of violence, death, and despair, forbidden romance (humans and sirens are natural enemies), eventual yandere!Jin-woo.

Word Count - 3.6k

Summary - Sung Jin-woo seeks answers about his potential mate from Ashborn in the deepest depths of the abyss.

Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics

After what feels like an eternity, Jin-woo comes to an abrupt stop. He wasn’t tired in the slightest, but he couldn’t finish this journey unless he was in the right frame of mind. If he was going to face the sea monarch, Ashborn, then he needed to compose himself. He was his mentor’s prized disciple, after all.

Resolute in his decision, Jin-woo pinches his brow, shuts his eyes, and releases a deep, suffering sigh. He had to stop ruminating over the useless ‘what ifs’ of his current situation and focus on the matter at hand. You emitting pheromones in his presence was proof enough that you were a compatible mate, but this would be meaningless if you were unreceptive to him. It also begs the question, was humanity even capable of consorting with sirens? In search of an answer, he reminisces about the tales of old passed down by generations of his kin, as well as the many speculations made by humans.

No one knew the exact origins of his species. Most humans assumed the progenitors were Persephone’s handmaidens, punished by Demeter after Hades had taken her daughter to the underworld and forced her into becoming his queen. Some stories also claimed that seafoam  birthed them, but Jin-woo scoffed at this particularly ridiculous rumor. A scholar had recently published an article on how sirens may actually be the offspring of the river deity Achelous and a divine songstress, citing notations from various mythos on this theory. In truth, reality was far simpler than any of these far-fetched narratives.

There was just no definitive explanation for the existence of sirens. They were not interchangeable with the peaceful denizens of the ocean, known as mermaids and mermen. While all fell under the umbrella of the term ‘merfolk,’ the sirens had a far more hostile and bloodstained relationship with humans.

Since time immemorial, his brethren were viewed as nothing but a scourge upon this world of humanity. Beautiful as a raging typhoon and every bit as devastating, the sirens served as harbingers of doom and destruction for those foolish enough to risk the perilous waters. Their heavenly voices were tantamount to the funeral dirges used to usher the dead into the afterlife. It would be understandable to believe that the sirens were the monsters in this baleful story. However, human nature at its core is fraught with wickedness, and men soon grew wise to the machinations of merfolk.

Odysseus was the first to survive an encounter with sirens. During his voyage to Ithaca, the cunning man had instructed his crew to plug their ears with beeswax, effectively blocking the intoxicating songs that had ended the lives of so many before them. Emboldened by the success of Odysseus’s scheme, other sailors began using this method to conquer the sea and establish trade routes. Within a matter of a couple hundred years, humans not only overcame their fear of sirens, but they also poached them. Huntsmen would capture, torture, and kill Jin-woo’s ancestors simply for crossing paths with them. Worse yet, these scoundrels would often murder merfolk solely to harvest their organs, bones, and scales. They would then use the defiled corpses as ingredients for commodities, medication, and even aphrodisiacs. It was truly grotesque, if not outright barbaric, and more than justified the ire his kind felt towards humanity. While they hunted for the noble sake of survival, men did it for bloodsport and money.

The horrific fates suffered by many of their beloved brothers and sisters particularly infuriated the alphas, with their robust constitutions and natural sense of leadership. With a thirst for vengeance, they began targeting and attacking ships, ports, and even beaches. The alphas considered any place or vehicle that harbored humans as eligible targets. The less temperamental betas remained neutral and avoided the bloodshed, opting to prey upon shoals of fish and other maritime animals instead. Omegas could not join in the hunt, as they were far too precious to lose. They were the most cherished and talented singers amongst the sirens and required around-the-clock protection because of their significant rarity. These were the origins of the current hierarchical structure Jin-woo adhered to.

After recalling the tumultuous history of his people in its entirety, Jin-woo clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. This was so damn frustrating! Rather than granting him an understanding of his attraction, it just proved all the more why it was so illogical. 

Defeated, Jin-woo raises his head, opens his eyes, and continues to swim.

Another hour passes before he finds himself at the ingress of Ashborn’s lair. His enigmatic teacher lived in almost complete obscurity. Devoid of any light, and enveloped by a suffocating aura, this nautical cavern intimidated all who dared to approach it. Well, almost all that is apart from Jin-woo. He effortlessly permeates the invisible barrier designed to keep intruders at bay and ventures into his master’s spiritual domain.

Despite being an ancient and powerful king of the sea, Ashborn made the strange decision to emulate a land-like environment in his personal chambers.

As Jin-woo manifests into the realm, his appearance gives way to a form more befitting of a land dweller. His tail separates into two legs, his scales smoothen into skin, and he loses the winged fins on his ears and back. Once finished with this metamorphosis, Jin-woo takes a deep breath. Fresh pine, grass, and flowers perfume the air as he’s greeted by a lush valley. It had been a while since he had visited, and the setting had required him to transform into a human. Interestingly, transfiguration was one of the first skills Ashborn taught him. Speaking of his mentor –

“My disciple, it is good to see you again, though you appear…troubled. Tell me, what ails you so?” A rumbling voice rings across the horizon, signaling Ashborn’s approach; the tenebrous essence of the powerful deity contrasting with the greenery of the land. He appears in front of Jin-woo as a great dark knight. Much like his surroundings, Ashborn’s current visage was nothing but an illusion. Even the bravest of warriors said that his lifelike image invoked sheer terror in their hearts.

Many speculate he possesses a massive stature, at least several leagues in height and breadth alone, with piercing eyes and endless tendrils of dark hair. Others claim he is the son of Poseidon, one of the twelve Olympians, and a God of destruction who presided over the sea. However, Jin-woo never once witnessed this side of his teacher in all the years he’s been under his mentorship. Ashborn certainly exuded dignity, but he still displayed a humble attitude. And without fail, he would always appear in that strange, armored suit whenever he was in Jin-woo’s presence.

“My teacher, I must ask for your help on an urgent matter,” Jin-woo starts, anxiously running his tongue across his bottom lip. “This morning, while I was scavenging, I stumbled across the unmistakable aroma of an unmarked omega. It…it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. As if I was being beckoned by someone or something. I wanted, no, I needed to heed its call.”

Ashborn listens in silence, his expression indiscernible. Jin-woo continued.

 “When I arrived, I was in front of a monstrosity of a ship – a yacht right by the sandbanks. At first, I assumed that someone had taken an unfortunate siren captive. But when I finally saw her–”

“You recognized she was human. Not only that, but she belongs to the lowest level of the hierarchy, an omega. Speak if I am wrong, my dear pupil.” Jin-woo lowers his head in shame, fringe obscuring his eyes. This action all but confirms it.

“I don’t know what to do or how to proceed, teacher. Everything I’ve learned about these creatures has made me detest them. But I can’t bring myself to hate her. How could this even be possible? We are not even of the same species. She’s my enemy, my prey…. At least, she’s supposed to be.” His voice lowers into a near whisper as he ends his confused rambling.

“And yet you don’t view her that way, do you child?” Ashborn poses a question he already knows the answer to but needs to hear in his pupil’s own words.

“No, I don’t,” Jin-woo replies grimly. “I yearn to know more about her. And not just that. I want to meet her, court her, and make her mine. If she’ll even have me, that is… So please, teacher, tell me if there is any meaning behind what I feel. Am I destined for something that bears no place in reality?”

Ashborn remains uncharacteristically quiet while faced with such a loaded question. All is eerily silent for a few moments, save for the cheerful chirping of the illusionary songbirds. At last, the monarch gazes at Jin-woo and gives him the answer he so desperately desires.

“It is entirely possible Sung Jin-woo, alpha of Jindo island, for I am proof of such a fantastical circumstance. My first and only love was also a human omega. A woman I devoted my entire being to over a millennium ago.”

Jin-woo’s eyes widened in shock at this revelation. His mentor had fallen in love at some point, and it was with a member of the human race? This was unheard of.

“I never knew you had a lover,” Jin-woo murmurs softly. “What was she like? Do you still remember everything about her after so many years?”

“Let me show you, my disciple. It is a tragic tale that words alone cannot properly convey.” With a wave of Ashborn’s hand, their surroundings began to morph and alter. The valley transforms into a spacious, yet quaint medieval village composed of several wooden houses with a bustling marketplace at its center.

When Jin-woo regains his bearings, he notices his mentor has also metamorphosized. A man with a sun kissed complexion, long dark hair, and a beard stands where he once stood. Though visibly unrecognizable, he was unmistakably Ashborn. A crimson cape was clasped to the pristine silver armor he wore. A paladin. Jin-woo recalls. He had some knowledge of the past lives of men through his rare excursions onto the Mainland. While disguised as a human, Jin-woo once traded in his goods for a textbook on history. He was loath to admit just how intriguing he had found it.

Ashborn speaks, his voice no longer resonating within the confines of shadowy steel.

“It was here in this village that I came across her. She was the only daughter of a peasant farmer. A strong-willed, rapscallion of a woman with a wit sharper than any blade. I can remember her beauty, her warmth, and her tenacity as clear and concise as the day we met.” He says with a wistful gaze. The scene then shifts to a woman in a pure white gown. Her eyes remained hidden, but it did nothing to impede upon her loveliness. The woman runs animatedly towards a man who looks identical to Ashborn’s borrowed likeness and leaps into his arms. The man then effortlessly spins her around before bringing her into a kiss. Jin-woo watches on, mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of him.

“I feared her rejection once she knew the truth of my identity,” Ashborn admits. “On the night we first made love, I finally revealed to her my status as ruler of the sea. However, it did not matter. She loved me wholly and unconditionally, regardless of who or what I was. Such was the strength of her resolve.” In the next instance, they return to the same valley from earlier. What differs this time is that the man and woman are there, unacknowledging of Jin-woo and Ashborn’s presence. Lost in their own special world. The woman has a flower crown on her head, and she sits on the grass, holding the man’s head in her lap. Both appear happy and at ease.

“For the first time in my existence, I experienced true contentment. I long to return to those days, but alas, our bliss did not last.”

Ashborn solemnly shuts his eyes as darkness overtakes the sky and rain falls. The man is now shown standing at a grave with an expression of anguish marring his face. The woman is nowhere to be seen, although Jin-woo knows exactly where she’s at.

“A plague was scourging the land and indiscriminately ending the lives of thousands. I tried to protect her with my magic, but it was to no avail. She fell gravely ill despite my best efforts. I discovered shortly thereafter that omegas were more susceptible to sickness than their contemporaries. If I had known beforehand, I would’ve brought her to the sea with me, away from that damned disease. But I was a fool who was willing to love and live with her as a man, not as a king. And as punishment for my hubris, an ailment snuffed out her life.”

At the end of his recollection, Ashborn’s lair returns to its original state. His mentor had also regained his shadowy exterior. The valley appears completely untouched by time, as if it were still one thousand years in the past. That’s why his lair looks like this. Jin-woo thinks as he finally recognizes its significance, It was their personal sanctuary. After a few moments of silence, Ashborn speaks.

“Although our circumstances are similar, you still have the privilege of choice. I cannot turn back time, nor can I change the past, but I am grateful. I experienced unspeakable grief, yes, but I also would have never encountered such love, tenderness, and passion had I not taken a chance on my omega. You, my disciple, still have free rein over your decision. Should you choose to pursue this woman, you have my blessing and irrefutable proof that she is a viable mate for you. If not, you will still receive my unwavering support in your future endeavors. The choice is yours to make.”

Jin-woo’s throat bobs. He feels an incredible sense of guilt at unearthing his master’s secret.

“My teacher, I apologize for prying into your past. I – I did not mean to bring up painful memories for you. I cannot imagine what you have endured. As of right now, I am not sure what it is I want, but I know for a fact I cannot give up on this human. I will need some time to contemplate and sort out my feelings. If you will excuse me.”

Jin-woo bows his head before turning to take his leave. As he approaches the exit, a sudden thought emerges at the forefront of his mind.

“Teacher, there is one more question I must ask. This human, she does not speak with words. She communicates with her hands and gestures. Is this some type of sorcery or spell that she’s casting?”

“It is most likely sign language, a manner of non-verbal communication used by humans who are unable to vocalize or hear. Perhaps she cannot speak, or has a hearing impairment, so she must express herself through other means.” Ashborn answers, curiosity lacing his voice.

Jin-woo feels his heart sinking. A siren’s serenade played a pivotal role in the mating ritual and was performed just prior to consummating an eternal bond. If what Ashborn said is true, then there is a possibility you could be immune to his song. This meant he wouldn't be able to use it on you when the time came…

He grits his teeth as he remembers your smiling face. Try as he might, Jin-woo just could not get you out of his head, nor was he willing to let you escape his grasp. You may not have realized it yet, but you had unknowingly sunk your fangs into him and the seeds of obsession were already beginning to take root. Rather than being discouraged by Ashborn’s observation, he instead finds himself reinvigorated.

“Teacher, disregard everything I said earlier. I now know what it is I must do.”

Ashborn peers into the eyes of his disciple, relieved by the determination that lights them. This was much more like the obstinate young man he knew.

“I choose to seek this omega and stake my claim, no matter what challenges may await the two of us,” Jin-woo proclaims proudly. “I will make her mine, but only if she consents to my proposal. And if not through song, then through other courtship methods. I am strong, stronger than any other alpha in my territory, and I know I can protect her from all who would wish her harm. I won’t let my mate slip through my fingers.”

“But what of maladies and the passage of time? You can fight against gods and monsters until the end of your days, but sickness or her ephemeral lifespan will not spare this young woman. In the end, your time with her shall be fleeting.” Ashborn ruthlessly counters Jin-woo’s declaration of protection.

Jin-woo bites his lip, not expecting this development. However, before he can muster a response, his mentor graces him with an answer.

“I know of one way you can overcome this. There is a recipe for an elixir known as the Holy Water of Life. It is a miraculous potion that can imbue invulnerability to communicable diseases, extend lifespan, and transform the consumer into a siren. I unfortunately did not have knowledge of such a panacea while I was with my love. Of course, I live with the regret of not discovering it sooner, as now I have no such use for it, but this does not mean I will idly stand by and let history repeat itself with my protégé.”

With a flash of light, an ancient scroll appears in front of Jin-woo. It unravels by itself to reveal its contents to him. Jin-woo’s eyes widen as he reads. Is this…?

“Behold. The ingredients for crafting the Holy Water of Life. I bequeath this boon unto you, my disciple. However, heed my warning as the acquisition of these components requires you to conquer all 100 floors of the Demon’s Castle and to defeat its king, Baran. This is a treacherous dungeon that may claim your life if you are unprepared for it, but it can also impart you with unspeakable power should you prevail.”

Jin-woo perks up at this information, his interest now fully piqued. “Tell me, master, where can I find the Demon’s Castle?”

“It hides far away, in the city of Seoul, within an incorporeal dominion. It is a flame-ridden landscape that will require you to assume the form of a human to enter the castle. Knowing all the risks it entails; do you still accept my offer?”

“I do,” Jinwoo confidently states.

“Very well,” Ashborn nods his assent, and a key materializes into Jin-woo’s palm.

“Use this key to open the gate to the Demon’s Castle. I have also implanted it with the coordinates to the dungeon’s location. You need only close your eyes and grasp onto the key to visualize it.”

Following the instructions, Jin-woo sees a map that details the exact distance from his current whereabouts to the metropolitan area of Seoul. It will be a lengthy trip, even with his impressive swimming prowess. He estimates it will take roughly half a day to arrive at his destination. Undeterred, Jin-woo presses onward.

“Teacher, I cannot thank you enough for all your help and guidance over these last few years. I give you my word; I will return alive and well, both with the elixir and Baran’s head. And then I will meet with the omega and court her in earnest.”

He departs without another word, although his promise relays an unspoken farewell between them. After some time passes, Ashborn stares at the vast skies of his domain and muses to himself.

“You have grown so much from when I rescued you from the Cartenon Temple all those years ago, Sung Jin-woo. I could not be prouder of you, my disciple. Till our next encounter.”

12 hours later...

Jin-woo finally emerges from the dark, briny waters that frame Seoul’s coastline.

After leaving Ashborn’s lair, he briefly returned home to pack and prepare for the journey ahead. Both Jin-ah and his mother were worried about his sudden departure, so he did the best he could to assuage their fears by giving them a sanitized version of the truth.

Jin-woo claimed Ashborn had provided him with a list of rare ingredients that were only available for purchase in the human markets at Seoul. He even promised to bring back a box of chocolates as a souvenir, something his mother and little sister had enjoyed during one of his return trips to the surface. He then traveled the full 413-kilometer distance from Jindo-gun to Seoul, stopping only for a few hours to rest and recuperate.

As he approaches land, he assumes the form of a naked human man and walks inland from the sea. However, Jin-woo comes to a halt when he becomes more aware of his current state of nudity. While it didn’t bother him, it would cause a lot of unnecessary trouble if any nosy beachgoers happened upon him and asked questions. It is also…pretty embarrassing to admit that he is…wobbly on these legs. Very much so.

He quickly summons his magical inventory and grabs a simple black t-shirt, boxers, fitted jeans, and athletic sneakers (‘Adidas’, the portly sales attendant had called them). As worthless as he found human decorum to be, Jin-woo needed to remain as inconspicuous as possible while he was in disguise. Once dressed, he strolled into the city. After 45 minutes, he found himself at the designated street junction on the map. Taking a deep breath, he brings forth the key, turns it, and unlocks the gate. 

⚓︎ To be continued...

[gurugirl]

Ex-Boyfriend's Dad!Harry

ex-boyfriend's dad!harry x reader - forbidden relationship au

Series Warnings: explicit content, smut (including anal, rough blow jobs), age gap, angst, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, choking, slight degradation, use of small implements (collar and leash, anal plug)

Series Summary: You break up with your boyfriend and confide in his dad about some very personal issues you had with his son. And Harry thinks he can help.

Based on these requests: Here Here Here Here Here (there are more in my #into the drafts tag but y'all get the hint - this was heavily requested 🖤)

Part 1 (8.2k words) TEASER

After you break up with your boyfriend, his dad, Harry, stops by your apartment to drop off a few of your things. But that's not all he's there to bring you.

Part 2 (10.8k words) TEASER

Harry wants to show you what you've been missing if you'll let him. OR The filthy smutty one

Part 3 (8.3k) TEASER

You get to try things with Harry you never had the chance to before but the more you get to know him the more of him you want. And that's a problem.

Part 4 (10k) TEASER

You and Harry are both missing each other and despite Tyler's sudden interest in talking to you, Harry's determined to finish what you both started.

divider by @firefly-graphics

[jobean12-blog]

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x princess!reader

Summary: You're the daughter of the emperor and your father would have you married off to someone of his choosing but you've always fought back and vowed to marry only for love. You finally find that love in the most unexpected man and as much as your father reveres him you know he would not approve of your relationsip. Regardless, you fall head over feet.

Author's Note: So I thought I would make a little Masterlist for this since I have a new story coming out tomorrow and one more planned. It keeps things organized for me and you :) I also want to add that the reader here is not underage or anything of the sort, she's an adult over the age of 21 (whatever age you want) and Marcus can be whatever age you want as well. I never really get into that but I wanted to make it clear. Also, my historical references may be inaccurate but I try to do my research to at least have it make some sense. I do add links to some of the things I use so you can read up if you like. Thank you all so much for reading, much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!😘

Warings: soft fluff, sweetness, tension, sneaking around, smut, poetry, books, some historical references

Falling First

Falling Fast

Can't Help Falling

For the First Time and Forever

Falling for the Forbidden

Forbidden

Til Forever Falls Apart

A Warrior's Heart (this is like an epilogue)

These here👇🏻are all stand alone’s for sure, but they can still all fit in the same Universe 🥰

With Every Breath

Burn for You

A Stolen Moment

Worth the Wait

My Lady

One Fine Morning

Heart and Hand

Punishment

Moth to a Flame

Most of these can be read separately but the details will make the most sense when read together ❤️

[anika-ann]

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 1 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 7,3k

Summary:  It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?

A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.

Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.

Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.

Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.

Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.

You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.

He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.

Uh-huh, no.

No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.

It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-

Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.

God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-

“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.

Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.

The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.

The safest place on Earth.

Steve’s arms.

Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.

You responded with an embarrassed smile.

“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.

Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.

“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”

You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.

“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”

“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.

“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.

Case on point, you supposed.

Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.

You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.

And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.

He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.

You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.

However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.

But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.

A caring one too.

As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.

“We should disinfect that.”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.

“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“

“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Steve-“

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.

You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.

“It’s just a-“

“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.

You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.

You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.

“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.

He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.

“I love you too. Let’s go.”

You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.

It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.

Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.

You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.

The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.

You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.

And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.

Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.

Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.

His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.

The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.

And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.

“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”

Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.

Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.

Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.  

“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.

You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.

“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”

“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed.

And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.

Kinda like Hopkinson himself.

Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.

It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.

“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.

An angel by your shoulder.

With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.

“Hey… here, you can have mine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.

Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.

He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.

Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.

“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”

Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.

“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”

You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.

Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.

Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-

“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.

A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.

“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.

Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.

As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.

Lucky. You were luckier than most.

Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.

Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.

Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.

A rather cold river.

The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.

But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.

Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.

Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.

Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.    

Cold water. Cold water.

In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.

Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.

He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.

As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.

And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.

“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”

You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.

“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”

You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--

To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.

Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.

As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.

His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.

“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”

Right. The hoodie. His hoodie.  Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.

Not the point.

You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.

“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”

As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.

Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.

“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.

“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”

With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.

Damn you, Steven Grant.

Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.

“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”

The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.

“What?”

What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?

No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.

Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.

You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.

You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.

But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?

Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.

You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.

You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?

A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.

You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.

A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.

And it didn’t.

A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.

Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.

Your hands on his shoulders.

Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.

Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-

Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.

Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.

Great. Really great.

You were fucked.

How did it even-

“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.

He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.

And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.

There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.

How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.

Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-

A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.

“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“You okay?”

Funny you should ask.

“Are you?”

You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.

“Thank you, Bucky!”

“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.

He had lied.

Of course he had fucking lied.

And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.

“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”

“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.

Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”

The corners of your lips quirked up.

“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.

“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.

Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.

…were you though?

“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”

His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.

Always.

Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.

In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.  

While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.

“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”

You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.

“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.

And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”

Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.

“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“

Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.

But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.

Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.

Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.

And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.

If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.

Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.

Avenging angel indeed.

He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.

“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.

You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.  

“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.

“Good.”

Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-

“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”

Your eyes went wide.

Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.

Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.

You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.

She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.

“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”

You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.

Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.

“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.

There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.

A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”

More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.

“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”

“Any time, Lee.”

You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.

Part 2

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

I hope you enjoyed reading 🤭 if you did, please consider leaving feedback and reblogging💕

I hope July has been kind to you!

[thoughtfultyrantlove]

WOULD YOU LET ME IN YOUR HEART IF I GAVE YOU MINE? ft. gojo satoru

you, a sheltered soul yearning for connection, find yourself captivated by the sentinel who patrols your family's grounds. through silent observation, you become entranced by a samurai whose presence hints at a world beyond your restricted life. a single unexpected encounter promises the potential of transformation, awakening desires long dormant beneath your carefully controlled existence.

contents→ samurai!gojo/reader, gn!reader, bodyguard au, traditional japanese setting (not historically accurate), slowburn, reader is lonely and curious, samurai!gojo is mysterious and teasing, themes of isolation and yearning, lots of stolen glances and quiet tension, reader is sheltered but determined to connect, gojo is protective but playful, brief confrontation with mutual intrigue, very introspective overall!!! emotional longing, and a hint of forbidden romance (my fav flavourrr)

word count→ 6.6k

there is a man that patrols outside your minka. a sort of a sentinel draped in the weight of duty and metal. his armor, a second skin of polished silver and obsidian leather, drinks in the moonlight on starless nights. you imagine him as a living shadow, a whisper of protection that lingers just beyond your reach.

on such nights, the silence is punctuated by the rhythmic clink of his katana, a lullaby of steel that both soothes and unsettles. it dances at his hip, a deadly partner in an endless waltz of vigilance.

you've seen it flash in the daylight, slicing through training dummies with a grace that disguises its lethal purpose. each cut, each thrust, is a reminder of a world beyond your sheltered existence—a world of power, of danger, of possibilities that tease at the edges of your imagination.

his armor whispers to you in secret, mocking your isolation with tales of adventure and strength. it speaks of a realm you can never truly know, a stark reminder of the chasm between protector and protected. you find yourself straining to hear its secrets, even as you shrink from the implications.

the man himself remains an enigma, his face forever hidden behind an impassive mengu. the mask, more than mere protection, is a barrier between worlds—yours and his, known and unknown. you wonder, in moments of quiet contemplation, what lies beneath.

is his face as hard as the metal that shields it?

or does it hold softness, vulnerability that mirrors your own?

yet, for all the armor's impenetrability, his eyes remain exposed—twin pools of aquamarine that pierce the veil of anonymity. they are fireflies in the gloom of your sheltered existence, flickering with a life and vibrancy that both enthralls and terrifies you.

you've watched those eyes, when you think he isn't aware, as they dance across the landscape of your limited world. they absorb every detail, every nuance, with a curiosity that mirrors your own.

in moments of perceived danger, you've seen those eyes harden, becoming as sharp and unforgiving as the blade at his hip. the transformation is instantaneous, a reminder of the violence that lurks behind his poised demeanour.

but it's the gentler moments that truly captivate you—when his gaze softens as he crouches to pet your cat, or when it crinkles with hidden mirth as children dash past him, their laughter a balm to the soul.

he is a constant presence, a fixed point in your ever-shrinking world.

you watch him patrol the grounds, his steps measured and purposeful. sometimes, he ventures through the main gates, his bulk unfit among the delicate foliage of the courtyard.

on occasion, you catch him tending to your bonsai, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they water the miniature trees and pluck dead leaves with meticulous care.

these moments of tenderness, so at odds with his martial bearing, stir something within you—a longing for connection, perhaps, or a glimpse of the man behind the armor.

from dawn's first blush to the rising of the moon, he is there—a silent guardian, an observer of a world you can only imagine. you find yourself wondering about his life beyond these walls.

does he have a home to return to when his vigil ends? is there warmth waiting for him, or is his existence as solitary as your own? the questions pile up, unanswered, like leaves in autumn.

everyday begins with a flurry of activity—maids stripping away the cocoon of your blankets, ushering you into baths scented with sakura petals. the ritual cleansing is a sensory experience, rose water rubbed into your skin until you feel more flower than human.

it's a luxury that should bring comfort, but often leaves you feeling hollow, disconnected from the world beyond your gilded cage.

the absence of your parents, still tethered to their duties in tokyo, is a constant ache. you're surrounded by staff, their presence a poor substitute for familial warmth. the chefs cater to your every culinary whim, the maids offer companionship in shared readings and paintings, and your beloved cat provides a semblance of unconditional love.

yet, the refrain echoes in your mind:

it's not that bad. it's not that bad. it's not that bad.

but is it truly not that bad?

this mantra, repeated since your family abandoned you to this hidden refuge, rings increasingly hollow. the weight of your isolation presses down, a smothering blanket that threatens to suffocate your spirit. your childhood, spent in the sterile embrace of homeschooling, has left you ill-equipped for the world beyond these walls. as adulthood looms, the fear that this sheltered existence will persist becomes a gnawing anxiety.

it's this fear, this desperate longing for connection, that draws your gaze to the armored sentinel. he represents everything you're not—freedom, strength, purpose.

your curiosity, once a mere spark, has blazed into an all-consuming fire.

you find yourself at the window after breakfast, peering through bamboo blinds with the furtiveness of a thief. your eyes seek him out, drinking in every movement, every gesture, as if he were water in a desert.

at first, your behavior shocks you. the intensity of your focus, the way your heart quickens at the mere sight of those azure eyes, feels alien and slightly shameful. you're acutely aware of the impropriety, the risk of discovery that could lead to exile or worse.

yet, you can't stop.

the act of watching him has become a lifeline, a tether to the world beyond your walls.

to you, he is a study in contradictions, and each new observation only deepens the mystery. the gentleness with which he pets your cat seems at odds with the deadly weapon at his hip. his precise, almost tender care of the bonsai trees makes you wonder yet again about the nature of his strength.

is his blade as accurate in battle as his pruning shears are in the garden? does he dispatch foes with the same silk-soft touch he uses to trim errant branches? these thoughts linger, teasing you with possibilities, much like the man himself—wrapped in layers of steel and duty.

as days bleed into weeks, your fixation grows.

you begin to question if he's aware of your scrutiny. do those piercing eyes ever catch a glimpse of your own, peeking through the slats of your self-imposed prison? the thought both thrills and terrifies you. part of you longs to be seen, truly seen, while another part shrinks from the possibility of judgment or rejection.

you wonder about his perception of you.

does he know of the person he's guarding, or is his duty performed in willful ignorance?

the idea that he might find you repulsive makes your stomach churn. you rail against the notion, even as a small voice whispers that perhaps you are nothing more than an interruption in his routine, a distraction from his true purpose.

yet, he hasn't spoken to your father about your voyeuristic tendencies. this silence could be indifference, or perhaps something more. the uncertainty gnaws at you, adding another layer to the mystery that surrounds him like a cloak.

he is a book sealed shut, its pages promising truths and secrets you yearn to uncover.

the disparity between your positions—protector and protected, servant and noble—seems an insurmountable chasm.

yet, in the quiet moments when your eyes meet his across the garden, you feel a connection that defies such worldly concerns.

a spark of life in your cloistered world, a taste of the freedom you've been denied for so long.

they say curiosity killed the cat, but they don't speak of how satisfaction brought it back.

this proverb, painted on a scroll in the hallway you traverse countless times each day, has etched itself into your psyche. it guides your actions, fuels your obsession, even as you recognize the danger inherent in your growing fascination.

your determination to uncover the man behind the armor has become all-consuming. you yearn to peel back the layers, to discover what lies beneath the enigmatic exterior.

it's more than mere curiosity now—it's a need that blooms in your heart, urgent and insistent. you long to know him, to bridge the gap between your worlds, to explore the depths of his being.

a small part of you dares to hope for more. in your most secret thoughts, you imagine a future where you are more than strangers, more than guardian and ward. the intimacy of these fantasies both thrills and shames you, a reminder of the vast gulf between your realities.

it's on a sun-drenched afternoon that your silent prayers are answered. you spot him by the koi pond, and the sight steals your breath. gone is the imposing armor, replaced by a worn haori that speaks of a life beyond duty. the fabric, dyed in somber hues, still manages to catch the light, hinting at hidden depths.

but it's his hair that captivates you—a shock of white that puts freshly fallen snow to shame. it flows in the gentle summer breeze, each strand seeming to dance with a life of its own.

he sits with his feet in the water, playfully disturbing the koi that nibble at his toes. and then, like a gift from the gods, you hear it—his laughter.

the sound is barely audible from your hiding place, but it reaches you with crystal clarity. it's a melody that speaks of spring, of new beginnings, of life unfurling after a long winter.

your heart swells, flowers of infatuation blooming in every corner of your mind, crowding out all other thoughts.

you drink in the sight of him, committing every detail to memory. though you can only see half his face, what's visible is a revelation. a grin splits his features, pearly teeth flashing in the sunlight. your eyes trace the map of scars that decorate his skin, each one a story you long to hear.

he laughs again, kicking his feet; a splash of water arcing through the air. the droplets catch the light, creating a halo of tiny rainbows around him. it's a moment of pure, unguarded joy, and you feel almost guilty for witnessing it—as if you've stumbled upon a sacred ritual not meant for mortal eyes.

the spell is broken when he suddenly stills, the laughter dying on his lips. your breath catches in your throat as he speaks, his voice carrying easily in the hushed afternoon.

"how long are you going to stare at me?"

his tone is gentle, playful even, but it pierces you like an arrow. the sweetness of his voice is at odds with his imposing physique, another layer to the mystery that surrounds him. he turns, fixing you with those mesmerizing blue eyes, and you feel exposed, laid bare beneath his gaze.

you remain frozen, unable to form a response. a frown creases his brow, concern replacing the earlier mirth.

"hmm," he hums, the low sound sending shivers down your spine. the vibration seems to shake you from your stupor, and you let out a startled gasp.

"wait—" his plea follows you as you flee, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

you don't stop until you reach your quarters, collapsing onto the tatami floor with your heart pounding a frantic rhythm in your chest.

his gaze lingers in your mind, a weight you can't—and don't want to—shake off. the brief interaction has left you shaken, yearning for more even as you dread the next encounter. how will you face him now that the veil of anonymity has been lifted?

the curiosity that drove you to this point has been sated, but in its place, a new hunger grows. it's a yearning that only he can fulfill, a desire for connection that threatens to consume you entirely.

shame and excitement war within you, leaving you trembling on the floor of your room, caught between the safety of your isolated world and the thrilling unknown he represents.

as the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across your sanctuary, you remain curled on the floor. your mind replays the encounter in an endless loop, each iteration revealing new details, new questions.

you know, with a certainty that both terrifies and exhilarates you, that your life has irrevocably changed. the man in the garden, with his laugh like summer and eyes like the deepest ocean, has become the center of your world.

and as night falls, wrapping the world in velvet darkness, you make a silent vow. you will unravel the mystery of this man, piece by tantalizing piece, no matter the cost. for in his presence, you've tasted a freedom long denied, and you find you can no longer live without it.

the morning dawns, but you remain cocooned in your bed. the weight of yesterday's encounter pressing you into the futon like a physical force. his gaze still burns on your skin, a phantom touch that both thrills and terrifies.

what if you see him again? or worse he sees you?

embarrassment courses through your veins like molten lava, heating your skin from within.

"come on, my dear," one of the maids enters, the gentle clink of her ornaments a counterpoint to your racing heart.

"how long must you avoid your duties?" you feign sleep, but her presence beside the bed is impossible to ignore. the rustle of her kimono as she settles next to you is like the whisper of falling leaves.

you can picture her face without looking—the frown etched into well-worn lines, the stern set of her mouth softened by the affection in her eyes. it's the look of a mother confronting a wayward child, a familiarity that both comforts and chafes.

the rhythmic sound of a knife against an apple fills the silence. it's a craft you've come to admire, the way she peels the fruit in one continuous spiral. such a simple act, yet it holds an artistry all its own. you wonder, briefly, if he possesses such delicate skills beneath his martial exterior.

the thought of him sends a fresh wave of uncertainty crashing over you. questions and doubts swirl in your mind, a foggy morass impossible to navigate.

part of you longs to curl deeper into yourself, to hide away from the very world you've yearned to be part of. suffocation under the weight of your blankets seems preferable to confronting the chaos of your emotions.

fear, your constant companion, prickles at your heart. it gnaws at the tender flesh of your desires, consuming everything you've wanted to do, wanted to say.

loneliness, too, makes its presence known—the quietest of the trio, yet its silence is deafening. its tendrils have burrowed deep, fusing with your very being until you can no longer distinguish where it ends and you begin.

yet, amidst this turmoil, a tiny flame of hope flickers. this newfound infatuation, as useless and dangerous as it may be, has awakened something within you. it's a taste of the life you've only glimpsed in childhood stories, a call from a world beyond your gilded cage. for the first time in memory, you feel truly alive.

you trust her, your precious nana, more than anyone. she's been your confidante, your shelter in the storms of your isolation. her shoulder has borne the weight of your tears, her ears the torrent of your words when the silence became too much to bear.

if anyone can understand, surely it must be her.

"i—i think," you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper. you swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump of uncertainty in your throat.

she hums encouragingly, the sound vibrating through the air between you. though she doesn't look directly at you, you know she's listening with every fiber of her being. "i think that i am in love."

the confession hangs in the air, heavy as lead. you hold your breath, suddenly regretting every decision that led to this moment. the silence stretches, thick with unspoken words. you find yourself staring at the apple in her hands, its skin a mockingly cheerful red in the morning light.

an eternity passes before she lifts her head. her eyes search yours, probing for something you're not sure you possess. with careful movements, she sets aside the ceramic bowl and knife, the clatter of porcelain against wood startlingly loud in the hushed room.

"is this about the young samurai?" her voice is neutral, giving nothing away.

your breath catches in your throat. "h—how did you—"

her laughter, familiar and warm, cuts through your stammering. she shakes her head, resuming her work with the apple. "almost everyone knows, denka," she says, amusement coloring her tone. "is it that obvious?" you mutter under your breath.

heat blooms in your cheeks, spreading down your neck. "you mean the sneaky glances and the longing gazes at the front yard? trust me—clear as daylight.

mortification washes over you in waves. if it's that apparent, then surely he must have noticed long ago.

"do you think... he knows?" the question slips out before you can stop it, a mixture of dread and hope coloring your words.

she hums thoughtfully, popping a slice of apple into her mouth before offering you some. you accept mechanically, the sweet juice coating your tongue like a memory not yet formed.

"i'll leave that to your imagination," she says, a sly wink accompanying her words. she rises, gathering the apple peels and ceramic, leaving you suspended in a moment of anticipation and uncertainty.

her laughter lingers like incense, trailing behind her as she slides the door shut. you're left alone with your thoughts, the weight of your confession pressing against your chest.

all grown up, indeed.

the day stretches before you, a canvas of potential and anxiety. you watch as nana prepares to leave, her movements fluid and purposeful.

something restless bubbles deep inside you—an unfathomable sensation that defies description. the conversation from moments ago still feels fresh, like wet paint waiting to dry.

mindlessly, you observe her belongings being loaded into the carriage. the hangiri—her beloved rice vessel—clutched protectively in her hands.

("i am leaving the other pots for you," nana had said earlier, pointing to the shelf lined with her cherished utensils. pots, pans, the sharpest of knives, and polished ceramics. but this particular hangiri? it was coming with her.)

"alright, i shall see you soon," she says, pulling you into a final embrace. you inhale her scent—a mixture of rice, sakura, and something indefinably maternal.

"don't worry, he will be here," she whispers, an assurance that feels more like a prophecy.

the maids and nana bow together, a synchronized movement that speaks of years of practiced ritual. you return the gesture, your smile small and slightly tremulous. as the carriage wheels begin to turn, scarring the cobblestone path with dust and promise, you watch her silhouette disappear against the orange and red horizon.

silence descends, heavy and expectant.

a sigh escapes your lips, a sound swallowed by the vastness of the now-quiet courtyard. the beauty of the day is undeniable, yet it feels distant, like a painting viewed through a fogged glass.

the vibrant colors of autumn—the oranges and reds of the leaves, the golden light spilling over everything—contrast sharply with the heaviness in your heart. you stand alone, grappling with the sudden emptiness left in nana’s absence.

the world around you buzzes with life, yet you feel like a ghost haunting the remnants of your own existence. the echoes of laughter that once filled these spaces have faded, leaving only the whisper of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.

you step back inside your minka, the door sliding shut behind you with a finality that feels almost ominous.

inside, the silence clings to the walls like cobwebs, thick and suffocating. you wander through the familiar rooms, each one a reminder of your isolation.

the tea set still sits on the wooden table, its presence a comfort and a torment all at once. you can almost taste the rich aroma of maple tea—one of nana’s specialties—wafting through the air. but it’s not enough to fill the void.

your thoughts drift back to him—the man who patrols your garden, who has unknowingly captured your heart and imagination.

where is he now? what does he do when night falls and shadows stretch across the earth?

the questions gnaw at you, insistent and unyielding.

you find yourself drawn to the veranda once more, compelled by an unseen force. the blinds hang before you like a curtain to another world—a world where he exists beyond duty and armor.

you hesitate for a moment, heart racing at the thought of what you might find—or what he might find if he sees you again.

with a deep breath, you lift the bamboo slits just enough to peer outside. the courtyard unfolds before you like a secret garden under a twilight sky.

there he is, just as you imagined—his haori billowing slightly in the evening breeze, his figure outlined against the backdrop of fading light.

he moves with purpose, each step deliberate as he tends to his tasks. the katana gleams at his hip, an ever-present reminder of his role as protector.

but tonight, there’s something different about him—a relaxed air that seems to soften his sharp edges. he’s not just a guardian; he’s a man enjoying a moment of peace.

as you watch him from your hidden vantage point, your heart swells with an emotion that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. the way he interacts with his surroundings—the gentle care he shows to each plant and stone—paints a picture of someone deeply connected to this place. it’s as if he belongs here as much as you do.

you notice how he pauses occasionally to listen to the sounds around him—the rustle of leaves, the distant chirping of crickets—as if savoring each note in nature’s symphony.

his eyes scan the horizon, searching for something just beyond sight. in those moments, you wonder what thoughts occupy his mind. does he think of home? of freedom? or perhaps even of you?

the thought sends warmth flooding through your veins. you feel bold yet shy under his gaze—even from afar. what would it be like to speak with him? to share your thoughts and dreams? the longing grows stronger within you until it feels almost unbearable.

and then it happens—a moment that seems suspended in time. he turns suddenly, as if sensing your presence despite the distance between you. your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock onto yours through the slats of bamboo. those mesmerizing pools of aqua widen in surprise before narrowing slightly in curiosity.

“caught,” you think, panic rising within you as you instinctively retreat behind the pillar. your heart pounds loudly in your ears; every instinct screams for you to hide from his gaze. but it’s too late—the connection has been made.

"i know you're there," his voice cuts through the evening stillness, calm and precise—a statement, not a question. his back remains turned, but there's no uncertainty in his posture.

a samurai's awareness, sharp as the blade resting at his hip.

you freeze momentarily, caught between the impulse to retreat and the strange magnetism drawing you forward. slowly, you step from behind the bamboo screen, your movements deliberate yet hesitant.

his profile catches the last remnants of daylight—sharp, elegant, almost sculptural. when he turns, those azure eyes are already waiting, holding a mixture of amusement and something deeper. expectant.

a soft chuckle escapes him.

"how long have you been watching?"

the question carries a teasing edge, like a blade playfully tracing the outline of a challenge.

and your heart races.

"i—" the words catch in your throat.

his smile widens just a fraction—dangerous yet inviting. "curiosity can be a dangerous thing," he says, taking a step closer. not threatening. just present.

"especially for someone so... observant."

the courtyard around you feels smaller, compressed by the weight of his gaze. his armor catches the last light—black leather and gleaming metal that drinks in the twilight, transforming him into something between a guardian and a phantom.

"i wasn't—" you start, then stop. lying seems impossible under those piercing eyes.

his laugh is low and rich. "you can admit it," he says.

"watching isn't a crime. especially when the view is... interesting."

the way he says "interesting" makes your breath catch. there's a deliberate softness to his tone, an invitation wrapped in silk and steel.

his katana gleams at his hip, a constant reminder of the power he carries so effortlessly. but it's his eyes that truly disarm you—azure pools that seem to see through every layer of pretense, every carefully constructed wall.

the evening air grows thick with tension as crickets begin their nightly symphony—a soft backdrop to this unexpected encounter. shadows lengthen across the courtyard, creating a world that exists only for the two of you.

"w—what's your name?" the question slips out before you can stop yourself, a desperate attempt to shift the balance of power.

he raises an eyebrow, a gesture that speaks volumes. "gojo satoru," he replies smoothly, taking another step closer. the distance between you shrinks, becomes electric.

"and you've been watching me for quite some time."

it's not a question; it's an observation delivered with a slight lift of one eyebrow—a challenge wrapped in velvet.

"i didn't mean to intrude," you manage to say softly.

"intrusion implies unwelcomeness," satoru replies with an easy smile that hints at mischief, and i'm not finding you unwelcome."

the courtyard seems to breathe around you—ancient stones witnessing this dance of tension and unspoken desire. his armor catches the moonlight, transforming him into something between a warrior and a dream.

"you tend to this garden often?" you ask, desperate to break the intensity of his gaze while also wanting to keep him engaged.

satoru glances at the meticulously maintained plants surrounding you both before returning his focus to you. "duty requires attention to detail," he replies casually but with an underlying warmth that makes your heart flutter again.

"whether it's maintaining a garden or... observing one's surroundings."

the implication hangs between you—a thread of tension as delicate as a spider's web yet strong enough to bind two souls together in this moment.

"do you always sense people watching you?" the question tumbles out, equal parts curiosity and challenge.

his laugh is like silk sliding over steel.

"always," he confirms with an easy confidence that makes your heart race.

"a samurai's survival depends on awareness."

he pauses for effect before adding with playful seriousness, "though not everyone who watches is worth noticing."

the compliment—or perhaps it’s more than that—sends heat rushing to your cheeks as you're suddenly acutely aware of how close he stands, how the evening air seems to pulse with unspoken possibilities.

"and a—am i worth noticing?"

the words escape before you can stop them—bold yet vulnerable in the same breath.

satoru's smile transforms—no longer just teasing but layered with something deeper that makes your heart forget how to beat properly.

"what do you think?" he asks playfully, tilting his head slightly as if inviting you into an uncharted territory where boundaries blur and possibilities expand like the night sky above.

you take a breath, steadying yourself against the rush of emotions swirling within you—the thrill of discovery mingling with uncertainty. this man—this enigmatic guardian—has opened up something within you that has long been dormant: curiosity about who he is and what lies beneath his confident exterior.

but as dusk settles over the garden and stars begin their slow emergence into night’s embrace, reality nudges at your consciousness—a reminder that while this moment feels significant, it may also be fleeting.

“i should go,” you say reluctantly; every part of you wants to linger just a little longer in this space where everything feels alive and electric.

“not yet,” satoru replies smoothly, stepping slightly closer once more as if trying to hold onto this moment just a bit longer too.

“we’ve only just begun.”

yet even as he speaks those words—inviting and warm—you feel an instinctive pull towards retreating back into yourself; perhaps it’s self-preservation or simply recognizing that some moments are meant to be cherished from afar rather than pursued too aggressively.

“t—thank you for sharing your name,” you say softly instead; gratitude spilling forth from every corner of your being as warmth blooms within your chest—a promise whispered on soft winds carrying dreams yet unformed into reality.

as you turn away from him—the shadows stretching long behind—you take one last glance over your shoulder at satoru standing there amidst moonlit gardens—a figure both formidable and inviting against backdrop painted by stars twinkling overhead.

he doesn't call for you this time, a knowing smile defining his handsome features.

and in that moment—you know you've discovered something precious: not just his name but also an inkling of connection that lingers like fragrance on warm summer nights.

with newfound resolve coursing through your veins—you retreat into the depths of night feeling satisfied by this small revelation—a single name holding infinite possibilities waiting just beyond reach.

the gion matsuri arrives like a vibrant dream, unfurling across kyoto with the grace of cherry blossoms in full bloom. the streets pulse with life, each corner alive with laughter, music, and the soft glow of lanterns that flicker like fireflies against the twilight sky.

you stand at the entrance of your minka, dressed in a deep indigo yukata that hugs your figure with gentle elegance. silver embroidery dances along the fabric, catching the light as you move—a constellation of stars woven into your attire.

nana adjusts the obi around your waist, her fingers deft and practiced. “you look beautiful,” she says, her eyes sparkling with pride. you can’t help but smile back, though a flutter of anxiety twists in your stomach.

this festival is more than just a celebration; it is a tapestry of tradition and culture, woven with threads of history and community. but tonight, it holds something more for you—a chance to be near him.

as you step out into the evening air, the sounds of drums and flutes envelop you like a warm embrace. the scent of grilled yakitori wafts through the streets, mingling with the sweet aroma of sakura mochi being sold at nearby stalls.

laughter spills from groups of children chasing after colorful kites, their joy infectious as they dart between adults dressed in their finest yukata.

and there he is—satoru—standing at the edge of the courtyard, his presence both commanding and softly inviting amidst this festive atmosphere.

he wears a simple haori over his usual attire, its dark fabric contrasting sharply with his striking white hair that catches glimmers of lantern light. he looks like a guardian spirit come to life, an ethereal figure amidst the revelry.

your heart races as you approach him, each step echoing in your ears like the beat of a taiko drum. he turns at your approach, those mesmerizing aqua eyes widening slightly before settling into a warm gaze that sends warmth blooming through your chest.

“you came,” he says softly, his voice barely rising above the din of celebration. there’s an unspoken understanding between you—a shared anticipation that hangs in the air like incense.

“i wouldn’t miss it,” you reply, trying to sound casual even as your pulse quickens. the festival is alive around you; yet in this moment, it feels as if time has slowed to a standstill.

as you walk together through the thrumming streets, satoru points out various stalls—the intricate crafts displayed by local artisans, the games where children try their luck at winning trinkets.

you find yourself drawn into his enthusiasm, laughing at his playful commentary on each booth. his presence is intoxicating; every shared glance feels charged with unspoken words.

“do you want to try some?” he asks suddenly, gesturing toward a stall selling sweet dango skewers glistening under lantern light. you nod eagerly as he purchases two skewers, handing one to you with a smile that makes your heart flutter.

the sweetness bursts on your tongue as you take a bite; it’s sticky and deliciously chewy. you watch him as he takes his own bite—his eyes crinkling in delight—and for a moment, everything else fades away. it’s just you and him beneath the canopy of stars and lanterns.

“delicious,” he comments, wiping a bit of syrup from his lips with the back of his hand. the sight sends warmth flooding through you; there’s something so endearing about these small moments shared between you two.

as night deepens, the festival reaches its crescendo—a parade of floats adorned with flowers and lanterns makes its way through the streets. the air vibrates with excitement; drums beat rhythmically while dancers twirl in colorful kimonos that swirl like petals caught in a breeze.

satoru leans closer to speak over the buzzing instrumentals. “this is my favorite part,” he says, eyes sparkling with childlike wonder as he watches the procession pass by.

you turn to see what captures his attention so completely—the floats are magnificent, intricately crafted representations of mythical creatures and historical figures that tell stories as old as time itself.

the energy is palpable; people cheer and clap, their faces illuminated by lantern light. you find yourself swept up in it all—the joy infectious—and for a moment, you forget about everything else: your sheltered upbringing, your fears about stepping beyond these walls.

“let’s get closer!” satoru suggests suddenly, taking your hand in his without hesitation—a gesture so simple yet electrifying that it sends tingles up your arm. you nod breathlessly as he leads you through the crowd.

as you weave between people—laughter ringing around you—his grip on your hand feels possessive yet tender. it’s as if he’s claiming this moment just for you two amidst all the chaos surrounding you.

when you finally reach a vantage point near one of the floats, satoru turns to face you fully. the glow from lanterns casts soft shadows across his features; there’s an intensity in his gaze that makes your heart race anew.

“look,” he urges softly, pointing toward an elaborately decorated float adorned with cherry blossoms and golden cranes soaring high above—a symbol of hope and renewal.

you turn to admire it but find yourself caught in his gaze instead—those azure depths pulling you in like an undertow. the world around fades into insignificance; all that matters is this moment shared between two souls yearning for connection.

“satoru…” your voice trails off as uncertainty grips you—a longing so profound it almost hurts.

he steps closer still until there’s barely any space left between you—his warmth radiating against your skin as he leans down slightly to meet your eyes directly.

“what is it?” his voice is low and inviting; it wraps around you like silk threads drawing tighter.

your heart pounds furiously against your ribcage; every instinct urges you forward yet holds you back all at once. it’s now or never—the thought races through your mind like wildfire igniting every nerve ending within reach.

“i—” you take a deep breath, summoning courage from somewhere deep within yourself—a wellspring long hidden beneath layers of fear and doubt.

“i w—want… i want to kiss you.”

the admission hangs heavy between you two—a fragile truth laid bare under starry skies—and for an eternity neither of you moves nor speaks. then satoru smiles—a slow spreading grin that lights up his entire face and suddenly everything shifts.

“then kiss me,” he whispers softly—an invitation wrapped in warmth and sincerity that sends shivers down your spine.

you don’t hesitate this time; instead, you step forward on instinct—closing whatever distance remained between you—and press your lips against his softly yet fervently as if sealing a promise within this fleeting moment.

his response is immediate—warmth enveloping you as he reciprocates without hesitation—his hands moving to cradle your face gently while deepening the kiss ever so slightly until it feels like time itself has stopped around you both.

it’s electric—the kiss is filled with unspoken words and shared dreams—as if everything else fades into oblivion leaving only this beautiful connection forged between two hearts yearning for something more than mere duty or obligation.

when at last you pull away—breathless and wide-eyed—you find yourself lost in those azure depths once again; no words are needed now—the silence speaks volumes filled with understanding and promise unfulfilled yet tantalizingly close within reach.

the festival continues around you—laughter ringing out amidst music—but for now it feels distant; all that matters is this moment shared beneath twinkling stars where nothing else exists except for what lies ahead: possibilities waiting just beyond grasp.

satoru gently releases his hold on your face but keeps one hand intertwined with yours. he glances back toward the parade flowing past them—a sea of color and movement—but his focus remains anchored on you.

“shall we continue?” he asks softly, an undercurrent of warmth lacing his words.

you nod slowly, your heart still racing wildly within your chest. together, hand-in-hand, you rejoin the festivities unfolding around you, creating memories destined never to fade away.

even when the night gives way to dawn breaking upon the horizon, signaling the end of a day filled with joy, laughter, and love blossoming amidst the vibrant colors painted across the canvas of life itself.

with each step beside him through the bustling crowd, you feel lighter somehow as if that single kiss has lifted some weight off your shoulders allowing laughter to bubble forth more freely now than before.

yet beneath this newfound joy lingers another feeling—a gentle ache nestled deep within—the realization that while tonight has been magical; it may also be fleeting.

as lanterns sway overhead casting soft shadows across cobblestones, you glance sideways at satoru who seems lost in thought himself—a quiet smile playing on his lips—but there’s something deeper behind those captivating eyes.

for now though—you choose to savor every second spent together beneath starlit skies surrounded by laughter echoing through streets alive with celebration.

and perhaps, that's enough.

for now.

a/n→ first writing for gojo and it had to be a freaking period drama... reposting this old work here...also why is tumblr so difficult than ao3?!!! pls bear with me i'm still in the process of learning this hellsite ( T∀T)

ps: forgive me for the lack of emphasis and the monotonous layout. i am too tired to edit everything again (･з･)

[doubtspirit]

And what about Stargate, Babylon 5, Dune, Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon, Lensman, Lost in Space, Transformers, The Expanse, Planet of the Apes, The Fifth Element, Avatar, Captain Future, Ultraman, Gozilla, Space Battleship Yamato, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Perry Rhodan, Metropolis, Space Patrol Orion, Jules Verne, Mœbius, La Saga de los Aznar and many more?

@the-blue-fairie @theancientvaleofsoulmaking @ariel-seagull-wings

@princesssarisa @themousefromfantasyland @countesspetofi

@barbossas-wench @amalthea9 @filmcityworld1