#i had this idea but im lazy so heres a scribble | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acciopietro · 3 years ago

Note

i’m sorry this is kinda lengthy but basically peter is a huge simp for reader but he’s scared to put her in danger bc he’s spider-man but some villains find out he likes reader anyway so they attack her but he’s nearby and rushed to help her only to see that her take them out and finds out that’s she’s an underground hero so he confronts her later and it’s super fluffy and cute

silk - p.p.

pairing: th! peter parker x fem! reader

summary: in which peter’s school crush is not what she seems.

word count: 5,030

tw: mentions of abusive relationships and violence.

a/n: i hope you don’t mind i changed up the plot just a little bit!! same idea basically but just slightly different. im in a bit of a writing slump so i hope you dont mind i used ur request to try and get my creative thinking back up and running LOL. i never know what to do when making reader a superhero so i just made Y/N like silk from the comics. if you don’t know who she is, google her! she’s awesome! thanks for the request <3 BTW this is not edited bc im lazy

PETER LIKED TO THINK HE WAS SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW WHEN TO GIVE UP. He was an Avenger, for gods sake; if he could fight someone like Thanos, then he could accurately gage when it was time to take a step back and admit that not all battles could be won. Even if he was willing to fight until his last breath.

He had liked Y/N for a while. Longer than he’d ever admit to anyone else, even Aunt May or Ned. Since before he became Spider-Man, she had caught his eye, but Peter had always been a bit too nervous to approach her. He had gotten lucky when his schedule lined up with hers for his Junior year, having five out of his seven classes with her. The only issue, however, was her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend was no match for Peter. Peter might be Spider-Man undercover, but in the daylight of his high school career, he was... kind of a loser. Y/N’s boyfriend, James, was six-foot-three and Captain of the wrestling team, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Peter, on the other hand, was a measly five-foot-nine and often compared himself to looking like a toddler. Aunt May said otherwise, but that didn’t change anything.

“Hey, Pete,” she smiled at him, the apples of her cheeks round as she slid into the seat in front of him. She was the only one who called her ‘Pete,’ with the exception of Aunt May. Having so many shared classes had brought forth the closest thing he could get to being hers: an in-school friendship.

“Hi,” he pursed his lips into a smile, lifting a hand up in a meek wave. Fiddling with his pencil where it hovered above his graph paper, he eyed her and said, “I, uh— I like your shoes.”

“Oh, really?” she glanced down at the black-and-white skate shoes. “I was iffy about wearing them, ‘cause they kind of make me feet look like squares, don’tcha think?”

Peter peered back down at the shoes and cracked a small grin. “Maybe a little bit. But it’s not bad, I think they’re cool.”

“Thanks!” Y/N leaned down to unzip her backpack, taking out the notebook of graph paper with a series of messy scribbles along the margins. She flipped it open, turned in her chair to face him. “Okay, so I’m assuming you did the homework? I seriously have no idea how to do this, and I figured you did.”

“Oh, yeah — yeah, I — I did the homework,” Peter nodded fervently, leaning forward over his desk so he could see her notebook. She placed it on the top of his desk, fully facing him, and pointed to the second problem on the sheet.

“So I used SOH-CAH-TOA to find this angle, but then I guess I messed it up somewhere along here....” she continued talking, explaining the process of her attempt at solving the calculus problem. Peter listened intently to her words, all while staring at the different flecks of color in her e/c eyes and losing himself the way she bit the inside of her cheek in between sentences. “Peter?”

“Yeah?” he snapped out of it. She was smiling at him and oh, shit, he hadn’t heard the second half of what she was saying.

“So do you think you could help?” she asked. Her eyes shifted over towards the clock on the front wall. “‘Cause we got like three minutes until the period officially starts and I seriously need a good grade.”

“Yeah, of course,” Peter gulped and grabbed his calculator, focusing his eyes on the graph paper and began copying down the equation from his own notebook. It was dreadfully difficult to keep his focus with her leaning so close to him, her perfume flooding into his brain and fogging up his mind. He scribbled down the solution as fast as you can.

“Oh, duh!” she slumped her shoulders. “I guess I multiplied wrong. I always screw up simple math.”

“No, you did it right the first time,” Peter gently smiled at her, careful not to keep eye contact for too long. “Just a little mess up in the middle. But all the other math was, uhm... spot on.”

“Thanks, Pete,” she nodded, tapping her fingers on the spiral spine of her notebook. “I’m really glad that — oh shit!”

She jolted in her spot, a pair of hands coming down to squeeze her shoulders. She turned around and sighed; Peter followed the hands and was disappointed to see James, her boyfriend, standing beside her desk.

“You scared the shit out of me!” she said breathily, one hand flying to rest over her heart. “Jesus!”

“Sorry, babe,” James chuckled, slipping into his spot— which just so happened to be right beside her, diagonal from Peter. “What’s good, Penis Parker?”

Peter felt his ears turn red, and he clenched his jaw, avoiding the other boys eyes and shifting awkwardly in his seat. Y/N abruptly whacked her boyfriend on the arm, suddenly frowning.

“Don’t be a dick,” she said pointedly. James laughed.

“It’s just a joke,” he lifted his hands in defense. “Parker doesn’t care, does he? Do you?”

Peter glanced up, eyes darting between James and Y/N. He only shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter,” Y/N said, scooting her chair under her desk as soon as she saw the teacher enter the classroom. “It’s still rude and immature and his name is Peter.”

“Okay, chill out,” James muttered. “Hey, you did the homework, right?”

Peter watched Y/N send her boyfriend a very tired expression, her shoulders slouching. “Seriously?"

“What? C’mon, I had practice ‘till late last night,” James frowned. “And you know how much I struggle with Calc.”

Y/N gave another sigh before reluctantly handing him her notebook. Peter watched the exchange with a slight frown, biting his tongue to refrain from saying something about cheating and morality or something equally as stupid. He wasn’t going to tattle. He didn’t want to do that to her, not that he gave a flying fuck about what happened to James.

James wordlessly threw the notebook back to her after a few minutes; she caught it swiftly and spared him another longing sort of glance before bowing her head and facing the front of the room. Peter clenched his jaw and sent a glare towards the back of James’ head; he knew he was a dick, and she knew he was a dick. So why the hell was she dating him?

There was no way in hell that James had some kind of brilliant quality about him that made this kind of treatment worth it. It’s not like he was remarkably thoughtful, or funny, or attractive. He was pleasant looking, sure, but Peter was sure there wasn’t a single redeeming quality about him.

As though he had heard his thoughts, James suddenly turned his head around and was met with Peter’s lingering glare. He narrowed his eyes at him, glanced at Y/N, and then looked back at Peter. Peter fought the urge to bow his head and shy away; he was Spider-Man for fuck’s sake! He could handle some stupid high school asshole, couldn’t he?

Peter frowned the entire walk from class to his locker, where he tiredly turned his lock and swung open the metal door as though the interaction in Calculus had taken a serious toll on him.

“Peter!” came a cheery voice from his right. Leaning back to look over his locker, he saw Ned, grinning. “You look so unhappy to see me. Is there a reason for this, or are you just, like, being moody today?”

“Being moody today,” Peter mumbled. “’Cause of stupid James Lewis.”

“Ah,” Ned said wisely, leaning against the other lockers as Peter slipped out his textbook and closed the metal door. “Yeah, that can really wreck a guys mood.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, watching as Y/N approached her locker on the other end of the hall. James followed at her heels, laughing obnoxiously with another boy on the wrestling team and ignoring his girlfriend entirely. Y/N took out her books, clutching them to her chest, and turned to speak to James; Peter watched as she fiddled nervously with her necklace as she waited for her boyfriend to look at her. “Why’s she dating him, man? He’s so awful.”

“I dunno, dude,” Ned shrugged. “Women are the world’s greatest mystery.”

“So are men,” Peter muttered, sending James a final glare before he and Ned turned the other way.

---

EARLY THAT EVENING, just before he left for patrol, Peter’s phone rang. Which was fairly normal, considering Ned called him a million times a day and Aunt May often send him the occasional call on her way home from work. This time, however, startled him, because the name on the call was not Ned, nor was is May. It said Y/N.

“H-Hey, Y/N, hi!” Peter stammered out after pressing the green answer button, steadying his grip on his phone after it had almost slipped from his grasp. “Hello!”

“Hi, Pete,” her voice said, sounding sweet. “Sorry to call you at such a weird time. I—er— had a question about the homework?”

“Oh, yeah!” Peter held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and shot his hand out across his room; a web flung from his wrist and stuck itself onto his Calculus notebook. It soared towards him, and he frantically flipped to the most recent page. “Which one?”

“Uhm, number three.”

Peter scanned the page through the latex of his mask.

“I don’t think we had to do number three tonight,” he answered with an awkwardly laugh. Through the phone, she gave a noise of disapproval.

“Ugh, of course!” she said exasperatedly. “I always copy down the wrong numbers from the board. Thanks for telling me. Sorry to bother you!”

“No, no, you’re not — you’re not a bother!” Peter insisted in a shrill voice, grabbing his mask from the top of his head and tugging it off of his face. “Never a bother!”

With a laugh, she said, “I totally procrastinated my homework... I was totally binge watching all the Spider-Man videos on YouTube. Have you see them?”

Peter coughed rather loudly. “Erm, yeah, a few. Don’t really pay attention to, uh... to Spider-Man...”

“They’re totally awesome,” she gushed, and Peter felt heat flood up into his cheeks. “How do you not pay attention to Spider-Man? I feel like that’s right up your alley.”

“I dunno,” Peter shrugged absentmindedly. “We’ve got tons of Avengers, y’know? Guess I’m just... erm... kinda desensitized to it.”

"I’m kind of a dork about the Avengers, actually,” she said timidly. “I don’t care how many times I see Captain America on the news— I am totally mesmerized each and every time. Same with Spider-Man. I think they’re so cool.”

“...mesmerized?” Peter perked his head up. “Uhm... how so?”

“Thought you didn’t care about Spider-Man?”

Peter pressed his lips together. “I don’t.”

You dismissively waved your hand and said, “Then, I’ll stop. I don’t mean to be geeking out.”

“No, it’s okay!” Peter said hastily. “Really, I don’t mind. I think it’s cool that you think the Avengers are cool. They are cool.”

“But not Spider-Man?”

“I — well — no, Spider-Man is cool, I never said he wasn’t cool,” Peter went on. “But, I’m just saying, like... I dunno. The other Avengers are better. Like... like Iron Man, he’s awesome. Black Widow, she’s... the best.”

“Hm,” she paused. “I think I’ll be her for Halloween. You totally just sparked my imagination, thanks!”

“No problem,” he replied, willing himself not to think about what she might look like in the tight, leather suit that Black Widow wore. There was a beat of silence, and Peter was sure he had started sweating.

“Okay, well... I ought to finish the homework that we actually have to do,” she joked, a smile heard within her words. Peter felt himself grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah— see you!” he said, and with a Click! she was gone. Turning off his phone, he tossed it onto his bed and groaned, putting his head in his hands and frowning. He was way too enthusiastic to say See you!. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his phone again and slipped it into his pocket before grabbing his mask and slipping it over his face; it was time to patrol, not to daydream. Cracking open his window, he was gone.

---

SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Peter felt it as soon as he went on patrol for the night. The streets of the city were empty, the night breeze whisking up the dust of the pavement and paving a path for no one. It was unlike Queens to be so quiet at this time of night; even at a quarter past midnight, the city was usually lively, however this night was different.

Mindlessly winging along the sides of the cities skyscrapers, Peter wondered what could be the cause of this weird occurrence. It wasn’t like someone kidnapped and hid away the entire population of Queens... nor was their some kind of alien abduction (he would’ve seen it). Maybe it was a holiday he wasn’t aware of and every happened to go on vacation at the same time. Or maybe—

“Woah!” said a voice, and before his eyes focused back into the world around him, he slammed face first into another figure. He shot a hand up as he flipped upside down, a web sticking onto one of the nearby billboards above, and watched as the mysterious figure slid down the wall before coming to a pause. He blinked. How were they sticking to the wall?

Lowering himself down, he stared at the figure. He might have been watching them from an upside-down point of view, but he could see clearly the web design on their suit.

“Hi,” he said, tilting his head to the side as though to watch them more clearly. They lifted their head, pushing h/c out of their eyes; they had a red mask over their nose and mouth, e/c eyes blinking up at him.

The torso of their suit was silver, with a red-and-black web pattern across their chest, however the arms and legs were black with the exception of her fingers, which were painted a bright red. Woah.

“Uhm,” Peter said again. “How’s it hangin’?”

“It’s all right,” the figure said; the voice was feminine, familiar. He felt his stomach jump for a second, as though he knew who it was, but it went away after a moment. “With the exception of you slamming into me.”

“Sorry about that,” Peter lowered himself more and crawled up the single web so he could be right-side up, at her eye-level. “Wasn’t paying attention. Hey, who are you?”

“None of your bees-wax,” she sassed, lifting a hand up. “I gotta go.”

“Woah, woah!” Peter shot out a web to intercept hers, swinging up to follow her. “Hey, c’mon! You know who I am, right?”

“Obviously,” she said, her back to him as she swung away. “Doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”

Peter frowned under his mask. “Well, how’re you also SpiderMan? Or... Spider-Woman? Sorry.”

“It’s Silk, actually,” she said exasperatedly. “And I’m what you call also SpiderMan because some nasty insect decided to bite me two days ago.”

“Yesterday?” Peter mused, still following her. “How’re you swinging so well, then?”

“Practice,” she shrugged and came to a stop on a nearby rooftop. “Are you gonna follow me all the way home, or what?”

“Oh, sorry,” Peter launched himself towards her, landing on the same roof. “I’m just... curious. Hey, were you the reason why everyone was gone?”

“Yup. Huge robbery at the edge of the city. Everyone sort of flocked outside when I got ‘em out of the place,” she said, crossing her arms over his chest. Peter stared, eyes trailing over the fine details of her suit. She furrowed her brows. “Hey! Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you, you creep!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Peter flinched. “I wasn’t— I wasn’t staring at your— I was looking at your suit! It’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” she avoided his eyes and rubbed the side of her head. Peter then noticed she had a bruise forming on her upper cheekbone. “I need to go home, okay?”

“Okay, yeah,” Peter nodded feverishly. “Didn’t mean to keep you.”

“All good, SpiderMan,” she gave him a salute and said, “See you ‘round.”

---

WORD OF SILK had spread faster than Peter anticipated. The next day at school, her name permeated about the hallways, whispers of her trickling around Peter wherever he went. She was the first thing Ned spoke of when Peter saw him that morning, and he was floored to find out Peter had actually met her.

Y/N was not in the calculus classroom when Peter walked in. She usually was there before him, however the seat in front of him remained empty. James, her boyfriend, came in earlier than usual, looking especially cranky. Peter gave him his own glare (which wasn’t very menacing, but he liked to pretend it was) before averting his eyes to his graph paper.

“The hell are you looking at, Parker?” James barked. Peter shifted his eyes up.

“Nothing,” Peter said.

James scoffed and slumped into his seat, running a hand through his hair before sending a nod of a greeting to the girl who sat on the other side of him. Peter frowned at this, watching as the random girl blushed and sent a wave back.

Right before the bell rang, as the last kids settled into their seats, Y/N speed-walked in, frantically apologizing to the teacher as she hustled into her seat. Peter sat up straighter, staring to try and meet her eyes, but she slid into her seat without looking up at anyone.

The teacher, Mr. Bruno, began to teach, and Peter watched as James leaned over to nudge Y/N with the eraser of his pencil. She snapped her head over; her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks flushed red, and her fist was clenched around her pencil.

“Woah,” James whispered. “What happened to you?”

She deeply inhaled through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment. “What do you want?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” James furrowed his brow. “You did the homework, right?”

“Yes, but I can’t give it to you now,” she whispered. “Mr. Bruno’s teaching, and I’d get in trouble—”

“Oh, come on, Y/N, just slide it over,” James said dismissively. “Won’t hurt you. It’s really not that big of a deal—”

“She said no,” Peter blurted. James whipped his head around, as did Y/N. She blinked at him, e/c eyes shining, and she gave him a pursed-lip smile that said thanks, but you shouldn’t have done that.

“The hell did you just say?” James hissed. “Huh, Penis Parker? You got somethin’ to say?”

“Yeah,” Peter gulped. “She said no. Leave her alone.”

“She’s my girlfriend,” James barked. “This is our business, all right?”

Y/N said nothing, avoiding both of their eyes; she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and Peter saw her chest begin to ride and fall rather quickly. It was then he noticed, as he stared at her, that there was a large bruise on the side of her cheek. Oh god, Peter thought. He’s hitting her.

“You shouldn’t speak to your girlfriend that way,” Peter muttered, turning back to face the whiteboard, copying down the notes that Mr. Bruno had written. “It’s disrespectful.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m going to take your relationship advice, Parker,” James scoffed, shaking his head. “No girl could ever date you, man.”

“Quit being a dick, James!” Y/N said rather loudly, to which Mr. Bruno finally turned around and set his eyes on her. The classroom fell silent.

“Ms. L/N, please don’t use that kind of language in my classroom,” he said gently, to which Y/N melted into her chair and nodded her head.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, casting her eyes down. She didn’t speak for the rest of the class, ignoring glares she received from James. She didn’t even turn around when they were told to work independently. Peter prayed she wouldn’t pay for his actions.

“Hey,” he said to her as soon as the bell rang, reaching over to touch her shoulder. She jumped back, eyes wide, before her shoulders deflating at the sight of him.

“Oh, sorry, Pete,” she said, her voice tired. Her eyes were still bloodshot and glistening, and he stared at her gently with concern. “Scared me.”

“Wait here for a sec,” he told her, watching as James threw his bag over his shoulder. She gave him a look. “Please?”

“Y/N, c’mon,” James beckoned her. Y/N spared Peter a look before she turned and said.

“I’ll catch up,” she said carefully. “I gotta talk to Pete.”

James glanced in between them cynically, before his malicious glare settled on Peter. He clenched his jaw and said, “Fine,” before stomping out of the classroom.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked Y/N once James was out of earshot.

“I’m just tired, I promise,” she assured him. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“You’re all flushed. And your face is bruised...” Peter lifted a hand up absentmindedly as though to graze the bruise with his knuckle, but he snapped his hand back down to his side when he realized what he was doing. Glancing back at the door, where James had disappeared, Peter said, “Look, if somethings wrong... if you’re not safe...”

Y/N furrowed her brows. “Safe? I’m plenty safe, I promise. What is this about?”

“James,” Peter said. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, but... he kind of treats you like shit, Y/N.”

“I — he’s just...” she gulped. “He gets angry. I know it’s not good, but...”

She clenched her jaw and glanced feverishly behind Peter.

“It’s not like I can just dump him and have everything be all rainbows and sunshine, okay?” her shoulders tensed. “He’s my first boyfriend, I... I can’t just dump him.”

Peter frowned and glanced down at her bruised cheek. “But he’s...”

Y/N lifted a hand to touch her bruise, and with a faint smile she said, “I know what you’re thinking. He didn’t hit me, Pete.”

“You don’t have to lie,” Peter pressed further. Y/N furrowed her brows. “You can tell me. I can help you—”

“It’s not from him, Peter!” she insisted and threw her backpack over her shoulder, however it accidentally whacked her water bottle than had been sitting on the corner of the desk.

Peter, the hairs on his arms raising, lunged forward to grab it, however his fingers bumped right into hers. Lifting his eyes up, he saw that she had caught the bottle before he had. How...? he couldn’t finish the thought. She pursed her lips and turned to tuck the water bottle into the side pocket of her bag.

“Don’t worry about me, Peter,” she said hastily without looking at him, her hand not leaving the water bottle on the side of her backpack.

She shook her wrist around as though to try and take her fingers off the bottle, however her hand stayed put. Peter watched intently. Y/N finally settled on taking the bottle out and holding it in front of her.

“I’m fine,” she told him firmly. “Erm — see you.”

And she circling around him without another word, starting towards the door. Peter hastily turned to grab his own bag in an attempt to rush after her.

“Wait, you left your—!” Peter picked up her pencil and turned around, but she was already gone. Sighing, he moved to put the pencil down, but something caught him off guard; a strand of a spider web wrapped around the eraser like a cocoon. His head snapped up.

No fucking way.

---

DESPITE HAVING A good amount of classes with her, Y/N seemed to keep slipping out of his grasp again and again throughout the day. She ignored the notes he kept asking Ned to give her in History, pretending like she didn’t see him staring at her in English, speed-walking away from him in the cafeteria. Peter was sure he’d have to web her to keep her in one place just so he could talk to her.

By the sound of the final bell, Peter raced out of his last class (Physics) and practically sprinted to his locker before pushing his way down the stairwell in an attempt to reach the main entrance to the school to find Y/N. She parked her car on the side of the building, and although Peter walked the other way to catch his bus home, he decided to walk to her car. But when he reached her car, and she wasn’t there, he realized how creepy he probably seemed.

“Pete?” he heard his name, and he grimaced before turning around. Y/N was standing on the sidewalk, books hugged to her chest.

“Hey,” he dragged out, tensing his shoulders. “Uhm. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed, walking around the other side of the car to drop her backpack and books onto the passenger seat. “What... erm... what’re you doing at my car?”

“Well, that’s... it’s...” Peter pursed his lips. Digging into his pocket, he took out her web-wrapped pencil. Her brows twitched. “I found this.”

“Thanks,” she reached out and grabbed it from him. “I was looking for it.”

“No, that’s... look at the end of it,” Peter said. At this, she furrowed her brows in confusion and glanced down at the eraser, covered in silk. She clenched her jaw and said nothing. “I... you can tell me, y’know.”

“Tell you what?” she said, putting her pencil back in her pocket. Peter opened his mouth wordlessly. “What’s up with you and your accusations today?”

“Okay, in my defense, it’s kind of hard to not thing you’ve got an abusive boyfriend when he treats you — and everyone else, might I add! — like shit all the time, every day.”

“I — he doesn’t —”

“So when you come into class looking like you’re about to cry, and with a bad bruise on the side of your cheek, excuse me for being just a little bit concerned!” Peter blurted. Y/N stared at him wordlessly. “And now there’s spider-web wrapped around your pencil. And the whole school is talking about this mysterious spider-woman—”

“She’s not a Spider-Woman,” Y/N muttered, brushing past Peter and opening the door to the driver’s seat. “Her names’ Silk.”

“Proving my point!” Peter threw his arms up. “I know it’s you! Silk said the same thing!”

At this, Y/N squinted and peered at him oddly. “What do you mean Silk said the same thing? Have you met her?”

Peter opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a moment. “I — that’s — no! Of course I haven’t! When — when would I have —?”

“Ah, okay,” Y/N suddenly smirked. “Why don’t you tell me what your deal is, then? I know it’s you!”

Peter clenched his jaw. “What... don’t turn this on me! This is about you!”

“You just made it about you,” Y/N stepped forward to him, and lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, “Spider-Man.”

Peter flushed and jumped back. “No! No, that’s — I don’t know where you’re getting that from! Look at me, I can’t be — I could never be — look at me! I don’t even—”

Y/N suddenly threw her phone out towards the ground at Peter’s feet. Cutting off his ramble, he struck his hand out nonchalantly and catch the phone. Handing it back to her, he continued, “Careful with that. But, anyways, it’s not me!”

“You just caught that in less than a second,” Y/N deadpanned. “If you’re honest with me, I’ll be honest with you.”

Peter stared at her for a moment, unsure. Rocking back and forth on his feet, he squinted and said, “You first.”

Sighing, she rolled her eyes and said, “Okay. You’re right.”

“Ha!” Peter pumped a fist in the air. “Knew it!”

“Now you.”

He frowned and took a deep breath. “You... I... you can’t tell anyone.”

She suddenly beamed. “Y’know, I thought there was something suspiciously charming about Spider-Man.”

Red-faced, Peter said, “Charming?”

“Yeah,” Y/N shrugged sheepishly, her face tinged pink. “Look, I... James is...” she sighed. “I broke up with him. Right after last period.”

Peter’s face lit up.

“But... it’s not all sunshine and roses now,” she muttered. “He made a big stink about it and now he won’t stop calling me, and... he just... he scares me a bit.”

He frowned and took a step closer to her, leaning against the side of the car to face her. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

“Thanks," she said half-heartedly.

“I’m serious,” Peter said, bowing his head slightly and staring down at her. “He might be a wrestler or whatever he is, but I’m literally a superhero.”

She snickered.

“What?”

“Nothing, it just sounds funny,” she giggled and glanced away, her cheeks still pink. “I appreciate it, Pete. Really.”

She was closer to him than he had anticipated, her sweet-smelling perfume flooding his sensing and ensnaring him in his place. He swallowed, his hands twitching at his sides as he felt an invisible force push him closer, faces leaning in.

“Hey!” came a voice from their side. An old woman, standing by the door of her house nearby Y/N’s car was parked. “You can’t stay parked there all afternoon, y’hear!”

“Sorry, ma’am!” Y/N called back, giggling. Peter laughed as well, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair bashfully. “Looks like we should move.”

“Yeah,” was all Peter could find it in him to say. She grinned and glanced to her side again. Peter followed her eyes, noticing that she was watching the old woman walk back into her house. “What should —!”

Y/N had shot her hand out, a web flying from her wrist and sticking to his side to pull him in and press her lips to his. It was hasty, the kiss, and just as she pulled away, she beamed and slid into the driver’s seat.

“You want a ride, or what?”

---

a/n: okay i kind of love this a lot. its cute.

taglist: @childishnewt @niallhoransupremacy @criesinlies @fairydxll @mcximffs @minbeatriz16 @slvtforfictionalcharacters @kaqua @thorrealgf @pagesbetweensheets @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty @julster

#peter parker #peterparker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman no way home #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #ned leeds #michelle jones #marvel #MCU #MCU fanfiction #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland spiderman

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atlabeth · 3 years ago

Text

fever - sokka x reader

this has been sitting in my drafts half finished for 3 weeks so i thot it was prime time i actually finished it

this is kinda based off the song w dua lipa and angele so you can listen to that if you want

summary: sokka's convinced there's a mystery illness keeping you from focusing, but somehow he's completely oblivious that the only 'sick' you are is lovesick, and he's the reason you can't focus.

a/n: i have never written a sickfic. but this is like. a fake sick fic. its an idiots in love fic. i mean this is coming from mr "is he taller than me? is he better looking?" himself so. it makes sense. as usual, this is not proofread bc im a lazy mf

also im sorry for being vague with the calc but i was NOT about to do math during summer who do you think i am? ??

wc: 1.7k

warning(s): mentions of being sick and 🤢calculus 🤮 but otherwise tooth rotting fluff

How could the smartest man you knew be so, so incredibly stupid?

You thought that you were being obvious, so obviously that you were sure he knew. It was embarrassing how obvious you were.

You had met Sokka in your calculus class at the start of the new semester after you ended up sitting next to each other, and it wasn’t a stretch to say that you were immediately smitten. With eyes like the ocean and a face that had to have been crafted by the gods, you were almost too distracted to respond when he asked you for a pencil. But when he winked at you after giving his thanks, it only solidified what you had already suspected: you had known this man for all of five minutes, and you already had a crush on him.

Little did you know, it was going to turn into the most infuriating crush you had ever experienced.

You and Sokka became fast friends even though calculus was the only class you had together. Unfortunately, it was also something that you completely sucked at. Bad news, it was required for your major. Good news, Sokka was some sort of genius and offered to tutor you — Wednesdays in the library turned into a weekly occasion, and served as an opening for your calculus skills, your feelings for Sokka, and your exasperation to all grow stronger.

You normally weren’t someone to beat around the bush. If you started to like someone, you told them and dealt with whatever happened after, but something about Sokka just kept you from spilling your feelings outright. You knew that if he didn’t feel the same way, your relationship likely wouldn’t change, but there was still that tiny voice that said it’s better to stay like this in case things do go wrong — and this was the first time you listened to that voice. You simply valued your friendship too much.

But that didn’t mean you were going to be completely quiet about it — you hoped that if you did enough, he would be able to realize you liked him and do the whole process for you. A bit of a dim hope, but crushes make people do stupid things.

Things like bringing an extra coffee to every session, laughing at all his jokes (even the bad ones), sitting a little closer to him than usual, not dropping out of this wretched class so you could spend time together (it might’ve been required, but you still counted it). He didn’t make a point to object to anything, so you knew you weren’t making him uncomfortable — but you had concluded after nearly a whole semester of working and studying together that he was the most oblivious person in all of Ba Sing Se. He could teach you all kinds of formulas, but had no idea that you liked him. Grand.

Today was arguably the most important session out of any of them, seeing as your next class was the final, so it was only fitting that Sokka unknowingly made himself more interesting than any material you could’ve been working with. His arms were going to be the death of both you and your calc grade. You swore that the heat rushing to your cheeks was actually emanating off of you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sokka grinned as he saw you and raised a hand in greeting, a sentiment you would’ve returned had it not been for the coffee cups in your hands. You settled for mirroring his grin and settled down in the seat across from him. You slid his coffee cup over, set your own down, then shrugged your bag off all before taking a seat.

“You ready to study ‘till your eyes bleed?” he asked, prompting a nervous laugh from you.

“You jest, but my eyes might actually start bleeding depending on how long we go,” you sighed. “There’s a reason I got an extra shot of espresso today.”

“Come on — by now you should know that you have nothing to worry about! I am the best teacher there is, and you got me all to yourself.”

Your eyes widened momentarily and you coughed, purposefully averting your gaze to give yourself some time to recover. Okay, he was going to make it really hard to focus today. “Let’s just get into it.”

He nodded and flipped open his notebook, beginning to talk as he rifled through his bag for a few extra things. “Okay, we’re just gonna start with going over the basics, then we’ll work our way up. There’s a couple practice problems on that page, so you can go ahead and answer those as a warmup.

You slid the notebook over in front of you and after approximately five seconds of looking at the first problem, found yourself studying Sokka rather than the material. Who could blame you? In the battle of cute tutor boy versus calculus, he was going to win every time.

He turned around and you immediately averted your eyes once again, trying to appear extremely involved, but you found that your mind was empty on anything to do with math. “Hey, uh— how do you do this first one? I’m totally blanking here.”

“We use limits in everything — this is actually something you’re really good at!” He studied you intensely and frowned. “Are you okay? Like, you’re not sick or anything, are you? You seem kinda out of it.”

You choked out a laugh and shook your head. “No, no — I’m fine. I guess I’m just a little tired.” As if to demonstrate your lie, you took a sip from your coffee and cringed internally. Love had turned you into an idiot.

He seemed to buy it as he nodded and picked up the pencil, scribbling a couple of notes as he explained the first problem to you. “Does that make sense?” You nodded and he handed the pencil back to you. “Okay — the other ones follow the same kind of process. It should be easy enough.”

You managed to get a little further in the second problem, but your lovestruck mind would not stop focusing back on Sokka every time you tried to do, well, anything. Curse him and his perfect arms, and eyes, and hairstyle, and everything.

You shook your head and set the pencil down once more, letting loose a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Yes, you did. “I just can’t focus at all.” Because of you. You picked up your cup once more and took a sip, hoping it would do something to get you back into the math state of mind.

Sokka frowned once more as he put the back of his hand against your forehead. “God, you’re hot.” You nearly choked on your coffee as your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets — he had to know what he was doing by now — how could he not? “Like, you’re completely burning up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I swear— I just…” you set your cup down on the table and heaved a sigh that was a touch more exasperated than necessary. “Are you telling me you seriously haven’t noticed? Like, not a single thing this whole year?”

“I’ve noticed a lot of things this year,” he chuckled. “It’s kind of our whole job, so you’re gonna have to be a lot more specific.”

You finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Sokka, I’m not— I’m not sick! Haven’t you noticed that I’m only ever flustered, or running into things, or forgetting info, or— or just a complete idiot when I’m around you? I like you, like, a lot, and I have for an embarrassingly long time! The reason I can’t focus is because I am hopelessly attracted to you in every single way.”

His brows creased for a moment and you clamped your mouth shut, worried that you had just ruined everything. It was only after a pause that felt like a century that he finally responded, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Well, why didn’t you just say something?”

You stared at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in pure surprise before the annoyance set in. You set your jaw as your brows furrowed and you hit him lightly on the side of his arm with the back of your palm. “You can’t be serious! You— you’ve gotta be messing with me by now. I really can’t believe that you can be that smart but this oblivious!”

He finally let the grin play across his lips in full force and he shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, I don’t know how you don’t expect me to mess with you when you scrunch up your face all cute like that every time you get mad. Besides, I started liking you after that fifth class; I offered to help you out so I could spend more time with you! I didn’t realize you felt the same way. I kinda just enjoyed the free coffee and getting to look at you all the time.”

“I can’t believe you!” you cried as you hit his other arm. “You’re telling me that I had to deal with this- this mental turmoil about whether you liked me back, while you were just enjoying the free eye candy and coffee the whole time?”

“You have nothing to worry about! I enjoyed the company far more than the coffee,” he joked, a certain twinkle in his eye. “But, you are probably out a couple twenties after all of that. So, what do you say about this Saturday, the cafe by the shoe store? My treat.”

“Damn right it’s your treat,” you shot back, though you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your face. “You owe me a lot — you have to make up for those coffees and all the emotional distress you caused.”

“Oh, I think I’ll have plenty of time to make up for lost time. After all, we do have a lot of coffee dates to get through.” And when he winked at you just like that first day, you remembered just how impossible it was to be angry at Sokka. “But first, we kinda have to get through this study date. The final’s still happening tomorrow.”

You responded with a raised brow. “This is a study date?”

Sokka shrugged and grinned. “They’ve all been study dates. You just didn’t know it.”

idiots in love idiots in love idiots In LOVe

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

atla: @marianne1806

#sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #sokka fic #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender fic #avatar x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

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interldes · 3 years ago

Text

♡ hi & hello! super excited to be here aahh i’m peach ( s/h, 21+ ) & i’ll be writing for my funky girl go jisun, who was an idol trainee for almost a decade before she threw in the towel... & college entrance exams threw the towel back at her twice, so she’s meandering & trying to find that nebulous sense of self now that she’s without a dream to work towards :( my pages are barebones but here ( about, wanted, bio ) but here’s some info on jisun under the cut! please drop a like or an im if you wanna plot, or lmk if you’d like my discord!

have you seen GO JISUN around? i heard they moved here because SHE’S FINDING HERSELF AFTER FAILING THE COLLEGE ENTRANCE EXAMS TWICE. their tenant agreement says they are 22 YEARS OLD and a MAIL CLERK. i always see them FIDDLING WITH THE MANSION’S VINYL PLAYER and they kind of remind me of DISCARDED FIVE YEAR PLANNERS FILLED WITH SCRIBBLES…

TIMELINE

had a fairly unremarkable childhood—she grew up shuttling between the city & isa-ri, only child to divorced but equally rich & stubborn parents

at 13, jisun was street casted & decided to become a trainee

she’s got a couple of almost-debuts under her belt. at age 15 she was still too young & untrained, then she wasn’t polished enough when she was 18, and finally she was too old at the ripe old age of 21 to make the cut for even just the shortlist to form a team to prepare for debut

21, with no other skills or talents & nowhere to go. her childhood dream has fizzled out, but at least there’s something else to grasp on to—the good ol reliable college path! she’ll be starting a little later, but she can still get a degree, a good job, & maybe it’ll still work out

then she fails the first entrance exam she takes. to be fair, she focused totally on debuting, so she’ll take this as a dry run, & throw all her effort into the next try!

and fails the college entrance exams a second time

but she gave herself three shots at debuting. she’ll give getting into college a third chance too—maybe studying in a place without distractions will help?

her parents end up recommending the mansion to her when it opens, an easy drive down from isa-ri

she moves in the day it opens. maybe it’ll be just the thing she needs to find herself & get back on track

( on track to where? she has no idea, too )

PERSONALITY / OTHER

very much an optimist, in that cheery, comforting way, but also in that gives way too many second chances way, ‘things will probably work out so i don’t have to work that hard’ way

pretty outgoing & exuberant—half of it genuine, half of it drilled into her

carries around a very quiet regret for her dream that mellows her a little

wistful, but not embarrassed that she didn’t get to debut! firmly believes that it just wasn’t her chance, so don’t look at her too sadly if she tells you her story off hand

not quite the most responsible or put together person, but she’s trying really earnestly

not exactly lazy, but if she’s given an easier route or an opportunity for a break, she’s definitely taking it

jisun spent so much time training that she doesn’t really know if its a genuine dream, or if she just doesn’t know how to be anything else now. trying to find herself by doing other things, but has been in limbo for so long it’s a bit of a struggle

probably not totally unknown, one of those anticipated trainees who never debuted so the public lost interest

also working as an adhoc mail clerk for isa-ri’s post office! by which i mean the mansion was too far for the grumpy old man who runs the office to wanna make the trip, so she picks up & delivers the mail for the residents of the mansion, & helps out occasionally with other post office jobs

thank u for reading my lil ramble hehe pls come plot with me!! ♡

#awhqsintro

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csmeaner · 2 years ago

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Hachidogs

I see this piece of shit species has made it here, time to pull out some of their many dekudogs for design shitting.

All come from the owner, staff, or official gacha.

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi338-812132844

Alpha toothless httyd

fucking hell this is lready unacceptable down to the spots on the head and the fucking tail wing my god

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi388-815553064

Cloudjumper httyd

on the same fucking base and lazy s fuck holy shit

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi686-822426090

Flowey undertale

you’d think it’s just a sunflower but the stem detail and other ripoff designs is too damning in my opinion also why is it dark green on only one side of the stomach and leg

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi199-808157756

Undyne undertale

so fucking shameless AND ugly everything about this is a quintessential dekudog fuck

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi175-808001682

Jevil deltarune

not a single original thought was made here

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi382-815478954

Lancer deltarune

dear fucking god it looks like a goddamn spider with the huge butt. the colors, the tongue out, the pattern placement is all so evident and they didn’t even fucking shade the top head fur well??? the fuck they make this in GIMP??

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi2003-907190835

Spamton deltarune, why are there so many shitty undertale/deltarune dekudogs

i already hated this game and now i can hate it even more the fucking pipis are even the name of another character in the game just so you’re 1000% sure it’s a ripoff

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi891-822867553

Ghidorah godzilla, they massacred my boy!

why are the buttugly ears the thing that stay also are their claws retractable because it looks fucking stupid the way they did it like they have dicks on their hands and that same godawful gradation look on the wings its so fucking lazy

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi1244-829765158

Chika fnaf covered in purple shape barf.

not a single thing on this makes sense or is pleasing to look at from the stupid arm-head feathers to the horns not even attached to the body to the mess that is the tail that’s clearly slapped on with no idea how it’s supposed to be attached. also doing that weird fucking thing where the belly only goes down to one leg??

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi1171-829554549

Ennard fnaf

wow look at this bullshit

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi362-813969040

Signless homestuck

even took the candy horns. didn’t even put anything more defining either just yanked it all and then made the rest of it mostly black.

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi380-815475335

Tarvos homestuck

they just scribbled on darker grey color and put the sign on the fucking fur

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi385-815550262

Oshawott pokemon

not a single ounce of shame was had making this. guess it’s not aasss bad it’s missing the nose, freckles, and tail but i guess in turn it’s just incredibly lazy looking even moreso than usual

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi495-815868487

Mawile pokemon

holy shit wow like really fuck dude they just really dont give a fuck i guess

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi635-819406099

Shadow lugia x zekrom pokemon, its been blacklisted. Nice.

what did they get blacklisted for fucking copyright lmao im done with these fuckers

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi888-822866104

Emboar pokemon

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi439-815796119

Spinel steven universe

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi290-810272715

Junko dangan ronpa

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi582-816908174

Spiderman and venom from the recent venom movies

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi826-822802638

Blixer just shapes and beats had to google it

https://www.deviantart.com/hachidex/art/Hachi863-822858787

Link majoras mask, this is so fucking cluttered and hideous looking. Couldn’t even get the moon right.

I can’t look at any more so join my suffering.

#submission #design shitting #you're a fucking ripoff #hachibos

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yslkook · 4 years ago

Text

#risk averse (6)

#corporate masterlist

summary: the last day of being in tokyo consists of: workshops, breakfast, dinner, and an airplane ride back. oh, and you finally have some ice cream with jungkook. properly. word count: 5570 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, im not a psychologist so if what i write doesnt make sense dont @ me a/n: this is part 3/3 of being in tokyo!

TUESDAY

Tokyo is probably one of your favorite cities in the world, and yet you’re itching to get out as soon as you can. It’s the last day of the workshop kick-off meeting, and while you’ve enjoyed being back in this city and getting to know new people… You’re exhausted. Your mind has been running on overdrive since Friday afternoon and now it was Tuesday. You’ve never been on for this long, but you suppose it comes with the territory.

Truthfully, you don’t mind the work. You mind Jungkook and how things are still in a strange state of limbo with him. The memory of Saturday night still plagues you and the fact that you still haven’t talked to him pokes at you like a barbed wire.

You scratch your chin, masking your invisible spiral. Jungkook and Sana have set up breakfast for the team in the conference room, complete with steamed rice, fried egg, fruit miso soup, coffee and pastries. You eye the pastries with a gratuitous lick of your lips, your sudden sweet tooth making an appearance. That chocolate cornet in the small basket next to the sweet rolls is calling your name.

You focus on the decadent taste of chocolate rolling over your tongue paired with coffee rather than the anxiety you feel over leaving things between you and Jungkook in limbo.

A shadow casts over your plate next to you and when you turn your head, you’re surprised to see Mark take a seat next to you.

“Morning,” He chirps, “Your guys did a good job with breakfast, huh?”

“They did a good job with everything, Mark. As they always do,” You say fiercely, with a quirk of your eyebrow, “And good morning to you, too.”

“This week went by fast, huh?” Mark says, taking a sip of his own coffee. Yeah, not fast enough.

Today’s workshop was mainly to finalize the project plan, assign subteams, and deliverables. And to determine when the next workshop would be- Namjoon had suggested that the Tokyo team come to Seoul next time. Which you had wholeheartedly supported. Mark had let his eyes slide over to you, catching your eye and smiling at you. Maybe he’d be able to see you outside of work in Seoul.

You had smiled back, a little obliviously.

And now, you stand up next to the whiteboard to write down your smaller sub teams and your deliverables as Namjoon reads from his notes. For everyone to be able to visualize. You were a firm believer in visual aids.

And so was Jungkook- after all, the way your plaid pencil skirt sits on your ass and hugs your hips is quite the visual. He lazily allows his eyes to roam your backside, enjoying the way your skirt moves with every small movement. Your sleeveless blouse is tucked into your skirt, leaving a hint of your tattoo poking out from the thin exposure of your shoulder. Your beige blazer neatly hangs off of the headrest of your chair. Jungkook counts his blessings, watching every inch of your tanned, inked skin as you continue to write on the board.

Namjoon and Mark spend the rest of the morning outlining expectations and brainstorming for the first deliverable. You challenge them sharply, not afraid to voice your thoughts when you don’t agree with them.

Irene and Lisa look on with awestruck eyes, chiming in when they feel necessary. You have this way about you, Jungkook thinks. That when you speak, people just listen and people want to be heard by you. Your voice is magnetic, your eyes dark and fierce and he wants to know them. He wants to peel you back layer by layer, if you’d let him.

Not for the first time, he wonders if you have any other tattoos hiding under your meticulously crafted layers.

You catch Jungkook’s lazy gaze, shooting him a small smile. Jungkook swallows and reciprocates. He leans back in his chair, still not taking his eyes off of you. You maintain his gaze, feeling your cheeks heating up at the intensity of his stare. He unwraps you with his eyes, as if you’re a present wrapped up all pretty just for him. Dark brown eyes dart from your face to your neck to your hands back up to your lips. A smirk ghosts his face, but it passes as quickly as it comes.

You can play fire with fire, too. Something bold blazes in your own eyes, your tongue poking out to lick your bottom lip as you check him out in the same unabashed way that he had been checking you out only moments before.

This time, Jungkook is the one feeling a little heated under his collar. Mark’s voice pierces through the air, pulling you both out of your rose-tinted bubble and you both plaster your obedient gazes to Mark.

The moment dissolves with the sound of Mark’s voice- has it always been that annoying? Or was it only that annoying because Jungkook can see the barely hidden heart eyes he throws you when he makes eye contact with you?

Why does it matter? Because he likes you, and the epiphany doesn’t hit Jungkook like an unseen collision. It washes over him in soft, gentle waves. Comforting him and wrapping around him warmly, only lending him the courage to slide his eyes over to you once again.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek in annoyance. Annoyance that you’ve wiggled your way into the crevices in between his veins and he is powerless to stop it.

The rest of the afternoon goes by just about the same, with lunch from the cafeteria and finishing up your plan of deliverables. You’re thankful that the day is coming to a close- these workshops are taking a toll out of you, needless to say.

You stretch your arms, opting to stand rather than sit. You hate how your ass goes numb after hours of sitting.

Jungkook doesn’t mind. It gives him a wonderful view of the slope of your chest that he has no qualms appreciating. You catch him a few times, obliviously giving him a small smile or a nod of appreciation.

It makes Jungkook wonder if you even know how pretty you are. If anyone’s ever told you that you were beautiful, with all of the conviction that you deserve.

You scribble in your notebook while leaning against the windowsill as a surface, your brows furrowed together in concentration as Namjoon and Mark speak. You resist the urge to yawn. What time is your flight again?

Namjoon had requested that your flights be at 4 AM on Wednesday morning, so that you could go straight into work. That was the tradeoff for giving the team the extra day in Tokyo. At the time, it sounded like a nice idea. Now, the thought of a 4 AM flight makes you want to keel over.

You start to drown out their voices, instead making a mental checklist of what you needed to do before leaving for the airport tomorrow morning. Call Grandma, pack your suitcase, arrange your makeup, leave your sweats for the morning out, text your therapist for an appointment when you returned to Seoul…

You’re lost in your thoughts, chewing intently on your bottom lip and absently picking at your cuticles every so often. Mark’s voice cuts through the air again, finally dismissing you.

“It was great seeing all of you,” Mark says, his eyes lingering on you for a second too long.

“Yeah, we’ll be in Seoul soon. You’ll have to show us all the best places to eat,” Irene winks at you.

“Yeah,” You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck, “See you soon.”

You exchange handshakes with them, with promises from Minhyuk and Lisa that they’ll set up biweekly calls for the Seoul team to have touchpoints with the Tokyo team. Namjoon nods in appreciation.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Mark squeezes your hand and pulls you a little closer by the grip of his handshake either.

Mark promises you, for your ears only, that he’ll text you when he gets to Seoul for the workshop. He asks if he can see you, maybe, if he can take you to that restaurant you had told him about. With the best seafood you’d ever had in your life.

You say yes, because you think nothing of it.

The minute you got back to your hotel room, you took your makeup off, moisturized, sprawled out on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a good fifteen minutes. Then you changed into leggings and an oversized hoodie, one of Jin’s that you had stolen years ago.

You’re aware of your phone going off, likely the work group chat as well as Jin texting you. But you ignore it for now, instead closing your eyes and letting silence lull you to sleep.

You must have fallen asleep for a few hours- when you wake up, the moon is out and the sky is dark. You had likely slept through dinner. Moonlight filters into your hotel room and you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

What had woken you up? You hear the noise again, the sound of knuckles knocking gently against your hotel room door. With a soft groan, you rub your face and drag your feet to the door, not bothering to check the little peephole.

And you’re face to face with a nervous looking Jeon Jungkook, holding a bag in his hand. It smells great, mouthwatering, even.

“Hi,” You croak, clearing your throat of your post-sleep voice.

“Hey,” Jungkook says weakly, “We were texting you earlier for dinner but figured you’d fallen asleep or something. Looks like I was right.”

“Yeah, I accidentally fell asleep,” You murmur with a laugh, “You brought dinner for me?” You ask the question in wonder, as if it’s hard to believe.

“Uh huh,” Jungkook says, scratching the back of his neck, “Well, uh, here you go-”

You take the bag of food in your hands, enjoying the warmth that it radiates. You bite your lips in nervousness, suddenly deciding that you don’t want to have dinner alone. You hate having dinner alone.

“Jungkook,” You say softly, “Will you have dinner with me?”

Jungkook’s heart skips about five beats and he’s nodding at you with big, sparkling eyes. You’re floating, somewhere in the clouds when he looks at you like that. Jungkook thinks you’re pretty, with your messy hair and sleepy eyes. Whether you’re in a sharp pencil skirt and a blazer or in pajamas, he thinks you’re so pretty.

You welcome him inside, gesturing for him to get comfortable in your hotel room. You know you have so much still to talk about with him, to explain your actions from Saturday night. But neither of you can deny the company that comes with a meal. So you set some food aside for him, thanking him for thinking of you.

And you eat, knees knocking into each other as you talk softly with only the moon as witness of a blossoming friendship.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

Jungkook doesn’t leave your mind all morning, from when you had woken yourself up at 1:30 AM and even now as you’re in line to board the airplane. Having dinner with him felt so nice and left you feel warm all over.

And now, a seed of relief settles in your belly, knowing that you’re seated far away from Jungkook. So that you can think about him in peace, and think about what you’ll say to him when you finally get the chance to. You could have apologized to him last night, but it just didn’t feel right.

You can’t even see his fluffy head of hair from here. Maybe you’ll even be able to sleep a little, considering how on edge you’ve felt for the last four days. You’re exhausted.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes and rest your head on the window, someone taps your shoulder politely.

“Sorry to disturb,” The flight attendant says, sounding genuinely apologetic, “But I believe there was a seat mix up. We have a couple here requesting to be seated together. Would it be alright if we swap?”

You peer behind her to see an elderly couple. You sigh. “Of course, no problem.” You think nothing of it, heading to the seat that the attendant had requested you switch with, until you see a familiar fluffy haired man within your range of vision.

Of course. Because why wouldn’t the universe seat you next to Jeon Jungkook on this crowded plane? Of all the seats, of course you would be told to sit next to him.

“Um,” You say, waving at him a little nervously, “Hi. Is this seat taken?” You try to keep your voice light. He can probably pick up on the awkwardness.

“Oh! No,” Jungkook says quickly, standing up and hitting his head on the roof of the cramped plane. He winces and you suppress a laugh. “Let me put your suitcase up-”

“I got it, Jungkook,” You murmur, easily lifting the suitcase into the overhead compartment. Jungkook’s eyes immediately fall to the small sliver of your belly as you lift your arms above your head.

Taking a seat next to him, you try your best not to bounce your leg incessantly. Your bottom lip is lodged in between your teeth, as if you’re afraid to say the wrong thing.

“Ready to go back home?” Jungkook asks, desperate to alleviate the awkwardness in the air.

“Yeah, I always need an extra day off after traveling,” You reply, letting out an airy chuckle, “How about you?”

“Yeah, me too. And it’s only Wednesday, too. Can’t believe we still have to work.”

“That’s what’s shitty about leaving so early in the morning,” You yawn, “Still have plenty of time to work later in the day.”

Jungkook nods in agreement and yawns. The silence that falls between you both isn’t uncomfortable. It’s too early in the morning to contemplate it any further.

At some point, your eyes begin to close and you can’t stop the sudden wave of fatigue that washes over you. Fatigue from being anxious for the last four days. Somehow, around Jungkook, it dissipates slightly. Slightly enough for you to succumb to sleep. Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to shift when your head falls onto his shoulder. He wants to brush the hair out of your eyes but keeps his hands in his lap. His face is burning.

A small smile graces his lips when you shift further, sink into his shoulder and wrap an arm around his upper arm. Jungkook pretends like his heart isn’t about to beat right out of his chest, especially when your nose is pressed against his shoulder and he can feel your soft, even breaths as you fall even further into sleep.

Pillowy warmth surrounds you, gently tugging you back down to sleep. But the sound of the pilot over the intercoms forces you to open your eyes. A low groan leaves your lips, you want to bask in your newfound warmth for a little longer.

Wait. Where is this warmth coming from? You look up, seeing a head of dark hair brushing over your forehead.

Your heart immediately accelerates, slamming straight out of your ribcage.

Jungkook feels you shifting before he opens his eyes. You feel so warm, tucked into his side. Even if it’s uncomfortable for both of you, he likes the way your cheek presses into his arm and how he could feel your soft breaths against his neck. The soft groan that escapes your lips sounds like honey in his ears, his cheeks warming.

You have to resist the urge to push his hair back. At least he’s still asleep, you think. What a precarious position to be in. With your coworker who you have unfinished business with. What a cliche, you nearly scoff out loud.

But then you see his warm, doe eyes blinking up at you curiously and you panic. You yank your arm away from him, lifting your head up so quickly that he’s surprised you don’t get whiplash.

“Sorry,” You mumble, “How incredibly inappropriate. ‘M sorry-”

Before he can reply, the pilot and flight attendant give the all clear that people can begin exiting the aircraft. You’re out of your seat in record speed, ignoring the heat and embarrassment in your cheeks as you nearly run over the elderly couple behind you to get your suitcase.

It’s the second time you’ve made a fool out of yourself in front of Jungkook. The memory is seared into your brain as you struggle to hold back tears. You sprint out of the airport in record time, and into Jin’s waiting arms.

You’re breaking Jungkook’s heart and you don’t even know it.

The minute you got home and settled in, you made an appointment with your therapist. You finally feel the edge of anxiety beginning to quell. But you’re exhausted, so exhausted. You contemplate taking a day off, but you don’t have a busy day at work today.

You opt to work from home once you let your boss know. Jin also decided to work from his apartment after picking you up. Maybe you can sneak a nap in during lunch.

At your therapy appointment, you finally cry. You can barely speak through your tears, telling Dr. Lee how being in Tokyo felt so cathartic and so heartbreaking at the same time. You tell her about Jungkook, about the friends that you had reconnected with after years. And then you tell her about how confused you are, how you had all but run out on Jungkook on the airplane.

“This is so stupid,” You sneer at yourself, wiping your cheeks angrily, “When did I become so pathetic-”

“Stop,” Dr. Lee says sternly, “There’s nothing pathetic-”

“I’m almost thirty and I’m acting like a selfish teenager! Who does this?” You snort derisively.

“What does age have to do with how you’re feeling? Don’t beat yourself up for feeling things that you’ve never felt before,” Dr. Lee says, “You’ve been closed off for this long. It’s okay to be a little selfish. You’re only human. Don’t punish yourself for feeling. I’m proud of you. For allowing yourself to feel.”

“It’s like… I know what I should do. But I keep doing the opposite. Or I just do nothing at all. What’s wrong with me?” You groan, holding your head in your hands, “I’m a terrible person, all I do is hurt everyone around me-”

“Bad people don’t wonder if they’re bad people or not,” Dr. Lee says kindly, “Making mistakes does not make you a bad person.”

“Am I a bad person, Dr. Lee? I feel like I’m faking it in my own skin sometimes…”

“Bad people don’t want to fix the things that they’ve wronged. Admitting when you can be better is the first step to fixing it. Let yourself fix it. Let yourself lean on other people.”

FRIDAY

Today, you’re on a mission. You have to get that sad look out of Jungkook’s eyes, the one that you see whenever you happen to glance at him in passing and he catches a glimpse of you. You’ve hurt him repeatedly over the last few days and you need to make it right. Before you lose your nerve, you down an entire cup of coffee and march over to his cubicle.

You don’t even know if he’s in a meeting or not. But it doesn’t matter, you’ll wait. You’ll wait for his undivided attention.

Your courage begins to wear off the closer to get to his cubicle. But nevertheless, you persist.

“Jungkook,” You say clearly, “Hi. Good morning.”

Jungkook swivels in his chair, eyes nearly bulging out of his head when he realizes that it was you. Voluntarily at his cubicle, looking like a vision in your jeans and your plaid blazer.

It was a Friday, after all.

“Uh,” Jungkook says nervously, “Hi.”

“I have to talk to you. But not here,” You rush out, “Willyougeticecreamwithmelatertodayafterwork?”

A sigh of relief. But he’s looking at you like you have ten heads.

“Sorry, what was that? Didn’t catch what you said,” Jungkook says with an arch of his eyebrow.

“Uh. I want to talk to you. But not here at work. Will you get ice cream with me later today after work?” You mumble, looking at the floor before chastising yourself and meeting his piercing gaze.

Jungkook thinks he must be dreaming. There’s no way that you are asking him to get ice cream. He thought that you were done with him, that you disliked him even. Maybe he doesn’t know you at all.

“With me?” Jungkook sputters.

“Yeah. With you,” You nod with a small smile, “I know a place.”

“You know all the good ice cream spots on this side of the world, huh?” Jungkook says airily.

“I don’t think you had the opportunity to enjoy it in Tokyo,” You say softly, “So I want to make it up to you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Jungkook nods as his heart sings, “Text me the place and time, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Y-yeah. Okay,” You reply, pulling your clammy hands out of your pockets.

“See you soon, then,” Jungkook says, flashing a bunny smile at you. You haven’t seen that smile from him in a while and it surprises you how much you missed it. How it makes you want to smile back at him.

Your jitters are parallel, if not worse, to first date jitters, except it’s been a long time since you’ve been on a first date. These jitters are so much worse, considering that you think you have a lot to apologize for and explain to Jungkook. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your leg bouncing as you mindlessly scroll through your phone.

You’d arrived at the ice cream shop about twenty minutes early. Another nervous habit. You hate being late to things.

Jungkook walks in and you knock your knee into the table as you get up from your seat. “Hi,” You wave weakly, “Thanks. Uh. For coming.”

You feel a little dizzy, lightheaded as you take him in. Long sleeved black shirt tucked into black jeans- he looks handsome. But more than that, you’re nervous to face him and bare your heart to him.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” Jungkook asks, peering at the buckets of ice cream behind you.

“Huh?”

“Ice cream? What’s your favorite?” Jungkook asks.

“I like chocolate. I’m easy to please,” You shrug, “Maybe chocolate raspberry. Mint chocolate, too. Oh, and orange chocolate-”

“Mint chocolate,” Jungkook exclaims, scrunching his nose, “Ugh. That’s gross.”

“Oh, whatever,” You roll your eyes playfully. Jungkook gestures for you to order your ice cream first, and then you both sit at a table towards the back near the windows. The sun has long set, blanketing the city in the night sky.

“Do you like it?” You ask, pointing at his selection of cookies and cream. He looks like a deer caught in headlights when he looks up at you, eyes gleaming and lips parted. He nods enthusiastically.

A few more seconds of comfortable silence go by.

“Jungkook,” You say softly, “I think… I should explain myself. For Tokyo.”

He nearly chokes on his ice cream. “No, it’s-”

“Jungkook,” You say firmly, reminding Jungkook of why he is intimidated by you even still, “I asked you to meet me for ice cream because… I’m sorry for blowing up at you that night. You didn’t know, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. It’s not fair for me to keep one foot in the past and have this chokehold on a time that doesn’t exist anymore. So I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for just… running out of the airport without saying a word to you. I understand if you don’t want to have anything more than a workplace relationship with me- not that we’re in a relationship, oh my god,- I just meant, I get if you don’t want to be more than acquaintances.”

You cut off your own rambling, wanting to pull your eyes away so he can’t see your heart on your sleeve, but you find yourself unable to. Jungkook has never seen you this nervous before. It’s different. He’s only ever seen you be swift and confident, always sure in yourself. There are more layers to you than he knows, and he wants to peel them back.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook says, “I didn’t… I didn’t know, but I can’t help but feel like maybe I should have. And I’m sorry. That you haven’t been happy, and that I remind you of-”

“No,” You shake your head, “What I said was wrong. I’m happy now, too. Happiness is dependent on the circumstances. It’s not the same, but it’s there. And I never… meant to make you feel like anything I was projecting onto you was because of you. I mean, we just found each other again after what? Five years? Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, as if he doesn’t have the memory of the last time he saw you before you had disappeared all those years ago stamped into his brain, “And I mean… We don’t have to just be acquaintances. If you don’t want to be. We don’t have to just have a workplace relationship, as you called it.”

He shoots you a teasing smile and you shrink in your seat, with a nervous laugh of your own. “O-Okay. I’d like that. To be friends, I mean. To be friends like we were when we were younger.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Jungkook says, his tongue poking out to swipe at his bottom lip, “Makin’ it sound like we’re old as hell. And we don’t have to be friends like that-”

Your heart drops, and you can’t hide it-

“We can be better. Than what we were like when we were younger.”

Your face feels warm, the sincerity dripping in his eyes makes you shift in your seat. You smile at him, bright and bold, and he smiles right back. When you both leave the ice cream shop, you can’t deny the flutter in your belly at the thought of a new (but old) friend back in your life after so long.

And it feels nice.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook fluff

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peachcitt · 4 years ago

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i was tagged my @anna-scribbles which HEY i love you and your art is stunning i literally just (chef’s kiss) every time i see it. also your brain is huge

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

okay so in no particular order here they are:

this is from about emma martin which i wrote because i was so outrageously inspired by one of @lnc2‘s posts. there’s a lot of things i love about this fic, but i especially love the absolute banter of it all, especially in this first scene, which i wrote at, like, 5am on my phone in bed with the lights off. truly inspired

this is actually from an original story of mine, and ive posted absolutely nothing about it anywhere on the internet except for right here. so, uh. yeah. im proud of this one because i hardly ever work on original projects, and writing this one felt like a breath of fresh air. i think you can tell that i had fun writing this - i certainly can

this is from happy endings, the sun, and other steps to madness, my banana fish fic that i finished earlier this year after taking a year’s long hiatus on it. this story really meant a whole lot to me, and i cared very much about telling it correctly; in the end, i really think i did, and im really proud of myself for finishing it

speaking of finishing fics, this is from bone tea, my monstrous 250k word fic that i originally started back in 2018. finishing it was....really emotional actually, especially this year. bt meant a whole lot to me - it still does - and saying goodbye (at least, temporarily) was as difficult as it was wonderful. i can’t express how proud i am of finishing this fic - there were so many times within the last two years that i just. had no idea when the end would come or what it would like or even if people would like it. i could go on and on but the gist is: bone tea. long, terrible, and fantastic. i love it

this is from impure, my trollhunters changeling jim au fic. this fic i started and posted on a whim, mostly because im impatient and a victim to my hubris. it is nowhere near finished, but i love it very very much - it’s fun to write in cynical changeling jim’s voice, it’s angsty, it’s awkward, and it’s absolutely so so much fun for me. and really, that’s all i could ask for, right?

this is from the dark and the stained glass watchers, a hannibal fic i wrote while drunk for the first time in my life. god. thinking about the circumstances that led to this fic always makes me laugh - i was alone for a prolonged period of time, cut my own bangs with kitchen scissors, and then a day later got drunk and wrote something that just SCREAMS catholic guilt and horniness. i am most definitely extremely proud of this. i mean. the audacity of it all. the drama. absolutely fantastic

this is from screw the classics and screw you for believing them, my tma daisy/basira fic. i remember that the title of this fic came to me first, then the ship, then the fic - which is, like, so bizarre for me. someone commented on this fic saying it was the poetic high school au they’d ever seen, and, like, i have to agree. im not sure how i settled on daisy’s voice for this fic, but it came so easily - it was messy, and it was profound, and i love it to bits

and last but certainly not least, this is from those benevolent stars, the fic i wrote for ladrien june. this fic is - and i say this as humbly as i can - a work of art. i added a freaking soundtrack for it. it is chock full of all of the things that i love - ladrien, thieves, eating the rich, yearning, pianos, yearning, secrets, yearning, and yearning. god. i love this fic so much.

and that’s it! i mean, that’s not all ive done this year - ive written SO MUCH this year, and it seems like every day i forget that. im always getting really hard on myself for not being productive enough or writing enough or taking too many breaks, but then i look back and i realize that ive posted so many fics this year, submitted two fics for two separate zines, and managed to get through both the spring and fall semesters at my university. and through all of this hard work that i constantly seem to forget about, ive written things that im genuinely proud of, things that i think are beautiful and worth reading. that’s shit’s crazy

anyway, it’s 4:37am (of all the productivity i managed this year, fixing my sleep schedule was definitely not one of them) so im not going to attempt to officially tag people because im lazy but also because i need to, like, sleep.

BUT i do encourage anyone and everyone to do this, even if you don’t post it. it’s really a wonderful thing to look back on all the things you’ve created this year and realize that you’re making progress or that you’re creating things you love

thanks anna for tagging me and i hope all of you who look back on your own works are finding things that make you happy!!<3<3

#tag game #fanfic talk #mlb #tma #hannibal #banana fish #trollhunters #honorable mention to my shitty college zukka aus those were fun #anyway really anna thanks for tagging me it was 1) fantastic to see your works from this year i love your art and i love u #and 2) really nice to reminisce on all the shit i got done this year without me even seeming to realize it #idk. writing means a lot to me and all these stories are so valuable to me and i just. im really proud of myself for continuing to write #through this amazingly shitty year. like wow this year was like. so so bad for me in a lot of different ways #but the fact that i was able to write things that made me laugh and smile and made me HAPPY....that those things came from my brain #even when i was having a rough time.......k cool im getting emotional :^)#and!!! the fact that people commented on my fics telling me that they were glad to find my fics because they gave them comfort and warmth!!#OKAY!!!! SURE!!!!!!!!!!! IM OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!#anyway i really need to go to sleep #goodnight ily<3<3<3

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disaster-bay-leaf · 4 years ago

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Ok so these were the cutest~ (ㆁωㆁ)

4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 19, 22, 23, 28, 33, 34, 46, 47, 52, 59, 60, 63, 66, 83, 87, 88, 93, 99

I kno I listed like....all of them lmao but feel free to answer whichever you want and ofc you can ask me in return Baybe ( ◜‿◝ )♡

uHUHUHUHU much content for me to answer, im happy bebe 💜💜💜✨

4 - how do you take your coffee/tea?

hm coffee either Very Black No Sugar (for the sleep deprived me) or iced latte three sugars and theres no in between

and as for tea its All Black Teas That Exist, cinnamon-flavoured especially (but basically all teas that come to mind when u think “autumn”), and rooibos!!! okay basically the only oke i dont like is any type of green tea (which is sad because they look cool but my tastebuds said ✨no✨)

6 - do you keep plants?

honestly id l o v e too because i love plants but,,, im kinda horrible at taking care of them though still way better than the majority of my family (research helps) so the only plant i own is kinda a small-palm-tree-looking thing in a bigass glass jar that i saved from my mother’s plant-destructing hands and its mostly doing well (the ends of its leaves are starting to be yellow tho and im worried:((( )

7 - do you name your plants?

yes!!! though the current one was named by my sister and its called “pickett” after fantastic beasts shsjjsj

9 - do you like singing/humming to yourself?

oh god oh dude you have n o idea

i have absolutely n o singing voice but its something i do constantly to give my brain the right amount of stimuli so basically i listen to music 24/7 and hum to myself 99% of that time

12 - whats your favourite planet?

oh i actually didnt think about this for so long but either pluto (hes a planet screw nasa) or saturn (RINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) or venus (girls,,,and libra,,,)

19 - do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw in it?

okay im gonna be completely honest with yall and say that my every single try at keeping a journal failed spectacularly and i lost motivation after like a few months so my only journals rn are my fancy fake-leather-bound calendar to note tests and assessments into, a kinda roughed up notebook that i uses for noting down poems or scribbling or passing notes in class, and a kinda fancy bullet journal notebook that i used as a book of shadows for a while but since my fountain pen died i didnt touch it

22 - are you a morning person?

n o

i am so not a morning person but i wish i could be because honestly dawns are beautiful

but as it is rn im either sleep deprived all the time and loathe every second of being in an awake state or (if i have a few days of schoolbreak) my biological clock moves forward a few hours and i sleep 2am-10am

23 - whats your favourite thing to do on lazy days with zero obligations?

except for the fact that i dont remember the last time it happened, i would probably spend it drawing outside, watching anime with my sister and riding a bike around the forest

28 - sunrise or sunset?

i love sunrises because its so peaceful and everyone is asleep but also i subconsciously immediately correlate them with waiting for a train to take me to school (because thats basically the only time i see them) so its a bittersweet love especially with my fucked up biological clock

but sunsets are really really pretty too and i see them more often so i cant choose

33 - whats your fave pastry?

and isnt that a millior-dollar question dhsjjsjsj

either cinnamon rolls (i absolutely adore them) or that one specific type of cupcake-shaped-thing made out of shortcrust/bread/whatever its called and filled with vanilla pudding

34 - tell us about a stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

awwww this is cute

okay so basically my two favourite stuffed animals (i still have them, they sit in my wardrobe) were two teddy bears (like maybe 20cm high each of them) and one was pure brown and the other was silver-brown and they had stereotypical polish male names “Waldek” (read. Valdek) and Stefan (i think tho im not sure if i remember correctly, my memory is a feeble thing sometimes

46 - tell us the worst pun you can think of

what dog would never bite you? a hot dog *badumtss*

47 - what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

huh a year ago id say pineapple pizza but i guess i dont hate pineapples that much anymore (tho putting them on pizza is still an abomination) but i think that if id ever want to get rid of anything it would be parsley, i hate that freakin herb (does it count as food tho)

52 - what are your favourite memes of the year so far?

the ever given for sure shsjshjsjsjsjjsj

but bullying tramp stamps is gold and pure tumblr energy too

as for fandom memes: im in love with all keeping-up-with-the-todorokis variations and the fact that the entire bsd fandom looked at fukuchi and said “biTCH” and thats one of the only things we’re unanimous about

59 - whats your favourite myth?

i always liked the kora/persephone myth (though demeter is an overbearing parent to the nth power), loki and thor crossdressing at a party to get mjolnir back, atalanta because shes a queen and id politely ask her to kick my ass, and cassandra because she deserved better, and theres a l o t more because alas i was a mythology nerd but this post is long enough for me not to make this section 20 times longer sjjsjsjsjsjks

but there are a lot of slavic myths that are very cool too, though we dont know that much about them as about the greeks for example

60 - do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

o o o o h yeah i do like poetry because to create such a beautifully sounding thing with only words someone has to be a genius

some of my favs are: some works of nakahara chuuya (thank u bsd for introducing me to this man’s beautiful imagery in his works i swear to god the descriptions do it for me) (also his poem about having hangovers is a mood like i feel you buddy), the raven by ea poe (i know everyone likes it but hOLY DAMN THE INTER/INTRAVERSE RHYMES ARE LIKE,,, BREATHTAKING) (and aso im a slut for gothic horror), and many more but also That One Poem From Welcome To Nightvale about reaching the island in the west,,, only perfect vibes from it

63 - are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organised or kinda leave them be?

okay heres the thing. for anyone else both my playlist library and my bookshelf would be considered pure chaos of a mad man b u t they actually have a highly focused system which means that i sort them based on their vibes, lovability and (in case of books) their age and whether or not theyre a part of a series so i would say my bookshelf is rather organised (when a quarter of it isnt occupying my desk that is) and my music is more organised than not but sometimes it gets out of control and i have to sort it entirely again

66 - what would your ideal flower crown look like?

either entirely constructed of simple white daisies, entirely constructed of only white roses, or something that probably would win a “how many different coloured flowers can one fit in a flower crown” competition

or something purple (maybe not belladonna)

83 - whats some of your favourite album art?

god i dont know if it counts but hozier’s wasteland baby is probably one of my absolute favourites and no one shall beat that

“thrifted youth” (dalynn) and “standard deviation” (danny schmidt) have very aesthetic covers too

also the iconic p!atd too weird to live, too rare to die! album cover,,, its just iconic what can i say

and last but not least matt meason’s pink-and-black album covers (though bank on the funeral is really pretty too but like,,, “who killed matt meason” d o e s it for me and so does the 2017 tribulation single)

87 - what are some movies that you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

this is such a hard question because im not a really cinematography-oriented gal but i suppose that (at the risk of not going deep enough into the cinema world):

- the princess bride

- inception

- night at the museum

- SPIRITED AWAY

- forrest gump

- truman show

- E.T. (i cried okay)

- the lord of the rings (because damn me if this isnt one impressive adaptation)

- parasite

and one more personal recommendation: “ready or not” with samara weaving because goddamn i dont usually watch this genre but holy s h i t is it good

93 - whats the hairstyle you wear the most?

honestly just plain hair down (because having curly hair is a menace), split in the middle when i have longer hair and split on one side when its short

also low ponytails or half-up-half-down when im exercising, or double french braids when my hair doesnt cooperate enough to look presentable in any other form

99 - list some songs that resonate with your soul whenever you hear them

this is difficult because my music taste is a goddamn rollercoaster on a good day, but heres some:

- me and the sky from “come from away” musical (this is sort of a test song for my mental stability, if i cry i aint stable)

- dancing after death by matt meason (okay most songs by matt meason except for like,,, hallucinogenics maybe)

- tears and rain by james blunt

- i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie

- almost home by mxmtoon

- anything by hozier really but shrike especially

- payphone, the cover by alex g (i cried to this song so many times)

- burning pile by mother mother (can i roast all my problems please)

- long way from home and cleopatra by the lumineers

- autoclave by the mountain goats

oooh that was c o o o o o o o l as fuck thank you sm so much bebe (and sorry for the long post @everyone else)

#smadhuman being pure af #bay answers #long post #very long post #ask #asks

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irene-sadler · 4 years ago

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Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

notes: 1. here's a (relatively) short n' interesting discussion of the history of the St. Bartholomew Day Fair in London, which was held roughly annually from sometime in the 12th century to sometime in the 19th century. I casually yanked some ideas (ull find this thing about rabbits casually mentioned with no explanation in the source) from events that took place at this specific festival to apply to my much much smaller Winter Solstice Fair held in Rivia.

translating any irl medieval holiday/fair/feast into a fantasy setting is a lil tricky b/c 95 percent of what happens and what makes them so interesting (to me anyway) is tied up in and totally inseperable from medieval Christian religious expression. however, when a lot of my source material was written (usually several hundred years ago bc public domain ebooks) there were still some weird obviously pre-Christian traditions in common use in parts of England. more on this next chapter b/c some of them are fuckin bizarre and so ofc I ganked them.

----

The next day dawned cold, but the blue cast to the sky promised clear weather. The Queen had long since collected a list of names from a page, and sat scribbling figures and notes in the margins as she considered the best way to arrange forty contestants into equitable matches. Isbel proved unsurprisingly unhelpful; the Baroness, however, offered advice on the matter in a slightly imperious tone:

“There’s no way to match these names up, by perceived skill, and if you try there will be hurt feelings. Random selection won’t answer, either; my suggestion is to choose from whoever is standing around when we arrive and let them sort themselves out as best they can after.”

Meve shuffled the papers a moment, admitted to herself that she had no better ideas, and nodded grudgingly.

“Yes, you’re probably right. First come, first served it is, then. Here, look after these,” she said, handing the papers over to the older woman, “I have to go; the Mayor will be wanting something from me within the hour and I’ve other matters to attend to, first.”

She left the Baroness and Isbel eyeing each other suspiciously over their breakfasts and strode rapidly away to the stables. Reynard’s horse, dozing alone in his stall, greeted her with polite disinterest; she spotted a light flickering from inside a little storage room nearby, where she found his owner carefully examining his armor under Pug and Gaspar’s vacant stares. Reynard smiled tightly at her, Gaspar glowered from under his unkempt hair, and Pug sketched a lazy gesture resembling a salute.

“Anything to report?” she asked them all, in a slightly falsely cheerful tone. Reynard glanced at Gaspar, who eyed Pug, who squinted up at the Queen through her single eye.

“Well, someone came in after midnight rung, but we put an end t’ his fucking skulking, quick,” she explained, then pointed at a few dark spots on the dirt floor. “And you can see the blood right there.”

“So you can,” Meve said, not at all displeased. “Don’t suppose you managed to get a look at the culprit?”

Pug shook her head, then, considering a moment, noted, “A tall bastard, whoever. Gaspar got ‘im right in th’ ankle from the shadows.”

“Tall, with a limp,” the Queen considered.

Gaspar hesitated, and brushed his hand against his own pox-scarred face, glancing at Pug.

“Might’ve had a beard, also,” she translated. “Hard t’ say anything else.”

“Better than nothing at all to go on. Where’s Gascon?”

Reynard shook his head. Gaspar glanced at Pug again; she chewed her right thumbnail and shrugged idly.

“Don’t know,” she said, cooly studying the dried blood on the floor; a breathless page then hustled in, bowed to all present - Pug croaked a laugh at him - and announced that the Mayor requested the Queen’s presence, urgently.

“What, already?” she asked. “All right; tell him I’ll be along shortly. You two can go as well,” she added, to the brigands, “Thank you for your assistance, and tell the Duke to report to me the moment you next see him.”

“As for you,” she added quickly to Reynard, as soon as the room cleared out, “In case I don’t see you later - “

He put his helm down wordlessly, stepped across the few feet between them, and kissed her; she took her time pulling away, despite the city government’s looming crisis, and said, “Good luck, not that you need it; I look forward to your victory.”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, somewhat embarrassed, “I’ll do my best.”

An hour later, the event was already underway. The brilliant sun pulled a faint fog from the frozen ground, and flashed on the armor of the first two contestants as they met with a resounding crash.

“Coll, and Bohault,” Giselle reported; they had put her in charge of keeping track of the course of the jousts, and she accordingly drew a bold check in red ink beside Bohault. The Queen nodded her congratulations to the man, who returned her notice with an answering, professional jerk of his head. The next contestants were familiar, as well, and the third set strangers, not unexpectedly; twenty rounds had to be got through, and some of the names on the list had a distinctly foreign flavor. One such man, called Devyn, provided the judges’ first opportunity to deliberate, as he and John Kimborne knocked each other down in the same moment.

“Sir Kimborne’s a proper knight, which ought to count for something,” Meve said, “And that sweep with the lance on his opponent’s part was, I believe, not quite legal, which is no doubt why he was unseated.”

“It’s hardly Devyn’s fault that he’s from Novigrad, which doubtless is why he didn’t know not to do that,” Giselle said, smiling encouragingly at the young man. “Also, I think he is well, you know, handsome, for a foreigner.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” the Baroness said, rolling her eyes. By unspoken consent, she reigned as their chief; accordingly, when she pointed impatiently at the knight, her decision was accepted without further comment and the contest carried on. They made good time under her able command, assisted by the timely appearance of mulled wine and sandwiches at midmorning. The names and men rolled by, ticked off in red; they made it past the unpronounceably named Sicg Sicgurdssen, a group of brothers whose names all began with with same letters, Ethan, who put the third and final of the brothers down and received a brilliant smile from Giselle in reward, and as, the Baroness and Queen grew bored and were chatting idly about the relative merits of different styles of tilting helms, Sir Holt, who won his match easily. The Queen eyed him darkly and then abruptly lost interest in side conversation as Reynard appeared, defeated a man named Hall in a few passes, and departed again. The Baroness accepted the sudden silence with faint amusement.

“Nolda,” Giselle read, next, “And Sir Eres. That’s the knight, there. Who is Nolda?”

Meve cracked a surprised, but pleased, smile, pointed across the field, where a lanky woman in well-used armor stood apart from the other contestants and said, pleased, “That is Nolda; she was an Aedirnian defector, fought for us in Angren. I hadn’t known she was still here in Rivia; I thought she’d have gone back home.” The Baroness squinted at the woman, with a thoughtful air. Sir Eres scowled at his opponent, glanced hopefully toward the judges, found no leniency in their stony stares, shut his visor and rode to his place. The match lasted all of ten seconds: Nolda held her lance left-handed, at an odd diagonal angle, and then at the last moment straightened it, smacked her opponent’s spear aside with a sweep of her shield, and knocked him away. The Baroness hummed thoughtfully under her breath.

“Unusual tactic, but not, I as far as I know, illegal,” Meve commented. Giselle shrugged and crossed out Sir Eres’ name, as the knight picked himself up and stalked angrily toward the judges.

“It may not answer a second time, but it certainly took him by surprise,” the Baroness said, agreeably, and added, to the clearly disgruntled man, “What’s the problem?”

The problem was that Sir Eres was a sore loser, Giselle supposed; Meve privately suspected it had as much to do with Nolda herself than it did with his defeat at her hands, but if he was hoping for sympathy he found none. The Baroness turned him away with a few blunt phrases and the contest continued.

By noon, they had only three names left. Giselle read them off in a doubtful voice: Brossard, Gaheris, Saban. They sent a page to find out where the absentees had got to, and took a break. Giselle hurried off into the crowd with a promise to return in due time, and Meve and the Baroness settled into a debate of the various methods of arranging the second round and soon arrived at a prospective bracket. The page returned, indicated a short, bearded warrior on a sturdy horse, said, “The dwarf, there, is Saban; as for the Duke, nobody seems to know where he might be found, and the squire Gaheris is injured and can’t fight.”

“I suppose, under the circumstances, that we could simply advance Saban to the second round,” the Queen remarked, frowning at the news of Gascon’s absence, as Giselle came running, slightly flustered. “You’re late,” she added, to the younger woman. Giselle flushed and looked apologetic.

“Someone had let a bunch of rabbits out into the street, and a crowd of boys was chasing ‘em,” she explained, and then, spotting something on the field, abandoned the tale and gasped, “Look!”

Meve turned and smiled as she was finally proved right: a man in black armor, mounted on a black horse, sat at the farther end of the barriers. He slowly pointed his lance at Saban, who turned to stare at the judges, baffled. Meve shrugged at him, which he seemed to take for permission; he pulled his helmet on briskly and kicked his horse toward the appointed starting position without delay.

Saban rode well, but it was obvious that he was an amateur; the black knight unseated him in their first pass without apparent effort. He stood, collected his lost helmet from the ground, picked a clod of dirt out of the visor, and shrugged pragmatically. Meve squinted at the departing black knight’s back, and said, “Well, that was - quite interesting. On to the next round, I suppose. Who is it, Giselle?”

It was Bohault and the unfortunate Ethan, who stood no chance against the veteran; he received another, slightly less congratulatory smile from Giselle, who then drew a second mark beside the soldier’s name.

“So,” Meve said to the Baroness, conversationally, watching the next combat with a fine appearance of attention, “Care to make a prediction on the winner, yet?”

“Of this match? Sir Brewes,” the older woman replied promptly; the knight in question was unseated by his opponent a half minute later. Meve smiled smugly at the winner.

“Nolda seems to be doing well for herself, doesn’t she? - but I meant overall, in general.”

“Ah. Well, Sir Odo, Sir Kimborne, perhaps Sir Holt if should he get lucky with his matchups -”

“What about that black knight?”

“Oh, him? Well, it’s hard to say, for sure.”

The conversation paused again as Count Odo made his second appearance, against Sicg, the knight from Skellige. The Count won his second match far more quickly than he had his first. Meve, knowing from long experience that he had been studying the competition for most of the last round, to prepare himself, was unsurprised.

“Although,” the Baroness continued thoughtfully, as he rode away, “I have seen a black knight fight at a recent tourney, I can’t say as it’s the same one who’s here today. Armor can be changed, but this one doesn’t seem to have the same style, at all. However, he does seem familiar, but they all do after near thirty-five years of watching them in tournaments. Almost all, at least.”

Meve was growing used to the older woman’s subtle hints, and therefore was sure she’d caught a significant note in her comments. She thought back to the tournament, suddenly recalled the Baroness’s parting behavior with a frown, and re-evaluated her previous assumption: perhaps, after all, there was no confusion about herself and Gascon, and - she realized with mild annoyance - the Baroness had figured out the true reason for her absences, one way or another, but said nothing about it at the time. The same gleam of a secret joke was in the other woman’s eye when she looked away from the field, where Sir Holt was riding away from yet another victory. Meve stared at her, momentarily at a loss. The Baroness smiled slightly and looked back to the lists.

“So,” the Queen asked, deciding it was best to not to inquire further, “Who do you think it could be, this time?”

“I’m not sure; I’ll need more time to consider the matter,” the Baroness said, as the black knight returned, last of the pack again, and lined up against Sir Orlac, who had been lingering about as if waiting for him.

“They’ve fought before,” Meve said, remembering suddenly. “Sir Orlac received an unexpected cold bath, as I recall.”

Sir Orlac took his second defeat and stood up, swearing loudly at the black knight’s back.

“At least he didn’t get wet, this time,” she added.

“What a fall,” Giselle said, “Do you think he’s hurt?”

The knight was limping slightly, but Meve shrugged dismissively and said, “Oh, no. He’ll be fine. Anyway, who do we have left?”

Giselle held up the list; the Queen glanced at the six names remaining, nodded, and signaled to the herald.

“This is going well,” she reflected, after watching Nolda defeat Bohault, to acclaim from the growing audience. “Perhaps I should do it again, next year, but with fewer participants, so it doesn’t take all day.”

“Hm,” the Baroness said noncommittally, and then, during the next fight, “I do believe I like Sir Kimborne’s chances to win out; what do you think, young lady?”

Giselle considered.

“Well, the black knight’s very mysterious; it would be interesting if he won, like a ballad.”

Nobody bothered to ask Meve for her opinion, but she took no notice, as she was closely watching the knight in question and Sir Holt ride onto the field. The black knight sat dead still on the nearer side, but the red knight passed him and approached the judges, scowling. The Baroness addressed him, in a tone that rivaled Meve’s for arrogance:

“What’s th’ issue, sir?”

“I don’t want to fight this - this fellow,” he said, sulkily. “It ain’t proper.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for one, he might not even be a knight; it could be anyone under all that armor - any man at all, or a woman, even, for that matter.”

“Heard this sort o’ thing before, a hundred time,” Giselle said quietly to Meve, “He’s chicken.”

“I heard that,” the knight growled. Giselle blinked innocently at him.

“Well, your other option is Sir Kimborne,” the Baroness said, growing slightly annoyed. Sir Holt opened his mouth, then closed it with an uneasy frown, obviously unsatisfied by the alternative offer.

“Didn’t this same knight defeat you, a month or two ago? I would think you’d want to avenge your loss,” the Queen noted, idly. He scowled at the reminder, clearly inclined to argue further. The Baroness turned a hostile glare on him; he thought better of it and rode away, muttering, to take his place by the barricade.

“What an ass,” Meve said.

The knights completed a pass, to no avail on either side.

“Didn’t your man Odo duel him, lately?” the Baroness said. “Can’t say I blame him, now, though I thought his behavior uncharacteristically impulsive at the time. Watch and see if the red knight don’t overcommit on this next run.”

He did, badly; instead of his usual hesitation, he drove in a rush. Meve suspected he had lost his temper. The black knight took the attack on his shield and turned it away.

“Yes, well, next time I’ll leave you to deal with him instead,” Meve remarked. “It seems to be more effective.”

Sir Holt took his third run far more cautiously; his usual hesitation returned, and Meve glanced downward to hide a malicious smile as the black knight took advantage, aimed true, and knocked his opponent down hard.

“I have five sons,” the Baroness replied, flatly. “Th’ egos of these fool knights can’t compare.”

Gaheris limped heavily onto the field and collected Sir Holt; Meve looked from him to the black knight, who appeared to be watching the squire closely, a slight frown crossing her face. Giselle, meanwhile, made a bold red mark through the loser’s name and said, “It’s Sir Odo and Sir Kimborne, now.”

It was a fight that the Baroness watched approvingly, making comments to Giselle, as Meve was, again, distinctly uninterested in conversation. The Count finally wore his opponent down from sheer weariness after half a dozen passes, drawing a pleased smile from the Queen. They then broke off for ten minutes, reckoning it was only fair to let their last three knights have a rest before the end. The judges spent the time in conference, deciding how to arrange their semi-finals; the no-shows had ruined their early arrangements, leaving them with an odd number of contestants. The Baroness eventually ruled that Sir Odo, being the senior knight, should be given a free round, and Nolda and the stranger would go against each other, as a result. Meve squinted at her.

“Have you really not figured the black knight out, yet?”

“Oh,” she said, mysteriously, “I think that by the time we’re done, we’ll know who he is, one way or another.”

The black knight, however, did not appear when summoned along with the other two, leaving Nolda sitting alone at the barricades. Reynard, after a while, offered to go against her, on the chance that the third contestant would turn up very late to fight the last match; Nolda agreed, somewhat reluctantly. The Baroness overruled them, claiming that there was no knowing whether their third party would actually appear. The contestants therefore settled in to wait, Reynard with a distant frown and Nolda looking moderately suspicious of the sudden delay. The crowd chattered in the background, bored and uncertain of the future prospects for its entertainment.

“How long are we going to wait?” Giselle asked, five minutes later; the black knight had failed to show.

“Damn him,” Meve snarled quietly, “I planned this blasted event to flush him out, and he still somehow slipped away through my fingers. What now?”

Giselle stared at her; the Baroness sighed and said, “Well, th’ only thing we can do is declare the match forfeit; Nolda will just have to fight Sir Odo, gods help her.”

The contestants were summoned and the plan explained to them. Nolda did not seem overly relieved at being spared the black knight, probably due to being confronted with the Count as a result. He himself appeared mildly perturbed by the unusual situation, glanced at Meve’s tense smile, and said nothing.

“I don’t know as it’s necessary that the Count should go against me now,” Nolda said doubtfully, “To tell the truth, I’m only here because Captain Bohault - he’s my husband - said could do better than me at this game, which I’ve proved he can’t.”

“That you have,” the Queen said, mildly amused despite herself, “But the contest has to be won by someone. If you’re intending to spare Sir Reynard a fall on account of his age, I assure you there’s no need.”

Nolda, who appeared to be roughly the same age as the knight, frowned, apparently unsure whether the Queen was joking. Sir Reynard’s expression turned mildly pained, but he did not roll his eyes at her.

“I have no objections,” he said, stiffly. Nolda shrugged and said, “Well, I’m game, then.”

“Good,” the Baroness said, “We’ll start in twenty minutes.”

The combatants rode down to opposite sides of the field, where Reynard sat on his horse, exchanging a few words with his squire. Nolda stood at her horse’s head, deep in conversation with Bohault; the occasional audible phrase and the cavalryman’s complicated hand gestures suggested a strategy session was underway. Meve struggled to appear neutral, if she couldn’t manage anything else, despite her continued irritation at the black knight’s disappearance. The effort became supremely more difficult as, from behind and under the stands, a familiar voice whispered, “Meve! I mean, Your Majesty! I need t’ talk to you.”

She turned, slowly, forced a casual tone, and said, “Ah, Duke Brossard. I’m glad you’ve decided to join us at last.”

#witcher #thronebreaker #fanfic #action #comedy #romance

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kittensjonsa · 5 years ago

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Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU

Summary: Sansa has to get through a tough weekend. Her boss, weekend with the family and saving her job. Oh, right, and a fake engagement too.

---

Sansa could feel her heart thumping in sync with the throbbing in her temples. Five more minutes.. just five more minutes please.

He was always early and almost everday he would step in just three minutes shy of nine o' clock in the morning. And here she was internally screaming at the line at Starbucks, moving at a glacial pace.

“Okay thanks!” Sansa hollered at the ruddy boy, the same one whom she greeted every morning when she stopped by to get her cuppas. Lucky for her, he knew exactly what her order was and all she needed to do was swipe her credit card. He was her life saver. Scrambling into a cab, she prayed, at least she'd get there a minute before her boss.

Sansa knew she should have stopped at one chapter but a wave of inspiration came over and one chapter became three - and the next thing she knew she jumped, awakened by the loud metal clang of her stationery holder that must have toppled onto the floor in the midst of her slumber.

“Oh shit! Hold please!” Sansa sighed in relief and mumbled her thanks as she rushed into the lift. She could still make in time.

8.56 am. Whew.

But of course like most of her days, it all turned to shit in a split second.

“Son of a! Nooo!” a warm sensation pooled at her chest, one of the coffee cups had smashed onto her black dress as the mail boy she raced into frantically picked up the envelopes strewn all over the floor.

“Arrghhh!” Sansa screeched and glared at him as she stomped to her desk. Angrily, she punched her computer start button. Nothing ever goes right. Nothing. 8.57 am.

“This will have to do. Jeyne will have to do without this shirt for one more day,” Sansa mumbled to herself, ripping open the plastic that covered a dry-cleaned white silk shirt she could wear over her dress. She meant to return it to Jeyne that morning but well, this was an emergency. The stain wasn't noticeable at all but Sansa was too self-conscious to ignore it.

Tying up the hems into somewhat of a cropped top over her v-neck black dress now stained and smelling of triple shot espresso, Sansa figured it looked professional enough for any meetings today. She just had to pull it off for the next ten hours or so.

“Good morn- hey is that my top?” Jeyne chuckled at Sansa's makeshift style statement.

“A teeny accident but I swear I will return this to you tonight if I have to okay. I am so sorry,” Sansa pouted, hoping her one and only friend at work would just let it go and leave it, seeing how the day was turning out to be.

“No biggie Sansa but looks good on you. I should try that some time.”

Oh thank god.

Then, the IM dinged. Two words flashed on her computer screen.

“IT'S HERE!”

Sansa looked around and watched everyone scramble back into their cubicles; no more giggling by the water dispenser, no longer was there laughing by the coffee machine just heard seconds ago. Everyone was just trying to avoid getting stuck in any common areas, any walkways that meant they had to come face to face with the boss.

Her boss, that is. Jon Snow.

How unfortunate was she to have a boss everyone loathed. Satan, she dubbed him once. Well she had many names for him, recounting many tales of her frustrations at work during her many calls to her family and it became a term of endearment almost. She could probably write a best seller one day alá Devil Wears Prada - with film rights and everything. But for now, it's ten hours a day, weekends at the office and crowded book fairs.

A figure in black went past her. His head of jet black curls was unmistakable. He was a male Medusa; never look him in the eye unless you want to be turned to ash, metaphorically speaking. The rumours that went around were ridiculously vicious albeit amusing.

“Good morning, Mr Snow. As always, here's your c-”

“Sansa, get George on the line. I just scored him an interview on Oprah and I'm gonna need to talk to him. Also, after that get Aliser a meeting with me because that dick is gonna get it from me today,” her boss strutted into his office, as if he owned the building, without as much as greeting her since his eyes were too glued to the email he was furiously typing on his phone.

“Coffee.” Sansa mumbled and cleared her throat as she waited for him to grab the takeaway cup from her outstretched hand. Like clockwork, he did, still ignoring her like as always, every morning. Sansa had gotten used to it.

Jon Snow settled into his chair and immediately turned on his computer, his phone now tossed aside now that there were more important things to start off with.

Yep, good morning to you too Satan.

“Well, so we have a staff meeting at 10, a conference call with the Westerlands office at 11 and you have an appointment at the Immigration office at 1. So should I cancel your lunch and push it back to 2 pm?”

Jon swivelled from the screen and looked at her. His brows were furrowed and to Sansa that was never a good thing. Three years with this man, this slave driver, she knew everything there was to know about him, his likes, dislikes, his micro expressions that helped her navigate through this murky depths of hell she called a job - of being the executive assistant of one the most well known and respected former Pulitzer prize winning journalist now turned editor-in-chief of Mormont & Sons Publishing. Good things don't come easy, she would tell herself that every day, through the late night coffee and dinner runs, the book fairs and the weekends in the office.

“Immigration? What? No, cancel that. I filled out those papers already. You sent them out, didn't you?”

Sansa nodded. Of course she did, she also collected his dry cleaning, his groceries and the expensive watch he had serviced, which took her an hour and half to get to the other side of the city because they were the only ones Jon trusted enough to do.

“Right, so back on with the lunch meeting then.” Sansa inched her way to the door as Jon turned back around to his computer.

“Sansa?”

Ugh.

“Who's Rick and why does he think I'm hot? Why does he have his Tinder handle here?”

What?

“Umm.. I have no idea who that is.” Sansa froze at her spot.

Jon took a sip of his coffee, his stern face visibly amused by the awful scribble on the white coffee cup. “Triple espresso shot, no sugar. Hmm.”

“Well, I'm guessing that should be my coffee that was meant for me,” Sansa finally admitted.

Jon pursed his lips as he stared at her. “So, you're telling me that you too, drink triple espresso shot with no sugar?”

Sansa shrugged. “It grows on you.. I guess.”

“I thought you drank tea.”

“Well... variety, right?”

Jon's eyes were still on her, unamused. “You spilled my coffee didn't you?”

Sansa sighed. This day was no better than any other. If only she could catch a break.

Jon pointed to his own jacket and then to her. Sansa looked down and saw a small spot of dark brown on her makeshift cropped jacket, the pristine, shiny and well pressed silk blouse. Damn it.

“Good save on the shirt.”

Umm.. thanks?

“If... there's nothing else, you know where I'll be,” Sansa pointed to her desk outside as she slowly made her exit.

Then, the phone rang.

“Mr Snow's office,” Sansa answered dutifully. “It's Mr Thorne. Do you want to take it?”

Jon thought for a moment, then gestured to a general direction - it could only mean he wanted a one on one.

“Mr Thorne, Mr Snow is on his way to you right now.”

Jon stood up and tossed a notepad to Sansa. “You're coming with me, I need a witness.”

A witness? For what?

Murder?

“Oh you self righteous son of bitch!” the bellow shook her and Sansa almost dropped her notepad.

“You think you can waltz right in here with your big head and big ass editor ego and tell me what to do? I don't think so!” Aliser yelled at him, ripping the glasses from his face.

Shit. Don't punch each other. Please.

“Oh Thorne, you really are a thorn in my ass. Actually everyone's ass. You're just a lazy, entitled braggart who can't do the job right.”

Aliser only scoffed. “So you think your hot shot award is going to get you places huh? Throw your weight around like you own this shit?

“We told you many times, get George on board, get George on board, sign him and write a couple of books. But guess who did that instead? Me. I always have to finish your job for you because you can't do it ever.”

Aliser turned silent but his face was red with rage. Sansa couldn't blame him. He was being fired.

“Look, you have two months to look for another gig. I won't make you sign a non-compete and I'll tell everyone you resigned. I'll make sure Finance settles a leaving bonus for you. For all your years of service. How about that, huh?” Jon coolly offered in an effort to diffuse the rapidly growing tension in the air. Sansa gulped. Please take it, I want to get out of this room.

“You're going to regret this Jon Snow,” Aliser warned. Jon only shrugged and made his way to the door. Sansa quickly followed behind him and only managed a polite smile to Aliser.

“You got all that down didn't you? About the non compete and everything?” Jon asked as they made their way back to his office.

“Make a note to HR and let them get on it. And tell them I'm scouting for new editors. Which means I need you this weekend.”

Sansa's heart sank at the thought. No not this weekend. It's Gramp's 80th.

“Sansa? Did you hear what I just said?”

Sansa cursed under her breath and turned her attention back to Jon as they both stood in front of his office.

“Yes.. yes of course. Got it all down. But this weekend-”

“Why? Do you have plans?” Jon's tone was enough to warrant a slap from her.

“It's my grandfather's birthday weekend and I already told them I'll be there.”

Jon looked at her unblinking. “Well, tell them you'll come for the next one. I mean, if you want to keep your job that is. You do know birthdays happen every year, right?”

Sansa hated every time he brought that up. If it wasn't the book fairs it would be overtime at the office. When does it end?

Sansa bit her lip; there was no point arguing. “All right. I'll call them later.”

Jon winked and gave a token smile. “That's the spirit.”

Defeated, Sansa inhaled deeply, picking up the phone on her desk, hoping no one would be home pick up the call.

Sansa Stark, Editor. Sansa Stark, Editor. Sansa Stark, Editor.

It was the only thing in her mind that could help pull her through whatever life had in store for her that day.

“Hey Sansa, Mr Mormont wants to see Mr Snow right away. He says it's urgent,” Jeyne's voice broke her out her reverie.

Great, another one.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #the proposal au #it's going to be a long one #so hang in there lol #fave movie aus #modern jonsa au

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cannibalhabits · 5 years ago

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I have no idea if someone's done this, but I was struck with inspiration literally like a minute ago while I was walking my dog so here, have a hastily scribbled down sanders sides divergent au that I'm never gonna do anything with because 1. am lazy and 2. no way for all them to interact soo... (warning, this is gonna be kinda angsty, guilt tripping (himself i guess) and emotional trauma(?) and a slight mention of anxiety)

here we go, we'll start with the factions they were born into:

Deceit (who I'm gonna call Ethan like Ethos cause I like that name and since it's one of the method's of persuasion I think it'd fit well with this faction) - Candor

At first it was just irony, most deceit(>:D)ful side being born in the most truthful faction, but then I had a thought that I can't really put to words but basically, issues with how they're run, maybe some angst(tm) and other things that I really have no fucking clue how to write out, could make him fit into (and fear >:3) this faction.

Patton - Abnegation

Do I really have to explain this one? With the way he acts in canon, repeatedly trying to give away his very soul to others, how could I not have him here. (and how could I not make him leave?)

Logan - Dauntless

This one may be confusing but I think I love it the most. I know being a stereotypical 'stuck-up nerd' he may not fit in here, but consider this; his bluntness, his refusal to be unrationally afraid of just about anything, his fucking temper! All shit you'd expect from someone raised dauntless. Though he probably didn't get along well with his peers... *eyes*

Virgil - Abnegation

Another one that may not seem quite right, but like hogwarts houses it's quite hard to place virgil into any one faction, so I've chosen this one. The whole 'blend in, don't let people see you or give attention to you or you're selfish' dealio, has been something my anxiety likes to fuck me over with fairly often, and (this is where the guilt tripping warning takes affect folks) I've always thought that the Abnegation faction had such potential for emotional abuse, specifically things like guilt tripping. Imagine Virgil, trying his damnedest to not be selfish, but all he ever hears is that he's a horrible selfish brat and that he'll never be selfless and everyone will hate him and when other people get mad at him he starts to think that it's his fault and basically, it sucks. Also, Virgil and Patton are best friends, with Patton accidentally lending a bit to the emotional trauma just by being incredibly selfless (it's not good for patton either trust me) and trying to encourage Virgil to do the same. (He's trying to be a good friend, he tries to help when Virgil is sad, but he doesn't know why Virgil is sad cause Virgil's scared Patton'll be mad at him too. :// so yeah, everything sucks)

Roman & Remus - Dauntless

The amount of confidence these two fucking excude with every goddamn action they take, the violence, their love for weaponry, do I even have to explain this one. Jeez, just imagine these two covered in tattoos, it'd be so great man I'm freakin out, anyway, yeah. Just, perfection.

NOW FOR THE GOOD SHIT!!!

But first, I like to imagine they all have the same last name (no they're not related, aside from roman and remus) just cause that's fun and also they'll have a chance to meet and because im a basic hoe who wants them all to communicate, boom, cell phones are a thing, sold by the Erudite, and they all trade info, except for Patton and Virgil because having phones is selfish(tm). Patton just memorizes the numbers given and promises to call if he ever gets the chance. Virgil acts like he doesn't care. (but he does)

Ethan transfers to Erudite. Philosophy, psychology, no more fearing every little secret being found!!! what more could a man ask for!!!

Logan also transfers to Erudite, cause all of his prick friends constantly bothered him for wanting to fukcing know shit goddamn why is it so bad to just wanna not be fucking stupid. (also, i've made the executive decision that Logan has a face tattoo and maybe others but I'm not going back to edit that shit so have it now, it's on his left cheekbone and i dont know what it is yet but it's gonna be good.)

Patton transfers to Amity, after being convinced by Roman, Logan, and Ethan who can all clearly see he's working himself to the bone and is not healthy at all. He is scared, but he knows being scared is selfish and being kind doesn't mean not being selfless and if these lovely people want him to join Amity than he should do it. (oof im hurting myself) (also, maybe patton is trans ftm and logan and ethan are like, wow this kids got big dyshporia and does not know it we need to get them somewhere they can figure this crap out. i like this idea it's canon now)

Roman chooses to transfer to Amity as well, just cause of that one scene in Insurgent (i think) where the Amity kids in the back of the truck play guitar and sing songs and Roman's always loved performing, and if generally a lot softer than his love for swordfighting lets on and just wants to spend his days singing and writing and reading stories for and to little kids and im making myself soft fuck lets move on

Remus sticks in Dauntless cause why would the trashman wanna leave?!?!?!

And Virgil, after being basically claimed by Remus as his new best friend, and being (semi) convinced of the idea that he could learn to defend himself and be confident by Roman and Logan (while managing to convince himself that he could do that and still blend in, and also being supremely scared of ending up factionless and i've now once again made an executive decision, Logan went the whole time weighing the pros and cons of being factionless the entire transfer ceremony)

Now that I've gotten all this down, I'm considering actually doing something with this. It would be completely plotless cause i hate plots, but it'd be something. maybe.

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buttsonthebeach · 6 years ago

Text

Overwhelmed

EVERYONE! I had the distinct pleasure of writing a full scene commission for @lauren-draws-things/@lauren-draws-xxx based off of one of her very NSFW and very amazing drawings! (The link might not work - Tumblr is giving me a hard time, of course)

Thank you for letting me write Lenneth, and I am so pleased that you think I did her justice <3

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots for February coming SOON!)

Pairing: Solas x Lenneth Lavellan

Rating: EXPLICIT. Content warnings for double penetration, dom/sub dynamics, and inappropriate uses of magic.

**********

Solas was always entirely too controlled, in Lenneth’s humble opinion. He didn’t misplace a single spell or word. He considered each bite of his food, each sip of his drink. He was mild-mannered to the rudest of nobles, quiet in noisy arguments. Of course, she did have to admit that that made it extra fun to rile him up. To be the only one who saw another side of him. To creep up behind him as he stood in front of his desk in the rotunda, wrap her arms around his waist, nuzzle into the space between his shoulder blades, feel him relax into her touch – and then to stand on tiptoe and place a wet, smacking, sucking kiss on the soft skin where his neck met his shoulder. “Lenneth!” He was trying to be scolding, but there wasn’t much use in trying to be scolding when one had just yelped like a dog. “You’ve been at this for far too long. Those oculara skulls won’t get any deader, you know. They will still be here in the morning. Come to bed, vhenan.” She wrapped her arms around him again and cuddled into the crook of his neck. He smelled like ink and lyrium and his own skin and it was perfect, and she wanted to drown herself in that scent. There was already a prickle of heat between her legs, and she would stoke it to a flame before the night was done.

“I am close to done.” He said, gently extricating himself from her grasp, giving her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. Lenneth looked him over from head to toe. “Really? You don’t even look like you’ve started.” She let her gaze linger on the part of his sweater that preserved his modesty in order to make her meaning clear. He rolled his eyes. “You are more clever than that.” “When I want to be, perhaps. Right now I just want to be underneath you. Or on top of you. Whichever you prefer, really.” She rocked up onto her toes and then back onto her heels, full of her own excitement, her affection for the stoic man before her. She would peel back every layer soon enough. “No,” Solas said breezily, walking around to the other side of his desk. With a lazy wave of his hand, he reignited a candle that had fizzled while they talked.

That gave Lenneth a thought. One that had more to do with said prickle of heat between her own legs, and less to do with actual candles.

“You know,” she said. “You could always try using your magic on me instead.”

The aura of her own magic heightened around her at the thought, as though prickling with a hundred needles. It was one of those things she’d always wondered about when she was younger, and coming into her power. Things were always complicated with other mages in her clan and outside of it. She hadn’t had a chance to try with anyone else.

And Solas - the creativity in his spells, the way he confounded Vivienne and Dorian and Bull with them, the way he always seemed to be holding back some of his power - he was the perfect person to try with.

It helped that he was also handsome, and charming, that he loved her, and that she loved him, of course.

It also helped that goading him into giving it a try would be the most fun Lenneth had had in a long time, and the gods knew she needed the fun after the tension and horror of Halamshiral and Adamant.

She sent one long lick of her mana towards Solas and used it to trace the curve of his ear. She could feel the lightness that always filled her body when she stood halfway between both worlds - Fade and reality - and that only amplified that hunger growing within her. It did good things for Solas, too, from the vibration she felt in his aura at the touch of hers. The way he stood up straighter and breathed in through his nose was a good indication, too. A grin broke across her face.

“I have no idea what you are implying,” Solas said mildly.

“Come on,” she pleaded, following him, draping herself around him, nuzzling against his back and running her hands down his sides, perilously close to the fronts of his thighs. “I know how much you love to show off.”

“Lenneth, I promised this report to your council by the time you have your morning meeting.”

Solas’s tone was exasperated but he did not draw away from her. She knew how much he craved touch, how under that confident, austere veneer he was desperate for it, so desperate he could not even admit it fully, and had to show it in the way he would inevitably take control from her so he could have exactly what he wanted, needed, and from the way he seemed to hate every inch of space between them once they were alone, and bare.

Lenneth liked the role she played in that dance. She liked teasing, teasing, prodding, until she reached the soft, vulnerable center of him, and he had to react. She knew he liked it too. He didn’t know how to let it out otherwise.

“Well, that’s the marvelous thing about being in charge,” she said. “I hereby push your deadline to the afternoon meeting instead.” She traced a line down the front of his left leg with just one finger. He shivered but did not react otherwise.

Solas shook his head. “You know full well that the Seeker asked for the report. She wants to know how it intersects with what she learned from Lord Seeker Lucius. And she will not be present at the afternoon meeting.”

But he was starting to lean back into her now. Lenneth let her wandering finger wander inward, away from the warm muscle of his thigh towards the warmer, softer part of him that she most wanted to touch.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard for you to amuse me for a little while, and then finish your report later,” she said as she cupped him and felt the beautiful weight of his sex in her hand.

Solas sucked in a breath.

“Lenneth,” he said. “We are in public.”

“And?” she said, cupping him closer, tighter, feeling him start to swell. “Am I not allowed to embrace my lover in public?”

“I believe that you are currently doing much more than embrace me,” he said, voice pitched low. It vibrated in his chest and she wondered if he could make his magic vibrate like that.

“Oh, my mistake then,” she said, withdrawing the touch, stepping back around to the other side of the desk, adding a twirl because she was alive and happy and she knew the dance between them had begun, and she was taking a night off from thinking about anything else. She retreated to the couch, feeling Solas’s eyes on her the whole while, knowing he was eyeing the sway of her ass as she walked.

“I have never known you to be so easily convinced,” Solas said.

“Disappointed?”

“In you? Never.”

It was such an unexpectedly sweet response. His smile was so genuine. Lenneth curled her toes with delight and then slouched down on the couch so she was reclined, and let her legs fall open, and Solas’s gaze was so heavy on the place between them that she could feel it, as real as if it was his hand.

“I must finish this,” he said.

“Would you really have me believe that you can’t finish me at the same time?”

She could see the delicate flaring of his nostrils, the flicker of his gaze from her casually spread legs to the report on his desk. He was weighing his obligations and the challenge she’d just thrown down for him. His parents, whoever they had been, had done well to name their son Pride.

Solas sat down at the desk and picked up his quill, as calm and poised as if their conversation had never happened. Lenneth deflated, dropping her head back against the sofa, and sighing theatrically. But Solas’s timing, as ever, was unerring. At the exact moment that she began to think she really had fallen in love with the most stubborn, unyielding man alive, she felt a row of wet kisses trickling down her neck. They were plush, warm, exquisitely placed. She would have sworn she felt Solas’s breath brushing across her skin with each one, that his weight was braced above her on the couch. But even as she let out a pleased hum and arched up, seeking more, she saw that he was still at the desk.

His left hand was busy with his quill, and his right hand was somewhere beneath the desk, on his knee, perhaps, and that was the trick. That was how he was doing this. He had so much power, so much control, that he could make her feel his presence with just a few subtle, out-of-sight gestures of his fingers.

Lenneth knew exactly what else he could do with a few subtle gestures of his fingers.

The ethereal kisses went lower, between her breasts, towards her navel. She whimpered, then slapped a hand over her mouth. It was late enough that the tower was mostly empty, but there was forever a spy in the rookery above, or one last scholar in the library scribbling notes, and she did have to be some sort of figure of authority at the end of the day.

“I cannot believe I ever found your focus indomitable,” Solas said, a chuckle warming the words.

He ended whatever sentence he was writing with a decisive stab of his quill onto the parchment. She could see the muscles in his right arm tense and before she could respond she felt a wash of sensation all over her body, a rain of a hundred kisses all over her skin, as if her clothes didn’t exist, as if nothing existed except his affection for her. He was kissing her breasts, her shoulders, her earlobes, her thighs, her ankles, the length of her spine. He was kissing her everywhere except her throbbing sex. She felt unbearably hot there, unbearably slick, unbearably swollen, already half undone, and she was still fully clothed, and he had not actually touched her once.

But Lenneth had some pride, too. She bit back the final mewling cry that threatened to spill from her when the rain of kisses faded, the last six or so being placed strategically around her lower belly and the tops of her legs, accompanied with a gentle nuzzling sensation. She propped herself up on her elbows and met Solas’s gaze.

“You know, I really thought your tricks would be more impressive. Is that all you can do?”

“Oh?” Solas said, returning to his writing, looking away from her. “I did not think I had to impress you. I thought I had already won you, my heart.”

And there, again, that disarming sweetness that made her want to melt into the floor, that made her breath catch in her throat. She felt a final ghostly kiss, this one on her forehead. She loved this side of him. But it wasn’t quite what she was after tonight. They could have all of that later. For now, she wanted him to transport her, to shed every pretense, to make her forget they were anything but animals.

“Didn’t you say something to me about Halamshiral? How no victory is permanent?” she replied, sitting up now - but keeping her legs spread wide, her feet planted firmly on the stone floor, and invitation and a challenge alike.

“Ah, so you do listen to my - what did you call them? My ramblings?” Solas continued writing, and now there were gentle fingers whispering up and down the outside of her legs, hands kneading the tension from her shoulders and running through her hair. Lenneth moaned in spite of herself, widened her legs further.

“Occasionally. And if I didn’t?” She did not bother to hide the breathlessness in her voice, even if she did not yet beg for him to stop teasing and fuck her already.

“That would be your choice. But I do so enjoy talking to you. You have the loveliest voice, you know.”

And that was when his magic placed a sloppy, open-mouthed, hungry kiss right on her cunt.

Lenneth arched, keened, scrabbled for purchase on the sofa, tried to press forward into a touch that wasn’t there. Other sensations joined that of his mouth - she felt hands spreading her legs, pushing them onto the sofa, felt the bulk of his shoulders, and even if she stared at the empty air in front of her, even if she stared at Solas, whose eyes were lowered demurely to the report, she could not convince herself that the feelings were anything less than utterly real.

“Oh, please, oh, more, yes, more -” she cut off her own babbling, felt her face go flame red, rode against the shape of his jaw and the press of his tongue. Her clit twitched, grew, ached for more.

“More of what?” Solas said. “I thought my talents were not impressive.”

That was, of course (of course) when two fingers slid inside of her, when he sealed his lips around her aching clit and sucked, when she had to bite down on her wrist, and even then her desperate whimpers still echoed off of the stone walls, and even then the ravens in the rookery rustled and clucked.

He kept working her. Lenneth’s smallclothes clung to her body, each stroke of his fingers and his tongue bringing a fresh wave of slick welling up from within her, and she was pulsing with her own need, writhing against the couch, shuddering every time he fluttered his tongue around her clit and calmly continued writing. The space between them was an ocean now, a gap so vast it took her breath away.

“Please, please - I want you and this, you and this, you and this.” She babbled her own refrain, not even really sure of her own meaning, just knowing that she needed all of him, every last scrap of Solas she could have, that she needed to be totally and utterly overwhelmed.

She opened her eyes. Solas had stopped writing. He was staring at her, hard, the muscles in his jaw working, like he really was there between her legs, eating her like she was his last meal. They locked eyes. He guided her closer, closer, closer to that precipice, she felt all the pleasure gather in one place, felt it about to explode outwards, felt a scream building in her throat - and then all the sensations stopped. She hovered, locked, at that precipice, panting, her throat raw.

“Upstairs,” Solas said, that one word a command. Then, smiling slyly: “If you can stand.”

Between the two of them and their ability to warp the Veil around themselves for speed and silence and cover, they made it up to her bedroom relatively unnoticed. Lenneth started shucking off her clothes on the stairs. She wasn’t sure who reached for who first - if it was Solas who clutched at her, or she who clutched at him, but before they ever reached the bed they were wrapped up in each other, clawing, biting, kissing. There was no magic now, other than the magic of their own connection, of how they bent and swayed together.

“More,” Lenneth said, reaching between them, cupping and grasping him, already ramrod straight and painfully hard in her hand. Solas made a muffled, gutted sound against her throat, where he was leaving sucking kisses behind. His hips rocked forward and so did hers.

“Bed,” Solas said.

And like that, Lenneth knew she had him. He had gone from his usual eloquence to single words, to ripping the hem of his tunic as he drew it over his head, to dropping his jawbone necklace with a clatter against the stone floor instead of setting it gently aside - he had gone from carefully controlled forays with his magic to a crackling power that seethed around him as he followed her onto the bed, crawling over her, his eyes all hunger and his hands all need.

“More,” she begged again. “More, vhenan, please, more -”

She was still soaked from their earlier play, and that had to be the only reason it didn't hurt when Solas drove himself into her, filling her up. She looked down the length of their bodies to watch his cock pumping in and out of her, the steady, driving rhythm of his need, the way her body parted for his, the shine of her slick on his rosy, rigid flesh.

“More,” she whined again. “I can't ever have enough of you, give me more.”

“Patience.” Single words again, this one little more than a growl.

“No.” Lenneth nipped at his chin, his throat, the corner of his mouth, squeezed herself around him.

And like that, she was on her stomach, and he was hauling her hips back, keeping her legs spread, pressing down between her shoulder blades, spreading her with two fingers. She ached with her own emptiness, leaned towards him, utterly wanton now.

“I am going to fill you with my magic,” Solas said. She could not see his face but she could hear his harsh breathing. “Will that satisfy you at last?” He stroked the length of her spine. It was a soothing, gently touch that made her skin prickle.

“No,” Lenneth said. “I want you, too. I want you everywhere.”

Solas's hand paused in its journey on her back. Lenneth turned her head so she could see him. His blue eyes gone black with desire, the flush on his high, sharp cheekbones, the angle of his jaw, his parted lips.

“I do,” she said, raw in her own need, her own vulnerability. She was spread before him, needing him, opened up to the most primal parts of her self. Nothing else mattered but this. She had wanted that tonight. After everything she had given for others. She just wanted this and all it meant.

Solas slid two fingers into her, curled them down, and her belly hollowed out with pleasure. He pressed on that rough spot within in her over and over again.

“I want all of you, too,” he said. “Will you give me that?”

“Of course,” she said. A wave of pleasures rippled through her, made her wetter, made Solas groan, finger her harder. “Please, gods, Solas - fuck me.”

Solas pulled her up by her waist - their bodies were flush together - he turned, they stumbled a bit, they ended up against the headboard of the bed, Lenneth spread wide between his legs. Another moment of fumbling, hands and legs - a lifting - and he was inside her again, but still this time. It was his mana that was stirring, rising, thickening from the ethereality of the Fade into something she could truly feel. Something pressing against her opening, close against Solas's length, rubbing shyly, teasingly, not quite breaching her.

A shiver ran through Lenneth's whole body.

“Oh, please, please, please -”

“You beg so prettily,” Solas said. She could feel his grin against her cheek.

The magic pressed inward by the smallest margin, stretching and burning her. She was full of Solas's body and she would have his magic now too, the essence of him, every ounce of him. She thought of him coming like this, filling her up the way she liked best, how he would groan and shudder behind her. Her cunt clenched. The magic slid in further. It was heavy, thick, blunt, pulsing with energy. Solas muffled a sound into her shoulder. Lenneth squeezed around him again, whined high and loud at the fullness, the vibration coming off the magic, the flex of Solas's own flesh within her.

“Wicked thing,” Solas murmured, rocking his hips, easing the magic in further.

“More, more, more,” Lenneth begged, and probably more besides that. She was not really in the business of paying much attention to what she was saying at the moment. All of her focus was reserved for swiveling and grinding her hips against that all consuming pressure within her.

“Needy thing,” he murmured.

And then he thrust hard, up into her, and she was so full she could not breathe or speak at all.

She burned, she ached, she felt herself on the verge of coming, her core so hot and so wet and so built up that surely all that pleasure would spill over soon. Solas seemed to sense that. He withdrew.

“No - no no no, please, vhenan, I need you, I need you to fuck me, right now, please, fuck me -”

She was being loud (as usual) and she did not care (as usual). Solas chuckled. The sound reverberated between their sweat-slick bodies. Lenneth looked down between them, caught a glimpse of the swollen red head of him, leaking clear fluid, the way his cock twitched and bobbed and the way he held back his own need.

“Noisy thing, too,” he said. “Perhaps I shall find a way to silence you. Would you like that, my heart? To be so full of me you cannot even speak?”

“Yes, please, yes -”

“Then have -” he paused, inched himself in, nestled his head into her folds. “Patience.”

Then Lenneth watched as the magic swelled beside him, a pale, shimmering phallus that found its own way into her body. They slid in together. She tried to watch but her eyes rolled back and it was good, so good, so overwhelming in the best way, there was nothing but sensation, pressure, friction, closeness. Her own magic hummed with the touch of his, the core of her connection to the Fade swelling at the same time as her clit, the walls of her cunt. She started up her sounds again, her noisy cries and moans and pleas. Solas worked her, held onto her hips to give himself stability, bounced her up and down and both the cocks filling her up. It was too much and not enough, when she came she would only get tighter and tighter, and she was going to come, her skin was all sparks and she was shouting now, feeling the wave building, her head tipped back -

And that, of course, was when her mouth was filled as well.

If she had not watched Solas’s own cock disappear inside her body, if she could not feel the slow, powerful pumping of his hips beneath hers, she would have sworn that that was what happened - that he had pushed himself into her mouth and was fucking her there, too. The cock that filled her mouth was smooth, thick, heavy, warm, as urgent in its movement as the two inside her sex were.

Lenneth only shouted all the louder. She was sweating. Solas was too. Beneath the sound of her own pleasure (trapped in her throat as it was) she could still hear him grunting his own joy. It was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect - the rough jostling of their bodies, the ecstasy of feeling him everywhere, of not being able to think of anything but how fucking good it all felt, how wet she was, how tight - tighter, tighter, tighter, she’d come so close the first two times, this time would she tip over the edge, would all that pleasure spill out in wave after wave, would that make Solas come too -

Solas nuzzled against her ear. He pinched her nipple. How did he still have a hand free? He went slower, harder with each thrust, and the sheer power, the power in him - he had such control over his magic and over himself -

“Do you think you will ever doubt me again?” he crooned.

The cock in her mouth slid further, teased the back of her throat. She tasted salt. She wanted it to spill all over her mouth. She wanted him to spill all over her belly. Her clit twitched, twitched, twitched. She wanted to come. She was babbling all of that but he couldn’t hear it, of course. Although - maybe he did, because he bit down on her shoulder and resumed one last driving rhythm, filled her, filled her, filled her, sent a spark of magic down to the place between her thighs and then -

And then her whole world was light, and sound, and pleasure.

She was coming, coming, coming, jerks and spasms, long keening cries, her whole body shaking, and she felt the ethereal shaft in her mouth jerk and spasm too, felt Solas’s whole body go tense - felt the magic dissipate, suddenly, half of the fullness leaving her body just as the last pulses wracked her - and then he pulled himself free from her body just in time to splash her with his spend, groaning and shaking all the while behind her, and he had been full, too - he went on and on, rope after rope, until he too was weak with the force of his pleasure.

Lenneth lay back against him, trembling. Solas barely held her up. He was panting. Lenneth was sore, and exhausted - and alive, so alive, and in love, so in love. She did not ever want to move or think again.

“Are you well?” Solas asked some time later. Lenneth wondered if she had dozed off and worried him. But, then again, he was like that - solicitous, caring, aware of her needs, perhaps even to the detriment of his own.

“I am perfect,” she said. He hummed and kissed her shoulder in response.

“Shall I clean you off?”

“After you worked so hard to make a mess of me?”

He laughed. She burrowed against him, determined not to let him move her off of him. She could not see his face this way, but she could feel every part of him - could feel him softening against her thigh, could feel the rhythm of his heart - and that mattered far more.

“Oh, Lenneth,” he said, absently. Maybe he was falling asleep, too.

“Are you well?” she asked, no mockery in her repetition of his question.

Solas was quiet a moment before answering. She wondered if it disconcerted him when she pushed him to lose control, or even if it just drained him. She waited for his answer, attentive.

“I am more than well,” he said. “As always, vhenan, you - transport me.”

She wondered what he meant by that. It was an odd choice of words. A careful one.

“I hope I transport you somewhere good,” she said. “Especially when we play like this.”

This time she had to turn around to see his face, to be sure. She flopped over inelegantly, so that she was still lying on top of him, but face to face this time. He was more flushed than she expected, but his face had a dreamy relaxation.

Solas cupped her face in both his hands, like she was something precious.

“Always,” he said, kissing each of her cheeks. “Except, perhaps, when you refuse to clean up, and then roll over on top of me, and make a mess of me too.”

Lenneth laughed, and that made her more sore, but once again it was the best kind of soreness - the kind that came from connection, from happiness. From feelings that overwhelmed.

#beach does commissions #lenneth lavellan #lauren-draws-things #solavellan fanfic #smutty literature #lemon #i can't believe we are using that tag again #ahhhh i really enjoyed working on thissss #beach writes

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