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sargeant-bxrnes · 4 months ago

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you’re how i pray.

summary: reluctantly, you found yourself reaching out to the church for guidance, to better your “wrongs.” only to meet father charlie and realize there was a whole world of sins you’ve yet to indulge in. [REQUESTED.]

pairings: charlie mayhew x fem!reader

warnings: conversations about religion and moral, blasphemy (?), charlie is a manipulative freak!. SMUT: this is DIRTYYYY, fingering (fem), oral (fem), unprotected sex, manhandling, dirty talk.

WC: 3.6K (sorry, i got into it)

my masterlist! requests are OPEN!

Your steps echoed against the cold stone floors of the church. The towering figure of your aunt walked ahead, moving with self-righteous purpose. You rolled your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle the irritation that boiled beneath your skin.

Of course, therapy had been a good start. You had actually been making progress, learning to manage your anger, to quiet the voice inside you that urged you to rebel against every rule, every boundary. But your family… they believed therapy wasn’t enough. They had another solution.

Father Charlie. You had heard of him. A young priest, charismatic and well-liked by the community.

Your aunt wasted no time, walking straight up to the office where Father Charlie stood. His presence was larger than life, draped in his priestly robes, and yet his eyes—those piercing brown eyes—held a spark that didn’t quite match the image of a humble servant of God.

“Father Charlie, thank you for meeting with us,” your aunt began, already launching into a tirade about you. Words like rebellious, problematic, and sinful spilled out as though they had been rehearsed. You stood there, arms crossed, glaring at the rows of candles flickering on the altar.

Father Charlie nodded sympathetically but his gaze never left you. He didn’t interrupt your aunt’s sermon, though, and once the woman was satisfied that she had delivered enough holy condemnation, she patted you on the shoulder.

“Father Charlie will talk to you, sweetie. He’ll help you.”

With that, your aunt left, leaving behind a cloud of forced piety. The silence settled in as Father Charlie waited until the doors shut behind her.

“Guessing by your expression, I’m sure this wasn’t your first option, coming to me.” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft.

You shrugged, leaning back against one of the wooden furnitures of his office. “Yeah. My family has unfortunately convinced themselves that I’m a lost cause, and that only God can save me. Or so.”

Father Charlie smiled, and something about it made you feel more cautious than comforted. “Why do you think people see you that way?”

The question took you by surprise. Not the usual condescending lecture, not yet, anyway. “Because I don’t see the point in all these rules they’re obsessed with. I do whatever I want, and that annoys people. We’re born into this world, and instead of living the lives we want, we’re told what to do from the moment we can speak. Doesn’t that sound a little… cruel to you?”

“Rules are there to keep the community together. Without them, society would fall apart.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Maybe. But what’s the point if those rules only help some people? The rich keep getting richer, while the rest of us… we’re always at the bottom. And that’s okay as long as we obey, right?”

“So, you think life is about doing whatever you want? No restrictions at all?”

“Not exactly,” you said. “I just think people should be free to make their own choices. To live without constant guilt and fear hanging over them. This whole idea that we’re supposed to follow blindly or be damned… it doesn’t sit right with me.”

The priest studied you for a moment, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze. “Do you believe in God?”

Your lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s something out there, something bigger than us. But the people in this community? The hypocrisy. The way they use their faith to control others. It’s toxic.”

Father Charlie nodded slowly. “You’re not the first to feel that way. But you’re not as alone as you think, either.”

“What do you mean?”

His smile was back, but this time, it held something else. Something darker. “Let’s just say… not everyone in this church follows the rules as strictly as you might think.”

A shiver crept down your spine, but you couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else. His words, his tone—they didn’t match the image of the holy man you had been expecting. You sat down on the couch, to keep some distance.

“Let’s talk more,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m curious about your thoughts on freedom. On life… on sin.”

Your pulse quickened as he took a seat next to you, far too close for comfort, but you didn’t move. There was something magnetic about him. Dangerous, but magnetic.

“You know,” Charlie began, his fingers lightly tracing the soft edge of the couch beneath both, “a lot of people in your position feel trapped by expectations. You said it yourself: you don’t like the way rules seem to be designed to keep some people down.”

You nodded slowly, unsure where this was leading, but already feeling a shift in the atmosphere.

He tilted his head, his gaze holding yours, and there was a glimmer of amusement—something almost wicked—in his eyes. “You’re not wrong to want freedom. To want more. But what you have to understand is that most people… they’re too afraid to admit it.”

“Too afraid?”

“Yes. They bury their desires under obedience, hoping it will make them feel whole. But deep down, they crave… more. They want to push against those boundaries.” He leaned in closer, his tone growing silkier. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you said, though you did know. It just didn’t feel safe to admit it—not to yourself, and definitely not to him. “I mean, I get frustrated, but… it’s not like I’m going to rebel against everything.”

“What if you did? What if, just for a moment, you allowed yourself to explore that side of you? The one that questions. The one that craves freedom… and maybe, other things?” Charlie’s eyes sparkled with something that felt far more dangerous than faith.

Other things. The way he said it, as if it were an invitation, hung heavily between both. You could feel the tension building, the heat.

“I think…” you started, your voice shaky, “I think people would lose their minds if I did something like that.”

His lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. “Maybe that’s exactly what they need.”

He let the words sink in before continuing, his voice dipping into something darker, more seductive. “You don’t need to live your life based on what others expect of you. There’s power in choosing for yourself.“

This conversation wasn’t going the way you’d imagined. You had expected judgment, correction—but instead, he was… encouraging you.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper now.

You looked away, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” Charlie said softly, his voice dipping even lower. “I think you know exactly what you want. You just haven’t allowed yourself to feel it fully.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, and you couldn’t ignore the way his words wrapped around you like a dark temptation. There was a part of you that did want something—something wild, something free, something dangerous. But this? Here? With him?

“It’s okay to admit it,” Charlie said, leaning closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear now. “Sometimes… surrendering to what you really desire is more powerful than fighting it.”

Your breath caught, and for a second, you leaned into him, drawn by the magnetism of his words. It was intoxicating—the way he seemed to know exactly what to say. But you pulled back, confusion warring with the strange attraction that was blooming inside you.

“You’re a priest,” you said, as though reminding him—and yourself—would somehow break the spell.

Charlie chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand temptation. Sin is… fascinating, isn’t it? Especially the kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.”

There was something so wrong about this conversation, and yet, you couldn’t deny the pull. The way he was making you feel—seen, understood, even desired—was something you hadn’t expected to find in this place.

He held your gaze, his confidence palpable. “You crave connection. An escape from the chains of expectation. You want to live life on your terms, even if that means stepping outside the lines drawn by those who think they know better. I admire that.”

“You really don’t know what you’re getting into,” you said, trying to regain some control.

“Perhaps,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly charming way. “But what if I’m willing to take that risk? To explore those uncharted waters with you?”

“Is that what you do with all the girls who come in here, Father?” you shot back, trying to mask the way your pulse quickened at the thought.

“Most don’t provoke me the way you do,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “They’re afraid to stray too far from the righteous path. But you… you have a light about you that beckons me closer. It’s intoxicating.”

Your cheeks warmed under his intense scrutiny, but you quickly shook your head, refusing to be swayed. “You shouldn’t say things like that. You’re a priest.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he replied smoothly, his gaze unflinching. “What does that really mean? I wear the collar, sure, but I’m also a man—one who understands the darker desires that lie beneath the surface. You’re drawn to them, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I’m just curious,” you replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“Curiosity is a dangerous game,” he said, his voice a seductive whisper. “Especially when it leads you to someone like me. You could explore all the answers to your questions, and perhaps even find the absolution you didn’t know you were seeking—if you dare to take that step.”

“And what’s the price for that?” you challenged, not ready to give in but undeniably intrigued.

“Just your trust,” he said, his gaze piercing through your defenses. “Let me guide you. Allow me to show you that the rules can bend, that the lines can blur. And in return, you’ll discover a side of yourself you never knew existed. It’s a fair exchange, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” you finally replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “but I’m not so easily led.”

He leaned in closer, their faces mere inches apart. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He ran his thumb delicately along your lower lip. “Lose yourself in me. Let me be your forbidden pleasure, your dark indulgence. Together, we can create a sin so divine, it will set your soul free.”

You feel his thumb diving inside your mouth. He pressed his thumb deeper, exploring the warm, wet cavern of your mouth as if mapping your innermost terrain.

“Mmmm, so eager to please," he purred, his other hand sliding down your side to grip your hip, holding you steady. "Your mouth was made for sin." With a subtle twist, he coaxed your tongue to swirl around the intrusion, a sinful game of give-and-take that left you breathless and wanting more. "Such a willing little temptress,"

And before you can process, he’s kissing you. And things gets heated, fast. It doesn’t seem to matter that you both were sitting on the couch from his office, inside the church. He claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging in to dance with yours in a primal, urgent rhythm. The scent of your arousal mingled with the musky undertones of his cologne, fogging the air with a heady, addictive haze. His hands roamed your body, possessive and demanding, as he pulled you closer, his own arousal throbbing against the confines of his trousers.

“So sweet," he growled against your lips, breaking the kiss only to nip and suck his way down your neck, leaving a trail of heated, open-mouthed kisses. "Such a delicious little sin."

His fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of your blouse, revealing the lacy bra beneath and the creamy swells of your breasts. You gasped, feeling his lips on your skin. Desperate and wanton, hungry.

He kissed and licked a path downward, pausing to toy with the lacy edge of your bra before tugging the delicate fabric aside with his teeth. His hot mouth closed over the swell of your breast, his tongue swirling to coax forth a responsive moan. His lips slid lower, fixating on your nipple. He suckled, the rhythmic pull of his lips and the scrape of his teeth sending jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through your sensitive flesh.

“Mmmm, you taste so divine," he purred, his free hand sliding up your thigh to brush against the damp fabric of your panties. "Every inch of you is made for sin."

You could foresee his intentions even before he started to move. His lips went lower down your chest, over your stomach, to the waistband of your skirt. With practiced ease, he slid his hands down your curves, peeling away the last of your garments with a hunger that bordered on reverence.

Your skirt and panties joined the discarded heap of your blouse and bra on the floor, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath his intense scrutiny. His eyes raked over you, drinking in every inch of exposed flesh as if committing it to memory. The sight of you, spread out before him, was a feast for his sinful appetites.

“Exquisite," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. "You're a vision of decadence. I'm going to indulge in every moment of our encounter, savoring every morsel of pleasure you offer me."

With that, he sank to his knees before you, his fingers brushing against your inner thighs as he gazed up at you with a wicked promise in his eyes. He leaned in, his breath a hot whisper against your most intimate flesh.

And he went at it, eager to devour. He started off with a long, languid lick with the flat of his tongue, licking from the edge of your slit all the way to the clit. It was utterly sinful, erotic.

He lapped at you, his long, dexterous tongue swirling and delving with a sinful expertise that made you gasp and squirm. The flat of his tongue glided along your slit, gathering your sweet essence before he darted the tip to tease the sensitive bump of your clit. He licked and suckled, alternating between long, languid strokes and fast, frantic jabs of his tongue, each one designed to drive you a little crazier with need.

“You taste so good,," he purred, his words muffled against your pulsing flesh. "I could eat this sweet cunt all day and never tire of it."

Two fingers slipped inside you, stretching and filling you as his tongue continued its relentless assault. He pumped them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue's movements as he brought you closer to the edge. His fingers curled, seeking that special spot that would send you plummeting into ecstasy. With each pass, his touch grew firmer, more insistent, as if trying to coax the very essence of your being from your depths. His lips and tongue never ceased their worship of your clit, suckling and flicking against the throbbing nub in a maddening dance of pleasure and desperation.

He could feel you teetering on the brink, your sweet cum flooding his fingers as your hips bucked and writhed in mindless need. His tongue worked frantically against your clit, a dizzying whirl of licks and suckles that left you breathless and begging for more. One last, long lick, and you were sent hurtling over the edge, your orgasm ripping through like a thunderclap.

“Yes," he hummed, his voice a reverent whisper. "Let it happen. Let me feel you cum for me." And as the waves of your climax crashed over you, he remained, drinking in every last drop of your release like a man dying of thirst.

And you thought that would be it, but no. He rearranged you, laying you down as he stripped off his cassock in a hurried tug. The garment joined the pile of your clothes, and he wasted no time unfastening his belt and shucking off his trousers. His massive cock sprang free, the thick, pulsing length already flushed and throbbing with need.

He loomed over you, his thick, throbbing cock jutting out before him like a red-hot brand, burning with the need for release. With a knee, he pushed your legs apart, spreading you in blatant invitation, before positioning himself between your thighs. One hand tipped your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze as he lined himself up with your most intimate entrance.

“Last chance to turn back," he growled, the tip of his cock notched against your aching flesh. "Once I sink into you, there's no going back. You'll be mine, body and soul." He paused, his expression almost wistful. "But I know you won't refuse me. You want this, as much as I do."

With that, he surged forward, burying himself in your warmth with a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He filled you slowly, deliberately, each inch a decadent slide into heaven as he stretched you impossibly wide around his girth. The sensation was overwhelming, the burn of his intrusion mixing with the sweet, tingling pleasure that only he could evoke. When he finally bottomed out, he paused, savoring the feeling of being completely sheathed within you. He was huge, and you could feel every throbbing inch of him as he pulsed and twitched inside you.

“So perfect," he breathed, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. He took a deep breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he fought to regain his composure. "You were made for me. Every curve, every hollow, every inch of your sweet cunt is tailor-made to take my cock."

He began to move, slow and deep at first, withdrawing until only the thick head remained before plunging back in, his strokes growing firmer, more insistent as he lost himself in the mindless pleasure of the joining. — He took you like a man possessed, his pace growing faster, more erratic as he chased his release. The couch creaked in protest beneath both, the sound mingling with the ragged breathing and the obscene squelch of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy. Your back arched, pushing your pert breasts toward his devouring mouth as he feasted on one while still pounding into you. He growled against your skin, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation to the maelstrom of pleasure wracking your body.

Your eyes rolled back, feeling him pounding deep into your cunt as he suckled your tit. Wary, you used a hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sound.

His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he sealed his lips over yours in a fierce, dominating kiss. His tongue invaded, claiming yours in a sensual dance that left both breathless. All the while, he continued his relentless pace, his cock pistoning in and out of you with brutal efficiency. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your sweet cream coating his shaft as you teetered on the brink of another orgasm. With a groan, he broke the kiss, his eyes blazing with a primal intensity as he prepared to unleash his own release.

“Cum for me," he commanded, his voice a raw, desperate snarl. "Take my cock, just like that. Fuck- come for me. Come on my cock.”

The mix of the sensations and the sheer desperation on his voice, how needy it suddenly sounded did it for you. As your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner walls clamped down around him like a vice, cum gushing out to coat his cock and balls. The sensation was enough to tip him over the edge, and with a hoarse bellow, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his thick seed pulsing deep inside you as his body shuddered and spasmed.

“Fuck!" he gasped, his hands gripping your hips like an anchor as he rode out the waves of his climax. "Yes... oh, god... yes..." He collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the couch as he struggled to catch his breath.

As you recovered, you started to process. Thinking to yourself. Did you- did you just fuck a priest? Maybe you ARE as troublesome as people claim.

He slowly pulled out of you, his softening cock slipping free with a wet plop. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don't overthink it, my sweet," he murmured against your mouth. "Just enjoy the afterglow."

He leaned on his elbow, his free hand gently brushing the hair from your face as he took in your flushed, sated features.

"We've both crossed lines. Lines we can't simply erase. But perhaps that's for the best. Perhaps this is the key to setting you free." A sly smile played on his lips as he stood, his naked form glistening with sweat in the dim light. "Now, how about we continue this little sin of ours in the bed, hmm?"

And as that idea enticed you… you realized that perhaps you ARE a lost cause.

#grotesquerie #fic rec #nicholas chavez #priest kink #priest mayhew #charlie mayhew #charlie mayhew smut #grotesquerie smut #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez smut #smut #i’m down bad for this man #i don’t even know what to tag this #priest mayhew smut #priest charlie mayhew smut #ahs smut

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visenyaism · 4 months ago

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Stuff about American election night that you should know:

We’re one week out! Crazy. So I know too much about US politics because I explain this for money, so I figured it might be helpful to talk a bit about what we should expect from election night. If you're not American, are new to our insane election system, or are anxious about what's happening next week, here's the deal with next Tuesday:

1. Most important thing: Do NOT expect to know the winner on election night. Different states have different laws about when they can start counting early/mail-in votes, which often slows down reporting time.

2020 took until the Saturday after to call because of the high mail-in vote count due to Covid, and while that isn't happening this time, it'll take longer than 2016, 2012, or 2008 because the polls are predicting that this one's going to be a lot closer than those. Consider just going to bed instead of staying up for the results.

2. Because of the Electoral College, popular vote doesn't matter as much as who wins each individual state does. Every state has a certain amount of electoral votes based on population, whoever wins a state gets all their votes, whoever gets to 270/538 wins. We know how most states are going to vote. The Electoral College puts the election in the hands of 7 "swing" states that could go either way. This time, that's Pennsylvania, Georgia, North Carolina, Michigan, Wisconsin, Arizona, and Nevada. These are the states to watch. Here's the map:

3. No one will know anything until polls close and states start reporting results. Doomscrolling is kind of pointless anyways, but it's especially pointless before 7pm. here's a map of closure times:

4. Data will shift throughout the night. Rural counties report results first because fewer people live there. This means the earlier you check, the more conservative the state maps might look. Do not look at the election results for any state with less than 90% reporting and freak out, especially if the state hasn't been called (deemed mathematically impossible for the other candidate to win) by multiple news outlets.

5. Voter fraud happens way less than you think it does. Pretty much never, actually. One study claims you're more likely to get struck by lightning than you are to witness actual, impersonation-based voter fraud in a modern US election. Be extremely skeptical of any voter fraud claims you might see.

6. Avoid getting news from social media accounts that aren't news outlets. There's a lot of disinformation out there, especially as AI/Deepfake tech is getting worse. Fact-check everything you might see. Anyone can make a destiel meme about the election. make sure it's true before you reblog it.

7. The electoral college sucks shit and does allow for a 269-269 vote tie. In this case, it goes to the House of Representatives, who are majority-Republican and will pick Trump. Some states might be within 1% (like 49.3%-49.7%) and candidates can demand recounts, which might delay official results by weeks or months. It HAS to be over by mid- December when the Electoral College officially votes.

8. take care of yourselves. if we're not going to know on election night, you may as well power down your phone and go to bed at a reasonable hour.

#Linked a bunch of articles throughout if you want more info.#us politics #election 2024 #i am not looking forward to it. but the only way out is through.

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blossomarlia · 3 months ago

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hi, could you write a drabble with reader x remus where she rlly struggles with getting involved or going to hang out with people without explicitly being invited (just feeling really worried about being rejected) and he kind of reassures her and looks after her?

hi, thanks for this request! hope you enjoy, i generally don't write school-aged drabbles but thought this fit the best.

summary: your fear of being rejected stops you from joining your friends, but remus reassures you

remus x fem! reader (implied early stages romance)

Sitting by one of the fireplaces in the Gryffindor common room, you’re wondering how many of the people around you have exchanged glances over the top of your head. You can almost feel judgement thickening the air, raised eyebrows and confused smiles that ask why is she even here? To be honest, the only reason that you haven’t moved away is that you were technically sitting here first, and the rest of them milled in and took their spots nearby- then again, was it purposeful, your taking a place on one of the sofas they often use? In hindsight it’s just embarrassing. They must be assuming that you sat down just so they’d have no choice but to talk to you.

You know you’re expecting the worst of this group, none of whom particularly deserve it. The flock of seventh-years surrounding you are generally a good bunch; Lily, Sirius, Marlene, Mary, Peter, James, Remus, and Dorcas,. You want to be one of them more than you want most other things, which is somewhat pathetic and completely obvious in the way you’re always hanging around. They may all be lovely, and your friends (to some extent), but you know how irritating it can be if there’s always someone not quite in the group hanging around.

You should leave. Get up and make some comment about homework, or whatever, and wait for absolutely nobody to stop you. It’s kinder to everybody. Isn’t it?

Lost in your thoughts, you miss what Lily says next, and then they’re all getting to their feet. You give what you hope is a casual smile, simultaneously relieved of your spiralling and disappointed that they’re fulfilling your expectations.

There’s a tap on your shoulder- Remus, your favourite, whose hair has grown out over Christmas and now curls over his ears. He seems to get taller and lovelier with every passing moment. It’s difficult to make eye contact.

“We’re heading to the greenhouses, did you hear?” He says quietly, hand stilling instead of pulling away. You press your lips together and nod, carefully hiding any sort of misplaced hurt. It’s not as if you’re entitled to an invitation.

“Alright, I’ll see you later!” Too enthusiastic.

His brows pinch together. “You’re not coming?”

You look up at the others, who are collecting scarves and bags on their way to the portrait-hole. How can you admit to Remus that you don’t think they want you along? How can you tell him, anyone, that you’re far too afraid of being made fun of, or becoming a joke within their tight-knit group, to risk it?

“Oh, I don’t know. I have heaps of homework.”

“You do?” He raises his eyebrows. You feel caught, despite not having been accused of any sort of lie. “I thought you finished it all yesterday.”

You’d been studying when he and Lily joined you, and all day you’ve been wondering why they chose to. You probably put a but too much value on people choosing to sit next to you in class or during study; it’s unlikely that it was more than an absence of other free tables.

“...Some, yeah. And I wouldn’t want to- you know, I wouldn’t…” You trail off and give an awkward laugh. Remus’ gentle expression is making the inside of your mouth hurt.

“What?” You’re not used to your excuses mattering so much. Mostly, you mutter something and disappear to your dorm in time to avoid any drama. Is he feeling guilty, awkward about having made plans as a group in front of someone else? You cringe at the notion of Remus realising how friendless you probably are, of his pity.

You know it’s your own fault for being like this. You’ve had friends in the past- cool, funny, popular, attractive- who frequently left you out on purpose. A drunken conversation in fifth year revealed that you were tolerable at best, a joke at worst. Always pushing in and so desperate for invitations that to extend them could only be ironic.

You think about that more often than you should. You’re constantly hyperaware of how tolerable you are, sure that you’ll say or do something which will make everyone else realise exactly why you’re not in any particular group. You can’t let that happen yet with all these people, so full of love for one another that even proximity to them feels like the experience of it. Still, they’re teenagers. Judgement is an automatic response, and Remus is clever in the way he jokes. He’ll retell this conversation to roaring laughter if you reveal too much- not that he’s ever unkind, but you sort of invite a bad impression, you think.

“It’s really fine,” You assure him. “I’m tired. It’s cold, too.”

“Right,” He nods, glancing downwards. You think you’ve won (as much as you can win, here) until he turns to James and Peter and says, “I think we’re going to stay here. Bit chilly.”

What?

James frowns, making a sound of protest. “Moony!” His eyes fall to you next, and you look away, guilty and embarrassed. You’d never even considered that pity would drive Remus to actually stay here, and now they’ll all hate you. Nice job, very well handled.

Marlene is next. “‘Cas has just finished growing the Alihotsy plant, though. We’re all going.”

“It’s been weeks since we all had the evening off- or at least, since Potter and Black didn’t have a detention each,” Lily reasons more kindly. She receives twin protests from the boys on either side of her, but remains unbothered, adding, “It’d be nice to spend a bit more time as a group.”

You’re awfully close to tears. All you’d wanted was to relieve them of yourself, to retreat to your room and wait until somebody explicitly invited you somewhere (if ever), and now you’ve gone and ruined everybody’s evening. You turn to Remus, more urgent than is likely normal. “Please just go with them,” You say softly, aware that your voice is all wobbly. “I’m just going to go to bed, I don’t want to interrupt all of you catching up. Please, it’s really okay.”

There’s a brief silence that spans the entire crowd. They’ve all heard, are all likely attempting not to laugh. Remus is giving you an awful look.

“...Are you okay, lovely?” Mary asks. You can’t look at her, can’t look at any of them, but you’ve always been alright at masking emotion in your voice when you really try. You force something like a smile.

“Yes! Yes, completely fine, I’m only tired. Post-holiday blues, maybe.” You laugh and it sounds terrible. “I’ve really only got to go to bed. You all have fun!” Silence again.

“We might join you all in a bit,” Remus says firmly. There are a few worried noises of assent, and they all head off. Now, you do see them looking at one another, frowning and looking upset. Poor Remus, you imagine them saying on their way to the greenhouses, stuck looking after her while we all escape.

Remus asks you to sit down again three times before you agree, still rather set on going to bed so you won’t cry in front of the entire common-room.

“What’s making you so upset?” He asks softly, once he’s finally detained you. You blink quickly and cast a glance around at the other students in the common-room, afraid to embarrass yourself more than you already have, but he’s quick to assuage the fear. “I cast a muffliato when James began talking about the Alihotsy prank- ages ago. Nobody’s heard anything, I promise.”

You swallow harshly. “Oh. Thanks. I’m sorry I’m being so- so-”

“If I could,” Remus says, firm but kind, “This will be a lot easier if we can get to the problem, here, rather than whatever you think you’ve done wrong.”

“I- right. Okay. Um,” You stammer. “They’re not really mutually exclusive.” “Why don’t you want to come? Did somebody say something hurtful?” You look at him, slightly startled. “What? It’s not that I don’t want to.”

Remus seems perplexed, looking the way he does when he’s working out a particularly difficult exam question. “No?”

“No.” You twist your fingers together so tightly that they hurt. “No, it sounds fun, it just… it’s not as if I’m going to demand to be brought along, am I?” The joke falls flat. You think you already knew it would, but it’s still a bit embarrassing to laugh and be met with a concerned frown.

You take a few longer breaths. You can fix this. You have to fix this.

“Look, it’s kind of you to stay here, but like Lily said- you all have the night off. It’s really not so bad not to spend it as a group. I want you to go, really.” The next smile is easier. You’ve done this before, convinced people not to feel bad for you.

“Why would you need to demand to be brought along?” Remus asks. “We made the plans while you were right here.”

“You all made plans together,” You explain slowly. “You know, having an evening to yourselves and that sort of thing. There’s no need for- you know, I’m honestly just tired. That’s probably why I’ve reacted so oddly, it’s my own fault.”

Remus looks at you for a long while, so intent that your skin gets prickly and uncomfortable. Eventually, he speaks, quiet and considered. “...You haven’t acted oddly if that’s how you’ve been feeling.”

“Tired?”

“No, excluded.” He says gently. “You really didn’t know you were invited?” You don’t answer with more than silence, and he sighs.

“You were. You’re always invited, dove, of course you are.”

Trying not to get to hung up on impossibilities, you shake your head quickly. “It’d be a bit rude to assume that.”

“It wouldn’t.” Remus replies immediately. Then, “Dove, what are we going to do with you?” Entirely too much to comprehend. You’re glad he goes on. “Would you look at me for a moment, please?”

You want to ask him why, or refuse, or run up to your dormitory, but you do as he says. You wonder if he knows that he could ask you to do almost anything and you’d say yes, if he’ll only keep looking at you with his coffee-coloured eyes.

“All of us- we want you to come along, wherever we are. You’re important to lots of people. Do you understand that?” “I- I just don’t want to push myself in.” You say, mortified.

“You aren’t. You’re being pulled, if anything, yeah?” His lips quirk. “When Lily said those things about spending time as a group, she meant you, too. If somebody said something that made you think otherwise, I’ll-”

“Nobody said anything,” You tell him feebly. This is all rather a lot to take in. “I think… maybe it’s more that nobody’s said I am invited, or a part of- I don’t know, it’s all sort of stupid.”

“No it’s not,” Remus disagrees. He pinches your chin quickly between thumb and forefinger, frowning again. Mary once commented that Remus would look sixty by the time you all left school, with all his worrying wrinkles. “Not stupid, but it’s not very kind to yourself, either. Why shouldn’t we want you around?”

You open your mouth and close it at his raised eyebrow. “Rhetorical question?”

“Rhetorical question.” He confirms amusedly. “There’s no point arguing, because we do. I do. I wish you wouldn’t think otherwise.”

“I’ve only been friends with all of you for a little while, though. You’ve all been mates since first-year.” At that, Remus outright scoffs. “Have we, now?”

You shrug.

“James and Lily always liked each other, then? Dorcas didn’t only just start hanging around us as well?” You look down, and he sighs. “However long everybody’s known one another, the most important bit is that we all like each other, yeah? It wouldn’t matter whether we became mates at eleven or two days ago- we’re friends. Or- you know.”

You definitely don’t know, but you’re going red anyway. He was definitely talking about Lily and James- that’s all he meant by ‘you know’. Isn’t it?

Remus scratches the back of his head, quiet for another second. Then, “...Why don’t we go down to the greenhouses? We’ll stick together the whole time, you’ll not be sat by yourself again.”

“I don’t want to make you babysit.”

Remus tsks, expression becoming sterner for a moment. “Don’t think that way about yourself. I’m asking because I want you to come- it’s not worth going if you aren’t there.”

The long moment it takes for you to decipher whether he’s only being nice or if that’s the truth is enough for Remus to decide that you don’t really have a choice in the matter. Tugging you to your feet, and seeming taller than ever with your proximity, he winds his own scarf around your neck and pushes some hair behind your hear. You let him, mostly because you’re too surprised to do anything about it.

“Let’s go, before they all decide to try some of the Alihotsy themselves. Gloves?”

You manage a nervous giggle, putting your mittens on when he hands them to you. “Thanks.”

“That’s alright. Come on,” He gives you a crooked sort of smile. It’s sometimes difficult to tell if Remus is aware how good-looking he is.

The entire group are far too enthusiastic at yours and Remus’ arrival fifteen minutes later, given the fact that it’s hardly been half an hour since they left. Either way, you’re quickly pulled into a squabble between Lily and James about- as Remus predicted- the logic of trying some Alihotsy for themselves.

“Thank Merlin you came, you’re the only one who won’t be completely daft about this!” Lily says, linking her arm in yours. You smile before catching Remus’ eye and looking down, feeling yourself flush. Smug bastard, you think fondly.

It’s an entire two hours before everyone heads back up to the castle, having thoroughly violated curfew but without (to James and Sirius’ chagrin) having tested any of the plant which would induce hysterical laughter. You find yourself walking beside the tallest of the group in comfortable silence, a few steps behind the rest.

“Thanks for making me come with you,” You say, perhaps a little more earnestly than you ought. “It was really nice.”

“‘Course, dove.” You look up at Remus to find he’s already looking at you. He clears his throat, glancing over at Sirius and Marlene where they’re pretending to push each other into the snow. It’s likely to end in one of them following through and the other swearing eternal hatred. “We’re all glad you came along. Could even make a habit of it.”

You exhale a laugh. “Maybe.”

He gives you a sideways look. “Oh, ‘maybe’, is it?” “...Conceivably?” You grin, darting away when he grabs at you and sort of wishing you’d stayed still just to see what he’d do. Remus fixes you with a teasing glare.

“Watch it, sweetheart.”

You blink, choking on words for a minute. Sweetheart? Sweetheart!? Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheartsweetheartsweetheartsweetheart-

“You alright?”

“Yeah!” You say, too quickly. Remus misreads your flusteredness as something else and softens, taking hold of your sleeve and tugging you towards him. You go easily.

“If it’ll help,” He says thoughtfully, “You can ask me if you’re invited to things. Or I’ll just tell you. Then you won’t have to go to the trouble of assuming either way.”

You like him so, so much. “That’s really nice of you, Remus.”

“Eh,” He shrugs. “You know me.”

Now, it’s harder not to smile than anything else. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble. It’s really my problem, I shouldn’t-”

“Enough,” He interrupts gently. “Just say yes, dove, if it’ll help. I won’t be unhappy either way.”There are several places within you, the more unkind parts, that say accepting his offer would be like accepting pity. But there are also places that are warmed at the thought, that remember how people reacted when you arrived in the greenhouse, that can start imagining a reality wherein nobody hated your presence by the sofas tonight, and those bits win the argument for the first time in a very long time. You look up at Remus, his soft eyes and fluffy hair dusted with snow, and nod.

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prettieinpink · 1 month ago

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WAYS TO LIVE SLOWER IN 2025

2024 was such a blur for me, and I feel like I wasn’t really taking in the present moments as much as I should have. I don’t want to repeat the same thing in 2025, here’s a little few ways i’m implementing living slower in 2025.

SHOWER MEDITATIONS. Each time I’m in the shower, I just focus on rinsing, soap, rinsing then I get out. While its a small thing to consider, as someone who has a lot of thoughts especially during school mornings, it's a nice way to ground yourself.

If you’d like you can start off with a little prayer, thanking him for access to clean water and a bathroom. Let the water take all the struggles and stresses you have down the drain, use soap to renew yourself of yesterday for the new day and focus on how the water feels on your skin. Then, you can end it off with a prayer as well.

TAKE THE TIME TO BE IN THE SUN OR NATURE. Perhaps you can read a book, listen to a playlist or just soak that time spent in nature. It's completely up to you, but I wouldn’t do anything that's too distracting like studying or scrolling.

SAY THANK YOU, FOR NO ONE. Each time you get to sleep in your bed, say thank you. Each time you eat a meal, say thank you. Each time you get to have access to water, say thank you. There are a lot more opportunities to say thanks, but it just allows for daily appreciation of things that we do without thinking.

UNATTACH YOUR PHONE FROM TASKS. Certain tasks, you do not need your phone. For example, cooking. When you cook and perhaps you’re waiting for something to boil, wash some dishes instead of opening instagram. Sometimes it doesn’t even have to be a task, when you’re in a car, don’t look at your phone, look outside at the window and observe the people or the cars you see.

NO SOCIAL MEDIA IN THE MORNING OR EVENING. Social media is meant for quick consumption, but because it's so quick, we underestimate the time that we spend on it. Only 10 minutes can easily turn into an hour. I would avoid using it during these times because this is probably when we’re the most easily influenced by fads, products or misinformation.

REST IS A TASK. Take the time out of your day to rest, because you need it. It doesn’t have to be a singular session daily either, it can be regular small intervals throughout the day. Use this time to reflect on how you’ve spent your time earlier, then do whatever you consider to rejuvenates you.

LISTEN TO YOURSELF MORE. While the self improvement community does perpetuate the idea of ‘following the plan, not the mood’, (and i agree to an extent) but being miserable while trying to be productive is not ideal. If you’re sad, take the time to calm yourself down. You’re angry, then channel it into something high energy but not necessarily productive.

In a way, being able to recognize these feelings and acknowledge them is a skill that is developed overtime and will be useful.

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channiesbakery · 29 days ago

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study session —

prompt / request — “go on, baby. ride my thigh.” + “people who’re just friends don’t do shit like this, and you know it.”

pairing — reader + college fwb!hoshi

word count — 617

genre — smut [thigh riding]

when you and soonyoung were paired up for a project in one of your lectures, you never thought it’d lead to you becoming friends with benefits.

and you definitely didn’t think he was as needy as he is. soonyoung was never shy about letting you know how needy he was or how badly he needed you.

he never hesitated to tease you with filthy messages and photos during your lectures or to send you a “you up?” text at night. of course, you wanted him just as bad so you always responded.

but with midterms coming up, the two of you hadn’t been able to see each other. when soonyoung asked you to come over tonight, you told him you were busy studying and never got a response back.

twenty minutes later, he’s standing outside your apartment with his backpack and two coffees.

“i figured we could use some caffeine if we’re gonna be up all night studying. or you know, other activities,” soonyoung grins when you open the door.

“if you’re gonna stay over, then all we’re doing is studying,” you say, thanking him for the coffee before letting him set up his study materials in your living room.

surprisingly, you do get a lot of studying done. but your productive study session only lasts so long, until soonyoung decides that he’s done enough studying for the night, switching over to annoying you instead.

“i really need to finish this chapter,” you sigh when he moved to sit beside you. “you’ve done so much studying, baby. take a break,” he mumbles against your cheek.

“i can’t–” “you can. the exam’s not for another two weeks,” he argues, massaging your shoulders. “but i really need to–” he cuts you off again, taking your flash cards from your hands.

“i’ll quiz you on these. if you get most correct, you take a break. if not, i’ll help you study some more,” soonyoung says and you take the offer, letting him quiz you.

much to soonyoung’s delight, you get almost all the questions right. “okay but i really need to study the concepts for the ones i missed–” you start.

“nope. a deal’s a deal, baby. time for a break,” he pulls you to straddle his lap. “haven’t done this in weeks, i missed you,” he mumbled before kissing you.

as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you missed him too. you subconsciously start grinding against his lap as you lazily made out.

he shifts your position so you straddle his thigh. “c’mon, ride my thigh baby,” he mumbles against your lips.

soonyoung rests his hands on your hips as you grind against his thigh. “that’s it, good girl,” he praises.

you grip his shoulders, moving your hips faster as you try to find the right rhythm but you can’t. “soonie,” you whimper in his ear and he just chuckles.

“aw, poor baby needs my help?” he teases, his hold on your hips tightening. he guides your hips along his thigh as you whimper against his neck.

your thighs tremble around his as you reach your high. you relax against his chest as he loosens his grip on your hips, slowing you to a stop.

“so… i guess we should get back to studying?” soonyoung teases. “oh no. you’re gonna take me to my room and finish what you started,” you jab a finger against his chest.

“demanding and bossy. i like it.” he hums before kissing you. “and maybe i like you too,” he mumbles against your lips.

“careful there soonie, i thought we were just friends?” you tease, reminding him of your arrangement.

“people who’re just friends don’t do shit like this, and you know it.”

#hoshi x reader #hoshi smut #kwon soonyoung x reader #kwon soonyoung smut #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #channiesbakery drabbles #personal fav!

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occamstfs · 1 month ago

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Work-Study

Coach Decker molds job-searching Jeremy into the athlete he never wanted to be, before now that is. Soon enough he'll never want to leave.

As football season nears its end I figured I'd get one last story out of it! Hope you enjoy this Academic -> QB -> Coach TF! Best! -Occam

“Jeremiah eh? Can I call ya Jere?”

“I’d um, rather you didn’t sir.”

Jeremiah was less than thrilled about visiting the university’s head football coach to ask for a job, but when the tutoring program he was basically running for the university was shut down he was left with little other choice. The overworked clerk in charge of the school’s work-study program barely allowed him sit down before ushering him over to the stadium. Something about the coach Jeremiah didn’t even know the name of needing an assistant.

Staring at the burly man he now knows as Coach Decker, Jeremiah can scarcely believe he let the mousy bookkeeper strongarm him into meeting with the coach. Had he paid more attention at the work-study office perhaps he would have noticed just how frantic the clerk was, as if his neck were on the line had Jeremiah not gone. At any rate, Jeremiah clearly needs to work on his willpower, and what better chance than running calmly walking away from the beyond intimidating coach right now.

Speaking of the man, Coach Decker scratches his beard as he looks at the neat resume in his hands. Looking up to sneer at the applicant he sees Jeremiah smile docilely as the will to puff out his chest and flee immediately vacates. The coach, seeing this as supplication, switches to a hungry grin and drops the resume to the table, “Have a seat Jerry, would ya?”

Jeremiah hesitates though acquiesces, instead choosing to focus on the assigned nickname once more, “Would you mind just calling me by my full name Coach Decker? I’d like to keep our relationship strictly business and I feel like treat-” Decker raises his hand to cut Jeremiah off. “Oh worry not lad. Trust. I won’t be having you do anything you don’t want to do.”

There’s some bizarre glimmer in the older man’s eyes that Jeremiah neglects to make a deal of as Decker directs his attention to a small bowl filled with snacks in front of him, “Why don’t you have a treat lad.”

“Oh I don’t know Sir-” The coach clicks his tongue and Jeremiah almost flinches, “I insist, Jeremiah. And while we’re on the subject of names let’s cut this Sir shit out. Call me Coach.” Jeremiah nods in agreement and shakily reaches to grab some protein bar he doesn’t recognize from the bowl, averting his eyes as to not meet the stare of the man. Yet, he still feels the burning gaze as he unwraps the bar and takes the first bite.

Jeremiah isn’t quite sure what happens after that. He blinks and suddenly Coach is laughing. The student smiles to pretend he understands whatever Decker is laughing at as the coach reclines and throws legs on the desk, scuffing up his neat resume underfoot. The younger man feels he should be bothered by this blatant disrespect, but he simply sits in a daze.

“Glad you enjoyed it Jez hah! The boys all love those things. But anyway, back to the interview eh? What made you wanna sign up to be an assistant coach?” Jeremiah’s eye twitches as he hears Coach refer to him as Jez. But then, it’s what he’s always gone by, right?

The overtures of a headache begin as he tries to recall if that is indeed, but he shakes it off. Stupid to get hung up on that, not like Coach’ll call him by something he doesn’t want to be called. Better to just go with the flow, trust the man. In fact, he now vaguely recalls his mom whining when he first started going by Jez. Which obviously only made him want to go by it more. He exhales a quiet laugh as he remembers.

It’s at this moment he takes heed of the second half of Coach’s statement, assistant coach? Finding his mouth dry from devouring the protein bar he clears his throat and speaks up, “Sorry, Coach I thought I was just going to be your personal assistant?”

Decker doesn’t try to hide the smile on his face as he pretends to think, “hmmm no no son. You came in to be a real part of the team didn’t ya? Not some pen-pushing pansy.” Jez’s eyes glaze and Coach watches as his words begin to sink in. “You were just sayin’ how much you love the sport, boy.”

Love the sport? Does he? For the life of him Jez can’t remember having watched one game all the way through. He’d never, uh. And then like a wave, Coach’s words wash over him- through him.

Of course he has. He’s always been a fan of their team though for sure, he bleeds orange and white. What’s possibly more important than watching his team curbstomp. Memories of helping out his mother in the kitchen on Thanksgiving burn like old film as he recalls broing out with his dad and brothers in the living room.

Like he’d be any help in the kitchen anyway, hah! His hands are good for nothin’ besides catching- uh. No, no he’s never played. He’s just a fan. Jez furrows his brow as he adjusts to his new memories. Clear recollections of scowling at his dad for shouting when his team scores are wiped and replaced by his own screaming alongside the man, screaming even louder.

Under his breath he whispers, “just a fan.” Some fight in him yet as some subconscious self-preservation sees the changes occurring and understands what Coach Decker is going to do next. This only excites the coach more, he knows Jez doesn’t stand a chance, but even this petty struggle will help heighten the severity of his upcoming transformation. Let’s see what a stud he’ll be able to mold.

“Well now Jez I wouldn’t say you’re just a fan. Hardly any of your classmates near the dedication you got to our team!” Jez’s eyes half return from vacancy, the sound of his sucking up drool fills the office as he speaks up, “my uh, dedication?”

Knowing he has Jez on tenterhooks he pauses to truly perfect his next attack on the man’s reality, “Well yeah Jez! Not anyone’s just up and switch their majors to be a better athlete.”

True alertness arrives to the younger man’s expression, eyes quiver with what can only be fear. Coach wonders if he’s stepped too far, too quickly. “I- I don’t believe I did do that S- Coach?” Even as he disputes the man, Decker watches as his will is enacted.

He certainly paid no mind to what Jez, Jeremiah, was wearing when he walked in, but he could be sure it wasn’t athletic wear. Coach looks down from the man’s pained expression too late to see his pale legs revealed as his dress pants shift to cheap shorts. He almost laughs as his button up sews shut and shades to their school colors.

“Well if ya so Jez,” Coach does little to disguise his intentions, “now what did you say your major was again?” His face drops as a pit develops in his stomach, “it’s engi-erk” he gags as he tries to speak it allowed. Gulping he tries again and is totally unable to say engineering.

He gasps and reaches for a drink on the coach’s desk to avert choking on his words. Throat wet with some electrolyte-ridden concoction, an idea worms its way to the foreground of his mind: as if he’d waste time learning the best way to stack blocks. Fuck that noise- he followed the same path Decker did way back when, a B.A. in Sports Management.

Mind over matter, Coach smirks as he sees the man truly begin to be molded by sheer suggestion. Eyes narrow under thickening brows. Jez speaks up with a thicker baritone now rife with vocal fry, “uhhh, ‘s that a joke coach? You gave me the rec letter for the program?” Glasses no longer sit right on his face as it slowly begins to square out.

Coach guffaws and pats his meaty though, “Hah! Just pullin’ your leg champ! How could I not know your schedule, basically made it for ya every semester after all,” he pauses to let the words sink in. Jez tilts his head and adjusts how he sits, unfamiliar with how to rest in a body on the precipice of change, “given you’re my star player.”

What happens next is too impossible for Jez to even begin to remain cognizant of, Coach Decker however watches with delight. The man still reclining rubs his thigh and adjusts his pants as he sees Jez shaped to be the perfect stud QB.

Images of drills throughout almost a decade of play invade his mind as the sound of his, once dressy, now tennis shoes shredding to tatters resounds. His feet become unto paddles that allow him to tear down the field, toes stretch and soles widen to propel a man much larger than himself into brutal action. A trove of curls grow across its top as it grows indeed large enough to hold the brute he is to become.

Jez has always been partial to a man’s legs and would surely lust for the trunks that he seems to be growing. His mind is thankfully absent as calves seize, flexing and bulging into what can only be described as ham hocks. Scars from a few minor surgeries hide under the new furry forest of hair as in his mind he recalls training with a furor to recover and ensure he never had to spend time off the field again.

This is all well and good, but now his mind and body move into the real meat of the matter. Eyes twitch though remain glazed over as the trail of hair racing up his new bulky thighs reaches his hips. Even lost in the delirium of his changing mind, he bites his lip and still unchanged hands cannot help but reach towards his cock as he feels the most oppressive changes yet begin.

Jeremiah was never much of a size queen, nor was he ever emasculated by his average cock. And now, Jez is more concerned with the asses of other men, men he was more than happy to dominate on and off the field. Though one look at his own cock was more than enough to get him harder than anything. Rapidly it fills the jockstrap his briefs had become, and just as quickly as his pants tear through his cheap athletic shorts does his cock burst from its containment.

Pubes blanket it from every angle as they race across his inner thigh and cover his needy balls pulsing heavier. His hands struggle to grasp the dick as it surges harder and twitches girthier as thick veins travel up the length and pump it larger with every racing beat of his heart.

Opposite his immaculate cock grows an ass he would have killed to have in his past life. Likewise his increasingly impressive cheeks refuse to be hidden by his shredded shorts. Bursting free from the frayed pants his new ass forces him to sit higher in the seat as it packs on the exorbitant weight needed to stick out from thighs so impressive, and buoy a core excessively powerful. Curls decorate his rounded ass like a peach as it fills out to a degree that even straight men will find it hard to not appreciate.

Speaking of filling out, his stomach rumbles as it too begins to grow to become his most powerful asset on the field. Joining force with his tree-trunk thighs and racing ahead of bulging biceps to-be, abs burst onto his torso as a treasure trail traces up towards his chest. Already altered memories of his watching the football team shift to insert himself into the massive shoes of the QB.

Body hair races across his form as a harbinger of the growth that is yet to come. Every pore begs to display his masculinity and his rapidly increasing testosterone is more than happy to let this be the case. His pits and face race to fill with hair dense enough that sunlight could never break through as he gropes at the heavy balls aiding and abetting his changing mind. As hair continues to spread his growing strength is soon to follow.

His hands depart from his quivering cock to instead feel his new cobblestoned core before they are to be evermore covered up as his waist bulks up to give him the strength needed to be a powerhouse. Memories of striving to do his best in various academic contests and electives evaporate as all his free time instead pours into days at the gym and hours upon hours of studying tapes and techniques to excel at the game. He distinctly remembers staring at his impressive form in the mirror, getting off to his six-pack and feeling up the heavy pecs that lie above them, he was, is, irresistible.

His stomach begins to bloat as pecs pile onto his chest. “Gonna need to put on some pounds if you wanna play in the big leagues boy.” Jez creates new memories all by himself of his years training under Coach Decker. Sitting there he grunts as his hands are pushed by a torso trading definition for pure power as his chest grows to hold arms as strong as pistons. In his mind’s eye Jez sees himself throwing a ball down a field under the watchful eye of Coach. With his current arms he sees them max out a throw of not even fifty yards. Seeing the grimace on Coach’s face he grits his teeth. He must be better. The empty stadium is filled with the sound of his biceps bursting the sleeves of his shirt, muscle summoned from nothing as he hurls the ball well past the end of the field. He needs to do more. Better.

New footballs appear in his rough hands as soon as the last is sent rocketing down the field. Each one further and faster than the one that came before. His eyes are filled with determination as his mind loses the care to focus on anything but hurling with efficiency towards men who aren’t there. With each hurling sphere his biceps progressively pack on more power, more strength. Thick veins travel down the radius of them before they are joined by a litany of pulsing others trailing from every angle as hair thickens up from his forearm to hopefully meet with the sweaty garden teeming in his pits.

Coach’s laughter echoes through the empty stadium as it blares in every corner of Jez’s mind. The new athlete goes to wipe his sweaty brow and is caught off-guard as he feels the scratchy hairs on his wrist rub against his wider forehead and thicker eyebrows. He grunts in confusion and then grabs at his own throat as it produces a sound, “whuh?” duller and dumber than he’d ever produce. At least in an uhh, interview?

Looking around he almost goes into shock as he seems to be standing on a football field. Hyperventilating he goes to steady his breathing, pushing at his chest only to find his hand bump up against pecs too large to be possible. Dreading what he is to see if he looks down, he does so anyway and falls backwards in shock as he sees what has become of his bookish body. And then, just as soon as the subconscious paltry remains of Jeremey awakens, he finds himself sitting opposite Coach again in the office.

Struck with a powerful headache he groans and rubs at his forehead as his hair pulls into a choppy look. He mumbles in his fried voice, “ughh what’d I drink last night Coach?” Decker laughs again as he prepares the final assault on his new player’s mind, “Well Jez, after winning the big game I’m sure you drank half of what the bar had Hah!” Jez’s eye twitches as his jaw squares out and his stomach bloats just a tad more.

“Now that you’ve graduated though I’m sure you’re off to the big leagues huh?” The rusty gears in Jez’s hungover mind struggle to understand what he means, when did he graduate? Half-drooling he wipes his mouth and scratches his forearm on facial hair that has evolved from messy stubble to something intentional. He’d never abandon his team, his Coach. Seeing his brows furrow in as deep a thought as he can muster, Decker speaks up, “Well if you wanna stay Jez, you’ll need a few more years under your belt. That’s for sure.”

Jez’s pulse quickens with excitement as he looks back at the coach, he can be Coach’s right hand man. The chair he sits in groans as he puts on weight from a few years of playing the sport from the sidelines. Behind Coach the trophy recently summoned from Jez’s victory is joined by a couple others from his years coaching QB’s at Decker’s side.

A few premature greys dot his beard and hairline as his figure continues to fill out. He loses a bit of speed but his strength stays steady as the years working out alongside his team keep him ever-honing his own form, muscle tediously maintained and defined by his slowly increasing years. Seeing him near the end of his transformation Coach scratches his own beard, “How old’re you now kid?”

The once university senior again struggles through his foggy mind, “OH! Uhhh twenty-” No that can’t be right, looking down at his tanned hands on thick thighs. He’s gotta be at least thirty something right? Seeing his confusion Decker moves on, he’s been scrambled enough, “Ah don’t worry kid, we’ll work out the details later. Gotta finish this interview and all. So, Jez, you still interested in bein’ my Offensive Coordinator?”

The heart of the younger coach skips a beat, facing burning with blush under a beard rising higher on his face. “M-ME?” His chest pumps larger yet with pride as his whole form almost vibrates with excitement. Fuck it feels like he’s 22 again! Suddenly he’s standing, his meaty hands pounded on Decker’s desk as the head coach reaches out for a shake.

Jez feels more fulfillment than he ever thought possible as he shakes Coach’s hand. Brings him back to holding that first trophy in his hands. Even further back to committing to play QB for Decker, his parents proudly standing to his side. He can’t wait to see where the team’s going next under his tutelage.

The new offensive coordinator feels Decker’s heavy arm around his massive shoulders. Looking down at the man he would’ve sworn was taller he smiles and deepens his newly earned smile lines. Decker pats the sweaty man on his back, “and to think! You just wanted to be my assistant!” The pair share a hearty laugh as Jez doesn’t quite understand what he’s implying, “Psh- Sure Coach, as if I’d do that chicken-shit work!” The pair head off laughing to greet the team and announce Jez’s new position.

P.S. If you're interested in some more football TF's check out HairyJockTf's Artist to Athlete, which uses the penultimate image of this story quite superbly!

#male tf #mental change #muscle tf #personality change #reality change #male transformation #jockification #jock tf #dumber #hair growth #age progression

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evesmascarade · 2 years ago

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early morning sunshine with my baes

#i can’t help myself #this is my therapy #hannigram fanart #hannigram #big oof #hannibal fanart #fanart #digital art #artists on tumblr #nbc hannibal #nbc hannigram #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter fanart #will graham #will graham fanart #i should be studying but we’re doing this instead #like genuinely i have finals next week

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moonlightrafe · 1 month ago

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High Infidelity

summary: When Aegon goes AWOL, you find yourself at his house searching for answers when you stumble across his not so-baby-brother.

pairing: Modern!Aemond x Aegon's girlfriend!Reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: Explicit smut, alcohol consumption, cheating, angst, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: Haven't written about Aemond in months?? omg hi I missed him <3 apparently the fandom is dying down a bit? Idk, enjoy!

The phone rings and rings, but there’s no answer, not even a quick text to explain his silence. Your trust with Aegon had always been on shaky ground, but this time feels different. You remember the stories, the warnings from your friends— Even his own sister had her doubts. One night after too many glasses of wine, Helaena had slipped up and told you she wasn’t sure of his intentions with you. But none of it mattered, you were determined. You swore you could fix him, that things with you would be different.

Now, every second of silence feels like confirmation of what you’ve tried so hard to ignore. This isn’t the first time he’s blown you off for his friends and part of you wants to believe there’s an innocent explanation, but another part can’t shake the feeling that this is just him being who he’s always been.

Before you drive yourself crazy, you decide the best course of action is to just go to his house and demand an answer… If he’s even there.

When you pull up, the house is dimly lit. You know Alicent is out of town for the weekend, so the only people who might be home are Aegon and his siblings.

The front door is left unlocked, probably Aegon’s doing, so you are able to let yourself right in.

“Aeg?” you call down the hallway as you open the door to the foyer, but you only receive silence in return.

Once you make your way up to Aegon’s bedroom and peer inside, it’s empty; save for Sunfyre, Aegon’s golden retriever.

“Hi, baby,” you greet the sandy dog with enthusiasm, leaning down to pet his head.

“Where’s daddy off to now, huh?”

He just tilts his head at you and you sigh.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with him.”

You’re startled as the door opens, your heart lurches in your chest thinking it’s Aegon, but instead you find yourself face to face with his younger brother, Aemond.

“Looking for Aegon?”

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to hide your disappointment, “he hasn’t been answering me. Do you know where he is?”

Aemond shakes his head, leaning against the door frame.

“Out, I assume. He left earlier with no explanation.”

His tone carries a trace of bitterness, though it’s not directed at you.

“Right,” you sigh, “typical.”

Aemond tilts his head, studying you for a moment before speaking.

“You could wait around for him, but I wouldn’t count on him showing up anytime soon. He’ll come back when he feels like it.” His lips twitch into a faint smirk, “or when he runs out of bad ideas.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, despite your frustration.

“Yep, that sounds like him.”

There’s a beat of silence before Aemond pushes off the door frame and steps closer. You’re not his problem, he should walk away, leave you here—and yet, the words spew out of him like vomit: “You don’t have to sit here, drowning in Aegon’s mess… You can chill with me.“

His offer catches you off guard.

“I don’t know,” you say hesitantly, though the idea of not sitting here stewing in your irritation is tempting, “wouldn’t that be weird?”

Aemond shrugs, his gaze steady.

“Only if you make it weird.”

“I need something to take the edge off.”

“Yeah, sure. Um, we can check downstairs, I’m sure my mom’s got something—"

“That won’t be necessary,” you tell him, “I know Aeg has got to have something in here.”

You open Aegon’s closet, revealing a cluttered mess as the scent of unwashed clothes hits your senses. You look at Aemond with a shit eating grin, revealing a large bottle of tequila.

"Come on, then," Aemond says as he nods toward the hallway.

"Alright, lead the way."

You follow him out of Aegon’s room, bottle in hand. You didn’t know much about Aemond, you had rarely spent time with him. Except for family holiday parties or vacations, but he typically kept to himself.

Aemond’s room, to no surprise, was the total opposite of Aegon’s. His bed was neatly made, the floor freshly vacuumed and the smell of fabric softener lingered in the air. It was comfortable, easy to relax in.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea," you admit as you slide down to sit on the floor, your back resting against the edge of Aemond’s bed.

Aemond rummages through the mini fridge he has sat in the corner before setting a can of cola in front of you.

“You don’t have to hang with me,” he shrugs as he slides down beside you, a soda of his own in his hand.

Before you answer him, you quickly crack open your drink and take a large swig of the liquor in front of you, grimacing as it burns the back of your throat.

“No, no,” you choke out, passing the bottle to Aemond, “I want to. Aegon is out doing Gods knows what, why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? Like you said, I don’t need to sit and stir in his mess… And I’ll drink his stash while I’m at it.”

Aemond smirks at your comment, cracking open his soda before taking a swig.

“I doubt he’d even notice. Half the time, I think he forgets what’s in there.”

He takes a sip, his sharp profile illuminated by the faint glow of the desk lamp across the room.

You tilt your head to look at him.

“You and Aegon really are opposites, huh?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” he scoffs, his tone carrying a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“I like being around you,” you admit quietly.

“You’re…different. In a good way.”

The bottle is in your possession again, this time you chug it.

“Different,” he repeats, his tone unreadable, “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It is,” you assure him, slightly coughing as you do so.

“You’re smart. Thoughtful. You’re not… The mess that Aegon is. It’s…refreshing.”

Aemond’s lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile, and he leans his head back against the bed, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin heat.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been called ‘refreshing’ before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” you tease, though your voice wavers slightly under his gaze.

The air grows heavier between you, silence stretching but not uncomfortable. You feel his shoulder brush yours as he shifts slightly closer.

“You’re different too,” he says, his voice softer now.

“You’re way better than any of Aegon’s past girlfriends, my entire family agrees. You don’t just…blend into the background. You make people notice you. You made me notice you. Honestly, I don’t know why you put up with Aegon.”

You blush furiously at his words. Now things are taking a different turn, forcing you to take yet another swig from the bottle.

“And you can hold your liquor,” Aemond notes, and you ignore him, going back to his original comment.

“I don’t know," you sigh, “I mean, we have history… Aeg and I,” you wince as memories of the two of you flood your mind.

“He’s really not that bad... Plus, the sex is good,” you explain as your cheeks flush.

Aemond raises a brow at your words, his lips twitching into a sly smirk as he leans back against the bed, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“History, huh?” he muses, his tone laced with something that feels dangerously close to mockery.

“Sounds to me like you’re defending a bad investment.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat rise throughout your entire body.

“I’m just saying, Aegon has his moments. When he’s not being… well, himself.”

Aemond chuckles, the sound low and smooth.

“Moments. Right. I’m sure those are worth the chaos he drags behind him like a storm cloud.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though the corners of your lips threaten to lift.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to make a point?”

“Maybe I am,” he counters, shifting slightly so his shoulder brushes against yours, "tell me, does ‘not that bad’ really sound like a glowing endorsement? Or are you settling because it’s easy?”

You are unable to tell if Aemond is trying to help you, or if he’s just being cruel and judgemental.

Your eyes stay locked on his as he takes a swig from the bottle.

“Easy doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“No,” Aemond agrees, his voice dipping lower as his smirk deepens, “but it doesn’t make it right, either. Or satisfying. At least, not in the way you deserve.”

There’s something heavy in his words, and the way he looks at you makes your stomach flip. You try to keep your tone light, teasing.

“And I suppose you think you know what I deserve?”

He leans in just slightly, his eye flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just know you could do better.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as the air between you grows charged. His voice drops even lower, barely a whisper now.

“If the sex is all that’s keeping you interested, then maybe you’ve been wasting your time.”

You’re caught between wanting to retort and being completely undone by the intensity of his stare.

“And what would you suggest, Aemond?” you ask, your voice faltering slightly.

His smirk softens into something more genuine, his gaze never leaving yours, “I’d suggest you let someone show you what it’s really supposed to feel like.”

Your breath hitches, and you turn to face him fully.

“Aemond…”

His eye drops to your lips for the briefest moment, and then he’s looking at you again, his expression unreadable but his intent clear.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible but filled with restraint.

You don’t. Instead, you lean forward, closing the space between you. His hand lifts, brushing against your cheek as his lips meet yours, soft but insistent.

When you finally pull back, breathless and heart pounding, his forehead rests against yours, a rare vulnerability in his gaze.

“This,” he murmurs, “might not be a good idea either.”

“But it feels right,” you whisper, surely the tequila talking for you, but he nods, a small smile tugging at his lips before he kisses you again.

“Come on," he says before rising to his feet, grabbing your hands to pull you up with him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, the two of you falling backward onto his bed, with Aemond top of you, his lips crashing against yours again, pressing you hard into the mattress.

His hands snake underneath your shirt, squeezing at your tits, tugging at your bra before he removes the garment from you completely. He groans, his hands moving cupping your tits, squeezing them, kneading the flesh between his hands almost desperately. He is then busy fumbling with the zipper on your jeans, pulling them off you, leaving you in just your panties.

Aemond moves off of you and pulls his sweatpants down hastily, revealing his cock to you. He’s thick, hard, and throbbing — ready for you to take. He takes his hand and wraps it around the shaft, stroking it slowly. His eyes meet yours and your heart rate goes through the roof, blood roaring in your ears.

You sit up on your knees, moving toward him, your hand reaching toward his cock. His head falls back as you grip it with one soft hand, stroking gently, running your thumb along the most prominent vein.

Aemond grits his teeth, watching as you lean in, your tongue darting out to lap at the tip of his cock, spreading the pre cum that’s already leaking from him. His hand moves to collect your hair into a makeshift ponytail, watching as you take his cock into your mouth. You gaze up at him, your lashes fluttering as you hollow your cheeks, taking him in far enough to hit the back of your throat. Your mouth is so fucking wet and warm that Aemond doesn’t know what he can do except twist his hand in your hair and buck his hips slightly as you suck him off.

Your hands move to cup his balls, squeezing gently, massaging them, before you pull your mouth off his cock, replacing it with one of your hands as you mouth at his balls. He lets out a low moan of your name, his free hand tugging at his own hair, the feeling of your mouth being almost too much for him.

Just as he feels his body tighten, about to reach his end, He pulls away, pinning you back down to the bed, a grin on his face, “Uh uh, baby, I’m not letting the fun end this soon.”

Aemond pushes you backwards onto his bed. He eagerly glides your panties down your legs, revealing your pussy to him and you hiss at the exposure. All swollen and wet with arousal, a growl erupts from his chest at the sight.

“My brother is a fucking idiot,“ he groans as his eyes scan over you and he gently spreads you open with two of his fingers.

As he maneuvers himself to line up with your entrance, he taps his cock against your velvety skin, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from you.

“You’re sure you want this?” he questions, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Yes, I’m sure! Just, please —”

He takes no time to run his cock through your thick folds a few times, and they wrap around him perfectly. So warm and inviting, he can’t help but let out a whimper at the contact. You watch him eagerly as you bite down on your bottom lip. You both know he won’t last long once he’s fully inside of you.

He slaps the head of his cock against your clit, watching the way your whole body quivers before slowly pushing the tip inside you. You’re so fucking tight, he thinks he might just cum from this alone, but he grits his teeth, slowly pushing, inch by inch, until he’s balls deep inside of you.

You cling to him, your arms around his neck as he begins to cant his hips against yours, slowly at first, then faster and faster. He hears your breathy little gasps as he pounds into you, your pouty lips forming into a perfect ‘o’ shape.

You look so gorgeous like this, he muses, as he rasps against your ear, “so perfect for me, baby, tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Feels so good, Aem,” you babble mindlessly, rolling your hips against his, your eyes rolling back.

Aemond’s ego is currently through the roof. Comforting Aegon’s girlfriend with his cock buried inside her? He wishes Aegon could see him right now.

His large palm rests on your lower belly, adding pressure to each thrust. With each snap of his hips, you feel yourself on the brink of insanity. Each drag of his thick length has you closer and closer to coming undone as a coil builds inside you, threatening to snap at any moment.

In one swift motion, Aemond now has your thighs up to the level of your breasts, allowing him to pound deeper into you, the weight of his body against yours is intoxicating — making you a drooling, babbling mess.

The tip of his cock continues to prod your sweet spot relentlessly and with a perfectly angled thrust, you’re soaking his cock, clenching down on him with force.

“Gods, such a good girl for me,” he says proudly, still pounding into you through your orgasm, “that’s it baby, cum on my cock.”

You keen at his praise, shaking around him as your cunt sucks in his length. You quickly pull his own release from him. He’s muttering profanities as he spills himself inside of you.

Once he pulls out of you, you move to lay next to him, smiling when he cuddles into you. His head rests on your chest, with an arm slung around your waist. Your legs are intertwined. You feel at ease.

Everything is going to be crazy when you have to terms with what just happened. But for right now, safe and sound in Aemond’s arms. The pain of Aegon’s absence is long forgotten.

“Thank you,” you murmur softly.

“For what?” his tone casual, although you swear you catch a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“For not being like Aegon.”

#modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #hotd #modern hotd #aemond smut #aemond x y/n #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond x you #house of the dragon smut

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girliism · 6 months ago

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nerdy!art who based on his physique and good looks should be getting any and every girl he wants but instead he chooses to hide away in his books. he’s top of all his classes and does extra credit work for fun on the weekends, according to his roommate patrick he’s kind of a loser that needs to get out more. patrick invites him out to a lot of parties but art just ends up in the corner nursing only one drink before leaving early.

you were the opposite everyone on campus knew you. you went to every party thrown but you weren’t some slut you just liked being around people. now you weren’t stupid by any means but you also weren’t top of your classes.

“what do you mean i’m failing.” you looked at your math professor who just told you that if you don’t pass this upcoming test you’d fail his class. “i don’t think you’re understanding the material very well that’s why i assigned you a tutor.” a tall blonde with thick rimmed glasses walks up to your professors desk. “this is art, i’ve asked him to help.” art gave you a small wave. you’ve seen art around campus sitting under trees reading or stuck in the corner at a party. he was quiet only spoke when spoken to, you had no idea he was even in this class.

art cleared his throat. “you can come by my dorm tomorrow if you’re free.” art held on the door for you to walk out of. “tomorrows fine with me. you’re patrick’s roommate right?” art nodded “cool! i can get your dorm number from a friend of mine.” you smiled big at him. art gave you a closed mouth smile back before you guys waved goodbye.

“can you please not be here when she comes over.” it was saturday the day of yours and art’s tutoring session and he’s been cleaning up their dorm. “right i forgot you’re having a girl over.” patrick says raising eyebrows up and down before placing his cereal bowl in the sink not bothering to wash it. art pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. “we’re just studying.” he mumbles going to wash patrick’s dish. patrick ended up leaving so art had the dorm to himself when you showed.

you sat on the couch in their dorm studying the place instead of the math problem art was trying to explain. “you got lucky pairing with zweig this dorm is partially an apartment.” art stopped talking to look around his dorm before shrugging going back to teaching you. “ugh i’m so jealous i’d kill for a dorm this big-” “you like to distracted yourself from your work when you don’t understand it.” art said cutting you off. you just stared at him not knowing what to say. art senses the awkward tension he created. “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to make you feel bad just if you payed attention i think you could really get it.” art spoke softly and you just nodded finally shutting up and listening to him.

studying with art was kinda fun. every saturday you’d meet at his dorm and listen to explain more in depth what your professor didn’t. at first art was very rigid but after a while you got him to loosen up. he now laughed openly with you and made stupid math jokes.

“ART!” you ran over to where he was sitting under a tree. art closed his book standing up when he saw you rushing toward him. “look what i did.” you shoved you test paper in his face smiling. “a B congratulations you’ve officially passed.” you couldn’t contain the squeal that came out of you when you pulled art into a tight hug. “no thanks to you. how will i ever repay you.” you pouted. art just shook his head saying there was no need. you gasp. “delta phi is having a party tonight you have to come and hang out with me.” the second art heard the frat name he was already declining. “parties aren’t really my thing.” art scratches at the back of his head. “bullshit dondalson, you saved me from failing which mean we have to celebrate. you’re coming weither you like it or not.” you gave art an excited smile and he gave you a nervous one back.

(a part 2 will be happening 🙏🏽) part 2.

#girliism #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #nerdy!art

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ghost-with-a-teacup · 2 years ago

Note

You know how in the movie, Miles mom gets angry when he says, ‘whatever’ can you do that with latina!wife for Miguel?

𝐘𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Wife!Reader

Summary: Miguel hasn't had a proper night's rest in days, and quite frankly you missed him. Too bad he's too swamped with work to notice.

Warnings: None! Just a silly lil fic.

⚝

You know those days where you’re just teetering on the edge? It could be for absolutely no reason at all, or maybe a collection of things, all you knew was that it just makes every action you take frustrating.

Well, that was you today.

Granted it wasn’t for no reason. Yesterday, Miguel had promised to come back home for dinner and sleep in his own bed, because for the last few days he had been swamped with work and mission reports. You understood the work he did was important, truly, but you missed him. That, and he was a chronic overworker who would only stop when he collapsed from exhaustion, and you were not going to let it get to that point.

It was getting tiring having to beg him to come back to rest, even for a moment. Spider powers or not, everyone needs a break.

“Uh oh…” you hear Lyla say as you march into the monitoring room, but you continue to press onward.

“Miguel!” you call up to him, but he doesn’t even bother turning around to face you, rummaging through papers and swiping through screens.

“Querida, is there something you need?” he asks nonchalantly like nothing was wrong.

“Yes! There is, actually. What happened to coming home yesterday, hm~?” you say, irritation rising in your voice.

“Oh…is it already the next day?” he asks, still not looking toward you. “I’m sorry, vida mía. I guess I got carried away, I’ll try to be back later alright?” he says, trying to placate you.

“You can’t keep going on like this Miguel, it’s not healthy. One evening of a break won’t hurt. Hell, I’ll even help you out with paperwork, and Lyla can too. So come home tonight, alright? For me, please?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says without thinking, only half listening to you.

“Excuse me?” you say, your voice stone cold and immediately Miguel stiffens, slowly turning toward you with a sheepish look on his face.

“Vida mía,” he says, his expression apologetic as his platform begins to lower to the floor. You don’t have the patience to wait for it though, choosing to swing up with your webs and meet him at his level.

“Miguel O'Hara, who do you think you’re talking to?" you say lowly. "I’m not one of your subordinates, I am your wife,” Your hands are planted on your hips as you look up at him annoyedly.

“I know, I know,” he says hurriedly, “I’m sorry. I said it without thinking.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. We’re going home, now,” you say, grabbing his hand and leaving no room for argument. “Lyla, have Jess take over for the rest of today, alright?”

“Aye, aye, captain!” she says, snickering at the interaction between the two of you.

“Querida, there’s still so much work I have to do,” he says, resisting your pull but you continue to drag you along.

“Should have thought of that before you said ‘whatever’ to me, Miguel,” you say, but sigh. “I’m only trying to look out for you, is that so bad?”

He pauses, studying your worried expression that was because of him. It caused a wave of guilt to wash over him after he disregarded your care for work instead.

“I know…alright, let’s go home sweetheart,” he says, finally relenting as he presses a kiss to your forehead. Immediately you light up, grasping his hand tighter.

“I’ll make your favourite today, and we can take a bath later if you’d like?” you suggest.

“I would love that, tesoro.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @beiroviski, @scaraza, @blueoorchid, @remuslupinwifee, @phobia0325, @local-mr-frog, @johfaam0, @raweggohan, @honeycriess, @alexenoirex, @chimpkinnuggies, @rqdior, @banana--belle, @notasadgirlipromise, @6billionyearsold, @gods-perfectidiot, @phobia0325, @honeii-puff, @ieatmunson

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader #marvel #fluff!

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beloveds-embrace · 14 days ago

Note

So, someone may have already thought about this, but after reading the comments from other folks in the neglected!aus of the Dukedom, I'm looking for a sliver of hope for poor Duchess.

What if there is a newly-hired maid who actually gives a shit about Duchess's well-being, but also not one to take bs? When she notices the duchess being treated unfair, she's quick to ask the rest of the staff. They're no help, and John just turns a blind eye to it. "If you're so worried, then why don't you take care of her yourself?" says half-heartedly.

Challenge accepted (with the utmost diligence).

Because regardless of how things are, she's not gonna let The Lady of The House wither and waste away. Anything Duchess needs, Sweet Maid will be the one to take care of it, not accepting any help or pity from anyone. Plus, less problems means less rumors.

The manor was cold.

Not in the way that stone and drafty halls made a place cold, but in the way that loneliness settled into the bones of a home, making it hollow. You felt it in every ignored whisper of your name, in the meals left at your door but never shared, in the glances that once lingered but now flickered away, as if your presence was something to be endured rather than cherished.

You had learned to sit in that silence, to let the days pass with only the ticking of the grand clock to keep you company. No one seemed to mind that the Duchess of the house was wilting. Not the servants who barely acknowledged you, not the man who had vowed to be your partner in all things.

So it was a surprise when a sharp knock interrupted the monotony of your existence.

You barely had the energy to respond. “Enter.”

The door swung open, and in stepped a young woman dressed in the crisp uniform of the household staff. But unlike the others, she did not hesitate in the doorway, did not cast you a wary glance before hurrying off to complete some other, more important task- because you were at the bottom of the list of importance to them.

No- this one marched inside with purpose, hands on her hips, bright eyes scanning the room like a general surveying a battlefield.

“Oh, absolutely not!”

You blinked, fully looking at her. “I beg your pardon?”

The maid- Shirin, you would later learn- looked positively appalled, her gaze darting between the untouched vanity, the dust gathering in the corners, the discarded meal trays with barely a dent in them.

“This is unacceptable!” she declared.

You almost laughed. You had never heard one of the staff speak so freely before, but you didn’t mind. At least she was speaking to you.

Instead, you tilted your head, studying her. “And you are?”

Shirin straightened, her expression softening when her eyes met yours. “Shirin, Your Grace. I’ve just been hired, and let me tell you, I do not approve of how they’ve been treating you.”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, she was already moving- striding toward the heavy curtains and yanking them open, letting sunlight pour into the dim room.

“Goodness, no wonder you look so sick! They’ve been keeping you in the dark like some tragic ghost.”

You winced at the sudden brightness, but you found yourself watching, entranced, as Shirin moved with swift efficiency. She gathered the abandoned trays and muttered under her breath about the nerve of leaving food for a Duchess like she’s a stray cat, shaking her head in obvious disapproval.

You frowned. “Why does it matter to you?”

Shirin turned, her brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Because you’re you!” she said, as if that should be obvious.

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

With a huff, Shirin clapped her hands together. “Alright! First things first, we’re getting you properly bathed, dressed, and fed. No more arguments.”

You raised a brow. “I haven’t argued.”

“Oh, you will,” she said knowingly, already heading toward the bathing chamber. “But I’m terribly stubborn, and I always win, my lady.”

For the first time in ages, you felt something unfamiliar flutter in your chest. Something warm. And you weren’t quite sure what to do with it.

Within minutes, Shirin had the bath drawn- hot water steaming as she added fragrant oils with a hum. She returned to your bedside, hands on her hips.

“Well?”

You hesitated. You didn’t even know why- and yet tou hesitated.

She softened, stepping closer. “Your Grace,” she said gently. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

Something in you cracked, and without a word, you let her help you to the bath.

She was kind but firm, helping you undress without making you feel small, washing your hair with a gentleness that made your throat tighten. When you were clean and wrapped in the softest robe, she helped you to a chair before the vanity, brushing creams onto your face with careful strokes.

“See?” she murmured. “Not so bad, my lady.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “No,” you admitted. “Not bad at all.”

Shirin, and you found yourself helpless against the warmth of it. She squealed when she noticed your own smile.

By the time you were settled in fresh clothes, Shirin had already changed the linens, aired out the room, and brought in a meal that smelled heavenly. The warmth of the plate alone almost made you tear up.

She cut the food into small bites- not in a condescending way, but in a way that said she simply wanted to make things easier for you.

You took a tentative bite, and Shirin lit up.

“Oh, thank the stars, you’re eating!” she cheered.

You gave her a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I always win, my lady. I told you so!” She reminded you with a wink.

And for once, you didn’t mind losing.

Meanwhile, the rest of the staff had noticed Shirin’s warpath.

She was sweet with you- warm, chatty, the very definition of a doting maid. But with them?

“Oh, no no no,” she had scolded Johnny that morning. “You expect the Duchess to eat this?” She had snatched the meal away with a huff, muttering about standards before personally overseeing a proper one.

And when she had cornered John, her expression turning so positively icy, she hadn’t even pretended to be intimidated.

“If you’re so worried, then why don’t you take care of her yourself?” he had muttered, dismissive, too focused on his work to care about a singular maid taking pity on you.

Shirin had only grinned. Fine. She will take the very best care of you!

#noona.asks #noona.writes #chose the name shirin bc it means sweet in my mother language lol

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dadsbongos · 8 months ago

Text

how to (unintentionally) drive away a suitor

5.4 k words / warnings - misunderstandings, you're manipulative but in a marriage-seeker way, lame ass exposition dump at the beginning sorry

summary - you go to The Island in hopes of finding a suitor better than what your parents picked, you meet Laios. disaster ensues.

posting while bleaching my hair send hlep ~~~

When you were five, your father’s first hunting dog died. Matilda. A hound mix he praised as if she were his firstborn, and that would sound neglectful if she didn’t feel like your eldest sister. When she died, a true member of the family died. Your child heart exploding out of your little chest with the mosaic of grief ripping you this way and that. It was so ugly, you hadn’t expected to feel that way until your parents or a human sister croaked on you.

It’d also inspired you to do better for yourself than what destiny had in mind. As the youngest in a long line of children, you had little hope of a large inheritance from your well-off father. Instead, you would marry rich and smart and handsome.

Leading you, with a throbbing disinterest in the suitor picked by your parents, to set for The Island in the year 510.

Where you met a very strange man named Laios Touden.

Denial

Month 1 - your first proposition

“We should celebrate with drinks,” you skim a finger along the waistline of his cuirass, “Another dive with no deaths.”

“Oh, yeah,” Laios nods, grinning blandly at you, “You think I could rope Shuro into sticking around this time? He usually skips nights out unless Falin asks.”

“I was thinking something a little more private. Just you and me, maybe?”

“Sure,” suddenly his brows furrow, a serious ridge setting across his lips, “Is there something you need? I know rent in the western part of The Island is starting to go up, do you live there?”

“Laios, I- “ you cut yourself off before reminding him you two live on the same street because a sudden idea strikes you. He’s doing this on purpose. Of course, he is. He’s the type of guy that wants you to actually ask for it, “I mean, if you really want then I guess everyone coming isn’t so bad.”

But two can play at that game.

“Okay, great! I’ll let the party know,” he gives you a thumbs up and turns towards the rest of your group as they pack for the surface.

You watch him wrap an arm around Toshiro and beam at the withdrawn man. You deduce that he’s the type that likes to be chased. Which you feel is a little beneath you, but you’re willing to play a long game as long as he makes it worth your time.

Month 2 - the time you take him to dinner

“This place is so quiet,” Laios murmurs, both hands splayed across the table.

You study his fingers, thick and red at the joints -- you bet a gold wedding band would glitter nicely on his hand. Candle light flickers suddenly, a shadow sharpening across his face as he looks around. This snags your attention, you lean forward and curl both arms on the table, chest pressing into the well.

“Well, it’s nice, right?”

“I guess,” he avoids looking you in the face, instead focusing on your painted lips before flitting to the table, “I just feel like it's more for couples, right?”

This is it!

“Huh, you think so?”

“Mhm,” his eyes settle between your own, observing the curve from your forehead to your nose.

“I bet we make a pretty couple, then.”

“Oh,” he nods slowly, mulling over the suggestion, “Probably. I’d say we’re both decently attractive people.”

Is this it?

Just as you go to ask what exactly he means by that, your food is ready and Laios starts rambling about how hungry he was regardless of the awkward atmosphere. It makes no sense, but he’s the next village chief of his hometown so you let it pass.

Month 6 - the time you two take a walk

“Thanks for accompanying me.”

Laios waves off your gratitude, “It was nice to find out we live on the same street anyway.”

You bite your tongue from telling him that he should already know this in favor of boldly wrapping an arm around his. A rehearsed yelp splices your throat; practiced stumble rocking you askew. Immediately, you set to memorizing the feel of his beefy bicep around yours, wondering how his waist feels. His thighs. His neck and calves and cheeks.

“I saw a rat,” the lie slips easily, spare hand coming up to coyly cup your own cheek.

“Really?” he peeks over your head, “Where?”

“Laios, that’s not important!”

“I didn’t hear any squeaking, do you think it was trying to be quiet?”

“Laios!” you pinch his arm, apologetically rubbing over the tender skin when he whines, “I hate rats…”

“They’re just- “ your sudden furrowing brows and massive scowl halts the rest of his sentence, “Sorry. Are you scared of them?” before you can respond, he spins you towards his other side -- arms still linked tightly, “If you heard it over here, it’s probably best I stay on this side.”

“Aww,” you tilt your head against his shoulder, “That’s actually so sweet, Laios. Thank you.”

“Uh-huh,” you’re too blinded by the gesture to notice his intense stare scavenging along the dark ground, if you did then you probably would’ve realized he just wanted to see a rat.

Month 11 - the time you find his gourmet guide

“Is this why you started a party?”

“No,” his face flushes rogue from forehead to collarbones, eyes darting away from you. Hands twitching to rip the book from your own.

“You’re an awful liar,” you wave the stained, peeling green book -- careful to not rip any of his carefully placed tabs or note cards in the swaying, “Why hide this? Everyone already knows you’re chock full of monster trivia.”

Laios sighs quietly, reaching out for the book, and he seems genuinely surprised with what little fight you put up. He smooths one of the curling edges of the cover under his thumb, “This book hasn’t gotten the best reception before. It's easier to just avoid people seeing it.”

Somewhere in your chest, there’s a twinge and ache before you’re speaking again -- for once no plan or motive to your words, “That’s terrible, Laios. You should be able to show it off.”

“You think so?” he grins.

Technically comforting him will only advance your plan to wed, but strangely you’re finding that you just… want to. You don’t want him to filter himself to live, that sounds cruel.

“You can talk to me about it anytime,” you don’t find monsters so fascinating -- to you they’re no different from a common beast, what does it matter that they’re eaten by Laios? Despite your own indifference, you want nothing more than to indulge Laios, “I’d love to hear about how they taste.”

And you’re not sure where that desire comes from.

“I haven’t been able to eat one yet, but I’m hoping to. I can’t find time to traverse the first few floors by myself.”

You just know that it feels right to see him excited.

“You don’t have to go by yourself now, I can join. You’ll be able to go deeper that way, right?” you laugh at his flaming cheeks, “And what luck: I’m a support mage, you couldn’t ask for a better setup.”

“I’ll have to see when our next rest period is, that way we won’t be exhausted before going on our own.”

And when you’re in bed alone later that night, you justify to yourself that having a secret between one another will lay good foundation for future intimacy. You pretend that was on your mind the entire time you made the offer.

Year 2 - the time you invite him into your home

“I have lychees. It’d be a shame to let them go bad, you know?”

“What are lychee?” Laios glances from your neck to your room door.

“You’re kidding,” you twist the knob and swing it open with the weight of your body, thudding against the wall to allow Laios entry, “They’re fruits! Imports from the Eastern Archipelago, I would’ve thought you’d hear about them since you pester Toshiro about the area all the time…”

Laios’ head is on a full axis swivel to find anything unfamiliar, ready to taste all your excitement about the fruits, “No, never came up,” he watches you stride past him to a cabinet, “By the way, whose Toshiro?”

Quietly, you laugh to yourself, pulling down a rocky, pinkish ball. Laios is too busy thinking about the damage it’s looking to do to his bare hand to process the fact you never answered his question.

(you thought he was joking)

“Consider this a gift for walking me home again.”

“You asked,” he shrugs, watching as you squeeze around the fruit until it cracks in the middle, then peeling the shell away, “Besides, we live on the same street so it’s not out of my way.”

You hope he says that because he remembered, rather than having ‘discovered’ it for the fourth time. To stop yourself from asking clarification, you slice the pearly fruit in two, plucking the dark seed before handing both halves to Laios.

“I’ve heard some people just pop the whole thing in their mouth, but I’ve never tried it that way,” you confess, watching him roll the fruit from one cheek to the other before chomping down.

Laios’ eyes flutter shut, a muted moan following, “That’s sweet.”

“I know, right?”

“But I still get hints of citrus.”

“I know, right?!”

He points to the other lychee in your palm, “Do you have more, or…?”

You don’t.

“Have it,” you peel and deseed the one in your hand to press against his lips, “Say ‘ahh’!”

He smiles faintly at the cooing, popping his mouth open for you to slide the fruit past his teeth and onto his tongue. A soft kiss tickles your fingertips as he mutters, “Thanks.”

“Uh, yeah,” you pull back slowly, tangling your fingers behind your back and rocking onto the balls of your feet nervously, “Yeah, of course.”

You’ve never been nervous this way around a man before. You’ve felt fear and you’ve felt hatred and you’ve had crushes, but none of those have made your heart pound quite so hard.

It’ll be good to be attracted to your husband, you think, anybody can marry into power but it takes a real hunter to find power so handsome and polite.

Year 3 - the time you ask him to marry you

“We should get married,” you blurt, interrupting Laios as he ponders aloud the best way to safely boil a scorpion.

Laios darts up from his book, wide eyes unabashedly boring into your soul, “What?”

“You and me,” you’ve chased enough, now you’re ready for him to get serious -- you can’t live like this. Dangling just out of reach, only to be abruptly yanked at his whim. Your parents want to meet your fiance, the one you’ve abandoned home to find: the one you’re apparently certain is better than their choice for you. You need him to admit defeat before you go insane, “We should get married.”

“That’s what I thought you said, but I wasn’t sure,” he closes his beloved gourmet guide around a bookmark you crafted specially for him from braided yarn and beads. It had multiple tassels for slotting various spots through the guide simultaneously to more easily find sections he was currently occupied with rather than sort through tabs. He loves its practicality, and he loves it more when he thinks about how you made it with him in mind.

He thinks you’re nice. He thinks you’re charming. He likes spending time with you. You even already know about his monster obsession, and you’re on-board!

Which is basically the best he can get, right?

Dinners with his parents were silent, and the room’s temperature would sink to match their chilly demeanors.

Dinners with you would be warm, and the quiet moments would be comfortable.

“Sure,” he eventually answers, when he finds no protesting nausea bubbling in his gut he takes it as a good sign, “We can get married.”

Not the exact response you’d been hoping for. Though, you should’ve been more direct, Laios is stubbornly socially inept after all.

You’ll mark it as progress anyway, overjoyed Laios is baseline willing. Which is enough for you.

Definitely enough.

Definitely. Just. Enough.

Anger

Upon arrival to the dungeon three years ago, you found it difficult to acclimate to the fact that death was not the end down here. When you saw your first corpse on the second level, you were nigh inconsolable in the weary arms of Toshiro as he mumbled assurances in your ear.

Now, as a seasoned adventurer, you’re reasoning that coldblooded murder isn’t immoral in the dungeon.

(of course, it is, and also of course, you won’t murder anybody. but- )

You rather like the image of the woman flirting with Laios exploding

Honestly the longer he goes without refusing her, the more you like the image of him exploding too.

“Laios is an idiot,” Toshiro again is the one to comfort you, “It’s best not to watch.”

You’re sure he’s right. You’re also sure you want to keep watching -- which will entirely ruin your mood for the crawl ahead of your party. This is only your first day, on the first level, during the first meal before you all officially set off. And Laios is explaining to a strange, yet beautiful, woman the way a slime can seep out overhead and suffocate her to death. She isn’t even appreciating the knowledge, she’s just staring at his stupid pink lips.

“Once she hears what he’s saying, she’ll lose all interest,” Toshiro adds, then continuing as your glare fails to subside, “It isn’t like you two are actually married. She probably thinks he’s single.”

“He is single,” Chilchuck buds in, hands locked behind his head, “Inter-party relationships are bad news, you know? I’ve seen lots of people fall apart because of jealousy and cheating,” he shoots daggers at Toshiro briefly, “Pining is just the first step to an all out collapse.”

You gasp at the accusation. You are not pining!

“I don’t even like him that way. We should just get married for the land and wealth advantages!”

You entertain his monster fantasies for the money, you feed him lychees for the status, and you’re fiending to rip that woman away for the property expansion. That’s all! His being handsome is just a bonus, not a factor. His soft heart is a neat detail, not something you dream about holding.

Chilchuck doesn’t believe you. And you don’t think you believe yourself at this point either.

Depression

In the wake of Chilchuck’s ominous warning: you’ve been avoiding Laios. You’ve been avoiding most of your party, actually. First to lay and last to rise from your bedroll to most effectively close yourself off from nipping at Laios again.

He hadn’t even managed the nerve to ask what had you so perturbed following his conversation with the floozy on the first floor. He just strolls along, normal as he could hope to be while you languish in the back of the party with Toshiro. You wonder if Laios notices you’re not at his side, you wonder what precisely is going through his head. Did he notice she was flirting? Did he care? Is he still keen on marrying you?

Was he ever?

Toshiro catches the sudden exasperated huff you let out, you rub at your aching eyes. While he detests Laios’ clueless and overly familiar nature, he does feel grateful to work with you. He’d consider it a massive shame if you were to drop from the party because of emotional duress.

“Read any good books lately?”

Your hands lower, eyes blinking sluggishly until you’re staring at him with full inquisition, “What…?”

Maintaining a forward stare, Toshiro reaffirms his resolve, “Humor me.”

“Uh, well…” you comb through your brain for any answer other than the honest one, exhaustion and melancholy blurring your lying ability, “Just one.”

Eager to strengthen your bond and hopefully secure your stay in the party when this Laios fiasco fully explodes, Toshiro smiles softly at you, “Tell me about it.”

“It’s, well, old. Really old. A little gourmet guide…” you pout, “Laios and I read it together.”

“Oh,” Toshiro clears his throat, “Sorry.”

Bargaining

Laios could not seem to care less as the handsome dwarf perched at your side pays you yet another compliment. A shred of you feels terrible, terrible pity for the man as every other second your attention sears across the packed tavern to your party. To the blondie still in his armor; the blondie not even looking your way.

“Another drink, then?”

“Hm?” you beat ungracefully, forgetting you were meant to be charming the man.

“Would you like another drink?” he gestures to the barrels behind the bar, “On my coin, of course,” his tone falters, head shifting to follow yours, “I get the idea you need to forget this night.”

“Oh, I- no, it’s nothing…” you risk another peek at Laios, finding him somehow more disinterested in you than before -- thoroughly enjoying a one-sided conversation with Toshiro, “I’m not…”

“Better ways to get your mister’s attention than flirting.”

“Oh,” you’re embarrassed to be figured out like this, “I’m sorry. Really, I can’t- God- I’m sorry.”

“He’s lookin’ this way.”

Chancing it, you confirm that Laios is now looking at the both of you. His amber eyes flit from your face to the man beside you, to the floor. He returns all focus to Toshiro.

“Wow.”

From pitier to pitied at breakneck speed is more jarring than Laios’ carelessness.

“He said he wanted to marry me,” you reason.

“Did he now?” the dwarf so obviously disbelieves you, you’re sick just hearing his voice.

“Yeah!”

The dwarf nods slowly, a sarcastic lilt in his following words, “Seems like he meant it.”

“I’m not drinking anymore…” you slide off the bar stool, pausing when the man’s voice punches your gut once more.

“You should find someone more attentive to you.”

Racing away from the dwarf, you tug Laios away from your party’s table by his elbow. You’re glaring, you’re glaring so hard and so viciously that it genuinely startles him.

“Are you okay?” his neck cranes to gaze upon the dwarf, “You were talking to that guy, right? Did he freak you out?”

“So you knew I was with him?” you scoff, “Don’t you care at all?”

Laios shrugs, he didn’t see flirting -- he has no idea what you’re talking about, and he doesn’t want to seem like a nightmare boss, so… “Not really, I guess.”

“Are you serious?!”

“It’s not a crime for you to unwind at a bar. Besides, it isn’t like we belong to each other or something.”

You turn suddenly, back completely to him before charging out of the bar -- Laios chases, disliking how this conversation is slated to end. He slams into you at the edge of the street, and when he tries balancing you by the shoulders you knock his hands away.

“I thought- “ you circle back to stare at his face, “I thought we were… I was always on top of you, and we- I said- you said we should get married.”

Laios squirms with humiliation, then irritation, “Well, you said it weird. Marcille says that stuff to Falin all the time. Why didn’t you just ask to be together?”

“I did!”

“Did you?”

“All the time…”

Acceptance

Laios squirms with humiliation, then irritation, “Well, you said it weird. Marcille says that stuff to Falin all the time. Why didn’t you just ask to be together?”

“I did!”

“Did you?”

“All the time…”

“I never knew,” he blinks at you, and the most dreadful thing is you know he’s not bluffing. Laios is a terrible liar, you’ve prided yourself on plucking his fibs apart in the past, but this is not one of those times.

“You didn’t notice?” you’re lightheaded at his nonchalance, arms coiling around your waist as if to belt your insides right where they are, “You seriously didn’t notice?”

“No,” Laios’ pretty lips tear in a frown, “Should I have?”

He means it literally: are you terribly sad or can we start all over again?

You assume he’s being himself, oblivious and avoidant and so, so, so annoying.

“I’m…” you stumble back, face so hot you’re seconds away from blacking out with terror. Stretching out to steady you, Laios continues to play the kind leader, and it only makes your dinner lurch up your throat. Instinctually, you clasp a hand over your mouth, shaking your head and taking a step back toward the bustling dirt path, “I’m going home.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, we can- ”

You shush Laios, memories whacking you over the head every millisecond just to taunt how stupid you were. Indignity blinds you, eyes snapping shut, “I’m going home, Laios.”

Panicked, you stammer a goodbye before lugging yourself away. Laios watches you fade into silhouette, drowning under the clogging crowd by townsquare until not even your head is visible. His fists screw at his sides, knuckles burning white, his feet feel the phantom pummeling of a rush against the ground; urging him forward. That might scare you though, and you already seemed awfully upset, so Laios figures it better to let you sleep off tonight. The two of you can rekindle tomorrow.

Peeking over your shoulder, you spot no broad shoulders or sandy blonde hair looming over the rest of the townsfolk.

Call it melodramatic and frustrating, but you were hoping Laios would follow just to grab your hand and ask you to stay. Not that you should be surprised. More often than not recently, you’d felt a burden on the party. Perhaps Laios is content you’re removing yourself. Perhaps he’ll be relieved you’re no longer pestering him. Perhaps he’ll walk inside and out your feelings to the rest of the party for them to share a laugh over.

(you should know him better than that, but you’re not in your right mind: storming into your room, a teary-eyed mess, to throw your things into bags)

Laios feels a lithe hand dig nails into his arm, he squeals sharply at the sensation and rips back to see Marcille gaping up at him. She throws an arm out toward the dirt road, “What are you doing?!”

Falin gently pries the elf off from Laios before humming thoughtfully at her brother, “They seemed really distraught. What happened?”

“Where’d you two come from?” Laios twists toward the tavern door, “I didn’t hear you at all…”

Flustered at the questioning, Marcille scoffs and drags Laios inside toward their table, “This isn’t about us! Have you never read romance before?! That was terrible!”

“They were upset, they probably wanted space,” Laios reasons, slumping into his seat at the head of the table, “We’ll see them tomorrow, we’ll talk again.”

“What’d you do now?” Chilchuck lifts a bottle of wine to his lips and tosses it back in a way that makes Toshiro cringe.

Namari quirks a brow at the man, waiting until he’s finished gulping to ask, “I thought you hated personal relationships and work?”

“I do, but if he just got rid of our other cleric then we should probably know about it.”

“I didn’t get rid of them!” Laios folds his arms with a sigh, “We’ll sort everything out tomorrow when we’re well-rested.”

Toshiro debates even opening his mouth. Laios is a one-man paradox, somehow well-meaning and belligerent in one breath -- overbearing and entirely hands-off. Laios’ spot in Toshiro’s heart is a complicated one: at this very moment the spot is incredibly tender. Down to that part of a night out where Toshiro empathizes with how clueless the bumpkin is, and it's that part of his brain that chastises him. After all, if it were him and Falin, he would want someone to say something.

“They’re going home,” Toshiro mumbles.

“Huh?” Laios cocks his head at the input, “I know, buddy, she told me she was heading home.”

“No,” be nice, be nice, be nice, be nice, “Home off The Island. No returning to the dungeon.”

“How’d you get all that?” Marcille leans onto the table with both elbows, nervously brushing long flaxen locks behind her ears.

“When we first met, it was something we talked about,” Toshiro confesses, “If they couldn’t marry on The Island, they’d have to take the suitor arranged by their parents back home. This rejection must be the final one.”

With Falin around, he decides to bite back his next statement: I’m not sure why Laios caught their eye in the first place, though.

“Pretty ditzy of you, party leader,” Chilchuck’s jab echoes into the bottle already resettled against his lips.

Laios stands, unsure of why except for the fact he cannot take the news lightly. His heart is racing in protest, one word jamming another in his hurry to speak, until he finally stutters out, “So?”

So, what should I do?

So, why wouldn’t you mention that?

So, why did he let you walk home alone?

“So…” Falin jumps to respond first, settling a massassing hand on Marcille’s shoulder to subdue the fuming woman, “If you want to smooth things over, you should probably go.”

Laios charges from the tavern despite Namari’s scolding that tonight was supposed to be on his tab.

Quickly coming to terms with the fact you’re long gone, Laios heads straight for the inn he and Falin live above. Certain once on that road, the memory of which hostel you’re renting out of will flood back to him.

. . .

You’re jamming bags puffy to the clasp when overzealous knocks threaten to rattle your door from its hinges. The only reason you don’t flee via window to shake the banging madman is because you recognize his voice: Laios, calling your name.

You sigh, forfeiting, “Come in, Laios!”

Despite your own disinterest, you want nothing more than to indulge Laios. It seems that this is something you’ll let devour you.

Flinging the door open and shut behind him, Laios stares at you -- slack jawed and pupils eating away irises. He stares into your face.

“What is it, Lai- “

“We can actually get married!” he blurts, stunning you into utter bewilderment, “You don’t have to take a suitor, you can marry me for real! I don’t care much for inheriting the village, but we can tell your parents I do.”

“Laios…”

“I don’t have much to throw for a wedding, though, so it’ll have to be something quieter than you probably imagined.”

“Laios.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t marry you,” you turn away from his confused pinch, now sweeping a finger along the scratched edge of your nightstand, “You don’t get it.”

“So make me get it,” he says so casually, you almost believe it’s really that easy.

“I can’t marry you because I don’t care about your dad,” he’s struggling to hold in the confused puppy-head-tilt of questioning, you can sense it, “I stopped throwing myself at you for stupid titles a while ago. For a long time I did it genuinely. Because I wanted to.”

“Because you liked me.”

“Now he gets it,” you huff bitterly.

“I can hear you,” Laios steps bravely to be beside you, “Do you still like me?”

You laugh because that’s all you can think to do. The sun just asked a daisy if it enjoys photosynthesis. A rhino wonders if the oxpecker is well fed. A black cat curls around an orange one in a window sill. Weeds grow so tangled up they need to be ripped as a knot. Two moth-gnawed coats hanging in the back of a rich man’s closet. Stars scorching at one another, colliding lightyears ahead. Squiggly stick figures holding hands in a defaced oil painting. Two eagles clawing at one another as they plummet from the sky.

“I don’t know if there’s a plane where I don’t.”

His morbid fascination and tactless enjoyment of life have you in a chokehold, one so fatally unshakable you’re certain he’ll someday kill you. Eventually, he’ll say something so thoughtlessly true to himself, with so much excitement it oozes from his pores, that you’ll have a heart attack then and there.

“So, why not stay?”

One day, he’ll lead you so deep into the dungeon that you cannot escape.

“You know what you’re implying, right?” your voice catches behind chattering teeth, a nervous whisper all you can manage, “I couldn’t, not if you’re just saying this out of guilt.”

“I know what I’m saying, I want you to stay so we can be together,” his face flushes, “I know how selfish it is, but I don’t want you to go home and marry someone else for your family. I want us to marry each other because I like you.”

His abrupt and daring confession has you petrified. Only your jaw is capable of movement, and the most it can do is dumbly drop before you gargle out a stunted, “Okay.”

“Okay!” he excitedly flails out both arms before crushing you against his cuirass, intensely aggressive and deeply endearing at once, “Do I have to meet your parents now?”

“Yes, that’s kind of the reason they let me stay here, you know? To see who I’d find on The Island instead of home.”

“I hate meeting adults… they’re so… weird.”

You choose not to point out that he, as well as everyone he associates with, is an adult.

“Just be yourself,” a sudden, maybe minorly manipulative, plan roars behind your eyes, “You’ll impress them so much, they’ll leave me alone forever!”

Hope

“And since they’re slimes, if you poke their eyes they stay perfectly calm! Which is another good way to tell them from the human they’re mimicking,” your dad made the mistake of asking Laios what he studied, misinterpreting your use of ‘fascinated by nature’ to mean ‘biology scholar’. Laios immediately began ranting and neither of your parents had reawakened from their shock yet, “Succubi can also duplicate people, but that’s usually when taking the most desired form their target has. Which is mainly sex appeal, so for me it’d probably be, well you know!” he affectionately squeezes your hand in view of your parents. You watch a little more of your dad’s soul crumble within his eyes, “The strangest is probably mirror monsters though, since they reflect what they see. They rely on flattery and illusions to swap with humans. I’d love to meet one so I could see their lure techniques in real time.”

“Wow, honey,” you grin, peeking at your parents across the table, “Can you circle back to how the shapeshifters make their copies? I just can’t wrap my head around why they’d use memories instead of the real things!”

“Oh, so it’s actually pretty simple!” Laios devolves into another ramble, eyes alight with excitement.

You’re just as glad to be feeding his need to talk about monsters as you are to be terrifying your parents.

“And you have a village in the North?” your father finally coughs out, holding a hand up to silence Laios.

“It’s my father’s,” Laios glances at you through his peripherals, visibly unsure how to carry out the conversation. To his credit, he’d pestered you about what exactly you wanted him to say about his father, and you only brushed it off as something you’d take care of.

“You’re the eldest, right?” your mom chews her thumbnail nervously, “A son at that!”

“Yes, yes, he’s a firstborn son,” Dad looks to you, “It was in the letter!”

“I am,” Laios’ foot taps beneath the table. Again glancing at you for further prompting.

“We’re not moving from The Island anytime soon,” you return Laios’ previous hand-squeeze, hoping to ease his nerves. You sit up straight, “We want to keep exploring the dungeon.”

“Yes, but after that?” Dad’s eyes are wet with concern and dread, “You’ll have to settle down eventually.”

“We’ll be fine, Dad. I’m fine living like this, I’ve had lots of fun -- I want to keep having fun. I’m excited to marry Laios, and he’s excited to marry me,” to add to your point, Laios nods enthusiastically, “I’m happy marrying for love, and I don’t care what it implies about me as your child.”

Meeting Laios was like striking gold. He’s different from anybody you grew up with, and you’re content to be with him as you continue to grow old.

“If you’re sure,” Mom lays a hand on your father’s back, as if to wrangle a dog before it bites, “Just visit more often, okay?” she catches how Laios perks up at the mention of more traveling, “And bring Laios, too. He’s very… interesting…”

You know. That’s why you courted (suffered) him for actual years.

#laios touden x reader #laios x reader #laios touden x you #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #dunmeshi x reader #laios fluff #bongos.long-ones.🍓

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