#learning glorious things today

[quaranmine]

if you order iced tea in a restaurant/cafe in the Netherlands, it's almost guaranteed to be sparkling

as someone who loves iced tea and hates sparkling drinks, this is very disappointing

Whoa, interesting! I've never been to the Netherlands. I know iced tea in general is not at all common in Europe (even though it's a Staple beverage of my upbrining) but I would never have assumed that it would be sparkling on average. I do know that in Europe you have to specify "still water" when ordering since sparkling is so common, so maybe that's just. part of it lol

[xichilie]

Phainon x (fem)reader x Mydei

Phainon’s Purr-dicament

This was not how today was supposed to go.

One minute, Phainon had been grinning like usual, confidently leading their little trio through the ruins as he boasted about how clearly he was the most capable one here. The next? A blinding flash from the relic they were investigating—then darkness.

And now?

Now he was a tiny, fluffy, white cat.

He sat there, tail flicking in irritation, staring up at Mydei and Y/N in absolute disbelief.

“…You have got to be kidding me,” Mydei muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Wait—” Y/N gasped, kneeling down. “Where’s Phainon?”

I’M RIGHT HERE! Phainon tried to shout. But all that came out was—

"Meow."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Mydei sighed. Deeply.

Phainon quickly realized two things.

One: He couldn’t talk, which meant he couldn’t properly yell at Mydei or brag about how technically this wasn’t his fault.

Two: Y/N was obsessed with him like this.

“Oh, look at you,” she gushed, scooping him up into her arms. “You’re adorable!”

Phainon froze.

This… this was nice. Very nice. Y/N was cradling him close, her hands stroking through his fur, her voice soft and affectionate. He was practically melting. And the best part?

Mydei looked annoyed.

“Ugh.” Mydei crossed his arms. “Are we seriously stopping everything because Phainon turned into a walking puffball?”

Y/N ignored him, holding Phainon up so they were eye-to-eye. “Don’t listen to him. You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

If Phainon could smirk, he would. Instead, he smugly flicked his tail.

Mydei glared. “Oh, you are way too happy about this.”

Phainon, completely unbothered, stretched lazily in Y/N’s arms, his fluffy little paws resting against her chest.

“Oh, and he’s so soft,” Y/N continued, now scratching gently under his chin.

Phainon had never been this close to her before. And it was glorious.

Mydei was officially done. “Okay. That’s enough.”

“No, it’s not,” Y/N argued, still completely absorbed in Phainon. “Look at him. He’s purring!”

Indeed, Phainon was purring like his life depended on it.

Mydei exhaled sharply. “Unbelievable.”

Phainon flicked an ear, sending Mydei a look that very clearly said: Sucks to be you, huh?

Mydei twitched. “You better hope we don’t figure out how to turn you back too fast, because the moment you have hands again, I will make you regret this.”

Phainon just yawned. Dramatically.

Y/N smiled. “Don’t worry, Phai, we’ll fix this soon.”

Take your time, Phainon thought, settling comfortably in her arms.

He could get used to this.

After what felt like an eternity of Y/N showering Phainon with affection (not that he was complaining), Mydei finally groaned. “Alright, we do have an actual mission, remember?”

Y/N, still holding Phainon close, tilted her head. “Right… but we also have a tiny problem.” She glanced down at the fluffy cat in her arms, who blinked up at her innocently. “We can’t just leave Phai like this.”

Phainon gave her a slow blink—something he had learned cats did when they liked someone.

Y/N’s heart melted. “Aww, Mydei, did you see that? He trusts me.”

Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose. “He is him but smaller and with fur. Don’t fall for his act.”

Phainon stretched, his little paws pressing against Y/N’s chest again as he nestled in closer.

Mydei’s eye twitched. “Oh, he is enjoying this.”

Y/N giggled. “Of course he is! He’s getting spoiled.”

Phainon was getting spoiled, and he absolutely loved it. Not only was Y/N practically glued to him, but Mydei’s growing frustration was delicious.

“Alright,” Mydei sighed, crossing his arms. “How do we fix him?”

Y/N hummed. “We could go back to Okhama and ask the scholars. Maybe they know something about this relic.”

Phainon flicked his tail. That… sounded like a lot of effort. And possibly a lot of boring lectures.

Mydei nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably the best option. Unless you’d rather stay a house cat for the rest of your life.”

Phainon’s tail lashed. Don’t test me.

Y/N gasped dramatically. “Oh, but imagine if we can’t fix him! I’d have to keep him as a pet.”

Phainon’s ears perked up. That doesn’t sound so bad…

“I’d have to take him everywhere with me,” Y/N continued, clearly enjoying the idea. “I’d get him a little collar, maybe a tiny cape—”

Phainon beamed internally. Yes. Yes, tell me more.

Mydei looked horrified. “Absolutely not.”

Y/N pouted. “Why not? He’d be so cute.”

“Because the moment he’s human again, we’d never hear the end of it!” Mydei pointed accusingly at the cat in question. “He’d bring it up every day!”

Phainon simply curled up smugly in Y/N’s arms, tail wrapping around himself like a little prince.

Y/N giggled. “Okay, okay. Let’s get going.”

Back at Okhema…

By the time they arrived, word had already spread that Y/N was carrying around an unusually friendly, fluffy white cat. People kept stopping her, cooing over “such a beautiful little thing.”

Phainon, of course, lapped up every ounce of attention.

Y/N, beaming, let a group of kids pet him while Mydei stood nearby looking deeply unimpressed.

“Look at him,” Mydei muttered. “He’s supposed to be suffering, and instead he’s being pampered like some divine beast.”

Y/N giggled as Phainon purred louder, snuggling against her. “Oh, don’t be jealous.”

Mydei scoffed. “I am not jealous.”

At that moment, an older merchant lady stopped to admire Phainon. “Such a sweet little kitty!” She gave him a few head scritches before glancing at Y/N. “Is he yours?”

Y/N hesitated. “Oh, well, not exactly—”

“No,” Mydei interrupted flatly. “No, he’s a stray from the dumpster.”

Phainon glared.

The merchant chuckled. “He’s clearly attached to you.”

Phainon smugly flicked his tail. That’s right. I am.

Y/N smiled. “He really is.”

Mydei groaned.

After a long and extremely smug walk through the city, they finally arrived at the scholar’s hall. An elder scholar examined the relic, nodding sagely.

“Ah, this is a transformation artifact. Ancient magic, quite powerful. Thankfully, the effect is temporary.”

Phainon’s ears perked up. Oh?

“How temporary?” Mydei asked.

“A day, at most,” the scholar said. “Possibly a few more hours.”

Y/N pouted. “Oh. I was starting to like having him as a little cat.”

Phainon was about to agree—until he noticed Mydei smirking.

“Oh, fantastic,” Mydei said, tone dripping with satisfaction. “Because the moment you’re back to normal, Phainon, you and I are having a very long conversation about this entire day.”

Phainon suddenly wasn’t in such a hurry to be human again.

True to the scholar’s word, Phainon eventually started glowing.

Y/N placed him gently on the ground, stepping back as the golden light enveloped him.

When it faded—there he was. Back in his full, human glory.

Grinning, Phainon stretched. “Oh, it’s so good to have hands again.”

Y/N chuckled. “Welcome back.”

And then—before he could do anything else—Mydei grabbed the collar of his coat.

Phainon barely had time to react before Mydei dragged him outside.

“Alright,” Mydei said, voice too calm. “You had way too much fun today.”

Phainon smirked. “Oh, did I?”

Mydei’s eye twitched. “You purring? Absolutely disgusting.”

Phainon grinned wider. “Jealous?”

Mydei groaned.

Y/N, still inside, watched them go with an amused smile.

Honestly? She had kind of enjoyed Phainon’s Purr-dicament.

And something told her he had too.

[mr2swap]

Swap syndrome 2: armpit addiction.

-damn heat… -

The time on my cell phone showed 2:05, the idiot Travis had made me wait but in a way that made me happy I would have to charge him $50 more for being late.

Today was a very fucking day at the gym, it was so hot that I had to change my shirt, but still the rancid aroma of sweat coming from my hairy armpits filled the interior with my car, I was in the same parking lot of the gym where it is only A couple of minutes had left a huge sweat stain on the floor.

But despite everything I loved my new life, after the great shift and finding myself in this boy's hot and muscular body, from the beginning I knew this was a good thing, when I woke up in Travis's bedroom and looked down to see two juicy pecs, a sculpted six-pack and long, hairy legs, the first thing I did was take out my huge cock that was hidden among a leafy bush of hair and give myself the best handjob of my entire life.

It had been a little over a year since that moment, I quickly got used to Travis' life, kept his muscles big and strong and all thanks to his tiny YouTube channel where he showed all his exercise routines, but that was all wasted talent for Travis' glorious, beautiful body.

I no longer had my college degree or anyone to turn to, yet I was able to easily make money from all these fags, who wanted to sleep with me and this body.

Still not in the same city where I used to live, I watched the news and learned everything that had been happening in the world and that the real Travis was out there in my tired, flabby 40-year-old office worker body.

A tapping on my car window brought me out of my thoughts, it was the real Travis I grimaced in disgust as I looked at my old face once more in front of me, I looked at the time on my phone once more, and now it was 2:07 that now meant $70.

The door of my car and Travis jumped inside it, his first action was to completely inhale the disgusting smell inside the car, after that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, After that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, but in one movement I moved his old, ugly face away from me.

-You know the rules Travis, first I want the bills-

He extended one of my hands while he took out his wallet and extended a small wad of cash. In one quick movement, I snatched the bills from him and began to count them one by one while a nervous expression formed on the real Travis's face.

-Are you fucking with me? Only $500? -

There was nothing left of the old confident Travis, the confident, outgoing boy had disappeared, in his place there was only a perverted faggot who paid me for a few minutes of my attention due to swap syndrome. When we swapped our bodies, I thought I would get rid of him to always, but this pathetic middle-aged man was clinging to me like a leech trying to get close to me with his twisted homosexual intentions. I didn't really care what he did with my old body, but I thought I could make some money a month by squeezing every penny of this situation.

-Please! Just, just 5 minutes! I had to pay this month's rent and my landlord told me that if I was late another month he would throw me out on the street.-

I rolled my eyes as Travis the bitch kept giving me stupid excuses about how hard it was to find a good job now that he was a middle-aged man and he was tired all the time from working so much.

-Okay, just shut your fucking mouth.-

I put my hand on his head and pushed him into one of my hairy pits and choked his nose with the sour sweat that was collecting in my armpits. The initial struggle quickly turned into pleasure, I could feel Tyler's breathing slow. He shook until he filled his lungs, his mouth savored the curly hairs of my armpit and sucked up the small drops of sweat with his dirty tongue as if he had crossed a desert.

Tyler's small hands slid to his crotch and he began to frantically massage his cock over his pants, occasionally Tyler would move away from my armpit to get some air and lick my muscular arms with his disgusting sticky tongue, I watched as they passed minutes on my cell phone and before 5 minutes had passed, Tyler's small wrinkled cock soiled his pants with semen.

I pushed Tyler away and a satisfied smile formed on Tyler's face, his chest rising and falling as he tried to recover from the addictive experience he had just experienced, a few hairs from my armpit had stuck to his face and a stain of sweat had formed on the collar of his shirt.

I didn't have time for this, this experience had made me horny, I wanted to unload the enormous amount of cum that wanted to escape from my huge hairy balls, but the disgusting man next to me was not worthy of this...nor did I have another $500

I extended one of my long, muscular arms and opened the door of my luxurious sports car.

-Now get out bitch, see you next week-

As soon as I clean every trace of Tyler from my car, I'll call some of my girls, so I can fill their pussies with my beautiful, hot seed.

This is a second installment of the swap syndrome story, but the only thing they share in common is the same syndrome that is spreading among those affected by the great shift, you can see more by visiting my Ko-fi page:

Hello, if you liked this story, and you want more, you can take a look at my new Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

riddle and how he views his mother

Consider this a part 2 to this analysis! A while ago, I was asked "Why doesn't Riddle resent his mother?", which is the question that the original analysis answers.

Recently, Riddle's Night Sky's Chiffon vignettes were released into the world, and it contains a lot of interesting detailsthat expands on how Riddle views his mother. I wanted to commentate on this new information and how it supports what I said in the original post.

The topic of mothers comes up in these vignettes. Deuce, who was talking about his own mom, quickly realizes that it's awkward to mention parents in front of Riddle, so he apologizes. To his surprise, Riddle is super chill about it and tells Deuce he doesn't really mind, so be at ease. And then Riddle states it outright, clear as day: "I'm grateful to my mother."

Deuce follows up with a comment to the effect of, "It looks like moms are strong in every family", to which Riddle actually agrees.

Riddle credits his mom for his ability to do many things in the present. For example, he took gymnastics classes so he was able to pull off the ballet in this event (one of the Princess in the Tower's required activities). He also learned social dancing, which comes in handy for formal events such as Ghost Marriage and Glorious Masquerade. Most notably, Riddle excels in academics--he is noted as being top of this grade multiple times, has prevented any students in Heartslabyul from dropping out, and is able to memorize 3 magic engineering/coding textbooks in only just a few minutes + helps to keep Malleus at bay in a recent main story update--something which no one else would be able to achieve. He's also able to cast powerful spells in quick succession as the result of his magical training from a young age. It can be argued, then, that despite Mrs. Rosehearts' methods, she did ultimately instill many useful skills in Riddle to set him up for success as a mage. He recognizes the value in that, and acknowledges her for it. There is always a part of Riddle that thinks he is a "better" person today because of his mother's discipline, even if he is just now starting to question her methodology.

He is disciplined and capable because of his upbringing--this cannot be denied. And Riddle can't find it in himself to resent his mother because of that. This woman raised him and taught him all these things because she genuinely believed this was what was "best" for him. How can he hate her for that? For just doing what she thought was her "best"?

I also want to point out how Riddle and his mother are shown to be "one and the same" in these vignettes. Later on, Riddle expresses that he wants to send out a mass email commanding all the Heartslabyul students to prepare at least 10 lanterns each to release in the night, or else there will be punishment awaiting them. He worries that the mobs won't be motivated to help without the threat of a punishment looming over them. Sure enough, when Trey and Cater pass on Riddle's order, the mobs complain and talk about how much nicer it is around Heartslabyul without the dorm leader breathing down their necks. However, the two third years then remind the mobs that while Riddle is strict, he HAS helped them. He provides test notes, edits essays, and hosts study sessions for his dorm members. The mobs eventually realize they need Riddle around, so they end up pitching in and getting those lanterns.

THIS IS PARALLELING MRS. ROSEHEARTS. Like his mother, Riddle is very strict with those under his care--but it comes from a place of his "love", from wanting to see them succeed. And, like Riddle is with his mom, the mobs cannot detach themselves entirely from their dorm leader. I know that book 1 primarily paints Riddle adopting his mother's attitude as a toxic thing (and it is, when it gets out of control)--but with moderation, it also has its useful applications, as we see in these vignettes.

Now let's not get it twisted; none of this erases the absurd restrictions imposed on Riddle, her intense rage, or the child neglect/abuse committed. What I am saying is that she is a person too, not a blob of all things bad in the world. She deserves grace and to have her positives acknowledged too--and this naturally feeds into Riddle's complicated feelings about her, especially now that he sees her bad sides... something he never really faced before.

Riddle's vignettes end on a hopeful note, though I don't know if the characters themselves realize the implications of it. The final scene takes place with the lantern-filled sky, and Deuce wondering why the Princess in the Tower grew her hair out so long to begin with. Was she planning to escape all along? But Jack explains that the witch that kidnapped her wanted the Princess to grow her hair long. The Princess in the Tower obeyed this wish, even though maintaining such long hair is a hassle. To this, Deuce comments that she really must have seen the witch as her mother. Riddle then says that no matter how precious the hair was, it's still cumbersome. "She can't even walk like this." AND THEN RIDDLE JUST CASUALLY SLICES HIS HAIR OFF, NO HESTIATION... ONE CHOP. Deuce panics because the ends look ugly, but Riddle simply replies there's no need to worry, "I do not need long hair anymore."

DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THAT MEANS???????? ? ??? ? ????? Long hair is the symbol of Rapunzel's oppression. It is something she maintains because her oppressor, Gothel, told her to. But long hair is also what ultimately frees her from the tower. The same is true of Riddle. He largely does what he is told to by his mother, believing that she is always correct. Riddle almost doesn't leave the library (despite the long hair being an easy way out) because "I've decided. Never again." He's so close to locking himself up in that metaphorical tower and not allowing himself out for fear of incurring her wrath for disobeying. And in the end, Riddle is still able to leave that tower. He so easily slices his long hair, something which prevents the Princess--HIM--from walking. But in severing that thread, CUTTING THE HAIR, he is freeing himself and finding a way to walk independently.

Maybe Riddle can't do it today (as he so clearly still respects his mother and all that she has done for him)... maybe not tomorrow, either... but someday. Someday...!! Someday, Riddle will be able to "cut his long hair" and walk on his own 😭 and then his life will truly "begin"... Why this nuanced writing get shoved into a vignette and not in the Wish Lantern event story itself, I'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND--

[feitanii-ll]

“ GUMI’S HOME!! “

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt.3

✭ Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader (romantically), Megumi x reader (platonically)

✭ synopsis: Megumi grows to learn that he does have a family. Or, raising Megumi with Satoru.

✭ Contains: SEASON TWO SPOILERS! (I think it’s common knowledge by now, though. HEAVVYY FLUFF, more bickering between Satoru and little Megumi. Megumi being sassy again, more use of y/n in this chapter, tiiiiny angst BUT IT GETS HAPPY AGAIN. GUMI IS SUCH A CUTIE PATOOTIE.

September, 2007. Two days prior.

It’s another quiet night in your home. Far away from the bustling city, in a comfortably still neighbor with the right amount of peace that you just adore during times like this. It’s a home that you’ve made yours and decorated to your accommodation. Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a backyard— not to mention paid off completely, thanks to your adoring man, Satoru Gojo.

Much to his pleasure, you’ve made it your own personal haven. Adorning it with the things that both you and your sorcerer boyfriend enjoy.

Because it’s only the two of you, you never found reason to utilize any of the other rooms, opting to keep it as an emergency guest room (though with how protective Satoru is over you, you knew he’d never lead anyone over to your house). And so, you opt to only use your shared room, which leads to now.

The first time you hear about fushiguro’s child is in your room, getting ready for a night with your partner. It’s been a while since he’s slept over at this house, so you were properly excited to finally have him all to yourself. But before the cuddles and kisses could begin, he walks over to where you’re seated at your oak wood vanity, body language you’ve never seen before in your man before now.

You turn to face him, taking in all his pretty glory— hair down and damp from his shower. You note his clothing, smiling shyly at the just-a-tad-bit-tight tank top that exposes his defined arms. And in true Satoru fashion, his lounge sweats that seem a bit too pricey to be simply for sleeping. And as much as you want to take in the glorious sight of him, you refrain as you take note of the way he rubs at the back of his neck and leans against the wooden vanity, facing you with an unreadable expression. He looks so.. conflicted?? And that piques your curiosity and worry.

“Oh, my.. someone’s stressing,” Satoru is comforted by the sound of your voice as you try to lighten the mood. You can tell, as he’s always been an expressive person. “What’s the matter?”

At your question, he sucks in a breath between his teeth, as if unsure what to say.

“Just.. you’re not gonna believe what the hell happened today. I- I didn’t tell you I was doing this, because I didn’t think you’d approve—“

“Satoru…” you warn in a low tone, though you were really just hoping that he hadn’t gotten himself into any unexpected trouble.

“Hey, I didn’t even explain yet! It isn’t even bad, really,” his body goes back to his usual animated way, which relives you. “It’s just.. I met the kid.. his kid. I found him.”

The words were so bland out of context. But it takes nothing for you to connect the dots. Despite this, your voice still calls out, hesitant,

“You… you talking about fushiguro’s kid?”

Your eyes go wide in shock when the man nods his head, and you stand up.

“Satoru Gojo, you went looking for him?” You ask in disbelief.

“Listen, it didnt go as bad as you’re thinking it did!” He raises his hands up defensively, “I swear, I really just wanted to meet the kid, but turns out he’s like, super strong. I can feel it.”

“Who cares?? What the hell were you gonna tell him, huh? That you killed his father?” You hissed, eyes still widened in shock.

“That’s just the funny thing—“

“It’s not funny!”

“No no, I mean,” he begins to backpedal before he pauses, chuckling to himself and wiping a pale hand down his face, much to your dismay. “Baby, please, listen to me when I say this.” He sighs, taking your hand. You weren’t upset at him, and he knew that. You weren’t just surprised by his uncalled for antics, like usual.

“I’m listening.” you pout, looking up into the bright eyes of your man. His hand squeezed yours and he sighs.

“He didn’t care.” He states, sounding just as surprised as you’re about to be.

“…what? So, you told him.?” You squint.

“No no, I was going to, but, before I could even say the man’s name he just straight up said that he didn’t care. According to him, he didn’t even know him all that well. He never saw him, and doesn’t care to, and he told me that he isn’t interested in whatever he has going on. He’s completely stoic.” Satoru explains the story, passionately shocked as if it was just the most mind boggling thing in the world.

You’re surprised too, unable to believe that a boy so young could be so… cutthroat. And about his own parents. Though, you took into consideration the circumstances between the two.

Though, if you were being honest, you didn’t really care much about the zenin either. More focused on the young boy.

“Well, where is he now? Is he in school? Does he have a home? Oh my goodness, how old is he now?”

Your questions don’t surprise Satoru, as you’re always one to worry too damn much about others.

“The kids fine.. he’s hellbent on being independent. And, if I’m not mistaken, he lives with someone. I heard a young girls voice when I was walkin’ away. A… sister maybe—“ he ponders, and you gasp, distraught.

“Oh, my goodness..” you press a hand to your heart, “Satoru, you have to do something. I mean, how old is he? About.. 6? That boy needs some stability. And if he does have a sister, so does she—“ you state firmly, and Satoru sighs.

“Honey, I’m sure they’re fine. He’s a tough kid.”

“Yeah. A kid, ‘Toru. Just because he’s “strong” and has some sorcerer ability, does not mean he’s safe. A lot of kids get their abilities at a young age. Including me.” You lift a brow, tilting your head knowingly. “And you. And that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a… a figure, in his life.”

Satoru takes in your words, gnawing the inside of his cheek.

At his silence, you sigh and lean in, kissing his cheek and whispering against it.

“The least you can do is check up on him… like you did today. Get to know him a bit more, and about his situation, you know? Take him to the park, the arcade— ice cream, something, just—“ you sigh, and you feel the familiar weight of his hand sliding gently up your back to gently rub at your shoulder, as a touch of reassurance.

“Okay, oookay, my dear,” he hushes you with his words, trying to soothe your ramblings. “Always so passionate, my love.” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. Then your nose. Then your lips before pulling back with a smile.

“I’ll keep an eye out for him, alright? I’ll kidnap him if I have to. I’ll be totally subtle about it, too.” He grins.

“Yeah..” your brows furrow and your expression drops, “why do I feel like you’re lying?”

He simply laughs again and scoops you up into his arms, peppering your face with kisses. Your cheek muscles tighten as your smile slowly grows at how much it tickles. You hug him back, knowing you’re stuck in the sorcerer’s grasp (not that you’re complaining) for the rest of the night.

You hum in delight, closing your eyes. You know your man will make the right choice.

September, 2007. Present day.

The rain continues to pour, thick raindrops slapping at each and every window pane. You and Satoru are sat on the couch, facing a tiny Megumi fushiguro who sits just angled from the couch, nursing a cup of hot chocolate, clad in some fresh new clothes that were just a bit too big for him. They were the smallest of your clothes that you could find and allow him to wear until his clothes were finished drying in the laundry room.

“…I guess I forgot my house key at school. Tsumiki’s at a sleep over, and I don’t know anyone else.”

You squint your eyes as you listen intently to the boys explanation as to why he has arrived here so abruptly. Such a coincidence that Satoru had given him the address just yesterday whilst on their little mochi excursion. You also can’t help but realize just how right Satoru was when he told you that Megumi is very nonchalant and stoic, unless he’s bickering with the older man.

“Man.. I’m sorry the days has been so hard on you. You know, you’re more than welcomed to stay here until the rain lets up!” You smile, resting a hand on satorus knee and patting it slightly, a silent cue to get him to add on.

“Of course! You’re welcomed here whenever ya want! The three of us will get along just well!” He smiles, animated and genuinely excited to have the new, tiny company.

“When the rain lets up tomorrow, we can head to the school and see if your key is there.

Megumi’s face shifts from blank to annoyed in a second.

“That’s just the thing..” he grumbles, “it’s Friday.”

For a second, the words don’t really make sense, until you think hard. They’re out of school.

“Oh, shit. School’s out for that little renovation period in the city, yeah?” You turn to Satoru. A small part of the city was closed for some slight improvements in the streets, meaning every building within that vicinity is meant to be closed for the time being.

“Oh, you’re right..” Satoru trails off. “And that’s supposed to be for—“

“The month.” The bundle of annoyance frowns harder. Both you and Satoru share a look.

“A month, huh.. ? surely your sister will be back by then, yes?” He asks, and Megumi freezes.

“Riiiight?” Satoru presses again, and Megumi huffs, dipping his head almost in shame.

“No…”

“No?” You question, “I thought she was just at a friend’s house?”

“I lied… she’s out the country for an exchange program. She’s staying for a quarter, and won’t be back until November.” He mumbles quickly, head still dropped. “Sorry.. I didn’t think this would happen.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, and you glance between Satoru and the smaller boy.

“Wh, what was the plan while she was gone?” You question. Who the hell was taking care of those two??

“Hm? What do you mean? Just the usual..” he lifts his head, face still a bit pouty in embarrassment. “Go to school, come straight home.”

“—alone? That’s extremely dangerous. What about food? Bills? Fucking, basic hygiene?” You question harder, and the other two can sense your growing frustration at the situation.

“I mean.. I eat at school..” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but he never realized how bad it sounded coming out of his own mouth. You feel your heart sink at the ridiculous idea that this boy and his sister were surviving off of nothing but school lunch. You didn’t know much about Toji fushiguro, or the woman he married, but what you did know was that no child deserved to starve and go hungry. Not when it could be prevented.

You look to Satoru, and to your relief, his face reflects the seriousness of the news.

“So, you’ve been scraping by.. how?” Satoru questions.

Megumi shrugs, suddenly not feeling too keen on drinking the hot chocolate you’ve prepared for him.

“Tsumiki usually deals with that stuff.”

“So what was the plan now that she’s away?”

There’s a slight pause, and the beat of silence is all you need to know before you grip Satoru’s bicep and give him a pleading look. He soothes your worried look with a kiss to the head before facing Megumi.

“Kid, where’s your sister?” Satoru asks, and the boy’s brows furrow.

“Some American school…” he mumbles, thinking hard. “New York, i believe. Other than the education, she wanted to find a better paying job. So that when she comes back, we’ll be set for the year.”

“Alright. First thing tomorrow, I’m getting on a plane and heading over there.” He states firmly, and you nod in agreement right along with him.

Megumi is surprised at just how… casually he could up and buy a plane ticket over seas. Was this dude made of money?

“I’m bringing her back, and it isn’t up to discussion as to where you two will be staying from now on.” Satoru stands from his spot beside you, immediately reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone, typing furiously. He’d probably skip a day of class again, to which you’d have to make up an excuse for him to your teachers for the umpteenth time.

Megumi’s eyes follow Satoru as he bustles out of the room before shifting back to you.

There’s nothing but silence between the two of you for a moment. With the exception of the continuous rain from outside the home. Tiny nails scratch at the porcelain mug, almost nervously before he sets it down on the coffee table. You watch Megumi swallow as he gathers his next words, and as you take in his body language, you note that this is the most expressive he’s been since you’ve met him.

“Does that.. am I really staying?” He questions, and you’ve never seen him look so confused. Brows furrowed in pure disbelief.

You hum, nodding, “Satoru and I have made up our minds. You’re six, Megumi. Scraping by, it’s.. it’s no way for a boy like you to live. Your sister may be in a bit of a shock when she finds out, but I’m not backing down on this. I will not, in good conscience, let you and your sister stay alone.”

He continues to stare, as if he still didn’t believe you. And maybe he didn’t.

You sigh, standing up and approaching the longer chair he’s sat in and crouch down to his level.

And god, does Megumi hate it when people try to get on his level. To try and understand him, like they could ever understand whats going through his mind. As if anyone knows.

But the way you do it… he doesn’t feel the arrogance in the position from you, compared to other people. It doesn’t stop him from continuing his frown, but he feels more inclined to pay attention to what you’re about to say. Because… your eyes show no signs of deceit. Which is what Megumi looks for the most.

“Megumi…” you trail off.

“—Why?”

You go to speak, but he beats you to it. And you don’t need to ask again to understand his question.

“Because… because I care. We care, Satoru and I. Maybe we weren’t the best of friends with your father. And no, we don’t get anything out of doing what we’re doing for you. But who the hell cares when you’re living in a beat up home somewhere, Megumi? We want you safe.”

And it’s about as simple as that. You cared. And it seems Megumi excepts that answer.

He watches as you smile at him and move your hand up to ruffle his hair. He doesn’t flinch away— but there is a burning behind his eyes and an ache in his tiny heart that he can’t seem to explain to himself as it’s happening.

“I’m so sorry, Megumi.. for the way things are. But Satoru and I are gonna make it better, yes?”

He feels your hand slide from his spiky hair and to his cheek. The action is confusing until he realizes just how oddly warm they become. Confused, he goes to speak, but feels his voice is constricted, and his nose is nasally.

“Oh, megs..” you giggle a little, “don’t cry.”

Cry?

Was that what he was doing? Hell, he’s pretty sure that the last time he’s ever cried was when he was pushed out of the womb. He’s never cried, and the thought of breaking down in front of a stranger makes him hide his face in his much too large shirt— you giggle, a little louder this time as you scoop him up into your arms in a comforting hug. To which he accepts without any resistance.

“Oh, ‘gumi.. now I’m gonna cry!” You faux weep, pouting. Though the moment was definitely hitting you dead in the feels.

“Who’s cryin’ In here??” You hear from behind you.

Satoru walks up from behind, shock and an amused smile on his face as he watches the scene before him. His own heart aches at the sight of the little boy, but he knows this is a joyful moment rather than a sad one. Megumi was on the right path to living better.

You glance at the sorcerer who smiles, taking a seat on the arm of the couch and gently ruffling the boys hair as he continues to hide his blotchy face into his shirt.

Things were looking to be just fine.

──────

You and Satoru stand in the doorframe of the guest room, watching as Megumi shuffles into the small twin and under the blanket. You pout, leaning against Satoru’s chest as you speak,

“Sorry it’s not the best. We hardly ever use this room.”

To you, the room was probably the blandest in the house. Simply used for emergency. Nothing but a twin bed stuffed into the corner of the room, a cheap nightstand, and a lamp inhabited the space, much to your dissatisfaction. Your priorities is were to 1.) being Tsumiki back. And, 2.) accommodate to the two accordingly. Satoru squeezes your shoulder.

“One step at a time, babe. He’ll be just fine for the night! We two can stay in tomorrow and do some shopping with the card while I’m airborne, yes?” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and the words and touch comfort you.

“That sounds good… Megumi?” You ask.

“Sounds fine.” He shrugs nonchalantly, a huge contract to just and hour ago. “May I sleep now?”

“Oh, of course… here.” You whisper, shutting off the light for a moment. The room is pitch black, completely overcome with darkness for a moment. There’s some slight shuffling to be heard before the room lights up again— a nightlight.

The glow is a soft yellow, and reaches to the center of the room before fading out slightly.

“Ta-da! Think of it as a… welcoming gift.” Satoru chuckles, and you nod, hanging on his arm as you wait for megumi’s reaction.

And of course, he doesn’t. His face is about as blank as a sheet of paper. The silence makes you deflate a bit, smiling nervously and waving it off.

“You’re a big boy now, I know… it’s silly. I can shut it off—“

“No, no— please. It’s nice, thank you.” He says quickly, and moves to fluff out his pillow. Both you and Satoru share a look of excitement and take his pillow-fluffing as a cue to let the boy finally sleep.

“Right… goodnight, Megumi.” You and Satoru whisper in unison, slowly shutting the door.

And now that Megumi is completely alone, finally…

He lets the smile he’s been holding in ono his face, and lets the tears of relief and joy finally fall.

──────

taglist,,

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[merakiui]

jade is absolutely getting off to the thought of drugging you up with mushrooms and then using them to fuck you

Oh, most definitely. 😌

“You’re an ash-hole,” is the first thing to tumble out of your mouth. The insult isn’t nearly as biting as you’d hoped it would be, for the slurred way in which you pronounce the expletive dulls its sharpness tenfold. It does earn you a quirk of the mouth from Jade. The exact opposite of what you wanted.

You’re sweating out of your skin, body temperature rocket-high. It almost rivals the stifling humidity of the off-campus woods, which you think might be your resting place if whatever shit Jade spiked your salad with stops your heart. Pre-hike salad, your foot!

He’s found a comfortable clearing, the lush grass more inviting than the cool breeze tickling your cheek. It feels like the wind has a dozen tiny tongues and they’re all lapping at your face. With a shiver, you smack Jade’s arm away when he offers to ease you down. The world is breathing beneath you. The tree trunk you prop yourself against has a heartbeat, and you watch the lines in the bark undulate like saltwater waves.

“As a member of the Mountain Lovers’ Club,” Jade says, lowering to his knees in front of you, his backpack now shrugged off. When you blink, he’s right in front of you next, checking to make sure you’re still lucid. Mostly. “You must be able to discern dangerous flora from the safe ones. The mushrooms mixed in with your salad have hallucinogenic properties. In small amounts, they’re fine. Quite the exciting trip, one might say. But there are some species that have hazardous effects…”

You squeeze your eyes shut again and inhale a shuddering breath. There are spiders beneath your eyelids and in your skin. It prickles. You move to slap nothing off your arm and find that, in the seconds or maybe minutes your world has been turned over, your shorts have been shucked down to your ankles. Jade’s spidery digits creep in close, parting your legs, sliding along your hole through the fabric. You’d kick him if your body wasn’t so keen on melting like candle wax. All you can do is wilt and take in big gulps of air as he presses in, fingers curling beneath your underwear, prodding inside such a private, sensitive place. You’re not sure how much time passes. You swim in and out of consciousness, occasionally snapping back to yourself like a boomerang.

When you come to, it’s with a keening cry and he hums, sounding quite pleased. You’re not sure how or when it happened, but you came around his fingers. The embarrassment doesn’t settle for long, not when your skeleton is jittering in its fleshy confines. You think you might be sick. Something is crawling up your throat. Hands? Vomit? It feels weird. Just what was in that salad? What terrible mushroom did he experiment with this time?

And that’s just it. Everything he does is experimental. Never on himself. You’d quite like that—to give him a literal taste of his own medicine and watch him crumple. What a glorious day that would be.

Like a surgeon, Jade slips a pair of latex gloves on. For a horrified moment, you wonder if he really is going to bury you out here. But instead he procures a particularly sizable mushroom from a plastic bag. It looks familiar, but right now there are a dozen names rushing through your mind and none of them can be correct. You watch with even more horror as he tears a little square package open and slides the condom over the mushroom’s stipe, all business. Perfectly clinical.

“Today, we’re going to learn to identify mushrooms and their uses.” He beams. “Starting with this one.”

“I…” Your tongue feels all wrong. Numb. Too long. And then too short. You try to pronounce your next words, but they come out in a messy splutter.

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s edible.” Jade smiles angelically.

Gee, thanks for the help. That narrows it down by a lot, you think, sarcastic.

“Maybe this will jog your memory,” he adds, and when you blink the stipe is pushing against your puckered hole. His fingers are wrapped gently around the cap of the mushroom, holding it steady.

“Wha…” You attempt to crawl back from him, but the tree holds you firm. “Jade—”

“It’s a very popular ingredient in soups and risotto,” he continues, undeterred in his approach.

You dig your fingers into the ground and rip up clumps of grass. It feels wrong. Intrusive. This strange, foreign thing. You squirm weakly, but it doesn’t shake him off.

Dunno, you think, your mouth moving mutely.

“It’s part of the genus Boletus.”

Oh, you hate him something fierce. This smart-ass eel. As if you’d know the scientific name or the genus and whatever-heenus-gleenus. You’ll kill him.

Not really. Because who could kill Jade Leech? Not you.

But the feeling comes something close to death as you imagine yourself weaponizing the blazing sun in your scowl and burning a hole through him like he’s an ant under a magnifying glass. Instead, your expression falls and you give a short, sweet whine. The mushroom presses in shallowly. Jade watches with a delight that can only be described as exhilaration. His smile is preternatural.

It turns out it’s a penny bun. Boletus edulis. He tells you that halfway into working the thick mushroom in and out of you.

“I’m sure you’ll have better luck with the next one,” he assures, and then you see it. The many mushrooms packed neatly away in his backpack, each one packaged in that chilling, serial-killer-like precision only Jade Leech could have.

[cevansbrat0007]

Indecent Exposure Pt. III: Poolside Promises

Summary: You convince Ari to finally let you have a little fun this summer. But at what cost? Check out Part One!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Dad's Best Friend Themes, Older Men/Younger Women Themes, Brief Allusion to Oral Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Please heed all warnings. Part of my Indecent Exposure Series. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

Almost Two Weeks After Your Father's Departure...

You glide through the water effortlessly, seeking a brief relief from the summer heat. While the news had promised you and everyone else that today’s weather would be one for the books, the warnings still hadn’t been enough to prepare you for the heat that assailed you the moment you’d stepped out the back door. 

However, it’s not until you allow your head to break through the surface that you realize you were no longer alone. You had company. And he was also staring at you.

Again. It was something he had a habit of doing.

“Can I help you?” It’s a flatly delivered question. 

The man only shrugs, dragging a hand through his shaggy, chestnut brown locks. Frankly, he looked so much like his brother you were almost surprised that you’d never really noticed just how many similarities they actually shared.

Same striking blue eyes. Same massive build. Same chiseled jaw that looked great with or without a beard. But where Steve always possessed an aura or control, Ari emanated something a little more raw and untamed. 

You found found that it sometimes did funny things to those annoying butterflies that had seemingly taken up residence in your belly these days.

“Did you need something?” You try as you continue to tread water in the middle of the pool.

“Nothing you're quite prepared to give, sweet Clover.” Ari responds cryptically, his head cocking to the side as he continues to survey you. 

“Then why the hell do you keep staring at me?”

That was another thing you’d recently come to learn about Ari over the last couple of days. He didn’t seem to care whenever you decided to take a spicy tone with him – a fact you’d discovered when you’d found him sitting in your father’s study just the other morning.

You’d been so happy until that moment, especially since you’d previously been granted three days free of Bucky, Steve, and Andy. Your time alone had been glorious, even if it had proved to be short lived. 

You watch the older man closely, fascinated by the increasingly pronounced tick in his jaw. Hell, if he was allowed to stare then so would you. However, the question was, who would blink first?

Turns out, that award belonged to Ari. 

Humming a tune under his breath, he proceeds to grab a lawn chair before pulling it closer to the edge of the pool. Neither one of you says a word as he takes a seat, his sinewy muscles bunching and flexing beneath the thin fabric of his light gray t-shirt. 

“Just came out here to check on you.” He reaches up to scratch at his beard. “See how you were managing in this heat.”

“I’m managing by planning to spend all afternoon in the pool, like any other sane person would.”

“Ya know, I’m pretty sure Bucky and the boys made it clear that they don’t appreciate your little penchant for snark.” He muses, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  

Probably. You inwardly concede. It definitely hasn't been winning you any favors. Which is why you often preferred to play the part of a mute. Whenever they allowed you to, that is.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you.” You respond honestly before closing your eyes and flipping your body so that you can float on your back, giving Ari a glimpse of your peaches and cream-colored bikini.

“That’s cuz’ not too much bothers me. I don’t allow it.” 

“Hmm…” You spread your arms, silently wishing you could simply float away from this conversation entirely. “Maybe you should talk to the others about that. Seems like I find a new way to piss them off every time I open my mouth.” 

“Nah.” Ari shrugs away your words as he continues to appear unbothered by the heat. “Something tells me they don’t quite know just what to do with a pretty little thing like you.” 

“Oh. And you do?” Well, you could safely say that you hadn’t been expecting that answer. 

“I’d certainly like to think so.” 

His statement hangs in the air as you both fall silent. While you weren’t quite sure what your would-be caretaker was talking about, it was definitely enough to make you think. And it’s at that moment that you decide to change tactics. Instead of floating here annoyed, perhaps it was time to use Ari’s seemingly indulgent personality to your benefit. 

A friend of yours was throwing a party tonight. And you wanted to go. 

When you’d previously brought it up to Bucky and Steve, they’d both hemmed and hawed over the subject – asking you all kinds of questions and refusing to give you anything more than a non-committal “we’ll have to see” or "we'll have to sit down and talk about it". And when you’d tried to play the ultimate trump card by calling your father, he’d sided with them. 

“I’m not there, pumpkin.” Your Dad had said while you’d been holed-up pouting in your room. “I asked your Uncles to watch over you, which means I’m gonna have to defer to them in situations like this one."

And, as luck would have it, you hadn’t been able to get your answer before they’d just up and disappeared on you like the overbearing assholes they were proving themselves to be.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I trust the judgment of anyone who’s crazy enough to sit out here in this heat and roast – not when there’s a perfectly good pool, like, right in front of them.”

“Not sure that pool of yours is big enough for the both of us.” Ari mutters, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Although you get the feeling he’s talking more to himself than you. 

“It’s plenty big.” You eagerly reassure him, adjusting your position so that you can float closer to where your pseudo-guardian is sitting. “See? There’s aaall this space.”

For a second Ari appears unsure. And the closer you get, there’s no denying the fact that he was finally showing signs of feeling the heat. It’s hard to miss the thin line of sweat dotting along his brow.

“C’mon…” You urge, playfully splashing him. “Don’t be such a hard ass, Uncle Ari.” You decide to tack on the last bit for his benefit, all the while trying hard to keep the edge out of your tone. But if he notices, he thankfully doesn’t comment.

“Fine. Melt.” You heave an exasperated sigh when he still doesn’t move. Climbing onto a nearby pool raft, you turn your attention back to your companion. “Jesus, you guys are always so serious, like all of the time. I mean, what’s wrong with having a little fun?”

“Alright.” That’s all you get before he reaches to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the sculpted body hiding beneath.

You scarcely have the chance to appreciate the sight before you’re treated to the sound of a splash. You let out a squeal as water goes splashing everywhere, rewetting your already rapidly drying body. Seconds later, Ari’s head breaks through the water.

“Happy now, princess?” He disappears again, only to reappear closer to where you’re currently lounging. 

“Depends.” 

“On?” He asks, seemingly content to tread water alongside you. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t at least admit that the man was kind of attractive.

Or, as your friends had put it, sexy as hell. Yeah, you weren’t quite sure how you felt about that one.

“Well…” You hedge, giggling when he splashes you to encourage you to hurry up.

“Out with it, Clover. A closed mouth doesn’t get fed.” Or fucked. He silently adds.

“There’s this party I kinda wanted to go to tonight. All my friends will be there and I haven't really had the chance to celebrate my birthday with them yet.” You finish, your teeth going to worry your bottom lip. 

Ari studies you for a moment as he tries to figure out the best way to respond. “What did Uncle Steve and the others say?” He already knew that you'd asked them, and he wanted to make it clear that he’s not one to be so easily manipulated. “I’m assuming you asked them first.”

“They said “maybe”. Well, two of them did anyway. But then they left without ever giving me a real answer.” 

“I see.” He offers you a cheeky grin while pausing to swat at a wayward fly. “Maybe we should call them. See if they’ve finally made up their minds–.” 

“No!” You shoot straight up on your perch, accidently flipping the raft and sending you tumbling back into the icy cool water. You come up sputtering and coughing, and while you can’t quite tell, you’re also fairly certain that Ari is laughing at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah.” You gag, hating the taste of chlorine. 

Ari nods before moving to retrieve your float. He’s even kind enough to hold it still long enough for you to climb back on it again. Only once he’s satisfied that you’re secure does he seem interested in continuing the conversation. 

“So…it sounds like you really wanna go to this party. Don’t you, Clover?” 

“Yes.” You breathe, refusing to say anything more than that just in case he was actually considering it. You’re so desperate that you don’t even balk when he begins swimming towards the edge of the pool, dragging you along with him. He doesn’t speak again until he’s reached his destination. 

“Tell me, will there be any drinking at this party?”

“Wha–no!”

“Now’s not the time to lie to me, princess. Will people be drinking at this party?” He reaches up to cup your chin, his brilliant blue eyes boring into yours as if he's attempting to unravel all of your secrets.

One by one.

“I swear! Grace’s parents would positively kill her if they found out she threw that kind of party.”

Ari quietly mulls over your answer before deeming it to be honest enough for his liking. “How about boys?”

Fuck. While you couldn’t be honest, you also didn’t want to lie. Not when you were this close to getting what you wanted. Which was freedom. 

“Her little brother will be there. He’s a couple grades below us. But it's not like she can kick him out or anything.”

“Just her little brother, huh?” You could tell he was feeling more than a little skeptical. However, you’re surprised when he seemingly lets it slide. Releasing his grip on your chin, he gives you a little push, content to let you float away. 

“I swear. We can’t do anything too crazy with him around – he’d rat us out sooo fast.”

Please believe me. Please believe me. Please believe me. 

Holding your breath, you watch as he climbs out of the water. He makes a beeline for your towel, patting himself dry to the best of his ability before draping it over his shoulder. 

“Okay, sweetheart. I might be willing to make an executive decision on this one, provided you’re willing to do something for me in return. Something that’ll keep at least some of the heat off of me when it comes to dealing with Steve and the boys.”

What you didn't know was that they had already discussed your desire to attend this party – him, Bucky, Andy, and Steve – and they'd decided that the answer was "no". But since you'd gone the last couple days without throwing a tantrum, Ari felt inclined to give you what you wanted. It also helped that he found your bratty ways to be rather endearing.

So long as you weren't outrightly disrespectful.

“Anything.” The word flies out of your mouth before you can catch it. And just like that, that damn tick in his jaw is back.

“The only way I feel comfortable enough letting you go is if you promise to text me every 30 minutes. Doesn’t have to be long. Just a message to let me and the other guys know you’re okay.”

What the hell?

You open your mouth to protest before deciding you’re better off not. Right now, you’d take the win and try to renegotiate the rest later. 

“Take it or leave it, princess.” 

“I’ll take it!” You reply, albeit probably a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you so much!”

Ari doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead that damned tick of his only seems to grow even more pronounced. “Alright.” With that, he turns and begins striding towards the door. “I’ll, uh…I’ll get you another towel.” He pauses once he reaches his destination, turning to face you once more. 

“And Clover?”

“Yeah?” You call back, feeling happier than you have in almost two whole weeks. 

“Don’t make me regret this." Ari rumbles, allowing you to get a good, long look at his muscled, hair covered chest. "I'd hate for my kindness to come back and bite me in the ass. It would be a shame to start the summer off on such a bad note.”

“I…”

His words leave you so speechless that you can only watch as Ari proceeds to waltz through the sliding door, leaving you outside all alone once more. But not before reiterating his promise to bring you another towel so that you can get ready for lunch.

“Well, fuck…” Is all you can muster before rolling yourself off your float and into the cooling expanse of the water. You swim down to the bottom, touching the floor with both hands as you work to center yourself. 

You hold your breath for as long as you’re able before the need for oxygen forces you to resurface. As you greedily gulp air into your burning lungs you tell yourself not to give a fuck about Ari and his bullshit. Instead, you decide to focus on the most important aspect of tonight, namely…

Just what in the hell were you going to wear?

END

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[shiani25]

Starscream giving tiered Megatron a massage. But not romantic, calm and quiet one ,no, the harsh sport massage he personally likes, the one where you can hear hiss inner organs move, the one where you hear the human equivalent of bones cracking. He learned it back on Cybertron and it was good except it's painful during and 10 minutes after massage. It feels good after but It's painful for Megatron since he's old and Starscream likes listening to Megatron's "bones" cracking and his struggle not to cry. (It would be funny if it's prime since he has pointy elbows)

"Megatron vs. The Train"

There were few things in the universe more awe-inspiring than the mighty Lord Megatron in the heat of battle.

The Autobots had learned this lesson many times.

And today?

Oh, today was no different.

The fight had been fierce—blaster fire lighting up the sky, Energon staining the battlefield—but Megatron had grown bored.

So, naturally, he did what any warlord would do.

He picked up an entire train and hurled it at the Autobots.

Why? Because he could.

And it was glorious.

The Autobots scrambled. The train crashed down in a spectacular display of destruction. Smoke and debris filled the air, and Megatron allowed himself a satisfied smirk.

“Flawless.”

Then he took a step forward.

And immediately regretted it.

Pain shot through his back strut, straight up his spinal relays. His entire frame locked up.

The great and mighty Megatron, conqueror of Cybertron, flinched.

And that was when he knew.

He had made a grave mistake.

---

"Knockout’s Expert Medical Advice (a.k.a. ‘Suffer, My Liege’)"

Back on the Nemesis, Megatron sat on his throne, vents hissing as he tried to find a comfortable position.

He failed.

Knockout, the ever-enthusiastic Royal Medic Who Really Should Be Fired, stood beside him with a datapad, not looking as concerned as he should be.

“You threw a whole train, my lord.”

Megatron glared. “Your medical expertise astounds me, Knockout. Fix it.”

Knockout hummed, scanning him. “Mmm. Yeah. Looks like you strained something.”

Megatron’s optic twitched. “That much I know even without you!”

Knockout smirked. “Oh, I wasn’t sure. You’re usually more graceful with your train-throwing.”

Megatron growled. “Fix. It.”

Knockout sighed dramatically. “Alright, alright. Here.”

He casually handed Megatron a container of painkillers.

Megatron frowned. “…That’s it?”

Knockout shrugged. “Eh. You’ll live.”

And with that, Knockout left.

Megatron stared after him, betrayed.

---

"Starscream’s Hopes and Dreams (a.k.a. ‘Is He Finally Dying?’)"

For hours, Megatron suffered in silence.

Well.

Mostly silence.

Every few minutes, a low grunt or pained ex-vent would escape him.

And, naturally, Starscream noticed.

The seeker had been lurking around the throne room all day, listening to Megatron’s suffering with a growing sense of hope.

By the third pained grunt, Starscream was positively gleeful.

Finally. Finally. Was this it? Was one of his poisons finally working? Had he actually managed to do what no Autobot ever could?

His wings twitched in excitement.

But after several hours, it became clear that Megatron was not dying.

Just… suffering from back pain.

Starscream’s disappointment was immeasurable.

Still, the constant grunting was getting annoying.

So, with a long-suffering sigh, Starscream stepped forward. “Oh, for the love of—Do you have to suffer so loudly?”

Megatron shot him a deadly glare. “My patience is already thin, Starscream.”

Starscream smirked. “Yes, yes, I can see that. And hear it.”

Megatron growled. “Leave me.”

But Starscream had another idea.

“Oh no, my lord. I insist on helping.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “You? Help?”

Starscream’s smirk grew. “You do know I have excellent servo control, don’t you? Precision movements, light touch…” His optics gleamed. “A massage, if you will.”

Megatron stared at him.

Everything in his very soul told him this was a trap.

But his back strut hurt.

And he was getting desperate.

“…Fine.”

Starscream beamed. “Oh, I will enjoy it so much.”

Megatron instantly regretted everything.

---

"Massage (a.k.a. This is most definitely not a trap’)"

Starscream’s claws pressed into Megatron’s back plates.

Megatron flinched.

Oh no.

Starscream worked with military precision, his servos moving in strategic patterns. His control was impressive. His technique was flawless.

But there was one, minor problem.

Starscream was all sharp angles.

It was like being massaged with knives.

Megatron bit down on his denta, resisting the urge to yell.

“This… is not pleasant.”

Starscream scoffed. “Oh, relax, lord Megatron. You’re so dramatic. It isn’t even an assassination attempt. This time.”

Megatron made a sound that was definitely not a pained yelp.

Starscream pressed harder.

Megatron seized up.

“This is agony,” he hissed.

Starscream grinned. “Good! That means it’s working.”

Megatron suffered. For twenty agonizing minutes, he endured Starscream’s precision torture.

By the end, he was this close to throwing Starscream off the ship.

When Starscream finally stepped back, he dusted off his claws, looking very pleased with himself.

“There. You’re welcome.”

Megatron took a very long, very deep ex-vent.

“…I will have my revenge for this.”

Starscream smirked. “Ohh sure you will.”

Megatron glared.

Then—POP.

His back strut suddenly shifted back into place.

The pain vanished.

Megatron froze.

“…Wait.”

Starscream tilted his helm. “Huh.”

Megatron shifted his shoulders. His optics widened.

“…It actually worked!”

[a-spes]

So.. I have seen an edit about Captain Anderson & Chen, from the Rookie, and maybe I was the only one to ship them, but I really like (love) the dynamic the both of them have 🙃

And so, I can't stop thinking about Maria Hill having a similar bond with Reader when they are both working as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agents. So hope you will enjoy the Maria Hill content you get today 🙆

She is the training officer than no one wants to be assigned to.

She may be the commander, the one you need to impress if you want to be given good opportunities in the job, but she is also the one who could easily make your first day as an agent the last — and it is something she would be happy to do.

They are a lot of rumors about the woman. They are glorious, but they scare the students. She has achieved a lot of great things in her carrer, but it doesn't come without a price ; this job became her whole life. Commander Hill has nothing to loose, she has no one to come home to, and she expects every agent to act the same way, to at least pretend they are in the same situation — "because if you don't, if you are too scared of dying to do your job properly, then it will become a reality. You fail, you loose everything," she had said the first day.

She is strict. She never forgives, nor forgets, when a mistake is made. She has no time to waste, and only trains the best rookies. So it is no surprised that she was assigned to this guy from your promotion. He is first in every class, he is strong, confident,.. in other words, he is the perfect trainee.

At least, he used to be, before he decided to quit S.H.I.E.L.D., only a few weeks after he has started his training by her side. So when time came for the woman to choose a new trainee, and when she pointed at you, making you her new one, you were shaking with fear — because she just sealed your fate.

The first weeks were hard, the woman didn't seem to warm up to your presence despite the time that has passed. She barely talks to you and, when she does, it is only to give cold orders or to reprimand your way of doing things. It feels like you are playing a game you can't win because she refuses to explain the rules to you, and she keeps changing them.

You are trying your best to meet her expectations, but you are only messing everything up. She sees everything you say, or do, as a failure. You haven't heard a single compliment falling from her lips the past few weeks, and it is slowly gnawing at your from the inside.

The worse is probably when she doesn't say anything. In those moments, when she looks at you with a stern glance, and an expression you can't read because she is like a closed book. Those moments when she leaves you alone with your thoughts, and you can only imagine what you have done wrong this time. It keeps you awake at nights.

She does it for your own good, that is what she repeats to herself when she eventually comes to a point when she starts to question her methods. She is strict, and demanding, and that is exaclty what you need because that is what will keep you alive on the field. The world doesn't give second chances.

If you decide to quit, it is that you weren't made for the job. Yet, you are still here, and she has to admit that she is quite surprised because you haven't even snapped at her — something most of the recruits would have done by now. Except you are slighly different. She has never seen someone so eager to obey orders. Someone who is able to put their egos aside, and accept that they have to learn everything again because the real life is nothing alike the academy.

Maybe, for once, she has to admit that her trainee holds the potential to make a great agent one day — yet, it is not something she would tell you directly.

(more is coming)

[holylulusworld]

Forbidden lust (2) - Kinktober 1

Summary: It's time for payback. And more fun with your "stepdad".

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Kink: Homewrecker kink

Warnings: no real stepcest, smut, unprotected sex, doggy style, breeding kink, homewrecker kink, gags, past cheating, mentions of character’s death, more plot than expected

Catch up here: Forbidden Lust

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Part 2/3

Two weeks after the incident at Bucky’s office, …

After the day in Bucky's office, you ended up tangled in each other most of the time. It’s a wonder that he didn’t break you yet.

You find yourself pressed up a wall or bent over any surface the moment Bucky lays eyes on you.

He’s obsessed with you. 

If you don’t stop him, Bucky is all over you. Even in front of people.

Steve walked in on you more than once. He learned his lesson and tried to remember to knock before entering a room. 

Today you wanted to talk about your father’s last will but ended up pressed against one of the sliding glass doors at Bucky’s penthouse leading to the balcony.

Not that you would ever complain about getting destroyed by his glorious cock. The problem is you don’t get things done with him around.

Just like right now. Instead of talking about your father’s last will, and what Bucky’s friend the lawyer, and the private investigator he hired found out, you are doing it like rabbits again.

“Shit, you look so good filled with my fat cock. You’re meant to be full of me all the time. I’m gonna…fuck…” Bucky jerks his hips harder into your ass. He’s close to losing himself inside of you once again. “I’ll fill you up and breed this cunt. Dot will be furious seeing you round with your stepdaddy’s bastard.”

Dressed in his expensive suit, only the tie he stuffed into your mouth missing, he fucks the neediness out of you. He groans and curses your name, all the while praising you. 

You whimper behind the makeshift gag in your mouth. It’s all you can do. Bucky cages you with his body and presses your trembling form against the glass door. Your breath fogs the glass door, while the glass feels cool against your heated skin. 

“That’s it,” he places one hand against the window, right next to your head. “You always take my cock so well. Mouth, ass, pussy. All of your holes are just perfect. Unlike Dot’s dry desert.”

His crass words have you on the edge. Only thinking of Dot knowing that you fuck her fiancé makes you lose control every single time. You are so painfully close to your orgasm that you’d do anything for the man ramming his length into you.

“B-ucky,” you moan behind the gag. “P-lease…”

“What do you want?” he whispers in your ear, chest pressed against your naked back. “Do you want me to tell you that you stole me from Dot? That you’re a bad girl fucking a taken man?

You can only nod. Bucky knows about your kink. Because he won’t let you fuck taken men, he pretends to be engaged to Dot once in a while.

“Let me just,” he pulls out to push you onto the couch. You squeak, but don’t fight Bucky when he spreads your legs to slide back inside of your dripping cunt. “That’s better. I want to see your face while I fuck you.”

Bucky throws your legs over one of his shoulders, holding them in a tight grip as he starts moving again. 

“Maybe we should send her a video of us fucking?” He smirks darkly when your eyes become glassy. “Oh, yeah. Your cunt just squeezed me tight enough to hurt. We could just let her walk in on us again. I’ll show her your cunt stuffed with my cum.”

You grip your breasts, rolling your nipples between your fingers, all the while staring up at Bucky. “Cum for me, doll. I wanna hear you sing my name.”

“B-ucky,” you spit the gag out to moan his name. “I want you to fill me up. Show her that you’re mine now.”

“Fuck, baby doll.” He spurts into you. “Have all of me now…”

“Bucky, we should focus,” you whimper when he nips at your neck. Bucky has you pressed against another window; his arms wrapped tightly around you. “I mean it. We are at your lawyer’s office. He will be back any minute.”

“Just look out of the window and let me taste your sweet spot,” he smirks against you. “Andy wouldn’t mind watching me kiss my girl.”

“James, and Ms. Y/L/N,” Andy walks inside the room, a manila folder tugged under his arm. “Can we start? I’ve got another appointment in two hours.”

Andy isn’t very happy seeing Bucky and you make out like horny teens. He clears his throat to pull Bucky’s attention toward him, not your neck. “Bucky.”

“What do you have for me, Andy?” Bucky pecks your temple. He whispers in your ear, making your heart flutter. “Do we have anything against Dot yet?”

“I talked to Mr. Y/L/N’s lawyer. He was as shocked as Y/N and her uncle that Mr. Y/L/N changed his last will one week before his death.” Andy placed a document on his desk. He pauses to look at you.

Bucky and you sit down to take a look at the papers.

“I didn’t know any of this,” you sniff. “Why did he do this? One week before his death, he changes his last will. I don’t get it. I know Dot is a master at manipulating people. But this…” You shake your head.

“We don’t know why he did what he did yet,” Andy continues. “But we know that he came with Dot to his lawyer’s office. The private investigator and the computer forensics expert he’s working with will come in half an hour. Maybe they found out more.”

“What about the last will? Can you tell us more about it?” Bucky asks. He’s back to business and tries to focus on the task at hand.  

“The original will states that the house and all of his possessions will go to his daughter. He wanted his brother and Y/N to take over the company together.”

“I knew it,” you sniffle. “Something was fishy about his last will.”

“Doll, you need to calm down,” Bucky softly says and pats your thigh. “Don’t work yourself up.”

“I cannot tell you why, Mr. Y/L/N, I can only tell you that your father took the redacted last will home without signing it. Two days later, his wife came to his lawyer's office and handed him the signed papers.”

“Did you start without us?” You crane your neck to watch the men entering Andy’s office step toward his desk. “You couldn’t wait a little longer?”

“Name’s Jake,” one of them, a guy with blonde spiky hair, holds out his hand. “I’m a computer forensics expert. If you want me to, I’ll hack into any account and make your enemies look like a clown…or an alien. Whatever you like best.”

“Jensen, not now,” the other man says. Unlike his colleague, he’s a little gruff and more serious. “Mr. Barnes, Ms. Y/L/N, I’ve got some good news for you.”

“Ari, a pleasure to meet you again,” Bucky holds out his hand to greet Ari. “What did you find out?”

“I found it out,” Jake grins. “Little Miss Dottie falsified your father’s signature. Undoubtedly, your father never signed the new version of his last will. I checked it thrice.”

“We need to look into his accident too. The police didn’t want to cooperate with me so far. But I got an insider who will send me everything I’ll need,” Ari says. He watches your face fall and tries to choose his next words wisely.

"What do you mean? I thought the police said it was an accident," you watch Ari with worried eyes.

"I’m sorry to tell you, but I believe your father’s death wasn’t an accident…"

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[the-broken-truth]

Yuu - Child of the Great Seven [6]: The Sorcerer of the Sands in Scarabia

Summary: The Sorcerer of the Sands ventures to Scarabia with his Precious Diamond. Will he be pleased or will the residents of Scarabia learn the wrath of a Scornful Father?

Note: Yuu also calls The Sorcerer of the Sands 'Baba'.

[Scarabia - The Common Room]

[The Sorcerer of the Sands peered down at the Scarabia Students before him with his hand firm upon the neck of his Serpent Staff, its' ruby eyes glowing dangerously as his scowl remained firm on his face. He remained silent before turning his gaze to Jamil, silently giving him the command to introduce him to the members of the dorm trembling within their flesh; the command was recieved as Jamil bowed his head and turned to the members he once enslaved for his personal vendetta. Yuu, dressed in fine garbs mirroring their Father's, stood beside him with their hands behind their back; showing the stature of the Sorcerer's Spawn.]

Jamil: Members of Scarabia. Today is a glorious day for us as our own deity, The Sorcerer of the Sands, stands before us! (Notices everyone's shocked expression before he continues) However, that is not the only incredible thing to have happened. It has been discovered that Yuu, The Prefect of Ramshackle whom we believed to be magicless, is none other than the offspring of not only the Sorcerer of the Sands, but the entrety of the Great Seven. Kneel before their greatness. (Turns to The Sorcerer & Yuu before kneeling with his head down)

[The Sorcerer and Yuu watched at the entirety of Scarabia's Dorm kneeled without question and remained as still as golden statues before the Sorcerer lifted his free hand, motioning it to instruct them to rise, which they did.]

Sorcerer of the Sands (Looks at Jamil): They respond well to your commands, Viper. Well done.

Jamil: Thank you, My Sorcerer.

Yuu: Jamil, you don't need to be so stiff around my father, ya know...

Sorcerer of the Sands: It's only normal for mortals to be 'stiff' around the presence of their deity, My Desert Flower. Since you are not used to being divine, you are not used to this reaction.

Yuu (Looks off): I suppose you are right, Baba.

Sorcerer of the Sands: Of course I am correct, Dear Diamond. I am the wisest of your lineage.

Yuu: Does that mean you've beaten Dad at Chess?

Sorcerer of the Sands (Exhales): I have explained this before: Just as he cannot best me in Mancala, I cannot best him in Chess. We all hour our strong suits, Child.

Yuu: Understood, Baba.

Sorcerer of the Sands: Now, onto business. (Taps the end of his staff on the ground 2 times) Jamil Viper.

Jamil: Yes, My Sorcerer?

Sorcerer of the Sands: For the duration of my stay here, you shall be my personal vassel. You shall answer to and take commands from none other than myself and my child. Is that understood?

Jamil (Bows his head): Your wish is my command, My Sorcerer.

Sorcerer of the Sands: Kalim Al-Asim.

Kalim (Stiffens): Yes, Your Sorcererness?!

Yuu (Snickering): 'Sorcererness'?

Sorcerer of the Sands (Frowns at Kalim): That is not my proper title, nor is that a proper title at all, Kalim Al-Asim. How are you Housewarden of Scarabia when you lack common knowledge such as this? (Exhales) Regardless, I shall give you 5 Servants to cater to your needs while Jamil Viper is under my command during my stay. You shall not ask anything of him. Understood?

Kalim: But, sir...!

Sorcerer of the Sands: UnderSTOOD, AL-ASIM?!

[The Force in his voice caused the dorm to shake slightly.]

Kalim: Y...Yes, My Sorcerer... (Bows his head)

Sorcerer of the Sands (Exhales and straightens his posture): Good.

[The Sorcerer of the Sands would then tap his staff 5 times on the floor: 5 Servants appear before him with their heads bowed.]

Servant 1: You called upon us, Master?

Sorcerer of the Sands: I did. (Points at Kalim) You 5 shall tend to the needs and demands of this...boy for the duration of my stay in Scaraba. Jamil Viper shall be my personal vassel. Understood?

Servant 2: Your wish is our will, Master.

Sorcerer of the Sands: Good. Now, Viper, Yuu, come along.

Jamil: Yes, My Sorcerer.

Yuu: Yes, Father.

[The Sorcerer turned and walked away with Jamil and Yuu following close behind him until they reached a room; The Sorcerer used his magic to alter the room as a pocket dimension of one of the rooms in his Palace in the other realm. The Sorcerer would sit on a cushion near the table where a Mancala board was waiting.]

Sorcerer of th Sands: Jamil Viper, sit across from me. You shall play a few rounds of Mancala with me. My Child, take your place next to me.

Jamil: Yes, My Sorcerer. (Taks his seat)

Yuu: Yes, Baba. (Takes their seat)

Sorcerer of the Sands (Makes his move on the Mancala Board): I am quite displeased with how Scarabia is being ran, Viper.

Jamil: How so, Sir? If it was what Housewarden Kalim said, I apologize on his...

Sorcerer of the Sands (Holds his hand up to silence Jamil): You shall not apologize for his idiocy for you are not responsible for it. What has angered me so is that Al-Asim holds the position of Housewarden while you, who clearly holds more power and respect in this dorm, are merely his vice.

Jamil: There is nothing I can do about that, Sir.

Sorcerer of the Sands: And yet, you attempted to change that.

Jamil: ?!

Sorcerer of the Sands: Oh, yes. I am well aware of your attempted coup on Scarabia, Jamil Viper. I keep a closer eye on my child than one would think.

Jamil (Fear laced in his voice): Sir, I was...

Sorcerer of the Sands: Do not apologize to me, Boy. I understand your reason behind it and I do not frown upon it.

Jamil: You... You do not?

Sorcerer of the Sands: Of course, I don't. You, young man, are a true genius. Using your Unique Magic to turn the once kind Housewarden nto a tyrant while making yourself look like the savior that Scarabia needed ws quite clever. You would have suceeded if not for 2 Factors: My Child & The Sea Witch's Dorm Members.

Jamil: I was not aware that Yuu was your offspring, Sir.

Sorcerer of the Sands: But, surely, you knew something was different about them. How else could a 'Magicless' Prefect defeat countless Overblots?

Jamil: I suspected as much, but had no concrete evidence.

Sorcerer of the Sands (Chuckles): My Child is a true serpent, making you think you are safe before snatching you in their fangs. Honestly, if not for their interest in the Housewarden of Savanaclaw, I could see both of you as a powerful couple... Unless, you managed to convince my child that you have more to offer than Leona Kingscholar.

Yuu (Blushing): Baba!

Jamil: Sir... What could I offer? I am a servant while Leona Kingsholar is royalty? While he is merely a second prince, he still holds an edge of me.

Sorcerer of the Sands: I am willing to change that.

Jamil (Raises an eyebrow): How so, Sir?

Sorcerer of the Sands: Gain the favor of my child and I shall personally see to your liberation. Make my child happy and I shall grant you 3 Things: Freedom, An Estate, and Endless Wealth. In exchange, I shall gain a promising mage as a son in law and powerful grandchildren.

Yuu (Turning red): Baba! I already like someone!

Sorcerer of the Sands: It's never too late to change your mind, My Flower.

Yuu: BABA!

Sorcerer of the Sand: Oh, alright. We shall speak on this matter on a later day.

[END]

[spatialwave]

(smutty drabble lol. Definitely NSFW)

So obviously Angus doesn't have much experience being a munch but once he learns with you, oh lord get ready.

Forget about wearing skirts in front of him cuz he won't give you a moment's peace. He'll be trying to get it at the movies, the back shelves of the library, hell even when  your parents step out of the room after Sunday dinner. He has a fever and the only known cure is making you cum.

Don't get me wrong he loves fucking you or having you ride him, your tits bouncing in his face. But there's something else that really gets him going, how you gasp his name when he slides his fingers inside or the way you grab his curls when you're sitting on his face

hehehe, thank you for sending. i think we all deserve a little smutty angus tully drabble in our lives!

—

part 1… to be continued?

notes: nsfw. college au. 18+ characters.

getting ready for classes in the morning was one of—if not the—most important tasks of your day. you hadn’t cared an ounce about how other students perceived you, it had nothing to do with having perfectly curled hair or plump, red lips. it revolved around one thing, what you chose to wear and how that affected your boyfriend.

since you had started dating angus tully, going several months strong, the two of you had eagerly explored each other’s bodies. you two followed your hormonal urges and taught each other so many things—what made you whine in pleasure or what had you shaking and crying, begging for more. it was a glorious time of your life, growing used to pulling the tall boy into your dorm room and fucking between classes, his cock buried into the back of your throat or deep inside your pussy.

you spent countless hours every night learning what made angus squirm, how his hips twitched when you’d rub your thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the pre-cum that leaked out. you hadn’t been prepared for his own enthusiasm, watching anxiously with half-lidded eyes as he kissed down your stomach until he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties aside.

he was slow and meticulous, perhaps a bit unsure, eventually finding your clit and letting his tongue circle the nub slowly—quicker, seeing how that made you react. he licked you up and down slowly, completely tasting and drinking you in, those big brown eyes of his not breaking as he learned every inch of your body.

it took him a couple times of eating you out to be confident in his abilities, successfully making you cum for the first time and watching in awe as your pussy tightened around his fingers as he lapped at your swollen clit. it was addicting, to feel your thighs squeezing around his head, your hands gripping at his curls as your voice cracked when moaning out his name. it was his favourite pastime.

today, you decided to wear a skirt. you knew the implications of your decisions as you hiked it up just an inch or two higher and smoothed down the blouse you tucked into it. you were content, smiling to yourself in the mirror as you wondered where your boyfriend would first find you.

these days were the best because you’d find yourself already so goddamn horny as you walked through campus, anticipating seeing angus. it was late thursday morning, which meant angus had didn’t have class until one o’clock. you ventured to the library, one of the few places you’d usually find him—and when you did, you didn’t bother getting his attention.

he sat at one of the desks in the centre of the library where it held the most traffic, his brows furrowed as he scoured an encyclopedia and scribbled away at a piece of paper. a final essay, no doubt. what a shame that he would soon be forgetting all of what he’d just read.

it was always like a game to you, finding angus in a sea of students and wondering how long it would take for him to spot you. you stood at one of the bookshelves that were near the seating area, right at the end as you pretended to look over the textbooks. medical textbooks, far from your own degree of interest, but your intent was to get up on your tiptoes and reach for something—your skirt riding up.

a quick glance over your shoulder, angus’ face still tilted down and fixated on the words of his text. with furrowed brows and a slight huff, you purposefully knocked one of the textbooks onto the ground. the loud noise startled many students, including your boyfriend.

you made eye contact for a brief moment, only for you to spin around quickly and pick up the book, bending over. your skin felt hot now that you knew his eyes were on you. staring at you with desire, undressing you, all while you’re turned away from him and trying to get your breathing under control.

slowly, you slip the textbook back up into its slot, taking one more shy look over your shoulder. you watched angus as he closed his books, shoving them hastily into his book bag and you took this as a sign to make way for a deserted area. your heart thumped hard in your chest as you absently smoothed down your skirt while you walked, drifting further and further into the depths of the library.

to ease the anticipation and ground yourself in the moment, you lifted a hand so your fingers grazed the spines of each book you passed by. you hadn’t seen any students in this area yet, only feeling the presence of angus turning into the aisle behind you.

“hey,” he called out, keeping his voice quiet, but you could hear the hunger in his voice. you slowed your steps, feeling his hand wrap around your wrist and within a few short moments your back was pressed against the shelf and his lips were against yours.

you moaned easily into his mouth, your lips parting almost immediately as you slid your arms around his neck and tugged on his curls with your hands, “do you like the skirt?” you mumbled messily against his lips, gasping as he pressed his thigh between your legs so you could rub against him to your heart’s desire. you needed the friction—badly.

“what do you think?” he chuckled lowly as his lips pulled away from yours, trailing down your jaw and to your neck. he nipped at the skin and sucked, leaving one or two marks near the collar of your blouse that would leave you wearing turtlenecks for the next few days, “fuck, i need you here,” he breathed, groaning as his hands fell to your hips and helped you roll and grind against his thigh.

“please,” you whimpered quietly, having to reach a hand to cover your mouth as angus kissed down your neck then dropped to his knees in front of you. the sight of this alone made you squirm, feeling the wetness build in your panties—ones you almost didn’t wear today.

angus took a quick look around before he lifted up your skirt, licking his lips as he partially tucked it up into the waistband so the fabric wouldn’t fall in his face. he preferred to be able to look up at you when he ate you out.

“these are my favourite ones,” he murmured in a praise-like tone, his fingers reaching up and tugging aside the black, lacy panties that covered your aching cunt.

his hot breath against you made your jaw go slack and a shiver send up your spine. you’d been in this position countless of times, legs spread and arms clutching to the nearest surfaces to keep you held up. thighs quivering and knees feeling like they could give out any second, with angus between them.

you looked down at him, biting hard on your bottom lip as his tongue circled your clit painstakingly slow—wanting to see you become a puddle because of him.

taking a quick look around and sensing no one else, you allowed yourself to let out the quietest whimper as you rolled your pussy along his mouth. he loved when you did that, fucking yourself on his tongue as he flattened it and tasted your juices, pushing it inside you. one hand lifting your right thigh, pulling it over his left shoulder, the other hand teasing your wet folds.

“angus,” you whimpered as he kept his slow movements, savouring you like a delicious meal as one of his fingers teased your entrance. you both knew you didn’t have the luxury of time, but he couldn’t help but tease you and wait for you to beg, “please.” you breathed, needing more from him. needing to be devoured, “please.”

satisfied, angus pushed two fingers into you, giving you the stretch and fullness that you desired. your head fell back and hit the books behind you, hands gripping tighter on the shelves as his fingers fucked you well and he sucked at your sensitive, swollen clit.

not once did he remove his eyes from you, watching as you had to try keep your voice down, breathing his name out as his fingers curled inside you and pressed against your g-spot, nearly making you scream out his name. he knew every part of you and you fucking loved him for that.

one hand flew down to his wild hair, tugging on his curls as you started to fuck yourself on his fingers, his mouth and chin wet from the way he abused your cunt that was growing tighter and tighter with each thrust of his fingers. he inserted a third, moaning filthily against you when you tugged harder on his hair, closing your eyes shut.

“cum for me,” he told you, pulling his mouth away for a moment so he could command you, “look at me.”

you opened your eyes obediently, looking at him as he smiled up at you. he loved when you looked so disheveled and fucked into euphoria, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and breathing heavy.

he returned his mouth to you, not easing you back into it. his tongue flicked at your clit, sucking on it and lapping at the folds while three of his fingers pummelled deep into your pussy.

that was enough to make your abdomen tighten, the heat inside you snapping when he curled his fingers again and left you shaking. your hips twitched and thighs tensed up as you moaned—quite a bit louder than you should’ve. your orgasm washed over you and left your clit pulsing under the touch of his tongue, wetting his fingers and face as your rocked yourself to completion.

if there was one thing angus loved, it was seeing how hot you looked when you came all over his face.

you felt the smile on his lips as your body slowed and your hushed whimpers came to a standstill, his fingers eventually pulling out of you and removing his mouth. he made sure to slip your panties back into place and untuck your skirt so it covered you up, like nothing ever happened.

through laboured breaths, you watched as angus stood up, smirking as he wiped his mouth and chin, brown eyes watching you recover. all you could do was give him a lazy, tired smile as you leaned all of your weight back onto the shelves.

“are you going to your afternoon class?” you breathed the question out quietly, batting your lashes as you lifted a hand up to his jaw, caressing him.

“fuck no,” he chuckled, wrapping his hand around your wrist and tugging you out of the library and to his dorm.

[honestsycrets]

before anyone else I: the venerable [admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader]

❛ pairing | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ type | one-shot, sfw (minor past suggestive themes)

❛ summary | once upon a time, miguel loved a princess. upon learning about her engagement to his father, King Stone, he's back with a plan in hand.

❛ tags | forced marriage, arranged marriage, historical period not defined, royal!au, admiral!miguel, princess!reader, mention of character death, elements of implied treason and betrayal, some angst, some fluff, annoyed miguel, lyla makes trouble, self edited, f!reader, persuasion inspired, a kiss, innocent!reader, Spanish is not translated, a kiss.

❛ sy's notes | no requests were fulfilled; filled to meet this poll.

An imperial boat docks. It waves in the water a little off-kilter, pulling to the right in all its glorious majesty. On the dock itself, the head of ground forces stood dressed in full regalia, all navy blue and white, the gold buttons glistening in the fresh morning light. Jess expected this day would one day come. The seamen shouted among one another on the ship until at last the crew outstretched a thick oak plank. Boots bounded down the strong wooden ramp leading from an imperial ship to the dock. The awaiting crowd was rough and rowdy, casting bellowing screams at the admiral and his crew. 

“There he is!” Jess boomed, clapping her umber hands together.

They were freckled, with the frequency of her exposure to the sun. Today, her skin was shielded by a heavy coat. She abandoned the thing over her chair as she wrote letters, recommendations, and battle orders. But she preferred it when her poet shirt was thrown open, teaching the men and women in her charge. 

Admiral Miguel O’Hara led the charge, passing by the lackeys throwing down trade goods from the belly of the boat. Compared to Jess, his clothing was rough, punctuated by his time at the sea. What use was there for a thick coat with the spray of sea spray daily? No, he stood in dark brown breeches and a thrown open poet-shirt, sodden with sea water, likely from dealing with whatever injury brought his ship back to this usually forgotten port. 

He was glad to be back on the Spanish shore, if only it weren’t this shore and the many stairs he would have to brave to get to the castle while the engineers worked on the Venerable. Miguel loosened the sweat from his coarse locks, his shoulders bunched and ready for another fight. He came to a stop in front of Jess, exhaling deep, rage-filled breaths. Jess shifted back on her boot heel, a grimace on her countenance.

“That’s a pretty good hole. She’s taking on water quick. You hit something, Miguel?” 

“Me? No, I don’t hit rocks.” Miguel snorted, casting a look over his shoulder to the woman that stood at his side. Lyla’s eyes averted, not quite saying anything and saying everything at the same time. Lyla obscured herself behind her thick honey-brown bob. “Someone was distracted with the king’s cask of Carribean rum.” 

“Lyla?” Jess came up behind her, grasping her shoulders for emphasis. “No. Our Lyla couldn’t’ve done that number.” 

“It was once! One in eight years.” 

“Those... those changes you wrote me about. They have you on edge, paranoid. Let’s have a drink with the imperial guard. They have missed you.” 

Miguel threw a hiss back at the two as he stormed up the stairs, bundling buttons of his dirty poet shirt to obscure the sight of his dark chest from onlookers, namely the sex-deprived women and men of the capital whose hungry eyes ogled his crew. He didn’t need a loon bothering him right now, not here, he might punch them into a permanent, instantaneous sleep. 

“Oh, come, Miguel, these things happen. Look how sorry she is.” She says as if he cares. Jess rushed to catch up with him, the beads on the ends of her braids snatching and clicking. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, his head heavy.  He doesn’t have time for this.

“What she meant to do is as much irrelevant as it was irresponsible. If you’ll excuse me, Jess, I now have to prepare a new ship to set sail.” 

“The king wants to see you. It’s about her,” she shouted. Miguel’s steps came to all but a grinding halt, his finger fingers flexing into a tight fist. His mouth was dry, and it wasn’t due to a lack of hydration but the mention of your name on Jess’s lips. She brought her hands to her hips, her hands on the golden embroidered loops. His face sagged, all irritation melding into something different, inscrutable. He threw her a look.

“Fine.” 

But first-- he had to get this sea stank off of his skin. 

“Admiral O’Hara! There is just the man I have been looking for. Come, come, let me pour you tea. No? No tea? Of course not, it seems I don’t remember the boy I used to know. You’re a man now. And one of decisive action! Coffee, yes? You are better suited to black coffee. Am I correct?” 

Everyone thinks he is thirsty in this blasted place.

He didn’t belong here. He was, as he preferred to be, stuck at sea. The unforgiving sea required his attention lest his men befall a terrible end. He could handle that burden. He stood below a great sigil of a sea dragon whirling to chew its tail. Its hands secured a great many orbs in its sharp, jeweled talons. His eye tracked across the inside of the crest, turning over the word hopelessly on his tongue. 

“Rum,” he answered caustically, his eye dropping from the great sigil before him to the jeweled sapphire and emeralds that were embedded in the floor. Between rows of sentinel were porcelain statues, their hands wrapped around blunt and aged swords, their fingers almost palpable on the artifacts that remained from times of old. The deep navy blue curtains and tapestries are detailed in ineffectual teal. He never cared for the other assortment of pots and jars that were so-called mythical artifacts and rolls of paper that would soon house the king’s poorly-made royal decrees. 

“Aha! A good seaman and his alcohol,” the king minced his laughter. The noise aggravated him, the memory of the man’s words buzzing in the back of his head. Now he kissed up to him. How he’d fallen. He blinked up to the royal crest, then down to the aged king. His long, grey hair at the middle of his back reflected his many losses. Miguel turned his eyes back down to the king, eyes crinkling at the corners, taking a glimpse of him. His tone slipped. “It makes the time pass more tolerably, does it not?” 

“It does.” 

He pops open a glass bottle of rum, pouring it into a cup encrusted with more fine jewels. Miguel doesn’t drink.

"I suppose you want me to get to the point.” 

That would be a nice change, yes. His eyes held modest deference, his heavy dark brown boots pacing toward a hearth in the middle of the king’s study. Wisps of vibrant blue fire threw embers into the air. He finds himself staring at a stained glass effigy of your mother. A woman who undoubtedly would have been ashamed of the husband that stood before him now.

“You recall my daughter,” How could he not? He released a small grunt, an acknowledgment of the king’s words. Mindful of his reaction, Miguel turned his hands over the hot air, plumes of warmth kissing his sun-worn cheeks. As the king spoke, the flickering flames warmed the slight ring on his thick fingers. “I’ve arranged her marriage to Lord Stone. An alliance of sorts.” 

Miguel’s eyes go wide, aghast, staring into the blank flames. He grits his teeth together, the thin blade of his patience whittling down with every word from the king. He kills his face of the horrified, fleeting emotions that dappled his skin like obvious spots. He might have snapped a look at the king before his eyes calmed, trained to maintain the illusion of composure. 

“How unfortunate.”

“King Stone?” around the corner, his second-in-command squeaked. He should have left her outside. Miguel brought his hand to cup his slight forehead, throwing her a warning look.  “That old coot is still--”

“Lyla.” 

“Yes, he is quite old, isn’t he? I was surprised when he asked for her hand in marriage, truly,” the king said tightly, born in annoyance. He has gone ashy, eyes desolate as he recounts the death of the prince, or perhaps his own. “I would have preferred an engagement to his son. I trust you heard about his assassination. It was a great surprise. A tragedy, indeed.” 

“We have heard many things about it. I am surprised that you would agree to such an alliance after what he's done.” 

It was impossible not to hear rumors in the ports he sailed through. Miguel did not only hold to royal ports but those that held slimy crowds of pirates and prostitutes. If he did not, he would never have the truth behind the many rumors that swirled through the air. Women in richer towns had time to spread rumors. Those suffering from poverty had no time for them. Their lives were ones of perpetual struggle. What use had they for the death of stupid princes?

“Feelings change.” 

Did they really-- 

“Miguel. Truly, I understand your apprehension. But unless you have the magic to raise my dead sons from the grave, I have no choice.” The king sighed, beating his old knuckles on the game board. He’d sacrifice another child for his own safety-- the illusion of it. Coward. “I must know if I can I trust you with her transport.” 

“She won’t last.” Miguel stared at him, breathing the words out, his frown darkening the rest of his features. “She is a balm to any battle-worn king, but Stone is not just old. He is dangerous. If you send her there, you will send her to her death.” 

“His wives are well cared for,” your father argued mildly because it was not him who would face the rest of a lifetime with Stone. He brought a fist to his mouth and bit down upon it, a vestige of the man he used to be. “Perhaps your feelings for her cloud your judgement.” 

“I can separate my feelings from my professional judgements, mi rey.” 

“Yes. I suppose you can, admiral. How long has it been since you bore the responsibility of being the Head of Guards? Seven years?” 

“Eight,” Miguel cropped, his hand shifting to the top of his pommel. “It has been eight years since I left the crown city.” 

“Head of ground forces regulates my guard now. I find them lacking,” he grabbed Miguel’s cup of undrunk rum and threw it back, his tongue snapping against the roof of his tongue. He felt for the sentinel of guards in the room. “My soldiers, that is. If they had been stronger, perhaps my sons would still be alive.” 

Be it like him to find fault in everyone but his own battle choices.

“But I am ever humbled by your selfless service, mi hijo,” he spoke mildly, “Please know it isn’t a decision I make lightly. I know my daughter. She would feel more secure if you were the one to take her to Stone.” 

They were nice words from a soon-to-be puppet king. Miguel turned his gaze onward, locating Lyla by his side. Her small, scarred hands warmed themselves over the ancient blue flame. A surge of heat turned over in his stomach, punctured by a fear he hadn’t felt in a while. He steadied his voice. 

“I would not be so certain.” Miguel wrinkled his forehead, throwing a look that looked almost off-kilter. After this many years, would it be easy to face you again? No, he decided. Not for this purpose. “Soft women are fickle to easy words.” 

What of me? 

Not you, Lyla. You’re not soft.

“If you do not want to, I can send her by way of Jess,” a long sigh slipped off the king’s lips. Then quiet, only broken by a clatter and Lyla’s frantic attempt to replace game pieces into their proper position. Miguel swayed to where she was, grabbing the head of a miniature oak knight and popping it into the proper position. 

“For her sake, I will deliver her.” 

Miguel said nothing more. He failed to wait for the king to dismiss him, perhaps out of confidence in their relationship, that this was not something he had to tread lightly around. Lyla rushed by his side, the wordless guards drawing the heavy doors open to the wide stone hallway before them.

“You cannot take her there,” Lyla spoke with a rigidity that Miguel admired, mindful of the volume of her words, only a whisper. “Your father is--” 

“Yes, Lyla, I know very well.” 

“Then what next?” 

At the end of the hall, Miguel rushed down the steps, out of the king’s chambers, and into lush, almost stabilizing grass. Free of the constricting walls that he would have once called home, Miguel took in the fresh air, his hands behind his neck. To take you there meant certain death. To not take you there, well, he regarded both just as poorly. The fat roses bobbed on their pointy stems. Miguel expects to see you there, with your chambermaids, eating fruits on an Arab blanket. 

“We take Jess up on her offer. She’ll be expecting me.” 

“Miguel, the intent in horseback riding is that your ride the horse.” 

“You know, on top,” Lyla jumps onto Jess’s sentence. “He hasn’t been on top of anything in years--”

“And break its back?” Miguel held the reins in his thick fist. The horse, a chunky mocha and white painted thing was a profit from his voyages overseas. Not only was it subjected to awful sea travel, but now to have a man of muscle on its back? With his newfound speed, it was a risk he did not need to take. “No. I have two feet. I can walk.”

Miguel was many things, but he wasn’t a monster. Or so he liked to think.

“I think you’re quite sweet, Admiral O'Hara.” Jess’s own guard, Gwen, spoke. She was a willowy thing, barely a sprout of a woman with a good heart. He could tell. Miguel looked down, opting for silence as he crunched down full blades of grass under his foot. 

“Miguel doesn’t like compliments,” Lyla said. 

He also didn’t like long, relaxing walks in the valley. Jess proposed something like drinking in her office. It would have been glorious-- but Lyla, whose recent binge nearly scuttled his ship, chose a good ol’fashioned horseback ride. Something that didn’t remind her of sitting on the patchwork doll that was the Venerable.

“The princess would marry someone she does not know?”

Dread filled Miguel’s stomach at the words, the truth in them half-cocked and wrong. He found no words on his tongue that could fit the weight of bitterness that he felt about the arranged marriage. Everyone knew, everyone but Gwen. She was a young thing.

“It’s not her choice,” Lyla spoke in your defense. “It’s her father’s.”

“Forced marriages are a thing of the past. They are not right. Has the princess ever even met Lord Stone?” Gwen asked.

In less than a week’s time, following the festival of roses, they would sail eastward. Or, so said the sailing plans he laid out for Jess. Who, for her part, looked away. Lyla and he exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. That was what he liked to call a sign. 

“No, before their deaths, her brothers never would have allowed her travel to Alche. This whole alliance is a sham. We’re expected to deliver the princess in some false faith that he keeps this so-called alliance. He will not. I cannot decide if the king truly believes in this alliance or if he is hopeful he will remain as a ruler. In either case, it is foolish. Stone would murder his own legitimate heir and for what?” 

Except they aren’t his words. Those words flowed freely from Jess’s lips. 

“The king will fall.” 

“Miguel. Those are treasonous—“

“Treasonous? He is incapable of governing.” 

“The council helps him,” Jess says, but the words come out slanted. She convinces herself as much of the truth as him. Gwen’s lips close, looking down to the sword at her side, then back to Jess’s troubled eyes. Miguel had her where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be-- abandoning this foolish faith in a man who long since gave up hope on a strong, independent nation. 

“A counsel of plants. Five of his sons have fallen. If this keeps up, we will fall next.” 

Jess felt the words running bone-deep. 

“You have a plan.” 

He always did.

The deep night sky was a sea of twinkling stars. Oil lamps illuminated the solitary garden. Miguel fit his hands in balls on his hips, eyes flickering from the blades of grass to the long stems of lilies. He breathed softly, drawing in breaths that should have been relaxing, but morphed into something awful, some unfiltered fear of the failure of his plans. 

“These are her gardens, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Miguel answered. “If nothing has changed, she cares for them herself and harvests them with the peasants. She’ll be here, tomorrow, for her last harvest as a princess.” 

On one hand, overturning the king and his council could go seamlessly. He had Jess, that much was for certain. Gwen, who seemed to go with her bidding, held a good heart about the ethics of arranged marriage. She turned her nose up at it, the suggestion that you would be forced into a marriage with an old, cruel king. Lyla, his Lyla, held no apprehension to the plan. She treated him with deference, seeking only his happiness as his best friend.

Would this-- being king-- make him happy? 

Miguel looked down. Soft pink roses, ripe and ready for the rose-picking festival. Your last, if things went to your father’s plan. He hadn’t thought about it: about how you might feel in the push for another engagement. Not one to an aged, cruel man-- but… he never thought to find you, to ask. He wasn’t sure he could stomach the rejection and yet still force you into a marriage with him. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to-- but had to.

Miguel turned his hand into the suit vest across his chest, removing a bit of aged parchment with a broken wax seal. He turned his finger over the old ink. In every interaction I face, I long to spot you, hidden among the roses, the lilies, to be one of the heads of delighted harvesters. But you are not here. You are never here. I fear you never may be.

“Miggy,” Lyla said. “Miggy look.” 

Miguel lifted his head to look at Lyla. She wasn’t looking at him, peering across the garden, somewhere Miguel couldn’t see from where he stood. He lifted his dark brown boots, stomping around the corner. His sharp red eyes were wide in shock, bags of exhaustion lifted by your sight. Had it-- really been eight years? 

Panic works in tandem with longing. He could run for Jess’s chambers, crumple there like the very coward that ran this fastly crumbling kingdom. Face you another day. He couldn’t help but indulge himself in the gentle lilt of your voice, the way you rolled the ‘r’ on his last name, even though it was very much not an ‘r’ to be rolled. 

“Is that you, Miguel O’Hara? ¿De verdad?” 

No, Miguel thought. Not yet. 

His mind was overwrought, more stimulation than he had in months of battling the sea. He could climb ropes, fix sails, fight pirates, throw out orders, and care for the ports. No issue. None. But as you stood there, looking finer than any treasure he ripped from the hands of the most experienced of pirates, he found himself unable to locate his practiced words. 

You were meant to be his. To be by his side. Of that much, he was certain. Miguel folded the letter in his hand and tucked it back into his dark coat, exploring your gown. A light, white off-the-shoulder dress, embroidered in teal and ombre details, with the most beautiful seafoam bowed sash. You pulled at the rebozo over your long dripping sleeves, the jewels of your hairpieces tinking together as you moved, pulling up your skirts saucily over your ankle. 

“Is it not the admiral?” your handmaiden whispered. 

“I did not know he was back,” said the other. 

“Please excuse us, girls. Lady Lyla, I would prefer a private audience with the admiral. If you would,” 

“Of course! Of course, come, hurry up, you're slow--” Lyla did not need to be told twice. She made herself scarce, grabbing the mid-backs of the girls, forcing them up the steps and out of sight. Miguel dipped down to take a lantern that one of the girls had forgotten.

“Hola, mi amor,” 

Miguel turned around, offering you his forearm. Your jeweled eyes fell on it. You took his broad arm with one hand, minding the train of your dress in the other. The pads of your fingers shifted along the muscle. It took a moment for him to register your curious touch. The increase in his muscle mass, particularly as of late, must have been jarring. His brows knit together, his eyes crinkling around the edges in a way that reflected his age by sea. You moved through your gardens. Miguel, your ever-patient servant, followed your lead.

At night time, your garden was impossibly beautiful. It was lined by bushels of healthy, salt-tolerant roses, cloaked in the secret of darkness. Miguel remembered the small pond as if it were yesterday, the secret place of his youth. Small bugs sang in the heaviness of your mutual silence, breaking with the pop of your lips.

“I saw you had a letter in your hands. From a woman, perhaps?” 

He lifted his hand, offering the lack of a marriage band. No wife, not even a love on a distant shore. The memory of your kisses, your bodies strewn in bed, overrode any ability for him to find another woman. What happened to your eyes-- you began, reaching to touch him. He turned his face away. You were the first to notice. Or, perhaps, just unbothered by tethers of propriety.

“You are still unmarried? Then why did you never answer my letters?” 

“What would you have me say, princesa?” Miguel’s words came at last. He hadn’t meant them to come out the way they did. A long, painful lament on his tongue, marked with barbs. “You chose your family over my proposal. Your rejection was quite clear.” 

“You, above everyone else, should know it was not an easy choice. I could not have told them the truth.” You sat down on your stone bench, fixing your skirts. “You would have hung.” 

“Yes... well. How funny is it that they are now dead,” he bit out. “While I stand here alive.” 

Your eyes were bright, watery, bits of tears slipping down from the corners of your eyes, over pink blush at your cheeks. Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. A slow breath leaked from his mouth. You stood up, brushing the tears away with the flowing sleeves. It hurt to see your pain well to the surface.

“Miggy, I know you hate them, but please don’t talk ill of the dead. They did what they thought was best for our nation and nothing more.” 

Right-- to secure the possibility of an alliance through an arranged marriage, how charitable of them. You stood before a bushel of roses, turning your eyes over the fat blooms as an excuse not to look at him. You poisoned your mind with the lies of your father and brothers. He turned you, lip trembling.

“What of what was best for you?” His hand found your cheek, rolling away the tears that spilled openly before those in the garden. The sentinel who watched, the flowers that grew in peace. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the comforting warmth that welled up in your chest. He was here, again. “That has always been the only thing that I am concerned with.” 

“I know. My brothers couldn’t understand. They only understood politics.” 

“What of your father? He knows how I feel.” Miguel said. The words were smooth and soft, gentle like the sill waters of your pond. “He may not know that I was your first--” 

“Miggy,” 

“Your virginity belongs to me. Stone cannot take it,” he punctuates the words. They seem to draw some ancient feelings loose, drawing back with your hand to your chest, cooling the heat that bubbled in your chest at the mere memory. His voice milded out, a smile warring at the corners of his lips. Eight years, and he knew you thought of that very warm summer’s night on the pavilion.  "But your father would still allow you to live in misery."

You're not thinking of your father when Miguel speaks of such silly, youthful things. It's hurled into the past.

“You remember.” The tone in his voice pulled at a question, but he asked none. You tugged on your rebozo and turned away from Miguel once more, embarrassed. He couldn’t resist. His hands cupped your slight shoulders, rippled with goosebumps, though it was not a cold night out. His lips worked on your ears, kissing the delicate earrings that dripped from your earlobes. “The last day of the rose harvest.” 

“Miggy, not here.” 

“Your guards fell ill for their night shift. I took their place. You bathed in petals and perfumed your skin that night. I dare say, on purpose. You were so good for me.” 

The memory must have made you clench, your blood runs warm, leaning into the soft kiss he set behind your ear, the scrape of his fang. Oh, stars, you cried.

“We should stop, my father--”

“Knows what love we have. Even if he is a spineless coward.”  

“Have? Miggy?” 

He held his chin level, swaying where he stood, seeking some acknowledgment that your feelings had not changed. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you faced him. In place of a response, silence was the best course of action. A grim smile worked on his face, his head pounding with the lack of alcohol, that little friend of his that had made these years pass so easily. You tugged him forward.

“You are mine?” you ask. 

“I am yours. I am loyal to you before anyone else.” 

To his surprise, you held out your hand, your fingers twiddling at him. 

“Then prove your loyalty to me.” You hummed. “Give me that letter. I want it.” 

“You can’t trust me, can you?” He sighed, slipping his hand into his coat pocket. Finally pulling it free, he unraveled it. Its crispy, flaked edges slipped from your fingertips. The royal seal glimmered in your eyes, wrought in sudden delight at your own handwriting. 

“This is mine. And you’ve kept it so close to your heart this whole time? Oh, Miggy,” 

“Don’t start,” Miguel took a step away, rubbing the frustration out of his forehead. Blood rushed to Miggy’s dark face. He should be so lucky that it was night, that the moon was not full, and that you would not weaponize it. You plucked up your skirts, daring a twirl, jewelry jingling, skirts whirling. His lips pulled in a smile at your delight, a party all on your own. Congratulations on your victory, he wanted to say, as if it hadn't resulted in years of endless longing.

“I knew it.” 

“You did not,” Miguel bit out, kicking out his feet over the inky blades of glass. “You interrogated me regarding its source. Another woman when I have a princess? How asinine.” 

“Oh, Miggy. If you write me a letter, just one,” you settled it back in his coat jacket. “I can be at peace with this marriage. I’ll close my eyes and think of you.” 

His mind reeled at your words. He shot you a wan look, which you returned with a confused flicker of your long lashes, wondering what you said that was so wrong. Miguel looked toward the armed guards, men who-- in the day, he served with. He trusts them in a way that is unique to service under the crown-- to you. 

“What sort of man do you take me for?” he bit out, his tone tapering dangerously low. “To think I would allow you to marry that man?”

“What choice do I--” 

“You listen to your father regarding the oddest things. You would marry an archaic sack of shit but not the love of your life.” 

“Oh,” breath punched from your chest, exhaled in a shaky breath. Your hand came to your chest, twiddling the jewelry at your chest. Miguel turned his head back to face yours, his scarlet eyes trained on yours. “I wasn’t aware of your offer.” 

He couldn’t help it. Not anymore. The time at sea, eight years of suppressed pleasure through memories of your warmth, and the letters you sent all culminated in overcoming longing. He dipped down, his lips sliding against yours. He swept his tongue past your lips, drawing you closer with a stabilizing hand behind your back. He was many things, but never a coward, savoring the tender taste of fig and honey and you on your lips. You were as sweet as he remembered. His lips parted, words barely a puff.

“I don't believe I ever retracted it, Princesa.” 

Yes, you say delightfully. He wonders if you'll still say yes after you learn of what he's done. He doesn't always like the decisions he has to make-- but they're for your good. One day, perhaps, you'll understand.

[milliesfishes]

hiii congrats on hitting 300 followers!! i’m always rereading your girl dad blurb you did for billy, i was wondering if you could some more of it?? like the thought of him doting on his baby is soo cute to me😭

(thank you lovey!! <3) ౨ৎ꣑ৎbilly with your daughter౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Before laying eyes on his daughter for the first time, Billy didn't believe in love at first sight.

But when he saw the baby in your arms after the most tumultuous hours of both your life and his, he felt the stirrings in his heart. This was pure, undoubtable love. Pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead and smoothing your hair back, he made a vow right then and there. He would always protect his girls.

Annie was the second love of his life, as sweet and good as any baby could be. She was always smiling, always wanting to be held and cuddled. Billy gave into her every time, unable to resist those little eyes, the ones that matched yours to a T.

He spent hours with her, bouncing her on his knee and making silly faces at her to try and coax that bubbly giggle out. She loved her daddy too, clapping her hands together and reaching for him every time he walked into the room.

Billy's favorite thing was to watch you with her, your hair falling over Annie's little body as you spoke or sang softly to her. Sometimes when he came home after a long day it'd be to that glorious sight, and he would just watch for a moment before making his presence known.

Today was one of those days- he was watching you, his sweetheart, lying in the garden on your back with Annie sitting next to you, a messy bunch of flowers closed in her chubby fist. You were smiling peacefully, hair spread out over the grass, dress ridden up to your knees as you traced a finger over your baby's arm. The soft glow of the sunshine made you both look like angels.

"There's my two favorite girls," he said as he walked over, kneeling at your side. He reached over and ruffled Annie's wispy hair. She babbled up at him, holding out the flowers to him. "F' me?" he gasped, taking the bunch from her. "Why thank you, Miss Annie." She giggled up at him, reaching up her little arms and wanting to be held. He made a quiet rahhhh sound at her as he reached over you and swooped his baby up into his arms, flying her over to sit on his chest much to her delight.

You sat up, smiling and letting your hair fall to the side, the sunlight in the background making it glow. "She's been missing Daddy."

"Awwh, didja baby girl?" he kissed Annie's cheeks. "Mwah. Gotta spend time with Momma though. I'm mighty jealous."

"Annie, you wanna give Daddy a kiss?" you reached out and held her little hand, then gave Billy a knowing smile. "We learned kisses today."

"Didja now?" Billy sat up, bringing Annie with him. "Lemme see!"

"C'mon Annie, go mwah!" you blew a kiss at your baby.

"Mah!" Annie pressed a tiny hand to her mouth and flung it away.

"There ya go!" Billy laughed, affection bubbling in his chest. He kissed Annie's cheek with a smack! "That's right sweetheart, mwah." He grinned at you. "Teachin' her kisses...she's gonna be a heartbreaker."

"Just kisses," you insisted, sitting back on your hands. "All I did was teach her kisses."

"You did a mighty fine job of it," he replied, letting Annie grasp his finger and wave it around. "'m gonna have to start loadin' up on bullets. Sit on the porch with a shotgun." Billy bounced Annie on his lap, addressing her. "Cause you're gonna be as pretty as Momma, huh? Yeah, you're a pretty girl."

You laughed and laid back flat on the grass. Billy set Annie to the side, letting her watch a nearby butterfly before turning over and reaching for you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your hair, pressing several sweet kisses to your head. "Yeah, Momma's the best kisser."

He kissed you long and deep, and you pulled back, giving him a look. "Not in front of Annie. Don't wanna teach her that kind of kissing yet."

"Right." Billy took his hat off his head and plopped it on Annie's head. It covered her eyes and she giggled, waving her hands up. Turning back to you, he grinned, diving back down and capturing your lips in his. You laughed, letting him roll you onto his chest so you were right on top of him.

Kissing him softly, you let your hair fall around his face, and he grasped your hips, hands sliding to your bottom and squeezing lightly. You squealed lightly into his mouth, pulling back and raising an eyebrow. "Billy."

He gave you one last lingering kiss and sat up so you were straddling his lap. Turning to Annie, you saw she was still sitting with Billy's hat shielding her eyes. Billy chuckled, plucking the hat back and scooping her back up to hold between you.

Annie reached up and pulled on Billy's handkerchief around his neck, putting the end in her mouth. He grinned, pulling it away. "Let's not be eatin' Daddy's things, sweetie."

You took Annie into your arms and she grabbed a fistful of your hair. Billy winced. "Woah there, little lady. Be gentle with Momma's hair."

Giving him a smile, you pried her little fist away. "She's just a baby."

"Well-" Billy gave you a fond smile. He wrapped his arms around the two of you, burying his face in your hair, humming lowly. "My girls."

It was a lovely scene- Billy kissed your hair and held you close, your sweet baby between you. Suddenly sentimental, he murmured, "I can't even begin to tell ya how grateful I am for you, sweetheart." He kissed your hair, holding his lips to your head. "You've given me a family, something I never thought I'd have."

You smiled softly, looking up at him. "Billy..."

"It's true, sweet," he muttered. "Never thought I'd have somethin' like this. Somethin' real." Billy caught your lips in a sweet kiss, stroking the head of the little girl between you. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, darlin'. Best thing by a mile."

[sashasienna]

🔜

I've learned that, to really nail the great Wanting to Stay Alive Project that I'll probably be working on my whole life, I need to always have at least one thing to look forward to. More is better, and I try to find things for multiple time frames. Sometimes this means planning exciting events for the future, and sometimes it's choosing to look for everyday things to be excited about.

Right now, my excitement calendar looks something like this:

Today: I made really delicious spaghetti for dinner last night and I'm going to use some of the leftover ingredients to make lunch, which I hope will be equally delicious (I love to eat so meals are often one of the things I look forward to).

This week: Jonny and I are meeting with a mortgage adviser on Tuesday so we can start properly looking for a house. I'm not super psyched about the meeting itself, but the fact it's happening makes me feel really hopeful about the future overall. I also have a haircut appointment on Thursday, which is a mundane thing but I have a really great gender-affirming barber so it always makes me feel good.

This month: my brother turns 30 in a few weeks and a bunch of us are going camping for the weekend to celebrate. I'm not a good camper but it's a short trip and I'm really looking forward to celebrating with him. He's really cool and one of my best friends.

1-3 months: I'm going to a big outdoor music festival to see Blink-182 in about 6 weeks. I'm going with a really good friend and I can't wait for us to be the old people at the festival: we've paid a bit extra to use the grown-up campsite with flushing toilets and mattresses and we're gonna hang at the back of the crowds and be in bed by midnight and have an amazing time.

3-6 months: I'm going to visit some friends in Nottingham who I haven't seen in way too long. They're gonna teach me to play Kill Team, so I get to do a lot of mini-painting as a sort of active anticipation between now and then!

6+ months: I've just booked accommodation for me and a bunch of friends to go to an incredible TTRPG convention that's always my favourite week of the year. It's a straight week of renting out a holiday park by a gloomy beach in the middle of January and doing nothing but playing RPGs. It's absolutely glorious.

I haven't included a lot of game nights or tabletop conventions I'm attending for work, because I don't have time to write them all down and it would get repetitive, but they're also things I look forward to a lot and they give my life some structure it sorely needs!

[sokkastyles]

Today was the first day of school and I put on Avatar for my class at dismissal, and one thing I noticed from the first episode is Iroh telling Zuko that "a man needs his rest," before going to take a nap, and telling Zuko that he also needs sleep and tries to discourage him from hunting the Avatar.

Right away we see the dissonance in Iroh's apathy towards what Zuko sees as a glorious quest, and we'll also learn in the next few episodes that Iroh also cares for Zuko, but this line is also foreshadowing for when Iroh echoes the sentiment that a man needs his rest at the finale, after the siege of the North. This time, it's Zuko who expresses that he is "tired," although the unspoken meaning is that it is starting to become evident that Zuko's glorious destiny may not be as glorious as he thinks, and even Zuko is starting to realize it after witnessing Zhao's self-destructive pride and megalomania that led to his death.