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roanniom · 1 year ago

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King Steve flirting with inexperienced never been flirted with reader

Smartest

King!Steve Harrington x tutor!fem!reader

Read Part 2

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, PIV/unprotected sex, teasing, coercion but consensual, King!Steve is a manipulative douchebag and is his own warning

“You’re really good at this stuff,” Steve says, watching for your reaction as you scribble math equations across the notebook paper. He can see embarrassment bloom across your features and he has to suppress the zing of triumph he feels. It’s so easy.

It makes him want to push it.

“It’s kinda hot.”

The pencil stops in its path and your eyes shoot up to his, brow raised.

“I’m not…that’s…you’re messing with me, Harrington,” you finally settle on in what you hope is a dismissive tone. Steve notes the way your hand writing becomes more shaky. He sucks on his teeth for a second before chuckling.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to be modest. Hot girl like you must be raking in the compliments.”

You shake your head but don’t look up from your work. Well…his work. The homework that you’re doing for him even though you were supposed to be tutoring him so he doesn’t fail algebra and miss out on basketball.

But his hand is suddenly on your knee.

“Look at you ignoring me. What, you tutor a football player that’s stealing all your attention? Nothing left for me?”

“I…I don’t tutor the football team,” you answer, dumb in spite of your high IQ. You look up and Steve’s grin is big, glad he could finally distract you. He’d gotten bored with the repetition of watching you do his homework. He’s got nothing else lined up today, might as well have some fun. It’s not like his parents are home and it’s a shame to waste a big empty house.

“Thought I was your favorite pupil,” Steve says in a mock whine, giving you puppy dog eyes that seem to short circuit your brain.

Bingo.

You can do his homework later.

“Y-you are,” you admit shyly. It makes Steve smile at you again and your heart bursts, the shriveled up crush you’ve been nursing for years finally being watered and rehydrated. You can hear your heart beat in your ears.

“Good. Because you’re my favorite hot tutor,” Steve says with a wink. You swallow visibly at that and Steve laughs. “You’re still acting like nobody’s ever called you hot before and I call bullshit.”

“No….nobody’s ever called me hot before,” you say in a small voice. Steve’s eyes widen for a second. He’d been pressing on that point, not really thinking too hard about whether or not it could be true. It was just mindless flirting. And pretty lazy flirting, to be honest.

He takes the space of a second to wonder if he feels bad about your clear inexperience and insecurity. Instead, he feels a dark, sour tinge of excitement. Your obvious interest is an opportunity. He doesn’t take any time to analyze whether he should be ashamed of that thought.

“Do you like it when I call you hot?” Steve asks. It’s not a question. Not really. Not when he knows the answer is yes. But he’s angling for something as his hand slides up from your knee to your thigh. You drop the pencil fully and give your attention completely to him.

“Y-yeah. I do.”

“Do you like it when I do…this?” Steve ask, lifting your arm and delivering a kiss to the inside crook of your elbow. You squirm but a smile starts forming on your face.

“Yeah.”

“And this?” Steve asks, moving up to kiss your bare shoulder, just beside the spaghetti strap of your sun dress.

“Uhuh.”

Steve moves to the edge of his seat so that his knee moves between your thighs under your skirt. You squeak a bit at the new proximity. One of Steve’s large hands grips your waist, pulling you to him so he can mouth at the side of your neck.

“What about this?”

The feeling of his lips on your skin lights you on fire and you find it hard to keep responding.

“Oh…” Your thighs try to close, a sudden twinge of need at their apex urging you to seek out friction. You end up squeezing your legs around his knee which has pushed between them. Steve pulls back and smirks.

"Oh," he teases. He slides his hand over the slope of your hip, to your stomach and down to your lower abdomen over the fabric of your skirt. Steve’s heavy lidded eyes find yours. “You seemed to really like that, huh?”

“I….I….” you stammer, unsure of what to do with your hands so you drop them to rest shakily on his forearms. Steve leans forward again, dropping his wet open mouth to the curve of your neck and sucking.

“Oh��fuck,” you whimper broke my. Steve chuckles against your spit-slicked skin.

“How am I supposed to learn from you if you’re going to set a bad example like that?” he asks wryly. You blink at him, watching as his hands move to the buttons at the neckline of your sun dress. Your chest rises and falls more rapidly as your breathing speeds up, both with arousal and anticipation.

Steve undoes the top button with deft fingers. Instead of shrinking away, you arch your back almost imperceptibly towards his hands. Steve definitely notices.

“Ohhhh,” he says teasingly. “Or does the tutor want to learn a thing or two from the student?” His voice is lilting and light, but his eyes are dark. You look away for a second before looking back at him. Eyes the tentative. Nod small. Steve nods back along with you. “Okay then. We’ll first of all, we have to have the right workspace, don’t we?”

When you nod, Steve surprises you by standing up and swiping all the books, papers, and writing utensils off the dining room table and onto the ground in one broad sweep of his arm.

“Steve!” you squeal out in surprise, slapping a hand over your mouth. You know his parents are out of town and the two of you are alone, but when he grabs you and manhandled you to sit on the table, you suppress the startled shriek that tries to come out. Steve pulls you to the edge of the table and bullies his way between your legs, your thighs bracketing his hips. Steve’s hands return to the buttons of your dress.

“Then we have to gather the right materials. See what we’re working with, right?” He pauses, looking at you for confirmation as if you have any idea what he’s saying. You nod mindlessly and Steve proceeds to rip open the last few buttons, exposing your bra clad breasts. He hums in satisfaction as you cringe in embarrassment over the exposure. But all embarrassment leaves you when his big hands close over your breasts, squeezing and groping appreciatively.

“Mmmm yeah. These’ll do,” Steve hums before leaning in and kissing over where they swell out of their cups from the squeeze of his strong hands. You gasp when he yanks the bra down to expose them fully. Steve’s brows life. “These tits’ll definitely do.”

Next thing you know, Steve is kissing and sucking his way from one breast to the other, leaving you a twitching mess in his arms. You feel a hardness press into your apex beneath the skirt of your dress and it occurs to you that he’s turned on just like you are. Which is a stupid thought since he’s literally sucking hickeys all over you right now, but your lust addled mind can still barely comprehend that this is happening right now.

When you begin rolling your hips into that hardness, Steve takes notice.

Pulling back, lips wet, he grins at you.

“Me playing with these tits not enough for you?” he asks, one hand still fondling your breast. Lucky for you, he doesn’t seem interested in a reply. Instead he flips your skirt up, showing the dark wet patch that’s bloomed in your panties and - more importantly - the erection clear in his tight jeans. “That’s alright. It’s not enough for me either.”

You blink slowly as you watch him grind his hard on against your clothed pussy. The friction catches on your clit and you gasp, unable to take your eyes off the outline of the shape pressing against you. Steve takes your hand and brings it down between your bodies, squeezing to make you grip his cock.

“Feel that? You did this to me,” he says, almost accusatory if not for the chuckle. A possessive thrill of pride runs down your spine and you squeeze at him, making him grunt in appreciation. Steve looks up at you from beneath his lashes in a faux display of boyishness. “Gonna help me out here?”

You nod feverishly.

“Yes…I…please–,” is all you manage to get out before Steve’s mouth is on you. The kiss is deep and possessive and aggressive and you feel absolutely devoured. His hands feel like they are everywhere at once, paradoxically, as he pulls at you and grips you and grabs you. So distracted see you by his mouth and tongue that you barely register a moment of cold air hitting between your legs before the warm slide of something hot and thick rubs against your opening.

“Now for the big lesson,” Steve says, the corner of his mouth curving lasciviously. The fat head of his cock teases at your clit, making you sink your nails into his arms. He’s big. Huge even. And that’s the last thought you have before he’s begin to slide himself inside you, splitting you open.

“Steve!” It comes out in a rush with all the air he punches out of you with the penetration. Steve kisses your neck and hums.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

He bottoms out and there’s nothing but your ragged breaths to fill the silence for a moment before he’s pulling out, causing you to reel again.

“I know it’s big, baby, I know,” he coos. The taunting cockiness should put you off, but for some reason it heats you up even more. One his hands finds your clit and you let out a moan at the expert circles he begins to rub in.

Your walls relax with the stimulation, and your increasing wetness makes it easy for Steve to begin fucking you in earnest.

“Taking it so well, baby. Fuck.”

His words ring in your ears and it feels like everything begins and ends with Steve in your line of sight.

“Oh…oh…” you moan with each inward stroke. You’re rocketing towards a climax better than your most lavish fantasies.

Steve Harrington is fucking you. On his dining room table.

Your arms are around his neck, but eventually he pushes you down so your back is flat against the wooden surface. With his hands on your hips, Steve holds you steady so he can piston his hips at a break neck speed. Your entire body rocks against the table, Steve’s eyes focused on the bounce of your breasts with the force of each thrust.

“This is so much better than homework, fuck!” he groans out. You let out a breathless laugh at that and Steve looks down at you. “This is what you wanted, right? For me to fuck you all this time?”

The embarrassment surges up again but he hits a spot deep down inside that makes you whine instead. Steve takes it as confirmation.

“Bet you’ve been wet every time you’ve come over here. Just hoping I’d fuck this - fuck. This tight little pussy.”

“Yes. Yes, Steve.”

“Yes, Steve,” Steve mimics your pathetic, breathy confession. He’s close himself now, and his fingers are sure to leave bruises from the force of him squeezing you. “Next time I should just bend you over while you’re doing my work and fuck you. How’s that sound?”

You don’t say anything, too far gone at this point, and Steve laughs.

“Probably wouldn’t be able to keep doing my work with my cock in you. Makes you too brainless apparently.”

You’re practically drooling as you gaze up at him with hazy eyes, seconds from your orgasm. You being so out of it is what’s doing it most for Steve.

“Christ, look at you. Smartest girl in school and here you are, fucked stupid. It’s so. Fucking. Hot.”

And you - someone who until today had never been called hot ever - find yourself breaking into a million pieces with his words. Your orgasm crashes over you and you spasm around him, back arching off the table as you let out a massive cry.

~*~

Over time you are able to build up to a point where you don’t go as brainless. Eventually you’re able to kind of still do his homework as Steve fucks you.

But inevitably during every tutoring session there comes a point where Steve hits that place inside you just right, and his filthy words filter into your ear - and you go dumb.

Just the way he likes it.

~*~

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Read Part 2

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #king!steve harrington #king!steve harrington smut #king!steve harrington x reader

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vxsellie · 24 days ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚. GHOSTS OF SACRILEGE !

synopsis. fbi agent!ellie williams x nun!reader ; it's truly no shock that the entirety of west virginia is emerged by trepidation, considering hundreds of residents have gone missing within the past three months. as a form of consolation for those fearful, an esteemed fbi agent is sent to investigate. what she finds, however, is more than she could ever have expected.

notes. this piece is part of the mythologica challenge! i tried my absolute hardest to do the theme justice bc of how good it is. also pls note that every town mentioned is real & i did a decent amount of research on each one, but that doesn't at all mean that it's entirely accurate. i've been to some of the places, but not all also ! this is my first time ever writing detailed smut so i literally know none of the correct words to use or how to describe what's happening & it might turn out being literal dog shit,, if that's the case i apologize!

warnings. religious horror, an attempt at writing smut, angst, plot twists, horrible world building, major character death x2, possessive / obsessive romance, descriptive gore, blood, satanic rituals, human sacrifice, blood, oral (r! receiving), brief mentions of abuse & assault, murder as a metaphor, past animal death, long exposition i'm sorry, and - last but most important - the sweet release of desecrating salvation.

wc. 9.5k+

𝓝aught but unease filled the tiny town of bluefeild as yet another missing person is found to be reported in the newspaper. the sun begins to peer over the horizon, long shadows cast against the sidewalk that newsboys toss the papers from. they ride their bikes down the concrete with a fervor that should be rare. but it’s been rather common in bluefeild as of late. every since december. ever since the incidents first began.

nobody in town can be seen outside without a frantic expression and a fast pace. fear fuels their every step as they scurry outside to retrieve the news before burrowing back into the safety of their homes, hungry eyes skimming the article in search of who’s gone missing this time.

ellie hadn't expected much when traveling here. a small town of worrisome locals, a serial kidnapper hiding in plain sight. y'know, the usual for cases like these.

but something about this case stands out to her. there's a certain weight in her chest as each day passes without answers. in the beginning, she'd asked around town, hoping to find some common denominator among everyone's weariness. but there's nothing. the residents are closed off, thick boots and even thicker country drawls quick to kick the agent off their rotting porch at first glance. she's been here for a while now, not a single clue made evident. no loose ends, no muddy footprints, no witnesses. it's like these people just disappear into thin air.

ellie sits in her idled car, eyes scanning today's newspaper for slips of information. she can't help the way her interest piques, slowly going mad with lack of elucidation. she runs a hand through her hair, shoulders weighed with fatigue and dwindling hope.

see, over two-hundred people have gone missing in the past three months ⎯ which is a big deal in and of itself, but even more so considering bluefeild's population is well under five thousand.

her windows fog as rain patters gently against the steel of her vehicle, the whether cold and dreary in comparison to her car's heated temperature. she supposes it fits the mood, though, doesn't it?

after twenty minutes of analyzing each and every word given, ellie groans and stuffs the newspaper into her glove box, slamming it shut. evidently, the paper provided nothing of use to her. it has a picture of the man missing, his name inscribed under the image, and a few words of grief are quoted to have been said by the families. but that's it.

as of this morning, jason casey has been added to the long list of missing persons. and not a soul could say why nor how.

ellie pulls her phone from her coat pocket, clicking on her bosses contact before wedging it between her ear and shoulder. she listens to it ring as she puts her car into gear, pulling out of the parking space she'd been occupying. it's not like anyone here would dare to use their cars anyhow. most shops and businesses have been temporarily closed, owners fearing the possibility of suffering the same fate as those prior.

"ellie?" joel's voice comes through the tiny speakers, papers rustling in the background of the call as he speaks. "what're you callin' me for? i thought you were on the bluefeild case."

"there's nothin' to go off of." she tells him. one hand is rested on the wheel whilst the other holds her phone.

"you're our best investigator, williams, i'm sure you'll find somethin'." he says offhandedly, continuing to shuffle through whatever papers are of more interest to him than his alleged best employee.

she rolls her eyes at his dismissive tone. "hundreds are missing, joel. without a trace or a sign left behind. they're likely dead, if i were to guess. i don't— what the hell good does that do?"

"find the bodies." he says easily. "their corpses might point to their killer."

"no shit." ellie scoffs. "the issue isn't what to do next, it's how the fuck i'm supposed to do it. this has been goin' on for months and no bodies have turned up. where am i even supposed to look? like i said, there ain't a damn thing left behind."

she coasts down the streets of bluefeild, using this time to feel the layout of it and examine what she's working with. she's been here for a while now, but the town remains a mystery to her. and, from what she's seen, it's a bit of a mystery to everyone else as well.

she notices that many of the homes are old and shabby, paint flaking and wood rotting. in the yards, however, almost every resident has some form of a religious symbol. a cross, a statue of mary, a flag for something biblical. anything to show their faith.

to each their own, i guess. she thinks to herself with a shrug before turning her attention elsewhere.

the streets are empty, as expected. a few street lights are on, the yellow illumination flicking with worn age. even on the two-lane roads, there's not a car in sight. she narrows her eyes at this, a shiver tracing up her spine at the disturbing vastness.

"well," joel says, "search the papers some more."

"i've done that a thousand fuckin' times." ellie groans, eyes still scanning her surroundings with intent of committing it all to memory. just in case. "there's nothin' there. it's just all information on the missing people, half-assed sympathy for the victim's family, and a picture of 'em."

joel sighs, the sound of tapping resonating through the phone. ellie recognizes the sound, having worked for joel long enough to know that he always taps a pencil against his desk when he's thinking. it's a good sign, she thinks. it means he's at least giving her predicament some thought.

she's been in bluefeild for eight days now, spending her time interrogating random residents for informations; spending her nights rereading the stupid fucking newspapers. naught good has been of ramification.

the repetition of it all is driving her insane, especially considering none of her efforts have yet to pay off in any sort of way. she'd hoped that when the next person showed up missing, something would present itself. a clue would rear its ugly head at her and she'd grab it by the throat with fervor. but no. jason casey went missing and all heads remain hidden. so, after an hour of battling with her pride, she decided to make the call to joel and admit her being stuck.

"okay." he says, shuffling a bit as he finally gives ellie his full attention. "okay, pull over for a second, i'm gonna need you to do somethin' for me."

she instantly obliges, pulling off to the nearest backroad. gravel crunches under her tires as she drives along the thin path wedged between two decrepit buildings. the alley is small and a bit sketchy, but that's exactly what she needs. ellie puts her car in park, windows translucent in their heavily fogged blanket.

"how many newspapers do you have on you?" joel asks when he hears her car go into idle.

"um," she reaches over and opens her glove box, watching as yellowed papers fall from the newly opened door. they flutter to the floor and atop the passenger's seat. she hums, amused at the sight of her obsession making a tangible image in her head. "a lot."

"okay, good. perfect." joel mutters, the clacking of a keyboard sounding through the tiny speaker. "the first person who went missing was carl andrews. he was thirty-seven. his wife claims he was supposed to have been walking home from work but never showed up for dinner."

ellie scrambles through her messy stack of newspapers, searching for carl's report. she finally finds it, the paper dated to have been written near the beginning of december. she straightens out the wrinkles, examining his picture.

"looks like your average middle age man." ellie mutters, taking in his scruffy beard and wrinkled skin. "he was a carpenter. had two kids, both boys."

"yes, i have the paper pulled up on my computer." joel says. "but it doesn't show his address or nothin'. this shitty website only has half of the damn document."

ellie skims through the words, searching for the street or neighborhood he'd lived in. when she turns up empty-handed she groans, now well familiar with the feeling of disappointment regarding this case. "nope. no home address." she says with an evidently annoyed tone.

"what about his workplace?" joel asks. "if he'd been walkin' home, his work must be close enough for him to do so."

"oh shit," she mutters. she'd studied his article for hours — studied all of them — and she hadn't even thought to look there. her hands clutch the paper as she searches with a hungered gaze. her eyes widen at the address listed on the paper. "yes it's on fifth street."

more typing is heard through the phone, "says here that,, there's a neighborhood right by there. a few blocks down from the carpenters' building. must've been where he lived."

"perfect." ellie grins, adrenaline rushing through her.

oh, she feels on top of the world right now.

"okay, now i want you to look for addresses in all the other papers." joel says, flipping a switch in his tone — off to being ellie's friend and on to being her boss. a familiar change, but an unpleasant one nonetheless. "check 'n see if there's a link between where they'd been last spotted."

"okay."

ellie sets carl's paper aside and grabs another random one. she reads the heading briefly, recognizing it to be the article on bryan turner who'd gone missing in the middle of january. he'd allegedly been walking his dog and never returned to his apartment, according to his elderly female neighbor.

the address is actually listed this time. not his exact apartment number, but the building. ellie can't help the smile that tugs at her mouth again as she grabs a random notepad and scribbles both addresses onto the paper, reminding herself to compare their proximity when she gets back to her hotel later tonight.

"you're a goddan genius, joel." ellie mutters as she sets bryan's paper atop carl's and grabs another. sam cortez. late december.

"thanks, kid." joel chuckles into the phone. ellie has it set aside, call set to speaker as she flips through papers and continues to write down addresses into her notes. her movements are frantic and hurried, adrenaline refusing to wind down from its newly heightened state. joel speaks again, regaining her attention. "uh, sorry t' tell you this but i've gotta go. it's almost midnight and i've been at the building since ten o'clock this mornin'."

"yeah yeah, whatever." ellie replies off-handedly. "thanks for your help, old man. i think i can take it from here now, though. go get your beauty rest."

"promise to call me in the mornin'?" he asks. "i wanna hear what y' find."

"yes, i promise." she laughs. "i'll call you as soon as i wake up."

"okay good. don't overwork yourself either, you need to⎯"

"goodbye, joel!" she says, grabbing her phone and hanging up on him before she has to listen to him reprimand her for lack of rest. he's one to talk, too, seeing as he'd just admitted to having been at the building all damn day.

she sighs, deciding to put a pin in her address search and get back to her hotel to finish working in the comfort of a bed.

she sets her papers into two neat piles in the passenger's seat ⎯ one for those she'd already gone through and one for those she hasn't yet gotten to. then, she puts her key into the ignition and pulls out of the little road.

as she drives down the street, she examines her surroundings once again. still as impoverished as before.

she passes a small farm house, eyes drawn to the old lady sitting on the porch. she's rocking back and forth rather ominously, making direct eye contact with ellie through the windshield. slowly, the woman nods her head toward where a large cross is staked into the soil of her front yard. ellie looks away, a sudden uneasiness washing over her as she presses harder on the gas.

she reaches her hotel a few minutes later, stuffing her papers under each arm before entering the building and heading toward the elevator. by the time she reaches her room, she practically rips her heavy leather jacket off, the yellow 'fbi' label bright and bold against the black material as she tosses it onto her bed. she sits cross-legged in the center of her room, laying out all the newspapers in front of her.

she continues to sort through them all, eyebrows furrowing as she comes to realize that all the victims are men.

she hurriedly flips through the documents, certain she must he wrong. but she's not. they're all male. ellie writes this down on her notepad, handwriting rushed and nigh unintelligible. despite the sloppiness, she circles it, sure it'll prove to be of importance later on.

by the time ellie finishes going through what feels like hundreds of papers, she decides that's enough for her to be able to find a pattern if there is one. the digital clock atop the nightstand reads 2am, flashing bright red numbers at her. she ignores it, too high off the thrill of finally finding something in this priorly monotonous case.

she pulls her laptop from her bag and flips it open atop her crossed legs, quick to pull up a map and type in the coordinates of each address. they appear random at first, completely fucking unrelated to one another. a pang of dread hits ellie in the chest, worried this will have all been for naught.

but then she zooms out.

each dot for each address glows blue. when zoomed out, it forms something. ellie squints, tilting her head at the incoherent image she struggles to make out. seeing as many of the papers weren't analyzed, the picture is only half-complete.

but then it clicks. a pentacle. and at the very center of the shape, a church.

ellie's mind goes back to the old woman on the porch. the way she'd nodded to her cross. the way almost every family in bluefeild is outwardly religious. she can't believe she hadn't seen it sooner.

this isn't just some case where she can stare at newspapers and hope something pops up. it's an intricately weaved web of murders.

her chest heaves as her eyes dart across the screen, unable to believe it. she finds herself tapping her men against the floor, drumming it just as joel does. she curses herself, tossing the pen across the room as her mind reels. it lands in front of the door, ballpoint pointed toward the exit. ellie takes this as a sign from the universe. despite not having ever been a religious person, she can't help the pang of hope in her chest.

deciding to indulge the pen's sign, ellie writes the church's address into her notepad, shuts her laptop, pulls her jacket back on, then heads for the door. she steps over the pen on her way out.

𝓢he stares up at the church, checking to make sure she's absolutely certain she's in the right place. when she's proven to be correct, she stuffs her notepad into her pocket and walks toward the building.

ellie doubts anybody is inside due to the time, but she wants to search the place regardless.

the church is old, creaky wooden exterior painted in uneven shades of white. the roof is brown and dilapidated with wear. atop it, a large cross is seen standing tall, its tip pointed up at the starry sky. ellie wades through the overgrown grass, her breath coming out in white clouds. it's fucking freezing out here.

when she reaches the building, ellie cups her hands around her eyes before peeking through the windows. the glass is dusty and cracked in some places. she can't seem to see through it, transparency made opaque from lack of maintenance.

she leans back and wipes a hand across the dust, forming a wide arc to peer through. inside, the church looks brand new. wooden pews line the space, a long aisle between each formed column. the floor is white tile, cleaned to be spotless. she tilts her head, struggling to look toward the pulpit. it appears to be⎯

"what're you doing?"

ellie jumps, her head slamming against the top of the window frame. she ignores the ache and whips around to face the owner of the voice. a nun.

you stand behind her with a raised brow, your entire body covered by black and white robes. ellie blinks, something about you making her stomach lurch. she's instantly put on edge, shameless in the way she examines your features.

your brow is knit in distaste for the trespassing girl. your eyes are sharp and steady as you pin your gaze onto hers. your hands are clasped behind your back, formal and almost robotic. or at least, that's how ellie sees you.

ellie reaches under her jacket and pulls out her badge. "fbi."

"there's no fbi in bluefeild." you point out, voice steady and melodic. ellie's lips part at the sound but she shows no other form of sway. you eye her badge, ellie williams. noted to be a top agent in her line of work. your eyes narrow. "where exactly are you from?"

"richmond." she responds, eyes never leaving yours as she places her badge back into the interior pocket in her leather jacket.

you tilt your head, inquiring. "virginia?"

"yes." she confirms.

you hum, noting the four hour drive she's sure to have taken in order to get here. you looks out across the grass, seeing her car still running as it's parked on the side of the road, yellow headlights acting as a beacon against the dark night.

"it's late, miss williams." you tell her, turning back to her to find that ellie's eyes have yet to leave your face.

she analyzes each expression you make, contorting every detail to memory ⎯ from the way your eyes flick across her features to the way your shoulders shift slightly after having been standing in one position for so long. she memorizes you, allowing your very being to sink into her mind. for the case, of course. you're a suspect, after all. she needs to learn you and feel you out in order to get a proper read on whether you're innocent in all this. that's why she stares at you. that's why her pupils are blown and her lips are parted again. totally.

"do you want to come inside?" you offer, raising a brow at her strange, yet obvious sense of interest in you. "it's freezing out here and i happen to have just brewed some tea."

her eyes dart to the shabby church behind her. judging by the exterior of the building, imagining the place having ac and working electricity is shocking. but judging by what she'd seen of the inside, she's tempted to take you up on your offer. for the case.

"only if y' agree to answer some questions of mine." she says, deciding to set the terms and conditions early on.

your eyes narrow, "what type of questions?"

"the type i need in order to solve the case i'm workin' on." she replies, reminding herself of the large amount of missing men and boys who've disappeared in these past three months.

"mm," you hum.

you look her up and down, taking in the sight of her. it's rare to see any form of law enforcement out here. you'd lived in bluefeild all your life and never seen a cop or fbi agent outside of the television. her leather coat hangs heavy from her set shoulders. her chin is held high despite the way goosebumps trail across her skin due to the chill of the air. she's wearing baggy black pants and heavy combat boots. interesting.

"sure." you shrug. "i've nothing to hide."

"we'll see 'bout that."

her eyes rake over to where he car remains running. she leaves it, using it as a sign to you that she plans to make this quick. you understand the gesture and heed it with care, nodding as you shift around her and walk toward the entrance of the church. the large wooden doors are already unlocked as you push them open.

ellie draws her eyes across the foyer, noting the long hallway. to the left is a doorway leading to the sanctuary and chancel that she'd seen through the windows. to the right is a large door with a shiny golden handle, locked. the hall is lined with more doors, some locked whilst others are free to peer into.

you move about the space as though you'd lived here all your life. ellie supposes that might be true, actually.

you sweep down the hall before turning one of the corners down a branched passageway. ellie follows behind you, the hall illuminated by only a dim yellow light. on either side of the hall, more and more doors branch out to the side. ellie pays no mind to the building's layout anymore. instead, she finds herself more interesting in watching your habit billow behind you, your shoes clicking with each step against the tile.

eventually, you're both now in a kitchen area. ellie hasn't a clue when you'd gotten here, far too distracted by you to care much for the journey you'd taken her on.

the floor is tiled to mirror the sanctuary, counters made of marble. you flick a switch and the lights flutter on, a low hum sounding from the ceiling as the kitchen is illuminated by a yellow glow. on the counter, two cups of tea sit premade. you grab them, one in each hand.

with an amused expression, you pass one to ellie. she takes it, eyes the glass in her hand for a long moment. in the end, she decides against trusting it.

"uh," she clears her throat as she places the mug on the counter behind her, turning to you with an uneasy weariness. "you knew you'd have a guest?"

"hm?" you hum, tilting your head at her with an innocent curiosity.

"y' made two glasses." ellie points out. you continue to look at her, feigning confusion that urges her to continue her explanation. "it's just— well, i haven't seen anyone else here besides you."

"i hadn't priorly known of your arrival, if that's what you're suggesting." you inform her before taking a long sip from your mug, peering at her over the rim with an alluring twinkle to your eye. you lower it, keeping the glass poised between your hands as you lick your lips and continue. "i simply knew i wouldn't be drinking alone."

"what's that supposed to mean?" ellie inquires, those fbi instincts of hers lacing through her tone. her eyes glint with piqued interest, watching you with a steady sharpness. it weighs on your chest, heavy but enthralling.

"what i mean is," you place your mug on the counter with a light clink. "in this church, you're never alone. not really."

she raises a brow, back straightening. "someone else is here?"

"something." you correct, a smirk tugging at your lips. "a deity, spirit, ghost, demon. take your pick, miss williams. it hasn't a title just yet."

ellie has surely formed her doubts about whether or not you're mentally insane. she can't help but indulges you nonetheless. if she intends on puzzling out the mystery of the missing people, she can't outwardly state that you're crazy. so instead, she says, "are these,, things good? or are they evil?"

"mm," you shift, taking another long sip of tea. you ponder on her question while drinking, your mind deciding on exactly how much you wish to tell this governmental investigator. once your mind is made up, you place you mug back down and flash her an amused smile. "its morality varies. as i said, it doesn't much like the feel of being confined by the barbed wire of titles. plus, there's more than one. and none are a repeat of the other, each separated by individuality."

ellie bites back a scoff, trying her hardest not to just grab you by the shoulders and shake you senseless. she wants direct answers, not riddles. she hasn't the time to figure out what you're trying to get at.

"how many?" she asks. "like. are there lots of them or are they few and far between?"

your brow knits as you take a step closer. at your growing proximity, her breath hitches. you are more than just a nun, you're the embodiment of her obsession. all the care and time she'd poured into this case; you personify it.

you're a religious figure in and of yourself. something worthy of worship and praise. if you were to seen by the world as ellie sees you, historians would be studying you for eons to come. paintings and playwrights would be made in your honor, temples and statues forged in hopes that you'd bat the sculptor even a moment of your attention.

but, alas, that's not how the world works. instead, you're made to be a random nun who lives holed away in a ragged church in the middle of nowhere. perhaps the universe had been wise to hide you from the world, for fear of what your divinity would cause. a repeat of troy, no doubt. wars fought for your hand. lives lost for the pulpy beating heart caged behind your ribs.

"as many as i'd like." you tell her, face now mere inches away from her own.

your body is covered entirely by your habit, black fabrics hanging from your shoulders and arms as to keep your entire being shielded from sight. your hair is cast back and under your veil.

despite the coverage, ellie's enamor is unmoved. it's not your body or your hair that she's drawn to. it's the slope of your nose, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the color of your eyes. it's everything that makes you stand out like a brightly shining star in comparison to the dull darkness that is this church.

and stars like you ought to be admired.

"as many as—" she squeezes her eyes shut, knowing her only chance at regaining control of her head is to not face you. her mind is muddled by thoughts of you. she can't think straight. when she reopens her eyes, she could've sworn you've moved closer. "what're you sayin'? i don't—"

"don't understand?" you finish for her, tone pitched in regalement. your head tilts to the side, your noses brushing. "few people do."

"just tell me what y' mean." she utters, voice a whispered breath across your face in the form of a plea. "tell me without the riddles. tell me without trying to evade the truth. tell me with honesty. if you're straight forward with me, i'm sure i'll understand."

you sigh through your nose, leaning away from her. she follows you like a fish on a hook. you take a step back and she takes one forward. noticing, you hold a hand up to halt her movements and she instantly ceases, blinking at you with parted lips.

your head is downcast, palm against her chest. "you'd hate me."

"hate you?" she questions.

despite only just having met you, ellie is quite certain she'd never come to hate you. your very being is as much a wonder to her as life itself. you're a celestial beauty she cannot bear to tear her eyes from. hate is foreign when you're the context in which it's spoken.

"yes." you confirm, expression contorting into one of feigned guilt. and, had ellie not been in such blind awe of you, she'd have likely seen through your facade of deception. "i've made mistakes; plenty. i could never expect you to hear me speak of them and look past their malice."

"but i would." she whispers, taking a step nearer. she places a hand on your wrist, lowering your palm that had priorly been raised between the two of you. she looks down at where she touches you, albeit through the cloth of your gown. "i'd look past it. i'd see you as i do now regardless of what you'd done."

you shake your head, "you cannot mean that."

"i do." she brings your hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against the hills of your knuckles. she looks up at you through her lashes, her mouth remaining close to your skin as she whispers, "i do mean it."

you feel guilt settle deep within your chest, burrowing between your ribs and in the very tissue of your heart. an immoral darkness encompasses the organ ellie so desperately desires to obtain.

you'd lured people into your entrapment many times before. but something about ellie makes you feel bad for doing what you know you need to.

but it's too late now.

she's your last victim. the final sacrifice needed in order to finish what you'd started back in december. after taking her life, all will be well. all will be well. all will be well. well, well, well, well. you repeat this over and over in your mind as ellie kneels before you. she looks up at you as though you're an alter made for this. for worship.

your breath catches in your throat as you watch her sink to the tiled flooring, hands brought up to rest at your hips. her fingers fist the fabric of your habit as she speaks once more, "allow me to prove how much i mean it?"

your head is swimming, unsure on what to do. logically, you know you should stop this before it gets too far. you've already lured her in close enough to do what's needed. but, for some reason, there's a thick knot forming in your chest. as it grows, you come to realize it's not a knot at all. it's a fist. it's ellie's fist.

her eyes bore into your own, her hands remain gripping your hips. somehow, though, you feel as though they're managing to trace their way through you. they line your bones and caress your tendons before inevitably finding their way to your heart. she holds it in the palm of her figurative hands as her physical ones begin to hike up your habit, slowly pulling the cloak up from the floor.

still, despite the discernible desire in her eyes, she does nothing but wait for your response of consent.

it's inexorable, the way you give in. the slight nod of your head had been predestined from the moment you spotted her at that window; and it will continue to prove relevant until your respective faits are sealed.

to ellie, it felt as though you'd taken hours to reply despite it only having been a minute or less. but the moment you nod, she's moving eagerly. she's grabbing your hips and hoisting you up onto the counter whilst simultaneously struggling to pull up the skirts of your clothes. she's trying to do so many things at once that it's dizzying. for both parties.

you aid her, shifting atop the marble as you pull the habit up to reveal what lies beneath it.

ellie feels the world fall from beneath her knelt locale as she stares. a pair of black lace panties adorn you, the upper half of your body remaining covered by the bunched cloth of your habit. the time she takes to memorize you feels agonizing as you sit there, itching to feel her body on yours.

once she's confident that the image has been successfully engraved into her mind, she leans forward. your legs are already parted when her mouth makes contact with your clothed vulva. the wetness that soaks the material soon made into a mixture of your arousal and ellie's opened mouth.

her tongue traces light circles into your clit, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your grip on your habit begins to loosen. you toss your head back in pleasure, the sound of ellie's slurping and licking mixing with the mechanical hum of the lights.

"ohmygod," she says against you, the vibrations of her voice making your breath pick up its pace. "you're so fucking perfect."

one of your hands comes down to tangle in the auburn of her hair, tufts weaving between your shaky fingers. you tug on it, pulling a grunt form the back of ellie's throat as her scalp stings. despite her noise of pain, this only manages to make ellie more vehement in her actions.

she grabs the hem of your panties with her teeth, yanking them to the side. her eyes are shut as she licks a long strip through your wet muscle. you can’t help the way you stare down at her, watching as she puts her absolute all into making you feel good. and, as it turns out, she’s quite skilled at doing so.

ellie's mind is fogged over, mimicking the way her car's windows had been earlier. she supposes there’s no true difference there, however. the interior of her car had been warm in comparison to the cool outside air. swap the temperatures and there’s naught that varies. the warmth that you provide makes ellie feel cold in contrast, which ends in a fogged mind.

the taste of you is enough to make her lose whatever sanity remains intact. all that adrenaline that had flowed through her earlier is being poured into you.

after all, stars should be worshipped right? they should be admired from below, gawked up at. they should be mapped and studied by only the wisest of mankind. they should be doted on with a possessive sense of adoration, one only fit for something so celestial and untouchable as a star.

and that's what you are. to ellie, at least. you're a brightly shining nebula — a feathery cloud of vibrancy, visible only in the darkest of nights. only in the coldest of weathers. only in most decrepit of churches. only here, only now.

only when fate is carved in this exact way. had one thing been altered, none of this would have taken place. it was providence that brought you together. you weren't written in the stars or tethered your entire lives. in fact, the chance of your paths crossing was rather low. but, honestly, that only makes your acquaintance more deeply rooted in kismet. makes it more special.

"fuck," you pant, chest heaving as you squeeze your eyes shut. your head thuds against the cabinet as you tighten your grip on ellie's hair. she groans, fingers pressing deeply into the skin of your hips, hard enough to leave a bruise. your thighs tighten around her head, a coil of heat sitting heavily in the pit of your stomach. "ellie, i'm—"

she tilts her head up slightly, nose pressing into the bead of your clit. she watches through lidded eyes as you come undone onto her face.

she savors it, committing every little detail to memory. a habit this has become, watching you. your brows knit, your legs shake slightly, you breath hitches. and ellie retains all to it.

she made you see stars. made you look into a mirror and see yourself.

that feeling of blissful release is what she feels every time she's fortunate enough to gaze upon you. and now you've experienced it. and she cannot feel more accomplished than she does right now.

"this," you pant, tugging on her hair to bring her face up to your own. she does as you direct her, standing from the floor to press your foreheads together. "was a terrible idea."

"yeah?" she breathes out. "and why's that?"

you run your hands up and down her back, fingertips tracing the stitching of her leather jacket. you can feel the outlined letters of her 'fbi' label. that familiar twinge of guilt encircles you.

she's a good person — a woman who's to spend the rest of her life helping random people she doesn't know. and yet, here she is. made unfortunate enough to have succeeded in her endeavor.

she stares at you like you're a god, something heavenly. something seraphic. something worthy of her.

"i'm not a good person." you whisper, leaning away from her proximity. predictably, she follows, leaning closer with a desperation only fit for one in love.

the guilt of what you must do is eating you alive. it claws at your chest, snapping your ribs like twigs as it wedges between them to burrow deep within you. it's agonizing yet completely unavoidable.

and in a sickeningly poetic outturn, a random butcher knife is sat neatly atop the marble counter only a foot away from where you sit. just as ellie meets your eyes, the blade happens to catch the light and reflect yellow luminescence. a grotesque reminder of what you're unable to run from.

"nobody is innately good. and, as a nun, y' should know that better than anyone." ellie huffs out a laugh, eyes not daring to stray from you. "in other words, i don't care."

"but you should." you insist, voice teetering on the edge of plea.

"and yet, i don't." ellie counters, just as passionate in her solemnity. you suck in a breath, eyes glossing over. she looks at you with a fondness that feels foreign. she cups your cheeks between her palms, repeating, "i don't."

"i've done horrible things." you say.

"you're a nun." she points out with a light chuckle rumbling her chest. "how horrible could these things have been?"

part of you wants to open up to her, tell her everything that's been weighing on you for these past three months. but each time you get close to a confession, something inanimately symbolic taunts you. whether that be the butcher knife, the hum of electricity, the gun holster at her hip, the residual lust in your chest, or the bright yellow lettering on her jacket.

that gun is meant for you just as that butcher knife is meant for ellie. she'd been wise to bring a weapon, a clear sign that she'd intended on finding someone culpable enough to suspect. and you'd been wise to set the blade atop the counter on the off chance that you'd meet your final victim tonight.

you feel sick to your stomach.

"oh shit," ellie curses as she takes notice to the way you're visibly crumbling in front of her. "i— uh, i didn't mean to be, like, insensitive or anythin'. i'll still listen to you. and i promise to not hate you. promise to never hate you."

"ellie, stop." you sigh. "you can't promise something like that. you don't even know what i—"

"then tell me." she insists, your face still in her cupped hands. you look at her through blurred vision, naught but sincerity behind her pale green irises. "if y' tell me what it is that y' did, we can both carry the burden."

you're instantly shaking your head.

"you don't have to do this alone." ellie says. "plus, isn't a weight split a lighter load than one full?"

as you stare into her eyes, you can't stop yourself from what comes next. you're unable to keep your mouth shut when she's looking at you like that. you decide to tell her, opening your ribs and bearing your heart as though she hadn't already taken it from you. you truly feel more bare in this moment than you did when she'd literally been eating you out.

ellie put her entire trust into you when letting down her guard and abandoning the case she'd obsessed over for weeks. she dropped it like it were nothing, focusing entirely on you in its stead. the least you could do is be honest, right? plus, she's not leaving here anyway. you'd locked the door the moment you two entered the kitchen when she'd been too distracted by your beauty to notice. the trap is already set and she's sitting inside of it without a care. all you need to do now is pull the strings.

but first comes honesty.

for ellie, you'd peel off your clothes. you'd peel off your skin. you'd peel off your flesh. then, when you're naught but bones, you'd give yourself to her. you'd give your entire being to her. not because you think you're worthy of her possession, but because this is all you have. the only thing you're able to offer her as a symbol of your devotion, it's yourself.

though, while you're unable to strip yourself clean off your bones, you feel as though rendering yourself vulnerable and fragile is the next best thing you can offer. for her, you are willing to do the priorly unthinkable.

"you're here in search of the missing men, are you not?" you ask, beginning with baby steps. "in search of who's behind their absences?"

ellie straightens, "i am."

"well." you gesture down at yourself. at your crooked veil that shows stray hairs peeking from underneath; at your hiked up habit, just barely falling to cover your underwear; at your knees that rest on either side of ellie's waist; at your vulnerable state that you're offering up to her. at your bones. "you've found me."

ellie's heart stutters in her chest. not because of what you'd revealed to her, but because you trusted her enough to do so. she no longer cares an ounce for the missing people of bluefeild. all she wants is you. she may be a fool to be this way, but she's in far too deep to mind.

she gives you a weak smile, "i don't care."

"what?" you croak. you stare at her incredulously. there's no way she doesn't care. there's no fucking way. "yes you do."

"i don't."

you blink, looking her up and down. there must be something you're missing — her reaching for her gun, her taking a step backward, her eyes darting toward the knife. but she does none of that. she simply remains stood between your legs, keeps her hands on you, and stares directly into your eyes as you confess your gravest of sins.

"but—" you shake your head, stammering. "but i killed all those people. they're dead. all of them. over two hundred men are buried behind the church."

"i don't care." she repeats, noticing the way your voice raises with trepidation. she traces her hands down your arms, stopping only when they reach your own. she tangles your fingers together, feeling the way your body relaxes slightly to the feel of her touch.

"i killed them because i was paid to." you tell her, your mind reeling as you're unable to grasp her lack of care. you talk in a frantic quickness, rushing to get the truth out for fear that ellie will change her mind in the time it takes for you to speak. "their wives, neighbors, daughters. they— they'd come to me in the confession booths and tell me of the men's abuse o-or assault or misdeeds. and i'd kill them for them. i don't—"

ellie's face remains soft. "you did a good thing, then."

"you can't be serious." you huff, eyes watering with the sheer confusion building within you. "i don't understand how you can still look at me like that. i took their lives. these people, i— they had dreams, they had aspirations and goals and families and—"

"listen," ellie whispers, her hands squeezing yours. "they were horrible people that hurt women. they were abusers and rapists and i don't care what y' did to them or how. all i care about is whether or not y' feel better."

"what?" you ask, voice nigh a breath. "what do you mean feel better?"

"to have gotten that off your chest." she digresses.

you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. the adrenaline of the confession slowly dwindles and you're no longer spiraling. you stare at ellie, centering on her face as the world comes back into focus.

you count your senses one by one. the smell of tea, the sound of humming lights, the feel of a hard counter beneath you, the taste of a bitter truth, the sight of ellie's fond expression. your breathing levels out, slowly but surely. and ellie stares at you the entire time. memorizing you.

"yeah." you whisper. "yeah, i do."

"then that's all that matters."

a supernova; to watch a star combust and explode, a colossally significant occurrence that only the most fortunate are able to witness. ellie considers herself to be substantially fortunate. not only because of what she'd just seen, but because of who it was that did it.

to her, this is even better than a natural supernova. rather than watching a random gassy ball of light die, its you. someone she adores and treasures. and you didn't die. instead, you opens yourself willingly to her. you broke down your walls and bore yourself to her. for ellie, that is far more important than some star's death.

"but—" you say, bringing her attention back to your face. your brows are knitted, clearly struggling to get the words out. she watches you with an easy patience, pupils blown as she submits this to her memory alongside all other files in her brain saved under your name. "but there's more."

"let's hear it." she replies, raising a brow.

you suck in a deep breath, lowering your head as to not face ellie before speaking. "i didn't just start killing whatever men that these women were asking of me. it started smaller. i killed animals, put them in a circle of salt, drew and pentagram, the whole ordeal."

"you sacrificed them?" she asks, tone remaining laced with gentility.

"yes." you nod. "i felt my baptism wasn't enough. god never answered me anyway, he never aided me when i needed it most. he watched my suffering and did nothing. so, i resorted to a new deity of worship." you lift your gaze to meet ellie's. "satanism."

"i'm sorry, i don't—" she blinks a few times, confused. "i don't understand."

"as a child, i relied on god to do everything. my life was nothing without him in it to keep me going. but as i grew, i realized it was unrequited. he cared nothing for me, watching with regale as i sobbed and begged for his help." you explain. "so, as a teenager, i switched over to satanism — worship of someone who actually cared enough to save me."

ellie says nothing, staying silent as you confide in her. she continues to hold your hands, softly cradling them on either side of where you sit.

"but then he wished for payment." you continue. "sacrificial lives as a form of repent for all those years i'd spent as a baptist. i obliged, of course. i killed bunnies and deer, doing research to understand how exactly to offer the stolen lives to him. but as of late, he's wanted more."

"humans." ellie guesses.

"yeah." you confirm. "but i couldn't bring myself to kill random innocent people. so i became a nun and listened in on the confession booths. then, i'd ask the confessors if they wished for me to intervene. they'd concur, paying me to take the lives of their abusers." you recall the fear in the women's voices, the shakiness to their hands as they slipped money through the cracks of the door. "they never saw my face, only heard my voice. and, seeing as i live in the church, none of the recognized me. i soon became a symbol of hope for women and one of fear for men."

ellie's mind strays back to all the religious symbols staked in the yards. "that explains their heavy faith. they think you're some type of prophet."

"yeah, but there's more." you say. "i've researched many, many books to make sure i get this ritual right. and, as it turns out, my 250th victim has to be a martyr. someone who doesn't believe in anything. doing this seals the ritual, ending it."

"good luck finding someone here who meets that criteria." she chuckles.

"exactly." you say carefully. "everyone in bluefield is heavily religious. unless that someone has come from out of town."

"me."

"i wish it wasn't." you rush to explain. "i wish there was some other way i could do this. but it has to be today. i need to do it before another woman comes in asking for my help or the numbers will get thrown off. and if i decline her, i'll lose the faith of all the women in bluefeild."

"okay," ellie shrugs. "do it."

"...what?"

"i don't care." ellie says, the sentence becoming something of a catchphrase for her.

the world stops. again. it screeches to a halt and you almost slam forward at the speed of which it crashed down. you stare at ellie with wide eyes, made shocked by her for a second time. someone so hauntingly perfect cannot truly offer herself up to you like this. she can't seriously be holding out her hand, asking for death to take it.

but what you don't know is that ellie would deem it a gift to die by your hand. it'd be better than dying as a withered elder attached to a beeping machine, or as an agent amid a case who only got to see you in her dreams.

but, this way, she'd be with you always. her love for you would be immortalized; she would be tied down to the very threads that make up the the fabrications of your soul. oh a gift that would be.

"do it." she repeats.

"what?, i don't—" she silences you by leaning forward, pressing her lips against yours.

ellie had kissed you out of impulse, knowing no other way to silence that thundering uncertainty that rumbles your brain. but the moment she does it, she's positive she'll never be able to pull away.

your lips are a cathedral of which she cannot help but melt into, your body a temple she's knelt before and wouldn't hesitate to do again. she kisses you with devout piety, her body molding into yours with each touch that lingers on your skin. somehow, this measly kiss is far more intimate than all else before it.

a silent tear slips from your closed eye as you subtly reach your hand over to where you know the butcher knife lies in wait. ellie surely feels your movement, there's no way she doesn't. but she makes no move to stop kissing you, her lips moving with a vehement neediness.

you loathe the way your fingers find the hilt of the knife. even more so, you despise the way you wrap your hand around it and bring it toward ellie.

she knows. she knows what you're about to do.

and she allows it.

love isn't easy for ellie, never had been. but with you, everything falls into place as though it'd been predestined to do so her entire life. as she feels your body shift toward the knife, nothing runs through her mind aside from your name. on repeat, the singular word replays over and over. she wraps your name around her skull, weaving the letters between her thoughts and molding the syllables against her brain. she was born to love you. and so long as she was able to do so, she'd be okay.

just as the tip of the blade brushes her jacket, you pull away from the kiss and stare at her. the knife remains at her back, resting against leather but not daring to press any harder. ellie's pupils are blown, her lips wet from your own saliva.

"i can't." you utter. "i can't do this to you."

she sighs, "i already told you it's fine, angel. just— as long as i have you near me, i'm content with my decision."

"no." you shake your head. "no i know. it's—" knowing ellie wouldn't understand your explanation, you decide to show her what you mean. with your free hand, you place your palm against her gun holster. "whatever you go through, i want to be there with you."

her eyes widen at your words. she jolts away from you, appearing as though she'd been burned. she sets her jaw, turning her hip away from your reach. "no."

"ellie, please." you implore, tone beseeching. "i can't live on knowing i'd done this to you."

"it's unavoidable." she reminds you. "y' made a deal with the fuckin' devil, or, well— i'm honestly not too sure on the details, but— y' can't not follow through. i understand, okay? finish the damn ritual and live your life."

"i don't want to." you plead with her. "not without you."

she shakes her head, eyes glossing over. despite the evident distaste, her refusal is weak. she stands only a foot away from you, seeming as though she's physically incapable of moving any farther.

"ellie," you say, whispering her name like a prayer. she can't help but look up at you through watery eyes. "ellie, please."

"i don't want you to die." she says, voice nigh a whimper.

"we'll be together, ellie," you tell her, hopping down from the counter to approach her. the blade remains in your hand, long forgotten to the both of you as the sight of the other is far more appealing. "if we do this, we can be together for all of eternity. they'll find our fossils in a million years, bones entwined. they won't even know who's who."

she chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "god, how stupid would that be?"

you laugh with her, "so stupid."

you're both crying now, tears streaming down your faces as you stare at one another. slowly, ellie pulls the gun from her holster. she's unsure on how this will go down, but she's willing to try. for you.

to be loved is a horrific thing, you've found. it's to be swallowed whole by something so disgustingly beautiful that you're incapable of turning away.

ellie takes a step closer, the distance between the two of you closing. her left hand holds the gun, her right hand coming up to wrap an arm behind your neck. she pulls your toward her, pressing another kiss to your mouth.

your tears mingle, forming a salty sea on your touching cheeks. you sob against her, chest heaving as you pull her closer with one hand, the other holding the knife. she tastes of sacrilege, salvation, and sacrifice. the ghosts that will haunt this decrepit church until the end of time. together.

whatever string that pulled the two of you toward each other will be knotted, tying two lost souls in search of the other.

"ellie," you whisper between wet kisses, lifting the knife to rest at the nape of her neck, "it's time."

she lets out a sob, a convulsive gasp tearing from her throat. "okay,"

you count down, the two of you agreeing to do it at the same time. you'll drive the blade into her neck whilst she pulls the trigger. your bodies will fall in unison, clinging to one another.

when you reach one, you sink the blade into her with a sickening squelsh. she chokes, dropping the pistol to the floor. it lands with a loud clank moments before her body falls with a thud. your eyes widen, heart ceasing. blood pools onto the white tiles and only one thought runs through your mind: she didn't pull the trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger.

she

didn't

pull

the

trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't—

you fall to your knees beside her, hands coming to cradle her bloodied face. you pull her head into your lap, rocking back and forth as crimson soaks into the black fabric of your habit. you clutch her tightly against you, pressing hard on her slit neck, willing the blood to go back inside.

death doesn't take her hand. instead, he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her for the untimely demise she'd agreed to. the heart she'd taken from you rattles. the death rattle. you choke out a sob at the sound, everything aching.

you lean forward, pressing a kiss to her cold, dead lips. she doesn't kiss you back. you pull away, panting hard as your chest heaves and your eyes burn.

then, in the corner of your eye, you see the metal of ellie's pistol. you crawl across the kitchen toward the weapon, realizing she hadn't even cocked it. god, how had you been so stupid? you do it for her, loading the bullets into the chamber.

with the gun now in your possession, you crawl back over to ellie.

you position yourself atop her, entwining your legs and placing your head on her chest. it doesn't rise nor fall, no beating heard from beneath her ribs. you sob, placing the gun's barrel to the soft part of your chin.

then, without another thought, you pull the trigger. you pull it because ellie was unable. because ellie couldn't bear to do it for you. a part of you resents her for this, but another part can't feel anything for her aside from utmost love.

and there lie two bodies. lifeless.

ellie found what she'd been searching for all her life: something worthy of her devotion. something she can pour her all into. that had been why she became an fbi agent in the first place — in search something to worship whole heartedly. simultaneously, you'd found what you'd been searching for as well: peace.

in the end, however, it had all been for naught.

the ritual didn't work.

it needed someone faithless, someone who didn't care for religion, for god. but that wasn't ellie. not anymore, at least. because, after having met you, she'd finally found something worth her revere.

you were her religion.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist. @luvsturniolo @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart @kasqnxx @xlovla

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 additional note. i want this to be said here because i know this piece is super fucking heavy. ellie and the reader's relationship is so fucking toxic. anyone who reads this, i hope you realize how absolutely horrific their love story truly is. there's a shit ton of symbolism weaved within this story that i didn't outwardly state (though most of it i blatantly explained). if u have any questions regarding this piece, i'd love to talk about it bc i put a lot of time into making it.

but, again, their relationship is TOXICCCCCCCCCC!!!!!! it's not meant to be idolized or romanticized in any way. if you didn't notice, i barely used the word 'love' and never made either of them say 'i love you'. that was for a reason!!!! because what they share isn't love. it's unhealthy obsession & i need that to be outwardly said before i post this

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year ago

Note

Have some more language brainrot for your brainrot

Writer reader getting kind of insecure that even if they write something nobody will understand it, so when Al haithem askes you if he can keep a draft or two just for analyzing, there's hesitant agreement but ultimately you tell him to please burn the documents once he's done. They're too awkward to look at now...

Only he doesn't burn them, in fact he ends up recruiting several people close to the creator with knowledge of olden speak to analyze them. A funeral parlor consultant well known for his historical knowledge, a 500 year old shrine maiden who owns and runs her own publishing house, and a bard who somehow butted his way in on the project. None of them could resist the opportunity to witness the creator's sacred scriptures with their own eyes.

Needless to say, the papers ended up being fought over and have been making their rounds around your acolytes. It started with Ei, who insisted that as an archon she also should see the creator's work with her own eyes. Then once Ningguang found out, she ordered they be handed over to a team of literary analysts in order to be properly handled and deciphered. Things got really messy quick, but have luckily come to a halt as none of the acolytes want the creator to know their random writings are being fought over.

Especially when it comes to the creator's sullen additute. Their acolytes first have to convince their holiness that their inability to read and understand the creator's writing shouldn't prevent you from doing what you love. In fact... could they convince you to write some more?

WRITER OR READER WITH TALENTS HAS MY WHOLE HEART LIKE-

On one hand, same 💀 id be terrified for my all time fav skrunklies to see my bs

But at the same time i rlly wanna show them goddamit- THANK U FOR THE BRAIN FOOD IM RUNNING LAPS AROUND MY HOUSE THINKING ABT THIS-

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them), Writer!Reader

Planet: Language Shenanigans

Orbit: Scenario

Stars: Alhaitham mostly, some of Kaveh, mentions of other Sumeru characters

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Insecure about craft/writing, anxious first pov (not serious),

& Trigger Warnings: Mild Negative self-talk, insecure perspective/reader “you”, possible anxiety depiction.

You were not a very confident writer.

This had been an avoidable feeling ever since you picked up a pen for the first time and were asked to write a story for school.

You were always anxious turning in essays, letting friends proofread them, anything that would expose your writing to more eyes, because you’d learned the hard way early on that as you get older and better at something, the stuff from the beginning… starts to look a lot different than you remember.

things you used to be proud of after having completed them in the moment, were something you struggled not to rip to shreds a year or two after you re-found it.

If it weren’t for other writers advising holding onto old work so you can see your progress over time, you’d have probably literally nothing older than one year on your ao3, wattpad, etc…

So when you had the fortunate luck (no it is not unfortunately, you are very happy to be here tbh) to fall headfirst into your video game you’ve been obsessed with lately,

You were not planning on showing them any of your writing.

Why would you, after all? You’ve got the weapons, the artifacts, everything they need to be more powerful. Why would you show them a silly little story you wrote? Fanfic or otherwise, not that theyll recognize any characters besides themselves, but still.

Alhaitham, bc ofc it was alhaitham, cocky, deviously aware bastard he is, caught you writing in your spare time first.

You’d gotten your hands on an old journal (if made you feel better than something completely new, a nice worn leather journal, sold at a secondhand shop from an old adventurer) and had started to write what you could remember about some of your ideas you’d had drafts for in your old world

After initially walking in on you writing in the House of Daena (it was the closest you could get to lofi girl, god u missed her lmao), you nearly jumped a foot in the air bc Haitham’s a nosy bitch and leaned over your shoulder and scared the absolute shit out of you, mans goes from asking politely, to begging you to let him read some of your writing over the course of 3 weeks (a month really)

Finally, after this 6 ft (about 180cm) man leans down one day (you’re sitting writing again), and gives you the most insanely good?? puppy dog eyes??? you’ve ever seen on a man???

you give in, revise a draft about 5 times in a row, lose sleep bc ur having a breakdown about alhaitham judging ur writing the night before you give him his copy-

and hand over a small short story for him to read. you specifically leave a little note not to judge you so hard for Haitham bc u werent used to people reading ur work/let alone someone as highly academic as him, ESPECIALLY since your speech is already so much more archaic than his/all of Teyvats-

His stupid green eyes with diamonds look into your soul (are they sparkling??) and he braces your shoulders after you give him his copy,

“Mine Greatest Guide, you hath deemed this one worthy of thy trust of your creations personally, I would be a fool to gaze upon it in jest. To take this work as anything less than a masterpiece in its infant stages.”

…you just leave him to it, and are nearly running out of there (u managed to be calm enough to just speedwalk),

and you make a point to not ask what he thought about it, or even bring it up at all

you’re kind of hoping he forgot tbh… and so nothing happens!

◇

Nothing happens… for 2 weeks after you gave Haitham a copy of your short story.

You still don’t know Alhaitham’s opinion when you see the advertisement, a sign saying something about, a new book? By YOU???

You nearly start a mob because the shopkeeper insisted you sign some copies, but you only signed a few before too many people overwhelmed you, and seeing it was that same draft- !! Oh god, you’d been agonizing over the spelling errors you’d missed when you gave it to Alhaitham, and now it’s just out there???

(luckily it seems the reviews are positive, but dammit you’ve been rereading ur story u gave him for days, and now ur positive it’s shit-)

You make a break for it, and are literally running (more like speed-walking after a while, since u got further away) thru Sumeru City:

you pass by the open patio of a restaurant, the scholars are heatedly discussing ur characterization-

you pass by Dehya, Candace, and Dunyazard, the merc is waving around a copy of ur book, the other two women look excited abt the conversation-

oh my god-

Nahida is relaxing in one of the many little gazebos thruout Sumeru, while Wanderer seems to be reading your story to her-

You fucking track down Alhaitham’s house like a bloodhound.

You are banging the infamous gay roommates’ front door, panting til ur throat burns raw.

“Yes, yes, alright, greetings to you too! I was simply visiting the Acting Grand Sage Alhaitham, tis why I’m here- Greatest Lord?!”

Kaveh is nearly jumps a foot in the air at the sight of you, but recovers, (you’re still not tho lmao)

and invites you in bc apparently, Alhaitham’s been meaning to talk to you about your draft you gave him!

Oh yeah, you’ve got some words to give Haitham after giving him that damn draft privately-

But when he sees you, the fucker just- smiles??

Like he’s done nothing wrong???

You’re about to tear into him when he speaks first to tell you the good news!

He grabs your hands at the table and gets down on one knee, ohhhh no.

Alhaitham is giving you those damn begging puppy dog eyes again.

“My Greatest Lord, Giver of Power, and Guide to All, your exquisite story has entranced all of Teyvat, might I please insist you write a sequel? It is an excellent literary piece to analyze… or perhaps, even better, share other stories you’ve written??”

…

….Motherfucker.

☆

Hello I’m alive! I just took a longer-than-usual break between posts from those last 2 mammoth pieces about gifts,

1: bc they were a lot to write in between writing other stuff like fanfics im already working on lol 2: I got busy with holidays and trying to apply to jobs!

Not that I’m still not doing that.. but you get what I mean!

Safe Travels Anon,

That being said, as you’ve probably noticed, I’ve made a kofi! so if you ever liked my writing (hot mess it is) and want to show me some love, feel free to leave a tip! :]

Iced coffee?? :0

💀♒

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

#hello i live #i just took a longer than normal break between posting bc the gifts were vv big and i had holidays/job searching to do #which i am still looking #but its better now #also gonna start linking my kofi if anybody is feeling generous! :]#sagau #genshin sagau #genshin isekai #my asks #genshin imagines #gender neutral reader #self aware genshin #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact isekai #genshin x reader

1K notes · View notes

mirohlayo · 11 months ago

Text

HATE YOU LOVINGLY | LN4 (pt2)

( you hate him just as he hates you. but maybe it's just his way to show he fell hard for you. )

warning : jealousy, slight angst, fluff

note : i spent my whole evening writing this but it's worth it. also wrote once again more than 5k words i surprised myself because even in french i don't write that much

word count : 5.1k

↳ part 1

!! english is not my first language !!

this season's debut is tough for you. being a new f1 presenter is not as amazing as it looks. of course it's a wonderful job, you couldn't have dreamed better because it's the job you so wanted. you're very passionate about it, but it requires a lot of work and to be honest you're feeling a bit tired since some weeks now.

but the thing that disturbs you and makes you really tense is when you interview lando. actually just lando. of course you still don't like him, but you're sure you don't hate him anymore. you thought you would never say this but you definitely started to appreciate him. because of the post race interviews.

you mostly interview the mclaren drivers. it means that you can share some time with your best friend oscar but it also means you have to face lando. and when it happens it's the most stressful and strained moment. because you can't fully concentrate yourself on the questions.

it's the way he looks at you with this intense gaze, which makes you burn inside of your body. his distracting look always finish to fall on your lips at one point of the interview. it makes you go crazy. he would stare a bit at them before looking you in the eyes like nothing happened.

but to revenge on him you would ask him the most tough questions. about the race, about qualifying. you somehow always manage to prick his weaknesses by asking questions whose answers are almost impossible to find. and he always scoff, he lets a laugh out because he perfectly understands what you always try to do.

and fans notice it. they notice the way you two interact on camera. they'd say both of you look like are going to murder each other with the difficult questions from you and the sassy comments and answers from lando. but if they really analyze the situations, they can caught and feel a link between you. a special link which connects you. they notice lando's wandering eyes on your lips and the way you look at him. and laugh at his jokes.

it seems like you try so hard to show everyone you hate each other but it ends up watching two fools being secretly in love.

but you're still sure lando hates you and he's thinking the same for you.

now the australian grand prix will take place this sunday, and today it is thursday. which means conferences and media duties. the mclaren media team has planned a new sort of video. they want to try different types of content for both the drivers this year. and they organized a video with lando and you as guests. the idea of the video is to make lando choose an outfit for you and you'll try it. it can be a good way to show mclaren's fans your relationship and also lando's style and taste.

"y/n will arrive in a few minutes" stephanie, who oversees media and PR functions for mclaren, informs lando that you'll be here soon. the curly haired just nods and fixes his hoodie's sleeve. his expression is impassive, nobody can't tell what emotion he's feeling right now. however, some of the members are aware of the complex relationship between you and lando so they profoundly hope the video will not be a mess.

you guys just need to cooperate and fake it, fake your emotions only for the video. because it is your jobs.

lando laughs with the makeup artist who is adjusting his makeup. he lifts up his eyes and then he sees you walk in the room. you smile and greet the staff, waving your hand to some acquaintances. and in this moment he daydreams. he stops himself on you. your smile, the way you act with people around you with the kindest words and purest actions. he's mesmerized by you. and he hates it.

you make everything so difficult for him. why do he constantly have this problem ? this need to keep an eye on you, to lay eyes on you at least once a day. to be sure you're present and if you're not then he's always questioning himself, he thinks about you. why he's so attracted by you ? he thinks that he always hated you, that he was sure that this curiosity he had for you at the beginning had turned into hatred. but ultimately maybe he was lying to himself.

he only wanted to protect himself from his lack of self-confidence from trying to approach you without any result, and he decided to bury his true feelings under a shell. he created this false illusion of hatred so as not to hurt his ego, not to remind him that he is completely in love with you. because deep down he always saw you as an inaccessible woman and he always wondered how a guy like him could say a word to a woman like you.

he was too insecure and you seemed to avoid and ignore him, so it hurt him because he wanted to exist in your eyes. and that's why he started to hate you. but this feeling of hatred is simply wrong. it's an excuse to hide his feelings towards you. but he realizes that. he doesn't deny it anymore, he knows how fucking bad he's in love with you.

"lando ? you're still with us ?" your voice rings in lando's ears and he comes back to reality. you're standing next to him, and the staff is ready to start the video. "yeah sorry. i'm ready" he says and gives you a decided look. stephanie checks everything. she adjusts the little details to make everything look perfect. but she frowns when her eyes fall on you. "can you please try to be more relaxed and act like you're actually like each other ?"

she walks quickly over you and put her hands on your shoulders "you need to be closer to him, the framing looks horrible on the camera" she says while moving your position. your feet walk by themselves and you're so close to lando now, your shoulders almost touch together. you have never been so close to him. you can even smell his cologne.

he looks a bit uncomfortable now, he shifts his position and clear his throat. he can also smell your perfume too and he's completely hypnotized by it. and by the closeness of your body. stephanie take a look on the camera and she thumbs up. "perfect !! now we can start the recording. please no noise!" she sits on her chair and gives you the signal.

you inhale deeply. it's going to be funny right ?

"hello everyone !! today we are here with the driver lando norris and we're going to play a little game together" you smile to the camera and then turn around to talk to the driver next to you. he does the same and when your looks meet, his heart starts to beat faster. you continue to speak and explain the game but he doesn't listen, he's stuck on your hand on his shoulder. you have never touch him before, because if you dare brush him you know he'll be so pissed off. and you either don't want to graze his skin.

but it's all for the work, so you have to do it and to obviously fake it.

lando doesn't want to show you and people that he's surprised by the touch and that he actually likes it. so to shield himself he keeps a straight face and glare at your hand before taking a step back. you would be lying if you said he hurts you with this sudden move. but what, you also need to fake your hatred towards him. so you react like nothing happened despite the way your heart pangs.

"so are you ready to choose me an outfit ?" you ask to the driver and he doesn't ever bother to look you in the eyes. "yes, i think i'll do a great job". you try to hold back a roll eyes and you smile while nodding. but stephanie claps and sighs "no it's so bad. i know you two can't barely stand each other but you guys need to grow up and understand that you need to work together. it looks like you're going to fight. please be serious and mature and make an effort to show that you are at least close"

you sigh and nod to agree with her because you know she's right. you can't act like this in front of the camera and millions of people. "we're sorry. we're going to fix this problem and do our best" "who "we"?" lando says and shoot a black look to you. you bite your cheek from the inside and roll your eyes. now you're getting annoyed. "shut your mouth and stop being stupid. do your job." you murmur to him with frowning brows.

"don't talk to me like that. we're not friends and we'll never be" he adds. he says that to look pissed off, but the truth is that he hopes you'll never be friends. because instead he hopes you'll be his girlfriend. "i ask no more" you scoff and you sound genuinely honest and sincere. which twist his heart and feelings. wouldn’t he have said that ? now he starts regretting what he have said. do you really want him to remain your enemy?

he can't argue back because the recording is taking up again. the recording is going pleasantly well and it surprises the staff as much as you two. lando seems to choose with precision and care your outfit. he does his best to match the clothes and he picks up the best items. and it feels like he's doing it not on purpose, but sincerely. it feels like he truly wants to see you well dressed and it kinda disturbs you.

you go change yourself into the outfit. and it's really beautiful. the clothes match perfectly and you can't lie, he did a good job. you found yourself admiring your reflection in the mirror. you're wearing an outfit chosen by your enemy - no wait by the man you secretly love, and you like it a bit too much.

it's time for the outfit reveals. the camera still records and you're hidden behind a curtain. "okay lando are you ready to see the final result ?" you ask a bit excited about it. "yes show me" he only replies. you pull the curtain and lando's eyes immediately land on you. ohh.

wow. he stopped to breathe. he stopped to talk. is it legal to be this pretty? no because you're taking his breath away and it's not good at all. the outfit fits you perfectly, and he's even more proud because he was the one to choose it. but seriously, he sincerely thinks you look gorgeous that he doesn't even realize you were talking to him. "so how do i look ?" you ask with a smile.

he's flustered. he starts to blush so hard and he rapidly looks away. he tries to say something but he stutters so much over his words. you're making him loose all his senses. he doesn't even know how to talk anymore. "y-you look... i mean it looks good". he pulls himself together and names the outfit rather than you because he doesn't want to admit that you are incredibly beautiful.

"yes i agree with you, it definitely looks good" you reply and smile to him. but not a fake smile like you'd usually do. no, it's a sincere smile, the one smile he loves seeing. he blushes even more and he clear his throat. some staff members notice how lando looks destabilized by you and they laugh. he is unmasked. but you see he's starting to get embarrassed and you decide to end the video now.

"you were perfect, thanks for your hard work" stephanie says and the others members thanks you too. the record stops and you rush to go get changed. you don't even glance at lando, you just look like you can't wait to leave the room and the driver. and the curly haired feels a little disappointed. for the first time he really wanted to talk to you and say a few words to you.

he hesitates to follow you. it would be weird if he suddenly come and talk to you when you can't even look at each other properly.

but he doesn't care. he wants to be confident. he rushes to follow you and before you could walk away from him he grabs your wrist. your second touch. it gives him shivers. and you too because he notices how your skin reacted to the sudden touch. wait, do you feel the same as him ?

"what ?" your frown and glare at him. he removes his hand from your wrist and looks away. he wants to speak but his words are running away. why he's like that around you ? "huh... i just wanted to say that you are actually... really pretty in this outfit" he says and blushes so so hard. you stop yourself. are you dreaming ? is this even real ?

is it really lando ? it's not a false lando norris right ? you blink, and he can clearly tell you're surprised. like very surprised. which is stressful because he starts to regret what he have said. he is sure that you will take his compliment badly and that he will be able to go fuck himself. but no. it's not your reaction. "oh... thank you lando. i guess ?" you stutter a bit, you don't even know how to react at this point.

your reaction make him laugh softly and for the first time since you met, a positive interaction took place between you. it's like a dream, it can't be real. you thought you couldn't have a good talk with him. you genuinely thought you and him couldn't make it together. but it seems for once that you are able to do it.

"let me change myself now please" you say because you're too flustered to stay with him right now. it's kinda awkward though. "oh yes sorry" he only replies and walk away without anything else.

now this one was truly surprising. first you managed to work perfectly well together and then he complimented you ? something is off. he couldn't have change in a day no ? it's just so strange. but yet you don't complain. you're happy about your interactions today. because it finally seems that you both can now try to be more friends and to know how each other.

two months passed since that day. and surprisingly everything was getting better with lando. now you great each other every day, the post race interviews are definitely entertaining and you both enjoy them now. he's making jokes sometimes when he's around you and he's always excited to record new content with you. your relationship really improved these past months.

and lando is still so fucking in love with you. he fell even harder for you since you started to interact more with him. now he only has eyes for you, you're the only girl he thinks about, the only girl he wants so bad. and you feel the same too. your love for lando doubled and the only thing you wish for is to be with him. to be his girlfriend. just as he wants to be your boyfriend.

today you need to attend a gala. most of the drivers will be there and lot of your colleagues and others presenters will be there too. it's an important event so you need to dress well and of course you must attend it. you finish your hairstyle and spray perfume on your neck. you're ready.

you make it to the place and you're welcomed by a huge crowd of people and fans. a lot of them try to reach out the drivers. every drivers and presenters are on the huge red carpet. there are many cameras and journalists too. it is very vibrant, very lively. flash come from everywhere and you try to find faces you know. and then you find your best friend.

you rush to oscar. he spots you too and he walks towards you. "y/n ! you took a long time to come" he says and hugs you. you wrap your arms around him too and pull back after. "sorry, there was traffic" you reply. he looks good. he wears a suit with a tie and it looks perfect on him. because he's not the kind of man to pull out costume. so seeing the boy you grew up with in this outfit is shocking. it makes you wonder if his teammate is wearing the same as him ?

lando finishes his interview. he gives a small smile to the journalist and joins carlos and charles over there. he's scanning the crowd. he's looking around. he recognizes some f1 presenters and he wonders if you are here too. he wants to see you. he wants to talk to you. but the only person he sees is his old teammate daniel walking to the group of drivers.

"hello guys. how you all feeling ?" he asks and shows his best smile. "good. though i'm tired of these infinite interviews" charles jokes but the boys all know there's some kind of honesty about it. "long time not see" daniel says as he pats lando's shoulder. "c'mon man you played games with me this morning" he rolls his eyes but grin. daniel laughs and wink at him.

a gap settles between the two but it is filled by the voices of the ferrari drivers. and then daniel speak again. "she's pretty" he only says. lando frowns and turns his head to look at his friend. "what ?" "the woman there. she's really pretty. i think she's a presenter. i often see her the paddock" daniel says and a silly smile take place on his face. lando follows daniel's gaze and his look falls on the one only girl he hoped his friend wasn't talking about.

you.

you're laughing so hard with his teammate that you almost trip and you have to hang on to oscar to avoid falling. and yes, indeed you are beautiful tonight. not that you aren't every day because he could literally spend the whole day admiring you but this long black dress which perfectly highlights your body has a lot of effect on him. but he knows he's not the only one you have an effect on. his jaw clench. no, his friend can't be interested in you. he does not have the right. lando was here first, he's the one for you not daniel. he needs to do something. he needs to keep daniel away from you.

"hah, there's much better mate... like this one girl over here, she's prettier by far." lando says in a nonchalant tone, and he points to a brunette who is also one of your colleagues. lie. it's a lie but he needs to do it. "really ? i prefer my girl. but i didn't know you had your eye on this brunette. good to know boy" daniel gives a wink to lando.

my girl ? did he really called you my girl ? jealousy fills lando now. daniel can't allow himself to call you like that. he does not have the right. only lando can call you my girl. you're his girl. well not really actually but still in his eyes you're his precious and favorite girl. he needs to try something else. "no that's not what i meant" "don't worry lando i'll try to get her number for you" he adds with an implicit smile.

the situation gets worse. it's not good at all. "no but i know her and i already know you won't like her. her name is y/n. you know she's horrible and she is like super super annoying. plus she has a terrible sense of humor. doesn't match with you." he ramble about you like you are the most mean person on earth. daniel looks confused but his eyes suddenly sparks. "oh it's the one girl you hate right ?" he asks.

lando hates his behavior now but he needs to save his opportunity. "yes that's her. i wish she could stop existing" he jokes but he's genuinely shocked by his own words. he wants to slap himself. how he hates himself for talking about you like that. he doesn't deserve you at all. "you know what i'm gonna talk to her"

and without realizing it, he sees daniel walking to you. lando's heart skipped a beat. no no no. it can't happen. you're his girl. you don't need daniel. jealousy is running in his blood and he swears he have never been this jealous over someone. he doesn't want to see you talk to an other man than him. he doesn't want to see you laugh with his old teammate because he perfectly knows you love his humor. no you can't give your attention to daniel. it is lando first.

"hello y/n !" daniel greets you with his white teeth smile. you stop talking with oscar and mirror his smile. lando rushes over and joins you. now there are three boys surrounding you. "hello daniel. hi lando !" you say and your smile widen when you look at the mclaren driver. his heart melt from your reaction, he notices how your eyes sparks when you look at him. "you look beautiful" daniel says then he adds "but lando thinks this woman over here his prettier than you. i think he might have a crush on her. but don't worry i'm here for you y/n".

lando sees red now. why daniel said that ? it's fucking bullshit, you're the absolutely only woman he has eyes for. he almost yells at his friend but he pulls himself together. he just hopes you won't listen to his bullshit. he's really pissed of now. you feel strange. like your heart painfully pangs. because you think now that lando already has an other girl in his mind. and it hurts. you thought you were somehow different for him. but you guess not. you try to change the topic because you're getting upset and sad. "wait how do you know my name ?" you frown confused and daniel laughs softly. "lando told me about you" he replies.

your gaze shift on lando. he talked about you to daniel ? it must have been positive then. you show your best smile to him and you can't help but giggle a little. but lando looks impassive, he doesn't even smile to you back. no, he's glaring at you. just like before. just like two months ago when he was hating on you. you don't understand. "oh and what did he say about me ?" you ask curiously.

daniel pats his friend's shoulder with a desolate look. of course it is part of the joke. "well he told me you're the most horrible and annoying person to ever exist. oh he actually said he wish you could stop existing but he was joking about that." daniel laughs but you are not. what ? is that true ? "excuse me... he really said that ? did he actually mean it ?" you ask to be sure.

lando knows he's in shit. he fucked up. he wants to say something but daniel cuts him off. "i think so because he literally said he hates you. but i think you already know that don't you ?"

daniel wasn't doing it on purpose at all. he knows that you both hate each other, which is why he allows himself to joke about your relationship. but he doesn't know that you've gotten a lot closer lately. lando didn't tell him about his feelings for you because he didn't want to show that he loves you. he kept pretending to hate you when he was with daniel and now this is what shit he's in.

"i... sorry i thought we got along well? that our relationship was better..." you look at the driver you love. he shows no expression.

so is he really like that? a big asshole to the end. you felt that he had changed, that he was starting to like you but in the end he is still the same idiot as before. he played with your feelings. and your whole being hurts. your heart pang so hard. "well if you believed it then maybe i should become an actor then" he scoffs and look at you up and down.

what is he doing? his behavior is truly shit and pathetic. he is losing the girl of his dreams because of himself. he is destroying the only person important to him. the only woman he wants to chase. he's so fucking bad he can't even take off this hateful role in front of daniel because he doesn't want to show that he fell in love with the girl he was supposed to hate. he's such a terrible asshole.

oscar doesn't understand either. because unlike daniel he knows lando's feelings towards you. he knows that his teammate is madly in love with you. so why this behavior? why is he doing all this? why is he hurting his best friend ? he looks at lando with a confused and angry gaze. "i'm sorry i need to get some water" you're about to cry in pain. you disappear quickly because you don't want to stay another second next to him. you have never felt like this before. you feel shit for believing in him. now he broke you in pieces.

daniel doesn't understand either what is happening. but some journalists are calling him for an interview and he excuses himself, saying he'll be back soon. now there's lando and oscar who remain together. "fuck" the curly haired curses. "fuck fuck fuck. shit. fucking shit. i fucked up everything" he curses more. oscar sigh and runs a hand in his hair. "indeed you did yes". his teammate looks like he's about to burst into tears. he knows he really did you wrong and shitty.

"see what you have lost" oscar says and shrugs. but him too is pissed off, he's mad at lando because this guy literally hurts in the most painful way his best friend. "why did you do that ? why did you mess up everything? i thought you really loved her!!” "because i do !! i do love her, she's my everything. she's the only person i care about. she's the only one i think about and she's making me loose my mind and i don't see my life without her oscar. for fuck sake i'm so in love with her and i know i don't deserve her"

lando goes around in circles. he's getting tired of it. "you really disappointed me you know. but it makes me feel sorry to see you in this state, so even if i don't like it, go chase after her" oscar pushes his teammate in your direction. he doesn't want to see lando desperate like this. he knows you love him and that lando loves you too. he can't stand seeing you two suffer when you're literally fighting for each other.

lando finds you in a hidden spot. you let a sob out of your mouth and it breaks his heart. his whole being even. he sees tears falling down on your cheeks and he curses at himself for being the reason of them. he carefully approaches you but you notice him. you're about to walk away but he grabs your wrist before you could run. "y/n"

"no. go away. i don't want to be near you" you bluntly pull back your hand from his grab. "no please y/n listen to me" he tries once again. you scoff and roll your eyes. he thinks it works like that ? "what ? i don't want to listen to you." you struggle to not yell at him. "i didn't intend to say theses things you have to trust me"

he digs himself in deeper. "oh what, now i need to trust you like i used to trust you when i thought you liked me ? you're shit lando" you start to walk away but he stops you once again. "leave me. i don't want to hear your excuses" you try to release his hand from your arm but he doesn't let you go. "no. listen to me. i don't even know why i acted like that and you don't realize how much i hate myself right now. this is not what i wanted to do. this is not what i want"

new tears fall on your face but you don't care at this point. you don't even have the energy to argue back. you can't stop crying. "so what do you want then ?"

"you" he answers without hesitation.

oh. you didn't expect this answer. his other hand grab gently your arm and he takes advantage of your lack of reaction to pull you into his arms. "now really listen" he starts and wipe a tear from your cheek. "i know i'm a piece of shit that don't deserve you. i don't even deserve to talk to you. i'm really a dick because i hurt you so bad and trust me it truly breaks my heart because i'm the man who broke your heart when i was supposed to take care of it"

"i never hated you. never. i was always attracted to you and i know i fell in love with you since the first time i laid eyes on you. every single day i begged to have a chance to talk to you. but i wasn't confident enough and i preferred to act like i hated you when all i wanted was to beg you to give me just a chance" he feels your body relaxes and he pulls you even closer. you can fell his breath on your neck.

"you're not even a little annoying. you are the complete opposite of horrible, you are the kindest and most caring person i know. i want to slap myself for saying i wish you didn't exist. because it's a fucking lie. i can't live without your existence. i can't imagine my future without you. you're taking my breath away and you never leave my mind and thoughts. i know you're the love of my life and i waited for you this long. and i'll never let you go now that i found you." he finishes in a sob and you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

"lando..." you hum. "shhh don't talk. it'll be alright baby" he murmurs against your ear. he strokes your hair with one hand and your back with the other. he places a soft kiss on your head. "i fell very hard for you baby. i'm so in love with you. i'll never stop loving you i promise" he says and you just nod. "i love you so much too lan" you simply answer.

"and that one brunette girl daniel talked about ?" you ask with watery eyes. he laughs softly and cup your face "oh babe i don't even remember who she is. but don't worry love i only have eyes for you" he says and you simply smile widely. "i hope so".

he smiles too and look at your lips. "now kiss baby" he says in a whisper and leans in to kiss you tenderly. the kiss is so sweet and gentle, his lips moving perfectly against yours. he's delighted and he softly bites your bottom lip. you pull back and peck his nose. "so do you love me or do you hate me ?" you ask as he wipes away your last tears. he smiles bright and think before speaking again. "i think i hate you lovingly".

and his lips meet once again yours in a passionate kiss...

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #ln4 fic #lando norris fluff

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lizardsfromspace · 7 months ago

Note

What's the worst thing about fandom in the last 20 years, and what's the worst thing about fandom that's always been true of it?

The worst thing about fandom in the last 20 years has been the incentivizing of fandom-as-conflict: not merely as a field in broader culture wars but as the field for endless intra-group battles.

This manifests in many ways: as seven hour videos complaining about The Last Jedi, as Twitter backlash campaigns, but also as stans defending their faves from any and all criticism real or imagined, as the endless boom-and-backlash cycle to any fandom meme or joke you see on Reddit, and as the drive for people to look for evidence other people discussing a thing they like are hysterical illiterate dolts, before anything else.

Or, in other words: a lot of fandoms are full of assholes these days, whose main interaction with fandom is using it as a reason to be an asshole, and to defend being an asshole. The actual “fandom” part of fandom no longer really exists for them. The discourse more or less is their fandom; someone whose main fandom activity is sharing videos about how Steven Universe is a fascist (?) isn’t in the Steven Universe fandom, they’re in the videos about how Steven Universe is a fascist (?) fandom. I mean, the chief fandom for many people is their side in the fandom war. What type of fanfic you write is secondary to what your affiliations are vis-a-vis battles over fanfiction

(One trend I've noticed is people who aren't at the stage where they only talk about what they hate and not what they love, but are at the stage where they can only talk about what they love in relation to what they hate. "I love this movie...and it proves this other movie is bullshit made by a hack". No ability to say just "I love this movie", period, end of sentence. This is how like two-thirds of Film Twitter talks about film, the remainder are all the grindhouse people going "man you've GOT to see Wrong Turn 5")

Another one, that I think is related, is that fandom’s become...more transitory, maybe? There’s Big Fandoms that are inescapable and then everything else feels like it’s here for a weekend and then it’s gone. And we’ve always had fandoms that endure and fandoms that vanish quickly, when the show runs short or turns out to be bad/boring, but we did use to have a lot of enduring if small fandoms for Okay shows most people hadn’t heard of and now you don’t really. Or they burn themselves out fast.

So we’ve reached this stage where fandoms are either so big they have seven hour long discourse videos, or they’re a smattering of fanart over the course of two weeks last August. But that isn’t really the fault of fans so much as modern media release schedules.

A lot of fandom activities of old are just...impossible now, with many shows? The slow build of speculation and fan works and in-jokes and theorizing and analysis simply can’t exist in a world where the premiere comes out the same day as the finale, and you can’t talk about the finale because you have no way of knowing if the person you’re talking to binged it all in one weekend or is still on episode four. That was the kind of thing that sustained the fandom of something that wasn’t a big hit, or even something that was. My fave fandom experience ever was watching the online Lost fandom wildly theorizing for all six years of Lost, and we’d never get “and what if the Smoke Monster is a dinosaur but only the head?” under a Netflix release model. Now at a base level, we either have shows nobody can discuss because nobody’s sure who’s seen or what, or shows where everyone just discusses the finale right away, and where you get One Week of Show and then a massive hiatus, which either kills all momentum or...drives fandom in the direction of hyper-analyzing everything and fighting because, well, what else is there to do? And that plus the outrage cycles of social media plus the fact that “man who yells at Star Wars” is now a viable career choice result in, well. *gestures upwards* All that

(Really, shout out to Cartoon Network for engineering the Steven Universe fandom to Be Like That through their inscrutable strategy of dropping episodes during one random week every five months or whatever)

As for something that's always been with it...cliques and a certain fannish elitism, like, that sees engaging with media in a fandom sense as more creative or analytical or intelligent than your average person. You see it now in the form of, like, people holding up fanfic above published fiction as more representative or authentic (I’ve seen more than one post on here strongly implying queer rep doesn’t exist in mainstream non-fic storytelling???), or going “well, we think about shows, unlike those normies watching sports”. But that was probably way more pronounced a thing in the past, in the 40-50s sci-fi fans were calling non-fans "mundanes" and calling themselves "slans" as an in-group signifier (a reference to a book with superintelligent psychic mutants known as slans). Like at the very least we should be happy no one’s calling non-fans “muggles” anymore. In the evolution from “mundane” to “muggle” to “normie” normie’s probably the least bad one

#asks #fandom #schafpudel #long post

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llilyrose · 4 months ago

Text

llilyrose spends her time analyzing aroace stuff. yay.

isat spoilers afoot

what i especially like about the way adrienne wrote mira's orientation is the lack of room for interpretation. yes they snuck aroace talk into fantasy france, but just stop and think for a minute. what would happen if mira just said "i'm aroace" or "i don't feel love the same way" instead of all the nuance we got to her character in the friend quest convo?

we know she's sex repulsed, we know she's romance repulsed. we know she loves fiction that has those things in it, loves interpreting fictional characters that way, but can't bare to see herself in that situation. it makes a lot of sense with regards to her location (vaugarde, a very sex-positive and romance-adamant country) and also with regards to herself (the way she feels about her environment). Of course she wouldn't blame other folk around her for engaging with their religion the "correct" way, of course she'd internalize all her feelings of being outcast and turn it back on herself.

The fandom respects this! Nobody ships her romantically, or sexually, because we know she's not into that. We know she would never and i know a bunch of people who would punch you for even thinking it!

Now what if Adrienne hadn't put this in the game? What if they had just said on their tumblr one day, "mira's aroace," or something. where would we be now? aspec shipping discourse would definitely take the reins. we'd have people shipping her in all kinds of different ways, bending the aroace character to the best of their ability because they could still be into sex, or romance, or whatever. this is TRUE, it's POSSIBLE, but there's no nuance. We wouldn't know the way Mira really feels about these things unless Adrienne told us, so a lot of people would either ignore/"work around" her identity or just wouldn't even know about it to begin with!

Introducing mira's orientation in the way adrienne did leaves no room for discourse. we know if she's sex-positive, sex-negative, how she reacted to finding out she was, etc. It provides so much more representation than a simple "I'm aroace" ever could. It's such a wide label, so finally having CONCRETE information about a canonical aroace's experiences with their orientation is so, so freeing and honestly quite refreshing. and it's worked into the story seamlessly!!!

She's not an emotionless carcass with no capacity for love, she's not outwardly detesting sex or romance at every possible moment, she's simply a well-rounded character who happens to be aroace. You have time to warm up to her before ever even finding out about her orientation! Or having any clue at all (barring maybe the suspicious sketches)!!!!! Aroace people are real!!! We're so real!!!!

Speaking of the suspicious sketches! We know siffrin's alloace (from, like, one line of dialogue), but we don't know if he's sex-repulsed. Adrienne's gone on record to say "aces can still have sex" in reference to siffrin, so I'm inclined to believe he has at least some sort of libido.

When looking at the sketches, both him and mira have a repulsed reaction. I think there are three possible reasons for Siffrin here!

Siffrin is sex-repulsed and has a visceral reaction to them because he thinks it's gross.

Siffrin has no libido because the stress overrides everything in his system. That combined with his ace identity would probably lead to a distaste for the papers.

Some people would NOT GET THE MEMO from the act 3 friendquest. Sometimes when you're writing you have to account for the gamers being really really dense. Some people didn't even understand the Isa friendquest was him coming out as trans basically. Since Ace characters are hard to "prove" unless they explicitly state they dislike sex, this line of dialogue might've just been there to drill it in that Siffrin is ace because the only other place we see that implication is one line in the friendquest. It could even have no tie to his relationship with sex, who knows?

one of these options is not like the others! /silly

I couldn't tell you which one of those it is, but i think at least one of them had to have hit the mark. It's a lot harder to decode siffrin's sexuality when we only get like 5 lines of dialogue total that vaguely even reference it

With this we come back to the issue from earlier: He could be demi, he could be ace, he could be sex-repulsed, he could not! Most people write them sex-repulsed and I'm personally on that bandwagon, but interpreting them a different way isn't any less correct unless you completely ignore the fact they're ace in the first place.

Even sex-positive aces have complicated relationships with sex. Some do it for the gratification, some simply have higher libido and can't think of a different way to get it out, and others only do it to please their partner.

I think writing an ace character as sex-positive should be seen as a character study instead of an excuse to ship two characters together. Is this character the type to even enjoy it in the first place? How often? How do they interact with it? Etc. Which I think is what Adrienne was talking about when she said "aces can still have sex." We don't know about siffrin's identity, we don't have a grasp on the nuance, but we do know he's ace and that he experiences love differently from the way mirabelle does, and the way isabeau does, and the way odile does, and what have you.

I love love love the representation we get in isat. An aroace, an alloace, and someone that a lot of fans headcanon as aroallo though it's unconfirmed. Even if Odile's not aro, we still get that line of dialogue about not finding romance suitable for her at the moment, which speaks true to a different experience altogether. No two characters experience love, experience life the same in isat. That's why i get to make a tumblr text post that's a bit too long exploring the different avenues adrienne took when writing the characters lol :')

#isat #op #rambling #asexual #aromantic #aroace

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headkiss · 2 years ago

Text

single thread (pt. 3)

part 1, part 2, part 3

pairing: spiderman!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you know steve’s secret, but he has another; he loves you. of course, you love him, too, and things change.

word count: 9.3k

warnings: spiderman!steve au, fluff, smut (thigh riding and a hj), mentions of a car accident (nobody gets hurt), idiots in love!!!!!!

a/n: she’s here!!!! thank u guys so much for ur support on this mini series, i have loved writing it so so much <3 this will be the last long piece, but if you guys have requests for blurbs from this universe, i’d love to have them!!!

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

You’d never been that great at puzzles, at figuring things out quickly without hints. But for some reason, this was something you’re pretty sure of.

Steve is Spider-man. He’s the one who saved you, who saves people every day, and he keeps it hidden. You understand why he does, and you’d never want to pressure him into telling you something he doesn’t want to, you only wish he knew you were ready to listen. Whenever.

You’re not that strong, but you’d take some of the weight off of his shoulders if you could.

The news plays on your TV now more than ever, as more than just background noise. Your eyes focused on the screen whenever Spider-man is mentioned, analyzing the way he moves, the familiarity of the hand gestures when he speaks, the gentleness when he makes sure someone’s okay.

It isn’t only on the news that you notice things, either. Seeing Steve as often as you’ve grown to, you seem to find more tells constantly. How he can catch a glass before it spills without even looking, the way he’s on edge sometimes, like he can’t focus on one single thing.

You see Steve often, and the clues are there, and he still hasn’t told you about it.

It’s not that you expect him to tell you, or that you’re angry he hasn’t. It’s just been hard to pretend like you don’t know why he’s limping or like you’re still clueless to it all. He’ll tell you on his own time, or maybe he won’t, but you’ll have to be okay with that.

You’ve convinced yourself it’d be best not to tell him you knew. He’s probably stressed out enough, and you didn’t want to add to that if you could avoid it. You’ll be there for him either way, that’s what’s important.

Besides, on top of you figuring out he’s Spider-man, you’ve finally acknowledged the feelings that have been there for a while. The serious ones, the four letter ones. They’ve been on your mind more than anything.

You’re in love with Steve, that’s something you could tell him, in theory, but you can’t bring yourself to. You’d hate to ruin the only real friendship you’ve managed to build since moving.

So, he’s not the only one with secrets after all. He’s Spider-man, you know that he’s Spider-man, and you’re in love with him.

Lately, you’ve actually been thankful for how quiet things have been at work. Your head’s been loud enough. The thoughts of Steve, of trying not to give anything away every time you look at him, of whether he might be going to patrol whenever he leaves.

It’s all-consuming. Pathetic, even.

And it’s what’s on your mind—once again—as you walk home from your morning shift at work. The sun’s out, your eyes squinted when it hits your face. The breeze around you is still chilly, but the promise of spring and warmth is nice.

You glance over to the newsstand you always pass going to and from work, checking the picture on the front page to look for a certain mask. Today, it’s there, and you pause to look at it.

‘Spider-man catches culprit behind string of armed robberies.’

Skimming the article, your heartbeat picks up. The danger this boy puts himself in for the sake of other people. The injuries you’ve seen him come home with. You shake your head and keep walking.

“Mom, look!” A little boy says, urging his mother towards the newsstand. “It’s Spider-man!”

You turn around, a small smile on your face as you see the mother buying her son a copy of the paper. You guess you’re not the only person who can’t keep away from that hero.

Then, there’s a little glow in your chest, the reminder that you’re lucky enough to know the person behind the mask, too.

Steve thinks that telling Robin about you might’ve been a bad idea, because she looks like she might slap him right now.

“You’re telling me you kissed her, then told her it couldn’t happen again, and yet you still have that look on your face when you talk about her?”

Robin makes it sound very simple. To him, it isn’t.

“Well, yeah, but it’s complicated, okay? And I don’t have a look on my face, Robs.”

“You absolutely do, all moony and shit. If I didn’t want you to find someone so badly, I’d say it’s kinda gross.”

Honestly, Steve can’t even tell her she’s wrong. If the way he thinks about you tells him anything, it’s that he probably can’t keep it off his face. At the very least, he hopes that Robin can only tell because she knows him so well, not because it’s insanely obvious.

“Thanks.”

“Steve, I know you like her,” she says, gentler than before, careful not to scare him from the conversation.

I more than like her, he thinks. There’s a better way to describe it and he knows that. He may not admit it, not even to himself, but he knows it all the same.

Robin continues before Steve can reply, “and I know you’re scared, I do, but we both know you’d regret it if you didn’t give this a shot.”

He shakes his head. Somehow, every time he sees Robin, the conversation always leads to this. To you.

“I’d regret it more if I got her hurt.”

“Steve, I’ve known about you since the beginning and look at me. I’m right here, perfectly fine,” she holds her arms out, like it’s some sort of proof that she’s okay. “The worst I’ve done lately is scrape my knee, and that’s just because I’m clumsy, not because I know about you being Spider-man.”

He supposes she’s right, that she has a point here, but it doesn’t stop him from being afraid, from feeling an uncomfortable clench in his chest when he thinks about even the slightest possibility of putting you in danger.

“It’s different with her, though,” he says.

“Come on! Remember in high school when you had like four different girlfriends in a month?”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Well, still. Where’s that part of you gone?”

“Um…”

“Shut up, I mean the part that was open to that. To trying to make connections.”

“Maybe the venom from the spider made it disappear.”

She huffs and sinks into the couch cushions. Steve’s always been stubborn, quick to deflect with humor or sarcasm when things get too intense. Too much.

Robin’s a good friend, the best one, and she can see him closing up, so she changes her approach.

“I just want you to be happy, you know?”

“Yeah, Robs, I know.”

“Can you just think about it?”

“About what?”

“Asking her out, telling her how you feel,” Robin lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder, gives it a small squeeze. “Don’t close yourself off to it completely.”

Steve’s hand lands on top of hers, squeezes it back before letting go. He may not have that many people in his life, but having a friend like Robin never makes him feel like he’s missing anything.

At least, he didn’t feel that way until he met you. Now, he thinks about what it’d feel like to fall asleep and wake up with his arms wrapped around you, to be able to kiss you and hold you. To have that intimacy that you can only have when you’re in love with someone.

Fuck. In love.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

The good thing about being lost in thought while you walk is that it makes time go by quickly. By the time you’re walking up the stairs to your apartment, you’re not even sure how you got there, your feet having been on autopilot.

Just as you’re fishing out your keys, there’s the sound of a door opening, a pair of voices following. One that’s practically engraved in your head. The other is of a girl, who seems to notice you standing by your door very quickly.

“Oh my gosh! Hi!”

You blink at her a couple of times, because she’s talking to you like she knows you, like you should know her. “Hi…?”

Steve’s leaning a shoulder against his door frame behind her, a scrunch in his brows and a shake of his head. It’s all you catch before she grabs your attention again.

“Sorry! I’m Robin, Steve’s totally, completely plantomic best friend-”

“Oh my god,” he mutters.

“You’re the neighbor,” she continues, saying your name to make sure she’s right, even though she seemed plenty sure of that already. “Steve talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. You try to hide the hopefulness in your voice, the happiness at the idea of him talking about you. All the time.

“Oh, yeah. You have made quite the impact on this guy,” she points towards him with a thumb over her shoulder.

“Robs,” Steve gives her a stare, eyes wide and—if the hint of pink spreading over his cheeks says anything—probably telling her to stop embarrassing him.

“What?” She looks back at him, all innocent.

“Don’t you have to get to work?”

“Okay, okay,” Robin turns towards you again, gives you a toothy smile that’s wide enough to have you sending her a small grin in return. “It was so nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too,” you say, and though she surprised you with a whole bunch at once, you mean it.

She pulls you into a hug and says to you quietly, “thank you for taking care of him.”

And with that, she walks away, retreating down the hall. Steve hears her, Robin knows that. Hell, she probably wanted him to.

He scratches at the back of his neck (that habit of his) and huffs, “I’m sorry about her. She can be sort of a lot.”

“Don’t be,” you shake your head. “She seems great.”

“You’d like her, I think. If you got to know her.”

He still seems nervous, like you and Robin meeting was a really big thing for him. And it is. The two most important people in his life meeting. Of course he’d want that to go well.

“Steve, you don’t need to worry, or anything. I already like her, okay?”

Anyone who seems to make Steve happier is bound to win some points with you. He deserves friends like that, especially with everything he has to carry.

“Okay, yeah. That’s good.”

He still seems nervous, so you step over and place your hand on his arm, giving him the lightest squeeze. He probably wouldn’t have felt it if it weren’t for how focused he is on you.

“I was just surprised, that’s all. Promise.”

Steve’s hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers gently, as if he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“Thank you,” he speaks quietly. Two words he tries to tell you as often as he can.

Steve’s been visiting you at work often, sometimes with food, always with enough to brighten your day. Getting to spend that extra time with him is another perk of working when it’s not busy.

Today, he’s decided to surprise you rather than give you a heads-up over the phone. There’s a takeout bag clutched in his hand, and a little ball of nerves in his stomach. He shouldn’t be nervous, it’s only you. Then again, it’s you.

He opens the bookstore door, the small bell above it jingling. For once, there’s a customer at the register. You glance over at Steve from behind the counter, wiggling your hand in a quick wave before helping your customer again.

And just like that, there’s that feeling in his chest.

Steve waits by one of the displays as you finish up, trying not to make it obvious that he’s looking at you. There’s the soft smile on your face, the tone of your voice, the way the lighting hits your skin. It all has his heart going quicker.

“Hi, Steve,” you greet him once the customer leaves. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Hi, honey. Kinda the point of surprising you with food.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Hopefully I picked something you like.”

From the packaging he’s seen before in your apartment, he’s pretty sure he did alright, but he waits for your confirmation all the same.

You open the bag he’d set on the counter, a small happy gasp that he likes way too much leaving your mouth, “yay! How’d you know I liked this place?”

He shrugs, “lucky guess.”

There’s a second stool behind the counter, and you pull it up for Steve without a word, patting the seat for him to sit down. He does, consumed by the brush of your arms as you unpack the food, the touch of your knees when you shift in your seat.

“Thanks again, Steve.”

“You already know I owe you for all the meals you’ve made me.”

“And you already know, you don’t owe me anything.”

You’re a kind person, Steve’s known that since he met you. So much so that you don’t even see the value in what you’ve done for him, like it’s the simplest thing for you. It’s the simplest thing to help him.

It makes him want to do things he said he wouldn’t. Things like kiss you.

“Anyway,” he shakes the thought away. “How’s your day been?”

You lift a shoulder as you finish your bite of food before replying, “been okay. I’ve had a couple more people come in than usual, which is good.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I love the quiet in here, love getting to just read behind the counter and call it work. But, it’s also nice to feel useful at least some of the time.”

“That’s good. What’ve you been reading?”

This is a question he loves to ask you, because you get excited to respond every time. He loves to watch you grab the book and show it to him, to see your hands flick through the pages as you tell him what it’s about, to watch the way your mouth forms the words you speak.

He loves to ask you, because he loves to listen to your voice when you answer. That word’s been in his head a lot lately. Love.

So much that he’s not sure it ever really leaves. It’s a lingering whisper, growing louder when he’s with you. Even after you eat, after the food’s been cleaned, as he walks out the door, the word stays.

“Bye, Steve, see you later!” You say as he reaches for the door handle.

He lets himself look at you again before leaving, his eyes lingering for a second too long. “Bye, honey.”

The bell above the door rings again as he leaves, but it isn’t loud enough to cover what’s rushing through Steve’s mind. I love her. I shouldn’t, I can't. I love her.

God, maybe he should talk to Robin again, he thinks. Or, maybe he could avoid the lecture he’s bound to get and take his mind off things the best way he can: putting on the suit.

Turns out that even when he should be focused on patrolling, his mind still likes to wander. That’s probably why he ends up stationed atop the building across from the bookstore, where your closing shift should be ending soon.

He ends up there most nights he knows you’re closing, really.

Before, when he couldn’t even let himself think about his feelings for you, he’d tell himself he stayed near the bookstore because it was a shadier area, more alleyways and all that. Now, though it sort of scares him, he’s able to acknowledge that it’s purely to make sure you’re safe.

He has a whole city to be protecting, but if his senses aren’t leading him anywhere else, he’ll always end up near you.

It’s sort of ironic. You, subconsciously looking for Spider-man everywhere you go, him being right there, and you don’t even know it. He’s so, so close.

Steve stationed himself across the street from you about twenty minutes before the shop was meant to close. His eyes squinted on his mask to see if there was anyone seemingly dangerous around, just in case.

Sometimes, when he does this, he can’t stop himself from thinking about that night when he found you in that alley. When his ears were filled with pure static until he knew you were safe. When he kneeled in front of you and brought you home. He doesn’t want you to go through something like that ever again.

The click of the bookshop door closing behind you has Steve’s heightened hearing turned on, knowing that you’re about to lock up and head home.

You feel like there are eyes on you as you walk. But, every time you look behind you, there’s nobody there. You’re just being paranoid, you tell yourself. You’re fine. And really, you are fine, because the eyes aren’t dangerous—though you don’t know it—they belong to Steve.

He hops across buildings as discreetly as he can while following your pace. Walking you home in his own, secret way.

The next thing happens in a complete blur.

You’re crossing at an intersection when a car runs a red light, speeding and crashing into another vehicle. You’re in the street, the two cars screeching on the pavement and heading straight for you. Even if you ran, you wouldn’t be quick enough.

But he was.

Steve jumped down before it even happened, his vision tunneling on that car, on you in its path. He just knew he needed to get to you first. He shot the web, swung down, and scooped you up right before the collision reached you. His heart pounding, his grip on you tight enough to knock the air from your lungs.

He lands and sets you down at the back of an alley, hidden from the bystanders that screamed at the sight of the crash, at the sight of him.

It takes you an entire minute of silence, of your chest heaving and your ears ringing to grasp what had just happened. How close of a call it was, how he was there to save you again.

Your vision is blurred by tears when you look up at him, at the red and blue suit, the mask. Your breathing is quick, panicked, but it slows the slightest bit when you look at him. Spider-man. Steve. The best boy ever.

When your eyes lock onto his face, Steve rushes forward, holding your face in a gentle grasp. It’s frantic, the way his hands shake when he reaches for you, the way his head tilts all over to make sure you’re okay. His thumbs brush away the tears that fall from your eyes, back and forth and back and forth.

“Hey, look at me,” he says, dipping his head down to make you focus on him. “Breathe.”

You shake your head, trying to calm down the best you can after coming so close. Fuck, it was so close. If Steve would’ve been a split-second later, you would’ve been hit. The thought doesn’t help you calm down one bit.

Steve can see the fear in your eyes, the quick rise and fall of your chest. It clenches his heart in a tight, uncomfortable fist, and all he wants to do is help you. So he lets it slip.

“Breathe, honey. Come on.”

Honey.

That’s all the confirmation you’d ever need. You were right. This is Steve. It’s Steve holding your face and saving your life.

You surge forward and wrap your arms around his neck, and his go around your waist instantly.

“Steve,” you breathe out so quietly, only he could have heard it.

His heart sinks and flips at the same time, if that’s even possible. It sinks because you know, somehow, and it terrifies him so much, he’s not sure what to say. But then, it flips, too, because there’s a relief that’s clear in your voice.

“How did you-” he starts, but you only squeeze him tighter.

“Steve,” this time, your voice breaks when you say it.

Now isn’t the time to talk about this. Not when you were almost hit, not in public. Not now and not like this, Steve knows that. The break in your voice tells him to push that back for now.

“I’m gonna take you home, okay?”

He can feel you nod against his neck, so he lets go of you with one hand and keeps the other wrapped around you and starts swinging.

Right now, at this second, he’s not worried about how you found out, how you know it’s him. No, he only cares that you’re alive, that he can feel your arms squeezing around his neck, that he can squeeze you back just as tight.

As he swings with you clutching onto him, the realization makes his breathing stutter.

You could’ve died just then. In that fraction of a moment, you could’ve been gone without Steve ever getting the chance to tell you he loves you. He can’t let that happen. He’s gotta tell you.

It scares the absolute shit out of him, but he has to do something. He can’t lose you before working up the courage to tell you how he feels, before having the slightest chance at kissing you again.

He won’t let that happen.

Steve’s very gentle with you, even when he’s swinging from building to building with you in his arms. The sure grip he has around your waist and the smell of his cologne buried under the suit help ground you as wind rushes by.

You’re alive, Steve’s got you, and he knows you know.

Your eyes are squeezed shut the entire way, and in only a couple of minutes, he’s hanging onto the side of his building by his window and thanking himself for (once again) not locking it.

“Hey, honey, can you open the window for me?”

You lift your face from his neck and nod, twisting to lift it open. Steve’s supporting you with one arm and holding the both of you up with the other. The strength he has is incredible, especially when you’re seeing it first hand.

He helps you get into his room with a hand on your lower back, and lifts himself in right after you. You watch Steve’s back beneath the suit as he shuts the window, watch his gloved hands remove the web-shooters from his wrists.

Then, slowly, watch those same hands lift up to the edge of his mask and tug it off.

Your breath catches. You knew it was him, but seeing Steve’s familiar face and its prettiest combination of features be revealed is different, it’s real.

“Wow,” you say, though you hadn’t really meant to. It slipped. “Hi.”

Steve’s had a twist in his gut ever since he found out that you knew about him, and it only tangles more now that you’re looking at him with widened eyes. He doesn’t want things to change with you, and he’s so scared that they will.

What if you don’t want to see him anymore because of this? What if you’re angry with him for keeping it from you? What if you end up hurt because someone wanted to get to him?

“Um, hi.”

You step closer to where he stands by his side table, your hands twisting in front of you like you’re nervous, too.

“You saved me.”

“Just, uh, doing my job,” he says, shrugging it off.

“Well, then, you’re really, really great at what you do.”

You’re trying to be light with the subject, to take it at his pace given it’s his secret, his life. Steve’s quiet for a few moments, a flicker of something you can’t distinguish crossing over his face.

“How’d you know?” Is all he says, but you know exactly what he means by it.

“Saw Spider-man with the exact same injuries as you on the news. I guess I just connected the dots from there.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

You reach for his hand and hold it lightly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, your touch can help to ground him as much as his does you.

“Don’t be, okay? I understand why you wouldn’t. I just want to be there for you.”

“I don’t tell anyone, really,” he starts, his grip on your hand tightening as he speaks. “Robin’s the only other person who knows. I don’t want to put anyone in danger so I… I just keep it to myself.”

You squeeze his fingers, trying to show him in any way you can that you aren’t going to run away from this.

“You don’t have to keep it all to yourself, Steve. You can talk to me or knock on my door whenever you’re hurt,” he shakes his head. “You can. I keep my first-aid kit stocked for you.”

“It doesn’t scare you? That you might get hurt because of me?”

“I’m not scared for myself. I’m scared for you. Going out every night and fighting the bad guys. I’m scared that you’ll get hurt, Steve. I’m not worried about me,” he glances down but you step even closer, making him look at you. “If tonight shows anything, it’s that you’ll save me from getting hurt either way.”

Steve’s hand that isn’t holding yours moves up, pushing your hair over your shoulder before landing on your face. The fabric of his glove rests against your jaw, his thumb running over your skin, his eyes searching yours for a single hint of insincerity.

He doesn’t find one.

“You’re really important to me, honey.”

“You’re important to me, too.”

You’re close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips, his forehead a whisper away from yours. Close enough that you catch the way his eyes flick down to your mouth and back up.

“I know I said we shouldn’t-”

“Kiss me, Steve.”

“Okay.”

The hand on your face tilts you upwards, and just like that, he catches your lips with his. You’ve kissed before and still, there’s a rush of butterflies in your stomach, a warmth spreading over your skin the way a blanket of sunlight feels.

It’s slow, it’s delicate, and it means something. There are a thousand words that neither of you can say buried in this kiss, in the gentle press of your lips. Words spoken with the tilt of his head to get closer, the squeeze of his fingers interlocked with yours.

Steve doesn’t ever want to not be able to kiss you again. Not when it feels like this. Acceptance and reassurance, softness and the sort of glowing feeling he’s only ever had around you.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. Your breaths meet between your faces, mingling in the silence that follows. Steve rests his forehead against yours, your noses brushing.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you say. Because you’re still shaken from earlier, because you need the comfort that Steve seems to provide simply by being next to you, because you’re afraid that if you let him out of your sight, he’ll pull away from you again.

“You want me to stay with you?”

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay, honey, I’ll stay.”

As long as you’ll have me, he thinks, I’ll stay.

Steve did stay that night. After you both showered and got ready for bed, there was a moment where he stood—almost nervous—in the doorway of your bedroom. You lifted the covers for him and patted the spot next to you, and that was it.

He stayed for breakfast, too. This time, it was him cooking for you, stood over the stove in your apartment. It’s a sight you could definitely get used to. Then, like he could get any sweeter, he even called into work for you, saying you should at least get a day after what happened the night before. What almost happened.

Really, as scary as the crash had been, what you’d been thinking about the most was the way he kissed you. The way you’d woken up in the middle of the night with his arm around your waist. The way you fell back asleep easily with him there.

It’s what you’ve been thinking about in the days since. What you’re thinking about even now.

You know that something shifted that night, with him finding out that you knew he’s Spider-man, with you being able to reassure him that it won’t push you away. You could feel that shift, like a tectonic plate.

Despite that, things have been quiet and relatively the same with Steve. You haven’t seen him all that much, but when you do it’s still friendly. Friendly with something lingering between you, unspoken and palpable.

It’s dark out now, the evening news playing on your TV the way it so often does. It’s static to you until you see footage of Spider-man from earlier, swinging around and fighting crime again.

Naturally, your first thought is Steve, and whether or not he’s okay. Before, when he didn’t know you knew, you’d keep all this worry to yourself, letting it build and build until you saw him again. Now, though, he knows you know and you can do something about that concern.

You push yourself up from your couch and head to your door. Knocking on his comes easy, and he opens it quickly, like he knew it was you.

“Hi,” he says. There’s a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Hi. Sorry for bothering you, I just- um. I saw the news and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Seeing you on the other side of his door already had Steve’s heart doing this silly flutter in his chest. Knowing you care enough to check on him this way does something else entirely. It floods from head to toe, the feelings he has for you. The ones he’s identified as love.

“I’m okay, promise. Not even a scratch this time.”

You nod, a pressure lifting from your lungs. You breathe a little easier seeing him unharmed. Seeing him in general.

“Okay. Good,” you should probably stop there, turn around and go back to yours, but you don’t. “I was just really worried, y’know, ‘cause I’ve seen you hurt and all, so I just wanted to see you and check-”

“Hey,” he grabs your hand gently, cutting off your rambling and tugging you into his apartment, pushing the door shut behind you. “I swear not every Spider-man thing I do is dangerous.”

“Yeah, okay, because swinging from buildings is super safe.”

“I’m a professional at that. Nothing to worry about.”

The wood of the front door is solid against your back, and Steve’s hand still in yours is the same. Solid, reassuring, sweet. Steve steps just a bit closer to you, so that you’re toe-to-toe and there’s nowhere for you to escape to.

His free hand reaches up to fiddle with the ends of your hair, gentle in a way that almost feels like you dreamt it.

“Did you really only come here to check on me?” He asks.

“Yeah, I did. Is that… okay?”

Steve wants to kiss you for that. He thinks you might want that, too. So, he dips his face closer to yours, lets go of your hand only to hold onto the nape of your neck instead. He hesitates, waits for you to push him away, but you never do.

Instead, you tilt your head and meet him in the middle.

You never knew that kissing someone could be so easy, that you could fit together so well that it just works. But that’s how it is with Steve, and you suppose that’s how it is when you’re in love. The pink haze and heart-shaped touches.

Steve doesn’t think he could ever get sick of kissing you, of feeling so light when things are often so heavy for him. When you pull away, he chases your mouth and steals two, three pecks from you.

Then, to answer your question, he says, “it’s more than okay.”

You only notice now that you aren’t distracted by his mouth on yours that your hands had found their way to his shoulders. It’s impossible not to notice the muscles under his skin, the clear evidence of his strength. Heat spreads through you, and you have to pull your hands away to speak properly.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he tells you. His hand, still on your neck, squeezes so, so lightly. “I know I’ve said that we should only be friends, but that was before. Before you knew, and I was terrified of what could happen to you.”

“What about now?”

“Now…” He takes a deep breath, and focuses his eyes on yours. Whatever he’s about to say, he wants you to know he means it. “Now I can’t stop thinking about you and how it feels to kiss you.”

“I think about you, too.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, and though being honest makes you nervous, the smile that spreads over his face makes it worth it. So does the slight blush of his cheeks.

“I want to take you on a date. If that’s something you’d like.”

“I would really like that, Steve.”

Right then, there’s another shift, a bigger one. You both know there are feelings here. Big, scary feelings that you can’t say out loud yet.

Steve took care of planning the date. He wanted to surprise you, to impress you and do something for you this time. You do enough for him already.

Though Robin assured him—after all of her ‘finally’s and ‘I told you so’s—that it would be great, perfect, even, he’s still nervous when he knocks on your door. He’s shuffling on his feet, puffing out a breath as he waits, and then he sees you and the rest sort of melts away.

You open your door to find Steve with a picnic basket in hand and a slightly windswept bouquet of flowers in the other. You smile as he hands them to you and try to hide it by smelling the flowers.

“Thank you, these are beautiful.”

“‘Course.”

“I’ll just put them in water and then we can go.”

Your stomach is a mess of flutters and nerves as you fill up a vase with water and put the flowers in it. Sure, you’ve spent time with Steve alone time and time again, but never like this. It’s exciting and it’s scary, but the welcome kind of scary that comes with new things.

“You’re taking me on a picnic?” You ask, locking your apartment door behind you and then falling into step next to Steve.

“If that’s okay with you?”

“Sounds amazing.”

“My cooking isn’t as great as yours, I have to warn you,” Steve says, holding the door open to the stairwell.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, I’m just saying.”

He holds the door at the bottom of the stairs open for you, too. And then the one to exit the building.

As you walk along, Steve leading the way, your nerves fade, replaced with the familiarity and comfort of Steve’s company. Replaced with the feelings that sweep inside you like a huge bubble of pink bubblegum, so close to popping and spilling it all.

You talk aimlessly about anything and everything, and Steve does the same. You both try not to make the little catch in your breaths obvious when your hands brush.

He takes you to a park, one with big trees and a walking trail, with scattered flowers and the fresh smell of nature that makes you feel like you’re not even in the city anymore. He keeps going, and you keep following him, until he finds the spot he’d found before. A small clearing between trees, shaded by their leaves and just enough space for him to spread out the picnic blanket.

“Why have I never found this place myself?” You ask, looking up at the sky through the leaves.

“You like it?”

You nod, sitting down next to him on the blanket he brought. “Thank you for bringing me.”

He shrugs, “thank you for coming.”

You share a smile, a slow spread across your mouths as you look at each other for a moment. A smile saying this is real. Then, like it didn’t even happen, he starts to unpack the food.

Steve can’t even remember the last date he went on, but he knows that it wasn’t anything like this. He’s never felt this light around someone before. Somehow, you turn the bricks that weigh him down into feathers.

You’d thought it before, but you’re sure of it now; Steve is the absolute best boy you’ve ever known. The effort he put into making and packing up the food, the shyness he has about it all, like he should be embarrassed for being sweet to you. You feel unbelievably lucky that you moved into the apartment across from his.

The date goes by in a blink. You and Steve subconsciously moving closer and closer on the blanket, your thighs touching and your arms brushing. The food eaten between conversation and giggles. The picnic basket is now packed up again, the containers empty this time around.

You rest your head on Steve's shoulder and say, “thank you for this.”

Steve’s eyes close for a second, trying to memorize how this feels. He opens them and presses the gentlest kiss onto your head. “You’re welcome, honey.”

You stay that way and breathe each other in, once, then twice. That’s all you allow yourself before you stand and brush yourself off even though you weren’t dirty in the first place. Steve folds up the blanket and places it in the basket, and he stands, too.

This time, as you walk back to your apartment building, when your hands brush, you and Steve feel just a bit more confident, enough to reach your pinkies out to each other and lock them.

Steve’s the one who fully grabs onto your hand, letting your fingers intertwine. It’s how they’re meant to be, he thinks, two pieces of the same puzzle that just happen to fit together. You don’t let go for the entire walk.

Outside your building, neither of you really want to say goodbye, to end the date that feels like the beginning of something really, really good.

But, just as Steve lets go of your hand to reach for the door, he feels it. The tingling over his skin, the goosebumps, the static in his ears. He blinks and turns to you.

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop, it’s okay. Just be safe.”

He’ll never understand how you’re so understanding, how you accept it so quickly. All he knows is he loves you for it and so much more.

“Thank you, honey.”

He presses the quickest kiss to your cheek, sets down the picnic basket, and then runs into the alleyway on the side of the building. When he emerges, he’s in his suit and swinging off.

He’d been wearing it under his clothes. Always prepared.

You pick up the picnic basket and walk up to your apartment half convinced that the last few hours have been some sort of dream. Too good to be true.

The issue that had Steve’s senses coming alive didn’t take long to handle. Still, he stayed out to continue patrolling, worried that something else could happen. Worried that it might be too soon to go back and see you again.

Not seeing you didn’t erase you from his thoughts. Not one bit. He spent the hours in the suit waiting for the city to die down, waiting for the moment his senses would quiet down enough to let him know he was done for the night.

All because he wanted to see you, kiss you. God, he’s so fucked.

You were faring pretty much the same. Only, you’d changed into your pajamas rather than a superhero suit, laying around on your bed with a book in hand to hear knocks on your door. Or, at the very least, to hear him get home safe.

When the knock comes, it isn’t on your door. Instead, there’s a tapping on your bedroom window by the fire escape. As soon as you hear it, you shut your book and turn towards your window, and there he is.

Steve hangs upside down, his head level with yours when you open the window to talk to him. If you weren’t so busy being in love with him, the sight would be sort of funny.

“Well hello, Spider-man,” you say, leaning your hands against the windowsill.

“Hey, honey.”

“You aren’t hurt are you?” You ask, moving your hands to hold his face, because you’ve seen him injured enough times to be worried about that, to know it’s a possibility.

“I’m completely fine.”

“You’re really okay?”

“Nothing hurts, I promise,” he says, shaking his head. How could it when you’re holding him like that, looking at him like that. Pain isn’t what he’s feeling in the slightest.

You’re not really thinking when you lean in and peck his cheek over the mask, but it’s enough to scorch his skin, to leave an invisible mark.

And Steve isn’t really thinking when he speaks, “have I ever told you that I think you’re really pretty?”

“You’re upside down,” you tell him, fighting a stupid, lovesick smile. “You must be seeing wrong.”

He ignores that comment and twists himself upright, then climbs through your window into your apartment. You have to back up to make room for him, and when his feet hit the hardwood floors, he’s only inches away.

“I’m right side up now. Still think you’re pretty.”

You’ve never been good at taking compliments, never really thought that people meant them, only that they were trying to be kind. Steve is different. You still don’t believe it yourself, but you can tell that he does. His voice holds enough emotion to do that.

Bashful, you walk around him to shut your window and then lock it. You try to keep your feelings off of your face when you turn back around and find him already facing you, his mask now off and clutched in his hand.

His hair is a mess on his head, his cheeks flushed from being upside down and maybe, just maybe from being so close to you.

“So, what brought you to my window?” You ask.

“I wanted to say sorry,” he says, scratching at his neck. That habit of his. “For leaving the way I did earlier.”

It’s a half truth. He wanted to apologize for that. But, mostly, he wanted to tell you he loves you. He’d been thinking about it his whole patrol. Thinking about when the right time would be then remembering how quickly things can change, how you’d almost been hit not so long ago.

With that, he decided that there wasn’t a right time, that he could lose you just like that and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let that happen. Especially not without telling you how he feels.

But, he’s always been more courageous with that mask on, and now, he just can’t get the words to leave his mouth. They hover on the top of his tongue, sticky and heavy.

“I told you it’s okay, Steve. I swear,” you step closer to him and reach for his hand, tugging the glove off before lacing your fingers with his. “I know that you had to, that this is a part of you and I’d never expect you to change or ignore it. I-“ love you, you almost say. But the words get stuck for you, too. “I care about you so much. Spider-man included.”

Every time Steve worries, even the slightest bit, that you’ll feel differently about him because of this, you prove him wrong. You say all the right things to make him feel better, to make him want to fall into you completely and never look back.

You’ve proven to him over and over that you’re in this, that you’re this dream of a girl that somehow ended up in his mess of a life. A mess you’re willing to join, helping him clean it without even trying.

You’re a dream, his dream, and he has to say it. He has to say it so he does, those sticky words forced off of his tongue in a breath.

“I love you.”

He squeezes your hand on the second word, like he’s emphasizing it. Love.

“I love you,” he says again, and you realize you’re not dreaming. He really said it, and he’s really looking at you that way with those soft, brown eyes. “You don’t have to say it, I just needed to tell you. I’ve never had someone make me feel the way you do. Never.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Your heart pounds, thumps.

“I love you, too.”

“Serious?” He checks, because he thinks he dreamt it just like you had.

So you repeat it for him, “I love you, Steve.”

He leans in, not so afraid anymore, and places a hand on your neck, his fingers in your hair. The other hand squeezes yours again before letting go to frame your jaw and tilt your mouth to his.

It’s an easy rhythm to fall into now. Kissing him. And you feel yourself melt into him, your muscles relaxing, your body pushing towards his. Your arms are thrown around his neck, and all you feel is him.

It’s a delicate push and pull, a kiss that’s familiar but now has something new behind it. That acknowledged emotion, the reality of it. It has his tongue sweeping against the seam of your lips and dipping in when they part.

His hand is tangled tighter in your hair, and you’re not sure how long it’s been before you both pull away, breathless, chests heaving, matching smiles on your lips. Your noses still brush, and still, it doesn’t feel close enough.

Steve’s hands shift to run down your shoulders, then your arms, and back and forth.

“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” You ask, still breathing heavy, still feeling his breath fan across your lips.

“I’d like to think so,” he says, his hands now settled around your forearms. “If that’s what you want.”

You nod, kiss him quick. “Does it also mean you’ll stay the night?”

“As long as I can use your shower first,” he says.

“Good idea.”

“You saying I smell?”

You shrug, shoulder to your cheek. He smiles, and in turn, so do you, and it feels like the closest thing to perfect there could ever be.

Steve emerges from your bathroom with damp hair falling over his forehead and your clothes on instead of his suit. You lent him a t-shirt and a baggy pair of sweats that are still a bit too short at his ankles. You grin when you notice that.

And Steve grins when he sees you. My girl, he thinks. And it’s for real this time.

You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent and your book in your hands yet again. You needed to occupy yourself while he was showering, after all. Otherwise, you’d just think and think and think about him in the next room, his mouth on yours. His voice saying the words ‘I love you.’

He walks over and sits on the bed by your feet, his side facing you, but his head turned to look at you. Seeing him in your clothes, in your space, you think it’s something you’d like to see forever. Seeing you waiting for him in bed, Steve’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Hi,” you say.

Steve wraps a hand around your bare ankle, his thumb smoothing back and forth. “Hi.”

Though everything’s out in the open now, there’s a shyness there. Like two kids with crushes wondering what to do next. You’ve never loved each other out loud before today. It’s brand new territory.

But with that shyness, there’s so much more. There’s the knowledge of how it feels to kiss each other, to hold each other. There’s want to do it all again.

Steve’s other hand reaches for your book and sets it open and face-down on your nightstand. Then, he pushes your knees over so that he can lean in. He’s not fully thinking about what he’s doing, he’s simply listening to this thread that pulls him closer and closer to you until he’s kissing you again.

It starts with a couple of pecks, innocent, soft, quick. It turns into more and somewhere along the way you’re tugged into Steve’s lap, your knees on either side of one of his thighs. And somewhere along the way Steve’s hands have ventured under your shirt, running across your waist and up and down your back. He groans into your mouth when he notices the lack of a bra.

Steve tugs you impossibly closer to him, tugs you down so that you’re straddling his thigh with all of your weight. You inhale sharp and quick through your nose when he does.

It’s not long after that before you’re panting, unable to keep up with his mouth, and though Steve’s chest heaves, too, he doesn’t take the break to breathe properly. Instead, he dips his head to kiss your jaw, then your neck.

Your head tilts for him easily, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other tangled in the hair at the bale of his neck. You gasp when his teeth scrape against the skin behind your ear, your hips hurting unconsciously to rut against his thigh.

“Sorry,” you say, worried it was too much. Still, it comes out breathily.

He pulls back from your neck, looks into your eyes, his brown ones just a bit darker than usual. “Did that feel good?”

Your eyes search his face for an ounce of discomfort, of uncertainty. All you see is the kind of warmth that spreads through you, the kind of intensity that only comes with lust.

“Yes.”

“Do it again,” he tells you, his hands slipping down to rest just above the waistband of your shorts. He encourages you to move, his hands pushing and pulling. You move with him, slowly at first, letting out the smallest whimper when the angle is just right. At the sound, Steve says, “keep doing it.”

“Steve.”

“You’re okay,” his hands urge you forward again, his thumbs running back and forth soothingly. “I wanna make you feel good. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, because how could you not when it already feels so good, when he’s looking at you with kiss-swollen lips, messy hair, and wide pupils. When he’s looking at you like it feels as good for him as it does for you.

You move quicker, his hands encouraging you still. He kisses you again, kisses you until you have to pull away, your mouth dropping open, a moan slipping out before you can stop it.

Steve wishes he could bottle up the sound and keep it, listen to it over and over. Because he’s the one who’s making you feel that way, he’s the one who has your hand tight in his hair. Because he’s thought about you before, and it’s nothing compared to the real thing.

The sweatpants you lent him grow a bit tighter, and his hands don’t stop guiding you over him. He wants to hear you make that noise again.

You drop your forehead to his shoulder, your thighs tightening around his, your clit catching on the fabric of your shorts and his (your) sweatpants enough to make you moan again.

“That’s it, baby. Doin’ so good.”

It’s the first time he’s ever called you ‘baby’ and you hope it won’t be the last.

“Steve.”

“I’ve got you.”

The hand that isn’t in his hair trails down his torso and rests above the waistband of his pants for a second. Your hand cups him over his pants, squeezing lightly and finding him hard. Watching you was enough to turn him on, and the thought makes you whimper again.

“Fuck. You don’t have to,” he says, taking a hand from your waist to pull your face from his shoulder, to look at you.

“Want you to feel good, too.”

There’s nothing but honesty in your words, want in your eyes.

“Shit, honey.”

“Will you let me?” You ask, your voice slightly strained from the stimulation you feel, your hips still moving.

“Yeah.”

Your hand slips under the waistband with his consent, and you wrap it around him, your thumb running over his tip. He groans and leans his forehead against yours.

You’re breathing the same air, moving at the same pace, and you don’t think it’s ever felt this right with anyone before. With Steve, you’re not thinking about how you might look and whether or not he’ll like it, you’re only thinking about being with him.

“I’ve thought about you before. Like this,” he says, a quiet confession broken up by heavy breaths.

“Me, too,” you reply in a gasp.

His hands are both on your waist again, squeezing your skin tighter because you have a hand wrapped around his cock and it has his head spinning.

“You getting close, baby?”

“Yeah, Steve. So good.”

“I know. Keep going. I wanna see you.”

His voice is tight, and he’s holding himself back though it hasn’t been long. Your hand is soft, running up and down and he hasn’t been with someone in so long. The fact that it’s you, right now, doesn’t help him last. Just kissing you would be enough, he thinks.

Your rhythm stutters, your eyes squeezing shut, and just like that, you’re tipping over the edge and coming on his thigh.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he hums, low and scratchy. “That’s it. Look so pretty coming on me.”

Your hand pauses where it was jerking him off, too caught up in your orgasm to keep going. You say his name, say it again, and he keeps you moving over him through it all.

“Fuck,” you open your eyes when the last wave draws away, your legs shaking slightly.

It doesn’t take you long to start stroking him again, up and down and back again. Steve grunts and his hips stutter upwards, chasing your touch. It’s your turn to work him through it.

“Gonna come, honey,” he warns you. “I’ll ruin your sweats.”

“Don’t care,” you say, kissing his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I want you to.”

You run your thumb across the tip again and then his fingers are digging into your skin. He’s groaning and you feel the warmth of his come spill onto your hand. Neither of you had taken any clothes off and still, it’s the best you’ve ever had.

“Shit, honey.” This time it’s his head that rests against your shoulder. “I’m gonna need another shower now.”

You laugh breathily and pull your hand from his pants, wiping it off on the thigh you’re not sitting on, ‘cause they’re already ruined, anyway.

“I’ll get you another pair,” you say.

“In a minute. Can’t move.”

A minute is closer to five, and eventually he lets you go. You hand him a new pair of sweatpants, then clean up in the bathroom and change into different shorts. When you come back, he’s laying down under the covers in your bed. Twin smiles spread on your faces.

“You’re cute,” you tell him.

“So are you.”

You shake your head and flick your light off, the street lights flooding through your window the only thing left illuminating your room. You join him under the covers, and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you and pull you into his chest.

Your head rests by his shoulder, one of your legs thrown over his. Having him laying next to you is much more comfortable than being alone.

“I love you,” Steve says, his lips pushing a kiss into your hair.

“I love you,” you say right back.

And then, just like you’d imagined so many times before, you fall asleep cuddling Steve. And just like he’s imagined so many times before, you wake up that way, too.

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

thank you guys so much for reading spidey!steve i hope u liked it!!!! pls pls consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought, i promise it makes a difference <333

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linkspooky · 5 months ago

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Does it ever frustrate you (like it bothers me), that the heroes and civilians (and many of the fans) have no concept of "the big picture"?

I mean being optimistic is one thing, but the hero kids are going back to class, hero society is being rebuilt and the same structures are getting back in place with barely a question of what might change, if anything will...

Like shouldn't they know by now??!!

Hawks looked into the league of villain's pasts.

Deku was told directly by shigaraki what was wrong with their society in the last war.

There was a whole (plausibly canon) movie revolving around the threat of the quirk singularity, and still nobody cares.

Judging by the recent chapter, the civilians are the same as they always were, or have become even worse in their mindset.

And at least so far, the heroes haven't shown anything concrete in how they plan on doing things from now on, if their actions or beliefs made any real impact.

At this point it really feels like either:

A. The Lov (Toga, shigaraki and some others) make a miracle resurrection/recovery.

B.it's the cycle of violence until inevitable extinction...

Do you feel differently or the same?

Hello, friend.

I definitely share your frustrations.

I think this post by Tumblr User BNHAObservations might be onto the type of societal reform that Horikoshi might be going for in this epilogue.

So there's two approaches that you can approach to MHA, and specifically it's endings. BNHAObservations is using Literary Analysis. That is they're not talking about the work in terms of "thing good, thing bad", but rather assuming that everything Horikoshi put into his work is intentional analyzing the themes which Horikoshi is putting forward. What is the theme of MHA and how does Horikoshi demonstrate that theme with characters and events in story?

That's the question to ask if you're taking a literary analysis angle.

(By the way if BNHAObservations sees this I'm not criticizing your post in any way sorry if I give that intention I'm just using it as an example, and also reccomending people read it because it's a good post. This post isn't a response to this post I promise I'm just linking it to provide an opposite point of view from my own).

The second is Literary Criticism. While I prefer Literary Analysis, I've been taking a Lit Crit approach as to late because. My question is not "What is the theme of MHA?" but rather "Does MHA use the tools of storytelling to communicate it's theme to it's audience well?" So, let's discuss how Hori chooses to convey the themes of the fictional world he created.

So as I said BNHA observations has an answer to your question from a literary analysis perspective. The gist being "Horikoshi seems to be suggesting that the improvement to society will come from the public being more involved with stuff like community outreach to assist the heroes, and maybe with Spinner's comic the villains voices will be heard on top of that." Which is a valid perspective and why I linked it.

However, from my literary criticism angle I don't think that particular theme is communicated well by the story. This is why while I think acknowledging the cultural context of the story is an important perspective, it's just one perspective because MHA is still A STORY and it has to use the tools of storytelling to get those messages across. MHA can exist as a piece of cultural commentary and still be confusing about what exactly kind of commentary it wants to make, because it doesn't function as a story.

So here's the literary critcism angle of: Why is it so gosh darned frustrating that the public at large doesn't seem to have changed at all by the ending of MHA?

When you are a writer you can write anything you want. But if you want to write a story that people want to read you have to follow the rules of good storytelling.

There are reasons why storytelling rules exist. A story is a bond between author and reader, readers to other readers. It is a communication between humans and humans work in a certain way.

I'd also argue that literary criticism is something that exists across cultures, like for example I watch Japanese Horror movies with my friends. Japanese Horror movies are very different from american ones because what that culture considers scary is different. However, if I'm watching the movie that has bad lighting and uncreative camera work, and I criticize it on that grounds, I think the rules of what makes good and bad camera work and shot composition work across cultures.

To quote this post:

Storytelling rules are rules of communication. Rules for handling expectations and saying what you intend to say without it being misheard. Rules for tugging at emotions and pulling heartstrings in a good way rather than a bad way. Storytelling rules are lessons learned by authors of the past that failed to communicate what they needed to. They are not that subjective.

So to address your ask finally friend, I believe a lot of audience comes from Horikoshi's inability to get his theme across in his own story with the tools of storytelling, just what he wants to say about the the society that he's created in his fictional world.

The first is the very obvious discrepancy between setup and payoff. As an example I read the Sam Vimes discworld novels, which you could say is copaganda about a good cop who does his job. However, the story is not trying to be a deep analysis about the crimminal system, it's a fantasy story taking place in a deeply corrupt medieval city where the main character is a parody of Dirty Harry. In other words it doesn't bring up any of those deeper issues so I can just read it for what it is, knowing it's kind of dated.

MHA sets up these deeper issues in a way that calls to be addressed. It's made clear several times in both Shigaraki's walk, and his speech during the first war arc that there's already enough heroes and yet problems in this society persist.

Theme is basically the story asking a question and then providing an answer. The question is: If there are so many heroes then why are there so many people who don't get saved?

It seemed like the answer we are building towards is that heroes need to change the way they deal with villains, hence why everything post War Arc focuses on the main trio trying to save their villains without just putting them down. You have Twice's death at Hawk's hands, and the question of why heroes only save the good victims. You have the parallels between Shigaraki and Eri. You have Deku say "ONE FOR ALL IS NOT A POWER FOR KILLING."

Hori is an author who makes choices and he chose to deliberately bring up these issues and not address them, and that makes the story feel unsatisfying to read because serialized stories hook the audience by promising future development.

Read this story because you want to see how the Todorokis will find a way to unite their family. Read this story because you want to see how Bakugo and Deku will become the greatest heroes, by saving by winning and winning by saving.

Twice's death, Toga's question about if Uraraka is going to kill her, Shigaraki's walk, OFA is not a power for killing these are all things that mattered in the story and then suddenly didn't. If you promise a story is going to address something and then you renege on that promise the audience will find it unsatisfying. If I'm reading a murder mystery and it ends with everyone eating cake and the murder hasn't been solved (and that's not the point of the story) I will feel like the story has wasted it's time.

So it's not just a case of "MHA was never going to be a story of deep societal reform because it's a shonen jump manga" but these themes are brought up, and then never addressed again.

Which is where we get my second layer of criticism, the massive tonal whiplash. My Hero Academia seems like a story of how kids are going to grow up to be better heroes by saving their villains, until it's not.

My Hero Academia is not a tragedy, until it becomes a tragedy in the last five minutes. Every single person thought Shigaraki was going to be saved somehow, until he wasn't. Everyone thought that Twice's death was going to be the last death in the league of villains, because the kids were going to realzie they have to find another way than killing the villains, until it wasn't. The audience isn't stupid for thinking this was going to happen, that's what Horikoshi was foreshadowing in his story until he threw it out.

The worst part is the tragic tone doesn't work, because it's poorly written as a tragedy. Greek Tragedy revolves around the fall of the heroes (this is a japanese work and japanese theatre is different, but Superheroes are inspired by the greeks). If the villains failed to get saved, then it should be a failure on the heroes part, it should be devastating on the heroes.

Hawks failed to save Twice but he's fine, Deku failed to save Shigaraki (OFA is not a power for killing) but he's fine, the only hero who seems personally affected by their loss is Shoto who is losing his brother. If this is a tragedy then heroes should be the ones to fall because tragedies are about the tragic flaws of the heroes.

However, we get this tonal inconsistency instead where no consequences stick to the heroes and every single bad thing that happens to them gets magically done away with by plot convenience.

So Hori has shown that he can just handwave away whatever kind of grievous injury he wants, and yet he still chooses to go out of his way to unnecessarily punish the villains for their actions, in the manga that's supposed to be about saving them.

And even if we go with the "Well, their hearts were saved" approach, the manga fails to demonstrate how their hearts were saved. Naruto, a manga running in the same magazine, does this so much better with characters like Obito.

Look at Obito's sendoff in the manga. A character who also is responsible for directly harming the main characters and who went to war with the entire world.

Obito has a dream sequence where he realizes he could have always gone home and still tried to become Hokage and he wasn't beyond redemption. He lives long enough to assist Naruto in the fight against the final villain. He gets called awesome by Naruto for trying to become Hokage because they shared the same dream.

His last moments in the manga are Rin the girl he loved comforting him in the afterlife, by saying she was watching his suffering all along. His literal last action is to lend his power to Kakashi his best friend in order to fight together once more against the villain.

Shigaraki on the other hand doesn't even get the majority of screentime in his own death chapter, he gets two pages compared to AFO's five.

It's not just the fact they get unsympathetic deaths, the story also bends over to show that they deserved it. Toga doesn't want to accept prison for her actions so it's okay for her to commit suicide even though she's a young girl. Shigaraki didn't want to give up being the hero to the villains, so it's okay that Deku didn't save him.

People are discussing whether or not Spinner should be held accountable for not saving Shigaraki because of his character flaw of deciding to not think about things and go with the flow, but that ignores the fact that once again Spinner is not the main character. Yes, characters should be held accountable for their flaws, but the protagonists are the one who should be held the most accountable because the story is not about them.

Spinner and Deku both failed to save Shigaraki, but let's look at their punishment. Spinner is in prison for the rest of his life probably, almost became a Nomu, and has survivor's guilt for being unable to save Shigaraki in time due to his own actions.

Deku... has to live with the fact he killed Shigarki and will "never forget it."

If we are going for a tragic ending, and Deku is the center of that tragedy, than Deku should be the one suffering for his failures. Deku should be held just as, if not more accountable than Spinner.

Spinner is held accountable and that makes him a good character - but to what end? I know what it's to slide blame away from Deku, which is also why Spinner randomly says something racist at the end of his scene.

So in all it's not frustrating because MHA isn't some deep, thoughtful criticism of Japanese society. It's frustrating because it violates the rules of setup and payoff, and it also is extremely tonally inconsistent.

A common response to this is I've seen is "You should just like MHA for what it is, and not what you want it to be."

However my underlying problem is that MHA as a story seems to be very confused about what kind of story it is. That confusion shows in Horikoshi constantly throwing out his own foreshadowing, and the wild swings in tone from tragedy to a story about optimistic young kids who are going to be the best heroez eva. Hori can tell whatever story he wants, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's telling it well.

As I said Hori's indecisiveness shows by this point in the story. I've already discussed this with Class1aKids but it really seems like Horikoshi is setting up two things with scissors-kun:

He'll either be A) A new villain that Deku and the kids prevent from becoming the next AFO or B) a resurrected Shigaraki who can save the rest of his league and fulfill his role as hero of the villains.

At this point there's equal foreshadowing for both, and this is my personal theory but it truly seems like Hori is gauging audience reaction to see which path he should take. If the japanese audience is satisfied with the villains "hearts" being saved, or if he should bring Shigaraki back to let the villains end on a more hopeful note.

#askspookies #mha critical

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lovemyromance · 7 months ago

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You know what I think is so interesting?

If antis have such faith in the mating bond, that they're willing to brush off Elriel as just some temporary bump in the road to their respective redhead happily ever after ....

Why even bother to argue? Why even write essays on random excerpts of Cassian's opinion on Elain's black dress or how Teal and Blue is the embodiment of "like to calls to like"?

Actually no, I get why Gwynriels are out here in the trenches. Their pairing hasn't been declared mates or even friends yet.

But the Eluciens? Why are they here? They are fighting to death online claiming every random passage in the books somehow is foreshadowing for Elucien endgame ...

When all they really need to do is point out that "Elain & Lucien are mates". That's all they need, hypothetically.

If SJM was truly a fated mates author as they seem to believe, if mates were the end all be all in this fictional world, if having a mating bond was all that mattered ...

Feysand shippers weren't arguing that Feyre would still go back to Tamlin once their mating bond was revealed. And although I'm sure people wished otherwise, nobody genuinely thought Nesta would choose Eris over Cassian when it became clear they were also mates.

So why are Eluciens even fighting with anyone? Why are they going out of their way to show that random passages of Elain relate to sunlight which relates to day court which relates to Lucien somehow....?

It's almost as if ... having a mating bond is not enough ... almost like ... you need love between a couple for them to be endgame ....

The mating bond is the only thing tying Elain & Lucien together. Not love. Not affection. Not lust. Not even friendship.

And even if they have a mating bond in place, even the antis know that is not enough. They are doing all this work to prove Elucien will fall in love, even though nothing in the text has suggested that, quite frankly.

Yes we can analyze five hundred pages of the background weather in SJM books and I'm sure if we think crazy enough, we'll find a way to tie it back to a ship. But that's not necessary? Not when there already is evidence of a couple who does have feelings for each other , quite literally in our face.

TLDR:

Even Eluciens don't believe the mating bond is enough, they need to prove that Elain & Lucien will somehow fall in love...eventually

Elain & Azriel have already shown they have feelings for each other. Even if they were mates too, that likely wouldn't change anything for Elriels. This ship has always been about having the freedom to choose who you love. Mates or no mates, all they need is each other

#elriel #elain x azriel #antielucien

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fourraccoonsinacoat · 1 year ago

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The beautiful subtleties of the Astarion scar scene, and why this is that headcannon scene where Tavurge draws Astarion.

***Trigger Warning for discussions of body autonomy and sexual trauma.

And we're back for yet another midnight dissertation where I over analyze the F out of a video game character romance, because I can't stop thinking about how amazing the storytelling is. I need help.

So we all love that Astarion romance headcannon where Tavurge draws/paints/does-something-to-show-Astarion-his-face. It's a beautiful headcannon and I adore it. But, allow me to convince you that Larian did, in fact, give us this scene. And it's the scene where Tavurge draws Astarion's scars.

Jump in the car, here we go:

The song playing in the background of this scene is "I Want to Live." I think that's a very deliberate choice, as that song is very tied to Astarion. So much so, that you can stand on a rock behind his tent and suddenly the full song starts to play, lyrics included. Music reminding us of the one thing Astarion wants more than anything else?

Astarion wants the freedom to live a life he chooses, he wants his choices to matter. He's been living 200+ years, but can't remember ever feeling alive until now. He is so deathly afraid of what he has being ripped away now that he's had a taste.

Because every other time he ever felt hope, Cazador tore it away and punished him. Cazador has caught him before when he ran, and locked him in a tomb to starve in darkness for a year. There's a reason the game makes it clear that this is his worst memory. It has to constantly be haunting him, fearful that at any moment Cazador is going to rip this away, too.

So, Astarion sleeps with Tavurge and is suddenly told that the design Cazador drew on his back is written in Infernal. Infernal being the language devils use to write Infernal Contracts. Astarion has to be out of his mind with fear that whatever is on his back binds him to Cazador in some way. Maybe in a way he doesn't know about.

I need to say something about body autonomy trauma, so trigger warning for those who struggle with these subjects. Sexual and body autonomy trauma both play into why this scene is powerful. I struggle with both and there's a reason his story hits particularly hard with me.

****Trigger For Description Of Emotional Response to Trauma: Having control of your body taken away leaves you with a type of deep, primal fear that is very difficult to explain. It's ridiculous and cliche, but the honest-to-best way to describe it is it, feels like a hole deep in your chest where something used to be. And it was literally wrenched out of inside your body, a place where nobody should be able to go because if your body isn't safe then where the fuck is? So keep that in mind.****

Not only has Astarion not had control of his body, he can't even see it in a reflection. Let that sink in.

To add it all up: he has something written in Infernal on his back that he can't see, but that could mean the one thing he's dreading = being bound to Cazador and having all of this ripped away. Again. And then he'll be punished, doing nothing but thinking about what he only just got a taste of.

This is why the cycle of abuse just crushes hope out of you. Because things hurt so much worse when you're hoping for them to work. At some point you're just hurting yourself by hoping.

He's terrified and he can't even look at his own body to see what someone forcibly mutilated into his skin.

So, Tavurge approaches Astarion from behind, just like in the mirror scene. Except this time, Astarion can't see them approaching.

Tavurge surprises him, in what's already a vulnerable moment, and surprises him from behind. A position of weakness. We'll hit on this more in a moment.

Astarion snaps at Tavurge due to being caught in a vulnerable moment. But, he quickly slides back into his charm and apologizes. Mask back up.

He explains what he was doing and the dialog choices here even throwback to the mirror scene. You can tell him you'll be his mirror in this scene.

He's hesitant about the idea. He's not comfortable with vulnerability, and outright tells Tavurge this isn't their problem. This is an extremely vulnerable thing, especially for someone with body autonomy issues. You're turning your back on someone and asking them to show you what's on your own damn body! What if they lie?

This is a major trust moment for Astarion. If you ask later to talk to others in camp about his scars, he is quick to say no.

He's not ready to trust that much. He just was vulnerable with Tavurge and that took too much out of the vulnerability reserves to push for more. Got to let those reserves build back up by seeing more reasons that show it's okay to be vulnerable.

This man does not want to turn around. He keeps his head down and grimaces, closes his eyes to brace himself. Think about all the triggers he must have about turning his back on people. He wasn't exactly bringing the morally upright back to Cazador. And Cazador, himself, obviously took advantage of his control to force Astarion to turn his back to him. Thus the scars.

Given all of that, he still turns around in an act of consent.

I love that you can just choose to quietly draw. You don't tell him how bad it looks, you don't try to comfort him by saying it's not that bad (which he would likely only hear as patronizing in this moment), and you can choose to not make a joke. I feel that's meaningful.

He turns around and can finally fucking see this thing that's been on his back for over two centuries.

At least he got to see his face, even if he can't remember almost anything about it. At least he can touch his hair, touch his face to get an idea. He can't even do that with the scars.

This means a lot, guys. Tavurge has drawn something that I argue is more meaningful than Astarion's face.

Tavurge has drawn a significant key to his future. The future he wants more than anything.

He needs to figure out what the hell this is before Cazador possibly activates it and Tavurge just made that significantly more possible.

And then, Tavurge has the option to call the two of them "we" for the first time in a way not tied to sex. Telling him "we will figure this out" and not asking for anything in return or giving him a hard time about it - at least not too much. The "shut up and turn around" dialog is one of my favs, and I feel Astarion appreciates the candor.

He's definitely sus when you say "we".

That is the face of sus.

But also...amusedly hopeful?

I like that he calls Tavurge "sweet" here. It makes me think of him calling them "cute" in the spawn ending at the grave with the flower.

I think Astarion really picks up on small things. Things people say and do genuinely, and I think it both amuses and confuses him, and in the beginning (here) still makes him uneasy and suspicious. He even asks it as somewhat of a question. Like, are you really actually this genuine?

I also would like to make an argument to the court that this is a significant moment when Astarion starts to realize he !FEELS! something for Tavurge and it's wigging him out!

They're making him hope again, and that's scary.

So, there. That's my evidence for why this scene is the drawing Astarion scene that we all love in our headcannons.

Tavurge is drawing something of extreme significance here. And I love how incredibly subtle this scene is in not blatantly pointing that out.

It's beautiful writing and that is all, your honor. Midnight dissertation - but also I may be in court - over!

Thank you for reading any of this nonsense.

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iikatsukii · 2 years ago

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3:15 (breathe)

synopsis: story inspired by the song 3:15 by russ

pairings: lo’ak x metkayina!reader

warnings: angst to comfort & minor violence

word count: 6.6k

a/n: ive been writing this for too long but im back with a present 🫶🏾 (also i know this one isnt shortened by a read more thing im sorry guys i tried idk why its not working but hopefully when i get my laptop charger back ill be able to fix it but pls just bare with me just this once)

you had been staring at the roof of your marui for about 20 minutes now. you were dreading getting up. you've felt like this for the past few months but couldn't pinpoint exactly when it started. being the youngest daughter of tonowari and ronal is like asking every boy in the clan to court you. when you chose rotxo, all the boys in the clan were heartbroken. you and tsireya found it kinda funny, to be honest.

you and rotxo have been dating for about half a year now. everything leading up to the relationship had been amazing. the fleeting glances, soft touches, the surprise dates. he had courted you perfectly, so he was over the moon when you finally said yes. his loving actions continued three months into the relationship. then suddenly, you started to notice a shift in his behaviors.

he wouldn't surprise you with dates anymore, he only hung out with ao'nung and his friends, he wouldn't make time for you, and when you did ask to spend time with him, he would brush you off, saying he was busy.

of course, your siblings didn't know about this. rotxo told you not to tell them. "i mean, what would ao'nung think of me? he would never want to be friends with me again," he told you. you sighed, "you're right, rotxo. i'm sorry. i won't say anything." rotxo pulled you into a hug, holding your head to his chest so you couldn't see the smirk he held on his face. on the other hand, you held an expression of self-doubt. like you knew the choice to not speak up was dumb, and you wished you could take your words back, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

so you remained in rotxo's arms day after day, putting on a show that everyone believed. never saying anything to anyone. never saying anything about all the harsh words rotxo would say to you, about the loneliness you felt, or about the scars he left on your heart.

tsireya, your twin sister, suspected something was off about your relationship because of how differently you had been acting recently. ever since rotxo started treating you poorly, tsireya would hear you cry yourself to sleep every night. still, when she confronted you about it, you would brush her off, saying she was probably hearing things from how tired she had been. and the thing is, nobody else seems to hear it, so it's not like tsireya can have someone to back her up.

you finally gathered the energy to get up, 2 hours later than you were supposed to, and you groaned, knowing your father was going to kill you. you quickly get dressed, rushing to find someone, anyone who can tell you where your father is. finally, you see a huge crowd, what looks like the entire clan, gathered at the shores of the beaches.

"uturu has been asked.." you heard faintly. as you made your way to the front of the crowd, where you heard your father's voice, you caught the tail end of the conversation. "toruk makto and his family will live among us. my children will teach your children the ways of the water so that your family does not suffer the burden of being useless." you hid behind your father. as he spoke, you looked over to who he was talking to.

a group of 6 darker-toned na'vi were standing huddled together. 2 parents and 4 children. you analyzed each child, still hiding behind your father. the smallest, youngest na'vi was holding her mother's hand, hiding behind her leg, similar to how you're hiding behind your father. the older female, who looked about your age, had an annoyed look on her face. you giggled at her expression, being able to tell that she wanted to be anywhere but here.

then you looked at the taller, assumingly older brother. he looked tight-laced, like he was the perfect child. a golden boy, if you would. not really your type but eh, who are you to say anything. you have a boyfriend, for crying out loud. you shouldn't even be thinking things like this in the first place. you rolled your eyes, ignoring the annoying thoughts in your head, as you looked at the other boy standing next to the eldest son.

that's when you noticed the eyes that were staring back at you. they were the prettiest amber color you've ever seen, accented by… is that hair above his eyes? his eyes glowed in the sun, and his markings? don't even start; his markings running along his body were mesmerizing. but the one thing that interested you was the look he held in his eyes. nobody had ever looked at you like that, and of course, that makes it harder to pinpoint precisely what makes you feel this way. while you were entranced in the visitor's eyes, you failed to notice your own boyfriend noticing you. once the clan's people started to disperse, your sister grabbed your hand and dragged you over to the new family.

rotxo was going to approach you, but he was stopped by ao'nung, who nodded his head back to the water, where they would later meet you, tsireya, and those 'freaks' for lessons. ao'nung missed the furious expression his best friend held. rotxo was quick to fix his face, though, playing nice. he saw the looks between you and that forest boy, and he was not happy about it. he decided to observe from afar before confronting you about anything, not wanting youîu to know that he noticed anything.

as you and tsireya approached the family, you got to take a closer look at the boy before you. your thoughts, though, were interrupted by your twin, "let us show you to your new home," as she and you guided the new family to their home, you could tell their father was trying to stay positive, but the way their mother dropped her belongings when she saw where they would be living was comedic to you. you couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction, not maliciously, of course. you're not like your brother ao'nung and boyfriend rotxo.

"sister, i was late to the gathering. i have no idea who these people are or what's happening." you whispered to your twin. "oh right! where were you, by the way? i had to go through ilu training with the boys alone! it was horrible." she groaned. you sighed. yeah, you're definitely gonna get your ass beat when you get home. "father didn't happen to notice, did he?" you said, already knowing the answer. tsireya just laughed "skxawng." she said, hitting your shoulder. "hey!" you said defensively, ready to hit her back until a hand caught yours. you turned around to see one of the new na'vi boys. it was the younger one.

"as amusing it is to see two sisters-" he started

"twins," you and tsireya corrected at the same time. it freaked both boys out, but they thought it was cute in a way.

"as amusing as it is to see twins bickering with one another, i believe a lesson is in our near future? per request of your father, that is." the tone he used was teasing. how could he speak to you with such confidence when he didn't even know your name? rotxo had never spoken to you like that. his words were always soft, almost shy as if he didn't want to scare you with how loud you knew he could be. for some reason, though, it made you like rotxo more.

but with how things have been going well recently, rotxo isn't that soft-spoken boy anymore. hell, he barely acts like your boyfriend now. so maybe it won't be wrong to get to know someone new? only as a friend, though. you would never dream of cheating, let alone act on it.

you looked down to see that the younger brother, whose name you still had yet to find out, was still holding onto your wrist, waiting for an answer.

oh shit, he's waiting on an answer.

you had zoned out, daydreaming about the boy who was gazing at you equally as curious. thankfully you guys had an energetic little girl to catch your attention. "LAST ONE TO THE WATER IS THANATOR BAIT," she said as she jumped into the water.

you and your sister giggled at the young girl's actions, deciding to jump right in after her. the remaining na'vi jumped in as well as you and tsireya swam, guiding them to where you would have this supposed lesson. as you and your twin swam, she explained everything that had happened while you were sleeping using your clan's sign language. it was making more sense now. this family fled their home, seeking a safe place to stay… uturu…

as you had gotten to the rocks by the beach, you noticed that your brother was there, which could only mean one thing. rotxo was here, too, great. you didn't really feel like pretending to be happy with him around people right now, but you slapped on your usual fake smile, praying to eywa that these newcomers were as easy to fool as everyone else on this island.

you had begun your lessons as usual, you and tsireya being paired up with the youngest son as he was having the most difficulty.

"breathe in. breathe from down here," tsireya said as she placed her hand on lo'ak's stomach. you placed your hand on his heart to check its speed as you continued, "breathe out." you sighed again. "lo'ak, your heartbeat is fast," you said, looking up at him, happy that you had learned his name because now you could address him by his name.

"sorry," he said,

"try to focus," tsireya added, his eyes meeting hers as she spoke. you noticed that when his eyes shifted, his expression remained the same bright, curious look he gave you; he also held with your sister.

maybe that's just how he looks at people, you thought as you continued to help him.

you felt eyes on your back, knowing it was rotxo staring at you. you looked over your shoulder and made eye contact with your boyfriend, smiling and waving at him, getting nothing but a stone-cold look in return. nobody seemed to notice, so the embarrassment was yours alone. or so you thought until you turned back to lo'ak, seeing as he had seen the whole interaction between the two of you. nobody had ever noticed something like this happen. you tried to read the forest boy's expression but couldn't. all you knew was that he didn't have that same bright look in his eyes as he looked at rotxo.

so maybe he doesn't look at everyone like that…

the exchange sent a shiver up your back. you had a feeling nothing good would come of these two interacting, but over the months, rotxo had diminished your self-confidence, finding yourself seriously doubting your judgment. so you ignored the feeling, not thinking it would be worth risking the normalcy in your daily life.

with lessons finally ending, you excused yourself from the rest as you walked back to your marui, knowing that your parents were about to beat your ass. you walked into your home with your ears flat against your head, tail between your legs, and head hung in shame.

"y/n te ronal'ite," your mother sneered.

oh yeah. you're fucked.

"father, mother, i am sorry i do not know why i overslept this morning–"

"this is the fifth time this has happened, child. you do not know why you have overslept five times this month?" your mothers' words were harsh; you knew she was very upset with you because of how you had been acting recently. you also knew she didn't like your relationship with rotxo, no matter how nice she thought the boy was. to her, something was just off, she could hear eywa whispering to her about it at night, but when she awoke in the morning, it became nothing but a second thought as all her tsahik duties became a priority as she started her day.

"mother, i am sorry. i do not know why this is happening, but i promise it won't happen again," you said, falling to your knees and begging your parents for forgiveness. you hated when they were upset with you, from when you were a kid until now—especially your father.

you were a daddy's girl; you couldn't help it. your father was your safe haven, and you hated when he was disappointed in you even more than you hated when your mother was mad at you. so when you looked into his eyes and saw concern and not disappointment, you knew something was wrong.

"ma y/n, what is the matter? ite, if something is wrong, you know you can tell me." your father tried.

this was the one thing you couldn't confide in your father for. usually, you have little to no trouble telling your father what's wrong, but this was different. you couldn't bring yourself to tell him. so you just looked up at your father, tears in your eyes, and said

"nothing is wrong, father. i have no excuse for waking up late, so please issue my punishment. i have to finish my chores for the day," hearing your voice so cold sent a shiver up your parents' backs. that was what made them realize there really is something wrong. no matter how much you deny it, they can finally see past the facade that you've been keeping up.

how have they never noticed? how long has this been going on?

ronal looked at her husband, silently asking him for help. for once, the tsahik didn't know what to do. as attuned to eywa as she was, the great mother can't outright tell her what is wrong or how to solve it, thus leaving ronal feeling hopeless.

useless.

a tsahik who can't even help her own child. what good is she?

tonowari cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself.

"two weeks, ilu keeper. you are to bring and return the villager's ilus as well as headcount the north, south, east, and west pens before the eclipse to ensure all ilus are accounted for. you are dismissed," your father's tone was equally as cold as yours. you knew the game he was playing, and you wouldn't fall for it this time. you knew your father was just trying to reciprocate the attitude you were giving him so you would crack. so you quickly left your home, knowing that if you stayed any longer, you would burst into tears and beg your father to hold you in his arms.

your depression had continued for months after the day of the sullys arrival. things with rotxo had only gotten worse, and to you, it seemed like nobody was noticing your depleting health. but in reality, everyone knew you were sad, but nobody knew why.

except for one person

you were so grateful for lo'ak. he was the only person who noticed. he saw everything and sat you down, saying you couldn't endure this abusive relationship anymore. he saw all the scowls and rolled eyes your boyfriend sent your way when you were looking and when you weren't looking. he also saw stuff that you hadn't seen. like rotxo entertaining different girls throughout the village. all of those girls being the ones who you said were your very good friends, but more specifically, it was your best friend.

you and your sully boy were walking along the shore, deciding to go for a walk after he had returned from his daily chores. the walk was silent, but you noticed the furrowed eyebrows above lo'ak's eyes, indicating that he was thinking.

"if you think too hard, you may end up hurting yourself, forest boy," you teased, giggling at his reaction. the boy had rolled his eyes, relieving his eyebrow of their stress as he nudged your side with his elbow. "hey, watch it," he said, laughing along with you.

then he got serious again, you noticed the stress return to his eyebrows, and you couldn't help but stop walking, concerned for your friend.

"lo'ak, what is the matter?" you asked, voice quiet, almost a whisper. lo'ak had barely heard it over the sounds of the tide washing up against the shore. he was silent for a while, debating on if this was his place to say anything, but the boy was worried for you so he spoke up.

"as your friend, y/n, i cannot allow you to continue to be in this relationship." his words were firm. you knew this was coming, and you were hoping you could avoid it, but in the end, it seemed inevitable. you sighed, exhausted, dropping your facade.

"lo'ak, please. don't say anything to anyone. i am fine, okay? rotxo is just busy, is all–"

"yeah, busy suckin' face with your so-called friends, y/n," lo'ak huffed, tired of seeing you endure this treatment. you perked up at his words, though. what was he talking about?

"what do you mean?" you said as you stepped closer, wanting to look deeper into his eyes to ensure he wasn't lying.

"your boy has been cheating on you with all the girls you call your 'friends', especially your best friend. whenever he says he's busy with ao'nung and the guys, neteyam tells me he sneaks off halfway through. and i've personally caught him with so many girls y/n. he's been cheating on you." the words echo in your head.

cheating?

with your friends?

your boyfriend…

your boyfriend.

a new feeling had blossomed in your chest. it felt like a raging fire in your chest, out of control and blazing with heat. oh, you were pissed. so lo'ak hatched a plan for you.

"take this," he said as he reached up to his neck, taking off his communicator and giving it to you. "wear it tomorrow. and right before eclipse, i want you to go to the west ilu pen. but be quiet when you get there. that's usually where rotxo meets your best friend." the words squeezed at your heart, but the fury in your chest overpowered it all.

"fine," you said as your eyes met his once again. you moved your hair behind over your left shoulder as you turned around, signaling for him to put the communicator on for you.

once it was secure, you turned to face him again, knowing that this would be the last moment of peace you would have until the storm you had been so severely trying to avoid.

"thank you," was the last thing you said to the forest boy before you made your way home. knowing the next day would be one of the worst days of your life.

it was a few minutes til eclipse, and you were waiting in a hidden spot near the west ilu pen just like lo'ak had told you. you had been waiting here for 15 minutes, and neither rotxo nor your best friend had shown up. did lo'ak lie? what reason would he have to lie? it's not like he likes you. lo'ak always uses phrases like "as your friend…" and "friends don't treat friends like that," insinuating that he, too, thought of you as a friend and nothing more, so what reason would he have to lie. you were about to radio him, pressing the button on your neck, because you were getting annoyed waiting here for so long. but then you heard a familiar laugh.

that's your best friend's laugh.

you turned around, peeking through leaves to see rotxo and your best friend holding hands, laughing with one another. keeping your hand against your communicator, you tried to get as close as possible without revealing your hiding spot so that lo'ak could hear everything happening.

"are you sure this is okay, rotxo? what about y/n? you know she's my best friend." your best friends laughter had died down as the two came to a halt.

"ma yawne, you need not worry." your boyfriend reassured.

"but what about her? you guys are in a relationship, and she is olo'eyktans daughter. if we get caught, we're done for. plus, she's been looking so sad recently. i can't help but feel like she knows." tears sprung to her eyes and you couldn't help but roll your own.

"mawey, my love. she does not know. besides, she has been ignoring me recently. i've been left alone, wondering if she's okay. i ask her every day to talk to me and tell me something; i reassure her that i'm here for her and that she can talk to me about anything. she brushes me off, not even giving me the time of day. it is like she has completely shut me out. i feel so left in the dark," your best friend just coos at the boy, pulling into a hug in an attempt to 'hug' him when she really is just trying to push her boobs against his chest. his hand placement wasn't any better. he had his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to himself if even possible.

OH, BOO FUCKING HOO, IS HE FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW??

it was taking every molecule of self-restraint in your body not to blow your cover and strangle the man you call your "boyfriend." upon hearing his words, you could only scoff. this is what he's been doing? while he's been ignoring you, leaving you lonely and hurting, he's been out in the village, cheating on you and playing victim, making everyone think you were ignoring him.

you could only roll your eyes as you walked away before you were discovered. you were furious. you knew exactly how you wanted to approach this, thinking based only on your heated emotions, throwing all rational away. as you walked away, your hand fell from the collar around your neck, knowing lo'ak had heard enough. he was probably on the way to your parents' marui right now to tell them everything.

you walked to rotxo's family marui; glad to see the rest of his family is still out doing whatever they do. you could care less. he and anyone related to him could perish, poof into thin air, never to be seen again, and you wouldn't bat an eye. in fact, just the idea of it brings a smile to your face. a smile that instantly dropped when the flap of the marui was pushed aside, revealing your boyfriend and your brother.

"ao'nung, leave. i need to talk to rotxo," you said as soon as you made eye contact with your older brother. you knew he was clueless about what had happened because he was hanging out with his friends all day. supposedly, so was rotxo.

"sorry little sister, but you're going to have to leave. rotxo and i are–"

"AO' GET THE FUCK OUT!" you screamed at your brother, eyes falling to the floor, knowing he wasn't the target of rage, so you probably shouldn't be treating him like this.

your brother was surprised you raised your voice at him but listened anyway, knowing that this wasn't his problem and he honestly didn't care about your relationship as long as rotxo treated you right. and to his knowledge, his best friend is treating you right. rotxo, you told your brother that it was you shutting him out, so ao'nung just assumed this would be another one of those 'irrational arguments' that rotxo always tells him about.

watching your brothers back retreating toward your home, you turned your attention to the man of the fucking hour.

"my best friend? are you serious right now, rotxo?" you asked him to get straight to the point.

rotxo rolled his eyes, groaning because he realized you knew he was cheating on you.

"y/n, don't be like this. my family will be home any minute–" you cut him off.

"i do not care. you are walking around telling people i shut you out? cheating on me? you are out here forcing me to put on a smile, fake happy, so your reputation doesn't get ruined, and you have the nerve to try and bring mine down with you? saying i'm leaving you in the dark. making yourself seem like the goddamn victim?! you're cheating on me, rotxo. FOR FUCKS SAKE." the english word that the sully children had taught you felt like the only word that could adequately convey your feelings.

"using the words that sully boy taught you, huh? you know you've been spending a lot of time with him. you're lucky the only rumor i spread was that you left me in the dark. be grateful that i'm not telling everyone how you've been spreading your legs for that freak." you gaped at his words. how did he know about how much you've been spending with lo'ak? of course, he's completely wrong about what you guys do but he's always busy with his friends, blowing you off, cheating, and not caring who you're with or what you're doing. regardless of how he knew or not, you and lo'ak were friends, and that's it.

"we are just friends. i would not even have to hang out with him if my own shitty boyfriend actually acted as if he fucking likes me. we hang out as all young na'vi do, free diving, ilu racing, sea shell collecting. things i've done with you, my siblings, and countless other friends, like the bitch you are cheating on me with, so why is it a problem when i do it with lo'ak? hmm, rotxo? what's your fucking problem? are you projecting? is that it?" you were blinded by your rage, not even realizing that you had approached your boyfriend, but it felt like your words weren't getting through to him. he still held this shitty condescending smirk on his face, and you were sick of it. so you pushed him with all the strength you had in your body. rotxo fell to the floor pretty hard, groaning in pain as he landed funny on his wrist.

"ah! ha–" rotxo graoned in pain as he gripped his wrist. his gaze met yours as he spoke again "look, she's finally snapped. what? are you going to go, run to your little demon blood? are you going to let him cheer you up like the little slut you are? might as well prepare yourself for tomorrow because when ao'nung asks me what we argued about, i'm telling him i found out you were cheating on me with that sully boy," rotxo stood from his place on the floor, holding a look you had never seen on him before. he walked towards you menacingly as you matched his pace, walking backward until your back made contact with the wall of his home. his hand came up to your neck, squeezing, not noticing that he had once again pressed the button on your collar so lo'ak could hear everything.

“y/n? what's wrong? what's going on?" you heard his voice in your earpiece but kept quiet, not wanting rotxo to know he was about to get caught.

"you're so easy, huh? playing hard to get for everyone in the village when really you just wanted to be a whore for a half-breed freak who has only brought problems and war to our home–" you pushed him off of you, running out his marui with your head down, not wanting him to see your tears as if he hadn't already.

as cruel as rotxo had been to you, he had never called you such degrading names like this.

as angry as you were, hearing someone you once loved say things like that to you felt like a bullet to the heart.

you ran to a hidden oasis within the forest line of awa'atlu. only you and rotxo knew of it, but recently you've found yourself coming here alone much more than you would come here with him.

falling to your knees in front of the river before you, you allowed the dam to break, letting all your pent-up emotions out. you couldn't help but cry to yourself. you hated life like this. you hated living a lie, not wanting to bare this pain anymore. you cried, sobbed, screamed, wailed, anything to get this hurt out of your heart.

rotxo had broken you. he had taken your pure, innocent heart and smashed it to pieces. no matter how much you tried to love and care for him, you realize he would never really love you. it was all just a ploy to get in with the olo'eyktan's daughter. he was just like every other stupid boy on this island. but you fell for him, and you hated the feeling.

and for him to cheat with your best friend, of all people? how could he? did he even love you?

to say lo'ak was worried was the understatement of the fucking year. he was basically having a panic attack rampaging the island after he didn't find you in rotxo's marui when they arrived. lo'ak had come with his family and yours, everyone having heard the cruel words that rotxo had spat at you thanks to lo'aks communication device.

jake and neteyam personally held lo'ak back from killing the metkayina in front of him.

"YOU FUCKER! YOU CALL HER A WHORE WHEN YOU'RE THE ONE STICKING YOUR DICK IN ANYTHING THAT HAS A FUCKING HOLE, YOU PUSSY–"

"lo'ak, that's enough," jake said, trying to restrain his youngest son.

"NO, HE'S RIGHT! DAD, LET ME GO! LET ME BEAT HIS ASS!" lo'ak looked over to see tonowari and another warrior holding ao'nung back, but the look on tonowari's face showed that he was seconds from ripping rotxo limb from limb for what he had said to his daughter.

that's when lo'ak noticed you weren't in the marui. pulling himself from his father and brother's restraints, he ran out, immediately going to all your favorite places on the island, trying to find you.

he searched the shallow reefs on the east side of the island. he visited the ilu pen on the south part of the island because that's where you kept your ilu. he checked the floral shoreline on the northwest part of the island, knowing that you loved getting all your flowers from there, whether it was for your hair, a top, or a gift for the new boy on the island.

lo'ak noticed a forest line near the floral shores, so he also decided to check within that area in case you were wandering around there.

walking through the forest area kind of reminded lo'ak of home. he had been reminiscing on the flora of his home when he heard what sounded like crying—very loud crying.

immediately arming himself, prepared to protect himself or someone else. lo'ak stepped into the clearing, seeing you kneeling over the stream, fists clenched into the ground beneath you as you let out the most heart-twisting cries he had ever heard.

you were crying so loud you hadn't even heard the forest boy approaching you. feeling arms engulfing you, you began to panic. whoever it was immediately tried to soothe your struggles, and much to your surprise, you listened. you felt warmth, security, and comfort. things you never felt around rotxo, at least, not anymore.

"mawey, y/n. mawey. try to match my breathing," it was a familiar voice, but with all the physical and emotional pain clouding your senses, you couldn't pinpoint who it was. regardless, you tried your best to match his breathing, your heavy breaths slowing to quiet sobs and whimpers. it felt like your heart was really breaking. this realization was painful. rotxo didn't love you. he was using you.

you just wanted to be loved, and rotxo made you feel that way for a while. but that was the problem; it only lasted a while. then everything went to shit, and you were left cold and alone while rotxo was out cheating on you and forcing you to fake a smile for everyone around you so that you wouldn't ruin his reputation.

your cries had died down, and you were resting within the hold of the person behind you. his hushed words of comfort hadn't stopped, praising you for controlling your breath as he soothingly rubbed your shoulders. when you calmed down enough, you turned to look at the source of your comfort. it was honestly one of the last people you expected it to be.

you would've thought your brother or sister would find this secret spot before the forest boy did.

"lo'ak, what are you doing here?" you asked him, trying to escape his grasp and wipe your tears at the same time. lo'ak was quick to grab hold of your hands, preventing you from moving away from him.

"mawey, y/n. just relax. i'm here for you, and you can cry all you want to, sevin. i am not going anywhere." his voice was so comforting as he pulled you back into his embrace. you just sighed as you felt another wave of tears coming to your eyes. so you cried it out, relieving every sob, scream, and cry you had ever kept in, and lo'ak stayed with you through it all. never once letting you go and never stopping his whispers of reassurance.

when your sobs died down again, you noticed he intertwined his fingers with yours. you hadn't noticed his hands before. you weren't aware, but your ears perked up a bit, and your tail started to rev to life a bit when you saw he had five fingers instead of four. you wordlessly detangled your hand from his, causing the boy's ears to fall flat to his head.

you noticed his hands. did you see him differently now? his thoughts started as a drizzle quickly forming into a hurricane, but when he felt both of your hands grab one of his pulling it closer to your swollen eyes so you could examine it better, he chuckled. he thought it was cute, seeing you fiddle with his fingers as your soft sniffles continued. if this was distraction enough to keep you from crying, then lo'ak would let you play with his hands 24/7.

you didn't know that lo'ak's hands were his biggest insecurity, so the way you played with them and looked at them with wonder and not worry made his heart swell. lo'ak had not thought his life would be turned upside down like this, being forced to move away from his home and learn new ways of life. he hated it. but willingly getting to know someone and maybe even starting to fall for her had to be the best thing on that list. lo'ak knew he liked you for a while but never made any advances as you were taken. even though he could've been treating you so much better.

he loved how your hands felt in his and how your smile brightened up an entire room. he loved how attuned to nature you were. you hadn't even realized the school of fish swimming around your ankles rested in the river before you. it was as if the animals were trying to comfort you, too, somehow being able to sense your distress.

“y/n. do not listen to him. he is nothing but a lowlife who derives pleasure from others' pain," lo'ak started ranting, not caring if you were listening. he just wanted to speak his mind. "you are beautiful, y/n. the most beautiful, strong, loving, kind, graceful na'vi i've ever had the chance to meet. if moving away from my home means i get to find a new home here, with you, i would fly, walk, jump, or crawl my way here a hundred times over. i would do anything to be with you properly. i want to heal you from that asshole's mistakes. i want to show you what it feels like to be loved. not because you are olo'eyktan's daughter. but because you are you."

his eyes remained focused on yours as he recited every word. but you could tell he wasn't speaking something memorized or forced; he was speaking from his heart. you could hear it, as if eywa herself was whispering it to you. but you were hurt. could you trust someone so soon?

almost as if he could read your thoughts, he spoke up again.

"i know your trust is weary right now, but let me prove it to you. i will court you properly, meet your parents officially, ask for their blessing, i–" lo'ak sighed, almost as if he didn't want to continue, but he did. "i'll even stop fighting with ao'nung." that got a laugh out of you.

"lo'ak, are you sure about that?" you asked, looking up at him through your tears, flashing the first genuine smile he had ever seen on you. he was amazed. if he thought your fake smile lit up a room, then your genuine smile could bring light to an entire clan.

"i would do whatever you want me to do, syulang. i just want to be with you. i want to love you if you'll have me. we can take things at your pace. i'm in no rush because, for you, i would wait forever," he yearned for you, waiting patiently to see if you'll accept him.

you couldn't find any reason not to. this boy had to have been sent to you by eywa. he was meant to be the remedy to heal your heart after this tragic breakup. you were crying, but they were tears of joy and relief. you were finally free. free to feel love. free to feel happy. free to be you.

in the heat of the moment, you felt something wiggling under the ground beneath your leg. looking down, you see a glow worm inching up your leg. most do not know, but since the metkayina spirit tree is underwater, these little glow worms come up from the sand or appear on or around you whenever eywa tries to give you a sign. they're the metkayina equivalent of a woodsprite.

you could only gasp at the sight of the tiny creature. so he really is eywa sent? you thought as you saw a glow worm crawling up lo'ak's shoulder. this caused you to laugh, seeing as he also noticed the glow worm on his shoulder and started to panic, trying to flick the bug off his shoulder without hurting it.

"kehe, don't do that," you said as you grabbed his hand to prevent him from hurting the poor thing. you carefully placed your hand in front of the glowworm, allowing it to crawl into your palm. you took lo'ak's hand in yours, facing his palm up to allow the glow worm to walk from your hand to his.

"what is this?" he asked as he brought his hand closer to his face turning it as the glow worm walked around.

"i've heard about omatikaya woodsprites from kiri. they are like that but for the reefs. they are sent from eywa, meant to be wordless messengers," you explained to the forest boy.

your forest boy.

lo'ak couldn't help but smile at you, processing the words you had said. as he spoke again, he held nothing but love in his eyes, "y/n, i see you. oel ngati kameie," he gently held your face in his hands to ensure you made eye contact with him as he said it to you. you cried even harder because rotxo had never said that to you. and you're glad he didn't because you wouldn't have been able to say this back,

"oel ngati kameie, forest boy."

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highinmiamiii · 3 months ago

Text

KNOW IT DONT COME IN A SHOT GLASS PART2

18+ billy butcher x supe!reader

author’s note: hello my fellow freaky weird girls this is pretty nasty, i hope u all enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. as i mentioned before this is probably my first time trying to write any kind of fic since like middle school. this is slightly inspired by butcher and maeve scene in s3, but with reader, and better because it’s inspired by Rehab by Amy Winehouse ;)

(CW: mentions of addiction, alcohol relapse, breaking sobriety, smut, PIV, unprotected PIV, f!receiving oral, breeding if u squint, language)

pls lmk if i missed anything

The next thing you knew, you’re sprawled out woozily on the couch, having taken off your sweater leaving you in your tight-fitted black tank top, 4 drinks deep into the horrible fucking idea that was breaking your sobriety with Billy Butcher.

Butcher leans against the couch, a glass of the authentic Russian vodka he had brought back from their mission to find Soldier Boy held between his fingers while he twirls the drink in it, looking intensely at it. Even though this isn’t the first time you’re helping Butcher and his team, you still haven't gained Butcher's complete trust. At least half an hour has passed with the both of you drinking, barely even speaking before Butcher had gone on a rant about supes and why they were ‘The World’s Greatest Cunts’. “I done it all…Coke, Smack, Meth, E…nothin’ quite like this..” Butcher says, analyzing the small tube of V

“Jeez-“ You say huffing at his admission to having done pretty much every drug you’d ever heard of. Butcher sighs and runs his hands over his face, leaning back on the couch as he says “Nobody should have that kind of power. Not even me. Every single one of them has to go, including you" He leans in closer to you, his eyes never leaving the small tube of V. "But I'll be damned if I let someone like you slip through my fingers." His voice is low and dangerous, hinting at the thoughts swirling around in his mind as his eyes flick up and down your body.

You furrow your eyebrows, taking a swig from your glass as you try to decipher what the hell that was supposed to mean. You chuckle softly “You’re an asshole, I’m going out of my way and risking my life to help you, but you really just want me gone too” You roll your eyes and cross one of your legs over the other sinking further back into the couch. “I respect it, Really, your eyes are on the prize, I get it.” You say teasingly before taking another sip from your glass and sliding it across the coffee table. His voice is rough and serious as he looks at you directly, he leaves his glass on the table after finishing the last drop that was left in it. leaning forward and resting my arms on my legs as i let out a deep sigh. there’s a beat before i slowly tilt my head up towards Butcher as i look into his eyes deeply. "What I want and what's right aren't always the same thing," he says, his gaze unwavering. He leans in even closer to you, close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin. "You're clever, I'll give you that.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean, Butcher?” You roll your eyes, once again, your vision a little fuzzy and your thoughts a little cloudly now. Butcher tsks and tilts his head over to you “Means that you, with your little superhero complex and your 'doing what's right' attitude, could be a liability. But... at the same time, you're the only one who seems to see beyond the surface of all this fuckin’ blimey shite." he says, his voice low and husky. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing against your thigh, sending shivers down your spine. "You drive me mad, woman.” He says with his lips slightly parted, eyes wide as he looks into your eyes “But that doesn't change my mission." Butcher clears his throat and reaches for the glass on the table, to pour himself another glass.

Your eyes search around his face, taking in those pouty parted lips, the scruffy, slightly greying beard and his wide glassy eyes, you take a deep breath and slowly lean closer before grabbing his entire face and breaking the distance between the two of you as your lips smash together in a searing kiss, Butcher let’s out a muffled protest. A flicker of surprise flashes across his face, quickly replaced by a scalding intensity as he deepens the kiss, his hand snaking around your waist.

A few seconds go by before he pulls away and shakes his head, looking down before looking up into your eyes and standing up, the look behind his eyes showing a thousand words…or rather, these specific ones:

‘What the fuck was that??????’

You scoff in annoyance and sit up, running your hands over your thighs before getting up off the couch and looking at him. You cross your arms over your chest and avert your gaze to the side “What? Still think you’re too good for me, s’that it?” You say, taking a few steps closer to him, looking up at his face. You raise an eyebrow, that was the easiest way to convince Butcher to do just about anything, any self-loathing asshole for that matter. Make it seem like there is no lower low.

A flash of annoyance flickers in his eyes, but then he sees right through your little game. With a smirk playing on his lips, he steps closer to you, towering over you. He looks down at you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Too good for you? Darling, I'm not the one playing dress-up in some fantasy world." He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You laugh in his face “That’s real fuckin’ rich, isn’t it? Considering I didn’t have a choice to be like this, you’re the one fuckin’ playing fantasy. You live it for what, 24 Hours? You’ll never fucking know what it’s like, Butcher.” You slowly get more riled up as the rant progresses, backing him up into a wall until your forearm is just under his neck. Pinning him up against the wall, he was strong of course, but no match for a supe, especially as wasted as he was right now.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but the flash of annoyance quickly returns. He smirks again, his hands coming up to grab onto your forearm. "You're right, darlin'. I'll never know what it's like to be a fucking sick ultra-cunt supe freak” He smirks, fucking smirks like the smug cocky bastard he is, knowing he’s just adding insult to injury right now.

You squint, your eyebrows knit together in frustration as you sneer at him, pushing back even harder now. You use most of your force now as he strains under you, holding him down effortlessly with your strength.

“Fuck. You.” You whisper into his ear slowly enunciating each and every syllable. His smirk fades, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. He tries to push back, but it's a futile effort against your superior strength. "Jesus-alright, alright... I get it," he says, his voice strained, breath hot against your ear. His body tenses under yours, a spark of defiance flickering in his eyes. The smug look on his face returns, but his eyes are still a little wide with caution. "You’re a big fucking superhero. Congratulations. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo, sweetheart." He sneers again, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He tries to push off from the wall, but you don't budge an inch. "Let go of me, damn it.” he says.

But even as he struggles, a thrill runs through him, his cock slightly kicking up in the confines of the rough denim on his body. You surrender, letting your arm fall, but your knee is now beginning to nudge just between his legs. "oi, easy there, love," he says through a hiss as your knee nudges into the now sensitive, growing bulge in his jeans. "You don't want to start something you can't fucking finish." Yet his words falter as he watches your knee press tighter against the growing bulge in his pants, his breath catching. He swallows hard as his back meets the cool bricks once more, unable to break free from the intensity in your eyes, and the persistent nudge of your knee into his growing hardness. He clears his throat and tries to maintain some semblance of control. Trying to keep his voice steady even as his heart pounds in his chest and you invade his personal space again, he stammers, eyes darting between yours.

His back is now fully against the wall, your knee remaining unmoving between his legs as he starts to squirm. You reach out and grab his face with one hand, leaning in and practically devouring his mouth with a fervor and hunger that was difficult to understand for yourself. He was such a piece of shit, what the hell were you doing? Butcher's initial instinct is to push you away, but he finds himself caught in that fiery gaze and the taste of your lips. He responds eagerly, his hand reaching out to grip your hip possessively. The irony of this moment does not escape him, but neither does it stop him. The kiss is sloppy and messy, desperate and breathy before you let your gaurd down, your strength faltering in hopes that butcher will take some control here as you sigh breathily into his open mouth. Sensing your surrender, his ego swells. His free hand slides up from your hip to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss.

His tongue explores your mouth boldly, hungrily; it's been a long time since someone has challenged him like this. Butcher grips your waist tightly and flips you both over roughly so that now your back is against the wall and he’s the one pushed up against you. He desperately attacks your neck with his mouth, suckling and biting all over your collarbone. You gasp softly at the searing feeling of his lips devouring your skin like he’d never seen a woman in his damn life. His hand sneaks down your back onto the swell of your ass, giving it a tight, rough squeeze as your hand tangles itself in his hair, giving it a sharp tug before pushing him down onto his knees in front of you roughly. Butcher groans into your neck, the sound muffled and needy as you pull his hair, he drops to his knees without hesitation, his hands immediately going for the waistband of your pants. He attempts to yank them down in one go and growls in frustration when they won’t budge, his big clumsy thick hands struggling to get the button open. You snicker under your breath softly, looking down at him as he struggles “Really?” Butcher stops his struggling and tilts his head back to look up at you, his light eyes shining with a mixture of annoyance and pure unfiltered lust. He smirks ear-to-ear before reaching up and yanking the button of your jeans off, the fabric ripping easily under the force of his strong hands.

You gasp, biting your lip to stifle a chuckle as you look down at him, lips parted and eyes wide in shock ��Did you just fucking rip my jeans-“ “-And now they're coming off," he finishes gruffly, his hands gripping the waistband of your now-open pants and dragging them down your legs, taking your sheer black lace underwear with them. He leans forward and nuzzles his face into your thighs, inhaling deeply before looking up at you from between your legs. You smirk “you’re a fucking pussy, y’know, for someone who advertises himself as some hard ruthless badass- psssh, i mean, on your fucking knees in front of me, between a supes thighs, really? s’pretty pathetic” You scoff and grip the back of his hair tightly once more.

He growls in frustration at your words, his eyes flashing with anger as he grips the backs of your thighs and yanks you forward, forcing you to straddle his face.

He buries his face in your center, his tongue darting out to taste you. He groans in pleasure, the sound vibrating through you as he begins to devour you eagerly. He laps at your folds, his tongue sliding through your slickness and tasting every inch of you. He sucks on your clit, drawing it between his lips and teasing it with the tip of his tongue before plunging his tongue deep inside of you. You gasp, letting go of his hair as he has your thighs around his head. You throw your head back in a breathy sigh as he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before with his tongue “O-oh my god..” You roll your hips slightly, basically riding his fucking face for a second. His cock is almost leaking through his jeans when he feels you do that. The feel of your hips grinding down on his face is enough to make him lose control. He grips your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he eats you out with wild abandon. He growls around your pussy, the vibrations making you tremble. He continues to feast on you, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he holds you in place. His arousal is palpable, the thick bulge of his cock straining against the denim as he loses himself in your taste.

Your legs are shivering at this point, hair is sticking to your face with a sheen of sweat over your body “B-butcher-“ You moan sweetly, rolling your hips once more and burying your hand in his hair again. The feeling of his beard scratching between your thighs was enough to make your mind go numb. The fact that you were both the drunkest you’d ever been for a period of time was of course, not helping. Everything felt so fucking good, it was like you were buzzing with pleasure everywhere Butcher touched you. The bruising grip of his finger on your ass and thighs, the smooth silky, yet rough glide of his tongue through your slick folds and in and out of your tight creamy cunt. He groans into you, the vibrations only adding to the symphony of sensations assaulting your body. His grip on your thigh tightens, pulling you impossibly closer as he suckles and flicks his tongue rapidly at your clit, bringing you right to the edge. “Jes-Jesus Christ-“ Your legs are trembling and your entire body is on fire, the pleasure is so fucking intense, you’re so close, everything is going right. Until Butcher stops. He fucking stops. He pulls away, leaving you aching and empty, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. “Not so fast, luv. Not bloody done ‘ere yet" He rises to his feet, his erection straining against his jeans. You look at him in complete disbelief and rage “Are you- Are you fucking kidding me?? I was about to-“ You sneer at him and grab him by his ridiculous fucking Hawaiian shirt

He doesn't flinch under your grip, meeting your anger with a cold, calculating gaze. "I know exactly what you were about to, love. And trust me, it ain’t happenin’ till I bloody say so." He plucks your hands off his shirt, his touch rough and possessive. God he was so fucking annoying. “You’re so fucking annoying.” you roll your eyes.

“Oh yeah? s’that right, darling?” His hand moves a stray hair out of your face before picking you up and carrying you over to a nearby desk, he sits you up on the edge, moving whatever paperwork was there to the side and beginning to unbutton his shirt. “Fuck you, I’m not waiting.” You sneer, quickly sliding your arm across the desk and wiping every last paper, trinket, file, ashtray etc. off the desk and onto the floor. You sit up and grab butcher by the shirt again, flipping you both over and pushing him down so he’s laying down with his back against the desk. You pop the buttons of his shirt off by ripping it open for a little bit of payback for your jeans. You straddle his waist, huffing and panting heavily as you look down at him before continuing to make out with him, just this time as you gently grind up against his crotch. He moans into your mouth as you grind against him, the friction of your wet heat against his erection through his jeans almost unbearable. His hands find your hips, gripping tight as he breaks the kiss, gasping for air. "Fuuuck, you're a feisty one, aint ya?” You reach for his belt, trying to unbuckle his while continuing to grind down on him and make out with him. He groans as you unbuckle his belt, her eyes darkening with desire. He wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. "Gonna let me feel that tight super-cunt, eh?" he growls, nipping at your bottom lip. You scoff “Ew- what the fuck- don’t- don’t call it that-“

You snicker as you unbutton his dark jeans and tug them down his thighs, trying to catch your breath before continuing further.

He grunts, his cock springing free as you lower his navy boxers. It's so incredibly hard and thick, a vein that you almost think you can see throbbing running down the thick shaft, the tip already glistening with precum. "What do you want me to call it then, love? Your pretty little pussy?"

You shake your head no and make a disgusted face.

He smirks, his eyes roving over your body hungrily. "Your delectable, succulent, irresistible cunt?" He reaches up to cup your breast, thumb teasing the hardened nipple through your top. "Or maybe your divine, heavenly, fuck-tight pussy?"

“Okay, okay! stop, please. i’m begging you. let’s just stop referring to it all together” You bury your head in your hands, slightly snickering but also absolutely appalled at the strange

pussy-naming creativity of William Butcher. He laughs, ruffling your hair before pulling your hands away from your face. He chuckles, his hand moving from your breast to your waist. He pulls you closer, nuzzling your neck. "Alright, love. No more pussy talk." He nips at your earlobe, then starts trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder. You reach for his leaking, rock-hard, veiny, thick cock, running your thumb over the tip ever so gently. He shudders, his hips bucking slightly as your thumb teases the sensitive head. A low, rumbling moan escapes him. "Christ, that feels good." He reaches for your hand, guiding it to stroke him fully, his length pulsing in your grip. You give the thick pulsing shaft a soft squeeze with each pump of your fist, your thumb continuing to brush his sensitive leaking tip. You bite your lip looking down at him as you continue to pump his cock. He throws his head back, eyes clenched shut, his teeth gritted as he groans deeply. His eyes snap open, meeting yours with a heated gaze. He reaches up, grabbing your wrist to still your hand around his cock. "Look at me," he commands, his voice low and rough. He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your knuckles. “I-I want it. Please.” you whisper. “Want what, love?” Butcher tilts his head acting clueless as he runs his hands up and down your waist, admiring every inch of your body. “Now is not the fucking time to act stupid if your cock isn’t inside of me in the next two minutes i swear to god Butc-“ the wind is smacked out of your lungs as he sheaths into your tight cunt with one sudden thrust, you yelp almost silently as you look down at him your lips parted in a pout and brows knitted together in a mixture of pain and pleasure. His face contorts with pleasure as he buries himself to the hilt, his thick, calloused hands gripping your hips possessively "Ah, there it is," he growls, his voice strained as he holds still, buried to the hilt inside you. "Look at you, taking my cock so deep." He leans in, nipping at your lower lip. "You're so bloody tight, love.” Your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden as you bury your head in his neck letting out a soft quiet muffled whimper, the tip of him was nudging against that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back so deliciously. It was rare guys ever even managed to hit that spot one during sex for you, Butcher had barely just slipped in and he was already pushing so tight up against it that you were out of breath. "Fuck, you're lovely," he groans, feeling your walls quiver and flutter around his cock. He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you down harder onto him as he begins to rock his hips up in a slow rhythm. "Look at me, love.” You’re panting heavily as your already fucked out gaze meets his gorgeous devilishly handsome eyes “Mmmh, p-please” You throw your head back as he fucks up into you, even though you were on top, if you even tried to move right now you would probably collapse from how good this felt, how fucking full he was making you feel. "You want me to fuck you harder, is that it?" he growls, his voice rumbling against your chest as he picks up the pace. You whine “Fuck..No-Ye- I-“ You wrap your arms around his bare back thrusting your hips up to meet his thrusts as you whimper “Butcher- Jesus- I- fuck..” The pleasure thrumming through your body is so fucking intense, he was so so so deep, so thick, filling you to the very brim you felt like you were out of breath more and more with each thrust. Digging your nails into the skin of his back and scratching at it as you begin to slowly bounce your hips on his cock. "Ah fuck," he grunts, feeling your nails dig into his flesh, the pain only spurring him on further. He bucks his hips up into you roughly, matching the bounce of your hips. The filthy sound of your skin, slapping against each other fills the room, mixing with the sweet sounds of pleasure spilling from your lips that was beginning to drive Billy to absolute madness.

"You're driving me fucking crazy, you know that?" he pants, his voice strained as he pushes harder into you. His fingers dig into your hips, gripping tightly as he tries to keep himself from losing control completely.

“I-I’m close Butcher-“ You gasp out softly, gripping his shoulder tighter, your nails leaving little red crescent mark dents in his back. "Bloody hell, you better not come until I tell you to," he hisses, his cock twitching inside you. "I'm not done with you yet, love." He grips your hips harder, his fingers bruising as he pounds into you with renewed vigor. You whine throwing your head back “Mmmmmh- P-please…why..” "Because I say so, that's why," he grunts, his face contorted in a mask of pleasure and exertion. "You'll do as I say when we're like this, you hear me?"

"Oi, I said, do ya fuckin’ hear me" he says, his voice strained. He watches as your breasts bounce with each movement, the sight eliciting a primal instinct within him. You nod softly biting your lip as your panting grows heavier “Please…mmphh…Butcher” you sigh.

"Christ, you're a sight for sore eyes," he grunts, leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. You groan in frustration and pleasure, so desperate to finish, and so sick of his bullshit teasing. Your hand snakes between both of your bodies, reaching between your legs as you dip your fingers into your slick, puffy folds, trying to get any sort of friction against your throbbing delicate clit. Butcher smirks at your frustration, raising an eyebrow. He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from your clit and holding it above your head. "I told you, I'm in charge here." You pout, grinding your hips down in a desperate attempt to get a sliver of friction back where you needed it most “Fuck you” You sneer “Stop. I-I needa cum Butcher please” You whine, pouting and looking up at him with those wide doe eyes. "What's the magic word?" he teases, his voice low and sultry.

It’s moments like these that make you want to slap the smug ridiculous fucking accent right out of him. You squint at him, grinding your teeth together. His grin doesn't falter as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "Come on then, y’can have what you want...when you say please." He punctuates each word with a gentle bite, his stubble scratching against your cheek. Your hands make their way back up to his hair, giving it a gentle pull before moaning a desperate “Please” into his mouth, you kiss him hungrily, trying to fight his grip stilling your hips from moving up and down. He smirks against your lips at the sound of that single word, pleased with your desperation. Butcher loosens his grip slightly but doesn't let go completely - just enough to let your hips squirm and move in small motions against him. Butcher's thumb finds your swollen clit, circling it slowly as you whimper and writhe beneath him. He groans at the sensation of your wet heat, the way your body yields to his touch. "Christ, you're soaked," he mutters, rubbing your clit with increasing pressure. Butcher's cock continues to slip and slide inside you, stretching your entrance before plunging deep and pulling all the way back out again. His wrist twists, pointer and middle finger rubbing against your swollen clit in a come-hither motion that has you gasping and crying out. Letting out a ‘humph’, Butcher thrusts into you harder, he can feel your muscles tightening around him, your breath hitching as you edge closer and closer to release. "Come on, love," He continues to pound into you with increasing intensity, his fingers never leaving your clit, rubbing and circling in a maddening rhythm that has your legs giving out deeming you unable to continue riding him, and your back arching. He leans down to bite and suck at your neck as he fucks up into you harder, his fingers pinching and rolling your clit in time with his deep thrusts, the combination of the dirty talk, the bite of pain and pleasure, the slick friction of your slick warm cunt clenching around his cock and pulling him in deeper, all building to a cacophony of your whimpers and soft moans muffled into his neck, combined with his deep groans and shaky breaths. You were both just about to fucking explode with pleasure as your legs trembled insistently, your walls clamping around him tightly, practically choking his poor cock. "Blimey... that's it... fucking squeeze my cock with that sweet cunt of yours," He grunts, his lips finding yours in a bruising, desperate kiss. His hips buck wildly against yours, fucking deeper into you as he chases his climax. “A-alright then, Doll- come on- I’m gonna-“ He taps your ass gently trying to signal for you to get off of him before he came. You bite your lip and smirk planting your hand on his chest for leverage before taking a deep breath and starting to bounce up and down once again. His hands slide up your waist trying to still your movements “Y’little fuckin’ brat…” He groans, gripping your hips tightly as you continue to bounce on his cock. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to hold off his orgasm, but he’s helpless under you.

You throw your head back, gripping his shoulder tightly and digging your nails into it as your climax approaches, your tight slick walls fluttering around him. The feeling almost suffocating Butcher as you continue to ride him with intense fervor, chasing your orgasm. Your tits are bouncing wildly as your face contorts into a loud whimpered moan of his name, your pussy squeezing him in so tight as you cream around him, gasping for air as your legs shiver, your entire body on fire that it sets off his own orgasm.

With a final deep thrust, his cock buried to the hilt inside your throbbing pussy, he explodes. His orgasm ripping through him with a roar. Pumping the white-hot spurts of his cum into you as he fills you up, painting your inner walls with a reckless abandon. His whole body shudders and trembles with the force of his orgasm, leaving him breathless. He opens his eyes to look at you, admiration shining in their depths. You desperately try to catch your breath, your brain slightly fuzzy of the feeling of his sticky spend dripping out of you right now. You look into his eyes and immediately feel your cheeks begin to flush in a little bit of post orgasm clarity. He watches you, his chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. The intensity of your orgasm was almost overwhelming, and he grins at you as he sees the slight dazed look in your eyes. "Fuckin' hell, you're incredible."

He runs his hand down your bare arm looking into your face as his other hand slides down your waist, helping you up off his cock. You bite your lip softly and cross your arms over your chest. He keeps his hand on your waist, guiding you off of him gently as he props himself up on his elbow. His other hand gently trails down your arm, feeling the goosebumps forming under his fingers. You look around the room, spotting your panties on the floor, picking them up and slipping your legs back into them as you throw your tank top back over your torso. You walk over to the couch again, settling into it “Got a cig?” You ask. He watches you as you slip back into your panties and throw on your tank top. The way your breasts move under the fabric as you walk across the room is mesmerizing. When you ask for a cigarette, he grins and fumbles through his pockets before sighing deeply as he feels an empty box “Fucking bollocks…I got bugger-all, fresh out, doll” He runs his fingers through his hair before picking up his boxers and stepping back into them “You wouldn’t mind coming with me to nick a pack, eh?” He looks you up and down before continuing looking around the room for the rest of his clothes. You sit up and chuckle

“Well- I don’t typically go to the store in my underwear, If only I had pants to wear… Oh, that’s right.” You say, tone dripping with sarcasm and bitterness at the loss of your favorite pair of jeans.

#billy butcher #billy butcher brainrot go brr #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher smut #amy winehouse #the boys #the boys tv #the boys smut #billy butcher nsft #smut

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lucky-clover-gazette · 5 months ago

Text

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 21 & final notes

warning: VERY LONG

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

He had been taken from his suite to a smaller cell and laid out on stone, his body covered by fine linen. Nineteen, thought Damen, and quiet.

the ‘and quiet’ is especially heartbreaking

When a servant had made to enter, Damen had bodily stopped him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No one goes in.’ He had put a two-man guard on the door with those same orders, and cleared out the section—as he had done once before, at the tower. When he had been certain that Laurent had sufficient privacy, he had left to learn all he could about Charcy.

lamen hr complaint #3: preventing other people (servants) from doing their jobs.

also, i like how this again builds on what we’ve seen in previous chapters. damen knows laurent needs time alone to process and think, and he fights to give him that. and then he tries to do some helpful thinking of his own.

‘I’m not Aimeric.’

you tell him damen

‘You ever wonder what it would feel like to find out you’d spread for your brother’s killer?’ Jord looked around the small room. He looked at the place where Aimeric lay. ‘I think it would feel like this.’ Unbidden, remembered words rose up inside him. I don’t care. You’re still my slave tonight. Damen pressed his eyes closed. ‘I wasn’t Damianos last night. I was just—’

it’s all coming together!! all the things i’ve been analyzing!!

also jord seriously laurent is doing this emotional damage to himself, damen’s just along for the ride

‘Just a man?’ said Jord. ‘You think Aimeric thought that? That there were two of him? Because there weren’t. There was only ever one, and look what happened to him.’

but… i think he was conflicted, and felt split. hence the “i’m sorry jord” and killing himself. and “what happened to him” implies a passivity that is patently false. aimeric was more like damen and laurent, psychologically, than jord. who is—sorry jord—honestly just too simple to be dealing with these ridiculous people

He had put those soldiers on the door to bar the way to those men seeking Laurent out for some trivial matter, or for any matter, because when Laurent wanted to be alone, no one should suffer the consequences of interrupting him. The taller soldier addressed him. ‘Commander, no one has entered in your absence.’ Damen’s eyes passed over the doors again. ‘Good,’ he said. And he pushed the doors open.

i LOVE this moment. the subtle humor of it—“when he wants to be alone, nobody should suffer his wrath” to “i’m going in,” because damen knows he can handle laurent’s bitching and that he shouldn’t be alone for too long

...even the table was replenished, with platters of fruit and pitchers of water and of wine...

guy whose job it is to communicate with the fort’s kitchen: yeah uh, can i get a ‘sorry you were disowned, usurped, gifted a severed human head, and then like five minutes later you discovered a suicide’ fruit basket for the prince

‘Come to say goodbye?’ said Laurent.

no you fucking idiot. let yourself be loved.

‘I’m sorry. I know what Nicaise meant to you.’ ‘He was my uncle’s whore,’ said Laurent. ‘He was more than that. You thought of him as—’ ‘A brother?’ said Laurent. ‘But I do not have terribly good luck with those. I hope you are not here for a mawkish display of sentiment. I will throw you out.’

laurent is trying so hard to take back control from this person who so recently saw him in such an intimate context. refusing to believe that he could continue to show damen vulnerability, and it would make him stronger

‘Then you’ll kill them like you killed Nicaise,’ said Damen. ‘By dragging them into this endless, childish bid of yours for your uncle’s attention that you call a fight.’ ‘Get out,’ said Laurent. He had gone white. ‘Is the truth hard to hear?’ ‘I said get out.’ ‘Or do you claim you’re marching to Charcy for some other reason?’

damen calling him on his bullshit! yes!! i love the tenderness between them here, in the pain and the compassion. tenderness is both. they can’t love each other without hurting each other (because lies), they can’t hurt each other without loving each other. there is some twisted romance in understanding someone and being understood so thoroughly that you have the keys to loving and hurting each other in ways no one else can. it’s a very compelling and intimate dynamic, although i am glad that they eventually figure out how to love each other without causing each other pain.

‘You need to beat him at his own game? You want him to see you do it? At the expense of your position and the lives of your men? Are you that desperate for his attention?’ He let his eyes rake up and down Laurent’s form. ‘Well, you have it. Congratulations. You must have loved it that he was obsessed enough with you that he killed his own boy to get at you. You win.’ Laurent took a step back, an almost-swaying motion of a man in the grip of nausea. He stared at Damen, his face hollowed. ‘You don’t know anything,’ Laurent said then, in a cold, terrible voice. ‘You don’t know anything about me. Or my uncle. You’re so blind. You can’t see what’s—right in front of you.’

okay damen you’re completely off-base with that one, but at least your worst-case selection on the dialogue tree has shocked laurent into being more angry at you than at the regent. which, if that was the point… well-played, but also Watch Out

Laurent’s sudden laugh was low and mocking. ‘You want me? You’re my slave?’ He felt himself flush. ‘That’s not going to work.’

and just as expected (?) laurent turns his wrath on a new target. performing cruelty, like he always does when he’s been justifiably called out

‘You want to hear the truth about my uncle? I’ll tell you,’ said Laurent, a new light in his eyes. ‘I’ll tell you what you couldn’t stop. What you were too blind to see. You were in chains while Kastor was cutting down your royal family. Kastor and my uncle.’ He heard it, and he knew not to engage. He knew, and a part of him was aching at what Laurent was doing, even as he heard himself say, ‘What does your uncle have to do with—’

so damen is subjecting himself to this on purpose. they are so messy. but it’s going to work

‘You didn’t guess it was Kastor? You poor dumb brute. Kastor killed the King, then took the city with my uncle’s troops. And all my uncle had to do was to sit back and watch it happen.’ He thought of his father, in a sick bed ringed with physicians, his eyes and cheeks hollowed out, and the room thick with the smell of tallow and of death. He remembered his sense of powerlessness, watching his father slip away, and Kastor, so solicitous, kneeling by his father’s side. ‘Did you know about this?’ ‘Know?’ said Laurent. ‘Everyone knows. I was glad. I just wish I could have seen it happen. I wish I could have seen Damianos when Kastor’s hire-swords came for him. I would have laughed in his face. His father got exactly what he deserved, to die like the animal he was, and there was nothing any of them could do to stop it happening. Then again,’ said Laurent, ‘maybe if Theomedes had kept his cock in his wife instead of sticking it in his mistress—’ That was the last thing he said, because Damen hit him. He drove his fist into Laurent’s jaw with all the force of his weight behind it. Knuckles impacted on flesh and bone and Laurent’s head snapped sideways even as he hit the table behind him hard, sending its contents scattering. Metallic platters crashed against tile, a mess of spilt wine and strewn food. Laurent clutched the table with the arm that he’d flung out instinctively to stop his fall.

a couple things to note here:

goddamn laurent. dude.

but at least he remembered to keep up the lie in his uncontrolled spite-filled monologue

veretian heterophobia/anti-bastardry on full display

not the fruit plate…

my ex wife still misses me, but her aim is getting better

Damen was breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists. How dare you talk that way about my father. The words were on his lips. His mind pulsed and throbbed.

hey damen, remember a few chapters ago when you were thinking about how you didn’t want to be like your father? not that kind of king? interesting

Laurent pushed himself up and gave Damen a look glittering with triumph, even as he dragged the back of his right hand across his mouth, where his lips were smeared with blood.

he’s insane. amazing character. 10/10

The doors behind him opened, and Damen knew without turning around that the sound had summoned the soldiers into the room. He didn’t take his eyes off Laurent. ‘Arrest me,’ said Damen. ‘I have raised hands to the Prince.’ The soldiers hesitated. It was the just response to his actions but he was—or had been—their Captain. He had to say again, ‘Do it.’ The darker-haired soldier stepped forward and Damen felt the grip take him. Laurent set his jaw. ‘No,’ said Laurent. And then, ‘It was provoked.’ Another hesitation. It was clear that the two soldiers did not know what to make of what they had walked into. The air of violence was heavy in the room, where their Prince stood in front of a ruined table, with blood welling from his lip. ‘I said let him go.’ It was a direct order from their Prince, and this time it was obeyed.

LAMEN HR COMPLAINT #4. UNNAMED SOLDIERS. i don’t even know how to label this one. but it definitely justifies a complaint. one of my favorite lamen hr complaints in the entire series

‘No,’ he said. ‘You can’t go to Charcy. I need to convince you of that.’ Laurent’s laugh was a strange, breathless sound. ‘Didn’t you hear anything that I just said to you?’ ‘Yes,’ said Damen. ‘You tried to hurt me, and you have. I wish you would see that what you have just done to me is what your uncle is doing to you.’ He saw Laurent receive that like a man at the very ends of his endurance being given another hit. ‘Why,’ said Laurent, ‘do you—do you always—’ He stopped himself. The rise and fall of his chest was shallow.

laurent at his weakest and most vulnerable makes my heart ACHE

‘I can’t.’ It was a raw admission. ‘I can’t think.’ The words were torn out of him. Wide-eyed in the silence, Laurent said them again in a different voice, his blue eyes dark with the exposure of the truth. ‘I can’t think.’ ‘I know,’ said Damen. He said it softly. There was more than one admission in Laurent’s words. He knew that too.

this made me tear up the first time i read it. laurent’s reaction here comes scarily close to some personal stuff for me, except i didn’t have anyone to say “i know” and comfort me. i’m glad laurent isn’t alone. it’s a little self-indulgent to imagine that someone could be loved like this in real life, but at least it happens on the page. and it took a real person to write it happening on the page—it didn’t just show up there on its own. that matters, and it’s part of why i find gratification in engaging intellectually and emotionally with fiction.

‘Don’t go,’ said Laurent, quietly. ‘I’m just clearing my head. I already told my escort I wouldn’t need them until morning,’ said Damen. And there was another awful silence, as Damen realised what Laurent was asking him. ‘No. I don’t mean—forever—just—’ Laurent broke off. ‘Three days.’ Laurent said it as though producing from the depths the answer to a painstakingly weighed question. ‘I can do this alone. I know I can. It’s only that right now I can’t seem to . . . think, and I can’t . . . trust anyone else to stand up to me when I’m . . . like this. If you could give me three days, I—’ He forcibly cut himself off. ‘I’ll stay,’ said Damen. ‘You know I’ll stay for as long as you—’ ‘Don’t,’ said Laurent. ‘Don’t lie to me. Not you.’ ‘I’ll stay,’ said Damen. ‘Three days. After that, I ride south.’

laurent not wanting damen to promise anything more than three days is so painful to read, but it also rings true. laurent knows he couldn’t stand to see that promise broken (“not you”), and he also knows that he can’t keep his lie from damen forever. laurent probably even thinks, despite everything between them, that damen might not even want him after he figures it out. but he needs him here now, in order to survive this and clear his head. so three more days.

damen agreeing to ride south in three days is a mercy, and i think also probably a lie. but he knows it’s what laurent wants and needs to hear, and that laurent is incredibly vulnerable at the moment. damen gives him what he (laurent) thinks he needs (damen leaving), while also giving him what he actually needs (damen staying), for three days at least.

Laurent nodded. After a moment, Damen came back to rest against the table beside Laurent. He watched Laurent find his way back to himself. Eventually, Laurent began to talk, the words precise and quite steady. ‘You’re right. I killed Nicaise when I left it half done. I should have either stayed away from him, or broken his faith in my uncle. I didn’t plan it out, I left it to chance. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking about him like that. I just . . . I just liked him.’ Underneath the cold, analytical words, there was also something bewildered.

really good depiction of someone coming back from a panic attack/breakdown. again, it hits. the “coming back to himself,” the way he slides back into steady precise assessment of the situation… yeah

It was awful. ‘I should never have—said that. Nicaise made a choice. He spoke up for you because you were his friend, and that is not something you should regret.’

oh this whole thing kind of foreshadows how laurent sacrifices himself for damen in book 3, huh? he does the exact opposite of what damen is telling him here, except instead of nicaise making a choice it's damen. damen makes the choice to care about laurent, over and over again, and laurent can’t regret that FOR him. laurent shouldn’t feel like he needs to free damen of his burden of caring, or protect damen from the consequences of his own attachment. but laurent is going to try to do exactly that, in book 3, especially with his “failure” of nicaise in mind. and he’s kind of doing it now, too, by insisting that damen can’t stay with him after charcy.

laurent shows love by caring for others in the ways he knows how to care for himself. it’s a silly parallel to make, but it’s like how he brought damen a towel after the sex scene, even though damen didn’t have the urge to be clean that laurent so pressingly experienced. laurent knows how to suffer alone and how to strategically use his abilities to survive. he channels this experience to serve the people and causes he loves, even if the gesture is misunderstood or it's done at his own expense.

back to book 3: damen attacks the regent in laurent's honor. laurent submits himself to the regent's retaliation in his place. not only because he loves damen and wants to protect him, but also because he blames himself for getting damen into the situation at all. because he allowed himself to be loved by damen, damen was in danger. laurent regrets that on damen's behalf and tries to suffer the consequences instead. something he hadn't thought to do, or been able to do, for nicaise.

laurent does have a bleeding heart—so much so, that he can’t possibly wear it on his sleeve. he believes that he can't help anyone, can't maintain precious stability, if he has made himself vulnerable to love and harm alike. what he does best is survive, use others, and allow himself to be used. his hypervigilance ensures that this is all under his own careful control, even when it appears otherwise. because when laurent loses control, he gets hurt and hurts others. see the regent taking advantage of him after auguste's death for an example of the former, and aimeric's suicide for an example of the latter.

laurent has a private and complicated code of ethics and honor, based on compassion for the disempowered and a thirst for justice. his apparent ruthless pragmatism is part performance, part necessary adaptation, and part realistic means of reaching those idealistic ends. as a disempowered victim of repeated injustices, he is sensitive in a way a person with different experiences might not be. sometimes that means he lashes out, like with aimeric. but in his best moments, it means that he fights and cares with unmatched fierceness. and with someone like damen at his side, and an eventual peaceful life in which he can reflect, laurent can grow to harness that passion without hurting others or himself in the process.

(my note-taking drifted away from text analysis here, and turned into a more personal meditation on real life and fiction. honestly i'd recommend revisiting the original quote to remember what the hell i'm even talking about. please skip to the next quote if you're not interested.)

i don't know if people like damen really exist, or if people like damen even should exist. after all, he puts up with a lot, way more than would be considered healthy or safe by modern standards or even canon standards. maybe damen's existence as a character is purely wish fulfillment for people who relate to laurent. it's probably unreasonable to expect to be loved by someone so patient and devoted. the reality is, while the kernels of what make this ship resonant and desirable may be found in a real relationship, no real relationship will be quite as resonant or desirable as an intentionally-written work of fiction.

the following sentiment is the most personal i intend to get in these notes. it's not super related to the book and it isn't necessarily relevant to anyone but me. but it does create a smoother transition to the next paragraph, so i'll keep it in.

i haven’t had the privilege of experiencing romantic love that hasn’t hurt. and while love and hurt come hand-in-hand, i have historically been offered very little comfort or consideration by people i have trusted with the most vulnerable parts of myself. which means that i am very well-practiced in caring for myself, alone.

i don't know if damens are real, and i don't want to count on it. i'll care for me instead, because i believe that i'm worth caring for.

i think that firm belief, that i am worth caring for, has a lot to do with the way i interact with stories. that's the reason why i find analyzing resonant fiction like capri so personally gratifying. even though the characters aren't real, the fact that their stories have been told at all makes me feel less alone. because someone had to care enough about it, about them, to bother to write it all down. real stories have this effect too, if resonant—history or poetry or memoir, the same principle still applies.

through analyzing the stories that i care so deeply about, i am tricked into believing that i owe myself the same compassion and consideration that i show the people within them. because if i relate to a character, and i want them to be happy and loved, then that must mean that i want me to be happy and loved too. and beyond projection, i get to learn things about people who aren't like me at all, and countless worlds outside my own. in that respect, thinking about stories helps me strengthen my own moral code and widen my perspective. and honestly, more than anything else, it just feels good to do something with it all.

... which is why i am doing this, for free, for hours, for fun.

‘He spoke up for me because he didn’t think my uncle would hurt him. None of them do. They think he loves them. It has the outward semblance of love. At first. But it isn’t love. It’s . . . fetish. It doesn’t outlast adolescence. The boys themselves are disposable.’

something something, akielion slavery. keeping people in a permanent state of arrested development, stripping them of their ability to advocate for themselves like adults, making them into interchangeable objects who unconditionally love their position and trust their masters. but it isn’t love, nor is it fetish—it’s grooming, and it's evil. just like the regent, with every single one of his victims.

laurent knows damn well that it's far worse than just fetish. he knows it for the slaves and for the regent's young victims. but he can't verbalize it here, because that would mean admitting (privately, implied) that evil has been done to himself as well.

i don’t think laurent views himself as innocent in the same way he viewed nicaise, or the other victims, or the akielion slaves. his desire for justice is not on his own behalf, and it never really has been. in various instances, it’s been about justice for auguste, damen, jord, and nicaise… but never for laurent himself. to laurent, it’s evil when the regent hurts all of the other boys—but when it was him, it was only fetish. and laurent understands that to the regent, with any of his victims, it is only fetish. not love or evil. even though the regent's boys believe it's love, even though laurent can rationally recognize that it's evil, it doesn't matter when the regent is still in power. and on a personal level, regarding his own experiences with his uncle, some part of laurent is still groomed into thinking he specifically deserves abuse.

Damen knew better than to reach out, or to try to touch him.

i love seeing moments like these. comfort isn't one-size-fits-all.

He watched Laurent’s face, the flickering of some internal truth behind the careful lack of all expression. ‘He was on my side,’ said Laurent. ‘But in the end, the only person on his side was him.’

don’t make the same mistake, laurent, assuming that damen isn’t on your side. oh fuck he can’t hear me.

‘You liked him.’ ‘My uncle cultivated the worst in him. He still had good instincts sometimes. When children are moulded that young, it takes time to undo. I thought . . .’ Softly, ‘You thought you could help him.’

see previous analysis re: laurent, grooming, regent, etc.

It was with a shock that he felt the touch of Laurent’s fingers against the back of his wrist. He thought it a gesture of comfort, a caress, and then he realised that Laurent was shifting the fabric of his sleeve, sliding it back slightly to reveal the gold underneath, until the wrist-cuff he had asked the blacksmith to leave on was exposed between them. ‘Sentiment?’ said Laurent. ‘Something like that.’ Their eyes met and he could feel each beat of his heart. A few seconds of silence, a space that lengthened, until Laurent spoke. ‘You should give me the other.’ Damen flushed slowly, heat spreading from his chest over his skin, his heartbeats intrusive. He tried to answer in a normal voice. ‘I can’t imagine you’d wear it.’ ‘To keep. I wouldn’t wear it,’ said Laurent, ‘though I don’t believe your imagination is having any difficulty with the idea.’

foreshadowing this in book 3, except it happens in the most petty insane way possible

Damen let out a soft, unsteady breath of laughter, because he was right. For a while they sat together in comfortable silence. Laurent had mostly returned to himself, his posture more casual, his weight leaned back on his arms, watching Damen as he sometimes did. But he was a new version of himself, stripped back, youthful, a little quieter, and Damen realised he was seeing Laurent with his defences lowered—one or two of them, anyway. There was an untried, fragile feeling to the experience.

‘I should not have told you in the manner I did about Kastor.’ The words were quiet. Red wine was seeping into the tiles of the floor. He heard himself ask it. ‘Did you mean what you said? That you were glad.’ ‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘They killed my family.’

i love that he doesn’t lie here. because yeah.

The truth was so close in this room that it seemed for a moment that he would say it, say his own name to Laurent, and the closeness of it seemed to press down on him, because they had both lost family.

honestly cannot tell if it would have made things better or worse for him to tell the truth now. guess we'll never know

Because throw Laurent together with Damianos, and either one would kill the other, or, if Damen kept his identity concealed and they somehow managed to form an alliance . . . if he helped Laurent instead of hurting him, and Laurent, out of the deep-buried sense of fairness that existed within him, helped him in turn . . . if the foundation of trust was built between them so that they might become friends, or more than friends . . . if Laurent ever decided to make use of his bed slave . . . He thought about the Regent’s suggestions to him, sly, subtle. Laurent could benefit from a steadying influence, someone close to him with his best interests at heart. A man with sound judgement, who could help guide him without being swayed. And the constant, pervasive insinuation: Have you taken my nephew? My uncle knows that when I lose control, I make mistakes. It would have given him a perverse kind of pleasure to send Aimeric to work against me, Laurent had said. How much greater the twisted pleasure to be gleaned from this?

regent thought he was being clever but he actually just preordered his own defeat

‘I’ve listened to everything that you said to me,’ Laurent was saying. ‘I’m not going to rush off to Charcy with an army. But I still want to fight. Not because my uncle threw down a challenge, but on my own terms, because this is my country. I know that together we can find a way to use Charcy to my advantage. Together we can do what we cannot do apart.’

“together we can do what we can’t do apart” THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING

also warning, i forget the details of laurent’s whole charcy plan. so there’s probably context where i’m missing it. but i’m still looking out for double meanings etc

(note from post-reading sam: yeah you're about to see me realizing and processing things in real time, just hang in there i figure it out eventually)

‘My uncle plans everything,’ said Laurent, as though reading Damen’s thoughts. ‘He plans for victory and he plans for defeat. It was you who never quite fit . . . You’ve always been outside of his schemes. For everything that my uncle and Kastor planned,’ said Laurent, as Damen felt himself grow cold, ‘they had no idea what they did when they gifted me with you.’

i love that he says this, knowing who damen is. it just makes me happy. i think laurent is already Scheming at this point, and probably weighing the ways he can blindside damen or screw him over. “together we can do things…” doesn’t necessarily mean that they can make it happen as a team. damen is a useful piece to play strategically, though, and that way of regarding him means laurent conveniently doesn’t have to think about the intimate night they just shared or the two people who just died tragically who both parallel his own experiences

In a fort full of activity, he knew himself a game piece, and was only beginning to be able to glimpse the scope of the board.

truer than you think. although UGH i wish i could remember the exact sequence, i’m not sure if laurent is scheming to screw him over yet. i kinda forget how we arrive at “hello lover” because laurent knows damen is who he is, but i don’t think he’s being dishonest with his feelings. maybe it’s just that, once the reality is undeniable, laurent feels regret and shame about loving his brother’s killer, and massively course-corrects in the opposite direction by being cruel. maybe he doesn’t want to appear weak or compromised for having engaged with the akielion prince in the way he did, so he has to pretend that it wasn’t real. also he gets tortured, which probably doesn’t help. and the plot has to keep plotting and the conflict has to keep conflicting.

did laurent see charcy coming prior to nicaise? again, i forget. but i’m keeping an eye out for it now. i think his plans are all being made last-second, but i could be wrong.

(post-reading sam again: i was wrong.)

Jord was right. He had owed Laurent the truth, and he hadn’t given it to him. And now he knew what the consequences of that choice might be. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret what they had done: last night had been bright in a way that resisted tarnishing. It had been right. His heart beat with the feeling that the other truth must somehow change to make it right, and he knew that it wouldn’t.

yeah ngl damen i get why you didn’t say it but if i was laurent i’d be pissed. like i wonder if laurent was waiting the whole time for damen to just Say It, and the fact that he didn’t made damen lose the moral arbitration he didn’t even know he was subject to. THAT would explain laurent’s attitude at charcy. this was a test and damen failed. and while they both should just fucking talk to each other and laurent is insane for keeping this bit going for so long, i do understand why he’d feel disappointed and betrayed by damen’s lack of honesty, especially given the other ways damen has proven himself loyal and true. so it’s easier for laurent to use him and screw him over, in a way, because he can tell himself that damen’s just been using and screwing him too.

He imagined himself nineteen again, knowing then what he knew now, and he wondered if he would have let that long-ago battle fall to the Veretians—let Auguste live. If he would have ignored his father’s call to arms altogether, and instead found his way to the Veretian tents and sought out Auguste to find some common ground. Laurent would have been thirteen but in Damen’s mind��s eye he would have found him a little older, sixteen or seventeen, old enough that Damen’s nineteen-year-old self could have begun, with all the exuberance of youth, to court him.

damen: i think i’ve changed enough as a person that if i went back in time, i’d make a different ethical choice about the life or death of another person. and that’s cool and all, but ALSO i’d get to court laurent !!!!! :D

And if he couldn’t give Laurent the truth, he could use everything else he had to give Laurent a definitive victory in the south.

i mean you still could. you very much still could. you can have a kingdom AND this, you just have to communicate with laurent. but go and do the other thing i guess.

to be fair, damen doesn’t know that laurent knows. i’m being too harsh. if laurent truly didn’t know, this would make a lot more sense. the truth would make him far too upset to fight with a clear mind, and damen understands that laurent is more likely to screw up when he loses his mind. damen wants laurent to be safe and to win, so he withholds the truth that could destroy him. to a first-time reader, it makes total sense, and it keeps the tension going. i think that’s partially why i didn’t anticipate the twist—so much of the tension hinges on something being true (laurent doesn’t know), so it made the most sense to me that something with this much attention placed on it MUST be true. but it’s perhaps even more interesting and compelling to know on a re-read that it’s not true, that laurent does know, because it gives me a lot of things to re-contextualize.

the only downside is that it’s also just incredibly frustrating, now that i’m not on board emotionally with damen and the lie that creates the tension here. that doesn’t mean the writing is bad, but the feeling i get reading it is VERY different from how i felt the first time around. oh my god is that how laurent has felt this whole time. like he’s taking part in his own love story but he can’t fully actively buy into it or participate, because he knows something that jeopardizes the love story so dramatically that he can’t call it a love story at all. oh my god.

like, damen is in a romance story. there are politics and drama and adventure, but that is main genre of his narrative. he always tends to focus on romantic aspects of a situation. and the first time we read the series, we only perceive their love story from damen’s pov. we can’t even begin to guess what’s going on with laurent, because we think he’s clueless about this big lie, and so we kind of just make do with his dialogue and damen’s observations.

but laurent isn’t just the love interest in damen’s narrative. in laurent's narrative, he is the main character of a fucking psychological thriller, and has been this whole time. king’s rising is where damen (and the reader) finally get a sense of the genre/reality laurent has been living in thus far, because the truth comes out and laurent can now make it damen’s problem. but it's always been happening, in laurent's head.

There had been a silence, until Laurent had said, ‘You were right. I haven’t been thinking about it like this.’ ‘Like what?’ said Damen. ‘Like war,’ said Laurent.

it's the game he likes. not war

Now they faced one another on the dais and words rose to Damen’s lips, personal words. But what he said was, ‘Are you sure you want to leave your enemy in charge of your fort?’

do they ever say “i love you” on the page? i seem to recall an absence of that—which i don’t exactly mind in their case, because it’s pretty obvious they love each other by the end, and so much is left between the lines with them anyway. but i do wonder if damen had the urge to say some variation of the sentiment here, before chickening out and going for a snarky comment instead

They gazed at one another. It was a public goodbye, in full view of the men. Laurent extended his hand. He did it not, as a prince might, for Damen to kneel and kiss, but as a friend. There was acknowledgement in the gesture, and as Damen took his hand, in front of the men, Laurent held his gaze. Laurent said, ‘Take care of my fort, Commander.’ In public, there was nothing he could say. He felt his grip tighten slightly. He thought of stepping forward, of taking Laurent’s head in his hands. And then he thought of what he was, and all he now knew. And he forced himself to release his grip.

foreshadowing book 3. they can’t interact with each other with the same ease, intimacy, and privacy that they had as “master” and “slave” when they’re both recognized as capable leaders in the public eye.

(they fail miserably at this, though, especially in early-to-mid book 3 after the reveal. like they really just put themselves in a lose-lose situation: they “can’t” be in love or trust each other, but they are also so obsessed with each other that what they end up doing in the public eye is ten times weirder and less convenient for everyone else than if they just made up and were in love as well as commanding an army.)

Laurent was nodding to his attendant, mounting his horse. Damen said, ‘A lot depends on timing. We have a rendezvous in two days. I—Don’t be late.’ ‘Trust me,’ said Laurent with a single bright glance, straightening his horse out with the tug of a rein in the moment before the order was called, and he and his men moved out.

okay, so here’s what’s actually going on with the war shit, because i’m determined to keep track of it this time instead of just focusing on the emotions.

laurent is riding out to fortaine, which is the fort that guion runs, and the likely source of the regent’s promised troops at nearby charcy. this is a good plan because laurent taking fortaine fucks up the regent’s plan AND it gives laurent access to the resources necessary to continue fighting.

damen, meanwhile, will literally hold down the fort here in ravenel. laurent trusts him to do this. laurent has taken most of the soldiers, leaving damen with not many men if there was to be a surprise attack here.

they have an important rendezvous set in two days’ time, although i’m unsure where exactly they’ve agreed to meet. i’m going to assume fortaine or charcy, not back here in ravenel. i think since damen says “don’t be late,” the intention is for them both to show up at charcy with their men—for damen to leave ravenel in 1.5 days after preparing the fighters as best as he can—and fight the regent’s forces with their combined army. so it makes sense that damen would say "don't be late," because if he showed up alone with his men, they'd probably get slaughtered.

SO. this is what i remember actually happening:

laurent does not, in fact, show up for the rendezvous in two days, leaving damen to handle charcy alone

instead, laurent takes fortaine and just kind of chills there. damen eventually shows up after winning charcy, leading to the "hello lover" scene

laurent explains the situation to damen as if he (laurent) intentionally stood him up, as retribution for the truth damen has been keeping from him this whole time

BUT laurent is leaving out that he ended up being kidnapped and tortured by guion before killing a man with a chair and just barely managing to take the fort. or something. and govart is there too.

so my question is, does laurent at this exact moment already mean to stand damen up? or is the "hello lover" thing a way for him to cover up the fact that he got captured and tortured and almost lost everything? both things are probably true, which would kind of prove damen's point from the end of this book: laurent makes riskier choices without his input, and there are certain risks laurent shouldn't take because his life and safety matter. but mr "probably" laurent doesn't value his own life and safety very much, especially not if there's a possibility of winning the game. if laurent doesn't allow damen to look out for him, laurent is going to endanger himself.

my guess is that it's both: laurent fully intends to stand damen up at this point, but doesn't anticipate the consequence of his own manipulative bullshit. blindsiding damen will result in laurent's torture, capture, and near-death. despite technically winning the insane mind game against the damianos in his head, laurent will still need to save face with the damen in his tent. because he knows damen was right, and he hates it.

definitely revisiting this note when i read the "hello, lover" scene to see how i did ;)

addition to the note from sam reading two pages ahead: at some point laurent has also gotten akielions involved because he knows their presence will force damen to out himself as damianos. like he’s showing his hand in a way that screws damen over but also doesn’t necessarily get him killed, and most absurdly, STILL KEEPS THE LIE THAT LAURENT DOESN’T KNOW HE’S DAMIANOS GOING, making damen even more guilty and paranoid, and a first-time reader even more compelled by the tension. it happens as the cliffhanger for this book and before charcy, so the events at charcy stay open-ended to a first-time reader.

i hope we find out eventually if laurent planned all of this after they fucked, or if it had already been set in motion before and he just committed to the bit he’d already started. would the fucking have made a difference? probably not. laurent and damen are a cat and a mouse, but laurent thinks they’re a figurative cat and mouse in a psychological thriller who intentionally torment each other, and damen thinks they’re a cat and mouse in a disney movie who fall in love despite their differences. the rare moments where they step into each other’s genres are so rewarding and impactful because they’re so rare. if it happened more often, and during every pivotal moment like this one, it wouldn’t be nearly as powerful when they finally figure out their shit. “a kingdom or this” is an interesting tagline because of the “or.” if it was “and” from the beginning of the story, there wouldn’t be a story to tell. certainly not one as well-written and unique as this. pacat really is a master of writerly restraint, and i could learn a lot from her approach to story construction.

Because it was not possible, no matter what was said, to completely trust Laurent, the morning was a thin skein of tension, drawn tight.

lmao

‘Akielons are marching on us,’ he expected the runner to say, and he did, but then he said, ‘I’m to give this to the fort Commander,’ and he was urgently pressing something into Damen’s hand. Damen stared at it. Behind him, the Akielon army was approaching. In his hand was a hard loop of metal set with a carved gemstone, the etching a starburst. He was looking at Laurent’s signet ring.

oh my god he’s such a BITCH. this has been in motion since the start, and he hasn’t stopped it even though they fell in love. laurent i’m obsessed with your mind. get help.

He remembered the night Laurent had addressed him in Akielon for the first time, remembered long nights speaking in Akielon, Laurent shoring up his vocabulary, improving his fluency, and his choice of subject matter—border geography, treaties, troop movements. He said it as it opened up inside him, ‘They are our reinforcements.’

right logical path, technically right conclusion, but you are missing the additional reveal here so bad 😭 it’s okay buddy i missed it too the first time 😭

The truth was marching towards him.

LMAOOOOOOOOOOO great line. great line for people who Get It and people who don’t. the truth = damianos, yeah, but also the truth = laurent knew. but damen only means the first truth, and the cliffhanger works so well because the reader might not know the second truth either. which i think is the ideal initial experience!

The Regent had been right, people were saying: Laurent had been in league with Akielos all along. It was a strange kind of madness to realise that this, in fact, was true.

context: the regent and laurent were both in league with akielos, just different pieces of it. regent teamed up with kastor, and laurent made contact with nikandros. it makes sense, since delpha is so close to acquitart/vere (i don’t know if i spelled that right) and they share relations with vaskians

this does make nikandros' burning hatred of laurent in book 3 like exponentially funnier though

He could feel the tension of the Akielon forces too, knew they were expecting treachery. The first sword drawn, the first arrow loosed, would unleash a killing force.

so what exactly did laurent say to convince them to come? i get that he meant for them to get here and be jumpscared by their dead prince, but what was the fake reason? just like a vague call for help/solidarity? do the akielons think it’s a trap, or did they come here to attack? it must be the first thing, if the signet is being presented. god this makes my head hurt but i am determined to explore every little nook and cranny of laurent’s insane political rube goldberg machine it’s like enrichment to me

also, holy fucking shit. if laurent always knew this was going to happen, because he set it into motion a while ago, then his comments about having one more night with damen hit so much harder. not only did he know he was going to lose damen, but he also knew that he had arranged things so that damen wouldn’t even have a choice in staying. he was always going to be exposed as a prince, and returned to his former station, and separated from laurent, no matter what. laurent had initially assumed, for good reason, that damen wouldn’t ever want to stay. but throughout this book that assumption has been challenged, over and over again. but laurent couldn’t just take back the messenger by the time they were getting really close. laurent failsafed this shit from the start, so that even if he started to spiral into cognitive dissonance, reality would inevitably arrive to snap him out of it.

laurent has put himself in a hell of his own design, and unlike previous laurent purgatories, this one wasn't on purpose. the intention had been to free himself of his brother’s killer, who his uncle placed in his life as a means of tormenting him. but instead, laurent’s gambit ends up ensuring that the only living person who truly loves him has no choice but to leave.

truly putting the “L” in laurent.

final notes

damen likes blondes mentions: 6 -> 8

laurent leans: 9 -> 11

lamen hr complaints: 4

(i started an ointment joke tally in like chapter one but it never came up again so it doesn't count)

character elements to watch out for (from book 1):

laurent perspective context (knowing what i know, what sense can i make?)

laurent & nicaise

laurent coping mechanisms (pretending, delusion)

damen coping mechanisms (avoidance, distraction)

damen reconsidering the ethics of akielos

mutual moral arbitration

new for book 2:

laurent intimacy depiction

damen's relationship with his father's legacy

damen comparing his current self to himself before vere

laurent and damen are living in two entirely different genres

series themes (from book 1):

niceness vs. goodness

submission vs. respect - “there is no honour in obedience”

suffering alone vs. fighting together

pain and humor

honor and integrity

sex, power, innocence, violence

trauma, desire, consent

new for book 2:

a kingdom or this

multifaceted tenderness

#this one is super long and it gets a little sentimental in the first part #and then you get to see me lose my mind as i remember/understand laurent's insane plan in real time #capri #sam reads capri #prince's gambit #laurent of vere #damen of akeilos #lamen

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