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togeppys · 5 months ago

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the waiting game ;

tsukishima kei x reader

reader is childhood friends with tsukki, and has an ongoing bit where she'll ask him out periodically. she's grown used to him saying no, and doesn't expect it when he actually says yes.

You would easily consider Tsukishima Kei your closest friend. You grew up on the same street, went to the same schools, and were in the same class on multiple occasions, so your frequent proximity had forced the two of you to become very familiar with one another. Though he had a personality that others may find sour, knowing him for so long meant that you had seen every version of him, and knew that there was more to him than the reputation that he had gained. Sure, he was arrogant and standoffish a vast majority of the time, but you knew that he was also kind and considerate towards those he cared about.

You didn't think that it was possible to gain feelings for a friend so close to you, but over the years you couldn't help but find yourself growing more and more intrigued with the idea of being in a relationship with your best friend. You cherished the friendship that the two of you had, but you couldn't help but wish that it could blossom into something more. Even as a child, you knew you wanted to make a move, but were held back by the fear that he would take it negatively, and you would lose a friend that meant the world to you. Sure, you both had other friends outside of each other, but a life without Tsukishima Kei by your side was not something you wanted to risk.

The first time you asked him out was a joke to test the waters. The situation had been perfectly laid out for you, so you figured you might as well give it an attempt.

At twelve years old, you, Tsukki, and your deskmates sat chatting about how White Day was approaching, with some members of the conversation more enthusiastic than others. One boy excitedly announced that he had started dating another girl in the class, and was planning on surprising her with candy on the special day. One by one, each of the boys rattled off who they wanted to give a present on the holiday, while the girls helped pitch ideas on how they could make their surprises even better.

"Who are you getting a present for, Tsukishima?" a voice sounded next to you, a bright eyed girl addressing the one member of the circle who had not made a contribution.

Tsukki stared blankly at her, before shaking his head, "No one, I don't have a girlfriend."

The boy seated next to him accusingly pointed a finger in his direction. "There's gotta be someone you want to get a gift for. It's White Day, this is your chance to get one!"

Your best friend scoffed, folding his arms in defiance. "It's a made up holiday, and a girlfriend right now would be a waste of time and money. Why would I buy chocolates for someone I don't have any interest in?"

Sounds of protest came from everyone sitting at the table. Upon hearing his thoughts, you supposed that should have been a clear enough answer to whether or not he had an interest in anyone, but you couldn't help but think that he was only staying quiet because you were present at the table. While somewhat disappointed, you knew that this was your chance to prod him further and get a more concrete answer.

"Date me, I'm your best friend and I'll gladly take the chocolates," you half-joked, trying to play it off as cool as a twelve year old possibly could.

Your answer came quickly, not in the form of an answer, but in the ease of him brushing you off, not even considering the possibility that you could genuinely mean what you had just said.

"I'm not getting anything for anyone, find someone else to buy your chocolates."

Following that conversation, it had been a whole year before you took another chance at proposing the idea of a relationship, fearing that you would be shot down once again. It was a similar situation; the environment had given you the chance to casually slide the idea into the conversation, and you couldn't give up the opportunity.

You and now-thirteen-year-old Tsukishima Kei stood in a convenience store on your way home from school, picking out snacks after you had spent a long day with your clubs at school. You were in the art club and had to take home a painting that you had done on a disproportionately large canvas. As you decided you wanted a barbecue pork bun, Tsukki picked yours up on your behalf, seeing as your hands were fully occupied with your artwork. Standing at the till, he gave the payment to the store owner, an elderly man with a strong gaze, and took the bag that was handed to him in return.

"Young man, why don't you give the food to your girlfriend and carry that massive painting for her instead?" the elderly man chimed as the two of you began to pull away from the counter.

Both your eyes widened, and you could see that the taller boy's cheeks had gone slightly red at being criticized by the man before you, along with the realization that you had been incorrectly identified as his girlfriend. He opened his mouth in protest, but the store owner gave him a pointed look, forcing him to place the bag back on the counter and take the painting from your arms. A large grin broke out on your face as you picked up the buns and gave the man a toothy smile while the two of you gave him a small bow before exiting the store.

"That's more like it," you heard the owner's voice carry from behind you as the doors to exit the store chimed while you walked into the evening air.

The second you were out of earshot of the man, you broke out into laughter, immediately turning to the boy who had turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Hear that Kei? Carry the massive painting for your girlfriend," you mocked, taking your bun out of the bag and taking a bite, ensuring to make a grand show of the amount of freedom your arms had in that moment.

"Tsk," was the only response heard from the boy as he turned his face away from you to try and hide the red that was slowly disappearing from his cheeks.

"I say we should start dating so that you can become my personal artwork carrier," you quipped as you skipped ahead of him along your path.

"Never going to happen," his voice sounded from behind you, unamused.

"Go out with me!" you called back, continuing to skip ahead of him.

"No."

That incident had begun the joke that ran between the two of you. You would ask him out, and he would respond with some form of deadpan denial. Your friends had grown accustomed to it, expecting you to make the joke from time to time. On the days you spent with both Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, the shorter boy would even occasionally play along.

"What in the world is that poster for?" you asked one day, noting an obnoxiously coloured poster stuck to a pole near the corner where you and Tsukishima split off from Yamaguchi on your paths home.

"A couples dancing competition," the green haired boy read off with a laugh.

"I wonder what the turnout would be, based on how ugly that poster is," your best friend commented, leaning forward to get a better look at the image before the three of you.

"The two of you should sign up," Yamaguchi responded jokingly, matching the smile that was growing across your face, "It would be a sight."

"You're so right, both of our incredibly above average dancing skills would blow the competition away," you joked, "the only thing we're missing is being an actual couple."

"I'm not going out with you."

"It was worth a shot."

As you grew older, the two of you continued to remain best friends. You had shared sentiments over schoolwork, had jokes shared between each other, and you knew the ins-and-outs of each others' lives. You were closer than ever, but the fact that you two had only grown closer meant that it hurt even more that the two of you wouldn't be anything more than friends. As far as you were concerned, he only thought of you as a cherished friend, and all the times you had asked him out were nothing more than a gimmick resulting from a comfort level obtained from your level of friendship. You loved having him as a friend, but as you grew older and more mature, your feelings grew with you, and your childhood crush developed into infatuation with the boy living down the street.

When high school came around, you both joined Karasuno together, acknowledging that it made sense for you to attend the same school once again. After the incident when you were thirteen, he had formed a habit of helping you carry your larger paintings on the walk home, and in turn you feigned some interest in the volleyball club, hearing what he and Yamaguchi had to say about their matches.

When the boys volleyball team qualified for the finals of their tournament, you joined your school in supporting your two friends as they faced the top school in the prefecture. You were one of many loud voices cheering the boys on, though you liked to believe that amongst them all, you were cheering the loudest. When Tsukishima made the first block against the opposing ace, you felt a burning pride to see the boy you liked finally begin to show some emotion on the court, your excitement visible from the stands.

Though you didn't understand the game well, it had you on your toes; everything that took place was crucial to the boys' success in the game. So encapsulated by the gameplay, and cheering on the series of blocks that Tsukki had done only moments before, you were confused when murmurs started to pass through the crowd and the players began to crowd around the tall blonde. It took a few seconds for you to realize that he was injured and was gripping his hand while the others spoke to him. Concerned, you left your spot amongst your classmates and approached his brother, who had a matching look of concern etched upon his face.

"Akiteru, did you see what happened? Is Kei injured?" you questioned, standing next to the older Tsukishima brother.

"I hope not," he muttered back, eyes carefully watching what was going on below.

You both watched intently as your friend wrapped a towel around his hand and began to walk towards the gymnasium exit.

"C'mon, let's go see what happened," he stated, as you both left the stands along with the first-year Karasuno manager to go meet his younger brother. Walking down the steps you could feel the anxious energy radiating off of all of you, and you tried to shake it off so that the injured boy would not sense it too. The three of you met him outside the doors of the gym.

"Kei, are you okay?" you asked, somewhat redundantly; of course he wasn't 'okay' if he was leaving the game because of an injury.

"I'm fine," he quipped back, trying to act more nonchalant than you could tell he felt inside. You observed your friend as he had a back and forth with his brother over his physical state. He commented on how it was nice to rest after all the sets- you could tell that there was some truth to the statement, but you could also see that he had finally found his groove, and really wanted to be back in the game. As he began to walk away, you could see the frustration emanating from his stance, and you and his brother decided to follow him and the older manager to the infirmary.

You ran up to catch him, and walked alongside Tsukki, Kiyoko and Akiteru. You walked in silence, knowing that the middle blocker was busy ruminating on the events of the game, and could only think of getting back on the court, despite his efforts to pretend otherwise. As the four of you arrived at the infirmary, you sat beside him and the two others stood near the door behind you while the nurse took a look at his hand. You could tell that he was scared that the nurse would announce his hand was too severely injured and he would have to sit out the remainder of the match.

To try and ease some of the nerves that he would be feeling, you grabbed his non-injured hand and gave it a small squeeze.

"I'm sure it's fine and you'll be back soon," you whispered so that only he could clearly hear, "and once you get back, you'll win the game and go to nationals."

You gave him a small encouraging smile, finally meeting his eyes, and for a few moments the boy did nothing but stare back at you.

After a short pause he finally responded with a nod, "I hope so," before dropping his eyes as the nurse analyzed and dressed his wounds. The remainder of the visit, you four sat in silence, the volleyball player evidently deep in thought over what he would do when he returned to the match, however his eyes occasionally fluttered away, as if something were distracting him.

Soon, his finger had been wrapped and immobilized, and the nurse announced that he would be allowed to return to the game. The four of you sprung up, and began jogging back to the gym, Tsukki slightly out-pacing the rest of you. You and Akiteru stood by the doors as the other two ran to the coach to explain his condition and request that he be put back in the game. You and the other Tsukishima brother ran back up to the stands to watch upon seeing him take a seat on the bench, the substitution card in his hand.

You watched as the remainder of the match unfolded, Tsukki back on the floor, knowing that he was still in pain though he tried to hide it. You didn't think it was possible, but you were even more captivated by the game in front of you, every movement drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your seat, more and more in awe of your best friend’s tenacity. When the final point was scored and Karasuno were announced as the winners, you jumped out of your seat, cheers and hollers all around you as your entire section cheered on the victory of your school's team.

The victory party had begun, with Karasuno staff and students overjoyed alike, excitement filling the air. The team bowed to your cheering section, and you let out more cheers to your two friends before you. You first made eye contact with Yamaguchi, who had found you in the crowd sooner and you gave him a smile and a thumbs up to show your congratulations. Noticing his teammate's line of vision, your best friend found you as well and you beamed even more, changing your thumbs up into a heart that you made with both your hands. You could almost hear the half-laugh, half-scoff that came from the boy as he immediately turned away from your antics. You couldn't help but laugh as well when you turned away from your seat and started to join the crowd that had begun to trickle out of the stands.

When everyone had finished mingling in the lobby, you excused yourself from your other friends to go greet the volleyball players who were dispersed outside the gym. You easily spotted the blond head of hair that stood taller and slightly apart from his teammates, the green-haired boy nowhere in sight.

You decided that the best course of action to get his attention was to launch yourself at his back. So you did, and he let out a yelp as he caught you behind him, a small exasperated laugh being let out. You let go of him and gave him a proper hug, but from the front, despite his protests.

"What did I say, go back soon, win the game, go to nationals," you said matter-of-factly, pointing a joking finger in his face once you had finally freed him of the hug, "I think I can see the future."

"I mean we were already so close to winning, the prediction was right in your face," the boy responded sassily, obviously trying to get back at your outrageous remark.

"I don't know, I think I have a gift," you continued joking, "I'll show up to all of the nationals games and start predicting who's going to win, just you wait and see."

"There are too many games going on, you'd never go to them all," the boy responded, trying to shut down your new aspirations.

"No, I'll do it, just you wait and see. I'll go to all of yours too, up until you win it all."

"You'd look like a stalker, the crazy fan of Karasuno who won't leave us alone."

"Hmm... no," you responded back, "The best course of action is for us to start dating because then I would no longer be a crazed fan and instead a loyal girlfriend there to support my boyfriend."

"Mhm okay."

"And then if anyone asks I could just say that I... wait did you just say okay?"

You had continued on your rambling, so focused on the dumb situation that you had thought up, that you had completely failed to notice the boy's response, or the way that he had been looking at you since the moment you had met him outside the gym.

He now stood, smiling smugly at you, and you realized that while you had been going on and on, he had been looking down at you, a newfound admiration on his face. You couldn't say when exactly the change had been made, but you realized now that he was looking at you in a way that he had never once before, and you began to feel the butterflies in your stomach.

"I did say okay," he stated plainly, placing a hand on the top of your head, making light of the fact that he towered over you.

You were speechless and could do nothing but stare back at him in confusion.

"After all this time, did you want me to say no again?" he asked, when almost a whole minute passed without a response from you.

"NO, no not at all," you said finally, accepting that he wasn't just messing with you and actually meant it, "it just caught me off guard."

The boy removed his hand from your head and smiled once again, less smug this time.

"Okay, so now I'm expecting you to show up to all our games at nationals and be the supportive girlfriend cheering me on constantly."

"Girlfriend already?" you retorted, once again taking his non-injured hand in yours, the difference being that now he held it as well, the feelings no longer one sided, "What happened to taking a girl out on a few dates before claiming that title?"

"Did you really ask me out all those times just to not even want to be called my girlfriend?" he asked back, eyes narrowing in disbelief at the comment that you just made.

"Nevermind, girlfriend it is."

Bonus:

A week had passed since the volleyball team had won the game against Shiratorizawa. The boys had been busy following the win, so you finally had a moment to treat both your friends to a congratulatory dinner. The three of you walked in the direction of the restaurant on a Sunday, with you standing in between your two friends. You passed a hideous poster, identical to the one that the three of you had previously joked about.

"Now that we've mastered volleyball, I think it's time for you two to take up dancing seriously," Yamaguchi smiled, recalling the previous joke that you had made over the poster.

"I wholeheartedly agree," you said back, "this time we even meet the couple criteria."

Yamaguchi stopped walking, turning to look at the two of you. You innocently looped your arm into Tsukki's, though your boyfriend stood still, no reaction evident on his face or through his body language.

A few seconds passed before Yamaguchi unfroze and continued walking, a smile now plastered on his face.

"Congratulations," was all he said at first, before he finished his train of thought, "but it was really about time."

#tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #tsukishima kei x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #togeppys

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atalana · 2 months ago

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also as a further addendum to my bill made a huge mistake underestimating stan post - i was recently listening to the commentary for sock opera

and like everyone and their mother can draw the parallels between ford/dipper and stan/mabel, it's one of the major themes of the show

bill gets the first half of the equation just fine - he thinks dipper can be manipulated in exactly the same way as ford, and while dipper will grow past that by the end of the show, in this episode, he's right. the best ways to get dipper to do what he wants, are to tempt him with all the secrets of the universe, and to remind him that he doesn't owe mabel anything, when mabel's done nothing but hold him back and cause trouble for him. it's probably exactly how he talked about stan to ford back in the day, who was still nursing those grudges and wanted to be the one to discover things no one else had

but the fun thing alex hirsch mentions in the commentary for that episode, is that bill doesn't see mabel as a parallel to stan (bc lbr he barely even recognises stan as a person). he sees mabel as a parallel to himself. yeah dipper and mabel are a good team together, but ultimately when it comes down to it, mabel is a powerful creature of chaos who would choose her own happiness over anyone who relied on her. (alex hirsch at this point jumps into bill's voice to say "how about instead of doing something lame, you do something fun, and crush whoever you want in the process!", and that bill genuinely thinks that is going to work, because it would work on him)

he doesn't expect mabel to destroy all her hard work and crush her own dreams just to help dipper. when he says "who would sacrifice everything they worked for just for their dumb sibling?", he's speaking from experience. he wouldn't. ford didn't. given the type of people bill considers worth talking to, i doubt he's ever come across that type of loyalty before

but the audience has, plenty of times, and will see it even harder by not what he seems. because while mabel does have some of the anarchy and selfishness bill sees in her, that kind of loyalty is a huge part of what she shares with stan

and like in a lot of the commentaries the writers say they weren't sure at first if bill would be the big bad, or how exactly the ending would come together, but in retrospect it never could have been anyone else, and there never could have been anyone but stan to defeat him

because so much of this show is about the relationships between family (including found family), what you would or wouldn't give up for them, but then how much better your life is when you value those relationships over temporary personal gain

so of course the main villain is someone so incapable of understanding that that he is utterly blindsided by the person who embodies it the most

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #bill cipher #gravity falls meta

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ceoofglytchell · 2 months ago

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Butterfly

Summary: That fateful night on Driftmark Aegon has made a promise to you, one that he has even once never forgotten, while you were gone. However now six years later you return to him and- gods be good- he is going to make that promise a reality and he most certainly won't let you leave him another time.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Niece!Reader

Word count: 4214 words

Warnings: incest, Reader is described of having Strong like features, Reader is Rhaenyra's and Harwin's second child, fluff, angst, longing, thoughts of major dubcon (it’s only a thought and does not really happen), kinda miscommunication, hurt/comfort, allusions to smut, aegon being miserable, no mention of Y/N

Notes: I was not feeling good last week, but I am back now with this piece here, but I’m not sure if it’s good. But, as always, feedback and criticism is always appreciated and please remember that english is not my native language. Enjoy 💛

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

"I promise that one day I will marry you."

Never once in your life have you forgotten the promise that your uncle Aegon had given you six years ago on the shores of Driftmark. Yes, he was drunk, and yes, he knew that your families would never let a union between the two of you come to be, but a boy could dream. At least that was how he had justified the vow later on when you had to separate the following morning.

You have always wished that your beloved uncle would fulfill his very promise one day, but unfortunately the chance got slimmer and slimmer the more years passed and the more protective your mother has gotten over you, because as Rhaenyra's first and only daughter nothing was easy.

You were born with brown curls and hazel eyes like your brothers, making the sin your mother had committed all the more obvious to anyone else, a walking reminder of her carelessness. However you were born much smaller in comparison to your brothers and even as you grew you remained petite and delicately looking, which caused Rhaenyra to fuss over you like a mother hen constantly, as if she feared you to be a porcelain doll that could shatter into a million pieces with just a touch. She certainly treated you this way.

Aegon however has always seen the watchful eyes and silent warning glances of his half-sister to be more of a challenge than an actual prohibition.

The prince had always been enamored with you, his little niece, but he has always bottled up all his hidden feelings for you within himself so it was only natural that one time where he had swallowed down cup after cup of dornish wine and you sat by him and held his hand after he had been scolded by his grandsire, the words spilled out of his mouth like a river.

He had barely been able to remember it the next morning, but as he saw the flush on your cheeks when he stood before you to say his goodbyes, he knew that you knew. It was either a curse or a blessing, but even as he had watched you leave with your mother, brothers, and a few of the servants, he had known that he would see you again one day and if he did, he would take you as his wife.

You were not sure what you had imagined when you and your family returned to King’s Landing after so many years to assure yourselves that Lucery's claim to the island of Driftmark was defined and would not be contested, but no matter how easy this task seemed to be on the first look, you quickly learned that this was not the case. Vaemond Velaryon and your great-aunt Rhaenys had also come.

However, their presence brought you less out of the concept than to see Aemond beating Ser Criston during sparring on the courtyard as if the man was nothing but a normal knight and not a loyal and trusted member of the King’s Guard. His cold look, when he had seen you and your brothers, made a shiver run down your back and a spark of fear set its roots within yourself, even if you had nothing to do with the tragic loss of his eye.

On that dark night you were with Aegon when it had happened. The older prince had drunken too many cups of wine and stumbled down the stairs that led down to the beach and hit his head. You had sat with him afterwards and watched over him, while he had clung to you as if you were the very last thing that kept him rooted to this world and that kept him from loosing himself to the darkness within his heart.

And then he had given you that promise. That one terrible promise that has been on your mind every single day, which had taken a special place in the depths of your heart. He had promised to marry you and you knew that he would do it, if you would get permission, which you doubted, however, because your mother wanted nothing to do with her half-siblings whatsoever.

You were reminded of said promise when you faced him again in the throne room after six long years; He and his family dressed in Hightower green and gold and you with yours in Targaryen red and black. The difference could not be greater and the tension that lay in the hall could be felt by everyone.

You tried to stick to your mother's words, you really did, but over and over again your warm gaze found his and every time you caught him staring right back at you, an unknown glimmer in his amethyst colored eyes, which you neither could nor wanted to explain.

However, things escalated quickly and your mother quickly pulled you out of the throne room by the arm, leaving the headless body of Vaemond Velaryon behind on the cold stone floor, for which your stepfather was responsible, the word 'bastards' echoing in your ears. It was not easy to be confronted with the truth after all these years, which your mother tried to hide so convulsively, although it was obviously in everyone's eyes and the entire realm knew the truth of your parentage.

Your shocked eyes found those from Aegon before you vanished behind the doors and you immediately knew that this was not the last time you would see him that evening- and you were right.

Your maids, who were also some of your closest friends at the same time, were currently dressing you for dinner when it suddenly knocked on the heavy wooden doors to your chambers, which still looked exactly the same before you had been forced to leave back then. Without having allowed him to come inside, Aegon stepped into the privacy of your old chambers, which were illuminated with flickering candles, whereupon the servants stopped tugging uncomfortably on your hair and stepped away from you, bowing their heads as was custom.

"You may leave us," you told the other women, whereupon they all looked at you with a questioning frown.

"But princess-" "Please, I can do it."

Neither you nor the maids knew really whether you meant your hair or the prince who stared at you without having lost a word so far, which was extremely untypical for your uncle. However, the cup of wine in his right hand was familiar and you immediately became painfully aware of how much you had missed him.

The moment the doors fell shut again and you both were alone in the room and actually stood in front of each other for the first time again in six years, a bright grin broke out on his face and he slowly took a few steps to get closer to you. "Welcome home, little butterfly."

You didn't know exactly what it was; the nickname, his voice, which had matured, or the fact that you finally looked at him again after such a long time, but you couldn't help but close the distance between you two and jump right into his arms.

Aegon was surprised for a brief moment, but he immediately returned your gesture and wrapped his arms around you as well and pressed your slender body tightly against his, burying his nose into your long brown curls, which were half put together into a braid, which was not finished, because you had sent your handmaidens out of the room as soon as you had laid your eyes on him.

He could hear how a quiet, content sigh escaped your lips, whereupon he felt himself relax in your embrace and he felt his grip around his golden cup of wine loosen slightly as if you were the sole cure for the addiction he had developed. After all these years and although you both have grown and changed, you still fit perfectly against him like the last piece of a puzzle that had finally found its rightful place.

"You cut your hair," you noticed with an audible smile in your gentle voice and you immediately snuggled closer to him as if the sole thought of being parted from him for a second time was unthinkable for you.

"And you have grown- if only a little."

You hit him playfully against his shoulder and leaned back a little so that you could look him into his lilac eyes, which you noticed no longer held the same glint as they had back then. In addition, deep dark circles under his eyes adorned his handsome face and he had become even paler, which was why you feared that you needed to worry about his health. He also looked very much tired. However, these little details did not change the fact that the man in front of you was as beautiful as he had been back then if not more.

"Still feisty, I see, butterfly."

"You did not forget it," you noticed with an almost melancholic smile on your rosy lips. Ever since you were children and a small white butterfly had landed on your head in the Godswood, which would happen two or three times more over time, he called you by the name of the animal, since you were probably just as fragile and delicate, you mused. At the beginning you did not really enjoy it, but over time you wanted to hear him say it over and over again- now too.

"Of course not. I would never forget you, my darling."

"Stop it." You looked down onto the ground so that he would not see the obvious blush on your cheeks, but he did regardless. As for you, he paid attention to everything, every little detail.

"I did not forget my promise to you either." The prince said and stroked with one hand over the length of your arm, which was covered by a silken red sleeve. Actually, you did not want to wear a red dress to dinner, as it would only illustrate the fronts between the two sides of your families, but your mother insisted on it. You personally have always preferred lighter colors.

"Really? You appeared to be very much... drunk when you gave it to me, Aegon." You carefully replied while you hesitantly grabbed his hand, the contact igniting a feeling of warmth in you, which you had been longing for as well.

"I was drunk, that much is true. However, I always am and I remember very well that I said that I would marry you."

"This was so long ago-" you said with a quick shake of the head, because you knew that time did not change anything about what he felt for you and what you felt for him. A marriage between the two of you would never be agreed to, even if you could not imagine marrying someone other than him. The hatred between the two sides of your family was just too big and your love would not mend the crack again.

"No, I am serious. Be my wife, please. There is no day that I did not think of you and wanted you to be by my side." He reached for your hands and held them firmly in his own as if that alone could convince you to marry him without further ado and preferably that evening right after having had dinner. He would not allow you to get betrothed, because then he would lose the opportunity to have the only person who has ever taken care of him and who has actually listened to what he had to say. If you were not there, he was miserable- the last few years have been proof of it.

On the other hand, you were completely perplexed and overwhelmed with the situation. You wanted him. He was the only one who had never treated you like a fragile doll or a mindless duckling, but just like a girl like any other and you liked that. You did not want to be considered weak by everyone- of all the dragons you rode Silverwing, by the gods, you were not weak. It was bad enough that you were a dragon rider and your mother did not allow you to ride as much as you would have liked.

Unfortunately, the truth was that Rhaenyra and Alicent would never agree to a union between him and you. They would rather die or burn in the seven hells and you wanted to save yourself the pain that would follow if you asked and the two older women would vehemently forbid it even if nothing spoke against it and it would actually serve to strengthen House Targaryen for future generations. Unfortunately, it was more likely that at some point he would marry one of the daughters of Lord Baratheon or his own sister Helaena and that you would have to marry Lord Cregan Stark eventually.

"You don't know me anymore. If you excuse me, my prince, I have to continue preparing myself for dinner now.”

With a jerk you pulled your hands out of his and sat down at your dressing table, trying to ignore him and push him away from you, because you would not be able to allow your feelings for him to bloom now and in the end you would have to spend your life with another. You would not be able to bear it. The prince looked at you with an expression of utter disbelief on his features, until then a flicker of anger crossed his gaze and he stormed out of your chambers without hesitation, the door falling shut so loudly that it made you flinch.

You just wanted to protect him as well as yourself.

Later at dinner you watched Aegon drowning himself in alcohol and staring at his plate without touching the food at all. Aemond, who sat on the other side of the table, stared at your siblings and you at all times, not letting you out of his sight, until it suddenly escalated and a single toast made everyone become aware of how fragile the bond that held your family together actually was.

Shortly afterwards, your mother informed you that you would return to dragonstone the very next morning and you felt right in your decision to have pushed away the man for whom you had deeper feelings for. It was better for both of you. At least that was what you kept telling yourself.

You told that to yourself when you came back to your rooms and found them empty and dark, you told yourself when you sat alone in front of the fireplace and loosened your braids, when you undressed, put on a light nightgown, and you kept repeating it to yourself when you climbed in bed at last and slowly began to fall into a peaceful sleep. You would not be able to bear the pain that would follow if you allowed yourself to actually be with him.

Aegon still felt the taste of dornish wine on his tongue and its effects clouding his senses when he stood in the middle of the night in the darkness of your bedchambers and stared down at your sleeping form in your bed, the moonlight that fell through the windows illuminating your soft features like you were the very image of the Maiden. He was slightly shaky on his feet and he was well aware that he should not be here, but he just could not control himself. Your rejection before dinner and the way you refused to speak a single word to him while you had sat beside each other had robbed him of his last bit of sanity and he just had to know what you felt.

He had a simple plan; slipping inside your rooms unnoticed, tainting your honor and showing his mother the proof of it in the morning, because then she would have to agree to a union just like his half-sister, since you would ruined for any other man. His plan had been so simple, he would just have to tear the blanket right of you, push your nightgown up to your hips and take his pleasure, but when he approached the edge of your bed and saw how peaceful you looked like sleeping, he could not bring himself to do it.

The prince felt a lump forming in his throat, his heart becoming heavy and he could not help but kneel on the floor next to the bed, while he buried his face next to yours in the pillow in the hope that you would not notice the tears of shame burning in his eyes. You should just sleep on and never find out that he was even here. He was a monster for even thinking of ruining you.

He sobbed into your plush pillows, his hands fisting the silken bed sheets tightly when he suddenly felt something stirring beside him on the mattress, but he did not raise his head just yet. He did not want to look you in the eye after what he had originally come for.

"Uncle? What happened?"

Your gentle voice was like a balm for his soul, but he still continued to quietly sob into your pillows. You did not even ask why he was here, but what had happened. Even now you took care of him, although you had wanted to distance yourself from him a few hours ago for a reason that he simply could and would not understand.

"What have I done? Why are you pushing me away from you? What has changed?”

You quickly rubbed the remnants of sleep out of your eyes and you began to caress his back with your small hands, which made a shiver run down his spine and the tears on his wet cheeks slowly started to dry because no new ones fell, at least not right now. Like always, your touch calmed him.

"Why are you here?" You asked him instead of giving him an answer to his previous questions, because you could not tell him the truth. To see how the man you loved cried on the edge of your bed because of something that you had done when you had actually just wished to protect him from that very pain was making your heart shatter into a thousand pieces. You did not want to feel this pain nor did you want him to experience it. What have you done?

"Don't go," he murmured and finally raised his head slightly again to look at you with his reddened, swollen eyes, even if the room was dark and both of you could barely make each other out in the dark.

"Don't leave me a second time, please. Not again... don’t do this to me."

You sighed and sat up in bed, because this was exactly what you had not wanted to happen. His sensitivity was no secret to you and you knew how much you meant to him and how much he meant to you. Your mother had decided that you would return to dragonstone and you could not argue against her decision after what had happened today at dinner. Your house was more fragile than ever and if the others were to find out what you felt for each other, it would be the stone that would set a giant chaos into motion. It would be the end of Haus Targaryen as you knew it.

"Go away, Aegon," you murmured and sat down in such a way that your knees were pressed against your chest and your arms were wrapped around your legs as if you wanted to give yourself a hug to comfort yourself.

“No, please ... darling, don’t," whimpered the older prince and climbed next to you on the soft mattress, desperately searching for your gaze and your closeness. He wanted to pull you into him, love you and never let you go again even for a small second, because you were the only thing in this world that gave him something akin to a glimmer of hope, a light in the deepest darkness of his broken soul.

"Butterfly…"

"Don't call me that!" You suddenly spat at him loudly, which immediately made him wince and made hot tears burn in his eyes once more, threatening to spill over his pale cheeks.

You have never been angry with him before. Never.

"I love you! Don't you see that? I love you so much, but I cannot live with the pain of loving a man that I cannot call my own.”

That was it. The words and the truth were out and he had heard them. His suffering broke your heart, but he deserved to hear these three words from you at least once. You loved him, you truly did, but a miracle would need to happen so that you would be able to live out your love. It was not his fault, nor was it yours, as it was the hatred that has been burning between your mothers for years- a hatred that would probably never vanish.

Aegon was speechless. For a moment he just shook his head in disbelief, which made his white curls fall over his forehead, but it did not prevent him from looking into your beautiful face and seeing in the desperate look in your dark eyes that you were serious. "But I already am yours, am I not?"

"Aegon..." Your shoulders sagged even further down and you pushed your legs even further against your upper body, the sight of it making him miserable, because he did not want to imagine what would have happened had he actually went through with his plan and he would have taken you without your consent and made you his without warning. You would probably have shouted and fought back and he could never have forgiven himself for it and you would never have forgiven him either. No, he was glad that he had not done it.

He carefully approached your trembling shape on the bed and he tenderly wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him as firmly as he could. Now you started to sob into his shoulder bitterly and he started to slowly rock you back and forth, while he buried his nose into your brown hair like he had done earlier, because your scent always seemed to calm him down, but your hair was also a sign for everyone else that you should not exist and that you, being a bastard, would be monstrous by nature, but he could not care about that in the slightest. You were beautiful on the inside and outside and one day he would prove it to you- perhaps even tonight.

"Marry me?" Back then it was a promise, now it was a serious question and he meant it with every fiber of his body. You were meant to be his wife, even if your love would be a scandal in the eyes of the gods, but he has never been a religious man anyways.

"I can't, uncle, I can't."

Aegon started to place soft and slow kisses on the top of your head. He began his exploration on your hair, then wandered down to your forehead, brushing his lips over your eyebrows, over your cheeks, which were wet from the tears that you shed for him until he reached your own lips, which looked so soft and inviting that he could hardly hold back.

"Marry me." He whispered against your lips and he looked for your gaze to see what was going through your head. Your eyes had always been the mirror to your soul.

His voice, his pleading tone, his warm breath that stroked your face, and the sudden closeness to him was just too much for you.

You do not dare to say it, but a simple, barely noticeable nod on your part was enough and the prince kissed you as if his life depends on it, his hands wandering over every centimeter of your body while he gently pushed you to lay on your back and he hovered over you, not separating his mouth from you for even a split second.

The rest of the night you both drowned in a sea of desire and pleasure, years of wanting and yearning coming to its climax. At some point, his hands had sneaked under the fabric of your nightgown, undressed you, while you had returned the favor at the same time, whereupon he had not lost any time to show you what it would mean to be his wife and you enjoyed every single second of it.

Neither Aegon nor you really listened to the argument that followed the next morning after your maid had told Rhaenyra who she had found laying next to you in your bed and what had to have happened at night based on the red stain on your sheets. Insults got thrown around, voices became louder, but you merely snuggled closer to your lover, who protectively wrapped an arm around your waist and leaned his head to yours while a feeling of happiness flooded him.

You were his now and neither his mother nor yours could ever take you away from him ever again. It was too late for that now.

Love was often said to be the death of duty and Aegon Targaryen would not give a single shit about duty for the rest of his life if it meant he got to forever hold you in his arms like this and love you like you deserved.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x female reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #tom glynn carney

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arthenaa · 11 months ago

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My pookie wookie bear please make the modern! Mizu x reader a series I beg 🙏just the thought of all the possibilities and domestic fluff has me foaming at the mouth. Your writing is literally Shakespeare to me😭

mizu as your roommate — mizu x f! reader

synopsis: you're not sure why and how people got the idea that you and mizu are dating but you're not. she's just your roommate.

context: prequel to blurred lines. pre-relationship. fluff. absolute fluff.

a/n: heyaaa guysss tysm for enjoying blurred lines and nocturne! ive already got an outline on how to continue the series. here's a little contribution to roommate!mizu hehe. prompt is highkey inspired by true events.

pre-roommate!mizu:

being roommates wasn't a decision that the two of you came to right away

it took quite a while and your relationship wasn't something that instantly clicked on the first try

to give you context, you and Mizu met at your freshman orientation afterparty

Mizu majored in industrial design while you studied (course) and was fortunate enough to be placed in the same sector as her

you knew no one and people closest to you were her and Ringo who majored in culinary.

you could tell that Mizu wasn't really into social interaction as much as you and Ringo did (at least on the same level).

although, she did reciprocate some type of conversing, some of it ultimately ended with her drifting away or tucked away into some corner.

you never really bonded with Mizu at first, finding her offhanded nature and cold reciprocation of your tries in interaction a bit too rude for your taste

and it wasn't like you saw her often around campus, your chances of interaction only relied on the fact that she lived in the same dormitory as you

it was around 2nd year, mid 1st semester that you overheard Mizu's problem with her roommate. She had personally reported it to your landlord when you had just returned from a walk break from reviewing for your midterms

apparently Mizu's roommate had been abusing the visitors rule in your dormitory and constantly brought their one night stands in their shared space which infuriated the blue eyed girl.

the landlord was tight on accomodations and so you had stepped in and brought up the opportunity to be roommates

it took some coercing and persuasion on your end as you wished to be on better terms with Mizu and also because well, she really had no other option

and so, on the second half and the rest of your stay (life maybe) in college, you became roommates with Mizu from ID122.

roommate!mizu

living with mizu was something you didn't expect to work so well

you were quite surprised by your shared dynamic, not ever having to deal with the fact that you had to adapt a huge gap between you and your roommate just to be able to coexist in one space

it surprisingly didn't take long for mizu to warm up to you

she was the epitome of a black cat—there are days she prefers silence and days she'd warm up to you with her gentle smiles

she's also pretty accommodating to you as her roommate

opting to go by where you're most comfortable with

she says that its because you've given her so much but she gives you too much credit

not with the way she acts around you

the domesticity that came along with you and mizu's natural chemistry in living together was something that just came

you suppose that mizu's constant gratefulness towards your accepting demeanor in providing her a home eventually led to this dynamic

the gal does housework with ease, has become a close confidant in just a matter of weeks, walks you to your classes when your schedules are aligned, and buys you food whenever you're feeling down

it isn't too long before the distance between the two of you gradually became closer

skinship became a common affair and while mizu's touches evoked a change of cogs in your relationship, the type of skinship that she shares with you is more of genuine appreciation or concern over your well-being

extending her hand as she assist you on going down the stairs, a hand on the small of your back when you're in a crowded place, running her hands mindlessly through your hair when you're having one of those movie nights, gently leaning your head to her shoulder when you're feeling quite sleepy during the commute to school

she also does the most simplest acts of service that often leaves you melting and warming at the thought

placing your favorite food on your plate when you're eating out, having late night drive outs just to clear your mind or hang out, getting you the most random trinkets and claim that she saw it on her way home from work or class and bought it out of impulse bc it reminded her of you

she always either has to be within a meter of your presence or a part of her skin touching against hers

and she isn't the type to be clingy, it just brings her some sort of comfort that you're within her line of vision

it was pretty much safe to say that mizu was your best friend and someone you held pretty close to your heart

your friend group with akemi and taigen came about during the 3rd semester of your 2nd year.

The three of you were placed in one group during a gen-ed class that all students of your college had to take

You were quite surprised to see mizu's hostility towards taigen after he had tried jokingly flirt with you

akemi was the one who apprehended him though

with mizu and taigen's weird rivalry and akemi's naturally captivating personality, soon enough the five of you became close friends

mizu often tells you her regret of letting taigen stick around and that it's causing her headaches from all the pain of having to see his face

most of their fights as well rooted from the fact taigen finds you cute and mizu does not like that

not when there's a weird relationship between him and akemi

you asked akemi once about it and how it doesn't bother her the slightest

she just gave you a smirk and rolled her eyes, "Taigen's a boy, Y/N. I'll never settle for that."

you think she's kinda cool

anyways, the suspicions started during one of the school events that your college was hosting

it was a battle of the bands event and really was a chill night for students to hang out and vibe to music

your previous roommate was performing and so you wanted to show your respect

taigen is a party person, ringo's good for anything, and akemi's part of the event core that's handling the flow of the event

mizu tags along bc she has nothing better to do but we all know she goes anyway bc you're going

anyways, you guys are seated at the front vibing and what not

due to the naturally loud acoustics of the place, mizu has to be leaning close to you to hear you while you're gushing about the performance of the bands

she sits close to you, chair and body angled to your direction while her head is leaned close to you. She smiles softly and replies with a gentle tone of her voice to your musings and taigen can't help but notice your dynamic

He sees you clinging to her arm, hand gently patting the top part of mizu's hand to the beat of the song that rests peacefully on your knee. if anyone saw the two of you right now, people would immediately assume that the two of you were dating and well, while the you were all in a friend group, taigen really hasn't gotten to know the two of you beyond your present selves and so he asks the closest person that got to know them before him and akemi did

"Hey Ringo," Taigen asks as he leans towards the tall man seated on his right—his eyes still trained on the duo absorbed in their own world. "Are they—?"

Ringo glances at the two of you before looking back at Taigen then shrugging with a smile.

Somehow that was the precedent to the on going inside joke within your group

After that night, you often find yourselves in random situations wherein people would be curious what the relationship between the of you is

it was a shock at first and you felt like all these questions were definitely something that these people considered but eventually arose due to Taigen's very loud mouth

the guy had tons of friend groups, blame him.

(Mizu almost decked him if you and Ringo weren't there to stop him)

while the predicament was certainly awkward, your relationship with mizu didn't really falter bc of it

it kind of grew stronger??? for some reason

you think its because you find it amusing when ppl are kind of 'oh wow now I get it' and mizu's nonchalant reaction to it unless they were really being very adamant in getting to know the details

you've since grown to get used to the comments and didn't really bother the jokes casted by akemi and taigen towards the two of you

akemi once joked to mizu if it was okay that she'd steal you from her and mizu just gives her a once over before chuckling at her joke.

you're not sure why her response was like that and eventually curiosity got ahead of you

you asked her about it after akemi had gone to order a set of macarons for her roommate, leaving the two of you alone at your booth

mizu only leans forward across the table and pinches your noise. you let a noise of annoyance before the raven-haired girl chuckles at your reaction.

"She can't." Mizu peers at you from under her lashes. She crosses her arms over her chest, eyes trained on you with an unreadable look in her eyes. There's some sort of confidence with the way that she carries herself. "I would know."

the jokes ranged from ringo calling you mom and dad, taigen cringing at your natural domesticity when they all came over at your dorm, akemi trying to get a rise out of mizu by coddling you

the jokes also came from the two of you

it was just fun getting a rise out of the people around you who were constantly rooting for the two of you to get together

you always joked that the moment you and mizu would be together would be a monumental achievement not to the two of you but to taigen and akemi's constant meddling

you teased mizu with endearments and the gal would only roll her eyes

eventually, that prompted the two of you to call each other bon or bonnie as an endearment. you claim its only for fun but akemi's giving you that side eye that tells a lot of things.

overall, mizu's just a wonderful roommate and someone that you could find a safe space in and be able to fully trust in. her character and personality speaks of direct truth and genuineness that allows you to fully warm and soften around her

so it really wasn't a surprise to you when you've realized that you've fallen in love with her

her existence, the way she talks, listens to you with her undivided attention, her accommodating nature, love for silence, and those eyes that always seem to find its way back to yours

even though your relationship wasn't something that was established until recently

you knew that she was yours as much as you were hers.

a/n: wahhh setting series off mwehehehe, feeling a bit productive tonight after finals so im multitasking comms and mizu requests! expect another one shortly maybe if im feeling it hehe

#arthenaa #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x you #the blue eyed samurai #the blue eyed samurai x reader

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drdemonprince · 6 months ago

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i was on NPR talking about Autism shit two weeks ago, and i have the book sales figures from that week and that national media appearance had.... absolutely zero relationship to sales. on the typical week these days, 1,400 to 1,500 copies of Unmasking Autism will sell. The week that I was on NPR there was a slight dip; only about 1,300 books were sold.

i have done a lot of press for my books. For Laziness Does Not Exist I did easily a 100 damn podcasts and radio shows and newspapers and excerpts in magazines. none of it corresponded to a noticeable bump in sales. the biggest "get" my publicist found for my latest book was the Glennon Doyle show, a booking she and her team celebrated and then spent months clamboring excitedly for... it, too, had no obvious relationship to sales.

Unmasking Autism became a bestseller because some other guy made a tiktok about it, and then a bunch of tiktokkers made videos about it too. all on their own. without any prodding from me, or any relationship to me. it was completely organic, passionate, and sincere, and rooted in the book's true merits and usefulness to other people, and that's why it inspired lots of sales. and continues to more than a year and a half later. all the press I did for Unmasking Autism prior to the release of that tiktok did relatively far less. NPR, Goop, the LA Times, Lit Hub, Jacobin, Huffpo, the New York Times, the Financial Times, MSNBC, Business Insider. Didn't matter. at least not much. so why do i bother?

publishers really ride your ass trying to make you give lots of interviews and show up for lots of events but it's all based on the worship of traditional media and magical thinking that it will somehow convert listeners into buyers. and that's just not how it works. the truth is 95% of books never sell more than 5,000 copies, and most people don't buy books or read them. i love reading but i dont think this is itself some terrible loss, as most books are padded-out commodities made for sale more than a work of true artistic passion or scholarly merit, and sometimes listening to a 90 minute interview with an author tells you the bulk of what you need to know.

it's freeing to know that the effort i put into getting my books out into the world have almost zero relationship to the books' success. marketing just does not work. it's a relief. unmasking autism did fabulously because it's actually both good and useful. laziness has had a long life span because it speaks to real problems in people's lives and gives them a message they are desperate to hear. but no amount of thirsty ass online shilling will make somebody realize that and it's maddening to try. you just gotta focus on doing good work, work that you enjoy making or need to make and that you feel good about, let things flop if theyre gonna flop, and keep on living your life.

which is all good news because i really do hate a lot of these fucking interviews. how can i stomach being on npr or in the atlantic or whatever these days given how complicit nearly all major media outlets are in justifying this genocide. like who fuckin cares about them, who wants their approval. who needs it. it's of no value

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the-bitter-ocean · 6 months ago

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ISAT BAD END THEATER AU NOTES/SUMMARY (MAJOR FULLGAME SPOILERS FOR BOTH BAD END THEATER, AND ISAT/ SASASAP) After a long time brainstorming with friends I present to you.. “THE BAD TIME THEATER AU”!

This au is mainly created by me and @coffeewolf54 / @coffeewolfart together! This is not a exact 1-1 au and will def have some unique stuff in here to better match the themes of isat and bad end theater!

I’ve talked about this Au with a lot of my friends on discord ( thank you @felikatze @daily-odile @tealgoat and everyone else who decided to draw art for /listen to me ramble about me and coffee’s au.)

The general gist of the story and everyone’s roles are under the cut:

|Welcome one and all esteemed guests to THE BAD TIME THEATER! A place home to many tragic tales on display for the world to see.|

|I am “TRAGEDY”- (aka the Playwright and Narrator). Alongside me is “COMEDY”- (aka The Director) to help showcase what our theatre has to offer to you all. |

|The premise is simple: You can choose between one of four actors to see their stories and it is our job to show you their fates! Don’t fret if you are unsatisfied with a particular ending, my dear Stardust and I can reset the stage anew! That being said every path often leads to tragic ends..but ah, what else can you expect from a place like this? |

|Even still..even now I wonder.. if this unlucky cast can be saved…|

|…Oh well. We should move on now~!|

|Without further ado… let’s meet the main cast! |

[ISABEAU: “THE HERO”] - A human. His role is the courageous defender that was appointed by the King himself with slaying monsters and protecting people. He is good friends with the Maiden and has been over the years questioning their role that’s been given to him. The Hero is fairly certain that he has never met any demons before personally but very adamant in the belief that not all demons would want to hurt others. (Though if he were being completely truthful he’d much rather be a fashion designer then have to fight anyone. )

{ MIRABELLE: “THE MAIDEN”} - A human. Her role is the faithful maiden who’s meant to passively fulfill her destiny of being martyr lest the town supposedly be at risk from being attacked or killed by evil monsters. She is good friends with the Hero and tries her best to be a devout follower. A huge fan of stories and curious to see if demons are anything like the tales she’s read in her books. ( Though if she were being honest… she has some doubts about her role in life and wants to take action. )

< ODILE: “THE OVERLORD”> - A half demon (half human). Her role is the (seemingly) cold and pragmatic ruler of the demons, gaining the title after her father recently passed away. She is described by other people as standoffish, she seems to have taken in the Underling and their older sister under her protection. Wary of humans and tends to lean towards keeping her subjects safe by having very little interactions with them. ( Though if she were to tell the truth, she admits to wanting to have a world where demons and humans can coexist peacefully.)

( BONNIE: “THE UNDERLING”) - A demon. Their role is to serve the Overlord and was tasked to help by providing support to their people by creating food for everyone. The underling and their older sister got saved by the overlord a long time ago- so they’ve been really loyal to her ever since then. ( Though if they were being honest, they want to help protect everyone like the Overlord does and not be forced to stay on the sidelines.)

and last but not least we have…

<̶̨̬͕̬̼̼̜̋̇ͅ|̶̧̢̧̛̻̘̱̲̠̓͆̒̓ ̵̰̤̦̥̰͒̾̌͗͗͋“̷̧̼̘̼̻̂́͜ͅT̵̡̤̳̯͍͓̅͂̌̋̅͒ͅḨ̵̡̱̺͍̰̞̅̆̎̀͜Ė̸̹̜͇̬̥̇͋̾̈́ ̶̺̭̀̅̅̀̍̊T̷̹̭̝̺̝̳̊R̶̗̱̹̙̍A̴̻͇̎̀̐̾̊̆̽͑V̴͚̫̦͚̅͂̈́̎͘͝E̴̦͋̈́̿̈́̑L̸̪̼̗̀̾̒͊̍͛Ĺ̸̮Ȩ̵̹͓̻͖̹̝̍͝ͅR̷̼̬̤̖̭͉̀̈̌͊̀͜͝”̸͎̘͆͊͜͝|̵̩͙͚̱̎̅͝>̶̳̬͙̫̘͈̆͐̍̓́̇͝- [??????? ERROR 404 DATA NOT FOUND]

|Huh? Oh my. Well, it seems like there’s been a mistake there! Pay no mind to that dear audience! We hope that you grow to love our actors as much as we do~! Let’s get the show on the road Stardust, we can’t keep our dear audience waiting any longer! |

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scoonsalicious · 6 months ago

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7.3 Major*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Explicit Sexual Content Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (unprotected piv, slight praise kink, slight size kink)

Word Count: 2.8k

Previously On...: You finally got Bucky's dick down your throat <3

A/N: Again, sorry about yesterday, besties! My spirit child took precedence. At least this is a decent-sized, smutty update!

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You were pretty proud of yourself, you had to admit. You had no idea how many women Bucky had slept with over the years (and, if you were being completely honest, you really didn’t want to know), but given he was well over a hundred, you figured it had to be a pretty decent number. Yet, here he was, lying next to you, trying to recover like you’d literally just sucked his very soul out of his body. You swore you’d never swallowed so much cum in your entire life, let alone at one time. For a moment there, you’d briefly wondered if you’d be the only person in history to literally drown in cum.

You’d never enjoyed giving your ex-husband head before, but giving it to Bucky had felt almost like a religious experience. He’d allowed you to take your time, to set your own pace, and do what felt natural to you– not just grab both sides of your head and fuck your face like a fleshlight, the way Connor had been so fond of doing. Your mouth was going to be so sore tomorrow, though. It was like having a forearm in there. You laughed quietly to yourself. Totally worth it.

“What’s so funny, doll?” Bucky asked, rolling over onto his side so he could face you properly.

“I was just reminiscing about how huge your dick felt in my mouth, Sarge,” you told him honestly.

Bucky wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer to him. “Major,” he moaned into your shoulder, “you keep talking like that and you’re gonna get me going all over again.”

You smiled and scooted closer to whisper in his ear. “That cock was so big, I thought I was gonna choke on it, Sergeant.” Bucky shivered and, sure enough, you could feel the appendage in question hardening against your stomach as you spoke. He was insatiable, and you loved it.

“Come back with me to the Compound tonight,” Bucky said. “It’s closer than your place and I’m not going to be able to wait much longer to be inside of you.”

You sat up, torn between being touched that he wanted to take you back to the home he shared with his friends, and wanting to just jump his bones immediately. In the end, being horny won out. “Why wait, Bucky? We’re both already naked, and you’ve already blown one load out here. What’s a couple more?” You reached down and grabbed his semi-hard member, stroking it gently.

“Fuuuuck,” Bucky groaned. He sat up and placed a hand over yours to cease your ministrations. “Sugar, we can’t,” he said through gritted teeth, as though it pained him to put a stop to your actions. “This is a public park. What if we get caught?”

You threw your head back and laughed at that. “Bucky,” you said through your giggling, “that’s half the fun! Besides,” you said, turning a bit more serious once you saw the concern in his eyes, “it’s after hours on a Sunday night. No one is coming to the park now. And even if they did, what are the odds of them finding us? We’re so far off trail.”

“They could see the lanterns,” Bucky said, “and follow the light. And I just… Nevermind, it’s stupid.” He turned his face from you, embarrassed. You were beginning to love the way he shied from you when he was afraid he was going to say the wrong thing.

You frowned and gently tilted his chin so he was facing you again. “What’s ‘stupid’? Bucky, you can tell me; I’m not going to judge you, I promise.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “I just… don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” he murmured, running his vibranium hand down your shoulder. “You look like a fucking goddess tonight, Major. I want to be the only one that gets to worship you.”

His words couldn’t have had more of an impact on you if you had been physically struck by them. “Bucky,” you whined, pulling him close to kiss him. You had a fleeting thought of self consciousness, that he’d be able to taste himself on your lips, but he didn’t seem to care as his tongue sought entry into your mouth. He kissed you like he was dying of thirst, and your lips were the only source of water for miles.

“Let’s compromise,” you told him once you’d broken apart. “We can blow out some of the lanterns, so we’re not so easy to find.” Bucky nodded, seeming to like the idea of your offer. “Then,” you continued, “you can fuck me under the stars.”

The two of you must have looked absolutely ridiculous, you thought, traipsing around, completely naked, as you collected all of the things that Bucky had brought for your picnic and packing them away into the basket, save for the blankets and some pillows, giggling like idiots the entire time. You wanted to have everything packed up as neatly as possible before blowing out the lanterns, so that when it did come time to finally leave, you wouldn’t risk leaving anything behind because you’d been fumbling around in the dark. You’d both completely forgotten about actually eating dinner.

As you worked, you kept sneaking occasional glances over at Bucky, admiring the way the light rippled over his body. The man was essentially made entirely of muscle, and yeah, you’d seen him naked before, in the confines of your condo, but something about seeing all of him outside, under an open sky, did something to you. It made you feel… feral.

“You okay there, doll?” Bucky asked, causing you to refocus and clear your head.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m good. Why?” you asked him.

Bucky smiled as he walked over toward you. “Well, you stopped moving, then got this dazed look on your face, and you were just kind of staring at my dick,” he said. Reaching you, he put his hands on your hips and playfully yanked you toward him.

You chuckled at his apt description of what you must have looked like. “Just admiring the scenery, Sarge,” you teased. You could feel your desperation for him growing by the second. You took his hand and guided it down your body, between your breasts, down the skin of your stomach, until you had it against your aching heat.

Bucky took the initiative of running two of his thick fingers between your folds, gathering your copious slick. “Oh, sugar,” he said, his voice almost patronizing, “you’re fucking soaked.” He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked off your arousal. “Shit, you taste so damn sinful. Be a good girl and go wait for me on the blanket while I finish up, alright?”

You nodded and did as he asked. You watched as he quickly finished gathering all the lanterns and blowing them out, one by one, until he was just a silhouette of shadow among shadows.

“Hey, sugar,” Bucky said through the darkness as he climbed toward you across the blanket. Your eyes were adjusting to the starlight, and though you couldn’t make him out perfectly, you could see him much easier.

“Hi, Sarge,” you replied with a soft giggle as you reached for him. “Come fuck me, please.”

“Oh, doll,” Bucky purred, “I’m not going to fuck you tonight.” He kneeled down on the blanket, resting back on his heels, and, as if you weighed absolutely nothing, he picked you up, positioning you so you were facing him, straddling your legs on either side of his torso. “Tonight, I’m making love to you, Major. Put your arms around my neck.”

You obeyed him dumbly, his words having driven all rational thought completely out of your head. Bucky reached underneath you, putting his hands under your ass and using them to pull you close to his chest. “Are you ready?” he asked.

You nodded desperately; you were practically dripping for him by this point, but something hit you. “Fuck,” you hissed. “I don’t have any condoms.”

“What happened to my always prepared Girl Scout?” Bucky asked with a grin.

“I thought we were going out to dinner!” you told him in exasperation. “I didn’t think we’d end up fucking in the middle of the woods! I just assumed we’d end up fucking back at my place, where I have copious amounts of condoms!”

Bucky laughed at that. “Well, maybe we should both start carrying them at all times then, sugar. Just in case. Seems we’re making it a habit of not always gettin’ to a bed in time.” But then his face turned serious. “If you’re worried about diseases or whatever, you don’t have to be– the serum, it prevents me from contractin’ anything, so I can’t pass stuff on, either. Kind of like a catch-all vaccination. The only thing we’d have to worry about is… well,” his eyes glanced down to your belly. “You know. I can always pull out before I finish, if you want.”

Just the idea of feeling him inside of you, with absolutely nothing between you, invaded your thoughts and filled your mind like a thick smoke, reaching every crevice of your brain until it was all you could think about. To actually feel him cum inside of you… “Don’t you dare,” you said, a little more sharply than you intended. “Pull out, I mean. Fuck, I wanna feel you, Bucky. All of you. I’m clean, and I’m on birth control. I can pick up some Plan B in the morning, just to be safe.”

Bucky closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck, sugar, if you’re sure.”

You tightened your grip around his neck. “I’m so sure, Sergeant Barnes,” you said. “I wanna feel every inch of you inside of me.”

Bucky opened his eyes and looked at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever had sex without a condom before,” he confessed. “Don’t take it personal if I don’t last. It just means you feel so fucking good, I couldn’t help myself.”

You snorted at that, and Bucky grinned at you. “As long as you make sure I cum, too,” you said, kissing his jaw, “I don’t care how long you last.” You both knew he would never leave you unsatisfied.

“Hey.” Bucky jerked his chin so he was looking into your eyes again. “I’m really glad that, this first time for me without anything between me and a dame, it’s with you.”

You didn’t have words to describe how that made you feel, so you did the only thing that would properly convey the depth of your affection toward him– you kissed him as you lowered yourself onto his dick. You were so wet, he met virtually no resistance as he tilted his hips up into you. And your body, now after your… eleventh, or was it twelfth?-- time in two and a half days, knew how to welcome him.

“Holy fucking shit!” you gasped.

“What is, doll?” Bucky asked, eyes wide with concern. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “Do you have any idea how deep you feel inside of me right now, Bucky?” you asked him. “It’s like I can feel you in my soul.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, and then he started using his arms to guide you up and down on his cock, sliding himself nearly all the way out before pulling you back down on him again, and each stroke felt like ecstasy. “Damn it, doll,” Bucky said, looking down to watch where his cock disappeared inside of you, “you feel so fuckin’ good! I don’t know if I can ever go back to fucking you covered again!”

“Oh, god, Bucky,” you moaned. You didn’t know if you could go back, either, not with the way you could feel every single vein of him drag against your inner walls. His motions were deliberate, slow, gently feeding the fire instead of pouring gasoline on it the way he usually did. It was intoxicating.

“Look at me, sugar,” he begged, his voice holding a tone of longing. Your eyes met his, and despite the dark, they shone. You couldn’t look away as he pumped into you. “You’re fucking amazing, Major,” he gasped, timing his statements to match his languid thrusts. “So goddamn beautiful.” Thrust. “You make me laugh.” Thrust. “You’re brave as hell.” Thrust. “You’re independent.” Thrust. “Strong.” Thrust. “Smart.” Thrust.

He kept praising you as he increased his rhythm, hips thrusting up into you faster and faster, the whole while keeping his eyes locked on yours. The coil inside of you was tightening, constricting the expanse of your lungs, making your breath come out in shallow gasps.

You kissed him, putting every ounce of lust into the motion, moaning into his mouth as he never broke stride and brought you closer to the edge. “Bucky,” you moaned into his mouth. “Fuck, Bucky, you’re making me feel so good, honey. Don’t stop, please!”

“Never, sugar,” Bucky grunted back. “Fuck, wanna make love to you until the day I die.” You sucked in a breath at his words, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Bucky’s thrusts faltered. “Doll,” he said, lifting a hand to wipe the tears from your cheek, “did I say something wrong? I’m sorry!”

“No!” you cried, shaking your head as you worked your own hips to make up for his loss of motion. “No, Bucky, shit, honey, you’re saying everything so right. I’m crying because I can’t remember the last time I felt so goddamn happy.”

Bucky resumed his thrusts with a renewed purpose. Getting up on knees, he repositioned you so you were lying on your back, his giant frame leaning over you. “Come on, sugar,” Bucky grunted as he snaked a hand down to your clit and began to rub. “Need to feel you cum around my cock. Show me how happy you are, pretty girl. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow to bring your face closer to his. Grabbing a hold of the chain that held your name, you pulled his face to yours and kissed him. “‘M so close, honey,” you moaned into his lips. “Need you to give it to me.”

“I wanna give you everything, Major,” he grunted, kissing you again. And then, suddenly, it was all over for you, the coil snapping, and you were falling, shouting his name to the stars and the sky. Bucky’s thrusts lost their careful rhythm, and you could feel him spilling into you, wave after warm wave of cum pouring down your channel.

“Fuck, sugar,” Bucky cried. “Can feel you squeezin’ me. Shit, baby– you feel so fucking good, sugar. ‘S so good, can’t stop cumming.” His words lost all meaning as they devolved into grunts and moans as he collapsed on you, his hips still thrusting as if with a mind of their own.

The weight of him should have been suffocating, but instead, you never felt safer than you did with his body splayed on top of yours. He held you to him, as though afraid that, were he to let go, you would float away on the breeze, and you felt so light after your orgasm, you very well could have. Mumbling sweet nothings into the side of your neck, Bucky’s flesh hand found your hair, stroking it.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your skin. “Thank you so much, Major.”

You let out a shuddering breath, hands gripping the muscles of his upper back as you held him, legs finding their way around his waist. “Thank you, Bucky,” you said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “That was everything.”

After a few moments, Bucky gently rolled off of you, but his hands never left your body as he held you close, running his fingers along the meridian of your spine.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked you. Always considerate, always checking in. It made your heart swell with affection. Fuck, with love for him.

“So good,” you told him. You placed a gentle kiss on his pectoral. “How are you feeling? Did you have a good time?”

Bucky huffed out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me, sugar?” he asked with mock incredulity. “Every time I’m with you feels like the best time of my fucking life. And I’m not just saying that,” he added, anticipating your incoming protest. “You… I don’t know what it is you do to me, Major. I just know that, when I look at you, things feel right, for the first time since I shipped out in ‘43. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

But goddamn if this man didn’t know how to say just the right words to you. “If you’re not careful, Bucky Barnes,” you said, hoping to put enough tease in your voice to mask how sincerely you felt the words you were saying, “I’m gonna end up falling in love with you.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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vodika-vibes · 6 months ago

Note

Hey congrats on 650+ followers could I please request a romance regencycinderella type au, where Rex is a prince and has to marry a person of "high standing" but he ends up meeting and falling in love with the reader, who is the servant of the spoiled bratty princess he's supposed to be marrying.

Sorry if this is too much detail.

You Will Be Okay

Summary: You have been the handmaid of Princess Harmony for the majority of your life, your responsibilities include ensuring her clothes are neat, styling her hair, and helping her bathe. It’s only natural that you would join her when she travels to Prince Rex’s palace when it’s time to meet him. The last thing you expect is to catch the eye of the Prince himself.

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 2452

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, but it's not shown

Prompt: Regency AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Once again, this took me a while to get down. And it feels slightly less Cinderella to me, but I hope you like it anyway! Thanks for your request!

It has been three weeks since Princess Harmony, the Princess you serve, arrived at Jaig Palace, home to her betrothed, Prince Rex. Which means, it has been three weeks since you arrived at Jaig Palace.

In the three weeks since you’ve been here, Princess Harmony has thrown several massive temper tantrums, has destroyed five dresses (two of which had been passed down from the Queen Mother), and has verbally abused the staff of Jaig Palace so severely that they refuse to serve her.

At this point, you would sell your right arm, left leg, and your little brother’s body for a break.

But, Princess Harmony seems to be in a good mood today.

A better mood than she’s been in since you left the Cin Palace that is her home.

You put the final touches on her intricate up-do, pinning some peace lilies into her golden locks, before you step away and bow, “All done, your highness.”

Princess Harmony tilts her head from one side to the other, and then she nods once. “This is adequate. I like the way you have the peace lilies framing my face. Wherever did you manage to find Peace Lilies here?”

“Her Majesty sent some with your luggage, your highness.” you reply.

“Of course she did.” There’s something bitter in Princess Harmony’s voice.

“Is all well, your highness?”

“I’m fine.” She bites out as she waves her hand, “Tell me, Handmaid-” You cringe, in the nearly twenty years you’ve been serving her, she still hasn’t learned your name, “what is on my schedule for the day?”

You blink at the princess, and then turn to pick up the itinerary that had been delivered the night before, “It appears that you have a free day today, your highness. At least, until this evening, when you are scheduled to give a speech.”

“Oh, yes. That.” She stands suddenly and glides away from the vanity, “You are dismissed. I have no need for you today.”

“As you command, your highness.”

“Send in my double when you leave.”

You curtsey deeply, and sweep out of the room before she can change her mind.

Princess Harmony was given a rather large set of apartments when she arrived here three weeks ago. There’s her own room and private bathroom, and then there are two more rooms. A large room for the Princess’ body double, and then a much smaller room that you call your own.

Fiore, Princess Harmony’s double, is sitting in the sitting room with a book in her hand. She is nearly identical to the princess, though her eyes are several shades darker than the Princess’.

“Princess Harmony is asking to see you, Fiore.” You murmur as you walk over to the older woman, and adjust one of the peace lilies in her hair to make sure it’s identical to the Princess’ hair.

“Asking, or demanding?” Fiore asks.

Fiore is, technically, Princess Harmony’s older sister. The King had an affair, resulting in the birth of Fiore, and you know that the older woman resents her spoiled half-sister. She was not a willing body double, it’s something that Fiore has confided in you when she was assigned her position.

“Is it not the same thing?” You ask with a gentle curl of your lips.

Fiore scoffs and smoothly gets to her feet, “Then I had best see what her royal brattiness wants. You should take the day, though.” She adds with a fond smile in your direction, “You’ve been going non-stop since we arrived.”

Personally, you’re of the opinion that Fiore would be a better Queen than Harmony, but it’s not as if anyone cares about your opinion. You offer her a small smile, before you sweep out of the suite of rooms.

Your first free-day in weeks.

You allow your feet to lead you through the, now familiar, halls. Pausing every now and then to speak with some of the guards and other servants. They like you well enough, though you’d have to be blind to not see the pitying looks that they shoot you.

Your feet lead you to the gardens. As you understand it, the Gardens had been the late Queen’s project, and you can tell by looking at the beautiful flower beds, and massive trees, that it had been a labor of love.

A small smile graces your lips as you walk through the gardens, pausing every now and then to admire some of the plants that you’ve never seen before.

Cin Palace is located far, far to the north. The only plants that grow naturally are coniferous trees, and small shrubs. And the greenhouses back home are dedicated to fruits and vegetables, not flowers.

You allow yourself to wander through the flowers, and vanish into the thicket of trees. The leaves are a wide array of colors, from deep purple, to rich green, to vibrant red. It’s like walking through a kaleidoscope.

You can’t help but think, if this is what it’s like living here, then moving wouldn’t be so bad. Even if it does mean that you’re stuck serving Princess Harmony for the rest of your life.

And then, suddenly, you realize that you’re not alone.

“Oh,” You stop mid-step and flush before curtseying deeply as you avert your eyes from the blonde prince standing in front of you, “Your Highness, my apologies.”

He looks just as surprised to see you as you are to see him, “Ah, there’s no need for that. Just Rex is fine.” He says awkwardly, stepping closer to you and lightly touching your elbow to bring you back to your feet. “You are…Princess Harmony’s handmaiden, aren’t you?”

You straighten and fold your hands, “I am, yes.”

A smile, small and warm, crosses his face and you feel warmth in your chest. He really is very handsome, you weren’t expecting him to be kind too, “I thought I recognized you from your arrival. Though, I haven’t seen you since-?”

“Princess Harmony prefers that I stay out of sight,” You reply honestly, “Plus…” You hesitate and then shake your head, “It’s not important.”

“Please. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

You duck your head, “Princess Harmony has a…difficult…personality at times.” You finally say, very diplomatically, “The servants that were assigned to her suites have refused to serve her due to how she treated them. So I have been very busy since arriving.”

“I have heard rumors from my staff,” Rex admits, “I thought they were just rumors. Still, I am glad that you managed to come and see the gardens. What do you think?”

“They’re beautiful,” You reply with a bright smile, “I have never seen so many different flowers and plants.”

He answers your smile with one of his own, “Would you like a tour?”

“Truly? You’re not too busy?”

“Today is my free day,” Rex replies, “And I’m happy to show off my mother’s garden.” He moves to the side and motions for you to come stand next to him, “This way, the garden is much larger than people generally see.”

His hand settles, warm and comforting, on your lower back as you fall into step next to him. Rex leads you deeper into the garden, telling you stories of his mother, and of the various plants that she chose to fill her garden.

It’s the start of a, slightly surprising, friendship.

It has been three weeks since the day that you first met Prince Rex, and has been six weeks since your arrival at Jaig Palace. And, in your opinion, things are going well.

Well. Wellish.

Princess Harmony’s mood plummeted, and no amount of her favorite snacks, books, or songs could bring her back into a more tolerable mood.

She’s since turned her foul temper on you, and on Fiore.

The first time she struck you indicated a change in your relationship with your princess. And a change in the relationship between Fiore and Harmony.

Fiore refused to allow you to be alone with Harmony, regardless of how Harmony ranted and raved and threatened her. In truth, you’re grateful for the older woman, as her presence made it so that Harmony couldn’t strike you again, no matter how much she might want to.

It also means that you have a lot more free time than you did when you first arrived.

Of course, free time is relative, as you spend the majority of the time trying to prepare for the wedding between Princess Harmony and Prince Rex.

Though, at this point, you’re pretty sure that you’ve spent more time with the groom-to-be than Princess Harmony. In fact, you can’t remember them having a single conversation at all.

And you’re concerned.

Rex is a friend, at least, you think he is. And you’re not overly eager to leave him to Harmony’s wild outbursts.

“May I ask a personal question?” You ask, late one evening as you watch the fireflies dance around you and Rex. Harmony’s nightly temper tantrum evolved into her throwing a vase at you and Fiore, and so you were encouraged to leave the suite for a couple of hours.

Which led you here, sitting on a blanket, deep in the garden, with Rex sitting across from you.

He’s dressed down, in a loose tunic with the laces untied at his neck, baring more of his chest to you than he’s ever done before, and his trousers are loose and stained with grass.

He looks amazing. And you have to force yourself not to stare at him, it’s not your place. It’s a shame that your friendship with him has turned into you having a crush on him.

Rex laughs, “You don’t have to ask permission, cyar’ika.” His grin is teasing, and you make a face at him. He still won’t tell you what that nickname means, though you suppose it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

“...do you want to get married?” You ask slowly, carefully.

He pauses from where he was peeling an orange, and he slowly sets it down on the blanket, “In truth? No. Not to Harmony at least. She’s…incredibly unlikeable.”

“Ah.” You absently smooth your skirt, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter what you want, though. Does it?”

Rex gazes at you for a long moment, “I have to get married. The law is very clear on this.” He pauses, “Of course, the law doesn’t specify who, exactly, I have to marry.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It doesn’t say that I have to marry a princess.” He clarifies, “Just that I have to be wed before I turn 25.”

“I see.” You murmur.

Rex doesn’t say anything for a long moment and then he sighs. You turn your gaze towards his face, and start when he shifts so that he’s sitting close enough that your knees are touching. He reaches out, and for a moment, you think he’s going to press his hands against your face, but he seems to hesitate before reaching down and taking your hands in his.

“Rex?”

He smiles at you, “I didn’t want to ask, but it’s hard to not notice that you flinch away from Harmony. And it’s even harder to ignore how Fiore seems to hover over your shoulder like you’re her charge. Does Harmony hit you, cyar’ika?”

You nervously lick your lips, “It…only happened one time. And it was my fault, really. I should have known better than-”

“No.” Rex squeezes your hand and his voice is stern enough that your words die on your tongue, “There is no excuse for her hitting you. At all.”

You stare at him, stunned. “Well, yes. Of course.” You offer sheepishly, “But…I’m still her handmaiden and…and…” You trail off, and then squeeze your eyes shut, “You shouldn’t marry her.”

“And what happens then?” Rex asks, his voice gentle.

“We go home, back to Cin Palace.” You say, “And…and nothing changes.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then releases one of your hands. You start when his warm hand presses against your cheek, “If nothing changes for you, then that means you’ll be stuck with an abusive employer.”

“Fiore won’t let her hurt me.” You reply as you open your eyes again. Rex seems closer somehow.

“What if I had a different idea?” He offers, “A better offer. For you and Fiore.”

“I don’t-?”

“Marry me.”

Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that. You blink at him, your jaw dropped, as your train of thought not only screeches to a halt, but also completely derails. “What.”

Not the most eloquent of ways to ask for clarification, but he doesn’t seem offended. In fact, he seems amused.

“Marry me. Become my Queen.”

“But…but I’m a servant-!”

“I don’t care.”

“You should definitely marry a princess-”

“I want to marry someone I love, and I love you.”

You gape at him, dumbly for a moment, “But. You. That’s…”

“Take your time,” Rex teases. He seems confident and relaxed, as though he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on you.

“You love me?” You ask, your voice tiny.

“Is that so surprising?”

“You hardly know me-”

“I know you’re allergic to grapes, I know you really like the color blue, but your favorite color is hunter green. I know you like dancing, though you’re too embarrassed to actually dance in front of people. I know you’ve always wanted a garden of your own, but have never been permitted one.” He leans in closer, and presses his forehead against yours, “I know you’re afraid of the dark, but you still enjoy watching the stars.”

“I never told you any of that.” You whisper.

“You didn’t have to,” He releases your hand and brings his hand up so that he’s properly cupping your face, “I know you, cyar’ika. I want to marry you. Become my Queen. And I’ll make sure you’ll never be unhappy again.”

“...but-”

“Fiore will be offered a position as your bodyguard if you agree.” Rex promises, “You’ll both be free from Harmony.” He strokes your cheek lightly, “And, even if you don’t want to marry me, you’ll both be offered positions on my staff. You will be free of her one way or another.”

You exhale slowly, “Okay.” You whisper.

He blinks at you, “Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll marry you.”

And then you squeak when his lips press against yours in a deep and passionate kiss. It takes you a moment, but you end up wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him back just as enthusiastically.

You feel him grin into the kiss, and you can’t help but melt into him.

This might not be what you expected for your life, but you’re not going to complain. After all, this is much, much better.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #vodika-vibes 650 event #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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wild-typo-turtle · 1 month ago

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Threads - Part 3

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits)

Part 2

Part 3

The journey to Lindon had given her time to think, but even after several days on the road, Linnea’s thoughts remained a muddle.

Not that she doubted what had happened. It was real, as real as the earth beneath her feet and the air in her lungs and the water that fell from the sky, a light rain on the third day. It was as real as the fire she kindled at night to make her tea.

But it was…so much.

She had nothing but time to think as they traveled, seated next to one of the soldiers on the small wagon that held her belongings. More than she'd thought, given the damage, but still - two wooden chests, and a large basket, were tiny remnants of her former life.

The siege itself was a blur. When the trebuchets had begun to fire, there had been no organized efforts to help the citizens; every soldier had been needed for defense. She had fuzzy memories of her father and mother grabbing a few things, shoving them into bags, talking in hurried voices about the best way to try and get out -

And then nothing.

By the looks of things, their shop had been hit by a piece of the city wall falling directly on it. She had regained consciousness half-buried in rubble, with no sense of how much time had passed, and she had drifted in and out for what had seemed like hours, until the fighting had stopped.

When it had, and she had heard the voices of the Elves searching for survivors, she had managed to pull herself free, even with the metal piercing her arm. But she had been able to do no more after that, just sitting there waiting for something to happen.

Well. Something had happened.

Gil-galad. Ereinion. He’d found her, helped her. Sung to her as the healer had tended to her. His voice had been beautiful, low and soothing, distracting her from how much her arm had hurt.

Would he sing to their children the same way?

The thought made her cheeks tingle, and she smiled.

Before Gil-galad had left with the majority of the army, he had assigned the promised escort to her: the two soldiers that had begun helping her go through the ruins of her shop, and two more. Three of the four were survivors from Eregion’s armies, and those three had looked slightly terrified at his stern orders.

She will be your queen. I expect you will guard her as such.

Her family had been of little consequence - crafters, nothing more. No great lineage for her, no famous deeds or epic tales of her forebearers. Just weavers, for the last three generations, perfecting their craft over the centuries. Her parents had chosen each other in childhood and had married young, and Linnea had been their only child.

And now they were gone.

The smile faded from her face as the images flashed in her mind, of what they'd found as she and the soldiers had slowly cleared the rubble, moving the stone blocks of the city wall away from the crushed shop and the residence area behind it.

At least they hadn't suffered. At least it had been quick.

“Lady? Is all well?”

She’d caught the attention of the soldier driving the wagon that day, and wrenched herself free of her thoughts as she offered him a tentative smile. “It is. Thank you. How much further is it?”

The soldier looked up, evaluating the road ahead of them. “By my reckoning, at this pace we are yet three days from Lindon.”

Linnea nodded. They were using every second of daylight available, departing the moment the sun touched the horizon each morning. The Elves could have continued well into the night, despite the soldiers still healing from their injuries, but their horses needed both sight and rest. And so each night at dusk, they made camp.

Which was another event that reminded her of how different her world was now.

Somehow, she never seemed to need to put up her own tent. Somehow, she never seemed to have to fetch water. Somehow, there was always enough food made. She brewed her evening tea and shared it, but otherwise, she had barely had to stir save to gather her things and climb aboard the small cart when they were ready to leave.

This level of leisure was completely foreign to her. Her parents’ shop had been prosperous, their goods highly sought after both among the Elves and in trade, but they had still cleaned and cooked and fetched supplies.

She supposed it would be the same in Lindon. The queen would never need to think about such things as clearing the ash from her fireplace or mending her clothes. But Gil-galad had promised her a workshop; she could still pursue her craft. She knew little of the court; perhaps there were others that might join her, or might like to learn the art. Perhaps there would be a community of weavers that would welcome her.

Yet that idea brought its own uncertainties.

She did not know any of the other surviving Elves from Eregion, at least not well. A few faces had been familiar, but none of her close friends were among the living. But as she’d lingered in Eregion, packing her things, she hadn’t missed the sideways looks the rest of the survivors were giving her. The questions behind their eyes at the soldiers that shadowed her steps.

Especially at night.

Messages were flowing freely between Lindon and Imladris, as it was beginning to be known. Even while the army was still on the road, Gil-galad was sending runners back behind him. There had been no secrets in the valley; everyone had seen how the runners came to her fire each night, pressing small folded messages into her hand marked with an unmistakable seal of twelve stars.

I hope you are well, beloved. I think of you, always. I trust that your journey, when you begin it, will be both swift and uneventful.

Small notes. Small things, but she treasured each of them, refolding them and keeping them among her belongings. After the first, she’d scrounged for paper and ink, and had scratched out replies to send back with the runners.

I am well. We will depart soon. I am…I am anxious to see you again.

Yet another night by the fire, another quiet night only punctuated by the soft sounds of their small group getting ready to retire, the occasional stamp or whicker from the horses. Linnea had already made her tea, and the cup was almost empty; it would be time for bed soon. Three of the soldiers had already done so; the commander of the company, a Greenwood Elf named Arondir, was the only one still awake besides herself.

Another night, but this night was different. This night was the last night. Tomorrow, they would reach Lindon, and the journey would be over.

Was she ready?

They would arrive, whether she was ready or not.

The time on the road had been a chance to order her thoughts, to understand the new fate that the Valar had laid down before her. But she did not feel much closer to that understanding at all.

How long had it been since the Noldor had had a queen? She didn’t even know. Turgon’s wife had perished before he had been made High King. Fingon had never wed. And neither had Lord Celebrimbor; there had never been a Lady of Eregion. King Oropher of the Greenwood was wed, but she knew next to nothing about his queen. There was no one she could look to to know what her future might be.

Linnea stared deeper into the flames, hugging her arms around her knees as she sat. What sort of wedding could she even have? There would be no meeting of their houses; her parents were dead, her friends too, and her eyes prickled with tears at the thought. A betrothal feast would be impersonal, obligatory because of Gil-galad’s rank, people she didn't know.

It threatened to sweep her under the tides, as it had every time she'd tried to think of it. She could refuse this; she could step aside, she could tell him that she had chosen not to follow her heart. Those children she had thought of on the wagon, wondering if he might sing to them - they would never be. He would understand, as much as it might pain him.

For it would. And her, too. She would be condemning both of them to being alone forever, because their hearts and their souls had already been woven together. And that warp would never break.

She could no more do that than command the stars to fall from the heavens so that she might decorate her hair with them. This was her fate. And it might be strange, and hard, and unexpected. But it was hers, and she would claim it, every bit of it. Every bit of him, lord and King and husband, hers forever.

That made her cheeks heat, and her restless thoughts spin in a new direction.

He had kissed her so tenderly that first time.

She could still feel the softness of his mouth, the silken strands of his hair. Her lips trembled with the memory of the few kisses they'd had time for, and she shivered with the thought of more, a fire pooling low in her belly. A fire of a very different kind than the one in front of her.

She knew the basics, of course. Every Elf knew that much. But what really happened between a husband and a wife on their wedding night, and the nights thereafter…it was so private. She had assumed she would ask her mother for advice, if the time ever came for her. She knew her parents had thought it likely she would stay unwed, after she had reached two hundred years without finding the right match. And it had been centuries since then; she was now close to seven hundred years. She had been content with her weaving and the community of Eregion, wishing for no more - yet sometimes, seeing Elf children running in the plaza, she had felt wistful that that was not to be hers.

Or so she had thought.

Wife, queen, perhaps mother someday…the new parts of herself swirled and clattered in her head. Her boldness back in Eregion seemed so far away now - she chuckled as she remembered scolding the High King for not taking care of himself. But he hadn't seemed to mind.

She wanted to please him, so badly. As long as she had been alone, he was so much older than she was. It had been much longer for him, waiting; he deserved for it to be perfect. Perhaps one of the Lindon healers could tell her more about the art of pleasure? But her face burned at even the mere thought of asking; no, this was far too intimate. Better to take what she knew about herself and bring it to her wedding night, with open hands and open heart, and trust that Ereinion would do the same. And that together they would learn.

The sound of rapid footsteps drew her attention, and Linnea looked up. They were the footfalls of an Elf, and Arondir was already standing, looking into the darkness. A moment later, a woman was coming up to the fire, her clothes confirming her as one of the Lindon runners. The sight was a surprise; Linnea hadn't expected one with only a day remaining to the journey.

As the runner stepped into the light, she bowed to Arondir, murmuring “Commander.” And as she straightened, she extended her hand towards Linnea.

Even from a few feet away, Linnea could see the red wax and the stars that sealed the letter she held out, and the sight of it helped settle her churning mind. She smiled at the runner, taking the letter. “Thank you.”

“My lady.” The runner bowed to her that time. “If there is a reply, I will wait. But the High King’s orders were for me to return at once.”

Arondir nodded. “Come. Refresh yourself. I have my report prepared.”

With that, he led the runner off to the side where their supplies and the water bucket were arranged neatly - giving her as much privacy as possible. Linnea swiftly broke the seal, unfolding the paper, and brought it closer to the firelight.

It was short. But it was exactly what she'd needed.

Beloved,

I find myself waiting for the dawn with a child's excitement, eager to see your face as you behold Lindon. There is much I wish to show you as we begin this journey, and I beg you forgive me if I seem clumsy or my enthusiasm too great. It is not something I thought ever to do, to walk with my queen through our realm.

I hope it brings you joy to make your home here with me.

I will save the rest of my words for the morrow, but I did not wish to leave you without something tonight.

I am yours, melethel.

Carefully, she refolded the letter, pressing the paper to her breast. She wondered if he was experiencing the same swells of emotion as she was, if his thoughts were as restless. Perhaps him sending the notes was his way of both reassuring her and showing her that he needed the same in return.

She moved to her tent, kneeling down in the opening and rummaging through her bag. She still had a few sheets of paper left, more than enough to send a reply.

But what to say?

She would see him the very next day. As he himself had pointed out - words could be saved until the morrow. So what to write tonight? What could she tell him that would carry him through the remaining hours?

There will be nothing to forgive, Ereinion. I never thought to do any of this. But at your side, I am ready.

I am yours.

She signed the bottom, and then folded the small note. Only a few words, but she hoped it would achieve her intent. And perhaps, keep his heart as much a-flutter as her own.

The runner was coming back, Arondir a step behind her, and Linnea stood up. The runner circled the fire to reach her; she handed the paper across, and watched as the runner tucked it into the message tube she carried, where Arondir’s report presumably already rested. And then, with a final nod to Arondir, she was off, running swiftly through the trees back the way she had come.

Arondir’s eyes moved to Linnea. He had joined the fight at Eregion, and afterwards, instead of making for his home in the Greenwood, had elected to remain with the High King’s forces. He was quiet, keeping his own counsel, but had been nothing but courteous to her during their journey. She offered him a small smile, kneeling back down to put her writing materials away.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“You offered hospitality while I wrote. I am sure she appreciated it, since I made her wait.”

“I am sure the High King will be grateful to receive a word from his queen.”

Linnea blinked, surprised. It was true that everyone had been treating her with that level of deference, but no one had actually said it to her face - and she hadn’t expected it, given that she wasn’t, not yet.

“I - thank you. But you need not refer to me as such, Commander.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, and the corner of his mouth twisted up into a tiny smile. “You do not wish to begin to grow accustomed to it?”

“I…”

Her earlier thoughts about her future teased at her, tempting her. Arondir was old - he had been born in Beleriand, she knew that much about him. And now he lived in the Greenwood, where the king was married. Perhaps he might have some answers for her?

“I am not sure what to become accustomed to,” she said quietly. “I do not know what might be expected of me.”

She had opened the door, and she could see that Arondir had noticed. It was his choice whether to walk through it, and she saw a glimmer of sadness on his face before his expression smoothed out.

“I suppose not,” he replied softly. “I regret I have no counsel to offer you, Lady. Queen Tinnaril lives apart from the King Oropher; I have heard little of her for years.”

Linnea had heard of it, certainly, especially among the elder Elves. Wed for centuries, at times they chose to separate and pursue their own interests and gifts. At the moment she could scarcely imagine such a thing.

“I see,” she answered, offering a small smile. “Then I suppose I shall have to learn as I go.”

“As it is with many things,” Arondir observed. “But you would not have been chosen were you not equal to the task. And I wish you and the High King every happiness.”

It was touching, especially since she didn’t know Arondir at all, and as far as she knew there was no especial connection between him and Gil-galad. But there was that hint again, that sadness and loss - and it was only a guess, but perhaps his wish was one he could no longer make for himself.

“I thank you,” she murmured. “And I thank you for your care of our company, and of me, during our journey.”

“I only do my duty, my lady.”

There seemed to be nothing more to say then - and if she was right, if Arondir had lost someone dear to him, then the last thing she wanted to do was to rub his face in her own joy. It felt like a burning star inside her at times, when she remembered: the look in Gil-galad’s eyes, his voice saying melethel, the press of his lips.

One more night. One more sunrise to wait. And the hours would pass more quickly in dreams.

“Then I bid you goodnight, Commander,” she said quietly. “Until the morning, then.”

“Goodnight, Lady.”

Gil-galad had awoken well before the sun rose, and he watched the dawn from the window of his bedchamber.

He had not yet fully dressed, simply wrapping himself in a nightrobe, his hair loose down his back and his crown left on his dressing table. In his hand he held Linnea’s last note, the one that had just been delivered to him as the runner had returned to Lindon.

I am yours.

It felt like someone had put a belt around his chest and tightened it to the point where he could scarce draw breath. Similar words had been exchanged over the days, but this was different. She would be here in a matter of hours; he could take her in his arms again, he could speak his heart to her face. He could ask all the questions burning in his mind.

Some of them were practical, of course. There had never been a queen in Lindon; the rooms directly below his had been used for other purposes. He had had them emptied out and cleaned and furnished, but she would need to decide what she wanted beyond that, and then there was of course her workshop.

There was the matter of a crown.

Perhaps a more delicate version of his own? He knew little of her style; he had seen her in precisely two dresses, one of them bloodstained and ruined. She had not worn any jewels, and her clothes had been simple. She would perhaps prefer the same in whatever she wore as queen - as much as she could, at least.

It would be her choice, as it would for all things that he could give her. Save one.

His own crown was not the only thing of value waiting on his dressing table.

A pouch of white velvet, as pure as starlight, sat there, and he didn’t need to open it to picture what it contained. The ring inside was silver, shaped of swirled and twisted metal, and it was set with a small pearl as the center stone, along with a plethora of tiny diamonds. A ring, his gift to Linnea for their betrothal, the sign worn on her hand that she was his.

That belt around his chest grew tighter, as he let himself imagine it. Taking the ring from the pouch, showing it to Linnea, taking her hand and gently sliding it on her finger. It would sit there until he replaced it with a slender band of gold, plain and unadorned as was the tradition - as simple for a common soldier as for a queen.

Or a King. He looked down at his own hand, imagining that.

He might have lost all the hours until her arrival to that particular thought, but was saved by a knock on his door. His body servants, arriving to help him bathe and dress, were as punctual as ever, and that was good - it would provide him with occupation, preparing himself for the day.

And he wished to look his best on this day.

Some time later, dressed and ready, he settled at his desk. It was still early, and he had ample time before Linnea's company would arrive; Arondir’s final report, delivered by the runner along with Linnea’s note, had indicated mid-afternoon. He looked forward to hearing more detail regarding the roads from Imladris; travel between the two strongholds would need to be easy, and it would do well to plan for repairs or enhancements along with the rest of the work.

He sipped his customary morning tea, enjoying the flavor. The thought of food had been unappetizing to his nervous, jittery stomach, but the tea was pleasant and the warmth was soothing.

“High King?”

It was the voice of one of his guards, and he turned as the door cracked open.

“What is it?”

“Commander Galadriel, sire. She asks an audience.”

Apparently he was not the only Elf up early that morning.

Galadriel had returned to Lindon with the army, the better to complete her recovery. He had seen little of her over the last days, and had hoped that she was resting and regaining her vigor. The artificers and healers had said she was doing well, but he knew enough of her to predict that she would cease following their advice the moment that she had the strength to do so.

“Admit her,” he said, and rose from the desk.

Galadriel came in slowly. It was easy to see that she was still coming back to herself - in more ways than one. She was strong and fierce, but her very soul had been affected. That was not something one recovered from overnight.

“High King,” she said quietly. “I apologize for disturbing you so early.”

“You do not disturb me,” he said. “Please, sit.”

They had reached somewhat of a detente in the days after Eregion. It was a fragile peace, and Gil-galad had no doubt that they would be butting heads again soon enough. Yet for all that, he did not care to think about what would have happened if he and Elrond - if the rings - had failed.

She settled herself in the chair nearest the fire. Her color was still pale, but she was moving more easily than she had the last time he had seen her.

“I understand your lady arrives today,” she said softly.

He couldn’t keep the small smile from his face. Word had traveled quickly, especially with the preparations he had had undertaken. His approach had been matter-of-fact, as if it were no more noteworthy than discussing the weather, but word had traveled.

The Noldor would have a queen, for the first time in thousands of years.

“She does,” he acknowledged. “And it is my hope that all of Lindon will make her welcome.”

“To survive the siege of Eregion, she is possessed of an uncommonly strong spirit,” Galadriel murmured. “What is her lineage?”

Gil-galad tilted his head in curiosity. Galadriel was never one for small talk, and she would not have come here at this hour for that purpose. But he would let this play out; there was something guarded about her tone, something that told him there was more behind her question than it appeared. Fortunately - thanks to one of the soldiers from Eregion - he had an answer to give.

“A modest one,” he replied. “Her parents joined Celebrimbor when he founded Eregion. There are those here who remember them before they left Lindon. She was born shortly after Ost-in-Edhil was established, and has lived there all her life.”

Part of him wished that he was among that number who remembered Linnea’s parents; they had been weavers, and his path had never crossed theirs. He had seen little of Linnea’s grief, but suspected that that time would come for her, and he regretted that he would not be able to share her memories. But he would be there for her, and that hopefully counted as much if not more.

Galadriel nodded an acknowledgement, but seemed distant, and he peered closer.

“What troubles you, Commander?”

She didn’t answer him immediately, turning her head and staring into the flames for a long moment.

“He is the Great Deceiver,” she finally said quietly. “And yet, I almost believed him when he said I thought too much of him. That this was not his design.”

She had spoken little, thus far, of her confrontation with Sauron. Gil-galad had let it be; there was enough to do for the moment, and he knew she would not withhold details that he might need immediately.

“It is not inconceivable that he meant matters to be delayed,” he said. “Completing the forging of the Rings with an army on the very doorstep seems ill-considered. But that he took advantage of the opportunity to gain that army…”

Galadriel nodded. “I agree. And yet we must consider the possibility that what occurred at Eregion is by his design, fulfilling some purpose we cannot yet know even beyond obtaining the rings.” She paused, and - with a clear effort - looked straight at him. “All that occurred at Eregion.”

Rage filled him.

He saw clearly enough what Galadriel was implying, and it took a long, long moment for the red to fade from his vision. He fixed her with as stern a gaze as ever he had mustered.

“I would consider your next words very, very carefully were I you, Commander. You question your queen.”

She didn’t flinch, and he was distinctly unsurprised by it. She had faced down much worse.

“I do not question her, High King. Only that Sauron may have been very deliberate in allowing her to live. His plans are laid across the centuries - who knows what he may have set in motion? It may not reveal itself for a dozen lifetimes of Men.”

He didn’t want to see it, but he could find the logic in Galadriel’s mind. She was right, after all; Sauron was one that would be willing to accept a loss now for a gain later. The centuries had taught him patience.

And Gil-galad also had to admit that there was none better to know the Deceiver.

Galadriel had a point.

And perhaps the strongest reason in favor of the point was that if she was right, it would change nothing. Linnea was his; he was hers. That had been done and could not be undone, wedding or no.

Gil-galad raised his head, letting his expression soften. “Sauron is a creature of schemes,” he allowed. “But he has never been a creature of the heart. He seeks to corrupt using evil and vice - pride, and greed, and ambition. The best in Elf and Dwarf and Man is a mystery to him, and he fears it. He would not know how to use love as a tool in his hand.”

“He knew how to use friendship,” she whispered.

He could well imagine what it had cost her to admit that, after everything that had occurred. And again, she was not wrong.

“A twisted form of it,” he said. “Friendship may have served as hammer and tongs, but the metal he shaped was your own desire to defeat your enemy at any cost.”

“And what if he now shapes your desire, High King? If your union, as joyous as it may be, plays right into his hands? Perhaps he relies on your bride being a distraction - and he may not even have a clear goal in mind, but has opened possibilities for himself that were not present before simply by allowing events to unfold…”

Her voice had risen at the end, and the agitation had clearly cost her strength. She sank back into the chair, breathing in deeply.

The rage had fled, leaving sorrow in its place. That Sauron had twisted Galadriel so, that she was so damaged by his lies. She would heal, he believed that, but it might not ever be truly finished.

He took a moment to fold his hands in his lap, composing his thoughts, before he answered.

“Love is the province of the Valar,” he said, very softly. “I will trust in their designs in this more than I will seek out shadows where there are none to be found. And I ask that you do so as well, Commander. Think you that I could turn away now? That I could refuse what has been offered to me?”

He had chosen his words carefully. Galadriel still grieved her husband, and he had felt no need to explicitly remind her of Celeborn. Their kind loved once, for all their lives and beyond - she knew how this felt.

And he could see she took his meaning.

“No one wishes you joy more than I, High King,” she finally whispered. “I shall welcome our new queen with open heart. And may the Valar grant you every blessing.”

A tear made its way down Galadriel’s pale cheek, and he pretended not to notice. She would be grateful for it.

“I thank you,” he said softly. “Was this what you sought me out for?”

“No. I wish to return to Imladris as soon as possible. It will be easier to protect if at least one of the Rings is present. I sought your blessing to leave with the company of carpenters and masons that departs in three days’ time.”

Gil-galad nodded. She was right; they were managing at a distance, especially now that Cirdan had been advised and had brought Narya to bear. But he could feel the tug of Vilya’s power on him, not draining by any means but still requiring effort. Having Nenya there would ease the burden.

“I trust your judgment, that you are recovered enough to make the journey?”

She let out a soft laugh, looking back to the flames. “Not so long ago, you would have commanded me to remain if you thought otherwise.”

He echoed the chuckle. Yes, it was true - their relationship had perhaps entered a new era after recent events. And perhaps it would be a better one; they shared a stubbornness, more than he might like to admit, but there was an acknowledgment of it that had not been there in the past. They were aligned, and he was not too proud to recognize that knowing she had been right all along had softened his stance.

“It is indeed a time of change,” he said. “For us all.”

Continue to Part 4

#fanfic #fanfiction #fix it au #fix it fic #gil-galad #gil galad #gil-galad x ofc #rings of power #the rings of power #trop fanfiction

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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I LOVED this article. Leslie Gray Streeter expresses it perfectly.

https://www.thebaltimorebanner.com/opinion/column/kamala-harris-no-press-interviews-OPD4MAXYKRB4XJHB2TFB6ZJX6Q/

Since becoming the presumptive Democratic candidate for president, Vice President Kamala Harris has done myriad public appearances and given speeches but has not, as of this writing, talked to journalists outside a brief session on the tarmac before a flight.

I’m a journalist and have been for more than half my life. And you know what? I don’t blame her one bit.

Because of her refusal to sit for an interview with any print or broadcast media, Harris has been the target of a lot of indignant insistence that she change her mind — that she’s not giving the American public answers they deserve. Critics say she’s subverting an expected system that all other elected officials have gone through. They say she’s hiding behind a wall of hype and “irrational exuberance” that is proof she lacks the toughness to hold the office she seeks.

Be ever so real, y’all. You know that quote, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”? It would be insane to subject yourself to unfettered questions by an industry that doesn’t seem to know how to handle interviews with true journalistic integrity and practices. Why beat your head against a wall you know is made of brick and disinformation?

Harris has seen a media landscape that arguably legitimized soon-to-be-President Donald Trump as a normal candidate when he was sowing seeds of unrest, writing about him agreeing to accept the 2016 election results, “if I win,” and then denying those results in 2020 with not an nth of the absolute pushback and condemnation it deserved. She saw, as we all did, major outlets referring to obvious racist attacks by the current Republican nominee and others as “racially tinged” and to blatant bloody lies as “falsehoods” and “misstatements.”

The vice president recently approached the press gaggle with a deliberately direct “Whatcha got?” That is the same thing my late daddy used to ask me point-blank when I’d been calling and calling and he knew I wanted something. The reporters had been clamoring for this. And their response? A bunch of requests for a response to crazy stuff Trump said about her.

This is the same industry that initially wrote presidential fanfic pondering replacement candidates that weren’t Harris. Then, when President Joe Biden stepped down from the race and named her as his chosen successor, they compiled panels ruminating on Trump’s assertions about her racial identity. Fox News has gone on the attack about her every day, but she’s being called a coward for not agreeing to a debate on that network in front of an arena of opposing fans.

Yeah, no. She is not, as we say in my culture, Boo Boo the Fool, nor is she, as she’s stated, falling for the okey-doke. Would you rush to sit down to withstand more of that foolishness? I would not. Despite the protestations of several writers from traditional media absolutely aghast at her avoidance of them, the truth is that Kamala Harris doesn’t need them.

Just as Trump has flocked to friendly outlets like Fox and a live conversation on X with app owner Elon Musk (or what Harris’ team referred to as “whatever that was”), Harris has done speeches at a rally in North Carolina and last week in Prince George’s County, and she has her savvy and very online comms team to get her message out. It’s smart, because most outlets have proven they don’t know how to approach her.

The vice president has expressed interest in setting something up, but I wouldn’t be shocked if she sidesteps your Dana Bashes and Kristen Welkers and does something inventive. If I were her, I’d talk to MSNBC’s Lawrence O’Donnell, who has himself been critical of media colleagues, including his own network.

Maybe she should completely pivot and do something fun like “Hot Ones,” where she can answer policy questions while eating spicy wings. Talk to Teen Vogue. Do podcasts. Hang out with “The Real Housewives of Potomac.” I know these sound like lightweight options, but are any of these suggestions less weighty than Harris’ opponent, who bleats lies and racism on his own app, or his approved media partners who go on about Harris’ laugh, dating history and heritage? It’s all a circus. I say make your own big top.

And if madam vice president decides to talk to the traditional media, be it the New York Times or CNN, I think she should only do so with interviewers who have proven themselves to have cultural competency about race, gender, historically Black colleges and universities, the Divine 9 Greek system, step parenting and being a baddie in the 1990s. I’m not saying it has to be a friendly person like Trump seeks, but it does have to be someone who respects Harris enough as a candidate to do research and not spend the whole time asking gotcha questions about her opponent’s lies. Heck, I’ll do it! I know this is a long shot, but at least I know what okey-doke means.

I am excited for Harris’ future media choices because they are sure to be unprecedented, just like her candidacy. And it’s going to be on her terms. Everyone gets to set theirs, after all.

137 notes · View notes

strawberrystepmom · 7 months ago

Text

pairing: Toshinori Yagi x F!Reader -> Mirio Togata x F!Reader

word count: 7.8k

contents: Canon divergence for final war arc and beyond, friends to lovers with history, reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is a support equipment safety consultant, reader is 29 and Mirio is 30, appearances from other heroes (Deku & Bakugou and they are married, in their 20's)

cw: major character death and discussions of aspects of caretaking for someone at the end of their life, discussions of loss and grief

notes: This idea could not have come to fruition without my most beloved @izvmimi and @bakvrue so thank you to them for always being the very best. I have really been having a Mirioaissance lately and as you all know I love Mr. Might so here goes. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3

“I’m dying.”

Mirio Togata nearly chokes mid-swallow, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent droplets of tea from seeping out of his lips. It’s a rare Wednesday day off for Lemillion and sunlight pours into the expansive room used as an office at. He’s a guest in the home of one of the most prolific heroes of all time, as he often is, though today he was invited by the man himself instead of showing up to pop in and say hello.

All Might, Toshinori Yagi, is dying.

Technically he has been for years though hearing it from the man’s own mouth feels different than the vague conversations about ‘terminal’ and ‘incompatible organs’.

“No,” the younger man starts but Toshinori raises a hand to stop him, shaking his head with a chuckle.

It’s no secret he has been rapidly looking more and more frail as autumn faded into winter which is now melting into the bright green of spring.

“It’s true. No matter how many times you tell me ‘you can get better’ or ‘medical technology is improving’ it will not change the fact that my time has a finite number on it.”

There has been a finite amount of his life remaining for a very long time, he’s simply managed to dodge it for as long as possible. Running away from the truth is no longer an option, the years he has been given since the War and its finish already leaving the man feeling like a perpetual cheat. He was supposed to die then, and then after that, and then again and again and again…

There are no more ducks and dodges left in him.

“Midoriya knows and has accepted it. It’s time for you to do the same.”

The words would be harsh coming from anyone other than a beloved mentor turned friend though Yagi has always had the natural ability to soften blows when necessary. Mirio nods, blue eyes trained toward the ground and refusing to meet those of the man in the comfortable chair next to him. He dares to take a peek at the man who will forever be known as All Might, the thinness of his hands and arms and wrists alone a surprising sight. Time has run out. No medical science or quirk or act of God can reverse the inevitable. A transplant cannot save him, medicine will not save him, and he’s made the decision to be as comfortable as possible over the remaining weeks to months he has left.

Togata’s mind unconsciously drifts to you in all of this. You are the young woman who has devoted the latter half of her twenties to taking care of this iconic man, tending to his illnesses and the complications from them with a smile and a joke, a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead. The younger of the pair has witnessed this kindness himself on more than one occasion and he remembers when you were simply a Support course student at UA high school a year younger than Mirio himself. You assisted with equipment in the war and it has followed you through your adulthood, your support item safety consulting business thriving and helping build a safer world.

The way you care about everyone is so admirable, it’s difficult not to view you as a hero in all of this. Mirio raises a brow and balls his hands together into a fist, letting it rest in his lap.

“How does she feel about, well, everything?”

It’s a daring question to ask given the older man is well aware of the younger man’s affection toward you no matter how discreet he thinks he is about it. It’s the perpetual elephant in the room. Toshinori sighs, shifting in his chair and positioning his hands in his lap. Mirio’s eyes dart from them and toward the older man’s sallow face, noting the hint of a smile at the mention of you.

“She was the first person to know. It’s the least I could give her for wasting her youth on a sorry old man like me.”

Togata offers a tight smile and tilts his head to the side. The self deprecation isn’t anything new, it has been like this the last several years, though it never sits well when the man he has attempted to pattern his own morals over says something so blasphemous about himself.

“That’s a pretty downer way to look at things, All Might.”

This gets a chuckle from the older man, the sound of his head shaking against the back of his chair causing the younger one to look up at him curiously.

“It’s a pretty downer thing to die but telling you it’s coming isn’t the only reason I asked you here today.”

The older man clears his throat, wiping his thumb against his bottom lip and looking away, joining his hand in his lap. How can he properly phrase what he’s asking his young friend to do without it seeming sordid and disrespectful? He’s leaving you his legacy when he goes. His home, his royalties that will keep you well taken care of for the rest of your life and, well, he’s planning on leaving Mirio Togata the one gift he deserves the most - you.

He simply lays the plot down, hands still folded in his lap.

“How long have you loved her, kid?”

Mirio feigns shock that his mentor, the one who came after the one he lost years ago, is onto him. He has always played off his affection for you as friendliness and lingering glances as simply curiosity and assumed he has been doing it well enough that nobody notices.

“It’s not like that.”

Toshinori laughs, a weak cough wracking his body and he raises his fist to his grinning mouth to cover it. Mirio leans forward in his seat, reaching for the man who waves him off and instead leans to grab the bottle of hand sanitizer on the desk next to him.

“You are a grown man, Togata. Own up to it. It’s not going to offend me.”

There was no expectation of a trip down memory lane set for the younger man prior to arriving for this visit yet his mind launches into years of fuzzy and undefined memories. Evenings he’d come to visit you in the Support course workshop when he was younger with fewer scars covering his arms and torso, the few times in your early twenties you sat thigh to thigh with him in dimly lit izakaya hanging out with your mutual group of friends and their respective partners who are also heroes. He remembers too much and too little at the same time, skin crawling.

Shifting in his seat, he unclasps his hands and claps them against his thighs.

“A long, long time.” He finally responds and Toshinori chuckles in response, leaning back in his own chair and sliding one of his hands out toward Mirio. “Since I was in high school.”

The truth doesn’t hide forever. It makes him feel childish that he was so easily caught by the older man, replaying years of interactions in his head. Did he smile a little too wide at you? Glance a little too long? Pine a little too openly?

There is no way for him to change anything that has happened before now and the usually easy going man tensely lifts his head, meeting Toshinori’s soft gaze. There is no anger even if these events crossed boundaries, something the man is infinitely grateful for, and he reaches across the desk to take his mentor’s offered hand.

“I know.” He weakly squeezes the younger man’s hand, his lack of strength more evident than ever. Mirio feels emotion welling up inside of him and blinks it back, taking a deep breath. “That’s why I am asking you to give her the life I never could, Togata. Take her traveling when you can. Remind her that she’s brilliant and will probably keep this country safer than any hero ever could. Just…be there for her. For me.”

The request carries more weight than the older man could ever possibly understand. It’s not merely a responsibility but a strange kind of bequeathing. No formal paperwork, no meetings with officials, just two men discussing a woman they both care about deeply and how to best assuage her in the sorrows to come.

It also brings another question to Mirio’s mind he has contemplated for many years - do you have lingering feelings for him too? A far younger version of you, magnetism quirk engaged and using it to make him laugh, certainly did. He assumed those feelings just vaporized over time and with responsibility, your heart belonged to another man before he could ever ask that it be his.

A noble man. A good man who you did not want to see live lonely, by himself in his ailing years. A man Togata spent his entire life trying to emulate.

There’s a flutter of hope through the sorrow of knowing the end is coming for his friend and the younger man is the one to squeeze the older mans’ this time, gentle firm pressure to ensure it doesn’t hurt.

“I know it’s a big request. I don’t blame you if it makes you uncomfortable or if you’d like to say no,” Toshinori adds quickly. “I simply know that she cares about you a lot and always has.” His voice cracks and he swallows his sadness, only grateful that his life has been so glorious the last few years thanks to your gentle touch and your silly stories and your tendency to ad-lib songs to make him smile. “She deserves to be happy.”

The younger man couldn’t agree more. He nods, emotion continuing to rise, breaking eye contact to gaze down at his lap to allow him a moment to compose himself. For his entire twenties, he regretted losing his chance with you despite his gratefulness for the care and love you gave Toshinori. Now, entering his thirties, he gets the opportunity to try again. To speak up when he should and to put the feelings he has harbored for more than a decade to good use.

“I will do everything I can to make sure she is, you have my word.”

Even if it means you want nothing to do with him and keep yourself away from everyone forever. Whatever makes you happy, Mirio Togata will make sure you have it.

“I only have weeks. Months if I’m lucky but I don’t think I’m all that lucky anymore.”

The words make Mirio look up from his lap, brows furrowed. He didn’t think there was so little time left but he is a man of action and nods.

“Then let’s make these next few weeks memorable. What do you need me to do?”

A chuckle from the older man as he finally drops the younger one’s hand gently, tucking it back into his lap to join the other.

“For now, just be around if you can make it work.”

That he can do and he does for three more weeks.

On a warm spring day, a little past the end of cherry blossom season, the world loses All Might.

‘The days I spent with you were the happiest of my life. Let me take care of you for the rest of yours. - Toshinori’

The note he left you, the one you were handed by some man in a suit you’d never met before in the days following his death, rests on your desk. It feels too soon to tuck away the increasingly wrinkled piece of paper and you’re far too grateful for the life he has put between your two palms to stop glancing at the note every few hours each day.

It doesn’t answer any of the questions you have about what becomes of your life now though.

Emotion wells up in you again, a lump in your throat you have to swallow down to continue working, the results from your audit of the Dynamight agency’s safety audit on the screen of the tablet in front of you. They’re generally highly rated, Bakugou’s fastidious tendencies seeping through even the smallest detail of safety and care of his employees, but you have to look away. You close the screen cover and slide the device aside, standing up from your spot at the kitchen table to walk into the living room.

The house feels like a mausoleum even if it’s now yours and yours only. Being alone for the first time in weeks leaves a strange taste in your mouth and you fold your arms over your chest, padding across the wooden floors to plop down on the overstuffed couch you picked out three years ago. Deku’s wife spent a week by your side, the first seven days after the tremendous loss ensuring you ate and slept, sleeping in your bed with you and letting you cry on her shoulder. The day she went home hurt almost as badly as the day you lost the man himself, the encroaching loneliness feeling claustrophobic.

Thankfully, the second week was dotted with various visitors, your former classmates and long time friends of Toshinori paying their respects posthumously by being good to you in his departure. Dynamight’s wife tended to you and forced you out of your house, inviting you over with the promise of visiting with her eager to see you children.

The third week was much of the same, even chatting with his old friend David and accepting condolences from other heroes former and current. Your refrigerator stayed full, your mailbox overstuffed with more cards than you could open wishing you well and thanking you for taking care of him.

The fourth fewer people came but you still stayed busy. The fifth, same. The sixth, seventh, and eighth all followed suit although the amount of visitors thinned. Ninth, tenth, eleventh your house became empty outside of your close friends and Mirio. Now you are twelve weeks past his death and facing down a lifetime of uncertainty in a house that feels too large for you but too small for your pain.

Your heart swells recalling the love you’ve been given but it shrivels when you look around, wondering when it will start to feel full of life again; when you will.

Standing, you lumber over to the wall adjacent to where you sit, admiring the artwork and memories on the wall. There are photos of a freckle-faced teenager who became a freckle-faced man with his wife and children alongside Toshinori. Photos of Mirio grinning and giving a thumbs up in a vintage American All Might t-shirt that was almost too small for him. Photos of you and Toshinori smiling side by side when he was still well enough to attend the occasional event, you in glittering floor length sequins and him in a custom suit built to accommodate his ever weakening body.

Sighing, you reach out and brush your thumb along the frame. The photo doesn’t move, anchored into the wall, and you know that all of the care you gave him wasn’t wasted for a moment. He truly made your life better and you believe you did the same for him, though your eyes flit back to the photo of Mirio for a moment.

You took the picture a few years back while cleaning out the spare bedroom used solely for merchandise and collectables Toshinori had been given over the years. You accosted the younger blonde for pulling a shirt that was clearly too small for him over his head but snapped the photo anyway, grinning behind your phone at his silly posing.

Mirio.

He has been here for you almost as much as your closest friends, popping by daily if able with food or stories or just…sunshine, which is exactly what he is and always has been for the time you’ve known him. Even when the two of you were back in high school he knew your favorite candy and delivered it to your desk daily while spending his evenings sticking paper clips to your arm or the side of your face while your quirk was engaged.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab out your phone and dial his number. He answers before the first ring can even finish its trill.

“Hey-o, what are you doing?”

You giggle at his greeting though he hears the strain in your voice that indicates you are feeling down. He tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear, pulling his sweatpants on in the changing room of the agency, ready to head home.

“Nothing. I tried to work a little bit today and couldn’t focus. I’m sure Bakugou will bitch at me but his audit will simply have to wait another week.”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckles, rising to his full impressive stature and heading toward the exit.

“Do you need a distraction? I could come over.”

The offer is appreciated but you wrestle with how to respond to it. What you assumed were long forgotten feelings for Mirio surface every time you are around him and in your grief and confusion, you struggle to separate them from reality and what’s a balm to make you feel temporarily better. Would seeing him now, only three months removed from losing Toshinori, be appropriate? Is it what’s best?

“You don’t have to, I’m sure it was a long day.”

Togata scoffs, using his coded keycard to exit the building. The sun is still somewhat up, a hot summer evening encroaching and he does not want to go home when he could be spending time with you. The day exhausted him a bit, lots of petty crime picks up during the summertime, but he’s never too tired for you.

“Actually, this was the easiest shift I’ve had in a long time.” He’s lying and you can tell by the lilt in his voice, a particular tone he takes when he’s pretending everything is fine you’ve heard before but you are in no condition to press the issue. “I can pick you up in about thirty minutes and we can just drive if you want?”

You shake your head although he can’t see it. Part of you wants to say no, to rebuff your own feelings once and for all, but you’re weak and hurting and needy.

“We don’t have to go anywhere, we can just stay here if you want to come.”

And come he does, in that promised thirty minutes. He doesn’t bother to knock on the door anymore, punching in the code and announcing himself with a boisterous smile, then plopping down on the couch next to you.

It feels a lot more like coming home than it reasonably should but every time he feels guilty for envisioning his place in his life, next to you, he remembers the promise he made. He will make you happy no matter what that looks like.

Time passes so quickly when he’s around and it’s welcome to have something besides your own loneliness to listen to while he explains one of his heroic saves of the day, enthusiastically explaining phasing through a tree to capture a runaway attempted bank robber.

“So I caught the guy and somehow managed to save all the money too, which is crazy when you think about it. I thought the wind would carry half of it off but not today.”

You smile at him fondly, eyes crinkling at the corners, but he can tell something else is on your mind. Repositioning himself on the couch, he turns toward you and props his head up with his fist.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He has always been able to tell when something is bothering you and your brain screams that you should say no. You should turn down all of Mirio’s kindness and lock yourself inside of this home with your grief forever, a timeless pseudo-widow trapped in a prison of her own making.

But the warmth of his gaze encourages you so much, words bubble out of you before you can stop them, your hands instantly flying to your face to be pressed against your cheeks.

“Despite what people have said, I loved him.”

Mirio’s face falls into a concerned frown when he notices your eyes welling up, your glance firmly trained on his face. The papers were pretty harsh to you when the news of his death and your subsequent appointing the heir to his agency, legacy, and image were announced. Opportunistic seemed to be the media’s favorite term, honing in on the age and vitality difference between the two of you rather than the fact a fairly selfless young woman took care of him not knowing any of this was in her future.

You never took care of him in hopes of getting anything, only out of compassion for a man who has made the lives of others so much brighter. Who heals the healer? You took it upon yourself to be the one and you do not regret a moment of it, sitting cross legged at twenty-nine with a sense of pride despite it all.

“Maybe not in a conventional way. I never had,” your face falls a little, as though you’re fearful of reaction toward what you’re about to say. “You know…sex or anything with him. We kissed a few times, we held hands on occasion but my days and nights revolved around him for five years.”

Your voice breaks and immediately you push your thumbs against your eyes to keep yourself from crying where someone else can see it although the sniffling gives you away, sharp little inhalations through your nose.

“What do I do now?”

The question appears to be rhetorical though he feels compelled to answer, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulders and gently pulling you against his side. The lack of personal space between the two of you is honestly nothing new, certainly more so since Toshinori’s departure, and you settle into the warmth of him. It’s a comfort you need desperately, his fingers drumming a little beat of four into your shoulder.

“Whatever you want.”

You remove your thumbs from over your eyes, sensitive and red rimmed as they are, glancing at the man next to you carefully. The brightness of your living room causes you to squint and he reaches his free hand to wipe tears from your bottom lashes, his crooked index finger pressing delicately against your skin.

“I know that sounds callous and it probably is the wrong thing to say but your life isn’t over just because he isn’t here to watch you live it.” Now it’s Mirio’s voice that cracks and he clears his throat, hand flexing against where it rests on your upper arm. “He left you the tools to live however you want. You have a successful business, you are young and beautiful and…”

He trails off and you blink at him silently. The true feelings he has tried so desperately to hide for the years he has known you are seeping out of him. How much longer can he possibly hold it in before the pressure starts to cause cracks? Before it spills out of him wildly, an ode to you from a boy who has loved you since seventeen?

You stop him from spiraling, opening your mouth to speak while tears escape over his finger and roll down your face.

“I think I’m scared, Mirio.”

This is the first time you’ve admitted it, even to yourself. An undefined future is a terrifying prospect and while Toshinori was here, you were guaranteed to always have him. Scheduled pills and injections, showers and quality of life activities. Even your work is unstructured outside of your scheduled annual audits, only being called upon when you are needed.

He holds you against him, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. This could be just what you need and although he worries about pushing boundaries, you prove his worries wrong by snuggling further into his side. Your tears drip onto the cotton of his t-shirt and he uses his second hand to begin wiping them away, shushing you gently and affectionately.

“It’s okay to be afraid, he wouldn’t judge you for that, but don’t let it make you waste the opportunity to live exactly how you want.” His words are comforting and you nod against his chest, sniffling. “There is no right or wrong way to handle this.”

This is the first time anyone has told you that it’s okay to not know what to do right now. Not that you’ve ever asked, too fearful of making missteps to try and prevent them at all. You need reassurance and although you’ve been given it, it’s hard not to seek it from a man you’ve found so much comfort in over the past few months. He has been vulnerable with you, it seems only right to do the same for him in return.

Sighing, you unbury your face from his chest. “Do you think I’m doing okay?”

There is a version of you, more than a decade younger than you are now, that lives in Mirio’s mind and he sees her in the way you look up at him with uncertain eyes. It strikes him how long the two of you have known each other; how long he has been dancing around his feelings for you. He nods, removing his arm from your shoulder to cup your cheeks in his palms.

The urge to kiss away those tears is strong but he talks himself down, tilting your head until your gazes fully meet. All of the love he has kept to himself for a decade further threatens to spill out. He stops himself, self restraint a requirement of being a hero after all, and his thumbs gently stroke the rose petal soft skin beneath them.

“You’re doing better with all of this than anyone else ever could.”

There are no words he has ever meant more than these besides the ones he decides to keep to himself, saving the oft considered ‘I love you’ for another day.

“Thank you. For everything. I kind of worry I’m asking too much from you,” you rush to apologize and he keeps his grip on your face gentle but firm.

“You can ask me for anything you need.”

He means it more than he meant his promise to the last man that loved you.

“Alright, I think we’ve had as much fun as we are going to have. Babysitters get paid hourly, you know.”

Katsuki wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her close to him beneath the same lights the six of you used to drink under a long time ago while saying his goodbye. He has never been much of a drinker and hasn’t indulged even a bit tonight but his wife’s relaxed expression gives away how many beers she’s had and you giggle at her, squeezing her hand as she walks by on their way out.

“Be careful you two,” you call after them, Mirio turning to look at you while you glance over your shoulder. Only Midoriya and his wife remain seated across from you two, snuggled in the corner of their side of the booth. Deku’s ever lovely better half raises a brow and nudges her husband in the ribs gently, subtly motioning toward where the pair of you sit.

This is the first night you’ve really enjoyed yourself in the six months since you’ve lost Toshinori. It has been a great walk down a memory lane you haven’t bothered to explore in a long time.

“Gosh, he’s so grumpy,” you laugh to yourself and Mirio giggles beside you, looking as smitten as he always does. Izuku notices it and looks down at his wife, the two of them communicating wordlessly by the time you glance at them. “I’m guessing you two are next to head home?” You tease, your own brain slightly hazy from the few beers you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in.

A little voice in the back of your head made you fear showing your face in public, especially after the scrutiny that came so few months ago, but nobody has taken a second glance at your group of friends despite all of the men in the group landing in the top five of the Hero standings. It appears whatever backlash was sparked has faded quickly. You make a note to thank the classmates you had that now work in the media who were likely behind it, hoping you remember it later.

You haven’t just had a good time tonight, you’ve had a great one. Smiling gratefully, you look over at your two remaining friends.

“Like Kacchan said, babysitters are paid hourly,” Deku raises his brows and shrugs. His wife kisses his cheek, beginning to slide out of the booth while he holds onto her hand and follows.

Mirio nods at Izuku and smiles at his wife, having known the two of them since high school as well, the same story with the now gone Bakugou’s.

“Get that beautiful wife of yours home safe, Deku.” He jokes with a chuckle and his friend laughs in response, reaching across the table to pat his shoulder and then yours.

It’s hard for him to believe how much has changed over these years but how much has remained the same simultaneously. His close friends married their high school sweethearts and settled into their family life, kids and recitals and dinner parties. A piece of him has wondered for years if that could have been the two of you as well if he’d left less up to chance as a young man.

Does it do any good to wonder? Mirio doesn’t know yet he does often, tonight especially.

“You ready to go?”

A little lost in your own world, you look up at him with your eyebrows raised and nod slowly. He looks so handsome, even in this poorly lit room, and heat rises in your face straight to the tips of your ears. It has been a long time since you’ve felt that particular heat, the kind that makes your stomach flip flop.

Would it be wrong of you to ask him if he wants to hang out with you for a little while longer? You don’t have ill intentions in wanting to spend time with him, at least that’s what you tell yourself, and the few beers have made you feel brave.

“Do you wanna hang out with me for a little while? We can just go back to the house or find somewhere else or…” you trail off slightly, a little self conscious. Do you seem desperate? Lonely? Annoying? “If you don’t want to though, I understand.”

Finishing your question hurriedly, you glance up at Mirio who looks at you with that same earnest stare he has given you for years. There are depths in those pretty blue eyes, humor and pain that he has experienced and joy and so much. There is simply so much more to this man than most people know and unexpectedly, it isn’t just your face that feels too hot, it’s the entire room.

“Of course I do. Let me just take you home and we can hang out there, that way I’m not keeping a lady out too late.”

He knows he’s taking a risk by being outright flirtatious with you after months of trying to keep it subtle. He is but a man and knows that look, though. That ‘through the lashes, lips slightly parted, beautiful woman who wants to spend time with you’ look. He’d be a fool to say no, even if you two do nothing but talk for hours. There’s nothing else he’d rather do with the remnants of his night anyway.

“After you,” he offers with a bright grin. The few beers he has had make his cheeks pink and you want to reach out and touch them but refrain, uncertain of how to do all of this correctly. You’ve never really dated, outside of a few hookups in your early twenties, so this is truly foreign territory. It’s a lot to wrestle with the guilt of moving on, something you have reluctantly admitted to yourself it seems you’re doing, and the weight of grief on your shoulders at all times.

When does it ever get better or at the very least, when does it become less of a struggle?

Saving those questions for another, less fun evening you slide out of the booth and he follows after, placing his hand against your back to walk you out of the bar. It feels natural, his fingers splayed across your spine and heat once again blooms. It’s embarrassing to feel so excited by sheer touch.

Your relationship with Toshinori was never sexual. Always a companion more so than a lover despite the deep love that bloomed between the two of you, you spent a lot of nights in a different bed exploring your own body while he slept in his own room down the hall. This was always the arrangement, comfortable for both of you. He was physically incapable of having sex and you never wanted to make him feel like less because of it, still complimenting his appearance and doing your best to make him feel attractive. Which he was, even until the end that smile and those jovial blue eyes had the ability to light up a room.

It’s just different with Mirio. This isn’t the first time that heat has bloomed beneath your belly button, begging you to follow it all the way down a rabbit hole you aren’t quite sure you are ready for and the alcohol is making it worse tonight. If he can tell, he’s being a gentleman about it, something to be grateful about.

The two of you stand in the now cool autumn night air, the city still noisy outside. The breeze chills your warm cheeks and you look up at him to find him glancing down at you, wearing an expression that tells him some of the same things on your mind are on his.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question is laced with humor, as most of what the man says tends to be, and you feel caught with your pants down. Playing it off with a giggle, you decide to push back; to make him feel like he’s the one being surveyed instead.

“Why didn’t you kiss me when we were in high school?”

The topic of first kisses came up tonight, your friends reminiscing about how they’ve shared their first everything together throughout the years, and you recall yours being lackluster. Some guy you went to college with named Dai who slobbered all over your face your first year.

Certainly not who you would’ve preferred sharing a kiss with.

Your question has caught Mirio off guard and he rubs his neck, scrunching his nose and refusing to make eye contact with you. The truth is that he was simply too afraid to make a move and by the time he was able to, it felt improper given the conflict and all that happened.

It was hardly a time for making a move on the girl you had a crush on and the two of you just went your separate ways after that. He became a Pro Hero, working his way up into the top 15 within his first year and then the top 10 the next and only climbing from there, you went to college to pursue your public safety certification. By the time you were able to reconnect in your early twenties, your lives had diverged so wildly it no longer felt appropriate to, well, go after you.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I think I was afraid you didn’t like me back.” Snorting, you attempt to stifle your laughter. He glances down at you, tilting his head, feigning offense.

“Really? I’m being honest with you and you’re going to laugh at me?”

Wrapping your arm around his bicep, you attempt damage control by resting your head against him. A breathy sigh leaves you and you glance upward to catch him staring down at you once again.

“I had such a crush on you that even Hatsume gave me shit about it.” You speak through your nose, attempting the now most sought after equipment outfitter in all of Japan's higher voice and inflection. “Where’s your little boyfriend, magnet girl?”

The two of you devolve into a fit of childish giggles, not unlike the ones you shared back then, and without warning he leans in close to you. You still cling to his bicep but he’s bent at the waist, lips inches from yours, one of his hands reaching to rest against the side of your neck.

“Can I make up for it now?”

Ocean eyes search yours, pleading for an answer. All of that heat courses through your body at once and without putting too much thought into any real consequence, you nod. Just a kiss won’t hurt either of you, for old time’s sake regardless of what may or may not be blooming here. Mirio closes the distance between the two of you and gently brushes his lips against yours, gentlemanly and chivalrous even in the throes his tremendous need to touch and feel and be close to you, and you whimper when he pulls away sooner than you liked.

“Was that okay?”

Giggling, you lean in and kiss him again to give him his reply. It was more than okay, it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, a sharp comparison to the well kept and bulky rest of him that you have had to stop yourself from eyeing hungrily on more than one occasion. His mouth tastes like salt and beer and love.

Pure love lives on his tongue that is working its way into your mouth while he hurriedly backs you two into a narrow alleyway between the bar you just left and the building next to it. His knee rests between your barely parted legs and your hands reach for anything they can grab, forearms and biceps and his shoulders and chest. You touch recklessly, one hand sliding up the side of his neck to cup his jaw and the other rubbing circles just beneath the hem of his shirt, above his belt buckle.

“Hey,” he stops you unexpectedly to catch his breath, chest heaving while he glances down at you. “I want to keep this going but I have to tell you first that I love you.”

There it is. The thing he has been keeping to himself for twelve long, torturous years. Mirio loves you so fiercely he wonders how he’s managed to even breathe the last 12 years without you by his side, your laughter and light filling his days and nights no matter how they go.

How could he ever live without you again? He isn’t sure that he could.

Blinking up at him, you slide your hand further up his face and tousle his blonde hair between your fingers.

“I don’t care if it’s too soon for you to say it back or if you ever will but I love you. I have for such a long time it hurts to keep it to myself any longer.”

The smile on your face turns into a full blown grin, fingers still snaked in his hair. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe lust is winning the battle between your wits and your heart or maybe this is a chance to say something you’ve felt for longer than you realized.

“I love you too, Mirio.”

It doesn’t make your love for Toshinori any less real to admit you love the man who has been by your side for virtually 24 hours a day for the last six months and long before that too.

He leans back in and kisses you again, silencing any thoughts other than the two of you and it leaves you breathless, gently grinding against his jean clad thigh and sucking on his tongue. Another pause and he pulls away, cupping your face.

“Take me home with you.”

It isn’t a plea of desperation but one of pure unadulterated need. He needs you, any way you’ll let him have you, tonight.

Nodding, you close the distance and press your lips against his.

“Let’s go.”

In all the time that has passed since you lost Toshinori, your home feels a little brighter when you arise in it each day.

It feels like somewhere you can build your own life now instead of living trapped inside the memory of his. You were concerned that changing anything about this place would rob you of the comfort of having once loved the man who left it to your care but you know he wouldn’t want you to stand in one place for long. All those months ago, Mirio was right when he told you that Toshinori would want you to make the best of what you’ve been given.

Move forward, he’d assure you if he were still here. Be yourself and find happiness.

Despite all the ways you’re still healing, you have.

You think about him every day. You will forever, regardless of the nature of your relationship and how other people view it. Some days the memory of him cuts through you like a knife, especially the last year of your life with him spent doing a lot more caretaking than you’d done the prior four, and other days it’s a gentle breeze. A whisper and reminder that he’s watching you, he loves you, he’s proud of you.

You’ve done the All Might legacy well, donating a large chunk of his fortune back to the communities he so committedly served. Scholarships for students who want to go to hero academies but may not have the pedigree or wealth to let them in, rebuilding the last remnants of an over decade old war that still scar areas of Musutafu tourists don’t visit.

The dreams you have yet to fulfill with what you’ve been provided make your future seem more full than ever. Hospitals bearing his name, education about the balance of hero life and personal life, safety equipment becoming better than ever. Your ambitions are big and you will make them all come true, a vow you made to him on the day he died even if he wasn’t cognizant enough to understand what you were saying.

This is all for him, dearly departed, a man you cared so deeply about you would’ve taken care of him for ten more years if you had to. You’re grateful it didn’t come to that if only for his sake, the suffering his ailing body was facing more than you like to think about even today, but all things considered it was a good life.

Even the papers have commended the woman they once referred to as an amoral opportunist.

Maybe you aren’t so bad after all.

And today when your feet hit the ground, the sun rises and fills the room with light through the gauzy curtains you put up a few months back. The cat you recently adopted twines himself around your legs and looks up at you expectantly, breakfast already a few minutes late. You couldn’t go long without having something new to take care of, the cat was once a beat up little thing brought to you by Lemillion himself one evening after a shift that has grown into a demanding beast.

“Saving little lost cats is a bit cliche, isn’t it?” You joked when he unzipped his hooded sweatshirt and produced the fuzzy, green eyed lump that mewed at you the moment he saw you. Mirio grinned and half shrugged. “Yeah but I’m good at it, right?”

Good he is, you think looking over at his still sleeping form in your bed.

For some, it may be too soon to cautiously lend your heart to another man. You love Toshinori and always will, the impact he left on your life is profound in ways you’ll discover for years to come, but a part of you has always loved Mirio even if circumstances prevented the pair of you from being together. He was once a silly teenager who was too afraid to ask you to be his girlfriend when he graduated high school, satisfied to leave things up to fate, and now he is a grown man who has been by your side through the most painful loss of your life so far, holding you together on the days when you were worried you would crumble.

Both of you are grateful that fate decided well although she took her time and brought a lot of pain on her way.

Instead of getting out of bed, you lean down and pick up your now purring cat and slide back into bed beside him, his hands instinctively reaching behind him for your thighs to pull you closer.

“I didn’t think you were awake,” you whisper and he chuckles, scarred hand running up the expanse of your thigh while your cat climbs onto his shoulder and licks his face. There’s no use in trying to carefully swat the creature away so he lets him settle onto the pillow above his head.

“I always notice when you get up and I have to fight the urge to follow you.”

Giggling, you wrap yourself around his back and rest your cheek between his bare shoulder blades.

“Why’s that?”

He finally turns to face you, blue eyes glancing down at the thing he has wanted for years. Your unmade, half awake face. The domesticity of your cat purring above both of your heads. The promise of packing to take a week off from heroics to go and enjoy a far off destination neither of you have been together.

“In case I ever lose you again,” he admits vulnerably and you smile up at him, hand reaching to cup his cheek.

The half awake mumblings have more truth to them then you could possibly imagine, fear that something else will hurt you or pull you away from him. Fear that he’s going to waste his time again, precious days he has always wanted to spend with you meaning nothing because he’s too cowardly to fight for what he wants. Maybe a younger version of Mirio Togata would have let this happen but not this one, older and wiser that he is.

The ring he plans on proposing to you with this week is nestled in his suitcase, buried beneath too many pairs of socks and probably too few pairs of boxers. He won’t even mind a long engagement, if you need one, as long as he knows forever with you is what waits on the other side.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I think we’re stuck together for life after all we’ve been through.”

As he promised his mentor a few months over a year ago, he will ensure that you are.

#all might x reader #toshinori yagi x reader #mirio togata x reader #lemillion x reader #kendall writes #cw death

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tswhiisftteedr · 9 months ago

Note

ANYTHING Lute x Reader, i just need to see more of this perfect gal whose had like 3 minutes total of screentime

Girls ☆ One Shot

☆ Lute x Human Soul!Fem!Reader:

After having met you on your first day in heaven, your life and lute’s would change for the better as you had found your other half despite your original predicaments.

Words: 4228

Warnings: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Honestly Nothing Kinky, It’s just plain girl on girl smut. Homophobia. Lute might be ooc. NOT PROOFREAD.

Notes: Okay right off the bat, some bullshit logic about angels being able to tell if someone is queer, also lute is gay but has some major internalized homophobia so for a good chunk of this she’s rude to the reader just because they’re gay.

☆ more under the cut. ☆

Frankly, the scenario felt weird, especially given the fact that both of you were, well, 'you.'

From a logical standpoint, it didn't add up, not in the slightest. However, in the grand scheme of things, ‘does love really need to make sense?’

The response to that question was unquestionably, no, when observing your relationship with Lute.

It all began when your seemingly stable life abruptly crumbled. While crossing the street, mind you, at a red light, fate took a dark turn as a truck with faulty brakes struck you, ending your life on the spot.

There was no reincarnation into another world after this encounter with truck-kun; you were flat out dead.

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself standing before the gates of Heaven, where Saint Peter meticulously inspected his book, akin to the VIP list of an exclusive nightclub – or so it seemed.

However, instead of the typical club scene with artificial lights, drugs, unpleasant odours, drunk individuals, and a sense of desperation, you were enveloped in a heavenly realm. Fluffy clouds, savoury food, sweet fragrances, joyful company, and an overwhelming sense of acceptance surrounded you.

This was truly paradise, and you were relieved that your life wasn't too problematic. After being shown your potential residence—a beautiful house with a spacious garden—and touring 'Heaven city' with a friendly Angel couple, you enjoyed exploring your surroundings.

However, the perfection took a turn when you accidentally encountered the first unfriendly 'individual' in Heaven.

"Watch it," the woman with white hair warned you, and after scanning you from head to toe (much like her golden-winged companion), she remarked, "I guess they really let anybody in these days, even people like you."

With those words, she walked away accompanied by the non-human-looking 'man,' which seemed to be the norm in this place. However, you couldn't shake off the unease caused by her reference to 'people like you.'

Soon, you discovered the meaning behind her comment. Apparently, angels here could distinguish between cis-straight and queer individuals.

The reason of ‘why?’ remained unknown to you, but what became clear was that, in her opinion, you didn't deserve Heaven—not based on your actions but solely due to your sexuality, ‘and that pissed you off.’

You had planned to confront her the next time your paths crossed, and that moment arrived three months later, long after you had moved on from the incident;

Now, you were patiently waiting in line to sample drinks at the recently opened smoothie bar. The atmosphere was serene and heavenly, as expected.

Just as it was about to be your turn to order, you were rudely jolted by the announcement, "Move it, bitches, Adam’s in the houuuse."

You found yourself pushed aside, forced to witness the obnoxious Angel now placing his order.

Midway through his order “Pineapple smoothie with extra pineapple, tapioca, grass jelly, make it an extra-large with extra sugar, then she’ll have-“ it suddenly dawned on you that he was the guy with the white-haired companion from last time. Before you could fully process it, you turned around to find the white-haired woman right beside you.

Upon noticing you, she shot a disgusted glare and 'tsk' your way. Frustrated, you thought, 'That rude bitch- Not only did she cut in line, but she also gave you a look like you were a turd on the incredibly clean streets of heaven!'

This time, you were determined to speak your mind to her;

"Whats your problem?" you question her with frustration evident in your tone.

"Excuse me?" she retorts, disdain dripping from her voice.

"I'm asking, what's your issue with me? Our first encounter, you flat out implied I didn't belong in heaven. Seriously, for what, for being gay? Firstly, that's bullshit because my worth as a person shouldn't be based on my sexuality. Secondly, it's just plain homophobic. Isn't heaven supposed to be all about accepting thy neighbour? So instead of treating me like I'm beneath you, how about an apology for our last interaction, Miss off-brand Kanade?" You lay it all out, determined not to let her disrespect slide this time. She was to blame before, but allowing it again would be on you, ‘and that wasn't going to happen.’

"Oooooh, cat fight!" remarked the golden-winged Angel, treating your dispute as some form of entertainment. Also 'cat fight', was he fucking serious?! That term left you thinking, 'misogynistic asshole!' in response to his words.

"Do you even know who you're speaking to?" the woman questioned, exuding a sense of superiority.

"Yeah, tear that bitch a new on, Lute!" the golden-winged Angel chimed in.

"I don't 'lute,' and if you were truly that significant, I would’ve. But it sure as hell doesn't seem to be the case!" you retorted with a touch of spite, placing extra emphasis on her name.

The shop as a hole gasped at the mention of the ‘H word’.

"I’ll have you on that I hold the title of Lieutenant of— in the Heavenly Army. And as one of God's warriors, I deserve respect from someone of your, let's say, slightly above dreadful mortal soul status," she declares, almost slipping up and inadvertently revealing the existence of exterminators.

"Sure thing, 'heaven warrior.' Firstly, when did we ever need an angel like you? It's been peaceful here. Secondly, I couldn't help but notice that slip-up. I don't know your real occupation, probably still military judging by your mannerisms, but certainly not some simple member of this 'heaven’s army,'" you respond, now sure that she's concealing her true job from most of Heaven's population.

"You insolent, miserable, lower life form! Consider yourself fortunate that your meager good deeds in your pathetic human life landed you here. Otherwise, I would have had the pleasure to—" she began, but was abruptly interrupted by her 'companion' or perhaps 'boss.' "Chill out, danger tits," he calmly stated in a tone vastly different from his earlier goofiness. The shift in his demeanor was genuinely unsettling.

And her attitude swiftly transformed; she composed herself and turned to face him. "I apologize, Adam, sir. I allowed my emotions to take over and stepped out of line," she said, directing her apology not to you but to her boss.

With that, the two individuals departed, leaving you to independently apologize to your fellow angels for the disturbance.

Was that the final occasion you heard or saw them? No, because not even a month later, here you were;

Another fun aspect of heaven was its schools, designed for souls who aspired to study on Earth but lacked the opportunity or had their lives cut too short to complete their educations.

Another facet of this scenario allowed the souls of teachers or individuals aspiring to aid in unfulfilled dreams to volunteer for assisting with the children's education.

That's why you found yourself present today, supporting Miss Asiimwe with her fourth-grade anglophone class during a spelling bee. Just as the classroom door swung open, an unmistakably loud and obnoxious voice rang out, "What up turds, big bro Adam's in the house!"

Your day took a turn from a wholesome one contributing to kids' education to a shitty one, because if that ‘pompous jerk Adam was here, she sure would also be—‘ "Oh, it's you again," Lute remarks to you, her voice less harsh than the last encounter but still carrying a hint of bitterness.

Truly, ��It was a waste for her to be so beautiful with that kind of attitude’. Despite her rude remarks about your sexual orientation, you may or may not find her attractive—perhaps not the wisest choice, and you were aware of such. But hey, after all, dominatrix existed, and they get paid handsomely to insult people. So, ‘is it really that unconventional to be into her?’

Yes, it very much so was. However, before having the chance to delve into those thoughts, Lute abruptly snapped her fingers right in front of your face to divert your attention.

"What are you doing here?! And a quit staring at me like that!" she demanded, replacing her fingers with her face, now uncomfortably close, and you could feel her breath on your face.

"Um, well— I'm assisting this classroom's teacher, something I've been doing since week one in heaven, so you're not kicking me out," you replied with a defensive tone, slightly taken aback by her question but drawing from your previous interactions.

"I never claimed I would, chill out, mortal soul. You shouldn't project the stress of your inadequacy as an inferior being into this classroom's atmosphere. Stress spreads easily, and you wouldn't want it affecting the children," she declares with authority, though her tone and gaze had some gentleness in it.

Truth be told, she might have found herself drawn to you. It was a difficult pill to swallow, given her blatant homophobia and the fact she found the thought of ‘her’ being attracted to a woman absolutely absurd.

Upon initially glimpsing your figure and sensing a certain fire within her, her instinctive response was to be rude to you.

"You mentioned you've been assisting here since your first week. How frequently do you come by?" she inquires, attempting to initiate casual conversations with you. By now, she had acknowledged that you weren't to blame for her attraction. While you might be the source, her draw toward women wasn't dependent on whether she found you hot or not.

"Well, I try to stop by at least twice a week. I believe having familiar faces during learning helps children feel safer and more supported," you admitted, surprised that she's engaging in small talk.

"I completely agree. Having a trusted adult present during learning builds a strong foundation for children's education, especially for the younger ones," she adds, gazing ahead at the classroom where the children have transitioned from spelling to playing with Adam.

"Leave it to the man-child to get along with kids," you joke to yourself, watching how effortlessly Adam bonds with the children. They're engrossed in a game involving knights and kings, with Adam, of course, playing the role of the king.

To your surprise, Lute chuckles at your remark before quickly composing herself. "Well, he is the father of humanity," she states, a faint smile appearing at the corner of her lips.

"I guess I can't argue with facts," you reply, your own face lighting up with a smile at the sight of the joyful children.

After that day, your meetings with Lute became a regular occurrence. Whether it was the joyful atmosphere of children immersed in learning or something else, she grew quite friendly with you over the course of two months. Your interactions even extended beyond the school, evolving into outings to cafes and amusement parks.

Today was one of Lute's off-duty days. You weren't exactly sure why heaven required an army, but you refrained from probing too much, especially during your hangouts, which were focused on enjoying each other's company rather than discussing work.

Currently, you were at CheeLand, the largest amusement park in all of heaven, offering rides for both the faint-hearted and adrenaline junkies alike.

You leaned towards the gentler side when it came to this type of amusement, while Lute embraced the thrill. That's why you found yourself anxiously gripping your seat’s restrains as the cart ascended the rails, anticipating the impending drop.

Your white-haired friend had successfully egged you on, convincing you to join her on the ride. Despite calming yourself in line, once the ride began, all your anxiety rushed back;

Lute, growing excited as the carts continued to climb up, remarked, "This is going to be so fucking fun! Can't believe you were such a baby about it in line." Her teasing tone shifted as she noticed your terrified expression.

Softening, she grabbed your hand and reassured you, "Listen, you'll be alright. The rides are completely safe and secure. Plus, I'm here with you." Her last sentence was emphasized by a comforting squeeze of your hand, prompting you to turn and look at her. "And worst case scenario, you're already dead, so there's nothing to be truly afraid of," she joked, easing the tension slightly.

But then came her next words, reigniting panic. "Okay, get ready, we're almost there." Glancing forward, you realized, "Oh, shit." She was right, and in an instant, the drop arrived. Both of you screamed at the top of your lungs throughout the entire ride…

You emerged from the ride, your head still a bit foggy and your voice hoarse from screaming, with Lute holding your hand.

As you both walk towards a nearby bench for a moment of composure, she remarks, "See, wasn't so bad."

"The fuck it wasn't!" you retort. Just as she's about to tease you for your reaction, you abruptly pull her into a tight hug in a serge of emotions. "But thanks for being with me. I doubt I could have even mustered the courage to join the ride lineup if you weren't here. I'm really grateful you're with me," you whisper softly.

She was startled by the contact, causing her to freeze momentarily. Although her initial instinct was to pull away due to nervousness, she recognized this as a vulnerable moment for you. Awkwardly, she hugged you back and gradually melted into the embrace.

After 5 minutes, the reality of the position hit her, and nerves kicked in. "You're welcome, now get off me, you weirdo," she insists, pulling away from the hug. However, all you can do is smile at her. Despite her attempt to maintain a front, she can't help but crack a smile too. 'She actually enjoyed how close you just were,' but that was something she kept to herself.

At some point in time, you had even overheard her referring to you as her friend to her boss, Adam, who questioned her sudden shift from his side to yours. Her face turned beet red as she defended you—a sight you wouldn't have expected from her at all.

However, that flushed look she harbored became increasingly frequent over time. You had become accustomed to her mannerisms and the way she expressed emotions, often lashing out due to difficulty in self-expression.

You had grown familiar with what brought a smile to her face, what upset her, and especially what left her flustered. By then, you had realized she liked you based on her behaviours, yet it seemed she hadn't recognized the romantic nature of her feelings.

Aware of her confusion, especially considering her upbringing and training, you knew the absence of romance in her education left her clueless about such emotions. Despite this, you chose to let her navigate these feelings on her own. It wasn't your place to impose that you were better aware of her own emotions than she was.

Yet, you played a role in guiding her toward this realization by incorporating more physical gestures, of course, always within her comfort boundaries: holding her hand more often, offering more frequent hugs, ensuring there was some form of touch between you two.

A common occurrence was when you walked together, either with your arm around her or your pinkies linked.

Her flushed face became so habitual that seeing her without it seemed unusual; the red tint became her typical expression when spending time with you.

Take, for instance, that day when you visited the newly opened restaurant on 'Holy Avenue.';

Opting for a Caesar salad, Lute aimed to play it safe in case the other offered dish didn't appeal to her taste. However, as she munched on her food, her gaze kept wandering to your dish, which seemed quite appetizing.

She attempted to deny her desire for a bite, but after spending so much time together, you had become adept at reading her emotions.

Acknowledging her unspoken request, you picked up a small portion with your fork, gesturing for her to join in. Initially embarrassed, she hesitated to refuse, but a single pleading look and she relented.

Her face flushed from the intimate gesture, the question of ‘why was she getting so worked up over your friendly act’ lingered in her mind as she finally took the bite-size food portion. The fact that she found you visually pleasing wasn't the answer she sought. Her feelings were deeper than mere physical attraction.

This realization was further confirmed as she spent the entire night unable to sleep, her mind consumed by thoughts of your hangout and the fact that you had fed her.

Tossing and turning, she found herself questioning the nature of your relationship: were you friends? Yes, that was obvious. Were you a couple? No, definitely not. Did she want you to be more than friends, an item perhaps? "Uuh, fuck," she groaned into her pillow as the realization hit her that she had developed feelings for you.

By now, it seemed like everyone and their mothers were aware of Lute's feelings, evident in her actions toward you. Not only had she begun reciprocating your physical advances, but she also initiated some herself.

Whether it was greeting you with a warm hug after a week apart, including you in her imposed outings with Adam, or playfully wrapping an arm around your waist during these occasions, her actions spoke volumes.

She'd whisper sweet jabs about her boss into your ear, leading to fits of laughter. Adam, in response, would roll his eyes at your intimate gestures, teasing Lute for being too obvious about her affection.

Despite her embarrassment and denials of any romantic feelings, you knew better than to take those at face value.

Yet besides the deep connection you shared, she struggled to express her feelings toward you. Accepting that she liked you had already been a significant challenge. Therefore, the idea of asking you out was currently off the table.

She needed to communicate her sentiments without uttering a word, and that's where today came into play—Valentine's Day.

Lute had dedicated the entire previous day and night to baking the perfect sweet, chocolaty treat for you. Not being accustomed to baking, she faced numerous trials and errors before getting it just right. Now, the moment had arrived for her to present these treats to you.

Having texted you to meet her at 'Wings Caffe' around 10, she patiently occupied a table since 9:30 a.m. following your confirmation text.

Initially, her plan was to simply hand you the chocolate, letting you make assumptions and agreeing when you eventually concluded that she liked you. However, things didn't go as planned, and nerves took over;

"Aww, that's so sweet, Lute. Thank you, really. I didn't get anything today, since y’a know, single as a Pringle," you remarked, pointing to yourself. "These chocolates mean a lot. By the way, they look fantastic. Where did you get them? I'd love to buy more for a snack," you inquired, holding the heart-shaped box.

"Made them," she mumbled, visibly embarrassed by your compliments.

"Really? Wow, I didn't know you baked. Maybe I'll come over to your place more often and have you whip something up for me," you begin. The implication of spending more time together tugs at Lute's chest, but your last sentence hits her hard. "I'm so grateful to have a friend who's skilled at baking and willing to make me things," you say as you start munching on the treats.

'Friends'—that's right, nothing more. It appears she couldn't rely on the heart-shaped box or the chocolate with words of affirmation in pink sprinkles to convey her feelings. If she desired more than friendship, she would have to be honest about her feelings this time.

However, true to her defensive nature, instead of clarifying the true reason behind giving chocolate on the day of love, she merely went along with your characterization of it as a friendly gesture.

"Yeah, I guess you're lucky to have a friend like me, someone so good at everything," she boasted, her voice proud, yet her expression betraying a hint of sadness.

Noticing the inconsistency, you set the box down on the table to free your hands and gently took hers. Meeting her gaze directly, you squeezed her hands for reassurance. "I wanted to let you work things out at your own pace, but we're not making any progress," you began, and she looked at you wide-eyed.

"I like you, Lute, and I know you like me too," you stated frankly. Before she could employ her defense mechanism, you added, "I'm not saying we have to start dating right away. I understand if you're not ready for that. But please keep in mind, as long as you don't outright reject me, I'll keep trying to pursue a relationship with you."

Upon hearing those words, Lute sensed the release of all the built-up stress and fear of rejection.

A newfound confidence surged within her, making her bold enough to grab your face and plant a bold kiss in plain sight for everyone at the café to witness. "Fuck yes, I'll be your girlfriend," she declared as she pulled away.

With a simple "Now, let's get out of here," the two of you stood up from your seats, leaving the café behind as her apartment became your new destination.

Upon reaching her place, things escalated rapidly—like, really rapidly. Mere seconds after stepping through the door, she was all over you.

Passionate kisses, hands exploring every inch of your body, fingers grabbing at whatever they could find. Nails scratching and digging, teeth occasionally biting at your skin when her mouth left yours.

Given the speed with which she undressed you, it seemed like she had envisioned this scenario for quite some time.

Before you knew it, you were lying on her bed, completely devoid of clothing, and that's when she began to work her magic;

Squirming within her grasp, she held your thighs down while eating you out. Breathless, you questioned, "I thought you were a homophobe before we met. How are you so good at this??" The overwhelming sensation of her tongue left you in awe.

You can practically feel her grin against your lips as she responds, "Yep, I was. But after developing a crush on you, I did my homework. Figured it be useful at one point or another. Though, ‘didn't think I'd be that good on my first actual trial.”

"Please don’t stop" you croak out between pants.

“Don’t worry, I won’t." she promised, increasing her rhythm and pressure.

As she continued to please you, you couldn't help but wonder what changed in her. This was way different from her usual flustered self. ‘Was it the time spent together? Or maybe the touch? The combination of both?’

Regardless, you decided to focus solely on the present moment, losing yourself in the sensations coursing through your body. Lute showed no signs of slowing down, proving her dedication to satisfying you.

Eventually, you reached climax, shouting her name as you finally released, your wings fluttered and your essence coated her tongue. Her response? She swallowed it down greedily, moaning around your pussy. When you finally fell back onto the bed, panting heavily, she climbed up beside you, her breasts pressing against your chest.

"That was... intense," you managed to utter between breaths.

"Glad you enjoyed it," she whispered, nibbling on your earlobe.

As you settled down together, Lute traced gentle circles on your stomach before trailing her fingers along your inner thighs. Her thumb brushed against your sensitive folds again, teasingly circling your tight entrance. "Do you want more?" she asked softly, her voice husky with desire.

You nodded weakly, unable to speak coherently yet.

Without further delay, Lute positioned herself between your spread legs again, positioning her own pussy just inches away from where she had been earlier. Lowering herself slowly, she began to rub your clits together, creating a new wave of pleasure that reverberated throughout both of them.

With each thrust of her hips, she increased the pace until you were moving in sync, your moans growing louder as you neared another orgasmic peak.

Your bodies intertwined, united in shared ecstasy, leaving neither wanting nor regretting your decision to explore the concept of a sexual relationship together.

Lute's hands grabbed onto your hips, holding you steady as she picked up speed, driving them both closer to climax. Your nails dug into her shoulders, leaving shallow crescent marks in the soft flesh; evidence of your shared intensity.

You could feel the familiar buildup starting again, your entire body tensing up in anticipation. With one final powerful thrust, Lute groaned loudly, her orgasm crashing over both of you like waves crashing onto shore. In response, you let out a high-pitched cry, joining her in blissful release.

Breathing heavily, you stayed in the same position for several moments longer than necessary, savouring the afterglow of your passionate union.

Eventually, you separated, both panting heavily. Lute rolled off of you, lying next to you on the bed, her chest heaving rapidly.

"That was... incredible," she panted out, reaching over to grab a nearby water bottle and handing it to you.

"Yeah, it was... Although I have to admit, having sex on the first day of making it official is pretty needy," you playfully tease her.

"Oh, shut up," she retorts before planting a kiss on your lips once you've swallowed your sip of water.

This relationship was going to be wilder than what you had anticipated…

Thanks anon for requesting!

Tip Me (Ko-Fi) & And support my art account @maviscarlettie

You can now commission me!

Tag list for Lute: @sunflower-lilly @charlott30045 (I still used your request because it was one that fit with what I had already received)

Reblogs help!!! (Request Are On Pause)

#tswhiisftteedr #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #lute smut #lute x reader

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meanbossart · 8 months ago

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Lore Ask Compilation: "Every Other Question Is About The Drow's Dick" edition

Oh I LOVE Minthara, her dialogue is absolutely fascinating and in my opinion some of the best written In the game. Experiencing her in my Evil Durge playthrough without having been spoiled to her companion scenes prior was great - the amount of depth they managed to add to her, without it at all feeling forced or rushed, and considering how much less time she gets to develop at our side is really well done. While nearly everyone's quests had me immersed, she was one of the few characters who really made me pause and think about the things she had to say to me, what she truly meant by them, and what they meant for me as an avatar doing an evil run.

We have a lot of characters in this game that are meant to be full of wisdom and experience, who are meant to be the ones who say the right thing at the right time that inspires us to make the correct choices, but I don't think either Halsin or Jaheira (and I love Jaheira) made me feel like I knew so little about life quite as Minthara did.

And, of course, she's absolutely hysterical. 10/10 I wish she had a proper companion quest past being rescued but I understand why she doesn't.

[MORE ASKS UNDER THE CUT]

It doesn't connect to the urethra since the slit in on top, so he nuts and pisses normal.

Also you 100% are not sorry, stop lying to me.

Man, I thought a lot about this one because I play so fast and loose with the content the game gives us that I'm positive there must be SOMETHING I'm completely disregarding, but I couldn't think of anything! I've chosen to pick slightly less obvious interpretations to some lines and text but nothing that completely deviates from canon, I don't think. If anyone has noticed something I neglected to mention, feel free to let me know - not because I want to revise it, but just because I'm curious!

For the second part of the question, not really. Larian did a great job of giving us plenty of room to play around in the dark urge's background, I think I'm yet to see something that I find to truly "not fit" in the ample freedom they've given us. I have my preferences, of course - I'm shocked to find that most dark urge's are NOT big hulking beasts, for example - in fact that seems to be the minority by far, but I realize that I have my... Uh... Biases.

You can see a cute little divot through the fabric if you look closely LOL

And nah, I think his penis has seen enough sharp points for a lifetime.

Well.

Unless someone decided to add some bite-marks to it.

HMMM, I... Don't think so.

He didn't cry as a baby, he didn't cry as a child (and this isn't something I just decided on now - this is a major reason why his foster drow mother even kept him around) he didn't really cry growing up or at any point during the campaign. I think he is capable of it - sadness in him just tends to be far more confusing a feeling than anything else.

He will have emotional moments in ANE, whether or not that will culminate in crying is something you will have to wait to find out LOL

Astarion has noticed this and just took it as a character trait - the drow doesn't cry, he just gets confused, angry, frustrated or simply bottles it up. While he can be demanding of his emotional maturity, he isn't going to try and dictate how he should experience his own feelings. If it did happen it would definitely catch him majorly off-guard, perhaps even shift the perception he has of him to a certain extent.

Oh my god you just know they All managed to be utterly quiet about it for as long as humanly (and unhumanly) possible until like, I don't even know, halfway through the Shadow-cursed lands where one day Karlach finally turns back to the group around the campfire after a half-nude drow has strut past and she's like "SO

"DOES ANYONE KNOWS WHY HIS DICK HAS A SNATCH"

And Wyll is like :0... Karlach you can't just ask people that.

And then she pointedly turns to Astarion and starts trying to interrogate him on how it works while Gale covers his ears and Shadowheart is like:

This is gonna blow you guys backwards but he does not do those things in front of people and thinks its rude if you do.

HMMM Mostly physically but it's a little subtle. He really enjoys interacting with Astarion's (and previously Orin's) hands - kissing, holding, caressing. Touching hair and faces as well. He can engage in more overt physical affection but usually Astarion has to be the one to initiate.

A disarmingly earnest proclamation of love and adoration here and there as well - he isn't shy in the slightest to tell people how he feels about them, he just isn't constantly reminding them of it unless inspiration strikes.

Most of all I think he expects his loved-ones to see his care for them in his tendency to go out of his way to help them achieve their goals.

He went with them to the Shadow-cursed lands but I never helped him fix the curse, so he stayed behind when the gang went onwards to the city. DU Drow didn't really like him so it was good-riddance as far as he was concerned.

If he had come along and propositioned him during act 3 - uh, you know the really mean rejection line you have as a choice during that dialogue? Yeah, that one lmao.

Alas, DU drow is just monogamous. He could entertain group-sex with a partner for fun at the most, but not ever a third person in the relationship. And In my personal interpretation (but by all means - everyone else have fun with their poly arrangements!) of Astarion and his delivery of the "this is about Halsin" line, I also thought he was lying about being comfortable with it, so I write him as monogamous as well.

Nothing. Nada. Not a thing. Say what you'd like about Bhaal but he sure knows how sculpt them out of his murder-meat.

(Thank you!!!)

#ask compilation #DU drow lore #bg3 spoilers

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moondirti · 1 year ago

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10. RESILIENCE

CHAPTER TEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter nine / chapter eleven ⇀

summary: miguel gives you something to work for

explicit (18+) | 5.1k words warnings: enemies (with benefits) to lovers, SMUT, fingering, praise kinks, edging, miguel is a tease, training arcs, using sex as encouragement, strict mentor miguel, angst, blood and injury notes: this is just five thousand words of banter and filth. am i sorry?

You’ve never been one to reminisce.

Nostalgia, déjà vu – to pull a sweet memory often feels like trying to fish a lightbulb out from the traps of your jaw. Impossible, not unless the glass shatters to cut your gums and you’re left with the bitter aftertaste of tungsten. There’s a barrier preventing it, somewhere in your mind, built to divide your life into two clean segments. Before and after.

The woman you were before the incident at Alchemax had plenty to look forward to. She spent her time shooting way beyond her ground to ever consider slowing down, lured by aspirations far more tempting than the comfortable life she led. Had she stopped to smell the flowers, to appreciate the way lavender lotion felt on her skin or the past not yet marked with blood, you believe things could have gone differently. That too is hard to consider.

The girl you are now is ripe with rot, softening in the places touched by radiation, crystallising in others. To bring anything – a voice, a face, any memory – back from your previous life would mean spoiling it, so you keep it all banked behind that wall. And of course, from the year past, there’s hardly anything new to recall with a smile.

Had you been anyone else, you suppose this could’ve been one of those rare times.

Because the gym is unchanged, exactly as you left it. Realistically, it’s only been a week, and to expect any major upheaval would be counting on a tragedy like the one that befell your Earth. Yet–

Somehow, you believed that coming back could paint it in a new light. Like the ground would collapse where you took him, and the mirrors would crack, all to expose an element you’d failed to consider. One to help you take comfort in the fact, despite your reckless tryst, you’re still here. Returned – which means that all your worst worries were needless, and that this is just a gym, and you are just a person. Perhaps, if you were to pace around that gaping realisation, then your anxiety would give away to thrill.

Would’ve. Could’ve.

It still looks like the roots of your most recent mistake, though. Your tummy knots with it, tangled in that dermal tissue. You’re overcome with the urge to run, in an almost exact mirror of the last you were here. The air brims with promise; not the well-heeled kind, but a twisted sort that makes it hard to breathe. You’re afraid that, whatever happens today, things will only get more complicated. You won’t handle it well if it does.

You’ve never been one to reminisce. This morning, it is all you can do.

When eventually it gets too much to bear, you search for something else while you wait. You’d come early, right out of your third shower of the weekend, to counter the warning he’d given you.

(‘Don’t be late.’)

Shivering, you zip your jacket before arranging your things on the entryway bench. You avoid your reflection on the mirror-lined wall, turning to face the machinery instead. They aren’t conventional, you notice – though a shelf holds an array of dumbbells, they run up to twice the average weights found elsewhere. There’s a frame resembling a medieval torture device; two hand pull mechanisms on either side, both of which are attached to a tower of barbells. To try pulling both up simultaneously would rip an unenhanced human apart, you think. It certainly would come close in doing so to you.

Of the bunch, your least favourite has to be the leg press sent from hell. That’s what you assume it is, at least. In truth, you can’t exactly tell. With a plate large enough to cover your entire lower half, wedged underneath approximately forty thick slabs of solid steel, the pressure alone would be enough to crush you.

You remain firmly within the confines of the hand-to-hand combat mat. Safe, if not somewhat weird for your foul misuse of it in the past.

But your unease is heavy enough to diffuse into your fingertips now. Your knuckles shake with it, and you must do something lest you start clawing away at your palms.

Stretching, maybe.

Yeah. Stretching would be good.

You start with what you know. The familiarity is agreeable enough to lose yourself to it. Five minutes pass; you’re bent into a low lunge. Ten, and you’re forcing your knees to touch the floor in a butterfly spread. Fifteen is when your tendons start to tremble with a warm ache, when you finally feel loose enough to relent and take a quick rest.

It turns out to be fortunate timing. The door swings upon not a moment later, the atmosphere sinking to accommodate the gravity of his presence. You catch his shadow from the top of your peripheral, hanging upside down as it appears from your point of view – laying on your back with your head slightly tipped.

You can’t see his face, and therefore have nothing to occupy yourself with. In its absence, you’re forced to consider the uncomfortable parallel your position draws forth. The only thing missing are his thick thighs, straddling your chest with subdued strength.

Swallowing, you flip around to settle on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows to take a good look at him. Last night, eyes hot and cloudy with tears, you refused to do yourself the favour in fear that his allure would only exacerbate things. You begin to understand the sentiment when your gaze locks to his.

“Morning.”

“You’re late,” You attempt to joke, grimacing at the awkward timing. The beam on which your relationship stands is precarious, possibly even more so than when you’d been plain-cut enemies. Everything is painted in grey, and it’s near impossible to discern where one boundary branches and the other ends. The confidence with which you once divulged in your humour is lost within the midst – your best bet is to cling to whatever instinct feels right.

Miguel nods, eyebrows raising in tandem to his languid shrug. There’s an almost playful beat to the way he walks, lined perfectly with the perimeter of the mat. You take note of his chosen apparel – his spider suit, perfectly complete save for the mask. A swell akin to disappointment rises within you.

“That expectation is solely reserved for you, fortunately.”

“I see. I suppose heroes have much better things to do, then.”

“Fate of the multiverse,” He waves his wrist, like the barb is easily dismissed. With what you’ve gathered about the man, you’re aware that’s far from the truth. “I still have things to tend to, beyond your containment.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” With the way he’s pursued you – relentless, a panther trapped in a box with an immaterial mouse as its meal – you’d have thought he’d delegated all other responsibilities to his trusted teammates in order to make time for it all. “Coming back from a mission?”

He traipses closer, blinking slowly in the affirmative. Unconsciously, you wiggle away.

“Successful, I take it?” You prod. “That an oddity for you, O’Hara?”

“The opposite.” He mutters, assessing your resting stance with mild intrigue. Your neck throbs with the angle it takes to peer up at him, again prompting a reminder of your last combat session. To quell it, you shift to sit on your knees.

Then, you imagine how your adjustment must look. Worse, likely. Wanton.

(Caveats seem to exist in abundance with him. There is always a but to your actions, a perspective to consider lest you want another misunderstanding.)

“My case being the exception?”

“As it continues to be.”

“I’m here though,”

“You are.” He pauses, inflection softening, as though the argument were fresh news. You half anticipate praise – a recognition of the effort it took for you to return. You’d spent your sleep after coming down that rooftop in a half-conscious state, reaching beyond your feverish dreams to grasp at whatever motivation you had left. You find, the longer he goes without mentioning it, the greater it begins to wane. Like a dying star, sputtering the last dregs of its fuel.

“Early too, I should mention.” You simper. For most intended purposes, it’s a crack at him, a push for the levity today so desperately needs. Yet another, lower part of you already mouths the response you wish to hear.

Good job.

He doesn’t give it to you. “Which brings me to the topic today’s lesson,”

“As a precaution, I should tell you that any of the equipment will likely kill me.” You disclose, if only to brush off the disillusionment, pointing in particular to the leg press.

“We’re not just there yet.”

“Then…”

“You want to know why you failed to pin me down when I asked you to?” He crouches, levelling to a degree closer to your eye-line. Still taller, you note. You steel yourself against shrinking back.

“Because you threw me off.”

“No.” His jaw ticks. “If you had kept with your attack, then you would’ve managed.”

You haven’t given yourself the opportunity to consider the reality of your clumsy attempt. The conversation lulls to make room for your contemplation. You’d thrown yourself onto him – like a glorified backpack – and were too wrapped up in your own panic that you hadn’t noticed his. With hindsight, though, it’s clear as day. He’s right, you could’ve managed. “But I faltered.”

“Exactly.” He echoes. “You didn’t stand your ground, which gave me the opening.”

It occurs to you that he doesn’t know the scope of your supposed error. It had really been the effect of his borderline aphrodisiacal cologne, potent and a dangerous addition to the vertigo that came with being jostled around. You consider pointing it out, a desperate last bid to disprove the very true argument he’s making, until he interrupts:

“Face down, forearms and toes on the floor.”

Your heart clenches with a febrile panic, blood piping hot through your veins at the same rate that your brain detangles the command behind his words. Either you’re debauched beyond reason, or it registers as filthy because he meant it to be. And where you’d usually rely on context, the murky limits of your relationship makes it hard to comprehend. You wipe your sweaty palms on your pants and decide that the former is the more plausible option.

(Or you can’t admit to yourself how badly you want the latter to be true.)

Either way, you do as Miguel says.

Once across the ground again, you’re able to better process the direction he’s taking you in. A plank: he’s asking you to do a plank. Ironically, you dread it more than you would’ve done the alternative.

You keep your pelvis to the mat, not yet exercising your core strength. He carries on.

“You lack resilience. Not only are you unable to withstand struggle, you don’t think to recover when you eventually fall.” The barbed observations hurt, striking you where you’re tender. It’s the part of you that’s always dissected everything he does into small, digestible pieces, but has failed to realise that he might’ve been doing the same in turn. “The first mark of a hero is their resilience. For you, that means pitting what you want to do against what you need to do.”

Another strike. You’d poked fun at his philosophical approach before, but it’s starting to make sense. Perhaps that fact alone should scare you.

Perhaps it does.

(What you want versus what you need.

Is that what you owe the world, then? Self-sacrifice – some bloody atonement – like you haven’t already bitten tooth and nail in guilt?)

“So, you’re going to make me plank?” You snap.

“I’m going to make you hold a plank. I won’t define a duration; you’ll just have to keep on until I tell you to stop.”

“O’Hara, not to question the metaphor you’ve got going on, but what could I possibly want from that?”

“I’ve only witnessed you work hard for one thing.” He explains. It takes on a different tone than the one he’s been using thus far, though. Gentler, well-versed in the ways of a veterinary placating a feral cat. He’s treading lightly, you can tell that much, but for what you’re not sure. Because you’re close to walking out again, or because he’s about to broach unmarked territory. Whatever it is, it reads as condescending. Your muscles start to tense, like a taut elastic ready to snap, and your critique sharpens for what he’ll suggest next. “I won’t assume, and with what it can do as a form of encouragement, it’s important that you agree.”

“Spit it out.”

He doesn’t know you; you tell yourself. You’ve given him a lot of your worst, and maybe he can decipher a few truths from that, but he does not know you. You repeat the mantra over and over like a soothing balm, attempting to tamp your frantic confusion at this whole ordeal.

“I’ll touch you. Return the favour, goad you along – but only for as long as you’re able to hold it. Drop, and I’ll stop. Pick yourself back up, I’ll continue.”

Oh.

“When I feel as though you’ve met today’s goal, you can cum.”

And then he goes quiet. Deathly still, pouring his scrutiny into your wide eyes like he can read every thought that fires within you. But he wouldn’t be, because there are none. You don’t think. Can’t. It’s absolutely the last thing you could’ve predicted, a declaration so far removed from your worst-case-scenario that it sends you reeling beyond your flesh. You’re watching yourself in third person, a voyeur to the blubbering spectacle of Wraith – blanched and warm and entirely empty-headed. It’s unfathomable, disconcerting.

Then, to make matters worse, you laugh.

In a manner completely unbecoming of the seriousness you’d opted to take this whole thing with, you laugh.

A crowing, boisterous sound of relief that crackles through your chest like lightning. You have to heave huge gulps of air in between to be able to respond. “You’re serious,”

A dark eyebrow raises, the corner of his mouth curling with it. He must find it funny too, and for that you’re thankful. The mere notion injects a molten buzz into your gut. “Yes.”

“So… What – you’re insinuating a mentorship… with benefits situation?”

“No.” He shakes his head, like the title is any more ridiculous than the fact. “I’m giving you the option. You can’t trust your encouragement alone, so take it as something to look forward to. Something to work for. With it, you’ll be able to tell when you’re on the right track.”

“You’re going to Pavlov me into becoming a hero.”

He blinks. You meant it as a joke, though he seems to be taking it into account.

“If you don’t-”

“I want to.”

It’s said so quickly that you regret not faking a moment of deliberation. Really, though, there are only three things that occur to you:

Your contrition following last time was solely based on your fear of having overstepped.

The bottomless itch in you demanding some sort of recognition for your efforts remains unaddressed.

And him. It’s such an abstract reason that you can’t exactly name its contribution to your answer. Just that it’s him who’s asking; patchouli infused, broad-shouldered and stubborn Miguel O’Hara. The same man who you’d bet your life on wanting nothing to do with you, whose claw marks still scar the flesh above your wrist, whose venom still undoubtedly lingers in your system – making itself familiar with the chambers of your heart, that which you yourself can’t map. The very same man you can imagine being a father to adoring little children, because despite all the evidence to your feud, he’s also the same man who answered your curiosity about the 2099 space station with patience. Who’d cradled your neck between that rubble and refrains from calling you Wraith since you expressed your distaste for it.

Who felt so heavy on your tongue, pulsing and so fucking thick you wake up some mornings to the phantom feel of it stretching your lips.

Desire begins to gnaw up your bones. Changing your mind now would be the most blatant betrayal of oneself.

(What was it you promised earlier; to cling to whatever instinct feels right?)

“Extend your legs then.” He doesn’t let you dwell on it. “That means hips off the floor.”

You adjust yourself into a proper plank position. Or, less than proper. Miguel takes several issues with it, rising from his crouch.

“Your elbows are too wide apart.” His foot nudges your arm until you bring it parallel to the other, straight beneath your shoulders. “Evenly distribute your weight to your forearms and toes. Everywhere else should be rigid.”

“Like this?” You turn to assess his expression. Already your lungs clench in exhaustion – this isn’t as fun as you thought it’d be.

“Of course not. Stop trying to look at me. Face down, you’ll hurt your neck like that.” The air swooshes and you assume he’s crouched back down, near your middle. A large hand grazes your belly. It tickles. “Contract it.”

You try to, but the slightest movement causes him to come in contact with you again. It’s over your jacket, just the barest of touches, yet it’s enough to make your form go weak. Your legs almost give out.

“Sorry– Just…” You huff a nervous laugh, adjusting yourself the second his warmth pulls away.

“Not just your abdomen, but your glutes too. You should feel like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Full body tension.” You tune in to every syllable, triggered into every command like a well-rigged machine. “Yeah, that’s it.”

The acknowledgement makes you preen. It must affect your stance too, because he promptly clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Most importantly, you don’t want this.”

And he finds the small of your back – right where your ass curves upward – to guide you back down, completely straight. His hand doesn’t leave you afterward, either, warm enough that you can make out the contours of it through body heat alone. Somehow, it stirs you even more.

Your groan is so pained that you hope it’s from exhaustion and not pining. “How much longer?”

“Really?” He deadpans.

“I feel like I’m going to collapse.” Your hips dip.

“I haven’t started the timer yet.”

His fingers slide along your pelvis, tracing it around the curve of your waist, down to where you’re sinking. Then, he lifts you back into place – anchored right above your pubic region. His press now is firmer, nudging into your flesh with the pads of his fingertips, and you can’t help the nauseous thrill arising where they do. They brush beneath your baggy top, skimming the precarious edge where your pants’ hem dives to skin.

You feel like the pages of an old book, flipped through an array of different scenes.

The first and most blatant is the discomfort that starts seizing control of you. Miguel insists you haven’t begun, but your unfit body is already suffering from positioning alone. Contracting your muscles proves harder by the moment, fragility skipping along the tissue until you’re convinced of the temptation to just let go. Your feet are unbalanced, and the unforgiving ground does a number on your elbows. The thin sheen of sweat beading across your hairline can only aggravate your suffocation, not cool you down as needed.

What’s harder to focus on – for all its monopoly on your mind – is how intentional his caress is. Every shift of his hand is practised, hovering right around where you need him but never doing anything about it. If he hadn’t admitted his course of action, then you would have tricked yourself into calling it professionalism. But while you can’t see him, his smirk is almost palpable – like humidity that makes a temporary home in your lungs – and you’re confident enough in it that you’re able to name him a tease. He’s teasing you.

The amalgamation of it all sends you into overdrive. You’ve only begun and you’re already yelling.

“The timer!”

“You’re making it worse for yourself, you know.” He says, though moves to fiddle with his watch.

“You’re a little shit, y’know.” But he’s right. Talking amplifies the fatigue.

“I’ll add that to the list. Right next to cocky bastard.”

“Don… Don’t forget sadist–”

“Hm,”

And, as if to emphasise its inapplicability, he cups you.

From behind. Dips his fingers in the space between your thighs, winds them to the front of your groyne, and palms your clothed cunt.

Your skin prickles.

“Fuck!”

Static envelops your arms as they phase right through the floor – momentum stopped only by your chin, which remains corporeal. If it weren’t for your tongue, which slips to wedge itself between your teeth, then you’re sure your jaw would have shattered on impact. Ichor floods your mouth, sharp, like butter melted on a penny. You groan, rolling around to rapidly blink up at the ceiling, purging the stars speckling your vision.

Miguel just looks at you, expectant. His biceps flex when they cross over his chest.

“That was four seconds.”

“Oh, pleath. Thpare me the lecture,” Upon sitting up, you spit the blood out to your empty side. Your limbs have already reverted back to their natural state. “Not that you care, but it still counts as a personal record.”

“Go figure.” He mutters, helping you back into place. He doesn’t have to correct your posture this time. “Back to zero.”

Silence follows the beep of his watch.

Really, it’s more of a mental hush. You force your mind to scour all preoccupations to the backlog, cleansing the forefront of it to steam-pressed sterility. What had caught you off guard was your lacking focus on the physical; if you had been aware of the smallest movements coming from behind, then perhaps his touch wouldn’t have prompted you to phase out. You hadn’t even noticed his gloves retracting into his suit.

Your tongue is still sore with incisor shaped indents, and you vow not to repeat the mistake that caused it.

So, you focus on what’s happening rather than what could. Baby steps, one second after the next, waddling until you find a gait that suits your rhythm. When anything but your abdomen aches, you readjust. Your shoulder joints aren’t supposed to tense like that – you can almost hear him say – so you work on fixing it. If your toes begin to hurt, then clench your calves. Dig your nails into a fist, it helps take away from everything else.

The air conditioning unit hums evenly from all around you. The echoes of other spider-people outside filter in with it. The combat mat has a vinyl surface that zips when you scratch it. The material of his suit smooths tacitly across your jacket. Your breath is as consistent as you allow it to be, stunted when you exhale.

Your sweat is itchy as it dries to your lip. Your ribs pound where they fractured a while ago. Sinew wears down the longer you continue to flex it. He flicks the trim of your leggings, stroking the valley of your spine. Your palms split as your nails plough further into them, marked with crescent-shaped beads of red.

Varicoloured motes float by your nose. Somewhere, hitchhiking on your train of thought, there’s a confusion. No stream of sunlight exists to highlight them. They shouldn’t be here at all.

But then Miguel slips in, ironing over your cotton panties. Your whole body knits together, bracing like a compressed spring. There’s nothing you can do without making him stop, no jump or grand feat that promises release. You can’t even see the finish line, the marker an uncapturable notion, a rainbow moving away at your same speed. So, instead, you revel in how unwavering he is.

His hand strokes over the line of your ass, about to push downward to where you need him most, before deciding against it.

To pinch a cheek.

He… pinches the swell of fat, right where your rear curves to your hamstrings.

It’s rough enough that you’re sure you’ll bruise.

“Nmmgf–” You sulk. “Don… Y– T-tease.”

“Se te olvidó. Squeeze your glutes.”

The sarcastic yes sir dies in your throat. Your face is aflame – from the work out, his ministrations, the revelation that when he reaches your cunt, he’ll be greeted with a humiliating mess. Your thighs are spread apart, yet your underwear still slides over your core, jostled by his intrusion and too slick to provide any real friction.

That is, until he nips the fabric to bunch up between your lips. It stresses over your clit, biting down on the fattening pressure there. Pleasure tremors up your nerves, unsure of its validity under such an unfamiliar sensation. Your subsequent moan is almost miserable in contrast.

“P-Ple… O’H-ra.” To punctuate your plea, you purse your bottom as hard as you can. A physical signal, a question – is this good? Is it not enough? But all that manages to do is worsen your lust. Adding to the fire tenfold, potent as a gallon of petrol. You try to remain steadfast in the face of it all – this calamity, bombs upturning battlefield soil, to keep yourself in the position he’s asked of you.

But fuck if it isn’t punishing.

“Mierda– that’s it.” He curses. You’re at the point where it’s enough praise to urge you along. “You’re soaked.”

You hadn’t noticed his index and middle digits, finally fondling over your hole. Fabric still separates you, bunched tight right over the weeping thing, but as you hold out, he moves it to the side. It snaps away like he’s vocally ordered it to stay that way, his whims laws of physics in their own right, and you use that skewed rationale to supply the basis to your obedience. You couldn’t have done this alone – in no universe, of the hundreds you’ve visited, have you ever thought of it. You’d purchased gym memberships for their showers and walked right past the purpose. In your own world, you’d wasted your limited free time in strangers’ beds.

There’s always been a deficit of purpose in your life. For a brief moment, you’d found it in the stars. Now, with Miguel, you’re granted every ounce you might’ve missed in between, if only to experience what it would be like to unravel by his touch.

And he leads you to it like he’s been trained in your precise anatomy. Blunt fingers implant onto your electric centre – that bundle of nerves overfed by the edging – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike wrecked sobs. Your eyes cloud with desperation, foggy tears budding at your lashes and flowering down your sweat-slicked cheeks. His thumb responds, thrumming along your opening to test its elasticity. Upon deeming you ready, it dives to plug you shut.

It’s delicious. You’re beyond delirious. He’s got a grip on you in every way; spiritually, his philosophy for today echoing as your only tether to reality. Mentally, with his stupid fucking lesson and this god-forsaken plank. Physically, strong arm literally hooked into your cunt and coaxing new slick with every quirk of his fingers.

Which press down with a vengeance now, bearing on a trillion little synapses that flare up, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance, heavy as it sloshes around in you. Everything is screwed in, bolted to the same position he asked for – you don’t dare let go. Not as your heart stutters out of beat, finding the pace he dictates instead, flicking over your clit unhinged. Not when the digit that fingers your clinch twirls in place, searching for the lewd sounds it can create. Or with the following squelch, your lungs flaring – embarrassed – at every consecutive one thereafter.

He’s talking, whispering, goading you along. You can’t hear any of it. Either dirty talk or reprimand, it’s lost amidst your self-doubt.

Because truthfully, you can’t persevere through this much longer. The tunnel continues to unroll before you, the light at the end waning dimmer and dimmer. How wonderfully poetic, you brood; your whole spider-hood spent chasing salvation, navigating through one purgatory to the next, only to lose sight of your little prelude to heaven.

You want this – so much so that the word begins to blur with need, and Miguel’s lesson gains more relevance. You want this so bad that you’d worship every atom, every callus of his, from cuticle to elbow.

(Resilience. Resilience. Resilience.)

What you want and what you need.

Which is which, again?

You can let yourself go now, suffer through a shameful orgasm by collapsing to the floor and holding his wrist still to fuck yourself onto. It isn’t so much about that anymore, though – that pure sexual gratification, the most basic of requirements.

It’s about the thing you’ve been wishing for the whole morning. Approval, the cue that you earned it, filtered through his encouragement alone. Not the physicality that manifests as a screeching voice inside your head, but his own – unadulterated, smoke-charred, the slightest of accents scorching its edges. And whether you like it or not, you can only gain it by enduring this test.

(He walked into this gym with the assumption that you’d want your way, and need his.

Funny, how things turn out. It’s completely the opposite.

Perhaps he does not know you at all.)

But he sees you.

Watches the rigidity of your muscles, how they stiffen further given your newfound resolve. Observes as you smear bloody palms onto your wrists, and sniff back the cries you’ve let rip thus far. Your heels straighten out, ninety degrees to the arch, your head ducking to ensure your torso is as straight as can be. You hardly feel the pain anymore.

And you see him.

Or – the vague shape of his hand, tucked beneath your leggings. It’s dark, shadowed by the overhead fluorescents, but the bump is big enough for you to pinpoint when exactly he makes his decision. It halts, breaks away a smidge, and comes back with a renewed vigour.

“Can I!”

“Go.” He permisses.

(And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before matter meets antimatter, where magnets lose their function and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, mass converting entirely to energy. When you roll into a ball of fear–)

You wind impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in ripples, but as one metre-high wave, floodgates open to the mat beneath you.

(–and your best to embrace a quick death.)

Miguel aids you down to lay on your back. When he lifts his wrist to check the set stopwatch, his hand glistens with your juices. You're compelled to wipe it off, raptured by humility like he isn’t the one that just fingered you into oblivion.

“Two minutes.” He says. “Good.”

“That… that was only one-twenty seconds?”

“Talk about a personal record.” You huff. “Shut up.”

chapter eleven

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