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kittyminion · 9 hours ago

Text

big-headed

counselor!sevika x fem!reader

-explicit 18+, smut, fluff, angst, very non-canon, sevika is in her 20s -you and sevika had a long and intense relationship, until she became a counselor, big-headed from the status of her position, so after a heated argument, the relationship ends, so how will sevika get you back? -word count: 5.5k

The last Drop reeked of alcohol, smoke, and the faint smell of piss, but you loved it wholeheartedly.

You especially loved the way the door would slam open, bringing in a cool breeze and the stuffy air of the Lanes, the hustle and bustle behind the counter as Violet slid behind you, grabbing a heavy bottle of alcohol and tipping it inside a glass cup.

Jinx lingered near the bar, hands battering at a new bomb, and every time it would sputter or pop, releasing heavy bouts of smoke, the patrons nearby glared at Jinx, but as soon as she connected her hazy-purple eyes with their own, they'd ignore her tinkering and continue with their gambling.

You'd grown up with Violet, Jinx, and the others during the war between Piltover and the Underground, you're parents being killed when you were a child. You were barely able to scrounge up enough money on your own, nor take care of yourself.

You liked to forget those times though and instead relish in the memory of Vander by spending most of your days in the Last Drop with Vi, wishing things were normal.

Just as you wiped your hands on a discarded rag, ready to end your shift for the day, the door to the tavern was shoved open and a group of men wafted in, taking heavy seats at empty booths and tables.

Vi gave you a pleading glance, "stay please?" You let out a sigh, but nodded nonetheless, grabbing a pitcher of beer and a handful of glasses to hand out.

"If you got off of your ass, Jinx, maybe we could get more done." You called gruffly, a teasing tone to your voice, but Jinx rolled her eyes, picking at her manicured nails with a scoff, "you're the one who wanted to take over the 'family' business," she said sarcastically.

Taking your rounds throughout the tables, you stopped at one in the far back, a bunch of men crowded around it, including her. She clutched cards in her grasp, a cigarette hanging loosely between her lips as she smirked.

When Sevika saw you approach, her smirk increased, into an almost sickly-sweet smile, but she didn't say a word as you refilled her glass, mumbling curses under your breath. "What is that, sweetheart?" Sevika teased, flicking ash from her cigarette and placing it in a nearby ashtray.

"I said: you've been here for hours, isn't there something you should be doing right now? You're a fucking counselor, for Gods sake." She rolled her pretty gray eyes and placed her cards down, cautious of anyone seeing. The men around her groaned, but she shut them up with a single look and stood, towering over you easily, your eyes connected with hers like beams of light.

She leaned closer, enough for you to smell the tobacco and mint of her breath, "miss me, sweetheart?" Her eyes flashed with excitement and you scoffed, angry.

Months ago, when Vander had died for a third time and Piltover was overrun with metal creatures, Sevika took up her counselor position as an advocate for Zaun. You'd had a pretty intense relationship with her over the years, consisting of kissing, fucking, and the occasional I love you's, but once she left, nothing went back to normal.

Every time you saw her in topside, she'd ignore your presence, and just recently when she continued her escapades in Zaun did she continue her daily games at the tavern, and therefore, continued talking to you.

She'd thrown you aside like trash, but still expected you to continue running back to her like a little puppy. But you didn't stand for it. You may have really cared for her at one point, but now she was just a forgotten lover.

Sevika followed you towards the bar, sliding onto a stool next to Jinx, who sparred her a sidelong glance before she started speaking to Vi.

"Why would I miss you, Sevika?" You questioned honestly, your eyes hard and unrevealing as you watched her, your hands working at cleaning and shining glasses.

"I missed you." Her voice was soft and low as she said it, her mechanical, freshly repaired arm (thanks to Jinx), leaning against the counter, still shining with neon crayons.

"Don't be a fucking dick, 'Vika. You left me, not the other way around. I visited you in Piltover, when you got your luxury apartment and new clothes, and shit, but you pushed me out. Fucked another woman all the while you told me you loved me."

You spoke in a hushed, but hasty tone, ready to end the conversation. You stepped away from where Sevika was sitting to serve another patron, and thankfully she didn't stop you, her bicep straining as she curled her hand into a tight fist.

You didn't care much for her show of anger though. She had nothing to be angry about. What you said was truthful, you went to her apartment, barring gifts and a cunning smile, ready to climb into her arms as you'd done weeks before, before everything went to shit.

But Sevika had another woman there, a pretty thing with colorful hair and a perfect body that had you tingling with insecurity. The girl smiled at you and hugged you, welcoming you into Sevika's apartment like she herself lived there.

But as soon as Sevika saw you standing there, discontent in your eyes, she shooed you away, yelling hurtful words to keep you gone.

And it worked.

You inhaled deeply, filling another cup of beer. A strong gaze was upon your body, and had been since you'd been pouring drinks. You glanced up, your breath hitching when you saw Sevika watching you intently.

Her eyebrows were quarked, eyes hard, but sparkling with emotion. Her neck was slender, the side of her face marked with the scar that streaked down into her collar. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, she looked calm, but you saw her for what she was; nervous and guilty.

"When will you too fuck it out?" Jinx shouted suddenly, standing up with a slam, staring between you and Sevika with a deep frown.

Vi was standing a little ways away, chuckling with Ekko, who had just arrived, his pale white-yellow hair pulled back with a hair tie. He sidled next to Jinx and smirked, "they'll only move at their own pace. Ready to go?" Jinx inhaled deeply, attempting to calm herself down, then she nodded, allowing Ekko to lead her out.

The Last Drop was beginning to close, patrons trickling out in groups and as time moved past, it was only Sevika, VIolet, and you.

Sevika was nodding stiffly to the low music echoing throughout the tavern, while Vi was wiping down tables and flipping off lights.

Sevika suddenly called your name. You had no means of ignoring her, because you weren't busy, just waiting for Vi to finish up so you both could travel to topside and meeting Caitlyn at her family estate, she gladly gave up a room for you eversince the topside war, and you were plenty grateful to escape the dusty air of Zaun, but you returned everyday nonetheless so it made no difference.

"Yes?" You mumbled, following Vi out of the tavern. She was ahead of the two of you, wanting to escape your conversation with Sevika, but also not wanting to leave you behind.

"You know I didn't sleep with her right?" She nudged you with her arm and you froze, turning to her with a sneer. Before she knew it, you had shoved her. Of course, she didn't move an inch, but you did it again and again until she took a meager step back and glared at you.

"You really think I give a fuck whether or not you slept with her, 'Vika? I care about what you said about me, in front of her! You barred a secret I'd told you in private and you embarrassed me! You threw me onto the streets when you finally got recognition from topside like I was just a whore for you to fuck when you pleased!"

Vi winced ahead of you and continued walking without turning back, but she slumped against a brick wall, waiting for you to join her.

"I was your girlfriend, Sevika!"

Sevika placed her hand against her chest as if she'd been wounded, "I let the power get to my head, sweetheart. I lost sight of what mattered, but I'm sorry, alright? It won't ever happen again."

You chuckled humorlessly, "I know it won't." You continued your way towards Vi, leaving Sevika behind, and she didn't bother to follow you.

𐙚

A week had went by since you'd seen Sevika.

Time seemed to move by slowly though, and you'd caught yourself replaying the fight over and over again in your head.

Vi volunteered to open the Last Drop for the week, so that saved you from waking up so early like you usually did. Now, you sat in the reading room inside Caitlyn's estate, browsing for a new apartment.

It had been long overdue for you to move solitarily and you wanted somewhere in between Piltover and Zaun. You'd already toured an apartment and its complex, and it was quite a luxurious building with modern appliances and services within the building.

Once you put in your offer, hopefully you'd receive the keys within the week and could move all your furniture from your old, destroyed place in Zaun.

Just as you left the estate, intent on grabbing breakfast at a diner down the street, you saw Sevika, leaning against the iron gates as if she owned the place.

She dropped her cigarette and stomped on it as you approached, her short-cut hair fluttering in the breeze. Sevika wore a simple outfit, a gray tank top that matched her eyes and a pair of leather pants that were a bit baggy, but enough to cover the tops of her boots.

"Morning, sweetheart." Her voice was lazy as she said it and you rolled your eyes, "how'd you know I was here?" She smirked at the question, threading her hand into her pocket while her mechanical one hung lazily beside her.

"Dumb luck. I wanted to take you out for breakfast, and apologize again."

"The other one was ass." She nodded in agreement, lip curling a bit before she inhaled deeply and turned her eyes towards you, looking you up and down.

Her eyes flashed at the sight of your cleavage and thighs and when you noticed, you delivered a sharp slap to her chest, to which she apologized, clutching one of her boobs.

She followed you to the diner and you both sat in a booth towards the back, scanning the menus in silence.

When Sevika decided what to order, she crossed her arms atop the table and watched you like she did a week ago in the tavern.

"What?" You muttered, folding your menu and placing it aside. You honestly didn't know why you wanted to give her the time of day, maybe it was the memories that filled your mind or the desire that pooled in your belly every time you saw her.

Either way, you said nothing as she attempted her apology again, this time sincere and serious.

"Like I said before, I was high off the praise. I'd moved up from a fucking babysitter for Silco to a counselor in Piltover. I'd never expected that, but it gave me more opportunity to fix Zaun. I liked sitting in the meetings, watching the other Pilties sneer at me. My head was big and my ego was bigger. You were busy with the bar, and I felt on top of the world, so I went to a nightclub, saw that girl and brought her home. I intended to fuck her," she said it with guilt, her eyes avoiding yours, "but, I couldn't. I kept thinking of you, seeing you. I heard your moans, felt your skin, saw your perfect imperfections. I was angry, upset and fucking horny, so when you showed up, I lashed out. I said hurtful things and I regretted it when you left. I'm sorry wholeheartedly and I wish I'd never done any of it."

You'd been picking at your nails throughout her confession, watching the pieces of keratine fall into your lap. Your eyes were wet and blurry, but you still felt the burn of anger and betrayal in your heart

Sevika reached across the table and grabbed your hands, covering them with her own. Her lip was between her teeth, gnawing on it anxiously.

You lifted your gaze, "you better fucking beg for my forgiveness."

𐙚

A few months later had passed. You hadn't seen Sevika since you'd stormed out of the diner, tears streaking down your face as your shoulders shook with sobs.

She tried to chase you down, pull you into her arms, but you likened her touch to a cage and forced her away saying you needed time to think, breath, anything that didn't include you + Sevika.

You'd moved into your new apartment, lessened your hours at The Last Drop and focused more on your personal life, which included partying, fucking, and drinking until you could barely stand up straight.

You watched Vi fight occasionally in the pits, helped Caitlyn continue to dismantle Hextech all the while searching for Viktor and Jayce. You visited Jinx and Ekko in Zaun just to catch up and mostly, you sat silently in your apartment, wondering what to do with your life next.

One evening, when you'd decided it was time to head to the Last Drop, you slinked through the alleys within the Lanes to arrive quicker.

It was considerably dark this time of day, the only light coming from candles and lightbulbs hung on buildings and houses.

Trash lined the alleys, dozens of people either laid out within or stuck to corners with flasks of alcohol, rummaging through trash cans for food.

You were familiar with this though, considering you grew up in this environment. Vander always made sure you'd never been the one starving though.

Just as you turned a corner, the Last Drop looming a dozen feet away, three men jumped out in front of you, sinful smiles upon their faces as they looked you up and down hungrily.

They were most likely looking for something valuable to pawn, but you had nothing of the sort, your bag filled with junk. Your heart pounded with adrenaline as you wrenched out a dagger, ready to defend yourself. "You strayed to far from topside, Piltie." One growled, moving closer, reaching into his pocket and drawing his own weapon.

You chuckled at his words, "little do you know." The three men crowded towards you, like wolves surrounding prey, and just as the first reached towards you, you slammed the hilt of your blade into his jaw, knocking him onto his ass.

Another men let out a gasp of surprise, throwing himself at you and successfully pinning you against the wall, but you barred your blade, swiping it in each and every direction until you finally hit flesh.

Blood hit the ground in a heep, and you wrenched your blade out of the mans abdomen.

The final thief was big and burly, a bear of man that scared you and froze the blood in your viens, but you held strong, avoiding a punch to your stomach.

He grasped onto your jacket and wrapped his hand around your throat, lifting you up and shoving you against the brick wall behind you, therefore cutting off your breathing.

"A little bitch you are." He spat, hot, rancid breath making your eyes water.

Just as he reached into your bag, he was pulled away from you, a metal shark covered in neon colors latching onto his arm and ripping it to shreds.

Sevika chuckled at his screams, delivering a harsh punch to his jaw, then kicking him again and again until he was passed out, mouth open and blood spilling from his body.

You were leaning against the wall, heaving, a violent bruise around your throat.

Sevika crouched next to you, pushing your hair away from your face, her freezing cold hand brushing against the bruises. Her face was screwed up angrily, her eyes soft and hurt, for you.

"I'll take you to my place." You didn't complain, allowing her to pull you onto your feet and steady you, sneering at the men laid out. You wrapped a hand around her waist, shivering and angry.

"You held your own out there." She said, glancing down at you. You shook your head with a sardonic smile, "shouldn't have had to though. I thought you were improving things." You said it to hurt her, but it didn't work and she rolled her eyes, "I can't force people to not commit crimes. Besides, you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

You agreed with her at the very least, not saying anything as she threw a hand over your shoulder and pulled you closer, into a sort of hug. But you needed it, so you kept quiet and returned it, pulling the two of you closer until it was a proper hug.

Your head was resting against her bosom as tears clouded your vision. She pressed her lips against your ear and whispered, "it'll be alright, sweetheart."

𐙚

Sevika's apartment was extremely cluttered, piles of clothes strewn around, dirty dishes piled up in the sink and an unmade bed that smelt like dust.

"Fuck, 'Vika." You said glancing around and she huffed out a sigh, pushing the front door shut and throwing her keys in a catch-all bowl nearby.

She reached under the sink in the kitchen and grabbed a first aid kit, then pulled out an icepack and stuck it in the freezer for you.

You sat down on the velvet-black couch in her living room and leaned your head back, your temples pounding with irritation and the starting bouts of a headache.

Sevika came behind you, her fingers grasping onto the zipper of your jacket as she tugged it down. She pulled the sleeves down your arms and threw it over a chair then stared down at you, her figure upside down, making her frown look like a smile.

"Is the bruise bothering you?" She ran her cold fingers over it and you shivered, eyes falling shut as you exhaled, propping your feet onto the coffee table and nodding stiffly, "yes, my throat is a bit sore as well."

Sevika disappeared into the kitchen and returned ten minutes later with a fresh cup of tea and the ice pack from earlier.

This was your favorite side of Sevika, but it was rare and you never saw it when she was out in public. She loved to take care of you though, whether that was making meals, massaging your feet, starting your warm baths, or doing your laundry.

You hadn't seen this side of her in almost six months, but you were grateful for the familiarity. It made your heart fuzzy and warm and staved off your building headache.

Sevika pressed the ice pack to the base of your throat, then handed you the cup of tea and jumped over the couch to sit beside you. You hummed in approval as the tea touched your tongue and Sevika smiled, head tilting fondly as she grabbed the remote and flicked on a random channel on the television.

Before you realized it, you had pulled your legs over her lap, your hand gently unlatching Sevika's mechanical arm as you normally did after a long day.

She said nothing as you placed it against the coffee table then pushed yourself into her side, your head lolling on her shoulder lazily.

She wished she could pulled you against her tighter, but she didn't want to overstep so she allowed you to move at your own pace.

As the sun became lower and lower and the clock stuck nine p.m, Sevika had grabbed a cigarette from her pocket and lit it swiftly, sucking on it for a few seconds before she exhaled, the smoke wafting around the two of you in clouds.

"Will you stay tonight?" She whispered, afraid of the answer, but you nodded, surprising her. Sevika wanted to ask why you'd changed your mind on being around her, but she knew at any moment, while you were in your vulnerable state, that you could lash out and forever give up on her, so she kept quiet.

Soon after she had ushered you into the bathroom and started the shower. Sevika gave you a pair of her sweatpants and a large white t-shirt to wear, and she laughed when they hung off your hips loosely, revealing the soft skin there.

You climbed into her bed (after changing the sheets) and waited for her to finish her shower, and once she was done, you basically swooned at the sight of her.

Her skin was still damp, the golden tone of it more pronounced because of the warm lighting of her room. Her hair was damp and streaky across her face, her gray eyes tired and low. Sevika wore only a black sports bra, revealing her toned belly and that damn happy trail leading into a pair of sweatpants.

Your eyes were clinging to her like a leech sucked on skin, but she said nothing, throwing her dirty clothes aside, to which you scoffed, "if you and I were living together, it damn sure wouldn't look like this."

She laughed, climbing in next to you and nodding, "organization gets thrown out the window when you become a counselor."

You smiled a bit, "Counselor 'VIka?" She flushed, a purplish tone covering the apples of her cheeks. You seemed to be the lone person who could make her blush, but she covered it easily by chuckling and turning her head away.

"So... are we back?" It was a cautious question, but Sevika didn't want to upset you.

You scoffed, "no, Sevika. It takes more than you saving me from some criminals for us to fix our broken relationship."

"Then what will it take?" You heard the frustration in her voice, but you didn't care. "A date maybe?"

Her face flashed with surprise, but she smirked nonetheless, "fine, how about Saturday at seven. I'll come grab you from your apartment."

"And how do you know where my apartment is?" You quarked your eyebrow at her, your eyes shining with humor, but she just shrugged, "I have my ways."

That night you two curled in each others arms like nothing had ever changed and the next morning you brushed your teeth alongside each other and spoke about mundane things that had happened within the last few weeks.

You helped massage Sevika's injury sight at her shoulder, applying her usual cream to improve the mild pain she still had some days. Then you latched on her mechanical arm and greased the gears. You did it without complaint, because honestly, you enjoyed helping her.

She walked you to your apartment then left you with a single kiss to the corner of your mouth, all you allowed her, even though you desired more.

You just couldn't make all the hurt and anger from her past discretions disappear, so you'd make her work for your forgiveness.

It'd be like the two of you falling in love again, or at least that's what you wanted.

𐙚

Another week had past, full of you bartending at the Last Drop, looking for ways to pass time, and wishing Saturday would come quicker.

You were anticipating you and Sevika's date, mostly because the two of you had never really went out on dates, save for a few times in the beginning of your relationship.

But, the both of you were homebodies, preferring to spend intimate time at home rather than going out into the city. Besides, Sevika was often busy with Silco or Jinx, while you visited Vi in prison or maintained the Last Drop, despite you only being a teenager.

When Saturday finally rolled around you spent most of your time sitting around, deciding what to wear. Sevika would most likely take you somewhere private, instead of a public place like a restaurant, so you wore something casual, but sexy enough to show your skin; a simple blood red tank top with a v-neckline and a pair of simple leather short and sheer tights.

As seven p.m. slowly approached you sat around, waiting.

You were honestly excited, mostly to get back to normal with Sevika and sit under her like a puppy.

When she finally knocked on the door, you jumped up, grabbing your bag and jacket and opening the door.

She smiled when she saw you, her arm raised against the doorjamb as she looked up and down your figure, her eyes hungry and lustful. Sevika clamped a hand on your hip, "you look beautiful, sweetheart."

You blushed at her flirty words, pulling the door shut behind you and locking it swiftly.

Sevika threw her arms across your shoulder and started up conversation, "how has your day been?" You shrugged, "fine, but boring. I've just been sitting around all day."

"I bet you're wondering where we're going."

"Of course I am." She smirked at your answer, kicking a pebble.

Sevika guided you near the bridge between Zaun and Piltover, before you crossed, she took you down a sleep flight of stairs that led the the water bank.

There, under the bridge laid a plaid blanket with a woven picnic basket on top. "Is this..." you trailed off, heart jumping at the scene. You walked closer, your feet sinking in sand and dirt, then you turned to Sevika and she was watching your reaction tentatively, one side of her mouth quirked into a mischievous smile.

"Do you like it?" You nodded your head, watching her sit beside you and lift the top of the picnic basket, retrieving sandwiches wrapped in plastic. She handed you a plate and served you the sandwiches, fresh fruit and crackers, then she set aside a small portion of your favorite cake.

You cooed at the display, pinching her cheeks with a teasing smile. Sevika slapped your hands away a playful sneer upon her face, but she blushed nonetheless, moving closer to you, her leg propped up to support her elbow.

"This is sweet, 'Vika. You've never done something like this before." Her hand brushed your arm and goosebumps covered your body, making your hair stand on edge, but you ignored your body and took a bite from your sandwich, your mind calm from the heavy thunder of incoming waves nearby.

"Will you work in the Last Drop forever?" Sevika questioned, cheeks full.

"I'm not sure. I don't want it to give it up, because it was Vander's you know, but it's not my passion. Half of the time I dread going there. If it wasn't for Vi, i'd be gone a while ago."

"Vander would've understood if you sold it." She muttered, eyes downturned.

You nudged her arm, "he would have forgiven you. You just wanted better for Zaun, and you thought Silco was the best person for that." Sevika nodded, inhaling deeply, "sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he were still alive."

"I honestly don't know. Maybe Jinx would still be Powder, or you wouldn't be a counselor." You picked at a loose thread on your shorts and Sevika grabbed your knee with her mechanical hand and you looked over at her.

"We won't dwell on it." You nodded.

A little later and all the food was gone. Sevika had served you a second slice of cake and down you were both lying on the bank, staring up at the silvery moon, your head resting against her chest as you listened to the steady beat of her heart.

She was playing with your hair, threading her fingers through it and tugging gently. It wasn't until you glanced up at her that she snapped out of whatever memory she was in and looked back at you, her gray eyes big and full of secrets.

They crinkled with a grin and you reached up, brushing a delicate finger over her cheek bones, your fingers falling lower until you touched her lips.

Sevika just watched you quietly, little shivers going up and down her body as you lifted yourself up and lowered your lips down against hers.

It was a slow and hesitant kiss, almost like the both of you couldn't fathom that you were here, doing this.

Sevika cupped your jaw, lifting up and taking her place above you, her fingers gentle upon her face as she clutched it, devouring you whole.

Her lips trailed down your neck and sucked hard and fast until a love bite was visible, then she moved to that divot right above your collarbone, and she kissed it fingers threading under your shirt as she clutched your boobs, twisting thew hard pebbles of your nipples until you moaned, head thrown back in the sand as you tugged at her short hair.

"Does that feel good, sweetheart?" She muttered, lips vibrating against your skin and you nodded, tugging your shirt above your head impatiently and she chuckled, amused, then latched her mouth around your boob, flicking your nipple with your tongue while her arm wrapped around your waist, mechanical hand wrapped around your throat to keep you from writhing.

"Fuck, Sevika!" You spat, inhaling deeply. She removed her lips from your breasts and groped them roughly, her other hand working at the confined of your pants.

"I've missed you, sweetheart. The way you taste, the way you look, how you sound when I fuck you." Sevika pulled your pants down and teased your clit through your panties, quieting your moans with a kiss.

She clutched your ass then slid the rest of the way down your body and inhaled the scent of your cunt, smiling in satisfaction. "So fucking beautiful, lovie."

Sevika pushed your panties aside and locked her mouth around your cunt, flicking your clit while she slurped up your wetness.

You could barely sit still, grabbing at the sand, fingers tangled in her hair while she ravaged at your cunt with a newfound hungriness. You could feel your belly becoming tight, your muscles locking up and your mouth falling up awaiting your orgasm, but before you could burst, Sevika pulled away.

You complained, eyes opening as you watched her grab her bag and rummage through it before she pulled out a strap, a medium-sized, but long thing she'd used on you plenty of times.

Sevika pulled her pants and underwear down, revealing your favorite crop of dark hair on her cunt. You smirked at the sight, watching her tightened the strap around herself then she grabbed the base of it and alined the tip with your cunt.

You spread your legs obediently, one knee hitched over her shoulder. She licked her lips and kissed you, drowning out your pained moans as she slowly slid her dick inside of you and thrust her hips ever so slightly until she saw your eyes roll back in pleasure.

Sevika couldn't keep her eyes away from your face as she fucked you, slowly, but deep enough for your body to spasm each time she reached deep inside you.

You groped at her boobs, twisting her nipples to give her at least a bit of pleasure, but you promised to make it up to her after you came. Sevika picked up the pace, her hips snapping into the soft flesh of your ass with soft splattered. She gripped onto the fat of your hips and groaned as you lifted her shirt and popped a nipple into your mouth.

"Sevika, I'm close." You announced, voice raising a pitch as your eyes fluttered closed and you collapsed back against the sand of the bank, touching any part of her you could.

"You're close, lovie, perfect." She grunted, snapping her hips into yours once before you let out a long and loud moan that picked at the perfect parts of her pain. She collapsed on top of you, still thrusting to chase your high.

The both of you were panting heavily, your hands running across Sevika's sweaty forehead, then you kissed her cheek and flipped the two of you over, leaning above her as you unlatched the strap and placed it aside.

Sevika watched as you brushed her clit, masked by the thick hair of her cunt, but you dug a finger inside her, smirking at the dripping wetness. Sevika moaned, letting out a vulgar curse before she closed her eyes and allowed you to fuck her.

You pressed your other palm against her abdomen, pressing down gently as you stuck another finger inside her, thrusting quicker and quicker until she was panting, moaning, skin on fire and dripping with sweat as sand stuck to her naked body.

Her telltale sign of orgasm was the bunching of her body then the quick release when she threw her head back, hand tightening around your wrist as she wrenched your fingers out of her, thick evidence of her orgasm glistening around her cunt.

You laid next to her and smiled, kissing her again, your legs tangling with hers.

"Do you forgive me now?" She brushed a hand over your jaw and you chuckled.

"Of course, big head."

#fanfic #smut #angst #sevika x reader #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #arcane sevika #arcane season 2 #arcane x y/n #fanfiction #arcane fanfiction #arcane smut #arcane fluff #arcane angst

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11queensupreme11 · 3 days ago

Note

I feel so bad for Percy’s daughters…..

Not just the ones with Cu chulainn, but I mean in general

Cuz like you said, their only options in life is rto be eternal virgins or be married off and that just seems so depressing 🙃

IKR??????? 😭😭😭😭 this isn't even just a god thing, i feel like even pjo goddesses got it better (cuz rick made the books more child friendly and NOT so much like the myths so we can expect the goddesses there to have more freedom) 😭💔💔💔

even we humans got it better to be honest (most, at least). like, we can go to school, get an education, go to work, be independent, we aren't required to get married cuz we now have social security and can live without needing a man. our societies (some at least) are more liberal and no longer as outdated as before!

but the goddesses in my fic???? LMAO 💀👎

their only options in life are:

-- become an eternal maiden goddess and take a vow of eternal virginity; never to get married or have sex and have children

-- remain a virgin until you're married off, which can happen VERY quickly cuz as i mentioned before, gods grow up FAST, some are even born fully grown 💀 live ur entire eternity serving your husband and popping babies for him. be loyal forever, oh but ur husband might not 💀

-- don't do either and be labeled a whore and a disgrace

-- if you're lucky, you could be born as a war goddess and be strong enough to fend off men but you'd also need thick skin to ignore/fight back against any vitriol thrown at you

(do note that all of this strongly depends on the strictness of the pantheon ur from)

percy's poor daughters can't even afford to have crushes or dates like normal girls can. can't experiment. it's literally nothing or marriage 😭😭 NOT EVEN MALE FRIENDSHIPS 😭💔 their dad's would get a heart attack LMAO 😂😂😂

they think this is perfectly normal though cuz this is how they've been raised and how everything else works around them. hopefully they never find out how bad they actually have it, though some might still not even get it 😭💔 poor girlies would get be shocked if they found out their dearest mother had tons of guy friends back in the pjo verse LMAO 😭😭😭

percy would try her best to give her daughters a better life, but they're never gonna get the amount of freedom she once had back in the pjo verse where everything was less conservative, even the gods were chiller back there 💀 it's so hard for her though.

simple things like a crush would be fine back in pjo verse, but in here she'd have to be careful. back home, if you have a crush, it could blossom to a simple date, and then more, and maybe some sex later on and that's FINE, but in ror verse???? helll fucking no. she'd have warn her daughter to be careful. if she gets "sullied" (has sex before marriage), people might turn against her, and her father would either kill the guy or force a marriage, OR punish the daughter. percy HATES the fact that she has to treat something as innocent as a crush as something disastrous, but she's stuck in the ror verse now and things aren't the same as before

befriending a guy? percy would have to plead with her husband to let this happen. it's just a friendship, nothing more! let it happen! but the yan would argue that the male/female friendships aren't normal and that guy might not have friendship in mind, and percy would actually have to pause and think about that because she's not back home anymore, and things here don't work the same way. her husband has a point. male/female friendships ARE considered uncommon here; could this guy really want to simply be friends with her daughter? could he have another motive?

she hates that the most simplest and innocent things aren't so simple and innocent here, that she has to tread carefully on things that were perfectly fine back home.

crushes are supposed to be normal. dating cute guys is supposed to be normal. sex before marriage is okay. not being ready for marriage is okay. wanting time to figure yourself out is OKAY. but in here it's not.

a girl being friends with a guy is normal. she had tons of male friends back home. attended parties with them. went over to their houses. had sleepovers. went on life-altering quests with them. ate with them. etc etc. it's normal and fine. but not here.

she wants to give her daughters freedom, but she's terrified of the thought that this could backfire and do more damage for her daughters.

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| arsenic blues

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shayberri789 · 1 day ago

Text

Mmm this will be a long list, prepare yourself

titles in blue are the ones that are like. Equal to AFTG in terms of obsession for me. The others are either ones I find myself returning to, are comfort novels, or were once obsessions for me that I still think fondly of and are worth recommending.

This is so long I spent 2 hours writing this. Mostly scifi/fantasy bc those are my favourite genres.

Beginning with the Series:

In no particular order....

Little Thieves by Margaret Owen Genre: YA Fantasy, slice of romance

Summary: Vanja is the god daughter of Fortune and Death, and one of the most imfamous thief in Boern. Except one day she steals the wrong thing and pisses off ANOTHER little god who curses her for her greed to turn into pearls and rubies. Now she has to fix things with her ex-best friend, avoid a junior detective, maybe save a kingdom, and not die.

Why I am recommending it: Vanja is a gremlin. This has slowburn enemies to friends to lovers. Both of the main characters are demisexual :D and its important to their arc. There's sapphic background romance. A feral shapeshifter with a queer understanding and preference for gender, saying Fuck You to your abusers, and lots of found family. The narration caught me by the throat from the first page - its interesting, and its funny, and the world building is interesting. The story is great. a REALLY good retelling of the Goose Girl fairy tale. This is a series, with the third book releasing soon if it hasn't been already, though I have only read the first book so far (waiting to get my hands on the other ones)

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree Genre: Cozy fantasy YA Summary: It's about a retired half-orc adventurer who sets up shop in a new city in order to open teh first ever coffee shop in the country, and the trials it takes to set that up and run. Why I am recommending it: Firstly, Travis is my favourite VA and a good author on top of that. It's SUCH a cozy story, with a sapphic slowburn and found family. It's fun, the worldbuilding is awesome, and it feels like a breath of fresh air. This is a duology, with Bookshops and Bonedust as a prequel that I recommend reading second. It's sapphic and delightful.

Tortall Chronicles by tamora pierce (in chronological order) Genre/summary: Fantasy children's series. if you want harry potter written by an actual feminist minus the bigotry of JKR, try this. Also better written, and enjoyable regardless of age. Do remember most of these were written in the 80s.

Beka Cooper/Provosts Dogs: beka is a member of the Provost's Dogs, the early established police force in Corus City in the kingdom of tortall. She works in the slums of the city, the Lower City, where she was born and raised, and which she loves with all her heart. In teh first book, told through her journal entries, we follow her during the first year of her internship as she learns the ropes and tries to solve a mystery string of robberies, murders and disappearances. Even tho its cops (acab and all that), this handles well the compromises between morality and doing what's right and the law, with a heavy emphasis of 'fuck teh law if it's hurting the people'. Beka is shy, determined, kind, and gifted. It's just a REALLY good story, with a Fun cast, magic, and a sarcastic magical cat

Song of the Lioness (couple hundred years after beka) Alanna wants to be the first lady knight in centuries. Her brother, Thom, wants to be a great sorcerer. unfortunately for them, Alanna is the one being sent to the City of the Gods for finishing school, and Thom to Corus to become a knight. Except Alanna and Thom switch places. Thom goes to the CotG to study magic, and Alanna disguises herself as the boy, Alan, to train to be a knight. The first book follows her years as a page as she keeps up the ruse, trains hard, deals with bullies, and tries to stop a plot to kill one of her best friends, the crown prince Johnathon. Book 2 is her as John's squire, working by his side during war and again, trying not to get caught and also not let John die. Third book is her first years as a knight where she comes to terms with her role as a Paladin of the mother goddess, and she has to train a group of Gifted children to become a shaman after she accidentally kills the tribes last shaman. Its fine tho, because he was a PoS and corrupt. Book4, she heads off on a quest to find a magical gem, prevent a civil war, and fix things between herself and her friends. Note: Weird age gaps/underage, but it's treated with respect and she doesn't do anything w the age gap until she's an adult.

Tempest and Slaughter Concurrent with Alanna I think, only one book out atm Follows Arram Draper, a gifted young mage in at the Carthaki university (in the kingdom across the tea from Tortall). Follows him growing up to be an exceptionally talented mage, surgeon and healer, with an interest in wild magic.

Immortals Quartet (couple decades after Alanna) Not a fan of this one because there's a whole 15-30 year age gap that really only shows up in the last half of the series but wtf. Otherwise, very good! About a girl with a special magical connection to animals. Immortals, ancient immortal beings and monsters who'd been sealed away a millennia ago, are returning to the realm of tortall and Carthak is threatening war, and everything is in chaos. Daine works with famous mage Numair, legendary hero Alanna, and more to unlock the secrets of the Immortals return and end the war

protector of the small (couple years after immortals) Favourite series. Follows kel, the first girl to try to become a knight since King Johnathon made it legal. Except the old training master is a sexist bastard and won't let her in without a trial period. But kel is determined, kind and will not be turned away by her prejudiced classmates, nobles or teachers. This follows her as she trains to become a knight, proving herself and making unshakable friendships and becoming a respected leader and protector of all those the powerful would step on. She's an underdog advocate. Gods I love her

Also by Pierce, but set in a different world, we have the Emelan Chronicles, which is 3 series following the same 4 young mages as they grow up:

circle of magic series follows a group of four, orphaned children with unusual magic. They're taken to the Circle Temple, a temple of priests and mages as they learn to harness their unusual magic and recover from their respective traumas. They become family and survive multiple disasters and threats to their homes. SO good!!

The circle opens set a couple years after CoM, the children have grown up and spread across the world to continue their apprentice-hoods. Along the way, they pick up apprentices of their own and get a first hand understanding of what a headache they were for their mentors

The will of the empress The children reunite as adults, having grown apart. Haven't read this one yet but I trust it to be good. Pierce is a fantastic author

Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan Genre: Speculative/biological historical fantasy (Basically victorian england but with dragons) Summary: I made a separate tumblr post about this, I recommend it here! (PLEASE at least check this out, I need more people to read cradle). It's delightful.

Cradle by Will Wight Genre: YA-adult epic/progression fantasy.

Summary: I give a better rec in the post I linked above. Self described by the author as a 'novelisation of a westernised anime/manga' shounen (I think?), but it does not suffer what someone once called "Dragonball Z syndrome", aka its really well balanced and has a solid foundation, and no undermining of its own plot/progression/character powerups/achievements

The Raven Cycle by maggie stiefvater Genre: YA Urban fantasy Summary: If you're in the AFTG fandom, likely you have heard of this as being a "trilogy" series with AFTG and SoC. And there's a reason for that. If you haven't already read it, I cannot recommend it enough. It's my favourite series ever and VERY much character driven, and the plot is beautiful and nonlinear. I cannot give a concise summary. Needless to say this has found family, devoution and all the different kinds of love up the Wazzoo. on the surface, its about a group of kids in rural west virginia trying to find magic, leylines and a dead welsh kind said to be sleeping somewhere on them, who promises a wish if you wake him up. Each person has a different reason to embark on this quest, and each have different, deeply personal journeys and character development. Below the surface, it's about growing up, and healing, and it's about life and death and wonder and magic and whimsy. The narration is SO witty and SO funny and i have read this series LITERALLY over 20 times and I still find new things. I've never seen an official summary for this series that actually gives a good idea of the vibe. Trust me on this you HAVE to read it

(this one is more like 6 recommendations in one lol. I'll be shocked if you haven't heard of at least one of these)

Cosmere by Brandon Sanderson Genre: Adult Fantasy Summary: I'll give individual ones for each book/series. I am obsessed with all of these (but stormlight especially)

Elantris: Standalone Princess Sarene arrives in a new kingdom for her wedding to the Crown Prince Raoden, only to discover her fiance has died, and per a legal loophole in the contract, she is now married to him and the kingdom. Sarene is thrust into a political war zone as she buts head with the warrior ambassador of the religious empire Fjorden who has been tasked with converting the kingdom to shu-something I forget the name, ready for the kingdom to be annexed by the empire. Sarene refuses to let the kingdom fall, for her homeland would be left alone and without allies otherwise

Meanwhile, her fiancé isn't actually dead. He woke up cursed one day to essentially be a zombie with chronic pain and was tossed into a cursed city (Elantris) with other cursed elantrians. now, he's made it his (new) life's purpose to improve the quality of life for the other elantrians, and build a community where they can all be happy again. He has no idea his wife is in town, nor what she's up to

Mistborn: 2 trilogies, one set in regular fantasy era, the other 300 years later in a mmm i wanna say early 1900s euro style fantasy world. Both epic fantasy. First trilogy follows Kelsier - thief extraordinaire, rebellion leader, charismatic asshole and a Mistborn (mistings are ppl who can ingest particular kinds of metals and gain a magical ability from them. Mistborns can eat all 8 and have all 8 abilities. they're rare) - and vin, street urchin, fellow mistborn, and their crew of thieves and rebels as they plot to overthrow God. They don't really consider the consequences

Warbreaker: Another standalone Siri is the youngest, most unimportant princess in her kingdom. She was MEANT to live a pleasant, unimportant life. Except, one day, she's shipped off to the neighboring kingdom Halladren to marry the god-emperor, per the treaty, in place of her older sister Vivenna. Now, she's thrust into a world of colour, politics and gods, and she has to scramble to find a way to stop a war that would threaten to destroy all she loves

Meanwhile, her sister Vivenna, who had grown up resigned to marry the 'evil' zombie emperor, is furious her younger sister was thrown into it instead. She's much prefer NEITHER had to, but if one must it should be the princess raised to do it. So she goes to the kingdom to save her sister. There, she works with a pair of mercenaries to incite a rebellion and other-throw the court of gods. She also has a LOT of growing up to do, and a lot of prejudice to unlearn.

Branderson also has this up free on his website!

The stormlight archive The first era (5 books) has been completed, with the next era expected to start in 2030ish. MONSTER books. I'm talking 300-500k words/1000+ page for each book, plus two novellas. literally the best series I've ever read it's everything you want. It's slow to start but it pays itself off. I cannot describe it you just have to trust me on this one and take a chance. Also there's relationships that could be read as QPRs. I usually recommend it after Warbreaker and/or mistborn, when you'll have faith in branderson as an author, and not just on the word of some random internet stranger.

Tress of the emerald sea standalone if you liked princess diaries, you'll like this. It's about a respectable girl, Tress, who sets out on an adventure to rescue her damsel of a best friend/boy friend from an evil witch. Along the way she befriends eccentric pirates, a magic rat, BECOMES a pirate, and sails on seas of deadly spores that can kill a man with the slightest contact of water. It's also got one really weird guy who's cursed. VERY whimsical and fun fairytale vibe story, with a hilarious narrator to boot. You don't need to read the rest of the cosmere first to understand or enjoy this story, either! But its stuffed with easter-eggs and references, so if you do read it first, I recommend reading it again later after the rest.

Yumi and the nightmare painter Standalone, epic fantasy mixed with urban fantasy Yumi is a Yoki-hijo, a priestess of the spirits. She has a sacred duty as the bridge between humanity and the spirits of the world. Painter is a Nightmare painter. His job is to paint the form of shadowy creatures known as Nightmares to banish them, and keep his city safe. He's also a depressed emo teenager who reminds me of my little brother.

One day, inexplicably, the pair wake up in each other's places, with the other a spectating ghost. They have to carry out each other's lives, and figure out why they've been swapped. And meeting each other is probably the best thing to ever happen to them

has Your Name/Final Fantasy vibes. Also has a fun narrator, and the same cosmere hints as above, but even more accessible to new readers!

The Sunlit Man Standalone (technically) and a lot more scifi/dystopian than the other novels, though I'd call it Science Fantasy (like a mix between skyward (see below) and tlt). Follows Nomad, who lives up to his name by Skipping from planet to planet in the cosmere as he attempts to flee the Night Brigade, a mercenary group determined to torture and kill him for something he once held. He lands on the tiny planet Canicle, with a sun so hot it literally scorches the earth to lava when it hits. The people and flora here survive by constantly running from the sun, existing in perpetual twilight and nightl. The cinderking rules by power and violence, and a small Beacon of rebellion hides in the darkness of a constant storm. Nomad has a history of resisting oppression and helping those who've been put down, but it's been many years since he was that man, he has depression, and worst of all he's cursed and cannot commit an act of violence against another living being. This makes it very difficult to fight the many people trying to kill him.

This is tonally different to many of the other cosmere novels, but is equally epic. I highly recommend reading it between Rhythm of War and Wind and Truth, because Nomad is from roshar and this is the best way imo to get the full impact of Nomad's story, since it has a parallel relationship to the stormlight archive.

Why: Branderson is the best author I've ever read. All the series above are SO unique with AMAZING worldbuilding, plot, characters, themes, ugh EVERYTHING is so good. And they're also connected. 10/10 recommend, but I understand that it is a HUGE investment. Give it a chance, no one has ever regretted it.

Continuing on from branderson, we have the Cytoverse, which is made of the Skyward series and Skyward Flight Novellas.

Skyward Genre: Science fiction, YA with a dash of fantastical elements Summary: The first book follows the strange and silly/dramatic daughter of Chaser, the imfamous coward, who fled the final battle of Alta. Humanity is trapped on a strange, armored planet, constantly underseige by an alien enemy known only as "the krell". For generations, they had to live in small nomadic bands and clans in deep underground caverns, but with the establishment and success of the Defiant Defense Force, humanity has been able to settle down into ancient cities and caverns and put their resources and skill into fighting back the krell, in humanity's last stand for survival.

Spensa faces endless criticism, condesention and assholery from her fellow humans, but she is firm in her insistance that the histories were wrong - he was not a coward, he was teh greatest DDF pilot ever and she will prove them all wrong when she becomes the greatest pilot herself… if people would just give her a chance.

And then she finds the strange, incredible, talking ship. Pity its broken.

Why: It feels like a mix between how to train your dragon, Ender's Game, and those old 'shoot the alien' video/arcade games. The cast are so delightful, the worldbuilding excellent, and the story fun.

Skyward Flight Novellas by Janci Patterson and Brandon Sanderson Genre: Same as above Summary: Written by Patterson, with oversight by branderson, and set during books 2 and 3 of the main skyward series, each novella follows a different important character from the Skyward Flight, giving us insight on what was happening on the human side of teh war while Spensa is out on her adventures in the later series. It's greatly enjoyable, and Janci is better at writing romance imo.

If you enjoyed tlt, you'll enjoy Stormlight and Skyward.

The Locked Tomb Genre: Adult sci-fi fantasy. Has some horror elements technically, along with mystery Summary: each book is tonally, and narratively, quite different, so I will recommend you the first book trusting it will hook you in well enough to finish. The first book follows the PoV of Gideon Nav, an orphan serf of the 9th House of the Undying Emperor, Necrolord supreme's empire. The 9th house is basically a death cult, with all of the skeletons, decaying dark fabric, catholic goth aesthetic you'd expect. Except gideon fucking hates it there and has been trying to get out for YEARS. She's a simple girl who likes swords, girls (titties), jokes, and sunglasses. Her arch nemesis is Harrowhark Nonagesimus, the 17 year old reverent daughter and scion of the 9th house. She is a 5'0 wet rat of a girl and gideon daydreams about drop kidding her off the 9th house planet. They have been in a trauma bonded rivalry since they were children, as the only remaining living children in the 9th house. After another failed escape attempt, Harrow promises Gideon that she will free her from service, with full recommendations to the 2nd house (where Gideon wants to go), if Gideon will pretend to be her cavalier on a voyage to the first house, the once home of the god emperor himself, to answer a call for talented necromancers (and their cavaliers) to undergo training and research to become his right hands: immortal and powerful Lyctors. It starts out great! We're immediately reminded that the 9th house are death cult weirdos, the girls are terribly out of their depths, and Gideon gets adopted by no less than 4 extroverts and both girls get their first friend that wasn't each other in YEARS. Then the first body appears, and its not one anyone intended to be there.

Why: I honestly think it should be included with the soc/aftg/trc trio. Tone and content-wise its like an expert blend of all of them. It's batshit insane, you WILL be screaming "WHAT" for most of the series and the second book is confusing until you finish it/reread it, because it actively gaslights you. But its really fucking good. The storycrafting is DEEPLY intentional and well done, like some of the best writing I've ever read. The writing/narration is SO funny and amusing, there are jokes, memes, pop-culture references stuffed EVERYWHERE and only half of them make you want to scream into a pillow. The foreshadowing is brilliant, the worldbuilding SO interesting, and it does throw you in the deep end with a lot of characters (dw: there's a list at the beginning so you won't get lost!) but they're all SO different and interesting. One of my friends is literally writing his undergrad english lit thesis studying this series. Its like aftg in the sense that reading it will grip you by your brain and never let go. The fandom is fantastic. Highly recommend.

Further notes: I have a personal theory that if you enjoyed aftg/trc/soc/stormlight archive,you'll enjoy tlt. Also, its also about all the different kinds of love. More specifically, its about the horrors of love, what it does to you, how it changes you, and what you'll do and change for it.

Continuing on with scifi!

Murderbot Diaries by martha wells Genre: science fiction, YA, cyber/hopepunk and dystopian (post-late-late-late stage capitalism in space!) Summary: in a complete spin around from the previous series, this is a 12 book long series of novellas following murderbot. Murderbot is a secunit - a machine/human hybrid created to serve as a security guards. Secunits have no agency due to a gov module in their brains that punish them for disobeying company or SecSys orders.

Thing is, murderbot hacked its GovMod 4 years ago. It's rogue, and no one even knows. This is because it found access to the entertainment feed and has been enjoying media in all its free-time since it freed itself, and it REALLY wishes it's human clients - who are actually NICE this time wtf. Stop treating me like a person - would stop making stupid decisions for FIVE MINUTES so it can rewatch episode 259 of the Rise and Fall of Sanctuary moon instead of saving their dumbasses.

The rest of the series follows Murderbot going Rogue and going on a journey of self discovery, with themes of humanity, found family, QPRs, fuck capitalism, fuck Aliens, etc.

Why: It's touching, it's fun, its interesting,its HILARIOUS. Mbot is a yell; A 6A a threat (AAAAAA): an Agender, Aromantic, Asexual Amnesiac Autistic with Anxiety (and depression). Featuring fun world building, SO much queer, qprs, rep and respect towards disabilities and identities, and UGH ITS SO GOOD. Also there are QPRS, and great importance placed on platonic bonds over romance

Now I will recommend some Drew Hayes novels. Highly recommend starting with SP, despite its faults

Super Powereds by Drew Hayes Genre: Superhero science fiction Summary: This is the final rec in the post I linked above (link has more info!). It's about a group of college kids who are enrolled in a secret university program to train heroes. But the main trio had a greater secret even than that: they were once Powereds, people with incredible power and no ability to control it at all, and underwent a shady procedure which miraculously bestowed upon them the ability to control their powers, turning them into Supers, like the rest of their classmates.

Why: this is a lot more grounded than other stories in the genre, I think. It's like bnha if it was good/Horikoshi had coherent worldbuilding and characterisation. It is one of hayes' earlier works, so writing quality wise its not up to the same standards as most of what I've recommended so far, with some… weird terminology around gender (it was originally written in the late oughts/published early 2010s, so uh. to be expected) but is very respectful of gays imo? I can think of one instance that could be classified as homophobia. Its interesting. That said, the plot is really fun and the action and interactions engaging and often funny. Its kinda chunky (a little longer than tlt or mistborn, but not as big as stormlight), but you'll greatly enjoy it. It also as a spinoff novel called corpies which follows one of the more infamous characters from the main series, who got caught up in a scandal when his family-man heroic image was destroyed after he got caught fucking a guy. He's long since accepted himself and developed a strong confidence with his gay identity, but now he needs to restore the public's faith and trust in him after a decade long hiatus from heroism. He accidentally becomes a dad to four heroic rescue young adults, even while his own kids want nothing to do with him for basically abandoning them.

Some other series by Hayes I read which were written later and therefore a massive leap in quality:

Spells, Swords and Stealth Genre: TTRPG/DND esque fantasy Summary: For the people who sit down together with character sheets, minifigs and dice, SSS is just a tabletop RPG game. Its fun, but has no consequence on real life, and it ends when the session does.

For the NPCS, the background characters who live in the world, this is very much real life. it's well known that adventurers play by different rules, because the world interacts differently with them and they have a strange interaction with the world and people around them. But when a band of adventurers fail their CON-save and die in a tavern, the poor NPC's they croaked in front of know that the murderhobo king will have the heads of everyone in the village if these adventurers don't answer his summons. So, they don the adventurers gear and weapons, and prepare to answer those summons themselves and save their village, even though they have no idea what they're doing and its very important no one learns they're not real adventurers.

it's all fun and games until the world starts treating them like real adventurers, and they find a magical artifact that makes things very fucking weird for the poor SSS party's players as they try to follow a similar module.

Why: This is a fun novel which plays well with typical tropes and stereotypes in TTRPGs and flips them on their head. Surprisingly sincere, a refreshing and fun take on these kinds of stories. Its got a cool dual narrative between the NPCS, for whom this is real life, and actual players for whom this is just a game. it pokes fun at the pet peeves in TTRPG (incl: bad players) and is touching and fun. it's got found family, answering the call, and stepping up to responsibility. All the character arcs as well are beautiful.

Villain's Code Genre: Superhero Fiction Summary: Tori Rivas is a villain and a crook. Sure, she can turn into living fire, but she's really dangerous because she's damn clever and innovative. But when a job to break into a billionaire's secret vault goes awry and she's caught, she's suddenly thrown into the pond where big fishes swim, and learning she's just a rookie. if Tori is to survive, she must learn teh ways of the Villain's Guild, how to be a real villain and not just a criminal, and how to abide by the Code and make heroes dance to her tune. By day, she lives with her boring 'uncle' and works a corporate deskjob, trying to build the most boring uninteresting life to anyone who may look two seconds her way. by night, she's the apprentice to one of the most imfamous and deadly villains who ever lived, and undergoes trials with her fellow apprentices to prove they have what it takes. They either come out the other end heroes, cunning and skilled, or they come out in a casket. There's no in between.

And behind the scenes, greater evil stirs to shake up the relationship between heroism and villainy forever.

Why: NOT set in the SP world, this takes on the dynamic and place of heroism in a very different way. It also makes the relationship between heroism and villainy symbiotic and sustainable in its worldbuilding, and makes it easy to root for both sides. Tori is delightful, aroace coded, and resourceful. She's also willful, antagonistic, and hurting deep inside. the cast is delightful, as always. Hayes does a much better job of playing with tropes and characterisations here than he did in SP. There's little I can say that won't have me sounding like a broken record, but this is a very well crafted and fun story, that puts a lot of thought into the worldbuilding and people it would take for sueprhero fiction to actually like. Work. Its great

Renegades by Marissa Meyer Genre: Superhero fiction, YA Summary: Nova Artino is a villain, niece of the supervillain Ace Anarchy, who imfamously brought about the age of anarchy that destroyed society as we once knew it and freed progedies from the discrimination, censure and oppression they had faced from 'normal' people for centuries; but more importantly, he was Nova's hero. He saved her when the Renegade vigilante-heroes didnt. He gave her a home and a new family when the Renegades let thugs kill her parents and her sister. But he died, when the renegades killed him and destroyed the freedom he once sought.

Now, years later, the remaining anarchists/villains live in hiding and squalor underground, while the Renegades have 'restored' society to a new pristine age. A superhero police force known maintains order and justice in Gatlan city, headed by a counsel of the original vigilante-heros/Renegades, and Nova is going to bring them down from the inside.

Why: Same author as the Lunar Chronicles, it's YA but from what I remember, surprisingly well written! I remember enjoying this a lot. I mostly bring it up because it's similar to VC in that the main character is a villain. The romance is really sweet, with a lot of rep, iirc. I haven't been obsessed with it for a while now, but there were a good few years where it (and TLC) were all I could think about.

Now for the standalones:

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir Genre: Science Fiction Summery: Ryland Grace is your average guy; a middle school science teacher who says shit like "holy moly" and "crap" unironically, is a dork, and a nerd. He's not especially talented in any area outside of science, and he is certainly not qualified to be an astronaut on a last-ditch mission to save humanity from an apocalypse.

But that's what he's doing, because he's one of the few people who can. There's an alien algae eating the sun and its heat, and if he does not find a way to stop it and get that info back to earth soon, then the world is doomed to an enduring ice age that will kill like. Everyone.

And he's the only one who survived the trip, and he does not remember who he is, or why he's there (at first). He's far, far away from home, his mission seems impossible, and there may be more alien life out there.

his mission is impossible, suicidal, and now he has to do it alone.

or does he/it is?

Why: okay despite the summary this story is INCREDIBLY light hearted and has platonic soulmates (my beloved). I would fucking die for Ryland and his deuteragonist. One of my friends (a bio major) recently read it and had a blast. the science holds, but it's super accessible to my dumb ass who barely passed physics and always hated biology. Both of us keep quoting most of the book to each other. its do fun and delightful.

Martian by Andy Weir Genre: science fiction Summary, straight from goodreads: Six days ago, astronaut Mark Watney became one of the first people to walk on Mars.

Now, he’s sure he’ll be the first person to die there.

After a dust storm nearly kills him and forces his crew to evacuate while thinking him dead, Mark finds himself stranded and completely alone with no way to even signal Earth that he’s alive—and even if he could get word out, his supplies would be gone long before a rescue could arrive.

Chances are, though, he won’t have time to starve to death. The damaged machinery, unforgiving environment, or plain-old “human error” are much more likely to kill him first.

But Mark isn’t ready to give up yet. Drawing on his ingenuity, his engineering skills — and a relentless, dogged refusal to quit — he steadfastly confronts one seemingly insurmountable obstacle after the next. Will his resourcefulness be enough to overcome the impossible odds against him?

Why: Like the last Weir Novel above, this is just so much fun. rather than golden retriever energy, Mark has a sense of fatalistic humor that is so in line with our generations humor. He's brilliant and funny, and also a fucking dumbass. Again, the science is really accessible (featuring quotes such as: "Problem is (follow me closely here, the science is pretty complicated), if I cut a hole in the Hab, the air won't stay inside anymore."). Mark is a relatable mood from page one until the very freaking last.

Technically you started it by Lana Wood Johnson Genre: idk, contemporary fiction? Queer YA Summary: Classic mistaken identity story. It's told through the text history between Haley Hancock and Martin Nathaniel Munroe II, except inexplicably there are two martins who share the same damn name (down to the "II") and are cousins, and Haley thinks she's talking to the one she doesn't hate. What starts as a question about a class project rapidly evolves into a dear friendship between the two teenagers, but by the time Martin realizes Haley thinks he's his cousin, it's too late to back out of the rouse now. Haley is the first person to really see Martin for who he is, to understand and offer him kindness for all the 'uncool' parts of himself, and Martin is the first person to really listen to Haley, the first friend who actually puts their money where their mouth is when they say they care about her. But their friendship remains a secret and online, because Haley is too awkward to be friends in real life and Martin doesn't want to ruin what they have, because Drama and rumors swirl around their social circle, and an online friendship feels more real and is just easier. until they can't keep it online anymore.

Why: I've read this so many times I know it almost by heart. It's not high fiction, its a true YA in its simplicity, but its comforting and easy to read. I love Haley and martin's relationship, he's so sweet and she's relatable and neither of them are annoying (to read). Haley is demisexual, and Martin is bi, and their slowburn romance is wonderful.

The Floating Islands by Rachel Neumeier Genre: Fantasy Summery: It's about Trei, a newly orphaned boy from the mainland empire. When his family dies in a tragic disaster, he must search out his distant relatives in more distant lands: The Floating Islands, kept a loft by dragon-magic, and defended by the kajurai - islanders who've taken dragon magic into themselves and soar the skies with wings. Trei is instantly sky-mad, and desperate to be kajurai himself. His fellow acolytes are rightfully weary of him, as the Empire creeps ever closer to their island and the threat of invasion is imminent, but trei is determined to prove himself to the Kajurai.

His cousin, Araene, is the only person who understands his passion. She too is denied her dream because of who she is, but she is determined to seek it out no matter the cost. But when tragedy strikes and she's left adrift in the world, she don's boys clothes and a boy's idenity and throws herself into a world of magic more immediate than that of the dragons, and makes a discovery which may save the islands after all.

The cousins' lives are more intertwined than they know, and the fate of the islands rests upon their shoulders

Why: This is a novel I read several times several years ago, and one which I hold a permanent fondness for. I really enjoyed the magic system and found the worldbuilding interesting. Plus, I am a sucker for people who can fly/have wings and dragon. Sue me.

Hunted by Megan Spooner Genre: Fantasy YA Summary: fairytale retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Not half bad honestly. Yeva's the daughter of a hunter; the only one who hears the call for the world in her veins. When her father goes mad and rushes to the forest to hunt a beast, and goes missing, Yeva ignores her sisters protests and sets out to find him, and finds the Beast instead. Kept captive by the beast in an enchanted forest, she's determined to kill him for revenge.

Except, there seems to be something more going on, beneath the surface.

Why: Most of the YA recs I'm giving do not fall into the typical booktop trappings. They're all well written and not just a tropes with no substance or depth, nor are they vehicles for smut. Hunted is the most 'typically' YA of my recs, but its surprisingly good. It's a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, and well done too. It's actually compelling, and I didn't get annoyed with it at all! Always worth a shot imo. Not an obsession, but I do return to it for a bit of light reading

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik Genre: Historical Fantasy, Fairytale fantasy Summary: it's about three young women who spend most of the book either trying to escape marriage, or kill their husbands, and you root for them all the way.

to copy the Goodreads summary: Miryem is the daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders, but her father’s inability to collect his debts has left his family on the edge of poverty—until Miryem takes matters into her own hands. Hardening her heart, the young woman sets out to claim what is owed and soon gains a reputation for being able to turn silver into gold.

When an ill-advised boast draws the attention of the king of the Staryk—grim fey creatures who seem more ice than flesh—Miryem’s fate, and that of two kingdoms, will be forever altered. Set an impossible challenge by the nameless king, Miryem unwittingly spins a web that draws in a peasant girl, Wanda, and the unhappy daughter of a local lord who plots to wed his child to the dashing young tsar.

But Tsar Mirnatius is not what he seems. And the secret he hides threatens to consume the lands of humans and Staryk alike. Torn between deadly choices, Miryem and her two unlikely allies embark on a desperate quest that will take them to the limits of sacrifice, power, and love.

Why: I actually really enjoyed this one, more than I enjoyed Novik's other novel uprooted. It is technically YA, but doesn't feel like it. It has an enthralling narration style, and I love the different storylines and characters. There was not a single POV I dreaded reading. All the characters are treated with respect by the narrative/author, in regards to their education, religion, ethnicity and place in society. It's great

Okay I have been here for ages and my hands are cold. Hope one of these are of interest to you! They're more generic/taken from another rec post I made for someone else, because I don't know what about AFTG caught your interest.

Also, as an honourable mention: The Heaven's Vault game by Inkle on steam is great. It's a story-focused game, and you explore a (beautiful) nebula and visit once-inhabited moons/astroids to collect artifacts and piece together the story of the ancient past. The puzzle system is based around translating the Ancient language, and its so fun. I'm a linguistics major so this has me in a death grip. I also bought the books (same title, subtitled The Loop and the Vault by Jon Ingold) which is a novellisation of the game, and really good! I recommend it :)

please tell me about yalls hyperfixations aside from aftg pls ramble to me i need more media to obsess over and something new to get into i'm so bored and will check anything out

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galaxythreads · 2 years ago

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Aang, out of nowhere: I can't kill Ozai. It's against the monk's code. :( I need to go on a spiritual journey on a tiger rock.

Also Aang through book 1-book 3 until the last episode at any given opportunity:

#did...did he think that the people he attacked just...floated to the ground?#or that the people he buried could just like breathe through snow?#my little man #you have more blood on your hands than Zuko does #and it's /Zuko/#atla #aang #like i love him but man he has 0 self awareness i guess #do people from the fire nation just not count to him?#cause buddy???#everyone in atla has killed at least one person #its war #that's what war does #no one walks away from war with their hands clean #the thing you kill the most in war is yourself

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margindoodles2407 · 3 months ago

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blame @seeking-elsewhither for this one. it's echo time and i'm having thoughts (tm)

#yeah it's more hfsw bad batcher time. this means suffering on the part of echo #...whose armor design i kind of hate but at the moment i haven't had time to give him a definitive design so we're stuck with this for now #star wars #margin doodles #hfsw #look at my guys #handprinted #okay but i am not going to lie. i have so many thoughts about echo. ESPECIALLY in hfsw #like. you were supposed to die. but you didn't. you were brought back and it was the most painful thing you've ever experienced #and you have to endure months on end of torture practicing the very black arts you were born to fight against #so that the monsters who saved your life can use your knowledge to kill your brothers #and the only thing keeping you from completely giving up is the memory of a supernova smile that grows fainter every day #and then you're finally rescued after an eternity of torment but something is wrong because the person who was supposed to rescue you...#isn't there #and he never will be again #and you'll never see his smile again #(but you could. you could you know. you have that power now. you could bring him back. if you really wanted.#but you could never. you would never forgive yourself for dredging him back up from his well-deserved rest for such a selfish reason.#you'd never forgive yourself for putting him through that pain and white-hot agony just because you miss him. so you don't.)#and you love your new brothers. really you do. and you love your little sister; you love her so much that your wrongly-beating heart aches #and you love what you do; even if it's terrifying and dangerous saving your brothers from a fate worse than death (and you would know)#but... there's a sour knot that throbs in your gut every time your vision snags on your skeleton hand or bony feet #and every time you look in the mirror and see the unnaturally glowing green crackles in your irises #you're not of this world anymore. and you're not sure you'll ever be okay with that.

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turtlespancake · 7 months ago

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me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

#rambling #surprisingly this is not about jakob.. im just really consistent about my favorite character archetypes 😭😭#WARNING THE NOTES ON THIS ARE REALLY LONG I STARTED RAMBLING #“ouhh i have a headache i'll just lie down and rotate my blorbos in no general direction for a while until it goes away” and then boom.#serious plot considerations. 2 questions answered 24million new questions raised. this is specifically Not what i asked for.#so now im sitting here STILL dizzy running mental calculations on how i can get this bitch out of peril without reworking everything #but they literally keep dying in every timeline 😭😭 every single plausible road leads to them running off and screwing themself over #“character who doesn't realize they want to live until it's way too late to look back” VS #“character who is forced to live and handle the things they never though they'd survive long enough to deal with” FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT.#fucking hell i have never had this much trouble writing a character as i have with them #they genuinely do just run off and do shit without my permission and then i have to pace for an hour or two wondering #“ok they wOULD do that. but should they. do i feel like i can confidently write that.”#im like constantly in this tug of war trying to get them to CHILL #but also they are absolutely my favorite character from the entire project. but like. FUCK GET BACK HERE #is death the most satisfying end to this arc? is someone who was Set on dying then NOT dying the most satisfying end to the arc?#how many bridges can you burn until you irreparably set yourself aflame too?#would ghost or revival plotline work?? would it make sense with the worldbuilding??#do i just Like Them enough to want them to not die?? where do i draw the line between personal bias and a good arc?#is death not feeling as impactful as survival solely because i've been writing for so long that it's lost the initial impact?#and other such plot considerations...#im gonna have such an easy time writing another character though 😭😭 because THAT character's dynamic in the second act #is to stare at character 1 and be like “why are you like this. i mean i know Why but can you chill. please.” and like damn bro me too #actually wait no i think kaey.a is the hardest character i've ever written i take it back #had to worry about his 20million facades AND his Actual feelings AND canon compliance. shit is hard #i still havent finished the k/aeya fic i started back when the chasm first released which is uhh. two years ago. oops.#i think i struggle writing emotionally repressed liars i think thats what this is 😭😭 anyways.#(voice of guy who has been obsessed with nonlinear narratives and tragedies for several years):#“is it too much to kill this character in a nonlinear exploration game with tragic elements”#like bitch what are you talking about 😭😭 YOU'RE the target audience here figure it out #sorry the notes on this are just my writing journal now apparently

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theres-whump-in-that-nebula · 7 months ago

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I feel like if one wants — and is trying to give themself — a mental disorder by using the label of “transid,” then they are probably already disordered in some other way that they are in denial of; because it‘s more stigmatized, or “less interesting” than the neurotype they’ve chosen to mimic… which is sad because they’re masking in two different directions at that point: one to hide their illness, the other to create an illness… which will lead to more illness. Bleak, to be honest.

#I kind of used to be like that as a kid. I claimed to have “multiple personalities” when I didn’t…#my brain just attaches characters to thoughts as a form of organization; and at that time the different concepts were “warring”#(AKA: I was trying to make logical sense of information when I had zero critical thinking skills because I was raised in a cult)#And I knew I didn’t really have different personalities deep down; but my sense of self was so fractured #that I wanted the different pieces to be different people so I could make the need to think about my issues go away #I simply wanted one “personality” to kill the others so I would imagine long bloody battles between my “selves” in my head #to exorcise my mind of impure thoughts (which never worked because they weren’t real people #and I couldn’t kill them because the people I created symbolized concepts and desires on which my brain perseverated every waking moment)#I was trying to kill off parts of myself to attain everlasting life on a paradise earth; so I could build a real Data and android children #in Paradise #so if I died in Armageddon from bad behavior (watching Markiplier and having fun times in the shower) I’d be killing them too #And the only other kid I saw who claimed to want a disorder (“wanted” to have OCD) wanted it because they wanted to be like a character #and they were later diagnosed with — you guessed it — autism!#Also both of us had an astonishing amount of free time on the internet and were raised essentially as only children in a cult #So I think a lot of it is isolation and just not knowing who you are because you never see yourself react to anything in real life #You don’t know what you would do in situations and therefore have no sense of self from total lack of life experience #And I actually had OCD for awhile as well… I kicked it for the most part. But the whole rumination battle thing was certainly a sign

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bi-writes · 3 months ago

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an eye for an eye | knight!ghost x f!reader

your husband bends to your will. men must learn from difficult lessons how far that bending goes.

type: a continuation of a hand for a hand, but can be read stand-alone (11.6k), AO3

cw: 1600s au, dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, graphic depictions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, simon "i'd do anything for my wife no matter the devasting consequences" riley (18+)

Your husband has an insatiable appetite. Such a big man he is; he towers over you, so much so that you must tip your head back always to look up at him. You had to make many arrangements in your house to accommodate his hunger–a pantry stocked full of eggs and less fabric for your skirts.

Your house isn’t like others. Neither you nor Ghost have ever lived in luxury. When he showed you your home for the first time, you had shaken your head–you didn’t believe that such a large place was supposed to be yours, and even now, sometimes you feel like a stranger, out of place when the maids ask you what you want for supper or where you’d like to take your afternoon tea. You don’t like the fuss, the asking, the women that curtsy when you come near, concentrated over the creases in your skirts or the loose thread of your sleeve or the wispy hairs that fall out of your braids. You are told all the time that you must behave like a duchess, that you must poise yourself with your new title and your new money, and you must do the things that duchesses do–but no one says the same to your husband.

He is still allowed to sleep in the barracks. Lick the blood off his gauntlets. Polish his sword in the dirt. He’s still allowed to be everything that you cannot be anymore, he still lives the life he had before.

He still kills; and he is still very, very good at it.

Your queen told you in a letter that the king is very pleased. Ever since your union, Ghost has been quite the conqueror. Bloodthirsty and very determined, your husband has been taking his men across the water. He is not any less impressive off land. Not even the pirates have tried to negotiate; they bend the knee or taste the salt water. You breathe shakily when you read your queen’s letters—her praise for your husband’s conquests, how blessed your family will be and how valuable you are to the crown, how grateful she is that Ghost is no longer a fiend in court but rather a little more polite and a little quieter.

All for your sake. Ghost’s name is now your own, and he refuses to embarrass you now that you have it.

You won’t lie; the bodies that Ghost has stacked since you’ve been wed do not scare you. He’s doing it for you. He has never said it out loud, never told you so, but you know it. He wants to show you what kind man that he is, what kind of soldier—you know he’s trying to prove himself worthy. If he killed a thousand men to have you, how many will he slaughter to keep you?

He sends you letters of his own. Not many, but he does send letters, and while Ghost seems to be ineloquent and entirely too brutish, he has quite the voice when he writes.

To my wife,

The sun falls quicker here. I’d like to come home. Tell me of your day, and I will tell you of mine. There were a fleet of ships that came to meet us at dawn. When we sank three, they begged for us to spare the rest.

I have you to think about now. So I burned them.

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

He signs his real name in his letters. Your eyes skim over most of it–you don’t even blink when he tells you what he does to them. Sometimes he writes in great detail about the screams of a hundred souls, the way burning flesh smells, the taste of dirt in a new place when you know it is finally yours. He doesn’t like having secrets. He tells you all his thoughts, even if they might scare you, because you are his wife, and he has discovered quite quickly that you have been cut from the same cloth.

Even when he is home, and he tells you these things all over again, he can’t help the way his cock hardens when you merely blink and ask him if he has added any scars to his collection.

Ravenous, naughty little duchess, and you are all his. He knows he picked well–he knows, he knows he wasn’t wrong when he saw you across the throne room hiding behind his queen, he knows now that he was right about what he saw in your eyes.

You do hate when he’s away. You’re not used to the maids helping you dress, and you secretly abhor the help. That is why when you hear the shuffle of your house early in the morning, your heart thuds in your chest knowing he’s home.

The staff get antsy when Simon is around. He is very good at keeping an estate for someone that has never had to or ever been taught to, but he leaves the responsibilities with you and only you every time he goes. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and every time he comes back, he makes you sit on one big thigh as he teaches you something new that you need to remember for when he goes away. He demands much of those he employs, and they are eager to please him. Whether it is because they respect him or are afraid of him, you aren’t sure.

Perhaps it’s both.

You sit up as the bedroom door opens. You smile, big and wide and sleepy as he steps into the room. He shuts the door with his boot, slipping his hood off, and you sigh as he grips the clasp of his mask and unhooks it. He tosses it onto the floor, bare-faced, and as he makes his way towards the bed, he sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You cannot stop yourself from the shaky breath you take. He is all muscle and fat, strong and entirely too scary, but it’s hard to focus on what he really is when he stands before you like this. He has fat thighs, big shoulders, carved muscle of intense labor around his middle and along his biceps. He has large hands with calloused palms and split knuckles, and your eyes meet his own as he comes closer. He’s so gorgeous, even with a face like that. He has a long scar that stretches from one brow to his lower jaw, another that cuts his nose and splits his lip, but those eyes are dark and lovely, and you can’t help the warmth that comes over you when he catches you staring at him, closer, right to his cock that hangs heavy between his legs.

Just as he begins to lower himself onto the bed, you hold out a hand, giggling.

“Simon, if you think you are getting into this bed without a proper bath, you’re mistaken!” You laugh, and he raises a brow.

“Mmm…” He smacks his lips together. “Tha’ right, my lady?” He clicks his tongue. “This is my bed. ’s oll mine. Every blanket…every pillow…” He grips your ankle from under the covers and yanks you towards him. “And every part of you.”

You giggle again, shaking your head, “Please, Simon!” You push him away with your toes. “They only changed the sheets yesterday. You’ll dirty them…” You flutter your lashes. “Will you bathe if I join you?”

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

You hold out your hand for him, and he takes it gently. You watch as he brings your knuckles towards his mouth, and you bite back a smile when he decides to kiss each one, slow. He tugs finally, pulling you up, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he hoists you up into his arms. You would worry about your weight normally, but Simon holds you so easily, barely even a grunt as he wraps your legs around his middle. You don’t waste another second, cupping his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly.

It’s never just a kiss with Simon. He slides one of his hands up your back, into your hair, and you whine as he tips your head back just enough to slip his tongue into your mouth. Simon doesn’t just kiss, he consumes. What he did to get back to you, the things he endured, the places he has seen and the bodies he has buried and burned and scattered across the places he now calls country, it’s always to get back to this place.

To you.

“How’s my boy?” He asks when you pull away. He carries you to another room, to where the tub sits, and he rings a bell by the door to call the maids in. You snatch a robe off a hook and cover him with it as he sits with you, but all he does is put a few fingers under your chin and make you look at him again. “Oi. Asked ya question, luv.”

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

“I…” You wait until the maids have gone to fetch hot water to tell him. “I bled while you were gone. I…” You smooth your hands over the robe, distracting yourself. “I’m…I’m sorry, Simon.”

You close your eyes as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours, and you shake a little as he lets out a warm breath against your lips. He moves a warm hand over your soft stomach, cupping you there, and you lean your head back a little at the tender touch.

“It will happen,” he says finally, and your mouth opens to respond, but he sticks his thumb between your lips to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear you blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his, for not being here with you, for not be able to take care of you. You give in, suckling on the salt of him, and he grits his teeth as he watches you. “I know. Seen it in m’dreams.”

Simon has dreams. Lots of dreams, but he tells you that they are not dreams, they are glimpses into something that has already happened. When you asked if he was some kind of seer, the kind that the king used to have at parties, Simon doesn’t laugh.

He says the dreams are why he knows he won’t die. Why he is never afraid, because he knows somewhere behind his eyes what’s to come even if he didn’t see the entire painting of it. It is why he knew he would marry you; it is why he paid you so much attention, why he knew he would win his battles, why he always knows whose blood it is in his mouth because he has tasted their death before and relishes in the knowing of it all, in the certainty.

It’s never I think, it is always I know, and Simon is nothing if he is not the most honest man that you know.

So if he says you will have his babe, it is as good as truth. As green as the grass grows beneath his feet, as blue as his sky, and as red as the blood that is caked underneath his nails.

When the tub is filled with water, you let Simon sink into it first. You kneel beside it, picking up a glass of oil, pouring it into your palms before sinking your hands into his hair. It’s gotten longer since he left, in need of a cut, but you smile when he leans his head back into your shoulder. You can feel his content as he relaxes into you, and you admire his physique as you use the warm water and scrub the mud and grime off of him.

“I missed you, husband,” you whisper, and he only lets you massage his hair for a few more moments before he grips you by the wrist and tugs you forward, right into the bath. “Simon!” you laugh, “my night dress—oh!—it’s ruined!”

“Too far away,” he mutters, practically ripping the silk off of you as he tosses it besides the bath. “Mmm…” He cups your breasts with two big hands, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples, and you whine a little as he pulls at them just enough to make them stiffen. “Y’should be naked when I come home,” he says lowly. “I’ll soil y’r bloody gown next time, m’lady.”

You giggle, and he smiles. A real smile. As real as he’ll ever give anyone, maybe the only one that anyone has ever even seen. He has never shown his face in court, and while it angers the women and irks the men, you revel in the fact that all of this is only for you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You kiss him softly. The water sloshes, warm and inviting, and sometimes you forget your life used to be anything but joy. A year ago, you would not believe that you would be here, titled, wealthy, in a stone room lit by candles bathing with a blood hungry ghost.

A year ago, you trembled whenever he looked at you. You cowered when you heard his footsteps. What a stupid little girl you had been. What a fool. She had no idea what she could have, the kinds of things she could hold in her hand.

Real power wasn’t being able to command a room with your words. Real power was being able to say anything and have it be believed as truth. Real power was making someone look in one direction and have them see what you see, even if what you see isn’t real.

He lays you down in your bed afterward and eats. Your wet hair soaks the sheets, but you can’t seem to be really bothered as he fits your legs over his shoulders and bends you at the waist, his mouth suctioned to your clit as he eats you slowly. One of his hands is spread out over your tummy, the other you can hear making a squelch as he fists his own cock. It’s slow and methodical, and he slides his tongue between your folds firm, catching what dribbles from you on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it and leans in for more.

He has eaten you in nearly every room in your house. Frightened the cooks tossing you onto the dining table, given a servant a scare as he ducked under your skirts in the library, had the gardeners fleeing as he dropped you onto the grass near the lake and disappeared with a frenzy to eat your cunt during sunrise. It’s maddening, the kind of need that Simon requires, but it’s hard to refuse when you feel so warm and bubbly and happy after he’s finished. A pampered princess you are, never lifting a finger, only awake long enough when he’s home to eat until you’re full and cum until you fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s why you’re not pregnant yet. Simon likes to be here, between your thighs, mouth fixed on your wet pussy until he’s practically exhausted himself with a sore jaw and lax tongue.

He kisses you sloppy after. Licking into your mouth, practically spitting onto your tongue, wanting you to taste—tastes so good, luvvie, don’t ya see, yeah?—wanting you to know why he’s so eager to be on his knees all the time.

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

“’s not what I really want,” is all you whimper, and he nods, because he knows, he always knows.

“I know, luv. I know wot ya really need.”

“I must be broken,” you sob, cradling his face in your hands, and he shakes his head.

“Not broken,” Simon assures you. He speaks so surely that it’s hard not to believe him. “It wasn’t time.”

“You can’t see the future, Simon! You don’t know!” You cry, and he snarls a little, shaking his head again.

“You listen t’me,” he growls. You shake a little as he grabs your face with one hand, fixing your jaw under his grip as he holds onto you firmly. “Wot I say goes. Y’r my wife, so listen t’me, and listen t’me good. Y’r not broken. Not time. Say it back t’me.”

Your lip trembles, and he rattles your head a little.

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

“It’s not time,” you whisper, and he plants a fat kiss onto your tear-soaked lips.

“Just need my cock, luv,” he murmurs. “Tha’s oll. Just need me t’fuck it outta ya.”

You nod, pressing your face to his, and he tuts, reaching down and spreading your legs wide to accommodate him between them as he lays over you.

“’s oll y’need,” he repeats, and you nod again.

You have to take another bath in the same morning; and this time, you weren’t able to walk there.

You like when Simon is home because it’s quiet. The only one that dotes on you here is Simon. The maids do not dress you or do your hair or moisturize your skin. It’s always Simon.

You smile at him in the mirror as you sit at your vanity. He has a brush in one hand, and he’s using it delicately to detangle your hair how you like. His hands are practiced and gentle, and when he finishes, he leans over you as he starts to part your hair to braid it. He did not have sisters, but his mother had him always do her hair after she lost the use of her hands with age. You don’t know where his mother is, but you assume she is not here anymore, because he never invites you to meet her.

He oils your skin. He slips the robe off of you, revealing your damp skin from the bath, and he slathers oil in his hands before using it to soften your skin. He takes his time, smoothing those big hands over your shoulders, down your back, along your arms. You tilt your head back when he warms your breasts, squeezing and fondling your tits. He murmurs in your ear the entire time, and he has to fuck you with his fingers to quiet you when he stops because just his hands on your tits has you wet all over again.

He dresses you, too. Helps you slip into your undergarments, fastens the cage for your skirts over your hips. He ties them skillfully, and after he layers your skirts over the farthingale, he gets you into your corset. It’s intimate as he does this. Even with your wide skirt, he comes closer, over your shoulder, and he tugs at the laces at your back, pulling it tight with firm grunts. You sigh when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hand skimming over your breasts as they sit nice and perky between stiff fabric and whalebone.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, unnerving…the way ya look…”

You close your eyes, “S-Simon, please…I’m already dressed…”

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

But when he has to leave again, you nearly come with him. You fasten his armor for him, help him slip each piece of leather on and click every piece of metal into place. You tie his cloak and slip his mask on, and you try and duck your head when you flip his hood up, but he catches you, tilting your chin up.

He huffs when he sees your face. Tears sliding down your cheeks, lips wet with them, eyes all glassy and red. He draws you up onto your toes, pressing his mouth to yours through the mask, and you hold onto him tightly, digging your nails into his chest armor and threatening to not let go.

“I want to go.“

“No.”

“Simon, let me go,” You gasp, begging, gripping his hood in firm fists and not caring that his armor is cutting into your front. “Let me go with you, I can’t do this anymore, I want to go, I can do it.”

You aren’t sure if Simon underestimates you. You think it’s more that he does not want you to see him in a place where he is most true. Where he wears the least of a disguise. He does not know he wears it the least with you, and that you have already seen his blood and how it curdles under his skin. You like it that way. You like him angry…and mean…and terrible. You like him when his sword is dirty and his armor needs polishing and his mind thinks of nothing else besides war. He should know this by now. He should know that you see him and see what he is even more than his king, more than his men.

He couldn’t scare you, even if he tried.

“War is not where women go,” Simon snaps. His tone is harsh, even for you, and you stiffen when he grips you by the jaw and rattles your head a little. “Especially not one like you, my love. War would eat ya, eat ya fuckin’ whole. Look at ya…” He huffs, deep, sliding that gloved hand down your throat to slip it beneath the neckline of your dress and fondle your breast with a firm grip. “Beautiful. Meant for my lips…for these dresses…meant to be held in my hands, not bleed from stray arrows, because tha’ is surely the least of wot they would do t’ya if they knew ya were my wife. Now ya will wipe these tears, ‘n see me off, and then ya will come back inside like a good girl, ‘n you will wait for me here until I come back.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you scowl up at him. Not indifference, but frustration, and Simon doesn’t think it suits you.

“I’m sick of waiting for you, Simon,” you spit. “It’s all I ever do, wait. Wait for you to come back, alive or dead, I never know. And don’t say you do this for country, that is a lie.” You shove him backwards, but he barely budges when your hands touch his chest, a rigid wall that does not give. “You do it because you like it. You’re a bloodthirsty dog, and all you do is bend to our king’s will.”

A lie, but you tell it anyways, because you want something, and he will not give it to you.

“That is my duty.”

“Your duty is to me,” you snap. “Kings come and go, but I will not.” Simon stills. He glares down at you from behind his mask, and perhaps this might terrify his men, but that you are not. You are his wife, and you are protected by that title alone. The only man to ever lay a hand on you would not live to see another second, himself included. “Now you will let me join you, or so help me God, Simon, I will not be here when you return.”

You do not expect the full-bellied laugh that leaves him. His armor shakes with him, and you grind your teeth, narrowing your eyes. He uses his thumb to force his mask up, and then he cups the back of your head and draws you in for a sloppy kiss. You resist at first, but when he feeds you his tongue, you melt. You kiss him back, letting him draw you closer, and you sigh as he tangles his fingers into your hair and cradles you with those big hands.

There is nothing more to say. Simon neither confirms nor denies, but you taste it in his mouth, his devotion. Not wrong, not right, but just so–he has many responsibilities, but you are the only one that will remain the same. One day, his king will die, and he will serve another, but the space you have made beside him will never change. Even when you die, because he knows you will go before him, there will never be someone else to fill it. You and you only, the woman he found and made his, the one he demanded lest he kill his own country for it, it will always be you. Soft and sweet, you are, but the Lord knew Simon could only have one woman, and he made it be you; the one spitfire enough to defy her own king because she trusted his love enough for it.

Would you commit treason to save his life? Would you watch a king die if it meant your beloved lived?

Would he?

He thinks about what you have said when he takes his fleet across the water. He runs his tongue over his teeth behind his mask, breathing deep when he thinks about your proclamations of duty. Of change. Of what remains when other things move, of the kind of life that waits for him when he comes and goes with a king’s order. He thinks about how easily he is taken away from you, and he knows there is truth in what you feel. It is not really Simon that sacrifices, it is what he leaves behind, and that is you.

It’s never angered him before. He had accepted the fact, as early as your wedding day, that he would leave and come back, then leave again. It has always been the way of his life, come desire or not, so it bothers him that of all the things that surprised him in his life, it would be missing someone that shocked him the most.

Missing his wife. Missing the serene perfection of one woman, and the perfect place between her soft thighs. Every day that he finds himself between them is the best day of his life, he reckons, so now he feels bitter about staring at a freezing ocean amongst his men because he will go weeks without her.

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

It comes in a letter from a messenger on horseback. They have been stationed in a foreign land for weeks now, watching slowly as the stone walls of a castle at their front crumples day after day from the stones filled with powder that ignite what is wood and break what is rock. The letter is sealed with wax, with the motif of a snake. It is given directly to Simon, whose name is scribbled in the letter, and when he reads it, he tastes ichor and smoke.

So the great phantom has come to seal my fate. I am not in the business of letting what is mine be taken. Even if you have brought your all, it won’t be taken from me.

I heard you have a beautiful new wife. I heard you paid for her in blood.

I shall do the same. I will hang your sword above our marriage bed.

Ghost is not someone that bends to the threats from foe he cannot look in the eye. Words are so empty. It is nothing like when he stands just a few meters apart from them, eyes fixed against one another, as they decide whether today they want to live or they want to die. The letter means nothing, but he’s surprised by the heat that bubbles under his ribs at the mention of his bride. He meant it when he said you were not meant for war, and that meant in this regard, too–nobody was allowed to talk about you, not like this, not ever.

When his king orders him home, Ghost crumples the note and tosses it into embers. He watches it burn, and then he orders his men to set to flame the ground around the stone walls.

So men like him can be goaded, it seems. His resolve is not as strong as he thought.

The weeks make you anxious. All you do is sit and collect dues and tell the maids which dress you want to wear and which you do not. It is peaceful and boring, and you wish Simon was here to make your days more exciting, but he is not.

His letters are the only things that keep you occupied, truly. He writes to you about war and loneliness, and you write to him about the mundane of domesticity and the ache he leaves behind. Sometimes, his letters come folded with pressed flowers he finds along the way, and you start to collect them, putting them away in small boxes or using them as bookmarks as you go through Simon’s library.

He has many books. His most loved books are those of war, of history, and you smooth your fingers over the pages he has dogeared and find comfort in reading the same words that he once did. You learn, as well. While in your studies as a girl, they made you learn arithmetic and the flowery bits of history and art, here in Simon’s house, you learn of strategy and weaponry and military tactic. Sometimes you disagree, and you write about these disagreements to Simon, and he writes back, pleased with your observations. He told you once that if you were a man, he would want you in that tent with him, beside him, deciding on which formations to take and when to strike. You responded saying that you could be that for him anyway. What did your sex have anything to do with whether you were right or wrong?

Simon agreed.

But I would never invite you here, dear wife. You have to understand that.

When your queen asks for your audience for dinner, you oblige easily; finally, you have something to do rather than add up numbers or sign a document on Simon’s behalf or read another fucking book.

You don’t want to wear all the costume your maids insist on, but you appease them after they repeatedly explain to you what your title means. With a drawn face, you let them tie your corset and layer your skirts, and you watch in the mirror as they braid your hair and drape large, obnoxious jewels over you. You grimace at the tiara they fit into your hair, and your elderly handmaid pinches your cheeks and tells you to put on a fair countenance, Your Grace, lest you make the Duke look ungrateful.

You bite your tongue from snapping at her. She should know that Simon would say nothing about your countenance; all he would do is fix whatever was bothering you until you smiled again.

You arrive early enough to have tea. Your queen is so excited to see you; she gushes when you meet her in the throne room, pulling you up from your curtsy so she can hug you tight, squealing. When you try to address her with a curt “Your Majesty,” she shakes her head, pressing her hands to your cheeks and giggling, “No need for formalities now. Call me Victoria.”

You hide your displeasure with a small smile. Now that you are no longer her lady-in-waiting, she allows you her name. Is it because she sees you more as equals, or because now you’re allowed to be somewhat of friends?

You must be some kind of friend. She sizes you up like you are one. She wears England’s colors this afternoon. A fire red dress adorned with gold accents, a dragon pin holding her shawl. She wears magnificent red and gold jewelry, but she’s looking at your dress, and you can see the slight twitch of her eye. You are wearing French lace, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she doesn’t like the color, the accents of navy blue and silver that you wear.

The skull motif that is woven into your tiara and printed on your coat and sewn into your dress. Does it insult her? That all your life, you wore nothing but browns and beiges and grays, were invisible to her, and now you represent your house, visit her as your guest, and bear an honorable name?

You were no one when you served her. Just a girl, no close family, no friends, just a distant uncle who gave you to the crown that hoped you could be of service. That was to be your duty for all your life–to serve the king’s wife until she wanted you no more or until she was gone. To cater to her every need and every wish, no matter the time of day or night.

Now you sit across her, more noble. Refined. Wearing a dress she despises, perhaps because she likes it more than her own.

Over tea, she gossips about the other ladies she has visit. You’ve heard this before, but you’ve never been included in the conversation. She talks to you, and she wants to hear your opinion, and you find yourself uneasy as you try to think of what to say. She is your queen, and you want her to like you. When you worked for her, you earned her favor by always warming up her jewels before she put them on, by making sure she had her tea ready in the morning at her bedside, by always holding the fan she so loved for when she inevitably had a hot flash. Now, as her friend, you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You suck in a soft breath and look at her, and then you purse your lips.

You think it best to agree with her. To be on her side. You might not be her direct servant any longer, but you still must fall under her favor. A queen’s favor can be just as powerful, especially if she occasionally has the ear of her husband.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her,” you say finally, and she laughs.

“No! She’s such a prude. I think her husband doesn’t sleep in her bed enough, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. You giggle at that. “Speaking of husbands–” She pops another cake in her mouth. “How is yours?”

You reach up and tug at your necklace a bit, smiling nervously.

“Oh, uh…” You clear your throat, “He’s doing very well. I hear his latest campaign is quite the success. His majesty is very smart, heading for the east that way, I’m sure they will be victorious soon enough.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of her husband. His intelligence. She always used to talk to you about how many hours he worked, how she hated when he was away, how she wished he was home more so he could give her a son because she was so, so lonely.

“Wise words from the duchess, aye, my love?”

You jump a bit at the low voice from behind, and when you turn, you gasp, immediately standing and falling into a delicate curtsy. John Price waves his hand, coming further into the room, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. “Please, sit. You’re here as my guest.”

You stand and lift your head, trying to relax. You take a seat, smiling nervously, and Victoria smiles giddily at her husband. When he bends to kiss her cheek, she fawns, reaching for his hand and squeezing it before taking another piece of tart and eating it. John hums before motioning for one of the staff to fill your cup again with tea. He eyes you curiously, taking in your appearance. You sit up at that, performatively brushing off over the skull pattern on your corset. John runs his tongue over his teeth, smoothing a big palm down his wife’s long coils of hair.

“Since you’re here, I’d like a word, if that’s alright,” John says to you. His tone carries a little more authority now, and Victoria sighs, whining a little.

“John, please, she’s my friend. Can’t it wait–”

“That wasn’t a question, Victoria,” John bites. Her face falls a little. She swallows and tucks her hands into her lap. You’re reminded as you look at the slight wobble of her lip that there is no one truly above John Price, not even her. You keep your face neutral, but if you were invisible, you’d pity her.

What a shame her husband sees her as less than. How embarrassing. Your Simon would never. Your Simon waits until you finish speaking before speaking himself. Your husband kneels to take off your shoes, your husband tears your skirts to get a taste of you, your husband used his teeth to sever a man’s throat just to have your hand.

What did John Price do to get his wife? Who did John Price kill to have her hand? How many bruises did he earn around his knees on their wedding night from eating her out? As many as Simon, whose knees were black and blue by morning?

No, you suppose not. How unfortunate. How pathetic.

Victoria picks up her skirt and stands, pasting a big smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and you can see the way her hands shake a little as she scurries off. She scowls as soon as she turns away from John, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll go check on dinner,” she says, but it is soft and unenthusiastic.

When she goes, the room falls quiet. At the nod of John’s head, the staff leave, and you keep still in your seat as John sits across from you, picking up one of the cakes in front of him and breaking off a piece to busy himself. He keeps his eyes on his task of cutting up the cake in small pieces, focused on his hands and how they work. You watch him carefully, steeling yourself.

You anticipate a conversation between man and woman, not a king and his lesser.

“Simon’s been away for some time. I bet that’s difficult for you.”

You straighten your posture, realizing what this conversation will be. By his tone, John seems to think you a bored, stupid housewife, perhaps. Uneducated. A woman, no thoughts in her head. You let your face relax, and you fold your hands in your lap. Maybe now is the time John should learn who you are and who you are not.

What you have become and what you no longer are.

“I do just fine, Your Majesty,” you say finally. You pick up a spoon and drop a cube of sugar into your tea, and you stir, picking it up to take a long sip. John is curious by your content. You have a quick tongue. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?”

John laughs. He narrows his eyes a bit at your clever response, taking a large bite of the cake and running a cloth over his beard. His eyes sparkle a little.

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

“You know I gave Simon orders. And you know he didn’t listen to me.”

You purse your lips, but he sees the shine in your eyes. The lack of surprise. His face twitches a bit, and you shake your head. You blink slow, and it irks him to see you so calm. He is your king, and Simon answers to him, and you are his wife, so you must answer, too.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I could have your husband’s head cut off for treason for that, you’re aware, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head to the side. What an odd thing for John to say. What an odd thing for John to contemplate, since it would never come to pass. “Don’t be daft, my king. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

John slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cups rattle with his frustration, but you do not even flinch. You blink, stone-faced, and it makes his nostrils flare. He recognizes that glare, he knows it well. He has seen it before, stared it down many times in rooms just like this. Only now, he is not fighting for land, he fights for control of the one man that he has always been able to rely on. Simon has followed him into battles outnumbered by a thousand men, and only now he ignores an order? Only now he chooses something different?

“Now, let’s be civil, Your Majesty,” you say softly. You smile at him, leaning your head in your hand. “Is there something that you need from me? I have a feeling you might have encouraged this dinner just so you could see me in passing, so why don’t you just ask me what you wanted to ask me?”

John lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. He leans towards you, and you admire how blue his eyes are. John is quite a handsome king, but he does not captivate you. It has been a long time since John has tasted blood, and he lacks the edge that you crave dearly.

“I need him back here, is what I need,” John murmurs.

“My king, I couldn’t get him back here any more than you could, even if I wanted to.”

“Now who’s being daft?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. John is not a stupid man. He created a beast of a man, and he is trying not to poke it too hard. You shift, brushing down your skirts, and you let out a low breath.

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

“Why does he ignore your order to come back?” You ask again. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons why he would stay. So why did he ignore you?”

John clicks his tongue, smoothing a few of his fingers over his beard. He averts his eyes, looking out the tall windows, frowning a little at the grim weather. The weather is always grim here, but it irks him at the moment, makes him scowl a little harder.

“I was…informed that there was some sort of letter,” John explains. “Some threat.”

“I don’t follow. He gets lots of threats. And terrible letters.”

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

You close your eyes at that, shaking your head. Simon would never be so foolish as to be baited by baseless threats. He barely bats an eye when someone even in front of him draws his sword. He is so comforted by his ability to win, by his dreams and his visions that have not yet happened.

“That’s absurd,” you breathe. “Simon wouldn’t…”

John chuckles, but there is no humor there. “Wouldn’t he?”

“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” you roll your eyes, looking away. “Simon is…he’s not…he doesn’t listen. It’s why he’s good at this, isn’t it? He doesn’t really take orders, he’s…I…”

John has never complained before about the way Simon chooses to lead. Oftentimes, it is an order ignored that has made it so that he delivered another crown at John’s feet. Simon asks for forgiveness, not permission, and John has barely batted at eye at it. He sees Simon as some kind of distant son, but this refusal bothers him so?

John leans forward. “You need to understand something here, Simon is a rabid dog,” he spits. “And sometimes I let him off his lead, but this isn’t like anything I’ve had to deal with. I need you to call him back here.” He scoots closer. “England needs you to call him back here. To me.”

You narrow your eyes a little. England needs you to call him back? What kind of sick sense of patriotism is he trying to instill in you? John is stupider than he looks, to think a woman like you would show loyalty to country. You are loyal to your husband, and nothing else, because what has king and country ever really done for a woman like you except for dispose of you?

You wear Simon’s colors, not John’s, and you will wear them to your deathbed.

“If I do this for you, my king, then you owe me,” you whisper. He laughs again, no humor, and he picks up a goblet and fills it to the brim with wine. He drinks half before slamming it down onto the table, spilling it over his hand.

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

“Quite right, Your Majesty,” you agree, picking up your napkin and dropping it onto the table. You stand, giving him a polite curtsy. “But I am not doing this as your subject.”

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

“You put your entire right to the throne on the back of one man,” you say softly. You are not accusing him, you’re reminding him of a truth. “Simon is why…he’s why your counsel still listens to you. He’s why your people are free from famine, why…why your taxes get paid on time, why your kingdom is still standing, no thanks to your father who wasted this place’s fortune on women and liquor.” You shake your head. “You have an eye for conquest, Your Majesty, but you lack the execution of any plan you conjure.”

You are not wrong, and John knows this, and it’s why he hasn’t spoken up yet or interrupted you. The man before, his own father, was a drunkard who spent all their money. He drank himself into the grave, and the only reason John stands before you now is because of Simon. A man who he fought beside, who he commanded, who once John’s duty became reality took up the mantle and finished what his father never could.

John would be in the next history book you read because of Simon, and it’s Simon’s name that will never be written. They do not bestow legacy to men who serve other men.

“Where…Where did you learn to speak to men this way?” John scoffs. “I am your king.”

You must have hit a soft spot. John is defensive now, and men only deflect and insult when they are cornered with the truth. They don’t like being held in front of a mirror.

“You are king because my husband made it so,” you correct him gently. “And Simon is a loyal dog, and that is good for your sake, because if he had any desire for your seat, it would be his.” You come closer, your heels sounding, and John glares down at you; but you glare right back because you are protected by your name and what you can do with it. John knows this, and it angers him, but he seems to have difficulty facing the truths of his own making. “But he is not your dog anymore. He’s mine.”

Your pen on paper is aggressive. You can tell because the splotches of ink are deep, bleeding black sinking into white as you put angry word to parchment. Not even a fortnight later, you are playing cards with Victoria, and you see Simon’s silhouette standing in the doorway, hood shadowing his masked face as he observes. When you look over your shoulder where John sits, and you meet his eyes, he looks away from you with a grim understanding.

Simon answers your call. Always.

At dinner, John is in better spirits. He drinks with a big smile, eats more than one plate, and he picks Victoria up by the waist to make her dance with him when he asks for the music to be played louder. Simon sits, fidgety, gloved hands moving in and out of fists as he watches you cut into your food and eat it with a blank face. He huffs beside you, his armor stiffening as he sits up straight, and you let your fork clatter onto your plate as you turn to glare at him.

“You were thinking with your cock, Simon,” you spit. “That is how men like you get killed.”

“You ‘ave no idea how men like me get killed because there are no men like me,” Simon growls. You roll your eyes, standing, and he grips your wrist angrily, tugging you close until you fall into his lap. You sigh, shaking your head, putting your hands on his broad shoulders and making him look at you.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’m not wrong. It is how you’ll lose. You know better than that, Simon. To fight someone because they taunted you in a letter, it’s playing the fool.” You cup his cheeks, keeping his eyes on yours. “You don’t need me to tell you that, and yet here we are.”

He breathes slow, closing his eyes for just a moment. He thinks he came for this, just a little. For clarity. Reason. It comes from you in waves, and it’s comforting to hear. It is something he knew, and yet it only makes sense now that you have said it.

“I know,” Simon mutters. “I know. Y’r right. I’m sorry, luv.”

You ask him to apologize when he undresses you. You ask him to apologize again when he sinks into a hot bath with you. You ask him a third time when he is in your bed, a heavy weight between your thighs as he licks and sucks at the soft skin of your tummy. He begs, lowly, let me ‘ave it, and you will, but he has to say he’s sorry again.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, sucking on your inner thigh, and you close your thighs around his head, forcing his mouth against your cunt.

“Again, Simon,” you whisper. “I wanna hear it again.”

“‘m sorry,” he slides a rough tongue between your folds, breathing shakily when he tastes the oil that he smoothed over your skin only moments ago. You taste so good, you smell so lovely, coming off of you like fumes blinding his senses so that nothing else but you makes any sense at all. When you open your eyes, you think about where you are, and you nearly come thinking about what you have wrapped around your finger.

Not even your king tells your husband what to do. Not even your king commands his men, they won’t listen, he’s not who they turn to when things go belly-up, it’s your husband, and your husband answers to you.

You weren’t sure about it until today. Seeing him when you asked him to come, it flooded you with something that hurt. You could tell from even so far away that Simon was salivating under that mask. You knew the only thing separating his mouth from your cunt were the other people around him (and they were not privy to seeing you naked).

It is such a thing to observe. John needed a lead on Simon when he was his dog. You need no such mechanism. Simon never strays, not with you. He sits proper when you ask, and he speaks when spoken to. He tears at unwanted flesh, and he comes when you call.

John cannot give him all that he desires. Perhaps he thought what Simon truly wanted was fame and fortune. Legacy. But like most things men do, John does not observe. He takes in only what is right in front of him, and he makes assumptions. Simon is not like other men. Fame and fortune do not matter. He does not care about legacy. What matters to Simon is what he can hold in his hands. The ground under his feet. The steel in his hand. The woman underneath him, spreading her legs, inviting him in.

You love Simon. You love Simon more than anything in the entire world, but it would be a lie to say that you are not at some advantage here. Simon is all-consuming. He is the pinnacle of duty and honor and everything that a man is supposed to be, but Simon is also weak. There is something that he wanted more than anything in the world, and now that he has it, he will do anything to keep it, and that makes him vulnerable. Subject to all kinds of new things. Revenge. Retaliation. Pain.

Manipulation.

Maybe you should feel bad about it. Maybe you should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything like it when there’s a big bear of a man between your thighs slobbering on your pussy like dessert. It’s hard to feel anything but bliss when he’s tracing the letters of his name into your cunt and making you see stars and fucking you into the silk sheets like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you.

It is men who govern your world, and if this is how you must move in it, then so be it. You will not feel bad. You will not be sorry for doing what anyone else would do. John thought he could keep his hand there, muzzle his mutt, but you like him this way, and you’re certain John doesn’t fuck the way you do.

He’s mine.

It isn’t John that commands an army, it’s you; or maybe your cunt, but that belongs to you, too, so it is you, isn’t it? You’re the one that lets him inside, that whispers in his ear, that tells him things you know he wants to hear to make things move in your favor, so it’s you, right?

Not John. Not Victoria. Not their counsel. You. They have stepped on you your entire life. They have made you small and inferior and sad for all of your existence, and they gave you something feral knowing it could eat you alive, and now you are the hand that feeds, and they are forgetting that if they bite too hard, you have something that will surely bite harder.

A collar would suit him, you think. He would look so pretty. He already is, the terrible beast, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen (the necklace your drape over him does just fine, a pendant with his motif that you hope reminds him of you). You don’t care if people would say his face is quite ugly. It is, very much so, but you never see him this way. Whenever that mask falls, your stomach flips. He takes your breath away. His intensity, his raw form of love, the look on his face–there is nothing else in the entire world that will love you the way he loves you.

“You came back for me?” You ask. You have a leg tangled between his, and his fingers are between your thighs, a shadow of a smirk on his face as he feels the mixture of your cum and his. He grunts a little, and you tilt your head to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“‘f course,” Simon mutters, and you kiss his chest gently, keeping your eyes on his.

“But not for John.”

He turns his head, looking down at you more intently, and he scoffs. You know it’s true, but you want to hear it, anyways. You want to hear Simon admit, unknowingly, that you are the tether.

“John is afraid, and I don’t listen to ‘im when he’s afraid. Makes bad choices.”

It’s almost adorable that this is what Simon tells himself. That he comes back for his own sake, and not for yours, even though they are one and the same, intertwined and inseparable.

“Simon,” you say softly, and he sighs, his eyes closing briefly when you kiss him gently. “You have to listen to your king when he asks you to come back. Making a…rash decision about war strategy is one thing, but…” You cup his cheek gently. “Make things easier for me, husband. If he asks you to come back, you come back.”

This time, at least. Just this time.

Simon snarls a bit, but you swallow it when you kiss him. You maneuver yourself over him, straddling his hips, and he grunts as you sink down on him. He swells hard again very quickly, releasing a deep breath as you give a slow roll of your hips.

“Make things easy for me, my love,” you whisper, and he leans his head back, putting two big hands on your ass and moving you with ease. “Appease your king, yes? For me?”

“Can’t say no when y’r pussy squeezes me like tha’, sweet’eart,” Simon groans, and you giggle, planting your hands on his chest and starting to move a little faster. You lean your head back, your mouth falling open, and you gasp when you sink down completely, your ass touching his thick thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuckin’ Christ–”

“I hate when you go,” you whine, digging your nails into his chest. He hisses, planting his feet on the bed, and he fucks up into you with a renewed fervor. “Hate when you’re not here, Simon, I-I miss you, miss this–”

“Nghh…fuck, I know,” Simon pants. “Can feel it. Feel you.” You squeal when he grips you by the waist and turns you over. He makes it seem so easy, tossing your weight underneath him, and your arms circle around his neck as you draw him closer, hanging onto him. “Y’r so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Simon–”

He kisses to devour. His jaw hinges wide to kiss you sloppy, breathing in the moans that you can’t contain. Simon always fucks so well, stretching your thighs as wide as they will accommodate so he can make room for the goliath of himself that he is. He suffocates, in a good way, and his cock never fails to stretch you for all that you are worth. Simon holds your jaw in place as he grinds into you, relishing in the wet smack of his hips against yours. The fat of you satisfies him. It makes him growl with delight when he grabs onto wide hips, your fat arse, the body that you hold that tells him you are fed and warm and content. It draws his grin wider, and it makes him drool thinking about having you again and again and again, until you beg him for reprieve and his heir sits in your womb.

Simon fucks for sport. He wants to see how stupid he can make you. He wants to know how long you’ll cry for, how fat he can make your tears. He wants to know how loud you will cry, how many times he can make you cum before you’re incoherent, he wants to know the extent to which he can use you that you will still be awake enough to say his name just one more time. Simon is not satisfied until he pushes your limits.

It is what a Riley does. They endure, and they eat, and they consume, and they take pleasure in the all-encompassing indulgement of things they have never been allowed to have. You are a woman, so he knows this will come easy for you. So often, he knows, women are not allowed to indulge at all, so he wants you to. He wants you to cry and moan and eat, and he wants you to do it bearing his name so that no one will ever tell you no.

Simon says no to kings, and they placate, or they die. His wife will be offered the same respect, and he’ll stand behind her with a sword to make it law. When you bear his children, he will expect the same of them–to give their mother utter devotion, lest they answer to his hand. There is no one above you, not God, not country, and certainly not blood. They will know what their father did to have you, and they will spill the same amount of blood to keep it that way. They will do it for you, and then they will do it for their own lovers, and if they don’t have the same sentiments, that love is not true, and Simon will not give his blessing.

Everything else is trivial. He knows this, understands it, because history repeats itself. It is cyclical, and you are right. Kings come and go. Sons die to other sons, fathers make bad decisions, and crowns are passed to bastards and back again, until lineage is merely spectacle and power changes hands often enough to lose generational merit. There is one thing that remains, and it is what you do while you are on earth, while you are standing on the ground you were born on. Even faiths change; when men find it suitable, they change the rules, and then you worship a different God, so Simon sees no point in staying loyal to any of it.

Instead, he is true to what he knows. To what he can see and what he can feel. With John, he remembers being a young man, fighting alongside him. He follows John, to an extent, because he knows what it is like to share blood with him on a muddy hill and take an arrow for him.

With you, time stands still. He saw you in a room, and he had to have you, and he brought nations to ruin to make certain no one would bat an eye when he asked for your hand. He saw you in a dream, too–he saw you laying in his bed of furs, wearing nothing but a tiara of his making, wet between the thighs because that is how it’s meant to be. He recognized you when he saw you that first time, and he doesn’t know how, but saying no to you, really saying no, will change that vision, and he couldn’t bear that.

Your voice echoes. You’re moaning, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. The hair around his cock rubs your clit too many times, and when you come around him, you’re a shaking, withering thing, back bowed and nipples pebbled. Your toes curl as you cry from the starry-eyed, hot pleasure, but he keeps moving, chasing something in the distance that he can taste, so close.

Yes, Simon ignored his king. Yes, Simon did not ignore you. Yes, Simon admits, he came when you called, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, he doesn’t care how it seems. He would do it again if he had the chance. John could give him the same answer as you in every timeline, but he will only move if the command comes from you, and yes, Simon knows it makes him a liability, but crowns come with costs, and this is the one John must pay.

Simon will fight any of John’s enemies, but he won’t fight fate. He won’t fight what has already been seen, and he won’t fight what he already knows will happen.

With Simon’s cock in your mouth, you can make him deliver on promises. Sucking on the girth of him, you can make him an honest man. Taking inside of your mouth what you can swallow, you can make Simon do your bidding, and it is a hard lesson that John learns.

“Do this for me,” you slobber against the underside of his cock, and Simon relents.

“Make me happy,” you say, swirling your fingers against your puffy pussy, and Simon kneels with an open mouth.

“Just this once,” you whisper with his cum on your tongue, and Simon seals his choice with his hands on your tits and the taste of himself in his mouth.

When you make eyes with John across the low lights of the throne room, he can’t help the way he admires you. You stand beside Simon, looking the essence of nobility and reverence in another intricate silver and blue dress. The train of your skirt glitters with delicate jewels hand sewn into the fabric, and the headpiece you wear adorns a skull insignia. Your corset has been tied just right, thanks to Simon’s hand, and your own fingers are clasped between his. Your corset and jewels are of exquisite detail–one of the newest designs from Paris, structured and elegant and accentuating every curve of soft skin.

You glow in the room. His wife must be wearing a dress just as expensive, probably more, and yet his eyes (and everyone else’s) cannot help but follow you. Your own eyes won’t leave Simon; you flutter your lashes whenever he looks down at you, big smile on your face, and even when there are people curtsying and bowing to you and giving Simon their gratitude between bites of cake and glugs of wine, your attention never really strays.

John feels inadequate in his own fortress; suddenly, red and gold sicken him, and England tastes sour in his mouth.

In a few generations, John’s house will likely fall. He will make heirs that will fail him, he knows this. In a few centuries, his family will not sit in the same place, but a Riley will remain right where they are supposed to be. Banners of blue and silver will always fly. If Simon does not make sure of that, then you will.

It’s what happens when you force women like you to their knees. When they grow up invisible, always in the shadows, forgotten and sold to the next man who will pay a higher price, it’s what you learned to do. It’s all you’ve ever known, to make the best out of something terrible.

Simon is the same, in that sense. You understand him in a way his king will never be able to. Simon has nothing, and neither do you, and Simon was stepped on and berated and tortured to the point of no return. It is why blood does not scare him and why death doesn’t come knocking. Time will be the only thing capable of killing him, and everyone that stands up to him learns that when they eat his blade.

In the quiet of the evening, Simon undresses you. He sits behind you on the bed, fingers pinching the bows at your back and unraveling them. He traces your corset, thumb circling over the skull pattern of the belt around the small of your waist, and he tastes something warm in his mouth at the sight of it. You look so beautiful–more beautiful than he’s ever seen you maybe, decorated in his colors and wearing his motif and sitting so pretty.

“You wanna know something…funny?” You ask quietly. Simon finds the ties of your skirts and starts to undo them. He grunts in reply; he might sound standoffish, but you know he’s listening. “John…John made it…he makes it seem like you don’t really listen to him. He implied that…in the face of adversity, you might only listen to me.” You put your hands on the front of your corset to keep it from falling. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wot’s so funny?”

You swallow, looking down. Your hands fidget, and you take a closer look at the ring you wear, the delicate gold band he gave you not so long ago.

“I…”

“Mmm…might be right, innit?” Simon snickers after a moment. You feel him stand, and you look over your shoulder as he peels his mask off and grins down at you. He tilts his head to the side, and you smile back at him a little. “Do anythin’ for ya. Disobeying a king…” Simon cackles, tearing your corset off, tossing it onto the floor as he walks you backwards. “Ignoring one…” He shrugs, “Oll in a day, love.”

“He can hang you for it,” you whisper. “Cut off your head. Cut off mine.”

Simon lays you back on the bed, spreading you out, climbing over you. You blink up at him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

He would have seen it in a dream. It would have come to him in a reflection in a pool of blood on the battlefield. It would have come to him, the voices in his head, he would have heard them amongst screaming, or perhaps in the void that he finds his mind in when he’s between your plush thighs.

You can’t help the smile that graces your face when Simon kisses the curve where your jaw meets your neck. It is fun, you suppose. Fun to control the tides that set the courses of history. It is fun and almost unbelievable that a king bends to the will of one man’s wife just because it solidifies his name.

You wrap your hand around the twine that dangles from Simon’s neck. It twirls around your fingers, easy, solid. Simon’s eyes are dark, and they are yours, and when you smile, so does he, because this is where you are meant to be, forever and always.

“What if I want more?” You ask. Simon hums, low from within his chest, and you run your tongue over your teeth. “Did you see that in your dreams, Simon? Hmm? Do you know what I’m asking for? What it is that I really want?”

Simon smiles. A dark one, with teeth, and you know he hears it. What more means for a duke and his duchess. What more means when you have all the money you could ever want, all the land you could ever need.

What more means when you have climbed your way to the top and still desire more. More, more, more. There are not many steps left to climb. There are not many places left to take, not much more of the world that can really be yours, but Simon looks ravenous, and Simon looks hungry, and if you fuck him now, you’ll have him right where you want him.

When you tug on what hangs around his neck, Simon bends. Simon follows.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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whirlybirbs · 5 months ago

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— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development.

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun?

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago.

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide.

You see it differently.

Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest.

You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent.

You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence.

Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.

What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time?

Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown.

He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care.

He isn't a villain-in-training.

None of them are.

It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children.

So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents.

You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet.

After all, you never did go pro.

And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.

He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it.

It was the beginning of the end, then.

His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class?

Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.

It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes.

Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:

Endeavor's wing.

There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now.

Very different.

Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."

"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh, ho, no way!"

Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again.

"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"

"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."

It is you.

You look... good.

Happy.

You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time.

For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.

It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto.

"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"

Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.

Shoto is on the move.

The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.

Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero.

Shoto Todoroki.

He looks... good.

Really good.

He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.

They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.

There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.

"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever."

You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk.

Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher.

"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"

"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember.

"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"

"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.

Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing.

"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"

There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle.

You're using him as a teaching moment.

Shoto's smile is soft.

You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."

"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"

Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute.

You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all.

He hangs back.

He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto.

...It's kinda cute.

Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was.

Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds.

And he deserves to be happy.

Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.

You hang back.

Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Hey."

"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."

"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."

His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."

You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.

Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."

"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."

"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are... good."

Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose.

And the underdog in question can read a room.

This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.

"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"

You jump.

How long has he even been there?

"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"

"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."

Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.

"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"

"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."

Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."

"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."

There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions.

It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment.

"Would you like to—"

"Are you free—"

Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.

"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"

You make yourself available.

Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.

Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell.

From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.

"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?"

"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy."

"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.

"Father was the one who suggested it."

"...That old dog."

Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"

The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.

Shoto winces.

"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.

"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."

Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.

"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.

Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya.

"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."

"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"

"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"

"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."

"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?"

"She wants me to call her after—"

"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"

Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.

"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."

Shoto lets out a long breath.

Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"

"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"

It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."

Easier said than done.

You never did go pro.

Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates.

You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.

He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful.

Fuyumi's contribution.

You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.

The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back.

It feels like you've been lit on fire.

You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine.

Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables.

The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.

You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A.

You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks.

A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass.

He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy.

"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."

Graduation day was the last time you saw him.

Until this morning, that is.

You smile into your drink.

"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.

His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.

"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."

Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."

He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."

The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."

You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.

He notices.

Shoto's face feels hot.

He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school.

Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.

Now, less so.

It's adorable.

Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home.

While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it.

Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.

His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you.

His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss.

But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen.

The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you.

It's sweet.

Really sweet.

The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit.

"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.

His hand settles there.

Your stomach does a flip.

You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure.

Keep it together.

He isn't seventeen.

He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years.

...Right?

Green light.

His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment.

The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park.

It makes your chest ache.

Shoto swallows thickly.

Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.

He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.

What if you don't want to kiss him?

When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?

Why does he feel like he's going to die?

"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly.

"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."

You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."

"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"

Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."

"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"

"I'm not being weird—"

"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.

"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."

His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest.

It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?

Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now.

"You don't need to be."

Shoto's breath catches at that.

So, he makes his move.

His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment.

Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.

Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone.

He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful.

The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.

Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together.

Then, his eyes stick to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face.

You never did go pro.

But, Shoto did.

It shows.

Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—

His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory.

It's better than anything he could have ever imagined.

And then you whimper.

It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching.

You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.

He needs to slow down.

He is not having sex with you in his father's car.

That's shameless.

He needs to slow down.

He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up.

Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him.

You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.

It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that?

He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect.

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."

A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person.

"Are you serious?"

"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.

"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"

Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face.

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."

"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"

"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."

Shoto scoffs.

Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:

"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."

Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.

Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend.

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki.

#todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki imagine #mha imagine #bnha imagine #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #touya todoroki #i LOOOOVE HERO TOUYA #HE IS SOOOOOO CUNTY

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oddyseye · 1 month ago

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Can we get something straight here about Penelope and this whole “Spartan” thing?

Sure, we all know Penelope was from Sparta (well, technically), and we’ve all seen enough 300-inspired pop culture nonsense to think that every Spartan woman must be some spear-wielding, leather-clad, muscle-bound badass. So let’s clear that up once and for all: Penelope was absolutely not that type of Spartan. In fact, that vision of Spartan women is more of a modern fantasy than an actual reflection of Spartan society, and Penelope herself would probably laugh in your face if you tried to pin her down to that archetype.

First off, let’s talk about what it actually meant to be Spartan. Yes, Spartan women had a reputation for being strong, but we need to understand that strength wasn’t defined by throwing a spear or taking down enemies with a shield. Spartan women were celebrated for their physical health and were tasked with producing strong offspring to build the next generation of warriors. They were also responsible for the running of the household when their husbands were off fighting in wars, which meant managing estates, controlling property, and overseeing the everyday operations of Spartan life. So, while Spartan women were not helpless, they weren’t exactly wandering around with weapons, challenging every person who crossed them, either. Penelope’s version of Spartan strength was a little more intellectual, shall we say. For twenty years, while Odysseus was “getting lost” (as one does), Penelope faced down a horde of suitors who were camped out in her house, constantly pressuring her to choose a new husband. Did she pull out a spear and kill them all? No. That’s not what spartan women did. Did she start a war? Absolutely not. Instead, she employed the ultimate weapon: patience. She weaved and un-wove a shroud for years as a stalling tactic, keeping the suitors at bay. Sure, there’s no sword involved, but let’s be real: that takes more cunning than any weapon ever could. Spartan women are not known for fighting, but for surviving.

Penelope’s Spartan roots may have given her the ability to endure, to manage her household, and to outsmart the suitors who had overrun Ithaca, but we’re missing the point if we think that means she was out there battling it out like a heroine from some action flick. Her version of strength was mental, not physical. Instead of wielding a spear, Penelope wielded her intellect, her wit, and her ability to play the long game. If you’re expecting Penelope to start slaying suitors left and right, or charging into battle with a sword in hand, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.

Pop culture would love to turn Penelope into a spear-wielding warrior queen, but the actual historical context is far more subtle and far more impressive. She was Spartan in the most meaningful sense of the word: resilient, strategic, and damn clever. Penelope did not need muscles at all. She had the power of endurance — something a spear can’t give you.

#the odyssey #epic the musical #greek mythology #penelope #epic penelope #penelope odyssey #penelope of sparta #sparta

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gutsby · 9 months ago

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Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

#NOBODY SPEAK TO ME UNTIL I’VE HAD MY MORNING COFFEE #AND BY MORNING COFFEE I MEAN THIS MAN’S LOAD IN MY MOUTH #PREFERABLY FOLLOWED BY AN OLD FASHIONED #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you

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palms-upturned · 1 year ago

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Frustrates me to no end seeing people say “what’s your alternative to voting blue? Stage a revolution right now? This second? Get real, you’re posting on your computer instead of firebombing walmarts.” I don’t think that you understand what people are actually doing. I know for myself, I’ve been reading more history and theory than I ever have before. I’ve been marching. I’ve been getting involved with labor activism. I’ve been doing strategic research. I’ve tried to archive and share resources. I’ve watched other people do WAY more than I ever have or probably could. I’ve seen people occupy arms manufacturing sites and hold wildcat strikes and disrupt daily life as much as possible. We’ve all seen this happening at unprecedented levels for months now. And most of all, I’ve seen Palestinians telling us, rightfully full of anger, do not ever go back to how things were before. Do not turn away from what’s happening and your own complicity in it.

This is not something that we can vote our way out of. Our state is built on the same violence being inflicted on the people of Palestine. We helped to build Israel. We are still arming it and funding the “war” right now. Even the most half hearted measures from international bodies like the UN to take the bare minimum of a stance against genocide are quashed by the US. As they always have been, our power and resources are used to reinforce imperial and colonial hegemony. That remains the same no matter who is sitting in the Oval Office. And so does our own struggle for liberation. Meaningful change is never, ever going to come from within. We force the change to happen, as we always have.

If you can understand intersectionality, then surely you can understand this: we are not going to free ourselves by sacrificing colonized people. You may vote blue, and for you it could be a matter of life and death. Believe me, as a poor disabled person in a red state who almost killed myself over medical debt, I know the stakes. But I think you have to own the fact that you are empowering perpetrators of genocide and breaking solidarity with colonized people, not even to liberate yourself, but just to bargain with the oppressor for your life. That Palestinians and everyone else who we have harmed are going to be angry and they are more than within their rights. Instead of deflecting by just assuming that no one else is capable of putting their money where their mouth is and actually trying to lay groundwork for change, just do whatever you feel you have to do and sit with the reality of the situation.

Palestine will be free, we will be free, the whole world will someday be free. But for now, this is where we are, and we won’t free ourselves by operating like crabs in a bucket. Get organized, take care of each other, commit to solidarity. Empower yourself and each other rather than the state.

#meg talks #palestine #and also stop embarrassing yourself w the fire bombing walmart jokes and read some actual theory

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lingeriae · 2 months ago

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"because you're my wife."

the voice is aggressive and harsh, which isn't unexpected because of the person it comes from, but the words have you feeling warm even with the possessiveness and aggression that comes off of it, it still has you face heating up and your eyes averting from his ruby red ones that seem to see right through you.

sukuna's fist is clenched and his body is tense as he stands in front of you, unknown and unwanted emotions flowing throughout his body, his heart beating rapidly and loudly in his ears—he wonders if he's having a heart attack at the moment. his swallows as he takes in your beautiful side-profile, light hitting your sun kissed skin just right, his fingers itch with the need to grip unto you. to take you.

his throat feels tight.

your stubborn, reckless—smart but reckless. it gets on his nerves, the way you don't seem to care about anything, not even yourself. your defiant, especially against him. don't follow rules, and go by what you think is right, and no one, not even him, can get in the way of what you think is right. and it's funny, you're just a mere human, a bothersome woman. sukuna could take your life easily, he has no doubt you would put up a fight, but he could kill you.

that was the plan all along, marry a member of the zenin clan, get the information needed, then kill them.

but things had changed, a lot of things changed since he met you. you made sukuna...feel things. you were different from all the members of that shitty clan, with your hair that rose towards the sun, always looking neat with the little curly coils and always feeling soft to the touch, you didn't cease to amaze sukuna with the little way you styled it and with the way you cared it so delicately.

your fierce glare that rarely left sukuna's gaze, never backing down even when he gave you the most deadliest of looks that had anyone else cowering, those same eyes that allow him to see how vunerable you are when you let him have his way with you and show him how you truly felt at times. those plumpy soft lips, full and round, they felt like heaven against his own when they overlapped. your sweet fucking voice, always finding something to cuss him out about, always saying his name in more ways than once. shit don't let him start on your fucking body.

you made sukuna feel things, give him this warm and nice feeling inside and it makes him sick. everything would go according to plan if you didn't make sukuna fall for you—if you weren’t so you. that's why he can't kill you,

and that's why he's so fucking upset.

with your arms crossed over your chest, you unintentionally make the male infront of you glance down at your supple breast that sits temptingly against your bra, you suck your teeth in annoyance still refusing to look at him. "i was your wife before, and it wasn't a problem." before, before he fell for you. before he got infactuated with you.

his jaw tightens and he grabs your chin, forcing you to stare into his eyes. "i said what i said, you'e not doing that shit. you're gonna get fucking killed."

you drag your hand from his grip as if you were burned, returning his equally intense gaze and ignoring the way your panties seem to cling unto you. drenched with annoyingly arousal. "don't talk to me like im a fucking child, ryomen."

sukuna’s head tilted in brief wonder and amusement, astonished that you would spit his last name out with such venom, knowing he could kill you in a second. knowing that not only was it his name but yours.

he lets out a bitter chuckle, "stop fucking acting like it."

it's a silent battle between you and him after that. both of you silently daring the other to look away as you continued to glare at each other—a silent battle between husband and wife. a war between two faith-fucked lovers.

sukuna huffs out a breath, shaking his head wildly before cradling your delicate and god-like face in his palm—akin to some form of desperation.

“what is it going to take? to prevent you from doing this to-to stop you from going on this fucking suicide mission?!” his voice almost cracks.

sukuna ryomen’s voice almost cracks.

your hand is so little in contrast to his. it has committed less cruelty and faced less harsh treatment compared to his, yet you place your hands over his and caress them with such gentleness. such tenderness and love.

and sukuna’s heart cracks at the words that left your lips, inhaling sharply as if he had been stabbed in the chest.

“there’s nothing you can do, you can’t stop me from doing this. nothing you do or say will change my mind and that’s final.”

the king of curses forgets how to breathe.

#x black reader #x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x black reader #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujustsu kaisen #black reader #writtenbyjae

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ratatattouille · 1 month ago

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My problem with Mel’s arc is that it focuses on defeating Ambessa (in combat) rather than politics. Ambessa was not who Mel needed to physically defeat, but someone she needed to ideologically defeat. And we don’t see any of that. By the time Ambessa calls Mel “the wolf” it’s hollow, because it’s about Mel being a more powerful combatant than a wise ruler. In this moment, her “foxness” is about how she figured out the “deception” of the Black Rose and not how she outmaneuvered her mother politically. Perhaps it would be epic if we knew what the fuck she meant by “I see your face deceiver!” and then super sayan-ing out of nowhere. Her not having mercy on her mother is about being a Medarda, a question that wasn’t the focus of season 1, merely a catalyst. Becoming a Medarda was the goal Mel had, not the need. She needed to learn how to rule. Instead, she learns how to kill. And then she’s off to her home in Noxus as more of a soldier and spy than a queen.

Which likely means two things:

-S2 got bored of Mel and just gave her cool reflective powers to make up for it. Making every interesting development about her character happen off-screen, in the writers room, or on another show.

-S2 was deliberately trying to communicate that it sided with Ambessa. That violence and combat, war, is not merely a failure of state craft, but necessary or inevitable to political growth. That militarism is the only thing that can answer militarism. That the only way to ensure the progress you make is secure is arming yourself. Even though this topic has some grey areas, Arcane explicitly picks a side by narratively using Ambessa to justify Piltover’s weaponization of hextech.

i know fandom has a lot to say about Mel being a “strong-black woman” character, but as a black woman myself, I hated how they stripped her of what made her such a strong, enigmatic presence in S1. Her prowess, her wit and cleverness. Her sheer intellectual power made her so FORMIDABLE.

She’s just a lost, hurt uwu little puppy for most of S2 before she’s given her US government assigned Avengers superhero uniform.

I miss when Mel hated her mother and knew she couldn’t plead with her like an adult. Mel in Act I was already using Lest to spy and we almost got a good story then—POOF!—Black Rose.

If I was to give my entire review for Arcane in one sentence it would be this: What was the point?

#arcane #arcane critical #arcane season 2 #Mel medarda #mel arcane #arcane s2 #arcane meta #Ambessa medarda #black rose #ambessa arcane

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hornedmonsters · 7 months ago

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"A'thaen" Yautja Oc x Reader - Mate - nsfw

Warnings: nsfw, size difference, dead animals, yautja seeks a partner, exophilia, teratophilia, monster x human, alien sex, slow burn, sex in water, sex outdoors, blood play, breeding - English is not my native language!

Synopsis: You used to live in a small house near a forest. But one day you sensed something, someone was watching you and brought you gifts. A strange creature that could kill you with sheer force and he was looking for a mate for life.

Words: 8k

German Version

You never worried about whether it was safe to live alone in an old house near the forest. The nearest big town was a good half hour away from you and it was rare for people to pass by. The letter carrier, maybe, but very rarely. Not even tourists or hikers were to be seen here. The nature around you was rough and a bear liked to sneak around the river near you. It was dangerous, especially in the salmon season, but you respected nature and its fauna and stuck to the rules:

Stay on the path.

Stay out of the way of mother animals.

Never get between predator and prey.

Make noises so that you are not suddenly confronted without warning.

And most importantly. Never travel in the dark without weapons. You had a weapon but never used it, you wanted to avoid it because you didn't see weapons as a positive thing. They only caused death and destruction and people had become dangerous beings through war and hatred. One of the reasons you lived out here.

You stared out of the window. Dark clouds were moving across the sky, it was definitely going to rain soon and somehow you were looking forward to it. You loved rain, it calmed you down and you always took one of your many books and made yourself comfortable on your sofa. Enjoying the peace and quiet, listening to the patter of the rain while the wind whistled outside and the trees gave way awkwardly under the force of the wind and the rain.

You flinched when you suddenly heard wolves howling in the distance. Puzzled, you looked up. Normally wolves had little desire to be active in this weather, at least that's what you thought, but you could hear how restless the otherwise brave predators were. You sat so still on your sofa, as if a murderer was going to jump in at any moment and you were trying not to attract attention because of the silence.

It was only seconds before an agonizing, screaming squeak made you tremble. It sounded like a wolf, but its wail was so high-pitched that it almost sounded like a child in agonizing pain. You swallowed. Your heart pounded and fear rose up inside you. What was out there?

The next scream made you flinch even more, but it didn't stop at two. A pack consisted of five to fourteen members. Alpha animals, kittens, puppies. Everything was there, sometimes even the grandparents were still there if they had a good chance of living. You knew the pack. You affectionately called them the River pack, because the wolves always stayed close to the river and had their territory there. The river was about five hundred meters from your home and you could clearly hear one wolf after another going silent. It made your blood run cold.

Something strange was going on out there. What kind of predator would kill an entire pack of at least seven animals just like that? There were seven of the Riverwolves at your last count. It was a comfortable pack size and you enjoyed watching them with your binoculars. A bear perhaps? But did bears ever attack a whole pack of wolves?

Out of paranoia you checked the door again, fine, it was locked. There was another door, it led into a small stable of sorts. But there was nothing in it, you had emptied it out and used it as a kind of lair as you had no animals. You no longer felt like reading, so you got ready for bed and went to sleep. Even though your pulse was still beating strongly against your skin.

It took a while for you to fall asleep, but when sleep pulled you in, it was deep and firm. You woke up refreshed and got out of bed. Your breakfast consisted only of an apple, as you were rarely hungry after getting up. You packed your bag and went out the door. You wanted to go for a walk, even though you were still feeling the effects of last night. But it always smelled so good after it had rained. Especially in the forest.

You hummed to yourself and went on your daily walk. You knew this route inside out, since you've lived here, you've always walked it as best you could. It led you past berry bushes where you had tasted some of the sweet fruits and every now and then you could spot a deer.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice how you were being watched. But how could you? The creature was invisible and hiding in one of the trees, staring at you like a vulture that had found new carrion. The creature followed you for a few meters and watched your every move. Almost curiously.

Your legs carried you unintentionally to the river, you wanted to see the area. Maybe you could find out what had killed the wolves, but it was as if nothing had ever happened. No blood, no cadavar, nothing! Someone had done a thorough job and you were beginning to fear that it might be poachers who were up to mischief here. You didn't see the danger coming, but He did.

A crack in the bush sent shivers down your spine and you turned cautiously. A large grizzly stepped out of the undergrowth. Its heavy panting made you gulp and you walked slowly backwards until you could feel the gravel under your shoes. Behind you was the riverbed and you considered jumping in, but at the same time you were worried that it might trigger the bear in front of you. Today was definitely not your day.

“Take it easy,” you whispered and tried to breathe calmly. But the bear in front of you stomped up, a growl came from its throat and then the male animal reared up in front of you in all its glory. Your eyes grew wide and your instincts kicked in, you ran. The bear's roar still in your ears, he was so close and tears welled up in your eyes. What had you done to deserve this now? What had you done wrong?

You really thought you were going to die, the thought of bears eating their prey alive and not bothering to kill them beforehand made your stomach churn. Your lungs burned and a root became your doom. You hadn't seen it and painfully you tripped over it and fell into the shallow water. You groaned as the stones tore open your knees and the bear's heavy gallops came closer. You were about to scramble to your feet just as the beast's huge jaws shot towards you. But things turned out differently than you had expected.

The grizzly was pushed aside with full force, but you couldn't see anyone. Even the bear seemed confused, but it sensed something. Now it was even angrier and another roar came from its mouth. He ran towards a place where there was no one, but it seemed different. The bear actually grabbed someone, but your eyes couldn't see him. For the time being. But then outlines flashed, they were hard to make out, they glowed, then they showed some skin. Dark skin, lizard-like. Confused and disturbed, you drew your brows together and watched the spectacle.

The bear didn't stand a chance, even though he put up a brave fight. He took blow after blow, but then he bit down when his half-invisible opponent briefly lost focus. Green liquid flowed out of the bear's mouth and it turned back in your direction. But before anything could happen to you, the bear howled. Its throat was severed with a smooth cut.

A strangled cry escaped your throat as the invisible creature lifted the lifeless body, which weighed a good three hundred kilos. Then it revealed itself. Its skin became clearer and you gulped as you looked at the large alien-like creature before you. Drenched in the blood of its victim. Under the red you could see obsidian skin, he was wearing a mask and you forgot to breathe. Would he kill you now too? Had he saved you?

“Thank you,” you breathed, not noticing the tears running down your cheeks as the adrenaline slowly wore off and you were safe for now. The alien tilted its head slightly and a clicking sound came from its mouth. You felt uncomfortable under his probing gaze. Then he threw the bear over his shoulder and left. You quickly got up and watched him go. He simply disappeared into the forest and left you alone. You held your hand to your chest and a weeping sigh escaped from your dry throat. You ran home as fast as you could. You had definitely had enough of today.

You avoided the forest for the next few days, you had little desire to get into a situation like that again, besides there was this creature you didn't know what it was. You tried to put things behind you, it hadn't returned and the bad weather outside made you sit in your cozy home and read your books again. You drank tea and tried not to think about that day anymore.

If he/she had wanted to kill you, he/she would have done it long ago. You sighed and put some more wood in your fireplace. Despite the heat, you were shivering and not even the raindrops on your window could calm down. Just when you thought you were at peace, there was a bang outside. Someone had knocked over your garbage cans, or something. You took a deep breath and stood up. Your feet carried you towards the door, your mind racing, wondering if you were doing the right thing and if you were about to die.

Your fingertips touched the knob and you cautiously opened the back door. You couldn't react at all when a heavy weight slammed against the wood and you landed on the floor with a yelp. A dull thud beside you. Your eyes widened after you rubbed your bottom painfully. There it was! Next to you, its dark skin covered in a green. Liquid that had to be his blood.

As if struck by lightning, you got up and examined the creature in front of you. It still had its helmet on, but a large notch adorned the metal. That wasn't there last time. A clicking sound drew you out of your spell. Your eyes scrutinized him critically. His breathing was heavy and he seemed to be injured. Should you really be helping him? But he had helped you too. You sigh.

You slowly walked towards him. A growl came from his throat and you flinched, raising your hands.

I don't want to hurt you, you whispered, and his helmet turned more in your direction. He was watching you intently, you felt it and it made you nervous.

“Let me help you,” you spoke slowly, hoping he understood. Another click, he seemed to be thinking. But then came a nod and carefully you moved closer to him.

“You have to take it off,” you whispered, looking at his helmet. The creature hesitated and only now did you see how tall it actually was. It had to be well over two meters. No wonder he could slay a bear with his bare claws.

He didn't even try to struggle to his feet as he almost grabbed the helmet. You heard a few clicks as if something was opening on the helmet and slowly it let go. You held your breath as you slowly saw what was hiding under the mask.

A large head, four fangs that could fold out, it reminded you of a spider and you shivered, silver eyes staring at you. It seemed almost amused when the creature noticed you staring at it, it had probably already expected such a reaction. But you remain calm.

You quickly fetch your first aid kit and get out the essentials. A bowl of warm water, thread and needle, everything was ready. You carefully started to wipe the blood off his smooth scales. You couldn't describe how it felt. He was neither cold nor warm, his obsidian black skin was dull and spikes grew out in places. He had long dreadlocks with blood red beads woven into them and his small silver eyes watched you intently. His muscles were firm and sinewy, it almost felt like he had metal plates underneath, but it was just his pure strength and he looked really strong. Big and powerful. You gulped.

His looks made you uneasy and you didn't know exactly what it was. Countless faded scars adorned his body, he must have fought a lot in his life. But one scar caught your eye the most. It was a large, elongated scar on his chest, it hadn't been a clean cut, it looked more like someone had tried to rip something out of his chest. You couldn't just survive something like that.

“Scared?” the creature suddenly croaked and you stiffened. It could talk?! You tried to stay cool and took a quick breath.

“No,” you said firmly and stared into his eyes, not wanting to appear weak. The next wound was on his chest and you gently stroked the rough flesh. He purred, but it didn't sound painful, more soothing… like he was… enjoying it. You tried to concentrate, but his mere presence made you fuzzy and the feel of his muscles under his skin made you weak. You gritted your teeth. Stop it, (y/n)! He's an alien, dammit!

“You like… what you… See?” he asked brokenly and you ignored the glow in your cheeks. He was toying with you, you saw the amusement in his eyes. His ego was bigger than he was and really, you should have kicked him out.

You didn't answer him, but started stitching up his wounds. His eyes were half closed and he was watching you with a predatory look. Under your hands you could feel how tense he was. He was still in flight mode and ready to kill at any moment.

“Why are you hurt?” you asked now and he clicked again.

“Fight,” he breathed deeply.

“What were you fighting? You defeated the bear with ease and there's nothing bigger out there,” he had remained silent and just continued to stare at you. You tensed up and now your eyes found his.

“There isn't anything bigger out there, is there?” you almost panicked. He snorted in exhaustion, but there was ambition in his eyes.

“Yes…, but…dead,” he growled, making a few more chirping sounds, ”I… have…killed.” That was the last thing he said before his eyes closed and he was gone. His body was apparently close to the limit and he must have really put a lot of strength into the fight. You looked at his wounds again, in peace. Now that he was asleep. He was really lucky they didn't go any deeper. He must really be an experienced fighter, what creature would mess with him?

You shook your head and washed your hands. Then you grabbed a pillow and a blanket and put his head on the pillow, then you put the blanket over him, even though he was way too big for it. But it was better than nothing.

What did you get yourself into?

The big robber slept until the next day. You got up, but he was no longer lying on the floor where he had last fallen asleep. Somehow you weren't surprised that he had left. He had no reason to stay. But at least he had tidied up the blanket and pillow. You sighed and put the first aid kit back in its place, but a rumble made you sit up. It came from outside your front door.

Astonished but curious, you opened the door only to see, with a stifled scream, a large grizzly skull lying on your porch. There was no flesh left on the bone and it had been thoroughly cleaned. You had a feeling that it was the grizzly that had attacked you a few days ago.

Hesitantly you picked up the skull, you had a slight idea who it could be from. But why did he give you a skull? You placed the skull on the ledge of your fireplace and looked at it. It made you tremble as you remembered how those teeth wanted to dig into your flesh.

It didn't stop with the skull. Every day… really every day, there was something on your doorstep. Skulls, whole animals that you could skin and jewelry made of bones and beautiful stones. You now had a whole ration of game meat and you barely had any room left in the freezer. You displayed the skulls on your fireplace. Wolves, foxes, birds, it was all there. There was even a cougar skull by the door, but there was one thing you liked best from the unusual gifts.

It was a necklace made of predator teeth with a beautiful red gemstone in the middle. You wondered where he had found it. There must have been gemstones out there somewhere, but it must have taken a lot of effort to find one. But you asked yourself one question every single day. Why? Why did this giant give you gifts and bring you food? He had no reason to, or was it his way of saying 'thank you' because you had helped him?

Then you investigated, you grabbed your laptop and went looking. As silly as it sounded, you typed in 'what animals give each other gifts' and read through a post. There are indeed animal species that give each other gifts to impress the female: birds, fish and even insects did it. Apart from that, chimpanzees did something similar. For meat and fruit, the females slept with the males and you swallowed. Was he trying to impress himself? As if that at the river when he lifted the bear wasn't impressive enough.

Shaking your head, you closed your laptop. You didn't believe this alien wanted anything from you, if only because you were human. It was almost ridiculous. You laughed, apart from the fact that he was an alien? A big, strange creature that could kill you with ease.

There was something else on the floor of your porch that day that gave you pause. It was… Flowers. The most beautiful you'd ever seen. You sat by the river and looked intently at the small bouquet of wildflowers. No one had ever given you a gift like this before and you didn't want to admit it, but it made you happy somehow and sent a pleasant tingle through your body.

“You… find beautiful?” the deep, robotic voice made you freeze and you gulped. He was here, only maybe a meter away from your weak form sitting on the floor. Slowly, you turned your head and there he stood. As if he hadn't been almost dead in your house recently.

“j..yeah…they're really pretty,” you said almost shyly and a slight smile crept onto your lips. He nodded and continued to look at you through the small eyes in his mask.

“Thank you,” he clicked, apparently he had acknowledged it with that. You thought about asking him why he gave you the gifts, your heart pounded and you hesitated.

“Why are you giving me so many presents?” You nervously played with the stems of the flowers and waited for the answer. Inwardly, you hoped that he would simply say that he did it because you helped him. But it didn't turn out as you expected.

“Gifts… for… partners,” he grunts and your eyes widen. You felt like you were about to faint, your heart was beating against your chest and it almost hurt. At the same time, your cheeks burned and you blushed. He saw you as a suitable partner?

“Courting… you,” came out of his mouth next.

“I don't think I'm a suitable partner for you. I'm a human and you're an-” you thought about what you could say because you felt ‘alien’ would be rude.

“Yautja,” he finished your sentence and you raised your eyebrows.

“Your kind call themselves Yautja?” he nodded.

“What are you doing here? Are you just here to find a mate?” you followed up and he shook his head. Then he pointed at himself with a claw.

“Going hunting… Xenomorph. But I sensed… suitable partner is… here,” he tried to explain. You could hear how hard it was for him to speak in your language, considering his speech consisted only of clicking noises and growls.

“I see,” you laughed, ‘I don't even know your name,’ his head cocked to the side, watching your lips curl. The sound coming from your mouth was foreign to him, but he thought it sounded pleasant. No Yautja female made such beautiful sounds. His instincts had not been wrong.

“A'thaen,” he growled, ”my name…, A'thaen.”

“That's a really… nice name. My name is (Y/n),” you introduced yourself and then the Yautja went down on his knees. He was still huge in front of you, but now you could look at him a little better without having to contort your neck completely.

“My instincts… led me… here. To you,” then he moved his claws and took off his mask. You were surprised by this, because he seemed to take this mask for hunting and it seemed really important to him.

“Become… my… Partner. I am… good, experienced hunter. Can… protect and… Provide,” he almost cooed and it made you blush how he was trying to woo you. But you weren't sure, you couldn't speak his language, nor did you know anything about his culture.

“I'm not sure. I don't know you at all and a few days ago I thought you were going to kill me,” you swallowed and you expected A'thaen to get angry, but he nodded again.

“Ki'sei,” he said and you didn't understand what he had said. But you were amazed that he seemed to have a language with words after all, not just clicking sounds. He saw the look on your face and was amused. “I… I see,” he rumbled, and then you understood.

“Give me time,” you spoke, now standing up, ”let me… get to know you. get to know you,” your nervousness grew. What would you get yourself into here? You didn't know him and could you even love him? He was an alien, yes. But the fact that he had saved you and made the effort to give you gifts made you see him in a different light. Even his appearance didn't really bother you much, why should it. He wasn't ugly or scary just because you didn't know what he looked like. On his planet, he was perhaps one of the prettiest.

His bright eyes scrutinized you. Only now did you notice that his eyes weren't completely silver. They were green-gold on the inside and you had to admit to yourself that you found them pretty. You woke up from your stupor when his large, long-clawed claw took one of your strands of hair. Not daring to move, your eyes met his.

“Sei'i,” he nodded at you, then let go of your strand and stood up.

“Take all the time… You need. No…hurry,” he growled and you felt relieved. So now you had the chance to meet him, a large alien who was over two meters tall and could kill a bear with ease.

A'thaen even accompanied you home. You had offered him the chance to sleep in the house so that he wouldn't have to sleep outside in the bad weather. He gratefully accepted. The bad weather actually didn't bother him much, he still had his smaller spaceship to sleep in. But he was reluctant to refuse to let him into your house. He didn't know why his instincts had chosen you, you are small, weak and human. But this awakened his protective instinct and he felt a great need to look after you.

He felt his body reacting to you, to your scent. Especially when you were scared. He couldn't deny that it excited him the way you were scared, it was just in his nature. He was an elite hunter. One of the best of his tribe, if not the best. He has killed many xenomorphs, many different types of large predators. On Earth and also on many other planets. Even humans have not been spared. Once he started he couldn't stop, he was in a bloodlust and that made him a feared hunter; his experience, his strength and his temperament made him the deadliest Yautja of his tribe.

His heart was cold and he did not let emotions get to him, something the younglings learned very early on. Especially when they were being trained as hunters, but then you came along. A little human who most likely couldn't even give birth to successors and clouded his mind. Your weak body aroused him and awakened his instincts, but he had to restrain himself. You were no Yautja female who could be fucked easily. You were fragile and probably wouldn't even be able to take all of him.

He wanted you gentle, he wanted you to come to him willingly and ask him to make you his and breed you. But deep down, he really wanted to be gentle. He was known to be a killer, a monster. But he would not harm his future female, he would look after you and kill anyone who could harm you. He wanted to be an equal lover. In fact, he didn't think much of the mating behavior that many Yautja had. Many females of his species mated with several males. It was neither about love nor about the shared feeling of being one. They simply wanted to reproduce, to satisfy their urges. But it annoyed him, he longed for something different, something gentle and long. For you. He only wanted you.

You thought about where he could sleep best. He was so big. Too big for the bed, too big for the couch. Your brain was working, then you thought of something. Since you were a frostbite, you still had some blankets in the wardrobe, which you fetched as quickly as possible. With great effort, you built him a bed right in front of the fireplace. Two mattresses and five blankets should be enough. A'thaen watched you with amusement and attention at the same time. No one had ever made a bed for him before and he admired how much effort you had put into it. His gaze fell on the fireplace and pride grew in his chest when he saw the gifts he had given you. You had kept all the skulls and the necklace was there too and he purred. He really liked it.

“How are your wounds,” your voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned to you. His head tilted slightly.

“Better… Wounds heal… Faster…, with Yautjas,” he explained and you nodded. His mandibles twitched and he could sense that you were nervous. He wondered why.

“May I see them?” you asked and A'thaen nodded, then began to undress. You blushed and the hunter in front of you could smell it, he could even hear your heartbeat and it made his ego grow. He liked the way you reacted, the way your body responded.

He took off his armor. Shoulder plates, arm guards, breastplate, knee armor and his stocking nets he took off, he also put down the plates on his loincloth. His wounds had healed completely, only pale patches were still visible and you were amazed. And now you could see him in his full glory.

His skin was matt black, only the skin on his chest, inner arms, thighs and palms was a few shades lighter. On his back you could see wild patterns and his skull plate was decorated with an ornament-like pattern. He had thick thighs and his upper arms also showed the pure strength that was in him. He had a thick mane of dreadlocks and you admired the beautiful blood-red beads that caught your eye the first time you saw him. They suited him. But what fascinated you the most were his eyes. You had never seen eyes like his before. They were like liquid silver and in the middle was this green-gold color that made him truly unique.

“Do you… still like what… you see?” he asked, croaking, his mandibles twitching. You shook your head in amusement.

“You have a really big ego, A'thaen,” and you had to chuckle. His mandibles twitched again as he heard the strange sound from you again. Hoomans called it 'laughter' or 'giggling'. Yautjas didn't have that, but he really liked hearing it from you.

Then he grabbed the tense bicep he'd lifted earlier with his one claw and pressed against the hard flesh.

“That… is big,” he growled and you rolled your eyes. What a show-off. But you couldn't ignore the way his taut biceps had an effect on you. His eyes flashed with pleasure as he could smell your scent changing again. You didn't want to admit that you liked him, but your body couldn't deny it.

“Do you like what you see?” you asked him now and he nodded immediately.

“Sei'i!”

You blushed, he hadn't even hesitated, you had. You had not yet admitted that you liked him, that he somehow managed to impress you, that his muscles were not foreign to you and his strength impressed you.

“A'ket'anu,” A'thaen chirped and you could have sworn his gaze turned affectionate. But alas, you didn't understand what he said.

“I think you need to teach me your language,” you grin sheepishly and with a chirp he agreed with you.

“Fine,” he growls, ”A'ket'anu… means… beautiful. Just like… You,” now you could swear your face was as red as a tomato. How could someone who looked so terrifying say such things?

“Will… teach you… Teach you,” he nodded. And he did. The next day, he had tried to teach you the basic words so that you could understand him better. It was difficult for you to emphasize the accents correctly, but the Yautja had a lot of patience. You spent a good two weeks learning.

“Not… bad,” he grunts, nodding at you appreciatively. You felt the pride in your chest and smiled.

“Why can you speak my language?” you asked curiously, setting down a cup of tea for the Yautja, who eyed it curiously.

“Been… often…on Planet. Earth. Have… quickly… learned,” he explained, tasting the flavored hot water. It was strange, but not bad.

“How old are you?” you asked next, wondering how old Yautjas could get.

“Three hundred years,” A'thaen replied and your mouth dropped open. Three hundred… Years? He didn't look old, if you could interpret it. He was strong, agile and well-built and apparently three hundred years was like young adulthood in Yautjas.

“That's really… old?” it sounded more like a question than a statement and A'thaen almost seemed offended, shaking her head.

“Three hundred very young… about the age… of a human… Between… twenty-three and twenty-seven. Approximately,” he explained and you nodded, not wanting to offend him, but three hundred years is a lot. He had told you more. About Yautja Prime, his life and the Xenomorph. You had to swallow, because they were the other big predators here on the planet and there had been some near you. It made you feel quite different to think that the strange and deadly creatures might have seen you a long time ago and it wouldn't have been long before they would have struck.

A'thaen noticed your discomfort and placed a heavy claw on your shoulder comfortingly, even though he didn't say anything. You could feel that he wanted to reassure you and you looked at him gratefully. But then he did something that made you tense every muscle. His claw began to stroke your collarbone. It was so big that it covered part of your breasts and it was an intoxicating sight. He was so big. You had never seen anything bigger.

Carefully he slid further and let his hand rest on your hips. He had rough hands, but it was pleasant the way he touched you and you had the dull feeling that on his home planet things weren't always really gentle when it came to such things. But it was the same here.

His thumb claw gently stroked the fat of your belly and he admired it, you were so soft. Your skin was smooth and not leathery and he began to purr. He could break through your skin so easily, a little more force and he would see a drop of blood ooze from the stitch. But he didn't, of course. His other hand grabbed your leg and he stood between your legs. You were imprisoned by the power he was using for good, now kneading the flesh of your thigh. You sighed blissfully and realized how much it fascinated him too. Logically, you were so different from him.

He continued kneading and again you sighed contentedly, he clicked. A'thaen absorbed every bit of information his touch triggered in him and your pleasurable sounds made him hard. He could feel his blood flowing into his cock and he was getting hard, but it wasn't the right time yet. He wanted you to trust him completely and want it too. Now he took his claw and traced from your navel up to your breasts, you whimpered at the touch and the way he lifted your breasts as his hand ran against them.

You weren't wearing a bra and the Predator's eyes could see your bursting nipples. They were already pebbly and a growl escaped his throat as he could now detect your scent. The tip of his thumb slid over your standing nipple and you closed your eyes, your brows crinkling. You had been trying to concentrate, to not let yourself get foggy. He hadn't even been here long and already you were letting an alien touch you and make you wet.

A'thaen became bolder and took your right breast completely in his large claw. The rough skin of his hand pads made you shiver and you felt so very sensitive. Of course, you were already familiar with sex, even though you had almost no male visitors out here. But you knew how to help yourself and now this was this huge alien who thought he could make you so wet with a single touch.

“A'thaen,” you sighed and your eyes looked at him pleadingly from under your lashes, but he didn't continue. His silver-green eyes just stared at you. You could hear him suck in the air and you could feel him tense up, but then he let go of you. Just like that, you looked at him, confused.

He couldn't make you his yet. A'thaen knew his tail would be far too big for you, at least at first, and it would take good preparation, even if you wanted something else. He needed to distract himself before he did something wrong, he didn't want to hurt you or do anything rash, so he went out of your house, hunting. You were still lying on the kitchen counter where you had sat before your little game, half confused and agitated.

With dizzy legs, you got up and looked after the Yautja as he quickly disappeared into the forest. Damn, he couldn't just abandon you like that, yet you were understanding and let him go.

A'thaen growled and the next moment he slammed his claws into a tree and ripped them out again. The wood splintered and left huge gouges. He had to distract himself, but the soft skin of you had burned into him and was driving him mad. He had been so close to making you his, breeding you and making you beg for more. He could have taken what he wanted with ease, but he didn't want you like that. Somehow he did want it, but he also wanted you to want him, because you also… loved him.

That word was so foreign, but also so close. Love… . Yautjas usually didn't know love, at least it was rare and they certainly didn't have love for another species. There were always exceptions and he had heard of some of his kind taking human females as mates.

But you were the one and he was about to go too far, but he could smell you wanting him and he could feel his cock getting hard again at the thought. He had checked out the surroundings through his mask. He would go hunting.

You were a little surprised when you saw the buck lying on your porch. At the same time, you were pleased. He was still here. A'thaen had not shown his face for seven days now and you had missed him, yet he had continued to give you gifts and you were very grateful for that.

On the eighth day, you used the time to cook. You cooked a stew from the venison and you could smell it all the way outside. You were so distracted that you didn't notice an invisible figure sneaking up behind you and placing large claws on your hips. You cried out and quickly turned around with a knife in your hand. But the blade was gripped by a claw and you widened your eyes.

“A'thaen!!! What the hell is this?” you sneered at him and he glared at you in amusement. Then you noticed the blade in his claw and green blood dripped along the metal. Your eyes immediately went wide in shock.

“Oh no! I'm so sorry… I-” he interrupted you.

“It's all right… I've… Worse,” he put the knife down and his eyes stared at the cut in his hand and the small hands of you holding it. So small and fragile. He didn't notice the cheeky gleam in his eyes as you thought of something.

“I know a good spot in the forest where you could go hunting,” you breathed and now his eyes were on your face, patterning you.

“About two kilometers from here, by a river. There are hot springs there too,” you almost whispered the last part, but he heard it anyway. You wanted your revenge and you were going to get it. You couldn't get his touch out of your mind and it had scared you how much you had reacted to him. But you didn't realize it was because of his pheromones, which were part of what made you want him. This effect was particularly noticeable with potential partners. It happened all by itself.

"I don't know this… place," he admitted and seemed to be pondering. Normally he chose his hunting spots himself, but he became curious. He was always up for new hunting grounds. He swung his head in your direction when he felt your hand on his forearm.

"You haven't seen each other for a long time. I-I missed you," you confessed to him and A'thaen's eyes widened briefly. You had missed him? Even though he had just left you standing there. His heart sank at that statement. He cooed and his large hand gently stroked your cheek.

"I missed… you too," he purred and a slight smile graced your face. You could feel your heart stopping and maybe you just had to admit to yourself that you found this alien attractive. You didn't feel weird about it, you found it exciting and you had nothing to lose.

"Would you like something to eat?" you asked him in his language and he seemed surprised. Had you continued to study diligently? Brave Hooman. He only now felt the hole in his stomach and nodded slightly. You gave him some of your stew and he gulped it down greedily without leaving a drop. You laughed. What a greedy mouth, but you couldn't help but notice the sauce running down his chin and you licked your lips. He noticed your look but said nothing. He just stored it away.

A'thaen walked through the forest, he wanted to go to the place you had suggested. He wanted to visit you this morning, but you weren't there. Since you were an independent being, he hadn't thought about it at first. Maybe you were getting things for Hooman. He paused when he noticed a scent, his mask scanned the area, but he found nothing at first. His mandibles clicked in surprise and he continued on.

But then he noticed something. As if from nowhere, a deer jumped out of a bush, with a quick movement he grabbed it easily before it could jump away. The animal's squealing made his instinct scream and with a skilled grip he ripped out the animal's vertebrae. The carcass hung limply in his claws, but he wasn't finished yet. He carefully cut open the chest and removed the heart, took off his mask and the hunger for blood permeated his veins as he bit into the bloody muscle and devoured it.

He noticed how he was slowly losing control and wanted more. With quick steps he pushed through the undergrowth, further and further and there he was again. That smell…, your smell. An electric shock shot through his body and he became suspicious, what were you doing out here in the forest? Had something happened to you?

When he pushed some of the bushes out of the way, he froze. There were some hot springs in front of him, there were several natural pools of different sizes and you were sitting in one of them, with your eyes closed.

"You were here pretty quickly," you grinned and opened your eyes. The sight of him was simply divine. The poor Yautja really had no idea what this was all about. Then a light went on in his head.

"You lured me here," he said in Yautja language and you grinned cheekily at him.

"Yes. As punishment for leaving me behind that one day, you have to watch me bathe now," you laughed and got up from the water. A'thaen's eyes became greedy when he saw your wet, smooth body. He could feel his tail twitching at you and a growl coming from his throat.

"Don't you dare tease me, Hooman," he growled and started to get dangerously close to you. He was really close to not being able to control himself anymore. You accepted the challenge and started to knead your breasts, which immediately made him growl loudly. You sighed and pinched one of your nipples between your fingers.

"I didn't think it was very nice that you touched me like that and then just left," you said, panting and feeling yourself getting wet. A'thaen was now dangerously close to you, he started to take off his armor and his loincloth was thrown to the side as well. Your eyes widened when you could see his thick length. But the sight of it emerging from his sheath, swollen and hard, also excited you.

Suddenly you were grabbed, a wave hit your thighs and stomach and you gasped as the Yautja pulled you towards him. His look was murderous and greedy.

"I wanted to mate with you when you were ready. If you loved me. Yautja almost always take what they want, but I didn't want to force you to be mine," he growled and you had to make an effort to understand him. But you did and now you understood what his problem was. He wanted your consent and it made your heart swell.

"Do you love me?" you asked him and his grip tightened so much that it almost hurt.

"Yes! I love you, ever since the first day I sat in my ship and felt you. When I felt that you were my partner and you don't know how much I hold back from taking you right here and filling you with all my seed that has been building up inside me for so long," his honest words impressed and excited you at the same time and your mouth was open. His silver eyes burned into yours and you were so ready to let him join you.

Your hand ran along his jaw and his eyelids drooped. He purred at your touch and his cock pressed against your stomach. Your hands continued to explore him, running over his toned chest, over his chiseled abs and to his powerful hips. You imagined how they would feel between your legs and you subconsciously bit your lip.

A'thaen had no patience left, he grabbed your hips and fell backwards. You clung to his shoulders and squealed as the water swayed against you. You were now sitting on his lap, in the middle of the hot springs and you weren't even sure if it was your own heat or the steaming springs.

"You… start," the Yautja growls, looking at you lovingly and lustfully at the same time.

"Don't want to… hurt you," he moans as you take his swollen cock in your hand. It was really thick and big, which didn't surprise you, but it also put you off a bit. Could you even take it?

You carefully placed yourself over him, you could feel how swollen you were and how much you wanted him now, so you gently lowered yourself onto him. A growl came from his chest as he could feel his glans slowly entering you and stretching you. Your mouth was open, it felt good, despite the fact that it burned slightly.

You moaned as you sank deeper, your head slightly back and your eyes closed. A'thaen could see the strong pulse in your neck and it drove him wild. How he wished he could be on top to take care of you and give you your satisfaction, but you knew you had to get used to his size first so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

He was almost completely inside you and you had never been as full as you were today. You didn't regret an inch of him being inside you. You could feel him slowly approaching your cervix and it made you pause for a moment, but suddenly he rocked his hips up and you moaned as a strange but familiar feeling ran through your body.

You hadn't had sex in a long time and having something like this now overstimulated your senses to the limit. You moved your hips forward and the delicious feeling gave you goosebumps. Your fingers dug into his forearms while he still held you tightly by the hips and you took full advantage of the fact that you were in charge.

Even though you could feel him bucking beneath you and throwing his head back. The water had long since mixed with the blood of his victims and you didn't care that it stuck to your palms, it just gave you a forbidden and disgusting kick.

"A'thaen," you gasped lustfully and moved faster. He growled and forced you to move even faster. Your mouth fell open again, it was so much, he was so much. His mandibles were wide open and came dangerously close to your face, but it didn't matter. You knew he wouldn't hurt you and you were too caught up in your intoxication.

You gasped and a scream escaped your lungs as his fangs dug into your shoulder and left his mark on you.

Your clitoris rubbed against his lower abdomen, making you even wetter. You rubbed yourself against him like an animal and felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm. You forgot the world around you as everything contracted and you didn't care much as your fingernails dug into his scaly skin and you moaned loudly as your orgasm flooded you with happiness hormones. A'thaen did the same. His claws pecked you as he came inside you, growling and snorting deeply.

You clung to his neck and tried to calm your rapid heartbeat. A'thaen's heartbeat was also uncontrollable and it was still twitching inside you. Sweat ran down your face and you just realized what you, you, had done. You were now tied to him. The four red dots on your shoulder made it pretty clear.

Gently but firmly, A'thaen grabbed your neck and forced you to look at him.

"You belong to me now," he growled and you just nodded and moaned as you felt his cock getting hard again inside you. He would now show you every day who you belonged to and you didn't mind. You were excited about the future with your companion.

Part 2 ?

#yautja x human #yautja x reader #predator x reader #monsterfucker #monsterlover

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