#coming from someone who's been trying to address this in my own writing

[appleblueberry-pie]

How would Yan Miggy feel when his S/O has successfully escaped from him and is moved to another country, she also has a child who is five years old and looks like a carbon copy of him.

So one day the kid decided to write Miguel a letter with their address on it and in the letter the kid talks about how reader never mentions him or talks about him, and also wondering if he's the Child's real father. And so the kid invites him to his/her’s birthday. (plus also having an attached photo of the house that they are living in, in the letter).

Reader is now shocked and immediately pulling her child away from him, and angrily asks Miguel how he got their address.

I love your work💕

THANK YOU <3 also i like this ask lol

Miguel sat in his car, anxiety and happiness causing his stomach to tie in knots. The picture applied to the handwritten note and the house he parked in front of were identical. He saw a children's park and a school on the way here, not too far away. It's also the city you've always wanted to move to to raise a family. This has to be the place.

Dear Daddy,

I miss you alot. Mommy tells me that you were mean to her alot so she left to be happy. I am glad she is happy but i miss being with you. My birthday is on xxxxxxxx and i would be very very happy if you came to selebrate with us!! This is what my house looks like. And i can tell you where we live. PLease coem. i miss you.

Every time Miguel read over the note, the more he felt connected to his little girl, and it pained him it had to come to this. So, he'll make sure that his return in her life is more of a meaningful one. Not one full of lies, excuses and useless arguments that led to nothing but more problems. A year is a long time and Miguel is a changed man. He can make this right.

When he shows up at your door, he takes note of all of the beautiful and small garden growing in the front yard, wondering if the two of you worked on that together.

Your car looks pretty nice as well. Did you buy that on your own? Or did someone else help you? It's pretty difficult to find a house, let alone afford living, in a place as nice as this. Maybe that's why you took money out of his account so often. If you wanted to move, you should've just told him so. Well, it's too late for that now.

As soon as he knocks on the door, it flies open, and there's his little girl he hasn't seen in forever. She gives him that big smile he's always loved and remembered, screaming his name. "Daddy!!" He picks her up and holds her close in his arms.

"Oh! My little ball of sunshine! My favorite girl, it's been too long since I've last seen you, how have you been? How's my birthday girl??"

She laughs when he tickles her lightly and puts her on the ground. "I'm really good now that you're here! Wait, let me tell Mommy-"

She takes his hand to bring him inside, but you appeared out of nowhere, breaking the hand-holding and roughly shoving him by the chest out of the front door entrance. You hold your little girl behind you, your face almost unrecognizable from a mix of fear and anger on display.

"What the hell are you doing here?? How did you find us?" Miguel's face drops at your tone and holds out his arms in the most non-threatening way possible. Yet, his voice showed his true colors. So nervous and....almost scared.

"Hi, Y/n," A crooked smile shows on his face, "Mi amor, it's very nice to see you-"

"I'm gonna call the cops if you don't leave." You scramble to try and pick up your daughter, who fights against it. You aren't in the mind to understand that as you continue to try and back away from who once was your captor.

"No, wait, it's not like that. It's D/n birthday today and......I just wanted to come see my baby." He takes a step inside your abode. Slowly, as if trying to not make things worse. "Please."

You thought you did everything right. You didn't leave any traces. You gained his trust in leaving you to the house all for yourself, which took years and years to do. And when things finally clear and you finally found a normal life to live again, he comes to your doorstep. Was he stalking you this entire time?? Why was he being so nice? So open? You definitely couldn't trust whatever he had up his sleeve, and your daughter....

"I told him where we live!!" She tugged on your arm as hard as she could to get your attention. Your head snaps down to her direction. When she saw your face, she hesitated for a moment but kept talking. "I just wanted to see daddy again.......I-....all of my friends at school have their dads, and i really missed mine. If i wasn't ever gonna see him again, then i just wanted to see him one last time."

[I can't color code anymore😭]

You were in disbelief. As mad as you wanted to be at your daughter for doing something so life changing and unbelievable, you couldn't for the life of you put any of those feelings onto her. She deserved the world. And in all honesty, you took most of it from her. Miguel was a great father despite his many flaws, and all you wanted for her was to experience that perfect family.

And you couldn't give it to her. The rest of the puzzle she needed was right here. You didn't know if you were ready to give Miguel a chance again. But did you really have a choice?

Miguel frowned and dropped his hands.

You promise yourself to deal with it for now. The quicker he celebrates, the faster you find a way to get him out again. You bend down to whisper to your daughter. "Go tell daddy where your bedroom is so I can finish with the decorations, okay?"

Her face begins to beam and, without a second thought, nods her head and rushes off to keep Miguel busy. Miguel doesn't have a chance to see your face, as you already got back into the kitchen to deal with the food, and he lets his lips turn upwards at the corner.

[ellemj]

Letters to Santa, Part 1: 12 Days of Smut #11

Bucky Barnes x Reader 2-Part Fic

Request/prompt courtesy of @stuckysbike:

Warnings: profanity, mentions of orgasms, allusions to smut, dirty letter writing, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I wasn't planning to do any sort of multi-part stuff for this 12 Days of Smut thing, I wanted to churn out a bunch of smutty one-shots so you guys could have a lil Christmas meal every day. But when I started writing this today I kinda fell in love with the last couple of paragraphs and it felt so RIGHT leaving it the way I did. So, it looks like you guys will be getting part 2 of this tomorrow which will be s m u t t y and also a separate smut #12 tomorrow. Thanks to @stuckysbike for this amazing prompt that I’ve been thinking about for DAYS now.

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas is any one of the following, you can pick for me because I’m a little indecisive:

someone to unwrap me like a Christmas present

someone to give me a Christmas miracle (three orgasms in one night, if that’s not too much to ask)

someone to cum down my chimney

With love,

Y/n

            “Oh my god, this is perfect!” Natasha laughs out the words as she waves your letter around in the air. “We have to mail this. I need someone to find the address for the North Pole.”

            “Come on, Nat. Santa’s already put me on his naughty list. I’m not getting anything this year.” You say with a pout, pushing your bottom lip out.

            “It’s true, I saw her submit a half-finished mission report last week.” Wanda points out. You roll your eyes before leaning back on the couch and raising your nearly empty beer bottle to your lips. You take a long sip as Nat, Wanda, and Sharon continue reading each other’s dirty letters to Santa and teasing each other. You’re enjoying sitting through the fun of girls night like you do every Friday night, until you hear the elevator ding across the room. Just as you turn your head to see who it’s carried upstairs, the doors slide open to reveal Sam and Bucky. Sam opens his arms wide upon seeing the four of you piled together on the couch, clearly loving that he’s just stumbled into his first girls night.

            “Is this what I think it is?” He asks excitedly, quickly making his way over to the couch and seating himself on the end of the sectional.

            “A bunch of girls writing dirty letters to Santa? Yes.” Sharon reveals all. You shoot her a faux-angry glare.

            “Sharon, he’s a guy. You’re not supposed to tell him anything about girl’s night.” Wanda reprimands her jokingly. Sharon lifts her hands in surrender.

            “Hey, this is the first one I’ve been invited to, no one told me the rules. I’m also a little drunk, it’s not my fault.”

            Your eyes snap back over to Sam just in time to see him peering over Nat’s shoulder, trying to get a look at your very own dirty letter to Santa. You’re quick to scramble to your feet and snatch the piece of paper from Nat’s hand, narrowing your eyes at Sam.

            “If you don’t have a sled and…eight…no, nine reindeer, then this isn’t for you.” You say coldly, carefully folding the letter and setting it on the coffee table that’s littered with pens, beer bottles, and various snacks.

            “I could have a sled.” Sam offers, eyeing where your letter now sits.

            “You have wings, it’s not the same.” Sharon quips. As everyone continues to joke and tease each other around the coffee table, you’re sitting back and enjoying the nice buzz you feel from the alcohol you’ve consumed so far tonight. After another minute of listening to your friends have the time of their lives, you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched. You let your eyes float around from Wanda to Nat, then to Sam at the end of the couch, and then to Sharon. No one’s looking at you. That’s when you remember the silent sixth person in the room. You turn your head and look over your shoulder, finding Bucky standing in the kitchen, sipping from his own bottle of beer as he stares right at you. Any other person caught staring would look away. That’s the normal thing to do, right? But Bucky has never looked away, of all of the times you’ve caught him staring. Maybe it’s an alpha male type of behavior you could learn about on Animal planet, hell if you know, but whatever it is Bucky has it bad. Sam jokingly refers to him as the bionic staring machine and you’ve never heard anything more accurate. However, you’ve noticed lately that Bucky stares at you a hell of a lot more than he stares at anyone else. Is it wishful thinking? Maybe. You have no problem admitting that the man is annoyingly attractive, and the fact that he tends to be so quiet and elusive only adds to the attraction. Like they say, a crush is just a lack of information. If Bucky talked more, you’d easily lose your attraction to him. You’re sure of that.

            You’re lightly engaging in the conversation with Sam and the girls again, but you can still feel Bucky’s gaze burning a hole in the back of your head as you speak. When he finally silently slips out of the kitchen and disappears down the hallway that leads to everyone’s rooms, you’re relieved. You don’t know why you always find it so hard to relax around him. He puts you on edge for a reason you’ll never understand.

            “Okay, I think it’s time for everyone to get to bed. We have a full day tomorrow with baking Christmas cookies, the gingerbread house contest, and the Christmas dinner.” Wanda reminds everyone. She’s the first one to rise from the couch, gathering up the pens and blank pieces of paper to put them away. You’re quick to start collecting the empty beer bottles from the coffee table, trying to do your part. You’re so preoccupied with straightening up the small mess you all left in the kitchen that you don’t even notice Natasha tucking your dirty letter to Santa into the waistband of her pants. In fact, the dirty letter doesn’t even cross your mind as you finish up in the kitchen and head to your room for the night.

            Natasha thinks of herself as a matchmaker of sorts, or at least someone who’s good at reading chemistry between people. She might not know enough to say that two people are destined to marry and have a bunch of kids together, but she knows when two people would have a good physical relationship. That particular skill of hers is what leads her not only to steal your dirty letter to Santa, but to slide it under Bucky’s door as she passes his room to get to her own a little while later. What a devious Black Widow your best friend is.

---

            Someone to unwrap me like a Christmas present. Someone to give me a Christmas miracle of three orgasms in one night. Someone to cum down my chimney.

            Bucky has read the letter a total of four times, each time making his dick a little harder and his chest rise and fall a little faster. He stares at the bottom of the page where you so neatly signed your name. It’s the dirty letter you wrote just earlier during girls night. Bucky isn’t even questioning the fact that this is how the four of you chose to spend your evening. His only question is how and why your letter ended up sitting on the floor right inside of his door after he finished showering. Did you slide it under there yourself? Did someone else do it? Are you expecting him to give you one of these gifts?

            He sits on the side of his bed still staring down at the piece of paper in his hand, but he’s not reading it anymore. He’s thinking back to every single interaction he’s ever had with you, from the most minor to the most memorable. Hell, they’ve all been memorable. Every lingering look, every seemingly accidental touch of your thigh against his when you’re in the quinjet or in the conference room for a briefing, every damn word you’ve ever said to him. There’s always been some kind of a spark between the two of you, a clear sexual tension that was begging to be broken, but neither of you ever did a thing about it. So, why now is Bucky thinking about doing something about it? If you slipped the letter under his door, then it’s obviously something you want him to do. You gave him a fucking menu of choices. But if you didn’t slip it under the door, then who else has noticed the sexual tension between you two and decided that it was their job to remedy it?

            Someone to unwrap me like a Christmas present. Someone to give me a Christmas miracle of three orgasms in one night. Someone to cum down my chimney.

            Bucky folds the piece of paper into a small rectangle before placing it in the top drawer of his nightstand and taking a deep breath in.

All of the above. That’s what he chooses for you.

TAG LIST:

@mrsjoequinn @nixxaswrld @sweettae02 @frombkjar @hellfirebabe @edelweissbarnes @fandomsfeminismandme  @missadored @buchi91 @phoenixstark1708 @mayamacall @wickedwitch-99 @sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @thealloveru2 @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @wishingforwonderland @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze

[xxblairexxss]

Everything shower

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x socialmediainfluencer!reader

Theme : Fluff

This was so full of fluff makes me want to write a heartbreaking angst for my next one. 😭

You started off your Youtube and Tiktok accounts way before you met Charles. That alone was enough to prove that you had always loved taking pictures or videos of yourself whenever you got a chance, not because you craved for the attention but there was nothing wrong with being obsessed with yourself.

Your subscribers and followers thought your videos and contents would start to switch once you started dating the Formula 1 driver but they were completely wrong because you owned the spotlight before him and you were gonna keep on owning the spotlight even with him in the frame. Whenever you talked about Charles, it would be just something subtle and you never addressed him by his name. You would always call him “my boyfriend”. Something like “Oh, my boyfriend hated this and I was offended because it was so good!” and those who were new to your accounts would be clueless with the whole thing.

ynusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 387,665 others

ynusename can i hold your hand?

charles_leclerc your hand fits perfectly in mine so yes

username loool can someone tells charles she’s talking to us not him

username okay loverboy be grateful we agreed to share our girl with you

username YOU ARE THE PRETTIEST

ynusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, isahernaez and 282,934 others

ynusername i love the sea 🤍

charles_leclerc i love you mon ange 🧸❤️

ynusername i miss youuu lovee see youu

username challenge : leave a comment before charles does. status : failed

username is she coming to silverstone this week anyone know??

username idk i saw a fanpage saying she’s on her way there

And it was no surprise to everyone because you were indeed coming to see him this week. You had to miss his podium last week because of your schedule so you came to Silverstone a few days earlier to spend some time with him before the start of the busy weekend.

ynusername has added to their story

charles_leclerc has added to their story

And Charles was clingy. He always had been whenever he was with you in private but never in the public. It became to the point that he was known as ‘not a fan of PDA in public’ amongst the fans but he was clingy clingy this time. He always held your hands whenever you went out of the hotel to take a stroll around the area, always had his head on your lap whenever you laid down on the bed and would asked you to scratch on his hair until he fell asleep. You didn’t mind, of course and you didn’t point it out because he was so adorable.

But it became a problem because today is Thursday and it was your everything shower day. It was when you spent hours in the steamy shower where you would exfoliate, moisturise, shave, everything you could think of from head to toe.

You tried to get off the bed and your boyfriend by trying to make it as silent as you can but Charles were woken up and instantly tighten his arms around you. He had his whole body in between your legs, head turned sideways on your stomach and arms locked around your waist. He had found himself in the position while your legs stretched out as you started reading your book. You had your hand automatically started scratching and massaging his scalp as he laid down, which made him fallen asleep almost instantly but it was already 6PM and you needed to take your everything shower now or by the time you delayed it even more, you might finished it by midnight.

“No…where are you going..” Charles groaned and mumbled as he felt you moving.

“Baby, I need to take my shower.”

“Your shower can wait.”

“No, sweetheart. We went out the whole day today and I need to wash my hair. It won’t be that long, I promise.”

After a few a attempts trying to convince your boyfriend, you finally made it to the bathroom and started getting everything done. You weren’t keeping track, no one was keeping track of time during everything shower. By the time you were done, it was almost 9PM. You were in the hotel bathrobe and had you hair in a hair wrap. Your face was moist after you washed it so you thought it was a great idea to record yourself putting on your night skincare routine.

“I’m putting on this serum from Drunk Elephant. It was life changing I remember when—

Charles walked into the bathroom right at the moment like it was the most normal thing to do which startled you off for a second. You thought he was asleep.

“Charles!”

“You promised it wasn’t gonna take long, amour…You left me alone for 3 hours and I missed you.” You didn’t moved from your spot but Charles engulfed your figure from the back and hid his face in your neck, his last few words become a mumble.

“I just need to put on my skincare, okay? My face is still moist so I need to get it done fast.”

“Can I get a kiss?” He lifted his head to peck on your cheek to which you moved you face the next second.

“No, I just put on my serum. Wait until I put on my moisturiser.”

He frowned and hummed in response before dipping his face back in your neck as you continued your skincare. It was kinda hard to move when he kept his arms wrapped tightly around your waist but you were already on the last stage of the routine so you didn’t really mind.

“And last, a moisturiser. The one I’m using is from Beauty of Joseon, it really makes my skin feels really soft to touch the next day.”

“Really? I’ll give it a test.” Charles went from frowning to smirking in triumph as he moved one hand to tilt your head to the side and left a smooch on your check, up to your nose then to your lips.

“Charles! The moisturizer has’t even soaked into my skin!”

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (28)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of masturbation, public dirty talk, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Even though he had expected nothing else, his wife's reaction completely devastated him anyway − her words cut through him like daggers, showing him his own face in the light of the truth.

What should I do now?

Divorce you?

Not speak to you for eight years?

He didn't know what he should answer.

The realisation that he was constantly searching for fault in her because he felt guilty himself, that he was accusing her of betrayal because he had betrayed her himself, caused him to no longer know who he was anymore. He felt so lost and heartbroken that he had simply burst out crying in front of her like a child scolded by a parent.

He just wanted her to forgive him.

When she told him what Alys had seen in her dream and informed him of her conditions, even though he was dying at the thought of spending even one more day in this fortress, he sat down at her oak desk the next morning to write a letter to his brother-king.

My King, our half-sister has agreed to our terms, however, she makes her own demands. I have decided, in order to alleviate the situation, to travel with my wife to Dragonstone, where we are currently staying. We want to try to convince them to change their minds − one order from you is enough for me to return to King's Landing. Your loyal brother

His niece was furious with him − he had never seen her like this before and preferred not to address her at all when she spoke to him knowing that he would only make matters worse. He hoped that his conciliatory attitude and the fact that he had fulfilled her wish would make her calm down.

The thought that he wasn't her prisoner didn't comfort him, because he felt like one anyway.

Wherever he went he might encounter someone he didn't feel like looking at, so he preferred to stay in her chamber and bear it somehow.

As soon as she had left her quarters he rose from his chair and began to walk around her room, looking at the various objects on the shelves and bookcases − he looked through the books she was reading, finding with satisfaction that most of them were also in his possession in King's Landing.

He spotted her embroideries in one of the drawers, including those he remembered well from his childhood, and smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if she had kept them for the sake of memories.

He shuddered as the door to the chamber opened suddenly and he slid the drawer back in, turning with a rapidly beating heart − Daemon stood with his hands folded behind him, sighing heavily.

"− come, nephew − we must discuss many important matters −" He said with a kind of boredom, as if what he was speaking of was a duty he had no desire to perform at all.

"− I will not go anywhere with you, uncle − I am quite comfortable here −" He said lowly, looking away, frustrated.

Why did he always feel like a little child in his presence?

Daemon chuckled at his question.

"− it wasn't a request − come, let's have a walk −" He encouraged him in a ferocious, mocking tone from which he felt rage and a clench in his stomach.

He knew he couldn't refuse.

Daemon led him out of the fortress through one of the side entrances − he checked a few times before the sound of the sea surrounded them that the dagger he always carried with him was strapped to his belt.

They stepped out onto a gigantic white beach seeming to stretch on endlessly to him, with only the water to their left and high rising rocks and mountains to their right.

They were completely alone.

His uncle finally stopped and turned to him, looking at him for a moment without a word.

"− why did you suggest you spend the night in Dragonstone? −"

He licked his lips, feeling his heart stop at his question.

"− that was her wish −"

"− don't fucking lie to me or I will pierce your skull with my sword −"

He looked at him in disbelief, his jaw clenched so tight he felt like it was going to burst, his fingers involuntarily tightening into fists.

Silence fell again, the sound of the waves around them, their hair and tunics blowing in the wind.

It seemed to him that his uncle's gaze was piercing him to the core.

"− Larys Strong had his own plans for you − I couldn't let that happen −" He muttered at last.

"− does she know about this? −" He asked coldly.

He swallowed hard at the thought that he was referring to his wife.

"− yes −"

"− did you tell her before or after we came here? −"

He lowered his gaze already knowing what he was leading up to, he felt like his whole body was quivering.

"− after −"

Daemon snorted in annoyance, shaking his head as he looked out at the sea stretching before them.

"− you fucking cunt − I was supposed to personally deal with his rats overdue in the Eyrie, but you ruined my plan − though surely that's good for you −" He confessed looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

He felt a powerful, cold shiver run along his back at the thought that he knew everything.

He knew that they were about to be murdered.

And Rheanyra?

Seeing that he couldn't force out the question that was pressing on his lips his uncle laughed out loud.

"− the rider of the world's greatest dragon since Balerion's passing is unable to get a word out − shame has taken away your speech? − where is your pride that you always boasted so much? −" He continued, provoking him to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

What should he do?

How should he behave?

"− you are exactly as I assumed − you are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him − you are like a stone, unable to move on − my daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool −"

"− what do you want from me, uncle? −"

"− no − what do YOU want − are you able to name it in your head, or are you like a child in a fog without your mother? −" He asked in a raised voice, frustrated, making him feel a hot wave of humiliation flowing through his body.

"− I want her to be safe −"

"− what happened in King's Landing? −"

"− I −"

"− fucking speak − and you'd better say the truth −"

"− your spies in the Red Keep didn't report it to you? −" He hissed, his uncle taking a step towards him, looking him straight in the eye.

"− you're trying my patience −"

He pressed his lips together feeling his heart rise to his throat, cold sweat running down his back.

"− my mother gave her moon tea without my knowledge − she wanted to be able to pact with you and give her to Lord Arryn's son −" He said dispassionately feeling, however, that his voice trembled. Daemon looked at him wordlessly.

"− and what have you done to punish those who wronged my daughter, and your wife? −"

He looked at him feeling his whole body freeze.

"− what would you have done to her if she had been the one to fail your trust? − if she tried to fight for her freedom, if she stood up to you and threatened your mother? −" He asked, stabbing his words into him like daggers.

He didn't know the answers to these questions.

He never wanted to ask himself them.

"− I did everything I could − she is my mother − you would expect the same from your daughter yourself −"

"− and yet she was the one who came to beg her own mother to surrender her claim to the crown when yours was encouraging your brother to steal the throne that never belonged to him − gods, Viserys has taught you nothing, has he? − you see nothing but your mother's skirt to which you have always been clung −" He muttered with some kind of disgust from which he felt a cold, unpleasant shiver and discomfort in his stomach.

"− I regret − I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow − I did not, though it was my duty −"

He looked at him in disbelief, feeling with horror the burning under his eyelids. He laughed and shook his head, wishing he could somehow control what was happening to him − he hid his hands behind his back feeling how much they were trembling.

"− are you remorseful, uncle? − do you see that you yourself also contributed to the division of our family into two separate parts? −" He asked with mockery and regret in his voice feeling that he was weak.

What had happened in the last few days had completely destroyed him.

"− I want to hear the truth and I will ask for the last time − what do you want? −" His uncle asked with emphasis on the last sentence.

He shuddered, realising that deep down he knew what the answer was.

He always knew.

"− I wish it was all over − I wish I could take her to Essos, as I promised her − I am tired, uncle − I have been tired all my life − I only rest when she is by my side −"

Daemon looked at him for a long moment and let out a loud breath, looking out to sea. They stood like that, not speaking to each other.

"− is there anything else you have hidden from her? −" He asked coldly, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at the memory of the Witch of Harrenhal's words.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He raised his eyes to his uncle and met his gaze, proud and distrustful, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"− I −"

"− speak −"

"− there is − there is a woman in Harrenhal, called by some a witch − she came to me last morning and −"

"− did you take her to your bed? −"

His voice stuck in his throat at his question, so he shook his head quickly, horrified.

"− no, but she said − she prophesied to me that this would happen − that − that I would put my child inside her −" He muttered, feeling with what difficulty those words left his mouth. Daemon raised his eyebrows in disbelief and rolled his eyes.

"− and? − if she said so, now there's nothing left for you to do but put your cock inside her? − don't make me laugh −" He sneered, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"− she can predict the future − I −"

"− are you listening to me, or have you not only gone blind but deaf? − if she told you that you would run away with her to Essos and beget twenty children with her would you believe her too? − she told you exactly what she wanted to happen − she hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants − I don't know any man who would put his cock into a woman by accident or by fate − pull yourself together −" He said impatiently, causing a warm wave of embarrassment to surge through him.

He thought he really was a fool.

How could he have believed her with such ease?

Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, his words brought him relief.

"− do you have anything else to convey to me? − this is your last chance −" He asked coldly, and he shook his head.

"− very well − I'm glad we've got it behind us − you may leave −" He said dryly; he pressed his lips together at his words and simply walked away, swallowing his dignity and pride.

As he stepped into his wife's chamber he noticed her seated figure out of the corner of his eye, but he did not say a word to her − he felt humiliated and tired and did not feel like making conversation.

He also recognised that she certainly still hadn't forgiven him, so they might as well keep quiet.

He therefore sat down with one of her books by the fire, trying to concentrate on what he saw before him and not on his uncle's words.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

Though some part of him did not want to admit it, he knew that subconsciously he had been waiting for those words, for any praise or appreciation from him, the Rouge Prince himself, the greatest warrior and dragon rider he had seen in his lifetime.

So why did he feel so bad about what he had said to him?

You are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him.

My daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool.

He swallowed hard, knowing that there was partly truth in his words.

For some reason though he wanted to, he couldn't completely free himself from the past and move on.

"− Jace kissed me − on the lips −"

He lifted his gaze to her from his book thinking he had overheard himself. He felt a wave of anger and disbelief surge through his body when he noticed in her gaze that she wasn't mocking him.

She meant it.

"− he did WHAT? −" He growled, getting up from his seat, throwing his book on the table and leaving immediately thinking he was going to kill this fucking bastard with his own hands.

When he finally walked into the right chamber he breathed heavily and grinned, feeling as if all the frustration, the things that had been happening to him after his conversation with his wife and uncle were going to find release at this very moment.

Jace stood up from his chair, pale at the sight of him, clearly knowing exactly what awaited him.

"− haven't you learned yet not to take what's not yours? − hm? −" He murmured teasingly, feeling the presence of his niece beside him, the scent of vanilla filling his lungs again.

"− Aemond −"

"− your sister when we were children told me that she never desired you as a man − she knew even then that you were a cunt −" He sneered, cocking his head to the side, resting his weight on his right leg, watching curiously as his nephew turned all red with embarrassment.

"− Aemond, that's enough −"

"− how dare you? − you are a guest under our roof − get out −" Baela growled, his smile widening even more at the sight of her, her lips tightening into a thin line.

He thought he would love to hit her in the face again before he remembered that she was a woman.

What a pity.

His wife appeared suddenly in front of him, looking at him warningly.

"− we are leaving −"

He felt like laughing at her words.

Her brothers were getting away with far too many things.

"− no − I'm speaking with my nephew −" He said sweetly, looking his nephew straight in the eye thinking with amusement that this time would be different.

"− we are leaving, uncle, or I swear I will never return with you to King's Landing −"

"− so I'll stay here with you − Jace as ruler of Dragonstone will surely be delighted to host us, won't he? − he seems to have a weakness for you, sweet wife −" He muttered in a voice filled with challenge and poison seeing that Baela looked at her betrothed in disbelief.

Always pretending to be so righteous, so wronged.

He was nothing more than a pathetic brat who was once again reaching for what didn't belong to him.

"− Jace, say something at last! −" Baela thundered, clearly wanting Jace to stop being a scared cunt, which unfortunately he was unable to do.

He could feel his own heart pounding fast, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing quick and deep.

He was ready to attack him, he was ready to rip him to shreds.

Some part of him wanted to do it.

A fucking would-be King.

You'll never sit on the throne − he thought with satisfaction − and in my wife's eyes you were never a man she could desire.

"− I made a mistake − I shouldn't have done it, forgive me − I −" He mumbled in horror as he looked at his niece with pleading eyes.

Did he really think that he would let him hide behind her skirt like a coward?

That he would allow him to escape the consequences of his foolishness again?

"− you made a mistake? − I seem to be able to understand the feeling − I have made a similar one many times, as well as others, even worse ones −" He hissed grabbing her cheeks, heard her draw in a loud breath, shocked, as his lips pressed against hers in a hot, aggressive kiss − she moaned quietly as his slick tongue forced its way deep into her throat with his low sigh of delight.

He pulled away and met her simultaneously terrified, enraged and thirsty gaze − she only mewled when he turned her with a confident tug with her back against him and pressed her figure against his chest, gripping her neck with one hand, the other sliding down her lower abdomen.

He involuntarily licked his lower lip when he felt her fingers tighten on his wrist trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do, her mouth parted in disbelief.

"− so beautiful, isn't she, nephew? − I couldn't help myself either − I can't count how many times I took her − how many times I have filled her with my seed − right here −" He breathed out, not really understanding himself what he was actually doing, focusing more on her than on them as he dug his fingertips into her womanhood lying beneath the material of her gown.

Her head was tilted back, her thighs clenched, her lips struggling to hold back the moan from which his erection slapped impatiently against her buttocks in his breeches.

He thought he will fuck her with his fingers in front of his eyes.

"− u-uncle − stop −"

In fact, he had to stop when Daemon walked into the chamber − the ashamed, horrified expression on Jace's face who couldn't even look at them and the accusing look his betrothed turned towards him was reward enough for him.

He wanted to watch his world, everything he desired burn and fall apart in his hands.

He wanted him to know what it felt like.

He knew his wife enough to know that her rage was mixed halfway with the desire and tension he himself felt. He wanted to respect her request not to take her and break it at the same time, feeling that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so he did something that stopped halfway between both, coming with a sigh of relief on the material of her nightgown when he heard her moans of sweet fulfilment.

He wanted nothing more after this than to lock her in his arms and fall asleep.

"− let me embrace you −" He muttered.

"− no −" Her frustrated, trembling voice answered him.

He huffed loudly, heartbroken, at the same time understanding her and longing to take refuge again in the warmth that the closeness of her body gave him. In a gesture of desperation, he simply pressed his face against her neck, taking in her scent.

"− move away, uncle −"

"− I inhale the wonderful scent of vanilla after having experienced fulfilment with my wife −"

"− your wife does not wish for this −"

"− sleep −"

He heard her sigh heavily, annoyed, but said nothing more. When he finally felt she had fallen asleep, his hand slowly touched her waist and slid to other side, taking its place on her warm lower abdomen.

"− no −" He heard her quiet, unclear mumble, her body stirring in his embrace.

"− shhh − let me −" He whispered in her ear, his lips placing a soft, warm kiss on her cheek.

"− mhm −" She muttered, twisting towards him immersed in a deep sleep − he sighed heavily as her body involuntarily clung to his, her face sinking into the hollow of his neck.

He swallowed hard, feeling the squeeze in his heart and the tears under his eyelids that, one by one, began to run down his cheeks as his hands wove through her hair and the material of her nightgown at her back, pressing her close to his body.

He thought that for some reason during the nights he spent with her he was most vulnerable and weak, her presence, the warmth of her flesh, her closeness made him feel as if something was melting inside him, not allowing him to pretend that Daemon's words had not hurt him.

Despite repeating to himself that his uncle's words meant nothing to him, as a child he had looked up to him, dreaming of being like him − fearless, ironic, intelligent, confident, proud of his family and his heritage.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

He pressed his lips together at that thought, at his words, which cut into his heart like a sword, because although he had tried to find his pattern of masculinity in his father, in his older brother, in his grandfather, in Ser Criston, it was his uncle that his gaze had always followed, it was his uncle's reaction that he looked at when he and his father watched them duel.

He never heard a single warm word from his lips.

The fact that he was his mother's son had crossed him out in his eyes, and he had no intention of apologising for anything.

So what was he to do with his words?

That he did not know − nor did he know what purpose the conversation had served or why he had told him about the Witch of Harrenhal. He thought with shame that guilt and fear had crushed him so much that he had to get it off his chest, and he had chosen the worst person to do so.

What if he uses this against him?

Poison his daughter's thoughts with words that her husband feared that he would betray her in the future, beget a bastard child with another woman?

He felt a cold shudder run through his body at the thought, but for some reason he had a feeling that this would not happen.

She told you exactly what she wanted to happen.

She hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants.

He was right.

This woman, whoever she was, was playing with him and his wife.

He thought she was hoping to frighten them both and lead them to lose trust in each other.

That this was perhaps also part of Larys' plan.

He had no intention of killing his wife.

He wanted her to do it herself.

That thought, that realisation flashed through his body like a flame, his fingers clamped down on her flesh as he swallowed hard, feeling some kind of indescribable relief, finding meaning in it at last.

They knew that if his wife disappeared, he would join the war.

He sighed quietly, thinking with surprising calmness in his soul, stroking his wife's soft, dark curls with his fingers, that he would cut off the heads of all the vipers plotting against her, one by one.

He intended to personally inform his brother what their grandfather and Lord Strong were planning to do behind his back.

[packsvlog]

❛ 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | 愛 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝘂𝗿𝘂

✶ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: never one to trust old men in high positions, you decide to follow your guts and track down your best friend to question him on the rumors. what you didn’t expected was to be forced to sit in a small chair and play tea party with two little girls.

✶ 𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: it took me two days to write this, i’m super sick, but i love geto. i also really need to make a masterlist, but i don’t know how to make the link with the name, pls help sos. also reader’s domain name is embarrassing pls ignore it, i’m not good with names. english is not my first language. 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: reader’s cursed technique is basically ‘enhanced’, anything they do is 100x more, and it’s heavenly influenced by their emotions, mostly anger and another one very special.

✶ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: friends to lovers, mostly fluff but has a bit of angst, mentions of murder, blood, violence, reader has no gender specified except one part where they are called ‘Queen’ but you can read as you please. reader is a special grade sorcerer. suggestive theme at the end. happy ending.

✶ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8k

You know the Higher Ups can sense the aggressiveness in your aura. Even behind their so called protection nothing could stop you from slicing them with your bare hands, the thought of that ignites your energy. Behind you, someone gasp.

“I’m going to be gentle and kindly suppose this energy you are emitting comes from your anger towards the criminal Geto Suguru.” A male old voice makes itself present.

“If you want to believe that, then be my guest.” You answer in a heartbeat. Principal Yaga is by your side, that was supposed to be his reunion, but when you heard the talk would be about your best friend, Geto Suguru, you barged in the room before Masamichi.

“You are not supposed to be here, insolent girl.” Another voice, still old and male, speaks to you. You roll your eyes and snicker at it.

“You are talking about an important Special Grade Sorcerer, and I know this talk will reach me eventually. If it is true what you say, is either me or Gojo Satoru you will be sending to try to kill him.” Yaga sighs at your answer, but does not stop you.

“What we say? Haven’t you know? Haven’t you seen the pictures?” The first person ask, voice shaking in anger. “Geto Suguru is a monster who needs to be exterminated, he annihilated a whole village and we have prove to believe his own parents as well.”

“We will not send you, L/n Y/n, for your insolence.” A third leader speaks, much calm and colder than the others. “There will be no such thing as try to kill him, Geto Suguru is certain to die. You and Gojo Satoru may be special graders as well, but your loyalty is stained with the blood of those innocents. Someone else will do the job.”

Principal Yaga’s hand reached your back, you turned to him hesitant, you see his head pointing to the doors outside telling you your time here was over.

You moved faster than anyone could see, leaving the school grounds in mere seconds, you reached the forest and let your anger dissipate in the form of a scream, so loud and so yourself, a barrier was created leaving your throat and splitting the trees in front of you.

“Your cursed technique never fails to amaze me, Y/n.” Gojo appeared behind you, his hands falling from his ears. “Unconditionally, huh? Everything you do, you do majestically. Run, scream, jump, punch…”

“Shut up, Satoru.” The tall boy laughed at that.

“I wonder if it works for all your emotions, don’t you?” Gojo circled you, much like a predator ready to strike. “Your anger is your strong point, am I right?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “Whenever you are angry, you could break Tokyo with just one punch to the floor.”

“Where are you trying to get with that, Gojo?” It had been too long since the last time you addressed your friend as that, your squeezed your eyes at him, but the boy was unfazed.

“Don’t you think the oldest, most powerful emotion in humanity could change you? Transform you into something more dangerous?” He stops in front of you.

“What could possibly be more strong than anger?”

“It’s, obviously, love. I can feel it in your aura the amount of love you have for Suguru.” Gojo says nonchalant, making you question if you heard right.

“What…”

“He is my best friend as well, Y/n.” The white haired interrupts you. “And I love him enough to want to go after him, but for some reason I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll see something terrible, sense the reality, and try to kill him.” Gojo takes your hand in his. “I don’t think I can kill him, but the thought of trying scares me. I can’t lose him, and neither can you.”

“What do you mean by all that, Satoru?” Your whisper barely reached Gojo.

“If it comes to meeting him, you should do it. Your love for him could be either his salvation or we lose you to him, but I don’t think you would mind that, would you?”

“You think he did it?”

“I don’t want to think.”

A week after that weird conversation, Gojo, Shoko and you had been meeting more than normal in private spaces. For the unknown eye, the three of you are just friends catching up after the loss of the fourth party. But in the reality of your room, Shoko has been using her secret weapon to make Gojo’s plan work — her messages with Geto Suguru about you, cute and overly sweet.

“I don’t like this. I don’t get this!” You mumble on your cat plush, a gift Geto gave you. Your whole face is pink and your lips are numb for the amount of time you have bitten it.

“I don’t get it either. She already loves him too much, no need for this torture.” Shoko laughs at your embarrassed state, when she turns to Gojo, the girl scrunches her eyebrows. “What is it, weirdo?”

You turn to look at Gojo and he is intensely staring at you, which makes you feel uncomfortable, and a little scared.

“You can’t feel it?” He simply ask.

“Feel what?” Taking the pillow from under you, you hug it tight to your chest.

“Feel Geto.” Gojo whisper. “Can’t you sense where he is?”

“How on earth would she be able to do that, Satoru?” Shoko mumbles before grabbing her cigarette and moving towards the window. Unfortunately Ieiri is in Gojo’s presence, and the boy follows her quickly to complain about the smell.

You turn your face down to meet the fluffy cat under you, it’s quite ugly but lovely behind its weird black shaggy tissue. Geto had given it to you after one of your first missions together, he took you to a fair and got you the little fella you kindly named ‘Catoru’.

In your heart you could sense the connection to the ugly thing, linking a string that connected your core to its own, and if you turned down the sound of Shoko and Gojo’s bickering, you could feel a third presence in it. You wondered silently if Satoru was right and your so called love for Geto could create this bridge between the two of you, enough that you could sense him anywhere he was. Could Suguru feel you too?

You tried to focus on that silver string that laced both your heart and the plush, closing your eyes you scanned the deepest part of your soul, of your technique, that you had never been knowledgeable about. It was only in what seemed hours later, you opened your eyes with goosebumps all over you.

You turned back, seeing Gojo and Shoko still arguing — it had only been a few seconds. Maybe you were stronger when it came to fondness, love.

You took some days practicing this new technique and also to make sure Geto was still in the same place, not moving around like the criminal everyone thought of him. If he was still that meant he was innocent, right? It had to be.

Gojo barged into your room on the fourth day, his breath unhinged. You jump out of the bed in a second.

“They already send someone!” You stared at your friend with confusion all over your face. “This Grade One from Russia, they said he will become a Special Grade if he kills Geto. He is strong, I could feel him all across the campus.”

Gojo didn’t stop you when you moved to your bathroom and returned with your uniform. You turned to him, who was now sitting on your bed and hugged his shoulders.

“If this is the last time, you need to know you are my best friend as well. And we may fight a lot, but I would burn this world for you.” You let Gojo go and move towards your door, he stays petrified at the ideia of losing you and Geto. “Tell Shoko I love her as well.”

You leave so quickly, lifting dust from the floor and creating a warm breeze that kisses Satoru’s cheeks and tears.

It takes your half an hour to reach the other string — the location Suguru is. And you find him almost instantly, in the garden of the temple he has settled, he uses traditional clothes and his hair is half up and down. You are taken back by his new look, but mostly by the fact he is fighting the russian sorcerer, and he does seems to be nearly losing.

One of Suguru’s curses launches at the unknown male, and that’s the moment your friend notices you. By the look of his face, he was normal, but his hands instantly trembled in your presence. You start to walk towards him, but the foreigner appears again, his sword nearly slashing Geto’s arm off.

You can feel fear creeping your veins, and it’s not good — Fear makes you weak, but how to avoid it when the man you hold so dearly is fighting a life and death battle?

“I wouldn’t oppose to a little help, sweetheart.” Geto’s voice snapped not only you, but the russian, he punches Suguru, who falls, and turns to you.

“They warned me about you.” He says with a thick accent, pointing his sword in your direction. “They gave me the green light to kill you if you come here. So be patient, love. I’m right at you, gotta end this one first.”

You are disgusted by him, but the way he says “Love” reminds you of your mission, and so you look at Geto, who is already staring at you. He simply smiles, and that turns into fuel for your next movements.

It’s like sliding through water, in a quick second you are behind the foreigner. He turns to you startled, and Geto uses the opportunity to move inside the temple. Before the man can do anything, you punch him in his face, and during his dazed state you move your hands, making your signal.

“Domain expension, Unconditional Disaster.”

It’s not long before you come inside the temple, blood drips from your head to your toes, but you are unharmed. Geto knows this, but he can’t help himself and lunges at you, holding your wet face and searching for any bruises, as if him himself isn’t scattered with some.

“My savior.” Geto laughs quietly, and you can’t help but mimic him. He takes you by your shoulder, tainting his robes, he moves with you to somewhere you don’t care to know. You are in his arms and that’s the place you were meant to be. You wonder if Gojo was right, would you trade anything for Suguru?

Inside an ancient decorated room, Geto grabs a pair of clothes you could only guess belongs to him, he takes your hand and you follow him into the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything when he turns the water to cold, as you have always enjoyed.

During the shower, you can’t help but wonder what is going to happen now. Would another sorcerer be sent to kill you and Geto? Would it be Gojo? He wouldn’t do it, you knew that. A part of you was growing accepting your place besides Suguru, maybe Satoru and Shoko, even Nanami, could come as well, you all would be happy.

You left the bathroom already dressed with Geto’s black sweater and pants, while drying your hair you notice Suguru is not there, and also the eerie feeling the whole building has, with that you hold the towel with a bit of strength, before returning it back to the bathroom. You move towards the door, needing to find Suguru like your life depended on this, but before you reach the door pain shoots through your feet.

“Argh! What the hell…?!”

You turn to look down, and what you would expect to be a knife, turns into a mini lego castle, now dismembered. You scrunch your eyebrows, turning your attention from the toy to the room, you start to notice how Suguru’s room is splattered with a couple of children’s plaything. On the wall next to you there is a mini wooden kitchen, with an equally small dinning table. To your other side, near the bed, a fortress made with blankets, massive pillows and fairy lights, there is also an immense amount of animal plushies. Was Suguru trying to heal his inner child or something?

“Getou-sama!” A high pitched voice comes from behind the door, you jump frightened and for the second time, you land on the lego, now breaking it, a few swear words scape your mouth. “What was that? It’s that his girlfriend, Mimiko?” You don’t hear an answer to that. “Hey lady, can we go inside, pretty pretty prettyyyyyy please?”

“Nanako! Getou-sama told us to let her alone.” The second voice, much more calmer interrupts the first girl.

You bite your lips trying to contain a laugh, especially when you notice the doorknob being shaken. If you could guess, the little girl is trying to open but her height doesn’t help. You sigh, grabbing the broken toy near your feet, dropping in a box near the door and with a slow movement, you open it.

“Oh, you are prettier than Getou-sama described.” The blond girl says as soon as she sees you.

She doesn’t wait for your reaction, quickly grabbing the other’s hand and moving both of them inside the room. You turn to her, but keep still at the door, waiting for maybe Suguru to come in and address what is this.

“Come on, please. I want to have tea with you.” You can guess by her voice and direct personality that she is Nanako. She lefts her friend by the small kitchen and comes to you, closing the door behind and grabbing your hands, she moves both of you towards the dinning table, where she makes you sit. You don’t tell her you are uncomfortable sitting on the extremely small chair, but you can bet she wouldn’t care.

While you are fidgeting in your seat, both Mimiko and Nanako are playing pretend with the fake food in the kitchen. You take the opportunity to stare silently at them. Nanako is, obviously stated before by herself, the extroverted one. The girl keeps glancing at you from time to time, giving you either cute smiles or funny faces, to which you start to return back and she laughs sweetly. Mimiko, you could tell since the beginning, is more shy. The dark haired keeps her head down, she steals some glances at you, but when she notices you are looking, she goes back to her play with crimson cheeks.

“What pie do you want?” Mimiko asks with a slight tremble in her voice. The child comes to you with a plate decorated with wooden pies, you pretend to be inspecting each-one.

“What is your favorite?” Your question takes her by surprise. The plate starts to shake a bit but in her lips a small smile is forming.

“The blueberry one.” Mimiko whispers, pointing with her small finger the one of her choice.

“Then I want that one.”

The girl goes back to the kitchen, putting your ‘desert’ on a pink plate. Nanako turns to you with an also pink teacup.

“Then can you have my favorite tea?” Her pretty brown eyes stare at you like a sad puppy, you know she is trying to make you fall for her, and you do within a second, nodding your head.

When your tea and pie is in front of you, the girls fix their own plates and take a seat on the chairs by either side of you, Nanako specially moving hers closer to you.

“Gerou-sama talks about you a lot.” Nanako says while pretending to eat her raspberry pie, she ‘cleans’ the side of her mouth before looking at you. “Mimiko and I have been begging to meet you. He told us you needed to rest, but I think a tea party is the best way to rest.”

“I agree with you, honey.” The girl smiles at you. “And where is Geto?”

“We waited ‘till he was in the shower.” Mimiko answers you, less shy now. You can’t help but laugh with how sneaky both of them are.

“What does Geto talks about me?” You grab your teacup, raising your little finger like Nanako told you to, and pretend to sip on it.

“He talks about how strong you are, stronger than anyone he had ever met.” Is Nanako who answers you, and Mimiko nods. “Getou-sama also says you are his best friend in the whole world… Well, now he says we are his best friends as well. That’s why we wanted to meet you, the four of us can be good friends, right?”

“Yeah, we are going to be the bestest of friends.” Nanako smiles at that.

“He…” Mimiko starts but pause when you turn to her, you smile encouraging. “He also says he likes you a lot.” The little girl whisper, with her small hands on her mouth. “Do you also like Getou-sama?”

Before you can answer, there is a knock on the door and soon it’s opened by none other than Suguru. Long gone is his traditional clothing, now he wears something identical to you, a large pastel pink sweater with sweatpants. His hair is in his famous bun with his charming bang decorating his pretty face. Suguru’s eyes find you instantly, before catching two little girls who are running out of their seats to try to hide behind you, giggling loud.

“Hm.” Geto simple hums, before closing the door and moving toward you, and you bite your lips to avoid laughing. “You know, Y/n, I was going to introduce you to two little sisters I met a while ago, but I couldn’t find them. You haven’t seen them around, have you?”

“Oh, I haven’t, I’m just here by myself having an one person tea party.” You hear two small laughs after your answer.

“Then why is there two extra plates?” Geto sits in the chair in front of you, in his lips is a large smile you haven’t seen in a long time. You are wonderstruck for a moment, before blinking your eyes and staring at the girl’s plates.

“I was very hungry.” At that, Mimiko and Nanako can’t help but laugh louder, coming out of their hidden spot and tackling Suguru with hugs. He closes his eyes and hold the girls in both his arms. Staring at them, you feel your chest warming with a good feeling, he was still your charming Geto.

For some time, the four of you spend the tea play pretending to delight in the fake food, laughing at Suguru’s imitation of a monarch and addressing both Nanako and Mimiko as princess.

“If Getou-sama is the King, then that means Y/n-sama is his Queen?” Mimiko asks after some time, taking you by surprise.

“Hm, I don’t know. Why would that be?” Suguru turns to the little girl who shrugs her shoulders.

“Well, of course, Mimi!” Nanako answers her sister. “Can’t you see?”

“See what, Nanako?” You catch yourself asking.

“You guys are best friends who love each-other, it’s clear as crystal.” The girl get up from her chair and sits on your lap. You pat her little head and stares at her, avoiding Suguru’s eyes, but you can sense he is focusing on you.

“I think it’s time to go to sleep, girls.” Suguru gets up slowly, when you look at him he is picking Mimiko in his arms. “Don’t even try to give me your puppy eyes, Nanako. I’m avoiding them.”

“But…” Pouting, the girl shifts in your lap, hugging your body and staring at you. Damn, she does have puppy eyes that make you want to give her anything. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetie. I’ll be here in the morning.” You shouldn’t have said that, what if Suguru is only opening his house for you for today. You look at him worried, but sighs when see his beautiful contempt smile. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

Nanako smiles triumphantly, before getting off your lap with a quick kiss to your cheeks, you get up as well and move towards Geto, before you can do anything, Mimiko also kisses your cheek, hers again burning pink.

“Thank you for coming back to Getou-sama.” The girl quietly says, and you pat her head while she hides her shy face in Suguru’s chest. Nanako grabs the man hands and the three of them leave the room, with the girls waving you goodbye.

You turn to the toys around the room and start to clean the dinning table and fix the little mess, trying to occupy your mind from the persistent question: would Geto come back? You hoped so, you wanted to question him on the rumors, but could you possibly do it? You moved towards the bed and sat on it, looking at your hands and remembering the amount of blood you had in it just a couple hours ago — did the same happened to Suguru? Would you still be by his side if it was true?

The door opens a moment later and Geto moves your way so quick, like both of you are magnets. He sits by your side and takes one of your hand in his, his breathing is calm but a part of you can sense the turmoil of his heart.

“How did you knew where I was?” It’s the first thing he says you, his eyes are focused on your tangled hands. “That I needed you? The moment I started to lose that fight, can you believe I prayed for you? And you came.”

“I’ll always come to you, Suguru.” You whisper back, catching his face with your other hand and making he look at you, there is a yellow bruise on his cheek that has your heart breaking. “I knew where you were for some time. Gojo helped me with this… Honestly, I don’t know what it is, there is a connection between you and me, and I followed it to you.”

Geto uses his free hand to caress the one you have on his face, he closes his eyes as if he was finally in peace.

“You want to know the truth, right?” You nod, he doesn’t open his eyes but you know he can sense you do. “I did it.” It’s a quiet confession that has your core shaking. “I went to that village, killed the curse and had to swallow it, the same thing over and over. The monkeys… The non-sorceress took me with them to an abandoned house, leading me to a makeshift cell where there were two sisters, little girls, so beaten their eyes were closed and bruised, their whole body was covered in bruises.” You gasp when you realize Suguru is talking about Mimiko and Nanako. “They have cursed energy, but they didn’t do it, I killed what was tormenting that village and still they were blaming the girls. How could they be so cruel and terrible to defenseless creatures?”

Geto catch his breath before letting go of your hand on his cheeks, he sighs when you remove your hand and his eyes open, moving to the ceiling. You know he wants to cry, that he is frustrate and sad.

“They told me, demanded me, to kill the girls. I couldn’t do it, Y/n, it’s not in my nature, y’know that.” You nod, squeezing his hand. You wouldn’t have killed the girls if you were in his place, but would you have killed the humans? “So, I took the non-sorceress outside and told them everything was fine, the girls were innocent. I begged to take them with me, the assholes wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore. And guess what? They denied me of it, although the girls are orphans, they wanted them for themselves. I was going to open that prison with my bare hands and take Mimiko and Nanako whether they wanted or not. But when I turned back to the house, a man said he would kill the girls himself, and the others agreed.”

You closed your eyes, already knowing how the story ended. Catching your breath, you move your head towards Geto’s chest, and he hugs you instantly.

“What…” You voice is trembling. “What about your parents?”

“I explained to them what happened, but they are non-sorceress, they didn’t understood. Humans are selfish and only trust themselves, they believed the villagers, even when they saw the girls covered in bruised, limpering. I sometimes regret it, but I was so angry, I snapped.”

Suguru’s arms hold you tighter, you could sense the fear he was having right now. After all, he had dropped all his cards at the table, the truth of his murderer nature in front of you, bleeding honesty and terror. You raised your face from his chest and stared at him, the tears shinning his purple eyes fixated on you, only you.

“You can go, if you want.” He says after some time, pain evident in his voice. “Go back to the school, tell them what happened. You can even give them my head if you want.” It hurts your heart that he thinks that of you. But should you do it? Leave Geto, go back to the High Ups and a world of fighting battles against curses, to be killed and replaced by a younger version who will follow your steps, dying as well.

“I want to stay.” You say minutes later. “I want to stay with you, with Nanako and Mimiko. If you would have me.”

Geto’s hands move to your face, staring at your eyes in search for uncertain, for maybe a lie, you can’t tell. You stare at him back with love, after all Gojo was right, you love Suguru more than anything, and have always loved him. From the first day you met each-other, especially right now, where the reality of this cruel life shifted everything you knew. There was no questioning if this decision you made was right, you couldn’t go back to the school after this, your place was by Geto’s side, had always been.

Suguru caress your cheeks, a beaming smile forming on his perfect lips, he touches your forehead with his and the two of you close your eyes. In that moment, you feel his lips on yours, and you don’t take a second to answer his movements, letting his tongue slips in your mouth and his hands fall into your tights, bringing you to his lap. Geto Suguru kisses like a starving man, starving for your love and affection you grant to him so easily, he whimpers under you.

You let his kisses fall to your neck and chest, goosebumps sure to follow, you let Geto be devoted to you like the a deity he worships. He holds you so close, afraid you might disappear somehow, slipping through his fingers. But you don’t, you bring Suguru to your embrace with the same strength he shows you.

That night you know your life changed forever, and maybe the old men with unknown faces and strong powers might send a thousand soldiers to try and kill you, but with Suguru by your side no one could touch you. After all, the ancient and strongest feeling on earth, Love, was the fuel for your powers. And love was with you, in the bed and tangling sheets, love was also in the room next door, sleeping with teddy bears. It was at the other side of Tokyo, white hair and cigarettes, in the future exchanging secrets letters and secret hangouts, even playdates with two more little loves.

You were surrounded by it, emerged in the pure essence. No High Up could come near you or your family, you would make sure of that.

⠀© packsvlog, 2024, 01 june.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

a shore thing

bucky barnes x fem reader

i decided to write it hehe

a/n: any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is encouraged & welcomed :) xoxo

Bucky calls your name for the umpteenth time, beyond exasperated as you stumble away, giggling uncontrollably as you evade capture. He's hardly tipsy anymore, having decided to nurse a single beer for the last couple hours when he noticed how heavy you were drinking. Somebody needed to be responsible, he told himself. Even Steve was letting loose more than usual. But, to be fair, they were all on vacation.

“Guys, the taxis are here,” Nat announces, yet again, leaning heavily against one of said vehicles. “Bucky, we gotta go.”

“I’m trying my best here,” he replies. Although, that's not entirely true. “Someone should've cut her off ages ago.”

“Boooooo,” you heckle as you run past him.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Fine. You can stay here by yourself.”

You pause abruptly, almost tripping over your own feet, but you catch yourself before you face-plant into the gravel. “You're leaving me?” you ask in a pitiful tone.

“Yup.” Bucky turns and takes a few steps away, hearing you whine in protest. “Have fun.”

“Noooo, wait!”

Your uneven steps come closer and closer to Bucky and as soon as he gauges you're within arm’s reach he spins around with a smirk. It makes you lurch to a stop, gasping as it dawns on you.

“Betrayal!” you shout, pointing an accusatory finger at him. You try to take off running again, but Bucky is quicker. You're swooped up into a fireman’s carry before you even register your feet leaving the ground. “Ack! Put me down, you absolute caveman!”

Sam sticks his head out of the taxi. “There's room in this one.”

Bucky steers his steps that way, feeling your tiny fists beating his back the whole way, and plops you into the open seat. You let out a cute oof that he ignores as he tries to latch the seatbelt. You're a squirmy little shit though, and he soon finds that the only way he’ll be able to get the group back to the hotel is to enter the taxi himself and pull you into his lap. He quickly shuts the door and finally latches the seatbelt around the both of you, telling the driver to go.

Sam shakes his head in amusement in the seat beside Bucky. “You're seriously the only one who can rally that firecracker of a woman.”

“Hey!” you object with a pout. “I'm drunkies, not deaf. I can still hear you.”

You and Sam begin bickering and Bucky rolls his eyes, but he doesn't do anything to interfere. He's too busy trying to think about literally anything else other than the ginormous mistake he made by placing you on his lap. You, the person he's been in love with for far too long now, who has absolutely no clue of his feelings and sends constant mixed signals.

There are days he's sure you feel the same with the way you look at him, but then the next day you go out of your way to make sure he knows the two of you are just friends. He's losing his fucking mind. He doesn't know if he should tell you how he feels or try to move on.

You're wiggling suddenly, body jostling atop Bucky’s and his mind is forced to return to the present, only to see you and Sam slap-fighting like children.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he addresses the driver, “I swear they're actually adults when they're not three sheets to the wind.”

The driver waves off the apology with a chuckle. The fight ends with you pinching Sam’s nipple, his cry of pain and outrage making you giggle wildly and throw your head back onto Bucky’s shoulder. After you catch your breath you sit up and wiggle some more until you're sitting sideways and can look at Bucky. Your eyes are glassy and your smile is sly and a touch wonky, and Bucky still thinks you're the cutest, sexiest woman he's ever known.

“Why don't you like me for real?”

The taxi is uncomfortably quiet. Bucky blinks a few times, shifting his gaze to Sam, who’s suddenly very interested in the passing streetlights and palm trees outside the window. Traitor, Bucky thinks. With no help from his supposed friend, Bucky looks back to you.

He clears his throat. “I do like you.”

“No,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I mean like, like me like me. Like, more.”

Bucky is silent again, his mind whirling with a million questions–the biggest one being what the fuck?

“I'm not sure what you mean,” he says carefully. He hopes playing dumb will work in deterring the conversation, but he should've known better.

“You always just joke about it, but you never mean it. Always get my hopes up.”

“What are you talking about?” he blurts, truly flabbergasted, but he cuts you off before you can reply. “No, don't answer that. You're drunk, okay? You don't know what you're saying.”

You poke his cheek roughly, pouting. “I just want you to like me back, Buck. Wanna kiss you whenever I want.”

Bucky swallows thickly, unable to take his eyes away from yours as you lean in closer.

“Don't you wanna kiss me?” you question, reaching up you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Can I kiss you, Bucky?”

Your lips graze his, a feather-light touch, and he exhales shakily. Of fucking course he wants to kiss you. He's wanted nothing else for the last year. But he doesn't want it like this. He says your name, voice low in warning. You either don't hear him or you don't care.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as you continue pressing light kisses to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his chin, along his jaw. He fists his hands where they rest on either side of you, praying for the will to remain strong.

“You're drunk,” he repeats, a last ditch effort in getting you to stop, but even he can hear how weak the protest is.

“I still know what I want, what I feel.” You brush your nose against his. “I want you.”

Sam coughs pointedly beside both of you. “We’re here.”

Bucky is quick to unlatch the seatbelt and help you out of the car. Nat walks over and grabs your hand, Steve walking leisurely behind her.

“Let's go to bed, please,” she begs as she drags you with her.

You begin whining again, reminding Bucky of your inebriated state. He shouldn't have let you kiss him. You're not going to remember any of this tomorrow. Guilt punches him in the gut. He's so fucking weak when it comes to you.

“I wanna sleep with Bucky,” you complain as you resist.

Natasha squawks. “What?!” Her eyes are as wide as saucers, flicking back and forth from you and Bucky. Sam fails to hide his snort.

“His bed is bigger,” you explain, “You take up too much space.”

Natasha gasps. “How dare you!”

You turn to Bucky with pleading eyes. “Bucky, please let me sleep with you.”

“I… I'm not sure that's a good idea,” he replies.

You stomp your foot. “Pleeeease?” Your pout is lethal. “I promise I won't take up too much space.”

Sam puts his hand over Nat’s mouth before she can start yelling, doing his best to frogmarch her into the hotel so they don't cause a disturbance. Steve follows languidly, which is the sign that he's quickly coming down from his drunken high and will likely crash the moment his head hits the pillow.

“You should just sleep in your room with Nat,” Bucky advises.

“I don't wanna sleep with her,” you say, stepping back into Bucky’s space. One of your hands grasps his shirt, the other trailing across his chest. He fights the shiver threatening to run down his spine. “I wanna cuddle you.”

You look up at him through your lashes and Bucky knows he's lost. He sighs. You grin and giggle, grabbing his hand to lead him inside the hotel. He's quiet the whole ride up in the elevator. Your head is resting on his shoulder, humming along to whatever song is playing in your head. You’re still holding his hand.

When you're both standing in front of his room door, Bucky pauses, about to try one last time to get you to go two rooms down to the one you're supposed to be sharing with Nat, but you snatch the key card out of his hand and open the door before a word can leave his mouth. He doesn't trust you to be alone right now, and with Sam babysitting Nat and Steve probably snoring away in his own room, Bucky accepts his fate. He enters the room, closing the door with resignation.

“Ugh, god, these heels are the worst,” you grumble as you trip your way over to sit on the bed. You fight with the small buckle before making a noise of complaint. “Buckyyy…”

“Jesus,” he mutters, huffing as he walks to you.

He kneels in front of you and carefully takes your shoes off. You hum, pleased, once your feet are free, wiggling your toes.

“Why do you wear them if you hate them so much?” he mumbles.

“Because they make my legs and ass look fantastic, duh.”

Well. That's fair, Bucky supposes.

“Can you unzip me now?”

Fuck. Bucky chokes on nothing.

“Unzip you? What are you planning on sleeping in? Your pajamas are in your room,” he points out.

“Can't I borrow one of your shirts?” you ask, blinking innocent eyes up at him.

He doesn't trust it one bit.

“Please, Bucky? My dress won't be comfortable.”

Your pout makes yet another appearance. He doesn't bother pointing out that you wouldn't have this problem if you went to your own room. You'd ignore him anyway.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He rifles through his bag to find a shirt for you, grabbing pajamas for himself while he's at it. “I'll go change in the bathroom.”

He turns to head that way, but you stop him.

“My dress,” you remind him, spinning around and pointing at the zip.

Bucky's pretty sure you could do this by yourself, but he's just ready to go to bed at this point, so he’ll do whatever he has to to get there. He tries not to put too much thought into the action, but his mind can't help but wander, imagining unzipping your dress with different intentions. The more skin that is revealed to him, the more his breathing picks up. He takes note that you didn't wear a bra with this dress, which makes him realize you'll be wearing his shirt with only your underwear beneath it. He curses mentally.

He steps away like he's been burned once the zipper reaches the bottom. “There you go,” he says, voice gruff.

He doesn't wait for your response, quickly escaping into the bathroom before anything else can be asked of him. It doesn't take Bucky long to change his clothes, but he still lingers in the small space to gather his wits, taking his time as he brushes his teeth, and even splashes some cold water on his face. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment.

“She’ll forget all of this by morning,” he assures himself.

He's not fond of the way that statement makes his stomach twist.

When he leaves the bathroom, he finds your dress pooled on the floor in the same spot you stood as he unzipped it. You're standing next to the bed, fidgeting with the hem of Bucky’s shirt that hangs off your small frame. He raises a quizzical brow.

“I don't know which side you prefer,” you say, unsure.

Bucky feels himself soften at your expression. “I'm good either way.”

You dart for the left side, lifting the comforter and sheets and snuggling underneath them. Bucky's lips twitch, but he resists smiling.

“C’mon, Buck, I want cuddles,” you entice, patting the spot beside you exaggeratedly.

He only hesitates for a split second. It's late and exhaustion is settling in his bones. He’ll worry about consequences in the morning.

You waste no time in invading his space once he's in the bed. You nudge his arm until he lifts it, worming your way under it and placing your head on his chest, your own arm slung over his waist. Bucky goes still, holding his breath until you get comfortable. Slowly, he lets his arm fall across your back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“Bucky?” you whisper.

“Hm?”

You nuzzle into his pec. “Love you.”

Bucky's eyes snap open then. His heart begins hammering in his chest and he prays that you're close enough to sleep to not notice.

“Goodnight,” he rasps after a minute passes by.

Your only reply is a light snore. Bucky feels his heart crack in his chest.

~

The next morning, Bucky lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He's not sure exactly how much sleep he got, but it wasn't a lot. You only got clingier as you slept, practically wrapping your whole body around him.

Bucky is a weak, weak man.

Sunlight begins peeking through the curtains, eventually finding its way to the bed and across your closed eyes. A frown forms between your brows and he almost smoothes it with his thumb. The only reason he stops himself is because you groan and turn away before he can.

“Turn it off,” you croak.

“The sun?” he retorts with a laugh.

“Yes,” you reply derisively. “Kick its ass for waking me up.”

Bucky smiles to himself. “Whatever you want, my love.”

It feels like the room freezes in time after the endearment escapes him. With a jolt, you sit up and face him. Bucky can't read your expression, but that's mostly because he's doing his best to look anywhere but your face.

“Seriously?” you gripe. “You're still going to poke fun about that kind of shit even after what I said last night?”

That gets his attention pretty easily. He meets your gaze and hates the dejected look on your face.

“What–what are you talking about?” he questions, thrown.

Your chin wobbles slightly before you scoff, whipping the comforter off your body as you attempt to leave the bed, but Bucky sits up and grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Wait–”

“Let go of me,” you demand, refusing to look at him.

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on,” he replies firmly.

You turn to him with a glare. “You're still joking about my feelings for you, even though I made it perfectly clear how I felt last night.”

“Felt? You… you don't feel the same anymore?” He's grasping for straws here. “I thought–I mean, I didn't think you were serious. You were drunk, I…”

“It doesn't matter if I still feel the same or not,” you reply, the fight leaving your body.

“Yes, it does!” he exclaims. “God, of course it fucking matters. If you have feelings for me, I need to know.”

“Have I not made it abundantly clear already?!” you retort. “If you're that fucking dense, then here you go: I'm fucking in love with you, you big, stupid, gigantic ass–”

He cuts you off by dragging your body to his and kissing you. You make a sound of shock, but you don't push him away, so he deepens the kiss, tilting his head and flicking his tongue at the seam of your lips. You open for him with a gasp, your tongue meeting his and making you both moan. He pulls away, chest heaving.

“We're both stupid,” he declares. “I'm in love with you too. I thought you were the one not taking it seriously.”

Your dazed expression begins clearing and realization sets in. “Oh my god,” you mumble as you yank him back into a kiss that has him reeling.

“Do you know,” he starts between kisses, “how fucking hard it was—to be a gentleman last night?”

You giggle. “I was hoping you wouldn't be a gentleman.”

Bucky curses, manhandling you until you're flat on your back. “That can be arranged.”

“Promises, promises,” you goad, biting your lip.

“Exactly,” he replies, lips tugging into a smirk.

~

Needless to say, the two of you have to put up with merciless teasing for the rest of the trip… But it's worth it.

[rainstops]

my favorite alcohol problem

scaramouche x gn!reader fluff

summary: scaramouche started drinking to stop thinking about you, and suddenly ended up in your bed. someone help him

a/n: this is so unrealistic,, i think. either way ive been trying to fight the urge to write this but did end up giving in. also, I am just dropping this here to go right back to being on hiatus cuz this has been living in my drafts..

warnings: mentioning of alcohol consumption

wc: 1.5k

it was late. by far past 1 am. you were out with your friends to celebrate a birthday, and for whatever reason they were now going to go drinking at the bar next door. you excused yourself and told them that you couldn't stay any longer, but you’d still accompany them into the bar and then leave. 

as soon as you stepped foot into the bar, you saw a familiar someone laying with their head on the counter. your friends chose a place to sit, and while you said goodbye to them, you were already walking over to the familiar someone. 

it was scaramouche, who you knew from your college classes. from all the times the both of you had worked together, you knew that he wasn't the nicest person to be around. 

“what are you doing here at this time”, you asked scaramouche, and you couldn't tell if he was asleep or just too drunk to respond. 

you put a hand on his shoulder and tried shaking him, to which he somewhat tried to sit up. 

“why the hell are you drinking?”, you tried asking again. 

yet scaramouche in his drunken state leaned against you, and mumbled something which you at first couldn't make out. 

“this… this is all your fault!”, he slurred. 

“mine?! i wasn't even here”, you argued, but at the lack of a response, you decided that it was time to act. you couldn't just leave him here. like this he probably didn't even remember his way home or his address. 

“come on, let's get you out of here”, you slipped an arm under his arm and tried supporting him since he didn't seem like walking was something he could do on his own. 

suddenly the bartender stopped you. 

“excuse me, but he didn't pay yet”, the woman behind the counter looked like she felt somewhat sorry for you. 

you groaned and reluctantly pulled out your card. 

“here but it on this card”, the woman nodded and went to close his tab and pay. 

“you owe me big time scara”, you said to the guy you were almost carrying by the way he was slumping against you. 

“thank you, have a good night!”, the woman handed you your card back and you nodded with a very forced smile. 

as soon as you stepped foot outside the bar, you realized that you had no idea where scara even lived. you knew none of his friends who you could call, and have never been at his place. whenever you needed to work on a project together, you just met in the college library with him.  

screw it you thought. 

you sat scaramouche, who still hasn't said a word ever since he blamed you for his drinking, in the passenger seat of your car, and decided to just drive to your apartment. if he was going to complain to you about waking up at your place, you were sure as hell never going to help him with anything ever again. 

at your apartment, you started contemplating who slept where. you sure as hell didn't want to sleep on the couch, and since you already helped scaramouche out of the stupid situation he was in, why would you let him sleep on your bed? 

but the people-pleaser side of yours, in the end won and you did let him sleep on your bed. 

“here drink this”, you said while almost forcing a glass of water into the drunken man's hand. 

scaramouche drank the glass faster than you ever could, and held it out for you to put it on the bedside table like you were taking care of a child. 

you were about to walk out of the room when you heard a low whine. 

“what?”, you turned around. 

and there he sat, arms crossed across his chest and an angry pout on his face. with his head turned away from you, he mumbled something which you once again couldn't make out. 

“repeat that?”

“don’t… go”, scaramouches voice was barely above a whisper, and you wondered how much alcohol did he actually have? 

despite almost having to laugh at scaramouches weird request, you decided not to laugh at him because who knew how much he was going to remember from this night? 

“Scaramouche, I'm tired I just want to go to sleep”, and when you turned around to leave, you almost jumped at the feeling of a hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you back. 

“sleep here…”, scaramouche repeated and stared down at the floor. despite him not looking at you, you could tell that his face was flushed. yet wether that was because of the alcohol, or because he was asking you to sleep in the same bed as him.

you were about to argue with him, when scaramouche simply pulled you into bed with a yelp from you. 

the moment you were lying next to him, he wrapped his arms around your waist and fell asleep. not even pulling the blanket up or whatever. trying to get up was no use since he was going to wrap himself tighter around you whenever you tried.

he was so going to flip out when he woke up…

scaramouche happened to be the first one to wake up, and the first thing he noticed was the pounding headache. he barely remembered anything from the previous night. that was when he noticed you snuggled up against him. 

the first thing scaramouche decided to do was scream. well, almost. he slapped a hand over his mouth. next followed question after question running through his mind.

next he wanted to wake you, but wait- wouldn't that just be even more embarrassing? besides you looked so peaceful there next to him… wait what. 

then he remembered. 

the only reason he went drinking last night was to finally get you off his mind. for the past few weeks he could do nothing but think off you, even if he didn't want to. everything he saw reminded him of you. so he thought drinking could solve his problem. 

scaramouche even remembered parts of your conversation, the way you asked him why he was drinking, and he blamed it on you. drinking was just a last resort, since scaramouche had tried everything to finally forget you and nothing had worked. every thought and every action led back to you, and scaramouche was sick of it. it made his heart beat so hard, it was practically begging to jump out of his chest.

scaramouche sat up, his heart pounding faster than the headache in his head. what was he supposed to do now? 

he could leave and never speak to you off this again - assuming that you wont mention it to him - and live his life like nothing ever happened, but… is that what he wanted to do? this might be one of his only chances to be this close to you. 

that was when you moved and turned around to lean against scaramouches arm which was supporting his sitting form. it was pathetic to admit, but such a simple act led to scaramouches face heat up.

he was sure whatever he did next was because he was still tired. or because of the alcohol from last night. he was never going to admit the real reason for this not even to himself. 

yet he still lifted up his hand and reluctantly and slowly stroke your hair. first those strokes were barely even headpats, but it slowly turned into full playing with your hair and caressing your face. 

to scaramouches dismay, you were never a very heavy sleeper, so his actions woke you up rather quickly. 

scaramouche did not even notice how your eyes slowly opened and turned to look at him. he was way to busy admiring how beautifully your hair twirled around his finger. 

yet when he looked back at your face, he saw you with your eyes now open and your softly smiling face. it took him a second to process what had just happened, but he just blinked and suddenly scrambled away from you. 

his face was now redder than anything you have seen before and his mouth was wide open in shock. 

you on the other hand tried sitting up while laughing so hard that it was surely going to give you a stomach ache if you kept laughing. 

“s-stop laughing! you- i-”, scaramouche had no way of communicating with how flustered he currently was. 

after just a little while, you had calmed down though, and where only giggling a little. by then scaramouche was ready to ask you tons and tons of questions. well he wished that was the case, but instead of forming full questions in his head, there were only a bunch of question marks scattered across all the events from the previous night. 

“I- what were you even thinking making me sleep here?!”, was the only thing he could blurt out. 

“me? this isnt my fault!”, you replied still wearing a wide grin on your face. 

“what are you-”, scaramouche was so ready to blame everything on you, until he remembered the way he pulled you into bed with him and then hugged you so tight you could barely leave. 

“oh”, was all scaramouche could say as he lowered his head, completely at a loss for words. 

part 2?

[justporo]

Healing Hands

Halsin was injured in a fight and the one responsible for that is Astarion who now - against his own volition - feels like he needs to do something to help the other. Being alone with the gentle druid brings up more unexpected feelings though and it might not only be Halsin's wound that is being tended to.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: This was written as a secret santa gift! My gift recipient was very okay with it being posted so y'all are being treated as well. This was also like... my first time writing full-on M/M smut (so please be gentle? As gentle as Halsin if you can...). So, have another instance of porn with feelings...

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin Warnings: Explicit sexual content (anal, fingering, handjob) Wordcount: 6,3k ~~~

“It's nothing.”

“It's obviously not nothing, otherwise you wouldn't have sounded like a dying boar each time you took another step all the way back to camp”, Astarion spat at Halsin who was currently leaning against a tall boulder next to his tent to steady himself. The druid was partially doubled over in pain from an injury - but still towering over the vampire.

Astarion immediately regretted the words as soon as they had left his tongue.

Yes, he was mad at this oaf of a druid for playing down his injuries - simply because it was idiotic and an unnecessarily heroic thing to do. But mostly the vampire felt guilty - a sentiment he'd become used to just suppress to not let himself get dragged under completely. But alas, that coping mechanism didn't seem to work this time.

So here Astarion was, wallowing in the shame of being the one responsible for the wood elf’s wounds. It ate him up from the inside - and he hated it.

And the vampire might've been even more shaken had he admitted to himself that the guilt and the anger were generously laced with genuine worry about the druid. But he surely wasn’t ready for that confession yet.

Halsin looked at the pale elf who was standing before him with his arms crossed over his chest and who looked only one more moment away from angrily throwing his hands in the air. But he also saw that tinge of worry and shame in the vampire's crimson eyes.

A warmth filled the druid’s chest realising what the vampire might not yet fully let himself understand. Maybe with some time though, the druid thought to himself, Astarion would realise what had made him come over here instead of just turning away in indifference.

“I’ll have you know that that's not at all what a dying boar sounds like”, Halsin replied softly with a lopsided smile while trying to stand up tall again. Astarion huffed.

Halsin knew he was pushing it when he answered like that. But then again it seemed like playful, if not even sometimes outright mean, banter was a much easier way for the pale elf to work through his emotions than addressing them straight on.

“Well, so I guess you simply sounded like a dying druid then”, the vampire spat back and then - with arms still crossed over his chest - made to turn and walk away. “Maybe I should have just left you alone in your final moments, let you suffer alone, since you’re so keen on becoming a martyr.”

The words were pure venom.

Halsin didn’t mind. He saw directly through the hurtful words and knew of the pain beneath that caused them. And he also knew that this was merely a coping strategy for the vampire who hadn’t even been allowed to care for someone - not even himself - for such a long time.

The druid could have left it at that, letting the other man walk away. Maybe to bring it up again later, to give the younger elf some more time to process his own feelings.

But if Halsin was honest with himself he was quite desperate for some company too, some genuine connection - it had been so long since someone had taken care of him for once. Centuries of always getting back up again on your own made you strong if not stern for sure. But it also made you lonely quite often.

So the big man took a quick step to reach for Astarion before he was out of reach and grabbed his shoulder - softly but with determination. The quick movement caused another strained groan and a wince but he didn’t falter.

“Please, Astarion”, Halsin said in a deep tone, trying to filter the struggle out of his voice. Astarion halted immediately although he only turned to the other man reluctantly. Still he was barely able to hide that he’d been eager to be interrupted from leaving.

But the gaze in his crimson eyes was still cautious, closed off. It was almost as if the vampire was a wild animal - if not approached quite right he could still quickly be driven away. And then one couldn’t be sure if he would ever come this close again.

But thankfully sidling up and taking care of scared animals was kind of Halsin’s specialty. If he’d mastered getting along with hurt beasts and proud predators surely he’d be able to find the right words to make the vampire feel at ease and let down his guard - even if only for a tiny bit. Then the druid would take it from there.

“I appreciate your concern, more than I maybe let on at first and I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to mock you”, the druid declared and softly squeezed the vampire’s shoulders while with an open smile he tried to convey his genuine conviction.

“I’m not conc-”, the pale elf began to spit but the warmth and open vulnerability on Halsin’s face made him shut up again quickly. It wasn’t entirely clear though if it was mainly because he’d realised the lie he had been about to utter or if he simply wasn’t able to deal with the tall elf’s strategy of gently deescalating.

Slowly, Astarion let himself be nudged to turn around, so Halsin quickly continued: “If you’d be so kind I could use some help cleaning and dressing the wound - it’s easier with a second pair of hands. And probably even more if it’s yours.” The druid realised his mistake in wording as soon as the sentence had left his tongue. Immediately, the vampire’s cocky confidence was back.

“Oh, is that so?”, Astarion replied as his signature smirk was now spreading over his face. The vampire turned around fully again and lifted one of his eyebrows. The former anger and pettiness was seemingly forgotten as soon as he had seen an opening for sultry jokes - how typical.

“So what you’re saying is, you want my hands on you, Halsin Silverbough, did I catch that correctly?”, Astarion asked and sauntered around the druid a bit who followed him with his eyes. His arms were still crossed over his chest but he was leaning towards Halsin now, a smug grin still on his face.

Halsin meanwhile had released the vampire’s shoulder and seemed even a bit flustered by the sudden change in tone and mood. He’d known Astarion could be whimsical but the way the vampire could almost turn anything into lewd commentary was astounding even to him.

“I mean, if you wouldn’t mind - I could use some help with-,” Halsin began.

“Alright,” Astarion immediately interrupted him with a dramatic sigh and roll of his red eyes “I’ll do it. But only because - what would you even have done if I hadn’t come over here by accident.” The vampire clicked his tongue while Halsin couldn’t stop a knowing grin creeping onto his lips. How Astarion twisted and turned everything into a joke so as to not be seen as actually caring would have been amusing if the reasons for it hadn’t been so sad.

But for now Halsin simply accepted his deflections and just felt joyous that he had succeeded in drawing the rogue back in. The time to talk about coping mechanisms was very much a discussion for another night. And if Halsin was honest with himself he felt the pain from the wound a lot more the longer he waited to get to it. And he didn’t want it to become an actual problem.

The druid said nothing more and simply turned around to open up the flap to his tent with another wince and ducked inside. He felt Astarion following closely behind.

Inside was just about enough space for the two men to stand. The closeness with which both of them were suddenly confronted immediately set another mood again. And when Halsin went to light the lantern the mood was certainly only intensifying when dim orange light filled the small space.

The druid started to rumble through his supplies while trying to both ignore the growing pain and the knowledge that he probably never had been this private with the vampire before.

He liked Astarion quite a fair amount. Despite the younger elf being quite ghastly at times and his unsated need for violence Halsin had immediately felt drawn to him. Maybe he’d felt from the beginning that some of the lashing out lay deeply rooted in pain and suffering that no creature should ever have to endure. Even before he had learnt bits and pieces of Astarion’s past, had Halsin felt the need to ease his agony. To hold him until the tension released - or maybe even was replaced with another kind of tension altogether.

The tall elf was reminded of these thoughts as he kept going through his stuff - maybe taking a bit longer than unnecessary in an attempt to calm himself from emotions welling up inside him.

Meanwhile, the other elf suspiciously cleared his throat while he looked around the druid’s tent and definitely not at the other man’s backside. Whatever it was he thought and felt about Halsin, it seemed complicated if not completely opposite to the druid’s notions. Not that he had willingly admitted any of this.

Small pots and bottles clanking and clattering were the only sounds for long awkward moments until Halsin finally found the salve and some bandages that he’d been looking for. He put them down somewhere beside him. Then he turned around to face Astarion again who still had his arms crossed over his chest. This time it seemed defensive - or maybe it was just a way to keep his hands occupied since he had no better idea what to do with them. The druid would give them something better to do soon though.

“I have an ointment that will take care of the wound and help the healing process. I’ll have to clean the injury first though, maybe you could see if we still have some spirit around among the camp supplies?”, the wood elf proposed to Astarion who immediately nodded and went off without another word. Uncommon for him, but judging by how Halsin himself was missing some of his usual self-confidence in this unusual situation, he couldn’t judge him.

When the vampire returned, a bottle of strong alcohol in hand, the wood elf was currently trying to get his armour off - and failing miserably. The still growing pain made it hard for him to make full use of his arms and move them around enough to undress himself.

It only took Astarion one glance to take the scene in and realise this. He put down the bottle next to the other stuff Halsin had put out in preparation and took another step closer to the druid, already holding up his hands, reaching out.

“Nothing, huh? But you can’t even loosen the straps on your armour, eh?”, he teased but there was actual worry in his voice and eyes and Halsin didn’t dare protest now. The sudden genuineness surprised the druid once more. Silently, he wondered how many more moments like this there would be tonight.

“Let me do it for you”, the vampire continued and already started undoing the straps of Halsin’s armour with his nimble, elegant fingers - starting on the side and then slowly moving around to the druid’s back. Silence stretched out between the two men as Astarion quickly undid the buckles; already a lot less awkward than before.

It was only interrupted when smooth, cool fingers accidentally made contact with warm skin and sudden gasps left both the druid’s and the rogue’s mouth when Astarion started to gently drag the armour off Halsin’s chest.

The druid helped by lifting up his muscular arms as much as his wound would allow - suppressing strained moans as much as possible.

Astarion took off the armour and discarded it rather carelessly somewhere off to the side, seemingly distracted. In all honesty he was a bit too smitten with how the now half-naked druid looked before him. Strong muscles moved with every breath Halsin took - flexing, relaxing again, it was almost hypnotising.

But seeing the big giant gash just under the rib cage that snaked around Halsin’s upper body ripped Astarion out of his stupor rather quickly. Deftly, he stepped around the druid once more and made sure to keep staring at the wound rather than the rest of Halsin’s body.

All the while in his head the vampire kept turning around the question why he was seemingly so affected by this man. Usually he was the one in charge, taking the lead, the one seducing and making the other party gasp in awe and admiration. He didn’t like to be caught on the backfoot.

But something about the druid drew him to that man. And he was desperate to let it happen, at least for a while. His only hope was that he wouldn’t regret letting down his guard.

What the vampire failed to realise in these moments though, was that the druid was very much just as affected by all of this. Halsin’s breath had become harder and even he himself wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of the wound sending searing pain through his body or if he was yearning to feel more of the vampire’s hands on his naked skin.

Astarion was still staring at the giant slash that had cut the druid from the side of his hip, across his stomach and even up and around to his back. It was big but at least the weapon had seemingly been very sharp and the cut didn’t seem awfully deep. Hence, it had already stopped bleeding for the most part.

Without another word but making it a point to not look into the druid’s face out of fear what the bigger elf would read on his face, Astarion turned around and grabbed the bottle of alcohol and some of the prepared bandages. He opened up the bottle and drenched some cloth in the alcohol.

Meanwhile, Halsin kept staring at the vampire’s long fingers doing their work while unconsciously biting his lip. All he could concentrate on at this moment other than feeling agony from the injury was the thought of Astarion touching him again when he’d clean up the wound - nevermind that the alcohol would make it hurt so much more.

Placing down the glass bottle, Astarion cleared his throat. For a single moment his crimson eyes flicked up to the druid’s who was waiting in anticipation. The way the bigger elf looked at him with slightly parted lips now and wide eyes had not been what he had anticipated. It irritated him enough to let his eyes immediately snap back down.

Then the vampire gently grabbed Halsin’s wrist with his free one despite it not even remotely being in the way of his task. But he had to put his other hand somewhere, right?

In the meantime, the bigger elf took in a big silent breath when he felt the pale hand loop around his wrist. How that simple gesture almost made him drop to his knees begging for more was absolutely beyond him. He tried desperately to contain himself and let the smaller elf do his work.

But he had seen some of the tension he felt reflected in the other’s crimson eyes - and the delicate tenderness. And it was already fueling whatever feelings were starting to rise up within him. Halsin gently bit his lip again to keep from letting out noise as he watched Astarion lean closer to him, bundled up bandage in hand. He saw the furrowed brows, the straight nose, one of the white curls slowly sliding onto the vampire’s forehead as he leaned in to take a closer look at the gash.

The way the dim, warm light illuminated Astarion’s perfect features made the druid almost gasp. Nature had been ever so gentle and careful to make every last detail perfect when it had crafted him.

Then, with a lot of caution Astarion touched the makeshift swab drenched in liquor to the edge of Halsin's wound. Immediately, the big man winced despite trying to brace himself and recoiled from the vampire.

Astarion hissed when the druid clumsily took a step back, then clicked his tongue again. “For nothing this is all very dramatic behaviour, don’t you think?”, the vampire snarled and narrowed his eyes at Halsin. The awkwardness and whatever other delicate feelings had welled up during the silence before was forgotten for a moment.

And now even Halsin couldn’t help but to roll his eyes at Astarion - even though he was quite grateful for a break from the tension that had been forming.

Or maybe he wasn’t, he wasn’t sure about it at the moment. All he could be sure of, was that this unlike elf had an effect on him he didn’t fully understand yet.

“This is the third time you point that out now, Astarion. I admit, it’s not nothing, alright?”, the druid said with a sigh and rolled his shoulders to try and rid himself of some of the tension there. “And I’m grateful you’re helping me. Now please, continue?”

The vampire’s gaze slowly softened again and he remembered with a pang of guilt that he had been the one responsible for all of this happening in the first place when he had provoked an unnecessary fight. And Halsin had to be the one to get him out of it again.

Astarion swallowed down the sentiment and then went back to his task, taking a step once more towards Halsin who was already bracing himself again.

But when Astarion tried to continue the druid couldn’t help but wince and stumble backwards again. For whatever reason the druid who was normally used to patching up himself and not make a fuss about it was terribly sensitive today.

Maybe because the vampire’s presence was taking part of his usual unfaltering will power away to make him think about how good it would feel to be touched more by these delicate hands.

“Alright, I’ve had it now. Sit down!” Astarion hissed in a sudden fit of impatience and with both his hands reached up to push the much taller elf down by his shoulders.

Taken aback by the sudden briskness Halsin simply let it happen and obediently sat down on his bedroll next to him. Then he sat there awkwardly, leaning back on his hands to hold up his upper body, and legs slightly angled before him. 

Astarion knelt down beside him and threw the druid another glance that almost seemed to scold the taller, stronger and older elf for his insolent behaviour. And somehow that seemed to do the trick: when Astarion went back to try and clean the wound Halsin finally was able to endure the painful process. Small strained gasps were still leaving his lips while Astarion worked quickly but precisely to clean the cut.

The vampire’s free hand was on Halsin’s thigh now that was still clad in his leather pants to balance himself while was leaning over and around the druid’s upper body. Maybe that fact was also helping Halsin endure all this. Because he kept staring at the other man’s hand that was lightly and unconsciously squeezing his thigh now. And he suddenly felt himself focusing a lot more on how close Astarion’s long fingers were to…

“There, all done”, the vampire exclaimed cheerfully and leaned back on the balls of his feet.

Halsin let out a deep breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and with quite some desperation realised that the tension he had felt before had moved southwards and was now beginning to visibly strain against his leather pants.

With a cough the druid leaned over a little, trying to cover up his arousal by placing his massive arm in front of it.

Not that he would have needed to even try. The vampire was a keen observer and had immediately noticed the telltale bulge growing under his careful touch. Even though he might have almost missed it since he’d been very much distracted by his own growing arousal while he had kept his eyes fixed on the lower body of the wood elf moving fluidly with each breath he took - despite the pain running through him.

For a moment no one said a word as both men were seemingly overwhelmed with the tension they had created in the small space - and which seemed to become ever smaller the higher the emotions were boiling.

Astarion threw the piece of bandage away towards where he had placed down the bottle earlier while he kept eyeing the druid who was still awkwardly bent over: one leg stretched out straight, the other still angled. The vampire’s tongue darted out of his mouth to nervously wet his lips as he was trying to figure out where to go from here.

Meanwhile Halsin was doing very much the same. As much as he knew about Astarion’s past he wanted to be careful not to cross a line.

Hells, he wasn’t even fully sure if the rogue felt the same way about all of this. Although a voice in the back of Halsin’s head kept insisting that Astarion was here after all and hadn’t shied away. And somehow he couldn’t bring himself to believe that the vampire would have done all of this for any other of the companions.

But Halsin’s mind kept turning: trying to contain himself, trying to think of something to say, trying to voice his feelings in a way that wouldn’t drive the other man away, trying to decide what he was supposed to do.

He kept thinking desperately while no sound except for their breathing filled the small space.

Until the vampire took the decision upon himself.

Astarion looked the druid straight in the eye, chin held up proudly. “You want me to finish the job?”

Something enticing was glinting in the pale elf’s red eyes, something that immediately made Halsin’s now full blown erection ache with the need to be touched again - more and especially down there. It was clear now to the druid that his carnal reaction to Astarion’s touch and presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. But he didn’t even care anymore.

What he saw on the other man’s face was much more important right now.

It didn’t make it any easier to find the right words though.

“Dressing the wound, I mean”, Astarion replied while cocking his head with a lewd smile after some more time of the druid’s mind racing and coming up empty-handed. Halsin was frustrated and surprisingly pleased alike by how this man seemed to be able to make a complete mess out of him with barely doing anything at all.

And that must have been visible because a haughty grin stole onto the vampire’s face, until even his fangs were clearly visible and glinting in the low lantern light.

“Yes”, the druid pressed out and with some quick words instructed Astarion on how to use the salve before he leaned back on his hands again. Immediately, the vampire went to work, scooping some of the ointment out with his fingertips and then starting to spread it across the cleaned cut with his flat hands.

He looked right in the druid’s face now who couldn’t help but hold his gaze.

Astarion was sure of what to do now. Still not sure about if he would regret it later though. But he’d realised that an opportunity had presented itself: indulge in some pleasure. And one that was unprompted even. In fact, he was very much surprised at how quickly things had gotten heated. Obviously he felt more attracted and drawn to Halsin than he had let himself believe before. Maybe this didn’t even have to be about an ulterior motive. Maybe - just maybe - he could indulge just this once and just soak up some of the pleasure he desperately craved.

He was very much a hedonist after all. The vampire was keen to start to act on it.

His hands were still applying the salve, maybe wandering and lingering a bit - or even a lot - more than necessary.

Halsin in the meantime kept staring at the vampire - his eyes flicking from his face, his eyes, his lips to his hands that gently but teasingly took care of him. The druid didn’t hide anymore how much just this already turned him on. Both men knew now where all this would lead - an unspoken truth.

After finishing applying the balm, Astarion’s dexterous hands made quick work of wrapping bandages over the treated wound and around the druid’s body. He tied it off neatly to the side just like the druid instructed him to in a hoarse voice.

Then his hands lingered. Astarion looked straight into the eyes of the other man, taking in the larger elf’s face: the scars and the tattoo, the still parted lips, his eyes.

Meanwhile the vampire’s hands deliberately wandered over Halsin’s chiselled stomach, fingertips playfully stroking over the muscles while Astarion’s mouth fell open, tongue licking over his lips and he felt his own arousal between his legs ache.

But just before Astarion’s hands could stroke down to where both men desired it the most, Halsin broke the silence once more. Before a line would definitely be crossed, he needed to know. He needed to know that this was actually what the other man wanted.

“Astarion,” he said, barely able to keep a moan out of it “why are you here?”

The vampire’s hands immediately stopped, the promising glint in his eyes momentarily drowned by insecurity, worry and fear. But he caught himself quickly again.

“Why? Well, obviously you desperately needed my-”, the vampire began teasingly, repeating what he had said earlier.

“No - why are you really here?” Halsin asked. Suddenly it felt like he was in charge of the situation again and was not distracted by his attraction to the vampire anymore.

Astarion though felt put on the spot. His eyes dropped to the ground.

His first instinct usually would have been to snark at the druid. But something in the way the giant elf looked at him with such gentleness in his eyes made him stop. And even more, it drew a very unprompted confession from him.

“Because I- Because it looks like I care for you, druid”, the vampire admitted while his eyes found Halsin’s again. He’d found his confidence again.

And that was more than enough for Halsin.

He leaned forward and effortlessly grabbed the smaller elf. Dragging him onto his lap, the movement immediately caused both their erections to rub against each other - causing both to moan in desperate need.

Halsin drank up the vampire’s breathless groan by pressing his lips to Astarion’s. They met in a passionate, open-mouthed kiss. The druid’s tongue immediately slipped into the other man’s mouth, taking it in the frantic need to show Astarion how much he wanted him.

Halsin was leaning back now, laying down on his back, his hands holding the vampire by the hips and with that movement forcing the other to place his hands next to the druid’s head while leaning over him to keep going with the wild and messy kiss.

Another consequence of this change in position was that - being dragged there by Halsin’s strong hands - Astarion was very much grinding against the larger man. The vampire felt his own dick slide over the druid’s, his groin pressing pleasantly against the other man's despite the clothing being an annoying barrier between them.

The sensation turned the vampire on so much he had to break the kiss to arch his head and back in the heedless pleasure that was suddenly hitting him like a wave in a storm. How the slowly built up tension was so suddenly turned into an inferno was almost too much all at once.

The rogue sat up until he was straddling Halsin, trying to catch his breath, letting his thoughts catch up with his body. He stared at the druid and was pleasantly surprised to see a challenge glint in the druid’s face. Astarion’s lips turned upwards in a sensual smile. With this he could work - he was more than ready to meet the other head on.

While he supported himself with one hand on Halsin’s firm abs - careful not to touch the freshly dressed wound - he let the ball of his hand wander over first his own and then the other man’s erection. Thereby drawing a low growl from Halsin whose hands were pressing down harder on Astarion’s hips now and forcing him to grind against his hardened length again. The vampire just laughed haughtily as he enjoyed how easily he could turn the massive man into a mess.

Astarion let his hands wander over the druid's body, taking his time now, to let his fingertips explore the lines and ridges of Halsin's warm body. The body of a man that had lived a whole lifetime so far - and somehow still felt like a youngster now that he could barely contain his lust.

The wood elf was basically ready to perish under the hands of this man. He wasn't sure he was going to survive what would follow still. If the vampire kept going like this he might just come undone like this.

But he yearned so much for it, hungered for more. And as he looked upon Astarion’s perfect face while he was caressing his body so tenderly, he saw the same starvation in the vampire's eyes and knew what he had to do.

With impatience the druid’s hands began to tug on the other’s clothing, eager to get it off. To feel smooth cool skin on his warmer, rougher one. And since the vampire was just as eager after such a drawn out trade of nothing but touches, glances and gasps, they both made quick work of their remaining clothes and carelessly tossed them off towards the side.

Then, Astarion was back on the druid. He allowed himself a moment to take in the marvellous, gentle man beneath him, then he immediately grabbed for Halsin’s cock and worked it with as much care as he had used to clean and dress the wounds before: he was delicate, but firm and applied just the right amount of pressure as he squeezed and stroked. He rolled his hips just a little to get some friction in unison with the movements of his hand.

Immediately, breathless gasps and moans started to spill from the wood elf’s lips. The need was just too much - this would neither take long nor would it be very elegant.

Astarion moaned contentedly, letting his head fall back while he took pleasure in pumping the larger elf’s length and occasionally pressing it against his own.

He'd been so starved and only now realised it. Already he knew he would crave this again - this messy pleasure that wasn't an act. And more than this: the delightful softness, the careful reluctance and most of all: the tender man beneath him that somehow seemed to have looked through his defences down to his very core.

And who with no further questions asked, had decided to take it upon himself to care for this hurt and broken vampire.

Halsin was holding him steady while grabbing and squeezing his lover’s backside and finally sneaking one of his large hands around to carefully slide a finger into the vampire’s entrance. And then quickly a second one when he took in Astarion’s delighted and pleased reaction of being teased like this.

He took him so well and a hellishly wicked grin was splitting the druid’s face now while Astarion gasped when he felt the deft caress. He repaid Halsin with his head lolling back, eyes closed while an expression of blissful pleasure took over his face. It made him even more beautiful, Halsin found, as he kept up his movements and the vampire worked his cock harder.

It wouldn’t be an awfully long act that much had been sure from the beginning. But when the druid was almost spent he was desperate to draw out the pleasure even a bit more. And much more important than that: make sure that the vampire would get his fair share in it too.

Halsin withdrew his fingers causing Astarion to sigh in frustration at the sudden loss. But when the druid effortlessly lifted him up again and positioned his cock - still in the vampire’s skilfull caress - at his entrance, the frustration was quickly turned into exhilaration again.

“Alright?”, Halsin pressed out while he let Astarion hover above him, pressing only the glistening top against the vampire’s entrance - being patient despite all his primal instincts screaming at him to take the other man and take whatever else he wanted.

But he needn’t wait long: the vampire eagerly nodded in agreement, removed his hand and rewarded the large elf with a sharp intake of breath when he took the druid to the hilt in one smooth movement.

The vampire’s head lolled back again as he tried to get used to the overwhelming sensation of the druid inside of him. He’d figured he’d be more than a handful and was delighted to feel pleasantly filled. Astarion’s own cock twitched again and again as jolts of pleasure ran through him just from the feeling of the druid being buried deep inside of him. Halsin watched this all with content delight while he himself was biting his lip in pleasure from the vampire clenching around his hardness. The tent was filled with groans and gasps while both of them were breathing heavily - barely able to endure the pleasure that this night had become.

But finally getting to where he needed to be so desperately had set the druid on a path that would reach its end inevitably and soon - although it would be unbelievably pleasant for both of them. He lifted the smaller elf up again until he had almost fully withdrawn, looking right into his partner’s red eyes as Astarion’s mouth formed a silent “O”.

For a moment he held him there, tasting the delicious tension and delighting in the feeling of strings stretched so far they were almost snapping on their own.

Then he let him slam down onto him again. Just this one movement being almost enough to send both men over the edge and into oblivion. Halsin repeated the motions and settled for a steady rhythm that Astarion slowly took over until it was him riding the druid, face lifted to the heavens, clenching around him time and again to draw more of Halsin’s desperate, carnal reactions out of the larger elf. It became wild, vicious almost - as the vampire felt that he was free to take what he wanted from the druid. The looks Astarion threw him with half-lidded eyes made Halsin almost feral as well.

The druid moved his arms so he was holding his lover on top of him with just one arm. With his free hand he reached for Astarion’s cock and gently started to stroke it while the pale elf kept riding him, unapologetically chasing his own high.

The vampire gasped, his head snapping back as he received even more of the other man’s affectionate and passionate attention. With the vampire eagerly continuing to drive them both up towards the stars the druid didn’t need to do much to stroke Astarion in a way that had him furrow his brows and tense even more in pleasure. With a slightly adjusted angle the rogue was almost thrusting into Halsin’s hand, enjoying his firm hand squeezing around him.

When had been the last time someone had taken care of him like this - Astarion couldn’t even remember. He was almost senseless already with pleasure and bliss. It must have been centuries since he’d been able to let himself go like this.

Not long after, Halsin felt how Astarion’s movements became ragged, uncontrolled while he became even more vocal than before - his mouth was wide open now, sharp fangs glinting in lantern light. Halsin tightened his grip on the vampire’s dick and deliberately bucked his hips upwards to push in even deeper and his lover over the edge while he himself felt how he lost grip. The vampire rewarded him with a small unwilling yelp while pleasure whipped through him with full force.

And then Astarion unravelled first: coming with his cock twitching in the druid’s hand, spilling over him while breathlessly crying out Halsin’s full name as if pleading.

His name off Astarion’s tongue was the last drop that had been needed. With a guttural growl Halsin followed his lover already drifting up towards the stars, bucking his hips a final time, to be buried as deep inside his partner as possible when he lost himself.

While both were still trying to catch their breath, Astarion rolled off Halsin to lay next to him. Immediately the druid carefully wrapped an arm around the vampire. He let it happen and snuggled up a bit to the larger man, careful still to not put too much pressure on the wound.

And so they just laid there: breathless, drained - but deeply comfortable and joyous.

Astarion was still surprised how easily and effortlessly the druid made him feel comfortable, stripped all his worries away - Hells, he even made him cuddle after the sex. But he was way too pleasantly exhausted to think about it more, he just enjoyed the warm comfort of the druid’s massive arms around him.

And the druid enjoyed the trust and the company he hadn’t dared to hope for.

“Well,” Halsin breathed out after a long while of lying in companionable silence “thanks for lending me a hand, Astarion.”

The vampire simply chuckled softly.

“I think you’ve repaid me in like, so thank you as well”, he replied with just an edge of teasing in his tone.

They shortly looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Then they both laughed softly. And just enjoyed each other’s company - while healing worked its magic on the both of them.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @hereliesblackdragon

[just-a-torn-up-masterpiece]

misunderstandings

part five of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

these gays are dumb, glimpses of the past, idiots in love, they’re actually just so stupid, christmas, probably too much dialogue

a/n- ik it’s not christmas anymore but there’s only one more part!! also my christmas was dookie so i’m letting myself take ages on this <3

part one | part two | part three | part four | part six

wc: 3.6k

“I heard there’s an update on the Natasha situation,” Sam smiled, his grin was mischievous and you almost wish you weren’t so attuned to his compulsion to stick his nose into business that’s not his.

“Where’d you hear that?” you answered, directing a pointed look in Wanda’s direction whilst she worked on a coffee order.

“Don’t look at me,” she defended, raising her hands in surrender.

“I’m an intuitive guy,” Sam smirked in return. “I don’t need anyone to tell me, the weird look all over your face is all I need.”

“You need to be this invested in your own life,” you groaned. “Where’s James these days, huh?”

“I’m not falling for that trap,” Sam laughed. “What happened? What’re your feelings? Please tell me,” the man practically begged.

“Fine,” you conceded with a sigh, leaning against the counter whilst there was no line of customers needing your attention. “We bumped into her at the fair last night, that’s all.”

Your dismissive shrug on the topic was not enough to appease him, however, and the faux scowl he addressed you with was enough to let you know that he was aware of your downplaying of the situation.

“Alright, fine,” you groaned with a roll of your eyes. “We talked a little and I’m still confused,” you surmised.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Did she apologise? Are there…butterflies? Give me something,” Sam pleaded. “I need to know whether to give her cookies laced with laxatives or not.”

You laughed at his seriousness - it may have happened a couple of times during high school but you all took an oath of secrecy.

“She didn’t apologise,” you frowned, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible lest you allow your apprehension on the topic to swallow you whole. “She seems different though. I want her, so badly, to be different. But maybe I’m stupid to hope for something - maybe we really just aren’t a good match.”

Sam’s eyes were soft and comforting, his lips parted to speak before another voice piped up opposite you. Kamala had arrived for her daily hot chocolate - extra whipped cream and marshmallows, of course. She takes the promise of free drinks for friends very liberally.

“As someone who’s been trying their hardest to be neutral,” she started. “You did look cute together last night - and the way she looks at you - God, it’s like a real-life rom-com. Kind of gross, actually,” she rambled on. “By the way, I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“You weren’t?” You smirked, eyebrow twitching in question.

“No,” Kamala quickly replied with a shake of her head. “It was just, uh, intuition.”

“Wow, you might have a superpower there, Mala,” you scoffed laughingly.

“Really though, it definitely seemed like there was something there - on both sides.”

“I dunno,” you sighed with an exasperated shake of your head, cheeks flooding with heat at the three pairs of eyes witnessing your bashful feelings towards a certain redhead. Whether you hide it or not, all of your closest friends have developed a certain sense of reading between the lines painfully well. After all of these years, you suppose it’s merely a trait of a strongly entwined bond. It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though.

“At the risk of forcing you into a ‘mushy and embarrassing’ state, as you call it,” Wanda voiced from beside you. “What are you feeling about her now? You were pretty good at avoiding my questions last night,” she smiled with a poke of her finger into your side.

It was a tricky feat for you to let yourself be raw and vulnerable, it never is a comfortable thing. But, with a problem you were struggling to make sense of on your own paired with the sickeningly sweet and supportive smiles directed your way, it was harder to keep it all in than let it out.

“It - it kinda feels like before. Like, no time has passed, y’know?”

“In a good way?” Kamala asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I dunno, it’s like, somehow, all of those things I felt towards her all those years ago had never actually left. Like they were just sitting there in my stomach waiting for the right time to come back out.”

“It kinda sounds like you know what you wanna do then,” Sam smiled.

“I think I might,” you nodded. You tried to smile but the nerves that made their way throughout your body made it difficult and, as though it was written all over your face, your friends seemed to know just what to do to bring that smile out. You were pulled into Wanda’s familiar hug with Sam closing his arms around you from the other side and with some difficulty you were manoeuvred into Kamala’s reach. It was hard not to laugh at the glimpse you caught of her, leaning across the counter, practically kneeling on a plate of cookies nearby as she stretched out to join the embrace.

Whatever happens next, they’ll be there for you.

—

Meanwhile, Yelena sat cross-legged on Natasha’s childhood bed whilst her sister lay on her back with her eyes directed at the ceiling. She could still see the mark left behind from the glow-in-the-dark stickers you’d struggled to plaster up there, ones that had slowly begun to fall down. She’d never had the heart to throw them away and the used and tattered celestials still sat in the drawer of her desk.

“This is exhausting, Natasha,” the blonde groaned. Having been witness to it all from the beginning, watching it all play out as it has has been nothing short of tedious for her. She’s never been patient and this was no different. In her trademark Yelena fashion, she resents the long and drawn-out trail of feelings being muddled up and left behind, she would rather you both get on with it.

“You don’t think I know that?” her sister sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s complicated,” Yelena mocked in a less-than-perfect impression of Natasha’s voice. “What’s so difficult, huh? You’ve always had the hots for her, she’s always ogled you, it’s simple.”

“It’s a little more nuanced than that,” she mumbled. “So much time has passed and I made a stupid mistake. I left her behind, Lena. I just left and didn’t come back - she deserves better than somebody who’d just do that.”

“You were stupid,” Yelena agreed. She didn’t let her role as Natasha’s sister blur the lines between right and wrong, when it came to what she did she didn’t shy away from berating her.

She remembered the evening it happened, the redhead coming home in tears that were a rare sight to see. She held a book in her hand that was soon shoved to the back of her wardrobe to never see the light again; she comforted her sister as best as she could but by the time she’d unmuddled the series of events Natasha was already gone. She’d made plenty of phone calls telling her sister to come and make it right but the fear had sunk its claws in and nothing she said swayed it in her favour.

“I know I was - I know. But, when I saw her that night with Pietro it just looked so real. I think I was looking for a reason to chicken out of telling her, y’know?”

“And letting yourself believe she was already dating someone was easier than her rejecting you,” Yelena nodded. She understood her sister’s reasonings no matter how illogical they truly are.

“Yeah,” she nodded with a sigh. “I mean, she’s so perfect, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d been lucky enough to date her. I saw it, so why wouldn’t somebody else?”

“Okay, I didn’t mean to listen but you know I can’t help myself,” Melina suddenly announced from the doorway. Of course, she’d decided to come upstairs just as a ‘confidential’ conversation was occurring. “You never told me all this.”

“That’s because you’re a gossip,” Natasha groaned, sitting up against her headboard whilst her mother took a seat on the bed too.

“I just like knowing things,” she shrugged. “So, tell me what happened.”

“Fine,” she sighed, rolling her eyes at the clear excitement on Melina’s face. “So, it was Christmas Eve, the first one after starting college. At that point, it was like we were still in high school, we were all in contact and we were all meeting up on the weekends - nothing had changed.”

“Mhm, I remember,” Melina nodded. “I was scared you were all gonna drift apart, well, until you were the one that separated from them.”

“Yeah,” Natasha sighed with a frown. “So, we were all here and I’d had a lot of time to think. I mean, I was at a different college - she was at the same one as the Maximoff’s - and, it was a lot of time without her. It gave me a lot of time to think about her, it was so different not having her at my side all the time, y’know? So it made me realise that I just had to suck it up and be honest with us both about how I feel about her.”

“I think you two were the only ones not to know,” Melina muttered beneath her breath, earning an agreeing laugh from Yelena.

“Anyway,” she scowled. “I guess it was something I was always trying to avoid. I didn’t want it to ruin the friendship we had but it got so hard to ignore. All of my assignments - the stories I’d write - they all ended up being about her. It was like all of the feelings I tried so hard to ignore were just forcing their way out like they were too big to keep down.”

She took a breath and cleared her throat, blushed at the mere thought of you and let the comfort of her mother’s hand on her arm urge her to carry on.

“I wrote her this story - it seems so silly now,” she scoffed. “It was so cheesy - the kind of thing we’d make fun of - but I couldn’t help myself. I illustrated it and wrapped a red bow around it - it was hideous but I knew it’d make her smile. And, on Christmas Eve, I made my way to where I knew she’d be.

“God, just remembering it is so ridiculous. I don’t know why I let myself get in my head,” she grumbled with a shake of her head. “She was there, sitting in the quiet part of the town square, but she was only there with Pietro. Looking back, I know that Wanda must’ve been on her way but in that moment nothing was logical.

“I stood there, just looking at her for a second. I watched her laugh and I remember being amazed that my heart truly did feel like it skipped a beat - I always thought that was just some cliche until her. And as I stood there just watching, I saw Pietro point to this piece of mistletoe hanging above them. I thought it was funny at first and carried on walking to them but then his hand was on her cheek and in my mind that was enough to make me turn back around. I suppose I thought that, in the time they’d had together whilst I’d been away, they’d - I dunno - realised feelings?”

“Oh, Natasha,” Melina whispered.

“I know. It was stupid - it was probably just some joke but I was so scared. You know I’ve never been the kind of person to wear their heart on their sleeve and that was the perfect out my brain was looking for.”

“You caused yourself so much pain, honey. So much pain you didn’t need because you feared she didn’t feel the same?”

“I suppose so,” she nodded. “I thought that, maybe, if she was happy it was enough. So, I went back to college and left it all behind. I felt awful, I did, but I wanted to keep myself away for both of our sakes. If I wasn’t there, she could get on with her life and I could try and move on. I put all of my focus into studying and then into my work - I found that pushing away all of those things that hurt me would just shield me from coming to terms with things.

“So, the friendship I tried to protect was ruined because of me. Because I was scared.”

“But now? How are things with her this time?”

“I think - I know that I still adore her. And, if she’ll have me, I would want nothing more than to just let her know how I’ve felt for all my life.”

—

Before Natasha had begun to associate Christmas with the ache in her heart, the 24th of December was a treasured occasion.

The group of you had always met up, sneaking eggnog from her parent’s fridge when you were younger, sharing it around with sips from a shared glass around a makeshift fire you’d conjure up in the garden. The cup would be passed around in secrecy and clumsily hidden beneath a blanket when an adult would approach.

As you grew closer, the two of you began to uphold a tradition and for the couple of years leading up to her departure, you’d meet up before the remainder of the group arrived. She’d meet you at the cafe with two hot chocolates in hand and she’d offer you her jacket no matter what; she always did and you always declined but it made your cheeks hot to the touch. She’d always refrain from reaching out to feel the warmth beneath her palm.

You’d walk back to her house taking the long route just to savour one another's company and neither of you would think too much about the hand she’d rest on your back whenever you’d cross the road.

You’d sit beneath the decorated canopy in the middle of town, watching people enjoy the festivities, failing to hold in your amusement when people would slip on icy ground. She’d look up at the mistletoe and swear she’d kiss you beneath the winter sprig one day, that she’d use it as one of her many excuses to press her lips to yours. She would imagine that you’d tell her she didn’t need a reason to kiss you, that she could do it whenever she liked, but she’d find any moment she could to feel your lip balm-coated mouth with the tip of her tongue.

The one year you had forgotten your gloves and, for practicality of course, she linked her hand with yours for warmth and left it there until she was leading you up to her front door. You’d help her mother with preparations for the evening’s party whilst Natasha would smile at the close relationship the two of you shared. And when the rest of the invitees would trickle in, she’d revel in your laugh. The one you’d let out at something Kate or Kamala would say when recounting the goings on of their days and the giggle you’d share with Wanda whilst having hushed conversations in the corner.

…

The last Christmas Eve you’d seen Natasha until this year, was the same as always. You were planning on meeting Natasha at your usual spot, only an hour after leaving the Maximoff twins where they were.

You sat with Pietro whilst Wanda made her way back with a cup of hot tea for herself and a latte for her brother; they were meeting up with Monica and Carol before the annual party and you were waiting with them until it was time for you to go. You’d told them you had some last-minute shopping to do and they bought the excuse - you felt rather smug at your deception and were pleased to keep your tradition with Natasha a secret. It wouldn’t be the same if it turned into a group affair - you didn’t admit that you merely wanted her for yourself. Even if it was for only a couple of hours.

You missed the teasing grin on Pietro’s face when he’d spotted the mistletoe above you and only realised what he was doing when he tugged it from its place and held it above your faces.

“Ew, Pietro,” you’d laughed, shoving him away whilst he faked a warm look your way.

“There’s something I simply must say,” he joked, cupping your cheek with a soft hand. He inched closer and closer whilst you held in your laugh, acting into the joke of a scene he was creating. “I- wow, this is hard to say,” he sighed. “I just need you to know that - that I forgot to get you a gift and just added my name to Wanda’s.”

You gasped before you both laughed.

“That actually better be a joke.”

You waited for Natasha until you got a text saying she was stuck helping her mum and the rest of the evening was sullied with some kind of unspoken melancholy that you could not understand.

…

Two weeks ago, Natasha was called into her editor’s office to be given the task of creating a winter story. She listened to the requirements she was expected to reach; a heartfelt children’s book, the wonder of winter with a happy ending.

It wasn’t something she was overly familiar with anymore. The magic of the season had long left her when she left you and, though she accepted the job, she was unsure of how to complete it. Her books always held a part of her, every story she wrote had a piece of her soul bared throughout the pages.

She’d gone home and began to plan, sipping a glass of red wine whilst her laptop screen remained blank.

After a few days of sitting on the problem she’d been presented with, and a lengthy conversation with her closest friend in New York, she thought it time to visit home. After all of this time away she thought she could go back easily enough, feelings may have been dulled and the town that was the epitome of a winter wonderland would fuel her creativity.

She just didn’t expect to take one look at you and have every feeling she’d ever held for you to come flooding to the surface. It was quite a story indeed.

And, though she was apprehensive at first, she’d found that opening up the warm-hearted part of her that she had forced closed many moons ago was just the spark she needed. She’d found inspiration at home - her true home. She found it with you.

…

Your heart was beating with the buzz of nerves in your chest, stomach swarming whilst your palms grew clammy despite the biting cold that came with the slowly falling snow.

Each step up the Romanoff’s driveway drew you closer to a conversation that made your head blurred. It had taken the entire group of your friends to give you the courage to leave your apartment for this; despite the way it was your decision to confess the feelings that were eating you whole, you were the one holding yourself back.

After much convincing, you bit the bullet to finally let yourself pull your heart from your chest and hand it over. They’d all assured you they were a phone call away no matter what happens.

You almost dared to turn back as soon as your knuckles tapped against the translucent window of the front door; you could see the blurry sight of a Christmas wreath against the glass and you could hear Yelena shout that she would answer the knock.

“Oh, hi,” she smiled as soon as she saw you, taking in your nervous appearance.

“Hi, Yelena,” you returned. “Um, is Natasha here?”

“No, actually,” she answered. “She went for a walk - think she said she might be going to the bar. You might be able to catch up with her if you hurry.”

“Alright, thanks, Lena,” you smiled. “See you tomorrow,” you finished with a wave.

“See you tomorrow,” she smirked, clearly planning to go and conspire with Melina about why you might be looking for her sister.

It wasn’t a particularly long walk, and the few minutes it took only enabled you to think about what you were going to say. You had it planned as perfectly as you could get it, a curated script you hoped she’d conform with. You’d risk making a fool of yourself otherwise, treading with the possibility of letting your butterfly inducing feelings for her get the best of you.

And, when you saw the bar ahead of you it only made your heart hit against your chest even faster. You saw the back of her head through the window, hair plaited and falling against her jacket; somehow, just seeing her, made your steps grow almost up to speed with your heart.

You opened the door into the bustling building, making your way past a few people with the subtle scent of beer lingering in the air.

You saw her before she saw you. The large grin that pulled at her eyes was directed elsewhere, though, and the hug she stood up to take part in was not with you. Her body locked with another woman’s, somebody she was familiar with by the way it lingered. Her cheek was kissed and her smile never wavered and your heart that had been beating so quickly you feared it might explode was now still, sitting in your throat as you swallowed thickly.

They shared large smiles and their hands entwined atop the small wooden table.

You couldn’t see anymore. Your fists clenched at your sides and you left as quickly as you arrived, not sparing a glance backwards. If you couldn’t be with her tonight, you wanted to be alone.

[everythingelseisextra]

Horse To Water

Part Fourteen: Come Home (Tommy's POV)

I'm too lazy to write a description, have fun. Warnings: Kind of torture, kind of police brutality, talk of war, PTSD, language Word Count: 4535 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @majesticcmey  @optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

You find yourself in handcuffs, sitting in an empty cement cell. Water drips slowly from the ceiling. A bucket in the corner fills the room with the rotten scent of excrement. The bar you sit on permeates cold through your jodhpurs and you shiver. When you exhale, your breath fogs in the frigid air. 

You’re unsure of the details of how you got here. What you do recall is a blur of hands pressing you down or pushing you forwards, shouts of men discovering the bodies scattered through your property. The one who lasted longer must’ve called the police between the first man’s death and his. Confusion steeped through the officers, and you remember questions yelled at you, your voice failing you as usual, and your consequent incarceration. 

They’ve asked you your name. They’ve asked you your birthday, your address, your affiliation, and you can give them nothing. All the words in your mind fail to move past your lips. And so you sit alone in an empty cell and every time you close your eyes you see blood. Every time you take a breath you feel the weight of life in your lungs and you wonder when it got so heavy. 

There’s an ache left over from being young in you. This world isn’t quite what your soul expected. You went through childhood with a kind of awful surprise, like each repeated pain you felt was a new betrayal from God. Now, you’re trapped, hands tied, with nothing but your clothes between you and the world. The hair on the back of your neck rises, and you look up to see a policeman peering through the hatch, hazel eyes cold. You suck in a breath and pull your body as far from him as possible, pressing your back against the wall. 

After a moment, he enters, closing the door behind him. “So, you’re the mute.”

You stare up at him, halfway between defiant and fearful, your blood trying to boil and freeze at the same time. 

“You killed two men. One was particularly brutal. Lure him into a trap and use blunt force trauma from a height? You’re fucked in the head.” He steps towards you, slowly taking a thick, heavy baton from his side and holding it up, eyes on the black metal. “I’ve been sent in here to make you talk. I’m known for my skills, right? I make people talk. I’m good at it. I’m good at making sure people don’t get knocked out when I hit them.”

There’s a smile on his lips. You straighten in your seat, jaw tightening, and smooth out your expression. You blink slowly at him. No way in hell you’re talking, not after a challenge like that. 

“I start out gentle.” He holds the baton out, the end right below your chin. “Who are you?”

You close your eyes and breathe. When you were younger, you used to play a game with yourself, when men were particularly rough with your little body. You’d pretend that you were someone else, standing outside of your own body, watching from afar. You’d sink into the role of this person. You’d make up their story; their name, their age, why they were there. And you’d sit in their head and watch yourself be abused. It made the pain lessen. It made it go faster. 

Now, as the baton cracks into your chin, you’re standing outside of yourself to the left of the man, considering him. You imagine yourself with a strong, large body, without the aches you always seem to have, and you slip into that form. 

“I asked you who you are!” The policeman pulls the baton to the side, resting it above your ear. “I expect an answer!”

The baton hits hard into the side of your head. You fall to the side, but you don’t feel the pain. Your mind is elsewhere, hovering beside the policeman, watching his arm move the baton again, preparing for another strike. There’s hot blood rolling down the side of your head, and you’re aware of it, but you don’t feel it. You don’t feel anything. 

You will win this game. 

“Who are you?” He waits a few seconds before drawing back and striking you again with the baton. Something flickers in your off-centered mind, and your eyes slowly slide open. 

He shouts something again, but you don’t hear it. You’re focused, existing inside and outside yourself, and you’re waiting for him to draw back. He winds up, aiming for your shoulder, and you know if he were to hit, it would break your bone. Seemingly in slow motion, the baton comes crashing down, and you lift your hands, and—

The baton lands on the chain between your cuffs and breaks the metal cleanly in half. Before he registers what has just happened, you’re on your feet. You kick him hard in the groin and make for the door as he falls to his knees, whimpering. You open it, knowing full well you’re about to be caught and put right back into your cell, and shoot out, thinking somehow, maybe, you’ll get past them. 

You slam straight into someone, almost falling with the force of it, and back away, looking around wildly for some way to escape. You heave, not even trying to fend off the panic as your body trembles and your eyes search desperately for a way out. 

“Easy now, love.” Tommy’s voice. You look up to see his clear blue eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “You didn’t need my help at all, did you?”

Your wide eyes blink to try to clear your vision, give yourself some kind of groundedness in the familiar shape of his face, but the world spins around you and a burning sensation rises in your chest as you lose your breath time and time again. 

A hand reaches out for you and you jerk away, trying to catch the breath that runs chaotically away. You continue to back away, frantically seeking freedom. 

“You’re not back there. You’re not trapped. Look around, you’re free as I am.” 

There are eyes on you, pinning you to the ground, scorching your skin with their seeping gazes. You shake your head, brow furrowing, wishing you could get out from this cold, dark hallway, away from the eyes on you, away from the clattering of other prisoners. 

“Look around. You’re alright. You’re alright.” He steps towards you and you try not to cower. “Come on, let’s go, eh? Hold your head up and let’s go.” 

You take a gasping breath, then another, trying to get ahold of yourself. He reaches out a hand to you, letting it hover softly in the space between. After a moment, you look up, meeting his eyes with a kind of feral recognition that you’ve only ever seen in spooking horses being calmed. Slowly, you reach out a trembling hand to take his. 

“You’re okay.” He gives your hand a slight tug and starts to walk. Your body, pumped with adrenaline, stumbles to move by his side, falling into step with him. 

Down a cold cement hallway, with eyes seeking somewhere to land through the bars of cell doors, you walk with him. Behind you, officers watch in silence, your silhouettes slowly getting smaller in their vision. He knows his way through the maze-like building, knows how to navigate through the frigidity, and before you realize it, you’re out into fresh, equally cold night air. You stop and tilt your head up, searching the sky for stars and finding only the polluted gray of Birmingham. You continue to tremble, half from cold, half from the residual fear that skewers you, a slow, painful death. 

Once you’re in his car, tires rumbling down the streets, he speaks again. “Fucking coppers wouldn’t tell me anything. Said they brought in a girl from a barn on the outskirts for double homicide. Even Moss kept his mouth shut.”

You close your eyes, pressing them together, then open them again. Your voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. “That’s because they didn’t know anything.”

“They tried telling me that. Told them they needed to find out, then changed my mind.” He reaches out to gently brush the bloody side of your head and you flinch. He drops his hand, jaw tightening slightly. His voice raises. “Does anyone ever fucking listen to me?”

You hold back tears, voice breaking and pathetically small. “They were scared that you’d hurt them if they couldn’t tell you more.”

“What were you thinking, running off and killing two men?” His tone remains harsh and you suddenly realize you’re trapped, alone in a car with a very dangerous man. 

“I obviously didn’t do it for fun, Tom.” You wrap your arms around yourself, a silent tear dripping down your cheek. “They found me. I don’t know how, but they did. One of them was an old client, the other… I don’t know. It was self defense. They would’ve taken me back.”

He’s quiet for a moment, blue eyes reflecting the lanterns lighting the streets, little embers in the iciness. “One man with a crushed skull, the other with his brains blown out the side of his head.”

“I had to protect myself.” Your words grow louder, hoarse. “What did you want me to do, just go with them? Is that what you think of me? Just some poor haunted girl, helpless? Is that who you want me to be?” 

“No,” he says, and the word is final. “No. Everything you did, every choice you made, is exactly what I would’ve done. I don’t want you to follow down the path I did.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I’m not following any path, I’m just trying to survive.”

“In the morning, we’ll go to your house and pack your things. You’ll stay with me.” 

Suddenly, the lump in your throat is gone, replaced with a kind of surprised rage that can’t fully be described. “You’re expecting me to put my life on hold, lose my independence, and move in with you, without even asking me first?” 

He blinks, glancing over at you as if he hadn’t realized it might not be what you wanted. “You’ll be sa—”

“Safer? I protected myself just fine, Thomas.”

“Next time, there’ll be more men, more guns, and you’ll be alone.” 

“Oh, yeah? Well then, why don’t you move in with me? Why don’t you upend your life and leave everything behind?” You turn your head to look at him, glaring. “How does that sound to you?”

“It’s not the same.”

“What, because you have money and I don’t? Because I have less to lose?” 

“You won’t be losing anything.” His hands tighten around the wheel and he straightens. “We’ll bring your horses to my stables.”

Your jaw almost drops. “Tommy, do you have any idea what it means for a woman to move in with a man? Do you realize that I’d be losing my financial and physical independence? You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” He glances over at you. “There are no rules that say you must give up your independence. Doesn’t matter what everyone else does. We can do it differently.”

You look away, refusing to meet his eyes. “I can’t rely on you for everything.” 

“You can rely on me for protection.” He nods. 

“I’m not— I hope you realize, Tom, that I will never belong to you. I will never be owned by anyone. I need space. I can’t be so close to you that there’s no room to breathe. If you want another possession, another trophy, you need to find someone else.” Your voice grows steady, strong. “I’m tired of belonging to a man. I’m tired of being told that I can’t exist without being attached to someone. I can. I exist, despite it all, and I refuse to do it again.” 

“I’m not asking you to belong to me.” He sighs, a subtle sign of frustration. “I’m asking you to keep yourself safe. Let me help you. Even just for until this is over.”

“I can protect myself.” 

“You can. But even you can’t be so strong.” His eyes flick down to his hands on the wheel, then back up to the street. “Even you can’t do it alone.”

You let his words fade into the cool night air. You try to siphon through the conflicting thoughts that flit through your mind like hummingbirds. You want to be yourself, separate from everything around you. You want to be where he is, wherever that may be, a constant yearning for the companionship he brings. You want to learn who you are without being caught in someone else’s orbit, without being owned. You want to teach yourself how to love without the constant fear of loss, and there he is, asking for nothing in return. There he is, and he has never done anything to you that was not good, and he has never tried to lead you astray. 

You lean your head back against the rest and stare out into the now clear night, the stars showing now that you’ve moved from the city. “You would take in all twelve of my horses… let me live with you… for nothing?” 

A faint smile appears on his lips. “It’s a big house. Needs someone else to fill all the empty space.”

You manage a small, watery smile in return. “Thank you.”

“No need.” He turns into the driveway of Arrow House and slowly pulls up. He stops the car but doesn’t get out, simply stares down at his hands and lets them slowly fall from the wheel. 

“What?” You shift hesitantly closer to him, trying to read his expression, trying to peer into those blue eyes and decipher the depths inside of them. 

“I know you take care of yourself,” he says slowly. “I know you always will. I want you to let me help. With everything. I want us to take care of each other.”

You take in a small breath. This, you think, this is when I hurt him. This is when it ends, all the softness and care, all the pieces of each other shared back and forth. 

“I don’t know how,” you say. “It’s always been me. I’ve never learned how to help and be helped.”

“You do know.” He looks over at you, eyes flicking over your face. “I’ve seen you do it. Care for the horses every day.”

“Then I don’t know how to let someone help me.” You reach up and touch the side of your head; you can feel it now, the throbbing, swollen pain pressing through your skull. “I don’t know how to give up that kind of control.”

He considers you, expression soft and quiet. “I know I’m not the man you imagined, but I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you to be ready, and I’ll wait for you to learn.”

You smile a little. “I didn’t imagine any man. You’re quite the plot twist, you know that?” 

“Will you try?” His head tilts slightly, a faint, wordless acknowledgement to your statement. “Will you take the time to learn how to be helped?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. I’ll try.” 

“Good.” He lucks up at the house, tone accomplished, as though he’s checked off another task on his to-do list. He slips out of the car and into the night, and you follow him. The cool wind batters at you, burns the broken skin at the side of your head, and you stop for a moment to watch him walk, head down, hands in his pockets, silhouetted in the grand light of Arrow House. 

When you were younger, you made a promise to yourself that you’d live long enough to have your own place. You’d survive until you could create a home, where you weren’t alone but weren’t taken advantage of. Where no one yelled and threw things, where there was no such thing as saying something wrong, a sanctuary of warmth and light and quiet appreciation. 

It was a child’s dream of paradise, and now, as an adult, you know that nothing is that simple. But, as he stops and turns, waiting for you to join him at the doorstep, you think that, maybe, you’re taking a step towards keeping that promise. Maybe you’re reaching out a hand to that young, desperate self, and showing her that there is kindness, and there is warmth, and there’s somewhere out there for her. 

And that younger self smiles, knowing that though there are battles ahead, she has made it home. 

Your eyes are closed as Tommy gently uses a washcloth to remove the blood from the side of your head. The pain throbs dully with each touch, but you somehow don’t mind it. There’s a raw, open gash underneath your hair that he drenched in alcohol a few minutes before. He’s quiet. You’re quiet. The bathroom you sit in is cool and the light is soft on your eyelids. 

You’ve seen him dream at night. His closed eyes move with nightmares, his jaw clenches, his body tenses, trembles, sometimes jolts as though in pain. All this time, and you haven’t been brave enough to ask. All this time, and you haven’t known how to ask him to talk about that wound without reopening it. Now, though, as he cleans the blood from your neck, you think, maybe the air is stable enough. Maybe the softness is steady enough. 

“You have nightmares,” you say quietly. “You never talk about them.”

“No. I don’t.” He doesn’t seem to want further questions, asking you to allow the conversation to end there. 

“Sometimes you talk in your sleep. Did you know that?” You keep your eyes closed. 

“Grace never told me.” 

“You do. It’s always indistinct. I catch names, sometimes. Someone called Danny, or Freddie. Sometimes you count. You’re quiet, but I can hear it in your voice. You’re scared. I’m never sure if waking you up would help or not, so I stay quiet, let you ride it out.” 

He doesn’t respond. You open your eyes to find his face a little paler than usual, his eyes covered in a momentary, hazy film that slowly melts away like ice. He blinks, and gives you a small nod. 

“I’m not proud. It’s no treat to relive it.” He goes back to cleaning your blood, his hand steady, his voice the same. “I get stuck in the mud again.”

“I can help,” you say quietly. “I’m not going to let you get trapped in your own head because of me. I will never let you fall apart.” 

His jaw tightens, then relaxes. “I’ll tell you. Only if you promise not to ask about it again.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes again, waiting, giving him the space to take his time. 

“I was the sergeant major of the 179th Tunneling Brigade. I spent most of my time fighting underground. Won medals for surviving what others couldn’t.” His voice flattens out, low and even, emotionless. “What else do you want to know?”

“You were… underground?” 

There’s a pause before he responds. “Yes. It was small. The cold bit our feet because shoes weren’t allowed and we couldn’t drain the water. The light came from candles that wouldn’t stay lit. Sometimes the air got thin. Sometimes the canaries and rats died before us.” 

You stay as still as you can, as quiet as you can, unwilling to break the sacred silence around you as his words settle around you. “And the nightmares?”

“A cave-in. We could hear the Germans digging above us. They sent word to get underneath them and set up enough charge to stop them getting to our trenches. Maybe it was an accident or maybe they heard us. All I know is their mines went off before ours did. I felt it before I heard it and—” He pauses and clears his throat, then continues, tone a little softer, a little more worried. “Then the ground shook and fell to bury us in a grave we’d dug for ourselves. It scared me more to realize I was alive than thinking I was dead. I remember trying to get air, get some of the weight off me and thinking: Fuck. Alive. I have to keep going. I have to get out. Five of us found a space large enough to get some air. I never heard about the rest of them”

It seems he had holds it in, grappling with the memories that swirl around his mind, intoxicating and bewitching, and, once you ask, it’s all he can do to stop it from spilling out. There’s a weight on his shoulders that never lets up, and he stays quiet about it, never complaining, never even mentioning it. You squeeze your eyes, kaleidoscope patterns of color sparking on your eyelids, and think you should’ve asked him sooner. 

“How did you get out?” You match his tone with a steady, quiet voice. 

“We dug up for a day and a half till the fixed air took our consciousness. Even before then the five of us accepted we would never see the sun. Some men dug down and got three of us out. There was another still alive underneath. His legs had broken and tangled in the apparatus for clay kicking. One of my comrades stayed down with him. The roof collapsed. Their corpses will never be recovered.” 

He sounds tired. The words he speaks seem to barely leave his throat, as though the low growl of them remains confined to his vocal cords. Finality rings from his voice like an order, or perhaps a plea. He seems to beg you, in his own silent way, not to ask for more. You can only be so selfish, so brazen in how much you push him to fake steadiness. Any further now and his façade would melt fully away. Thomas Shelby came home from war to test how many times he could ignore the broken parts of him till they shattered, and this conversation has forced him to see the cracks.

“That’s what you dream about. The cave in. The ones you left behind.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes the tunnel gets broken through and we have to fight and kill and leave the bodies to rot. Sometimes all it is is the sound of picks and shovels at the other end of the tunnel, coming towards us, and the only thing to do is wait.” His voice grows emptier, hollowed out, and you open your eyes to look up at him. 

“Tommy,” you say quietly. “Look at me.”

He does as you ask, haunted blue eyes searching for something in you that you’re not sure you have. 

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t hurt you.” You watch his hand as it shifts from steadiness to trembling, then back to steadiness again. “I can hear in your voice that you’re faking it to protect me. It’s okay. I’m not going to leave you if you’re hurt. I am, too. Remember our promise?” 

He nods blankly. “Yes. I do.”

Like a horse to water, you try to coax him to step out of the darkness and bring the parts of him he hides into the light. You know he’ll refuse. You know he’ll consider it, over and over, and then back away. Or, maybe, you’ll get lucky, and some trust will glow like an ember, and you’ll see him lay himself down in front of you and show you who he is. 

“You still feel like a soldier, don’t you?” Your tone is slightly sad. 

He nods again, curtly, but his eyes are almost sleepy, exhausted by the task of remembering and acknowledging. 

“Have you been trying to forget?”

Another nod. He looks like a boy, spooked late at night by some horror story spoken by his friend, eyes glassy and tired but, underneath, so, so afraid. The hand that holds the bloody cloth lifts and presses against his chest, over his heart, protective. 

“You wanna know what I do? With the memories that are too big for my body?” 

His eyes flick down to you, acknowledging, giving permission. 

“I sort of… sit with them. I do it alone, and I give myself time. Sometimes I panic and can’t breathe, and sometimes I fall out of myself, like I’m not quite me, but not anyone else, either. But, always, after I think about it, after I let it take me over, I can call it back without having such a strong reaction.” Slowly, you stand from your seat and turn to face him. “It hurts. I’ll be the first to admit it. It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever done, worse than when it happened the first time. But after… It's catharsis. It’s being reborn. And you’re exhausted, but you survived it, and you can do it again.” 

His eyes latch onto yours, helpless, and you reach up to caress his cheek. Slowly, he caves to you, his eyes closing. 

“And you just did it. You called back a ghost, faced it, and now, here you are.” You bring him closer to you, pressing your forehead against his. “You survived, Tommy. You survived, and I survived, and there’s something to that. There’s something to the fact that we never deserved what happened, and yet, we’re still alone, together. And now I know that I need to wake you when you have nightmares.”

He releases a slow breath. You close your eyes, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. 

“We’re gonna be okay. I think you’re right. I think we’re meant to take care of each other. You’ll teach me how to let you help me. I’ll teach you how to love again.” 

He swallows hard, and you feel a faint tremble run through him, subtle, barely there. You reach up with your other hand and take the cloth from him, setting it down on the counter, and then take his hand. You feel your heart settle into your body, and you feel something you haven’t felt in a long, long time. 

Hello love, your invincible, hopeful friend. For a moment, you forget where you are, and you squeeze his hand and start timing your breathing to his. You have so many words to speak, so much bubbling up in you, but you hold your cliches and just stand with him, waiting out the memories, holding him quietly. He squeezes back, and you smile faintly. 

“There you are.” You drop your hand from his cheek, open your eyes, and step back. 

He watches you, eyes soft, then looks away. “You were right.” 

“I was?” You blink, surprised. “About what?”

“It’s better, after, if you… sit with it, like you said.” He lets go of your hand, picks up the cloth, and walks casually to the door. “Won’t be doing it alone. I need you with me.”

“Apparently I’ll be here.” You follow him. “I live here now.” 

He shakes his head, and you catch a small smile on his lips. “Not yet. That could change.”

You chuckle. “You would never.”

“I would never,” he agrees.      

[chloeangelic]

I’ve spent the past week getting slandered in this community with not a shred of evidence, proof, or receipts of me being a mean girl, “Wish Regina George”, a bully, an asshole, someone who spends more time answering anons than I do writing, or any of the other things I’ve seen people say about me out of absolutely fucking nowhere, seemingly because people have grievances towards Gracie that I know nothing about. I appreciate everyone who has checked in on me and asked how I’m doing. 

ETA: I have spoken to one of the people who posted statements and anons about me and we have squashed the beef. The statements made about me have been debunked and they have deleted their posts. Please leave me and my friends alone - I've gotten harassed directly and indirectly by anons and posts for two months and I'm tired. I'm not gonna prostrate myself and try to convince the internet that I'm a good person when I know I've done my best to always be kind and respectful in this community. My words will inevitably be twisted and I feel paralyzed. The damage to my reputation has already been done.

This is the only time I’ll address this, and my anons will not be turned back on because this is literally slander and a waste of everyone’s time. I’ve seen multiple vague posts about me as well and I’ve chosen to ignore it all, but it gets to a point where it feels like bullying and I’m done with it. When someone goes on tumblr live to rehash the same shallow shit talking post about me (i.e. talking shit about people they’re accusing of talking shit), that’s when I feel like my limit has been crossed, and since that same live devolved into an advertisement for the host’s own writing… This no longer reads like vigilante justice. 

Let me get one thing straight: I am here to write about dick, cock and that old man. I am extremely grateful for the friends I’ve made along the way, and I am beyond appreciative for my readers who support me and who like what I come up with. I am 27 years old, I have a fulltime job, and this is one of my hobbies. If you think I’m going to spend my time in a fandom spamming group chats and being catty, I literally don’t know what to tell you. The few uncomfortable situations I’ve had on here have been addressed and squashed very quickly, whether that’s misunderstandings, accusations or anything else. In a creative space, you are bound to butt heads with people occasionally, or have people who dislike you, and that is fine. I know I have an aloof persona on here, I don’t expect everyone to like me. 

I didn’t block anyone up until two days ago when this tumblr live host posted three anon asks in a row about me, and I decided to block the people who seemingly agreed with anons insisting I’m a mean girl, asshole etc. cause why the fuck wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t anyone? I don’t understand why on earth they’re so mad about me blocking them if they dislike me so much already. My shit is still on ao3 if they want to read it. 

I don’t know what my mutuals do in their own DM’s, or group chats they’re in that I don’t participate in, because I stay in my lane and I spend my time writing. Of course I don’t condone bad behavior but how am I supposed to know what happens in GCs and servers I’m literally not in? Or conversations in servers where I’m not active? I have not witnessed any of my mutuals talking shit in any GCs, period. That’s all I can say. Additionally, this whole big/elite writers discord people were talking about a while ago - if that exists, I wasn’t even invited lmfao how’s that for being a big writer? 

One anon said I was an asshole when they tried to have a conversation with me months back, and I assume this was my Rendezvous anon who I was snarky to cause they were snarky to me. I make it very clear that I have limited patience for anons, and when people in my comments respond back to them, they are responding to a statement that is separate from the person who sent it. 

I am not entertaining this insanity any further than this. I will continue to post my old man porn and interact with my mutuals and reblog gif sets of that same old man cause that’s what I’m on here for. If you don’t like me, you are well within your rights, I assume you have your reasons, and that is ultimately none of my business. Everyone has the right to curate their own experience on a website like this. 

Love, 

Daddy

[etheries1015]

Sorry, I overread it (It's currently 10pm where I live, I've been up since 4am, and my anxiety is kicking. Requesting things from people I never requested before is hard >.<)

May I request Riddle, Kalim, Idia and Malleus reacting to finding out their crush is trans-masc? Either by reader telling them or them finding out by accident

Never apologize for asking questions and sending asks! Please take care of yourself, get lots of rest, water, and sustenance <3

Finding out you're trans-masc

Featuring: Riddle, Kalim, Idia, Malleus

WARNINGS (please read): I'm a cis woman and I CANNOT stress enough that I may not be able to portray this as well as someone who actually identifies as such! I did do research ahead of time to make sure I try my very best to capture the essence of someone who identifies as trans-masc, but everyone's experiences are different. If I, in ANY way shape, or form, used incorrect terminology/representation or mistakenly offended anyone, please educate me so that I become more knowledgeable and can build my understanding. Other than that, I hope I did well in writing this for you to enjoy <3 Thank you for your time and for the request <3

Riddle

The topic came up during the first time you had gone to an Unbirthday party. Being misgendered by Riddle, you spoke up gently to inform him of your disposition.

"I'm...well, I don't use She/her pronouns." You shrugged. Riddle pursed his lips in frustration at his own confusion, he hadn't met someone falling under the LGBTQ umbrella before, he was incredibly sheltered and closed-minded for a long time due to his mother's teachings.

"I see..." Riddle nodded, "Then, please explain it to me so that I may not make the same mistake twice." He was eager to learn more about people and their experiences, especially learning about someone he found himself becoming more and more attached to.

Spends an entire night reading upon such topics- he was very quick to adapt and correct people around you whenever he found they did not address you properly.

"Does it bother you?" You had asked him once out of pure curiosity, and his response was with furrowed eyebrows and confusion.

"And why should it? It does not matter what you identify as. You are still (y/n). You are not your gender, and not your sex. You are..." He blushed deeply, you smiling to urge him on. You knew about his crush on you, of course, yet he seemed to be far too shy to admit it yet.

"You're..." He hesitated, "failing this class. G-get back to studying! quit getting distracted with silly questions or it's off with your head!"

You loved seeing him open his mind to many different concepts and treat you no differently than anyone else (minus some favoritism, hehe <3)

Kalim

It was actually Jamil who brought it up in conversation. The topic of "LGBTQ" came up, of course, Kalim understood the basics of people who identified as gay, however when the term "trans-masc" came up in regards to you, he was incredibly eager to learn more.

"Trans-masc? I thought they were (y/n)?"

"Kalim- no-"

It didn't take long for him to easily come around to the new terminology. You maybe gave him a 10 minute crash course before he accepted it face value.

"I see...so one day you're going to be by my side not as a queen, but as my royal spouse!" You were flabbergasted at his brazen comment. With a red face, you hadn't time to react before his hands were already around you in a deep hug.

"Haha! Oh, right! The pop club has a new song, wanna listen to it?"

He loves you no matter what. The most understanding and unconditionally in love person to exist, the definition of sunshine

Might overshare sometimes. He will bring it up sometimes to other people (if they misgender you) and give THEM a crash course on it! You love that he is so passionate about you, though. xoxo

Idia

He knew. He is chronically online, he knows all about it. When he first met you, he even asked what your preferred pronouns were.

I don't really know what else to say for Idia, he honestly doesn't care who you identify as. You play video games with him and give him love, that's enough for him!!

Can take it incredibly seriously If someone misgenders you or tries to bully you about your identity, his hair turns a fiery red and he turns gives them a whole one hour lesson while belittling that person calling them as intelligent as a soggy piece of bread.

The other person is crying by the end of it, but honestly nobody deserves to be treated disrespectfully like that.

actually how he confessed his crush to you, lol. In a fit of rage to someone who wasn't being very kind... "How dare you treat the one I love like that, you stupid normie piece of-" Realizes his mistake, face turns red, turns to you (whos face is also red)

"ummm.....Nevermind!" He runs away, but there was no getting away from you heuheu

even though he can be shy and kind of tsundere in public, he can be really passionate and will defend you at a moments notice and educate other people who are, as he puts, less than him.

In private? Sitting in his lap playing video games

Malleus

Actually, learned this from Idia. It was during class when the topic of LGBTQ came up, and when speaking among the students he over heard Idia telling ortho about your disposition as trans-masc.

Immediately came to you

"Child of man, what is 'trans-masc' and why did Idia use this term to describe you? Could you elaborate?" You two decided to take a stroll around the forest where you spent hours talking about all sorts of different people and the terms they used, explaining to him about dysphoria and how you discovered that the pronouns you were born with just didn't sit right with you.

Nods in understanding, but ends up purchasing a bunch of books Idia and Lilia recommended to him to increase his understanding.

Even though there are indeed things he will never be able to sympathize with properly and understand, such as the effects of dysphoria, but he will respect you full heartedly and not treat you any different despite still growing to learn about such topics.

All in all, it does not matter what you identify as. He finds himself completely enamored with you, loving how you teach him new things about anything and everything with humans- he will treat you the same as you treat him- impartial due to status, class, gender, pronouns, human or fae. He knew you were the one he wanted to rule Briar Valley next to one day- as his lovely spouse.

~~

I hope I was able to answer your request satisfyingly <3 Please let me know if anything needs to be changed and I shall update accordingly, I myself am always learning and growing every day! Please be kind <3

[alltheboysandgirlsiloved]

Chaos Theory review (characters' oriented review)

Since everyone is doing this, I thought I'd share my thoughts too because, to some extent, I feel like I'm in a minority here. In this post I'm going to focus mostly on the characters because there's a lot to say about the show in general and I don't have patience to write everything in one post.

spoilers under the cut

I said it yesterday and I will say it again: I absolutely loved Chaos Theory. It was action-packed, well-paced, dramatic and funny. It was everything I loved in Camp Cretaceous.

I'm especially grateful that they gave us a whole variety of emotions coming from all of characters.

I loved yasammy's conflict because it felt real and natural. Yas' PTSD being openly addressed was everything I hoped for (all of them have PTSD in some capacity but when it comes to Yas the execution was on the next level). And Sammy being fiercely overprotective over her girlfriend to the point it became too much?? That made so much sense because she had always been always protective but after the experiences in camp cretaceous, it is no wonder that this trait started to get out of her control. I don't know, it just made sense. I hope that in season 2 they go in detail about Sammy's family situation, I want her to talk about it with Yas. I'm really curious how it will play out and I can't wait to see Yas being super awesome supportive girlfriend.

I also really liked Darius and Kenji's relationship - I know, I know but hear me out. I actually enjoyed how the conflict(s) in their case seemed to keep piling up; they were growing like a fungus. I adored that little bit when Kenji mentioned that he stayed in touch with Darius' mother, while Darius didn't call her. I think it was incredible; such a small detail but tells you a lot about the years in their life that we didn't get to see.

While we are at it, I have to address the whole Darius and Brooklyn thing which I actually... didn't mind. I really didn't? And I don't mind that it was one-sided either. Maybe because it is the first (*cough*) openly addressed one-sided love story between the campers. I've always loved Darius and Brooklyn friendship, I genuinely believe that it was one of the strongest relationships in CC. It would be cool if they stayed platonic but really, I truly don't mind that one-sided love plotline. I wouldn't even call it a love triangle because to me it seems that Darius, to some extent, always knew that it was an unrequited crush, and I don't feel a sense of a privatization (between Kenji and Darius) either. You know what I actually liked about this situation? The fact that Darius didn't go to meet with Brooklyn because he was basically ashamed, embarrassed, and a little scared of his own feelings, of getting hurt. I feel like, in the long run, this is going to be incredible for his character development. Darius trying to run away from his own feelings to the point where he abandoned someone, where he tried hiding something from others? I genuinely think it added to his character and gave him additional depth. That's just my opinion though. I also think that even without that romantic plotline he would still call Brooklin after her "death". So to me, this really didn't change much other than adding more awkwardness and I had no trouble handling that (I always really liked visually the scene where Kenji and Darius were sitting in the bathtub. There was something pleasing about this)

Moving on to Kenji... Killing Daniel Kon so fast was certainly... a choice but. Kenji's reaction to his death was so well-done. It really highlighted the complex relationship that Kenji had with his father - someone he hated but who he also considered kind of a indestructible. His reaction was so heartbreaking and I was there for it.

And then there's also Ben. I'm gonna be honest - I am biased. I loved him before, I love him still so it feels unfair to write about him from my very biased perspective. Still - they could never make me hate him. I like how his character changed in so many ways but also stayed true to his core – he is adventurous and a little reckless (like a Jungle Boy that he was), and he is also soft and sensitive (that scene when he was crying when he was hiding under the truck broke me). I'm extremely curious about his background story that we barely touched upon - it is obvious that he had been living in that van for a while, which is interesting considering how he used to live on the campus and (let me remind you that) he has a loving mother that would surely support him if he decided to take a break just because he needs a break. From the looks of it, Ben seemed to be living on his own for a while – was his obsession with "being hunted" the only reason? or was there more? many questions. I am also a bit... sceptial about his girlfriend. The first time he mentioned her was not convincing to say at least, not to mention that apparently he had been living without his phone for a while now - were they talking online all this time or what? Idk, if he really has a girlfriend then first of all - the screenwriters are cowards, second of all - the relationship doesn't seem super-convincing for now.

Bonus: Mateo is one of the best characters introduced in the show, for me, he beats even Mae. He was perfect, actually perfect, I loved him. I really hope we will see him again in season 2 (above taking care of Bumpy) because I really liked his agency and his character arc.

Overall: I feel like your final review of CT depends heavily on what you tend to focus on while watching the show, and what you like in shows in general. I don't mind drama as long as it doesn't interfere with characters' personality. And I feel like a lot of choices they made in CT actually makes sense for these characters. I think it is also important to remember that this was - from what I understand - planned as a two-seasons long shows from the beginning which means that a lot of loose ends and decisions may not make sense yet but they will eventually be developed in season 2 (which would be awesome, we love consistent writing)

anyway, I only watched CT once for now, so don't quote me. I'm sure that I will have more thoughts later

[sagesolsticewrites]

Love’s Light Wings - Prologue (“For stony limits cannot hold love out”)

John Brady x Juliet Thompson (OC)

Trapped in Stalag Luft III, Captain John Brady does his best to keep morale up, whether that be playing in the small dance band with the other prisoners or passing along the tidbits of information they catch with their hidden crystal radio. The letters they receive are best of all, though, and Brady is no exception— the letters from his girlfriend, with her ramblings about Shakespeare, home, and the goings-on of her high school English students, do more for his spirits than any saxophone solo.

Now he just needs to make it home to tell her… and hopefully ask her a very important question.

a/n: Here it is! The beginning of my darling Juliet's story. So excited for y'all to meet her, and a huge thank you to my bestie @winniemaywebber for letting me slip her OC Olive into this world! I love her so so much, y'all have got to go read the snippet Winnie posted for her story 👀 (and another huge thank you to Winnie and @ginabaker1666 for reading this over and over before I posted it 😅 love y’all!!)

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: none, I think? But please let me know if I missed anything!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist

March 1944

“Mail call!”

Every soldier crammed inside the small hut perks up at the familiar shout, the one bright spot in the long days, weeks, months spent inside Stalag Luft III. 

“Murphy!” the man calls out, doling out letters to each man as their name is called, “Cleven!”

“Brady!”

John Brady looks up from his well-worn, dog-eared copy of Romeo & Juliet, eagerly grabbing at the wrinkled envelope.

A grin spreads across his face at the return address, the neat cursive as familiar to him as his own name.

Voices eagerly proclaim who they’ve received messages from — “It’s my mom!” an eager, sun-bright announcement, “Marge” in Cleven’s soft, reverent tones.

“Who’s yours from, Brady?” Someone asks, knocking him in the arm.

He fumbles to protect the letter and keep the fragile book balanced in his lap, trying to buy time to will the blush in his cheeks away.

“Juliet,” he says softly, thumb running over the seal of the envelope as he gently opens it, releasing a familiar, though faint, wave of gardenias and vanilla.

Demarco signals for the boys to give the people who’ve received letters some privacy— as much as they can find in the cramped quarters, at least— and Brady nods gratefully as he moves to his bunk to devour the words from his girl.

Juliet Thompson had begun writing herself into Brady’s world the night they met at a small bar in Ithaca, on a cool fall night during his senior year of college. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of the pretty dark-haired girl sat at the nearby table filled with Cornell students, and his Ithaca College friends had jeered at him until he worked up the nerve to go talk to her.

Her friends had quickly paired off to dance, leaving her alone at the table, which she seemed perfectly content with. One of them leaned down to whisper something to her as they left, their eyes flicking over to where Brady had been staring, and he quickly averted his gaze as she waved her friends away with a giggle.

Quickly downing the last of his beer, he began to make his way over to her table, accompanied by a few encouraging claps on the back from his friends. 

“Um… hi,” he had said, hands behind his back so she wouldn’t see how he was nervously wringing them.

“Oh!” She looked up from the book she had surreptitiously hidden just under the table, turning to face him with a smile, green eyes sparkling, “Hello.”

That bright smile was the beginning of the end for John Brady as he tried to remember how to speak.

“I, uh… I’m John, I just, er… wanted to come say hello?”

“Well, mission accomplished,” she laughed, and oh Lord take him now, how was her laugh even prettier than her smile?

“Very nice to meet you, John. I’m Juliet.”

“Juliet,” he said, testing the syllables on his tongue. They were as sweet as her smile. “As in… Romeo &?”

“Yes,” she had replied, her red-lipstick smile growing as she joked, “The cost of having an English professor for a father.” 

“Well I think it’s very pretty,” he dared to say, the risk well worth it to see her preen slightly at the compliment. 

He nodded to the book in her hands, “What are you reading?”

He’d never been one for books, but anything, anything, to keep talking to her.

“Well, as it just so happens,” she turned the cover to face him, letting him see for himself.

“Romeo & Juliet,” he laughed, “Very fitting.”

“Why?” She asked, arching an eyebrow, “Because we go to different schools?” She added a theatrical gasp as she continued, “Two houses, both alike in dignity… Are we destined to become star-crossed lovers?”

“I— no, no!” John had rambled anxiously, “I just meant— because of your name—”

“I’m teasing,” she assured him, patting the seat next to her in a gesture for him to sit down, “Apologies if I’m being presumptuous, but you don’t know much about Shakespeare, do you?”

He had admitted that he didn’t, no. His interest had always been music, he’d never paid much attention to his other classes.

“Ithaca makes sense, then,” she nodded, clearly knowing the history of how Ithaca College had started as the Ithaca Conservatory of Music, “What do you study there?”

“Well, I play the saxophone,” he had replied, “and I’m not quite sure what I want to do long term, but I’m working towards my Bachelor of Science, and I like the idea of being a music teacher.”

His heart had done a funny fluttery thing in his chest, seeing how she perked up at the mention of being a teacher.

“I want to be a teacher, too! It’ll be my way of getting to keep talking about Shakespeare once I’ve finished my English degree,” she laughed.

The conversation had flowed easily after that, and before he knew it his friends were waving to get his attention, ready to head back to the dorms.

He had looked at her apologetically as he stood.

“Sorry, I’d better…,” he waved in the general direction of his friends, “ but hopefully I’ll see you around?”

“Hopefully,” she’d said, adding with a grin “If you’re ever in Cornell territory, I’m usually wandering the bookstore on Green Street, especially on Saturday afternoons.”

Today was Thursday. Was that… an invitation?

“In fact,” she said, holding out her book to him, “here. If you get a chance to read it, you can tell me what you thought next time we see each other.”

The words stuck in his throat as his eyes flicked from her to the book, but he’d managed to eventually ask, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she’d assured him with that sparkling smile, adding with a laugh “I’ve got plenty of copies, this is just the one that fit in my bag for tonight.”

He had a thousand more questions, a thousand more things he wanted to know about this girl— How many copies? Did she always have a book with her? What time on Saturday?— but he could tell his friends were getting impatient.

“In that case… thank you, Juliet,” he said, “And I’ll try to get it back to you as soon as I can.”

“I look forward to it,” she grinned, “It was very nice to meet you, John.”

“It was very nice to meet you, too,” he said, and he had spent the entire journey back to the dorms thinking about the way his name had sounded in her voice.

Back in his bunk in a prison camp in Germany, he can hear her voice in his head just as clearly as he could that night, as if she were standing right next to him.

February 14, 1944

Johnny,

I know it will be long past by the time this reaches you, but what kind of girl would I be if I didn’t wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day, my love. Hopefully you boys find some small way to celebrate— if the band is still going, perhaps you could play our song? I’m sure I could hear it from all the way over here.

I haven’t done much celebrating myself, granted— I’m saving that for when you’re home, darling— but I surprised my students today with a discussion about ‘Much Ado’ and ‘Romeo and Juliet’ rather than the grammar quiz they were expecting, which they seemed to enjoy. I believe one of the boys has a new sweetheart: he was very earnestly taking notes when ordinarily he’d be asleep halfway through class! He seemed particularly fond of R&J’s Act 2, Scene 2– the balcony scene, in case you do not recall. The look on his face as he heard “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, / My love as deep. The more I give to thee, /The more I have, for both are infinite.”…

Dad and Mama have gone for a night on the town— a bit of an early anniversary celebration on top of the usual Valentine’s Day festivities— while I’m off to pay a visit to your mother. I’ve been doing my best to keep her company since your father passed, and will do my utmost best to lift her spirits today. I know it’s difficult to get letters out, but do write her as soon as you can if you get a chance. It would do her a world of good, and I know it would be good for you as well. 

Oh, and do tell Benny that I’ve been keeping in touch with dear Olive. Fellow Shakespeare enthusiast aside, she’s been a true comfort— we have each other to lean on when we start missing you boys too much (though you know I’m always missing you, darling).

I hope and pray with all my heart that you’ll be home soon and we can spend our next Valentine’s Day together. While I adore Olive and your mother, ‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you’. Stay safe, my Romeo.

Sending all my love, a thousand hugs, and a million kisses,

Your Juliet

He reads and rereads her words, closing his eyes as he brings the paper to his nose to inhale the quickly-fading scent. With her being so far away he’ll take what scraps of her he can, the faded perfume, the heart after her signature at the end of every letter, but his mind can’t help but drift back to the last time he had her— on the train platform, just before he was shipped off across the Atlantic.

She’d sniffled, pretty green eyes welling up with tears as she’d forced a brave smile on her face.

“Write to me as often as you can, promise?” She’d said, smoothing out the lapels of his uniform, “I don’t care if you’re telling me what you had for lunch, I’ll wanna hear about it.”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he’d chuckled softly, thumb tracing under her eye to catch the first tear, “As long as you do the same. Keep me updated on what the kids think of our friend Shakespeare, yeah?” He’d bumped her nose playfully, hoping the inside joke would put her real smile back on her face.

And it did, for a moment, before there was a call of “All Aboard!” and her face crumpled and she had thrown her arms around him and it had taken every drop of strength to step away before they left without him.

“Honey,” he’d said softly, cupping her cheek as he took her in one last time, doing his best to memorize every detail— the dark curls framing her pretty, round face, her green eyes, the sweet floral scent of her perfume, the hand slipping surreptitiously into her purse to thumb nervously at the paperback she had inside— “Juliet. I’m coming home, I promise, pretty girl.”

“In one piece,” she’d sniffled, “Come home to me in one piece, please.”

“In one piece,” he’d agreed, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on her mouth. Pulling away just so their noses brushed, he murmured “Parting is such sweet sorrow—”

There was that smile again, and he couldn’t help grinning as she finished softly, “That I shall say good night till it be morrow.” She took a shaky breath as he stepped away, squeezing his hand tight, “I love you, Johnny.”

“I love you more, Jules.” He’d said, brushing a kiss to the back of her hand before he’d had to drop it to pick up his bag, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

The last he’d seen of her was her blowing a kiss in the distance as the train had pulled away, and him waving desperately, far past the point where she’d be able to see it.

He’d promised her he’d come home in one piece, and that’s a promise he intends to keep, even here, even now.

Home. When he thought of home before he met Juliet, it was always him with his parents at their little house in Victor, New York. But especially since he was assigned overseas, his idea of home isn’t so much a place as it is her. Her in his arms, her pretty green eyes lighting up as she rambles about Shakespeare, meeting for lunch in her classroom during her planning period, in the audience at one of his performances with the Army band… he wanted her to be his home, to be by his side ‘til death did they part.

Brady had toyed with popping the question in a letter— if they never got out of here, he wanted her to know that he wanted her that way, that she was his forever person.

But no. They were going to get out of here eventually, they had to, and he would do it properly— having asked her parents for permission, down on one knee, with grandmother’s ring— when she was back in his arms.

With that warm, golden thought settling to the back of his mind, he rolls back over to pass on her message to Demarco— with letters being few and far between, his friend will be happy to hear even the tiniest scrap of news about his girl.

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

Let's Talk Peter B

@iwasbored777 (Since you ask to be tagged)

Okay! I was on the fence about writing this post, but after doing this response and some encouragement, I decided that fuck it, let’s do this.

While I had seen multiple things about Gwen being a bad friend, a bad person, and other things I don’t want to say because I will start ranting- Peter B for the most part, has come out scotch free.

Don’t get me wrong, I had seen some people address his issues, but it has been a few posts in a sea of him with Mayday and people shipping with Miguel. Which hey, is okay with me, but when you see you a character you love be given the short end of the stick despite the circumstances yet another character that has much less to lose has their mistakes largely been ignored and basically be woobify.

Is not just Gwen, I had also seen people take beef with Jess as a mentor yet somehow leave Peter out of that conversation. Don’t get me wrong Jess is far from perfect (which is something I discussed before,) but again, Peter is far from perfect too.

Does this has to do with Peter being a beloved main character in the first movie? Yes. Does it also has to do with misogynoir and misogyny? Oh I don’t doubt it.

I don’t hate Peter B, far from it, I think he is a great adaptation of our spidey, and while I am not the biggest spiderman fan out there, I did grew up with Peter Parker in movies and cartoons so I do have love for this characters as well as his incarnation in Sony movies.

I will do my best to remain as unbiased and neutral as possible, but not gonna lie this entire thing is annoying me enough that I will say when I am aware of my own biases, as I always try to do.

But if you think liking a character stops me from calling them on their bullshit you are wrong.

I know this post is more about how Peter is with Miles and his role as a mentor, but I decided to address some other things I had seen people talk about because there is a reason I choose "Let's talk Peter B Parker" as a title.

Believe it or not, I am fine with this. Seriously.

Peter wasn’t here when Miles arrived, and considering they did a small tour and got an empanada on the way, I think wouldn’t be odd to say he wasn’t around when Miles arrived. My theory is that he was taking care of his own stuff, and once he knew that Miles was around, went to get Mayday to present her to Miles.

I think that’s pretty normal all things consider, he loves Miles and wouldn’t had fixed things with MJ and had his daughter without her, of course he would want the two of to met.

The enthusiasm is all things consider pretty sweet, and while I don’t approve of some things he does (like giving her a web shooter while being just a few months old?) Is one of those things that are part of superhero writing that has the children technically doing things that they shouldn’t be doing for their age, so I just let it slide because if I get hung up every time I see something like this, it would not end.

I’m the only one who is actually mad about this comment?

Yes, is a joke, I get that, and Peter is trying to take as much as steam off Miles by trying to frame him on the light that he messes up, but is just who he is.

It doesn’t make me any less annoyed.

For starters, I feel like I am rereading Percy Jackson again (No I will not explain that reference.) Because despite everyone more or less knowing what’s going on (Hobie said before he didn’t know what Miguel was hiding so how much he knows is unsure,) no one has attempted to explain the situation to Miles.

This is a trope I had seen enough (including WAY too many times in the books I mentioned,) and I really resent when characters act as if the protagonist or someone else is stupid just because they are unaware of something. ESPECIALLY if the characters saying so are aware they don’t know.

They are also letting him believe is a good thing he is in HQ, but that is actually not Peter’s fault. I am mad with Gwen on this one, but also Jessica, and Hobie well, he should have known enough to be able to tell him seeing Miguel is not good news. At least Hobie tries to warn him as subtly as possible.

Sure, Peter just got here, but the fact that he is already accusing Miles of just messing up with the universe carelessly is not something that doesn’t sit well with me. Either he knows that Miles doesn’t know and is making an insulting comment, or thinks Miles is aware of the situation and just acted recklessly. The second one is the best scenario, but I feel Peter is presuming way too much for someone that just came around and should have known better than believe Miles knew all of these details while Miguel basically has a giant banner of “Not Earth-1610 Anomalies allowed.”

Also, sidetrack but what exactly does Miles do that isn’t just your typical spidey behaviour? Yes he doesn’t always have full-formed plans before acting but you can say that about EVERYONE in the room at that moment.

“He wasn’t thinking, is not like he works!” My ass.

Want my two cents about this moment? Peter has zero business telling this to Miles.

When Miles asks Gwen about her dad, she is crestfallen, she doesn’t like to believe this more than he does; but unlike anyone else in this room, Gwen cannot return to her home dimension. The best case scenario is if she isn’t there, her dad may not die; but that’s the best case scenario, and that involves again, not stepping again in her home dimension ever again. Her best bet is never to see her home, or anyone she knows including her dad, because not only she may end up in prison, her presence may lead to the death of her dad.

And who knows, it may happen regardless; he may be dead already because he is a police officer and she couldn’t be there to give a hand or save him (As she said she did in Into the Spider-verse, by the way.)

Yet at least, she is coming to this with the idea that her life is going to have to SUCK for a few years, things happening or not happening depending on where she is but none of this is pretty or fair.

Peter? As far as we know, he is done.

Considering the age range of the Spidey-characters, chances are Peter already lived the canon events he needed to live, at best they don’t know what’s next, which means he can operate as he feels is the best course of action.

Miles asked him if he would have let his uncle die, but Peter lost his uncle over twenty years ago, he had enough time to grieve, to accept the outcome, and find happiness after it. And to top it all off, HE DIDN’T HAVE THAT MORAL DILEMMA PLACED IN FRONT OF HIM BEFORE IT HAPPENED.

I find Peter’s words hollow because unlike Miles, he was never asked to not intervene in a canon event, he hasn’t needed to deal with someone from his universe dying while he let it play out.

I am not saying he didn't suffer, he did, and a lot; yet he was unaware that this would happen, is way different having someone tell you “Oh those tragedies you lived? It’s the destiny that keeps everything together, it’s rough but it is what it is,” than someone telling you “Oh you are going to live a bunch of different personal tragedies, and you need to suffer with the burden of this knowledge because is this or everyone in every universe dies.”

(How much do you guys bet someone will use this as an example of the trolley problem in a philosophy class.)

Since we are going in kind of a chronological order, let’s go to something a tad lighter both because it deserves mention, and so I can cool down before I start ranting in Spanish (which is not going to be saying pretty things about B precisely.)

Yes, Peter recognizes this is bad parenting, which is good because it certainly isn’t good; I also have trouble believing he didn’t know AT LEAST ONE spider that could stay behind and watch Mayday while he went to the chase.

However, I do think the chase was never going to be dangerous, nor Peter thought it would be. He has been Spider-man for a quarter of a century, he has been swinging around for so long is second nature to him, I bet he has taken Mayday on “strolls” which is him swinging around.

There is also another screenshot that really encapsulates that Peter didn’t realize how dire the situation is, but that’s for later.

There is also the possibility that he asked Miguel to do this as a way to distract him, but considering this is the only time he does this and is going around him being obsessed with Mayday (Which I think is a bit too much, but I blame more the writers than Peter for that.) I am inclined to believe this is not the case.

(Sigh) I promise to try to be neutral, so I need to bring this up.

What they were talking about earlier can be lumped to a bit later on, and I decided to bring this instead of talking about it when Miles and Peter saw each other (which is I didn’t bring because what I could say would be the same as this.) Because this is something really beautiful that I didn’t want to leave out.

I think that’s what angers me the most about this, because in a vacuum? I love this.

I am a sucker for found family tropes, I love the idea that Miles would grow to see people like Peter B, Noir, and so forth as a family. I love how Peter says how much Miles means to him and meeting him changed his life for the better.

Peter B loves Miles, he said that in the last movie; I can’t just erase that.

However, is exactly because of this scene, that what happens next makes me so sad.

Oh, Miles.

I didn’t mention it in the previous image nor did I took detailed screenshots for the sake of my sanity and to not turn this way too long. (Though I may do it in another moment- Ok I need to focus.)

Miles was obviously affected by what Peter said to him, it obviously means a lot because Miles also loves Peter; of all the spiders in the gang he was the one who he spent the most time initially; he wouldn’t be the Spider-man he is today without him.

And it breaks my heart how Miles says this.

Look at the angle, at his posture; Miles can’t even turn to say this to Peter’s face because it hurts so much. He looks so small in that shot, trying to emphasize how he is just a teen, how he really loves them so much, and it breaks his heart to know that they could visit him, and they didn’t.

Let’s remember what he was doing at the beginning of the movie; he was trying to study physics. He is great at it, and he was since the first movie, however, this is clearly not his passion; he loves his art and even if he didn’t know what he wanted to do yet in the first movie, you can see how much he loves what he does.

And he was willing to leave all of that aside, just to see Gwen, Peter and the others again; because as far as he knew there wasn’t any other way. Remember, he was aiming at Princeton; he would need to bleed and work hard to get there, and even after, being in this field it was not going to be a walk in the park; getting to make the dimensional travel work (At least without seeing Miguel’s technology like Hobie seemed to do;) was also going to be hard.

Miles wanted to do all of that for them, and them? They didn’t.

Now; I don’t blame Gwen in this scenario.

I had said this much in this post before, and a bunch of others too. Gwen was stuck with the Spider Society; and yet she risked losing everything, from homelessness to prison, to spend an afternoon with Miles the second she had an excuse.

What is Peter’s excuse?

He couldn't, he couldn't.

That's what he had to say for himself.

Here is the thing: I am not sure I buy it.

Gwen makes sense to me, Miguel didn't want Gwen to be involved since the beginning and obviously doesn't trust her when is about Miles; Gwen wasn't exactly wrong to fear she would get kicked out if she acted out of line.

Peter? I have my doubts.

We don't know Miguel's and Peter B's relationship (I know some shippers have some ideas, not my cup of tea but I have no problem if people like it.) However, we know that Peter B was there when Miguel's dimension collapsed, later in the movie we saw what Miguel did to Gwen for what happened (believe me, we will get there.)

Even if that was the case; Peter’s situation is much less dire than Gwen’s. Even if Peter could be kicked out of the organization for disobeying Miguel; he would still have his wife, his house, his daughter. He would had been in the same spot he was at the end of the first movie, if not better because now he would had a chance to know both him and Miles would be okay.

I am getting ahead of the post here, but I honestly don’t know how much of Canon BS Peter believes; he clearly doesn’t think Miles is bad for being an anomaly, nor his daughter (technically because Peter wasn’t supposed to meet Miles, he wouldn’t have his daughter. Is certainly a NO in the comics.) Miguel is convinced that Miles’ presence is enough to create more holes in the multiverse; Gwen obviously doesn’t share that view. Peter? I don’t know if he thinks there is actually something to lose for visiting him.

One way or another, he doesn’t really give me a reason here; who knows, maybe when Beyond comes there would be enough information for me to admit Peter did the right thing. For now? No.

Here, we have Miles telling Peter he wanted to meet them so badly, and even if Peter doesn't have a clue of how literal Miles is; you can hear it in his voice, in his posture, how he still cannot look at Peter because to that point it hurts.

And what's Peter's response to this?

(Deep breath,) Boy at moments like this I really wish I didn't think so hard about media.

It hurts me, and it angers me, because it is a pretty sweet moment, but when you think hard about it, it just becomes messy.

I could make an entire discussion about how Peter literally ignored Miles’ feelings about not being there, about how he and others (Gwen not really, the others eehhh hard to say;) didn’t try too reach him, which obviously makes him feel like they don’t care about him as he does. And Peter decide to ignored it.

But! I will try to give him the benefit that this is a tense situation, there is hundreds of spiders looking for them, and there only have so much time. I am going to believe, Peter couldn’t address that at the moment because they had other issues.

Yet even if we omit that point, do you guys realize this is literally no different that his entire spiel about Uncle Ben, right?

Because that’s what he is trying to say, “Spider-man has to suffer, but hey sometimes good things can happen anyways.” This entire conversation is about trying to make Miles follow him, do whatever Miguel is trying to do to avoid having Miles go to his dimension (or at least stop him from saving his dad,) and basically let her dad die.

Look, there is nuance to this situation; Peter isn’t saying this to manipulate Miles, he believes this. He truly believes bad things had to happen to keep the universe from falling apart; I am convinced Miguel’s second universe didn’t fall for his Canon theory, yet Peter B was there, I can’t blame the guy for drinking the kool-aid a bit more than the others.

This doesn’t change the fact that this scene has Peter ignoring Miles’ pain, and try to tell him he needs to suffer some more because “is just how the universe works!”

(Sidenote but anyone can’t help to see this and think of a random Christian telling someone after they lived a personal tragedy “Is just G-d’s plan”? Because I saw that a lot.)

Now, I guess the next question someone may be wondering is, do I believe Peter was being honest with Miles here?

...I don’t know, I really, don’t know.

I had seen this scene multiple times, and I lost count how many times when I was in the theatre, seeing this scene, and thinking “he knew” just for the next moment thinking “he didn’t know.”

If you want my two cents, the part that keeps tripping me over is how he looks at his watch, then Miles, then the watch, it makes me wonder if he is screaming that he doesn’t have his location to Miguel, or to Miles.

I don’t want to believe Peter purposefully drive Miles away so he could get trapped, when he says to Miles “I didn’t know, I promise;” I want to believe him.

The thing is, the outcome he hoped wasn’t that much different, now was it?

He wanted it to be Miles decision, yet again, he was trying to get Miles to not just abandon his morals (as well as the ones every Spider-person should have,) but also try to tell him he needs to suffer for the good of the world.

(I am having SO many flashbacks to things I read about cults, I need to continue working on that post about the Spider Society ffs.)

This is a small detail, but I gotta say; Peter do you really have nothing on your defense?

Look, feel free to believe I am playing favourites, but unlike many people who had a problem with Gwen, I don't blame her for hiding this.

No, I don't think what she did was right. Let’s not get things twisted. I definitely think Gwen shouldn’t had hide this stuff, yet she in general NEVER, had a good idea of how much to say and how much to keep with anyone she talks to; from her dad to Jess to Miles. Once again this is an aspect I can’t get mad at her because she is sixteen and traumatized with a minimal support network and irresponsible guardians.

Now Peter, what’s YOUR excuse?

Not just for not telling something to Miles earlier, I could believe he would have done it if the situation has calmed down. No, Miles asked them about it, and even a bit later says “That’s why you guys never came to see me;” (Which I think is kind of BS but let’s not get ahead of myself on this one.) The thing is that when he has the teen he mentored being manhandled by his ‘friend,’ and said thing asks them to answer him; Peter just ducks.

Like he cannot even see Miles and admit he shouldn’t have done that.

Gwen’s excuse isn’t much better but at least she is answering and you can see in her face how much she knows she fucked up.

I am going to be honest, this little detail wouldn’t bother me as much if what has happened before and what’s yet to happened didn’t exist, yet it does.

There is a difference in “Well you did a little mistake but I can let slide” vs “There are so many things wrong here that I will call you out even for the tiny ones.” Granted Peter isn’t that bad, but is a nuance I think a lot of people don’t think of.

Could Peter haven't said anything because the scene is trying to focus on Miles and Gwen for this part? Yes; it doesn't stop me from getting annoying.

Okay, Miles says this, do I believe it? Ehh not sure.

Gwen definitely not the case, if she truly thought him being an anomaly was a problem, she wouldn't have gone to see him directly.

Peter? Again, I have no idea how much of the kool-aid he has been drinking, the fact that he speaks highly of him and his daughter as good things that has happened makes me inclined to believe he doesn't.

We don't have an answer either way, right?

Not that Peter does much to help him feel better here. Yes yes trying to keep focus on certain characters I know.

(Looks at the camera like is the office.) And now THIS is the time where I wish I wasn’t aware of how writing works.

Okay, I know what the purpose of Peter is, aside of being here as a mentor, he is here kind of as a comic relief. He doesn’t have the same narrative weight as he had in the last movie, and he is here to be cute with his baby for the most part. That’s his purpose at this moment.

It-doesn’t-change-anything.

He has this recurring joke on the third act about if he is or not a good mentor, and it kind of has to do with the last movie, specially this joke, since at the end he was also talking how he taught him something he definitely didn’t do. Last movie I found it cute, here? Not so much.

I am trying not to be hard here and why I would not address the “son of a mother” moment (which I honestly really hate,) because this is not even Peter B’s fault at this point; the writers were trying very hard to have a way to make the situation a tad lighter while also having an important character be in character. I can’t say is truly out of character, but I’m not appreciating it.

Especially having him insist on being a good mentor after letting down his protege MULTIPLE TIMES.

Don't you guys love when you see a grown-ass adult go apeshit on a teen, and his friends aren't doing anything to stop him?

Sorry, yeah I understand that for narrative purposes, they have to be stuck to the ground, but after someone pointed this out a few weeks ago, I can't stop thinking of this shot so I needed to bring it out.

(BIG sidenote but, Margo is the biggest MVP here; girl met Miles once and probably has little to no context, yet she is helping him out. Queen behavior.)

Now let's talk about some bullshit.

I know this is technically not about Peter, considering this is Miguel talking to Gwen, yet I find LAUGHABLE this response.

I will give this to the spider//dad shippers, I would also be inclined to believe Miguel has a thing for Peter B if between the guy who had the "fugitive" in close quarters for a few minutes yet did not attempt to trap him, vs the teen girl who tries to help out her mentor to catch the dude (even if she didn't try too hard,) you decide the teen girl is the problem.

Is funny because really all this scene needs is Miguel saying "If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't have come here, he wouldn't had know and the Spot wouldn't have escaped," at least that much couldn't have been said for Peter B.

I think the writers were trying to make Miguel just look less and less reasonable the more we saw on screen; which is why he would go with route.

It doesn't change the fact that Mighel accusing Gwen of not capturing him is laughable.

YOU 👏 ARE 👏 A 👏 TERRIBLE 👏 MENTOR.

(This moment could be addressed individually, but they are basically the same thing and this post is DEFINITELY too long; seriously I had written fics shorter than this wtf.)

Here is my problem with this: He just decides that oh well, what can he do.

SERIOUSLY?!

Forget the "Oh but he doesn't do this the story-" for a moment; are you seriously telling me that not only this guy knows Miles is in a PRETTY fucked up situation, but also that Gwen is in her home universe where she will be homeless (because there is no way in hell Peter B doesn't know what happened to her,) and you decide to just, go brooding in your dimension?

You know is absolutely amazing how I had heard people grill Miguel and Jess for their behavior with Gwen (which I agree with for the most part,) yet I haven't seen anyone say "Isn't it a bit fucked up that Peter B should have known what would happen to Gwen if she went home and didn't decide to help her?"

Miguel is on Earth 1610 and hellbent on finding Miles, you cannot tell me if Peter B left his daughter with his wife, and then went to fetch Gwen, Miguel would have noticed. At the very least Peter could had try to check on her.

Peter B has known Gwen for longer than Jess and Miguel, even if he couldn't be a proper guardian for her because he was busy with his life, he could have been more present. He definitely could have attempted to defend her better when Miguel was screaming at her, or to look after her when she was kicked to her universe.

Jess is determined to act as if Gwen is more of an employee than a teen, but Peter B should be known better.

But is not his idea to help Miles, is Gwen's; because right now he is too focused on his life and his duty as spiderman to think of the younger generations that are hurting. Just like Miguel and Jess.

Yet not the narrative, nor the fandom, truly recognizes that.

Let’s wrap this up, you guys have no idea the amount of hours I had spend on this and I would be surprised if someone got this far.

As a small detail, Peter is seen with Mayday, and this time I DO have a problem with it.

I honestly hope Peter isn’t with Mayday in Beyond, I will pretend Peter doesn’t have Mayday during the events on Beyond in my fics for as long as I can; because this is the moment where I feel the joke is being pushed too far.

They don’t know what would happen next, they don’t know in what type of situation they are in, they know whatever universe ended was one with no spiderman so it has to be dangerous; yet he brings the baby because that’s his recurring theme for this movie.

And truly, that’s really the problem with his character here: He was given a small role to do with very limited things to do.

I am not saying this is bad writing; I may not like Peter’s decisions in this movie, and I am really hoping beyond gives a big ass cup of “Adults need to start protecting the younger generations instead of insist they need to toughen up” to all of them. Because more than his role, I am annoyed that neither the movie nor the fandom is addressing the failings of Peter B.

He is not a bad character, I don’t even think he is a bad character in this movie. I like him, and even if writing all of this down made realize I am more bitter about it than I would had liked; I just don’t think is fair.

I want Peter to be better, as a mentor, as a father; and I am really hoping the next movie shows him grow that way too. I do believe the writers can pull it off.

Now, the fandom addressing that?...That I have MUCH less confidence. But not gonna lie this post was made mostly to get this out of my chest rather than expect a reaction out of it.

If anyone made this far, first of, wow; I know some people were interesting in reading this, but even I think I went for a while I put a lot of things that are small details but you guys now me, it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do that.

Be thankful I don’t talk about micro-expressions in frames or this would truly would had ended up as a novelette.

Second, thank you for reading! Give a like and your opinion if you want; because I am pretty sure this post is doing to have fewer notes.

[justin-chapmanswers]

Hello Mr.Chapman!

I wanted to bring this to your attention with the newest episode! I loved it, it was very good! however, there was this one scene that rubbed me and a bunch of other disabled people in the community the wrong way.

The scene with bot and telling Cabby the wrong information about them and then asking Cabby to not write anything down felt very off,, as someone who suffers bad memory loss from amnesia and such and tends to write things down to remember really threw me and a bunch of others off! i’m really hoping you and the team can bring this up and talk about it and listen to us on this topic! it would mean a lot to me and the other disabled people in the community ❤️

Hello!

Sorry for the delayed response to this conversation, we've all been traveling and I just arrived back home. But yes! Received a lot of questions regarding this here on Tumblr (as well as positive messages that I super-appreciate but of course this deserves to be addressed first), and I definitely want to hit on it before I get swept away again.

Thank you (and everyone!) for all of your messages regarding this topic. I have been reading and ingesting so much of this conversation and am very glad for everyone who's spoken up on the topic. I understand there had been debate regarding what's right and what's wrong with this angle of the Bot-Cabby story, and Cabby's depiction as a whole, but I'd like to put all the comments on the side of "I don't see it that way because xyz" to the side for the purpose of this post (although I appreciate your perspective as well, especially those who personally connect to the material).

I do want to start the dive-in with a sorry to who felt overwhelmed by this conversation as a whole, because clearly elements within the writing could have been tweaked and we wouldn't be needing to have this conversation. But absolutely a good one to have, anyway, because the show's history has been far from perfect in this regard. And, even more-so, want to say sorry to anyone who felt personally hurt by anything in the episode that read as ableist. While this was far from any intention, it certainly lead to plenty of hurt.

I figure I'll try to lay out as much of this conversation as I can, so it's clean and transparent all in one place, but of course feel free to keep the conversation going. It shouldn't end with me, whether that's more asks here or in your own circles.

I'll start with intentions within the writing regarding the more common talking points of the episode, and then hit on where things could have been corrected in execution. As Anonymous noted earlier, there's the segment where Bot presents Cabby with incorrect information. Understandably, leading a lot of people to feel uncomfortable with how this affects Cabby, who has difficulty with information. On my end, this was never really desired for this to come across as good normal healthy behavior. With the queer narrative in mind, Bot is insecure and uses this as a device to cope with their stress over being put under a microscope while they're still learning to feel confident. And have a Bow file in front of them. Hence Bot rejecting open-communication about Test Tube, offered by Cabby early on, to continuing to make outlandish claims about themself, as well as opening up authentically with true statements once they felt that safety and connection that they've needed. Starting the two off in a really rough place, and eventually getting the two to hear each other a little better and start communicating more healthily.

But does that make it any more comfortable to watch when you have Cabby's history in mind? Probably not. Perhaps out of all criticisms that had been laid out, this is the only one that I had not considered coming up in the many months since this episode's been written, until episode release. No excuse, that's on me. I think a lot of it was softened in my head by the fact that Bot had been completely unaware of all Cabby goes through, and that when Bot finally gains some insight, they soften up towards Cabby. I've seen others levy that note in these discussions, but ultimately it's not my place to say. I completely see now why this can be discomforting, especially in its presentation as being doing in such a light playful manner, no matter whether or not it was intended to be seen as a flaw that is fixed in the context of the episode.

There's also the other note that Anonymous mentioned here, regarding Bot telling Cabby to not write anything down. Intentions aren't too different are exciting, all very similar to last time regarding queer insecurity, Bot not understanding Cabby's situation, and the goal for the episode being to show they start in an unhealthy place and land in a good one. I think where a lot of that falters, were that to be the right starting place for the story at all (and understandable if you argue that it shouldn't have been) is not giving Cabby more support before the end of the episode to show that Bot understands them as much as Cabby gets to prove she's gotten to understand Bot.

There was initially space given to that in the episode but to try to tighten things a bit, we figured it'd be okay to hold onto that since there's still time to explore that. But I've given the advice before, even within the II team, to make sure that these types of issues conclude within the context of the episode as to not give any wrong ideas as-to what the takeaway should be. Unfortunately, I overlooked my own advice this time around. I do like the moments given to Bot and Cabby to show that they have learned to support one-another after learning about each other on an intimate level, but I think it's important to vocalize what these understandings are more explicitly.

Aaaaand also in general I've been wishing that I had made that moment a little softer, were it to be there at all. Between script completion and episode release I'm always poking holes in what I've written, especially as I watch it go from page to screen and things may get adapted in ways I didn't (but often should have) anticipated. That line in particular I've found to be pretty harsh in vibe for a while now, so we're on the same page. If it had to be a beat, I think something softer and more communicative could have been helpful. I do think it's fair for Bot to want to put up boundaries, but it could have been an open dialogue on the subject.

The thought then was that while Bot has discomfort with Cabby, due to their difficult history, they would offer Cabby an alternative accommodation via a more healthy form of communication and repetition that could then work as a compromise. But yeah, completely see why that's also a point of iffiness too, as the files are the intended accommodation. This was all less intended to be another finger-wag at Cabby's files in the way that was presented before Cabby returned to the game, but more-so to highlight how difficult the subject is for Bot. But the way that this could ignite both side of the coin should've been accounted for.

On a similar note, there was another point brought up in a separate ask-

"did she really have to us her file as a ramp? i hope that this isn’t going to go into the direction of ‘oh she’s cured now!’"

Similar to above, it's another case of me mentally prioritizing the story of Bot for their concluding-ish episode and their bond with Cabby, as opposed to Cabby as an individual. I had a visual in mind for a very long time of the Bow file crushed at the end of Bot's journey without any intention of it reflecting on how Cabby uses files, but rather about Bot feeling more comfortable in their robotic skin and others understanding them as an individual.

That is to say, no, there was never any intention that this would indicate that Cabby is done with using her files to collect information for better-navigating their life, and for her broader love of information-gathering. it is just to say, whether correct or not to implement, that they understand Bot's boundaries and see why having a Bow file for Bot can be seen as distasteful, now that they better understand who Bot is. Cabby still has the files, and there's always been every desire to continue to shed light on her story and perspective in the future. And now, with more consideration.

An aside, I suppose, but I do love Cabby. One of my favorites, always has been. In every episode I've written with her in which she is a notable character so far (10, 11, 14), I've wanted to lean into exploring how Cabby navigates difficult social scenarios in which, no matter how strained it may be at the start, we land in a place of others learning to see the plentiful good in her and/or show that they're willing to stick by her side wholeheartedly. With the Indefinite Islanders, Yin-Yang, Bot, etc. I say all of this to try to clarify that I've never had any intention of vilifying Cabby, and I'm really sorry to all of those who connect closely to her who feel as though I was trying to make her out to be a bad person. Again, although the intention was never negative, it's the outcome that matters most- so I am sorry.

And I'm not looking for anyone to write to me "great, all good now, all forgiven" or anything. I'm just looking to continue an important conversation. I know even before the episode's release, there's been plenty of this discussion here on Tumblr, which I am appreciative to have been able to look through and analyze as thoroughly as I can to understand every angle.

But yes, thanks for bearing through this long block of text. If anything comes across as messy, apologies, running on two or three or so hours of sleep, but I am happy to hit on anything that needs clarification or other elements later after work. I don't see myself making any big posts like this again soon, but at the very very least I'll read over what's sent in the ask box as always.

While I'm good with any and all continued conversation, my only request is that you all please just go easy on the rest of the crew. It's been a very emotionally-intense last few weeks, and a lot of the team is just in an overwhelmed state at the moment for a thousand different reasons. They're all trying their best to do and handle everything. But it can be a lot, especially when it's dealing with the Internet, and when it's thousands of voices screaming in your direction all at once. Thank you!